Chapter Seventeen

“There are those who tell us they want only the religion of sunshine, art, blue sky, and beautiful grass. The book of nature must be their book. Let me ask such persons what they make out of the floods in Pennsylvania.”

~Reverend T. DeWitt Talmage, a quote spoken to his congregation in New York

SUNDAY, JUNE 23

Annamae stood at the back of the large crowd, listening in awe to Monty’s sermon. It was his first since the flood, and he’d mentioned to her yesterday that he was anxious. She’d woken extra early to help finish stocking the newly built hotel provided by the Red Cross to house misplaced victims of the flood so she could attend services. It was important to her to support her friend but also to meet Joanna and offer some token of kindness she hoped would comfort the girl.

It was a lovely day for an outdoor service. The temperature was comfortable, and the birds trilled. A magnificent change from all the banging and blasting that normally filled their days. Even if not everyone in the town attended a service, at least they honored the Sabbath by resting from labor.

The church grounds were clear of debris. The iron fencing surrounding the small cemetery stood once again, but several headstones lay broken. Ernie had assured her he’d thoroughly disinfected the areas on both sides of the church. Since the side of the building still held a gaping hole, congregants spread blankets on the dry earth or stood on the fringes to worship.

The angle where she stood offered the perfect glimpse of Monty’s strong, shaven jaw. Someone had trimmed his hair and, in this light, she caught faint strands of red and blond near his forehead as he bent his head to read from her Bible cradled in his palm.

The timbre of his voice rippled over the crowd. “‘The floods have lifted up, O Lord, the floods have lifted up their voice; the floods lift up their waves.’ ”

Monty stared into their faces. “The newspapers are reporting many preachers across the nation using this very text to convict their congregations, saying our wicked town was under the judgment of God or that we’ve become the greatest example of needing to be prepared to meet our Maker. But the passage in Psalm 93 doesn’t end there.”

He paused. As if they were all tethered to the same string, they leaned closer for his next words.

“‘The Lord on high is mightier than the noise of many waters—’ ”

Amens exploded into the air.

“‘Yea, than the mighty waves of the sea.’ ”

The man standing next to Annamae wiped the deluge of tears from his cheeks with the cap he’d strangled in his fist.

“None of us is fit to claim the Lord’s reason for allowing this flood to take place. Only He knows that answer. But I know one thing. He’s caring for our loved ones in heaven better than we ever could. Those of us left behind must continue carrying out His purpose. For He is mightier than the noise of many waters.”

Monty swallowed, and when he spoke again, his voice wobbled with emotion. “Those of us who heard the intensity of those mighty waters know how powerful a promise that is.”

Annamae’s skin pebbled from head to foot. She couldn’t imagine the horrors the people standing around her had endured. It was a reminder to always be kind, because one never knew the pain that lurked inside another’s heart.

Monty went on assuring the people of God’s provision and how He was meeting their needs through charitable donations of food, supplies, money, and the many doctors and nurses who’d traveled from their homes to donate their time and skills to keep folks healthy. His gaze found hers and locked there. The serious angles of his face softened, and the message of appreciation and attraction meant for only her crackled in the air between them.

Her body grew languid with a serenity she’d never experienced. The connection between them felt wholesome and true and right. She didn’t care that in a few short weeks or months her work here would end and the Red Cross would return home. All she wanted was to learn everything about this man who watched over and fed people’s souls.

But romantic feelings would only complicate the comfortable structure of her life. She wasn’t one for fanciful daydreams and impractical flirtations. As Matthew had pointed out many times, she watched life move around her through somber glasses, rarely taking part. Monty poured energy into her dormant heart, awakening a longing she couldn’t ignore.

After the closing prayer, the congregation, mostly composed of men, shook Monty’s hand before going about their day. Annamae stood beside Ernie, slipping her hands into the folds of her skirt. She waited and watched Monty focus on each person, asking how they fared and if they needed anything.

This side of him was new to her. She’d first been introduced to the man, but seeing him slip into the role of pastor left her awestruck. It also challenged her to be someone worthy of standing by his side.

She’d worn her plain blue calico today as a reprieve from her uniform, her hair secured into a loose knot at her crown. A few of the men gathered by the road instead of leaving. They conversed with one another while sneaking glances her way.

Monty had mentioned how many marriage ceremonies he’d performed since the flood as most men had lost their wives. Marriages of convenience, not of love. She avoided direct contact with their prowling gazes, not wanting to encourage any attention.

An orange cat sauntered out the church door with its tail in the air. Annamae smiled. The feline had put on some weight since its invasion of Monty’s bed at the Red Cross tent. Its coat was no longer mangled but was smooth and shiny. The lids around its missing eye had crusted over with a scar, but overall, the cat seemed to do well as Monty’s companion.

She knelt and coaxed the cat to her. It sniffed the tips of her fingers before rubbing against her skirt. She scratched its head, giggled when it purred, and then scooped it up and nestled it in her arms.

“May I escort you anywhere, Miss Worthington?” Ernie’s voice rattled.

“It’s very kind of you to offer, but I’m waiting for Pastor Childs.”

Thin skin sunk on Ernie’s cheeks. His bloodshot eyes moved from her to Monty then back again. He winked. “He needs himself a fine woman. You enjoy your afternoon.”

The poor man smelled as if he hadn’t seen a bar of soap since the flood. “Thank you, Mr. Ernie. If you need anything at all, ask for me at the Red Cross.”

“Will do, ma’am.” His movements were less shaky today than yesterday, and alcohol clung to his breath, indicating he’d given in to his craving sometime last night.

During one of her visits to deliver more disinfectants, she’d found Ernie passed out behind the church. Fearing him dead, she’d discovered a pulse and slapped his cheek to rouse him. He’d awoken, words slurring. She’d recognized the symptoms. Ernie had shared the story of losing his wife and daughter to cholera fifteen years ago and how he’d crawled inside of a bottle and never climbed out.

The men gathered at the road shifted away as Ernie walked past. Hypocrites. She wanted to race to them and issue a good tongue lashing. Instead, she held the cat tighter. It purred deeper and kneaded its paws on her sleeve.

Monty headed her way, his casual stride and confident grin snuffing out her anger. He stopped in front of her. Lazily, his eyes traveled over her as if she were a rare flower he wanted to take time observing. Heat stole into her cheeks.

“Thank you for attending the service today.” He tucked her Bible against his side.

“You spoke powerful words of honesty and encouragement. Your congregation is blessed to have you.”

Monty glanced to the side and swiped his thumb at the end of his nose. She’d embarrassed him with her praises. How adorable.

“I was hoping to meet Joanna.”

“They couldn’t get her to come. I think she’s afraid if she does, she’ll be taken to a new family.”

“Oh, poor girl.”

“Will you join me for lunch?” He scratched the cat’s head, making its ear twitch. “Afterward, maybe we can see if she’s up for company.”

“I’d love to.”

“I wish I could treat you to a meal at one of our cafés, but since they’re no longer open and I have no money, how about the commissary?”

“Best place in town.” She set the cat on its feet and stood, reaching her hand out to curl around his arm but stopped short. Though the gesture was common practice for a gentleman escorting a lady, perhaps it wasn’t common practice for a clergyman.

“What’s wrong?” He frowned at his outstretched elbow.

“Are you allowed to escort me this way? I don’t want to tarnish your reputation.”

Monty laughed. “Annamae, you worry too much. And you’re certainly not the type of woman who’d tarnish my reputation.” He offered his arm again. “I’m a pastor, but I’m also a man, and I’d like to escort the prettiest woman in town to lunch.”

“Well, when you say it that way.” Her fingertips brushed the fabric of his faded suit coat. The muscle that lay beneath hardened as they walked.

She should wipe off the silly grin she knew stuck to her face. “The first of the Red Cross hotels is finished. I helped make the beds and stock supplies this morning. I secured a place on the list for you. There are many beds in one room and only a small crate beside each one for belongings, but it’ll keep you from sleeping on a hard pew.”

“I appreciate that, but I’m sure there are others in more need than I.”

“All the widows and children already have beds in Holt House and Alma Hall. This hotel is for the men. A second hotel will be completed any day. There’ll be six in all. The Red Cross will ensure everyone a place to stay.”

“Thank you.” His arm pressed her wrist tight against him. “Your friendship has become one of the most important in my life.”

“Handsome and a suave elocutionist. That’s a dangerous combination.”

“Only for women.”

She laughed. The airy cheerfulness of it struck her like an arrow. When was the last time she’d truly laughed without the slightest weight holding it down? Before her father died? She tried but couldn’t recall a time with Matthew when she’d lived wholly in the moment and laughed joyously.

They took short, slow steps, neither seeming to be in a hurry to reach the commissary.

“May I ask a bold question?” She tilted her head to look up at him.

He scratched his forehead, smiling. “Your inquisitive nature concerns me.”

She chuckled. “Papa always used to accuse me of asking too many questions.”

The familiar tide of emotions that came with her father’s memory threatened to steal the sunshine from her day. She pushed it away, wanting to enjoy the afternoon.

“What is it you want to know?”

“Why isn’t there a Mrs. Monty Childs?”

“Ah, that.” His eyes narrowed in contemplation. “I’ve been waiting for the person my soul connects with. For the woman who brings out the best in me, and I in her. I want a marriage like my parents had—humble, loving, persevering when life gets tough.”

A suave elocutionist indeed.

“You said had. Did something happen to them?”

“Mmm, that is a question for another day.”

“Fair enough.” Grass grew in the patch of earth where they crossed a road declared as Market Street on a crude, handwritten board stuck in the ground. The green was a stark contrast to the dry dirt throughout the town.

“My turn. Why isn’t there a mister in your life?”

She started to tell him about Matthew but thought better of it. Matthew hadn’t asked for her future. In fact, he hadn’t officially asked to court her either, but his attentions left no doubt he wanted to. Her feelings for him didn’t extend beyond friendship, so, really, there was nothing to tell.

“For the same reason as yours. I’ve kept mostly to myself since Papa’s death. No time for courtship. I don’t remember what my parents’ marriage was like, but the love that leaked from Papa’s voice when he talked about my mother made it clear he never stopped loving her. Perhaps a love like that is as rare as a glimpse of Halley’s Comet.”

His steps slowed even more. His gaze roamed her face. The motion of the town faded to her periphery as her focus stuck solely on him. “It may not be as rare as you think.”

Annamae swallowed, wanting to savor this moment for as long as possible. She didn’t know what it was about him that kept drawing her to his presence, but it was raw and powerful.

A delightful scent carried on the breeze, coaxing their noses into the air.

Monty smiled. “Is that fried chicken?”

She sniffed. “I believe it is.”

He sighed in contentment. “Thank the good Lord. Come on, let’s eat.”