Chapter Twenty-Three
“If they were unable or failed to cope with forces of nature which they called into action, the responsibility is theirs, and as they have sown so must they reap, even if the harvest is the whirlwind.”
~Boston Post, regarding the club members’ responsibility for the flood
TUESDAY, JULY 9
The orange glow of morning filtered through the stained-glass windows of the church, bringing the peace of God’s presence over the sanctuary and to Monty’s soul. Alone, except for Ernie sleeping on a pew across the room, Monty closed his eyes and let his prayer flow through his throbbing mortal body and upward to the Throne. This was what he needed more than a home, more than Annamae, more than justice for what this town had suffered.
Amid the disaster and horrible aftermath, he’d lost sight of his purpose. Of his responsibility to his fellow man. Sure, he’d helped save Gertrude Quinn, tried his best to save Ben, and helped in the typhoid tents, among other things. But he’d also allowed his faith to falter, allowed a pretty face and a desperate need for companionship to distract him from truly meeting with God. He’d even allowed his complicated feelings for his uncle to couple with Annamae’s need for revenge and feed his old cocky attitude.
Thankfully, the Lord listened to the pleas of His children, especially their pleas for forgiveness.
Ernie stirred awake, and Monty opened his eyes. The thin blanket draped over the emaciated man slipped to the floor. Ernie sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Pastor? What ya doin’ here? You should be restin’.”
“I am.” Monty tapped his heart.
Pale eyes surrounded by drooping skin filled with understanding. Ernie had asked permission yesterday to sleep inside the building. He was attempting to sober up and remain that way, and he felt that the solace of the church would make it harder for him to wander out and fulfill his lust for liquor. A few men in the congregation working to rebuild the church weren’t keen on the idea, but Monty wasn’t about to refuse the request. Sometimes rules and formalities were just the excuse someone needed to continue their stray, and Ernie had strayed long enough.
Bracing his withered hand on the back of the pew, Ernie stood on unsteady legs, stepped over the blanket heaped on the ground, and walked to Monty’s pew. “The pull is strong this morning.”
Monty patted the spot beside him. Ernie dropped next to him, the stench of unwashed clothing and rancid body odor hitting Monty hard. Thankfully, Robert and Jim had offered to help Monty into the men’s bathing house before bed last night, setting a chair inside the small private area beside the barrel of fresh water and the cake of soap. It had taken Monty three times longer to wash than usual, but despite the pain and the cold water, he’d felt like a new man.
“Stay strong, Ernie. Satan wants nothing more than to see you give in to that pull. Don’t give him the satisfaction. He’s all that’s waiting for you at the bottom of that bottle.”
“I—” Ernie clamped his hands together to keep them from quavering. “I suppose coffee will do fine this morning.”
Monty patted the man’s shoulder, wincing at the pain that shot through his ribs.
Ernie stood and shuffled toward the doors.
Monty knew Ernie was trembling so much that there wouldn’t be a lot of coffee left in the mug when he returned, but the task would keep him accountable to return shortly and not stray into one of the taverns reopening for business.
Ernie nodded. Seconds passed, but he didn’t loosen his grip on the door handle. “I’m afraid, Pastor.”
Monty tilted his head, letting the sunlight from the window bathe his bruised face. “So am I. But we must remember that ‘God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.’ ”
The door opened, and Ernie blinked into the sunlight. “I’ll be right back.”
In the quiet moments that followed, Monty dozed, but woke when the crew arrived to work in the church. Everett McDonough, whom Monty hadn’t seen since the day of the parade, stumbled to a halt. “Well, look who’s ready to supervise our sorry hides.”
Monty chuckled. “Someone must. How are you faring, Everett?”
“Faring okay. I took Sally and Edward to stay with my folks in Ohio for a spell. I came back to see what more damage I could do.”
“Thank you for helping.”
Soon, James Quinn entered the building and thanked Monty for the thousandth time for helping Max save Gertrude.
“It was my pleasure.” The same response Monty always gave. “How is the family?”
Mr. Quinn scratched his cheek. “Doing well. Still in Kansas with Rosina’s sister. Gertrude’s ready to come back and giving the Mrs. fits.”
Monty smiled. “Praise God, she’s still around to cause mischief.”
“Amen to that.”
The church came alive with the sound of hammers and the slap of boards coming together. Some worked on the new floor, while others spread plaster on the walls that held fresh lumber. A few of the men sanded the new pulpit and pews on the front lawn. Monty watched each group for a few minutes simply to feel as if he was doing something productive.
A good half-hour passed before Ernie returned with a mug partially full of coffee. Brown drips coated one side and wet Monty’s fingers as he gripped the cup. The liquid was tepid and the flavor bitter, but Monty thanked Ernie and sipped it as if it were the best he’d ever tasted.
An ache started at the base of his neck and gradually made its way to his crown. He motioned Jim over. “I’m running out of steam. Let the guys know I’m gonna head to my room, but I’ll be back after a nap.”
“Can I help you get there?” Jim asked.
“It’s not far. I’ll be fine.”
The fierce July heat made Monty wish for rain.
Crazy.
As he started off the church property, a feminine voice called his name. Annamae.
Tempted to keep walking as if he hadn’t heard, he instead stopped and smiled cordially. “Good morning, Miss Worthington.”
She finished her jog toward him, winded. “I went by the hotel to check on you, but they said you were here. You should be in bed, resting.”
“I was off to do just that.” He took two normal strides forward and regretted it as pain pulsed through his abdomen and ribcage.
“Please, wait.” Desperation leeched from her voice.
Monty hung his head and inhaled a breath for patience. “What is it, Miss Worthington?”
“Would you stop calling me that?” She sidled close to his side. “I should’ve told you about Matthew—Doctor Martin. I apologize, I—”
“You don’t owe me an explanation.” Monty noticed Robert glimpsing them from the corner of the church, trying to act as if he wasn’t being nosy but failing.
“Oh. I see.” She looked down at her hands and blinked.
He hadn’t meant to wound her, but she’d done her share of the injuring. “He seems like a good man, Annamae. And fully in love with you.”
That lit a spark in her soulful eyes. “What I’m trying to tell you is that Matthew and I don’t have an understanding. We never have. We work together at the hospital. He’s a wonderful friend and benefactor, and I know he wants more, but I don’t, which is why I didn’t respond right away to his telegrams.”
The events of the past week, the state of his beaten body, and the heat of the day made this conversation too much at the moment. “I need to sleep.”
Obviously, his words elicited a different reaction than what she’d hoped for, and she backed away. “Of—of course. I just wanted to make sure you understood. Do you need help getting to the hotel?”
“I’ll be fine.” He needed her to leave in case he collapsed. If there was one thing he didn’t want to be at this moment, it was weak.
With one last disappointed look of longing, she started toward the Red Cross tents. She didn’t love Doctor Martin. That buoyed his heart. Was she telling Monty because she wanted more with him?
His head pounded, and his thoughts were unclear. He needed rest.
Monty concentrated on taking one uncomfortable step at a time, the orange tabby keeping stride beside him. He’d named the cat Job for his unwavering patience. Job came and went as he pleased, yet he always made his way back.
Robert strode beside him as Monty crossed the street.
After Robert’s third sidelong glance, Monty said, “I think that hurt worse than my injuries.”
“Women are skilled like that.” Robert pulled a set of keys from his pocket. A small, intricate pendant dangled from the ring. A small pearl nestled in the middle.
“Rosie’s?” Monty pressed his palm against his ribs. The pressure hurt, but his jarring steps made it hurt worse.
“Yep. We almost didn’t get married.”
Monty raised a brow.
“I’ve never told you that story? Well, our papas didn’t like each other. Some old feud about a fence line and a poker game. But Rosie and I didn’t care about all that. Or at least, I thought. One day while we lazed by the river, I spouted some insult about her daddy, and she nearly took my head off. I finally won her over again, but it wasn’t easy. When our parents found out we planned to wed, her daddy spouted an insult at me, and she nearly took his head off.”
Robert laughed. “Guess the insults were okay, as long as she was the one giving ’em.”
Monty stopped for a breath. Job rushed ahead, batting at a bug taking flight. “Then you moved here and lived happily ever after.”
As soon as the phrase left Monty’s mouth, he wanted to black his other eye. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean …”
“It’s alright. I know what you meant.” They continued to the hotel. “Though our time together didn’t even reach ten years, it was the sweetest of my life. Not always happy, mind you, but sweet.”
Robert went quiet.
“I sense you wanting to say more.” Monty told himself it was only twenty additional feet to the hotel entrance and he could do this.
“You’re always the one giving advice. It might not be fitting for me to advise you.”
He added more pressure to his ribs. “With age comes wisdom. I’m not too proud to listen to my elders.”
Robert huffed. “Thirty hardly makes me your elder.”
Monty winked. “Say your piece. I’ll chew on it during my nap.”
“Don’t let a misunderstanding keep you from pursuing Miss Worthington, if she’s who you want.”
Oh, he wanted her all right.
“I’m just saying, until she’s married to another man, there’s still hope. Don’t let the sun go down upon your wrath, and all that.”
Annamae had made it clear she didn’t love Doctor Martin.
“Are you advising me to pursue Annamae?” Monty stopped when he reached the hotel door, relieved his bed was feet away.
“I guess I am. Life is fleeting, as we’ve all learned. We mustn’t live the days granted to us with regrets.”
Robert took a step then swiveled back around. “Miss Worthington has us all convinced she’s your match. Has cared for each of us the way a pastor’s wife would. She’s stolen a little piece of all our hearts.”
Monty had noticed the respect and appreciation his congregation had for her nurturing.
“What do you suggest I do?” Monty asked.
“Tell her how you feel. That may be all she’s waiting for to send this doctor on the next train east.”
Annamae had let him know she and the doctor had no formal understanding. Was that her way of telling Monty she was free for him to declare his intentions? How different the nature of courtship was here compared to the society balls and marriages arranged for financial benefit he’d grown up witnessing.
“Thank you, Robert.”
“Promise me that after you chew, you’ll swallow.”
Monty smiled, called for Job, and walked the short distance to his room. The beds were mostly empty, as the majority of the town was working. He pressed his toes into the heels of his boots to remove them without bending. Then he settled on top of his made bed, sleep claiming him before his head hit the pillow.