my old buffalo robe. I used to wear it when I was a circuit preacher.” He set the lantern on the ledge again and held the robe out for her.
She blinked at him. “What am I to do with it?”
“It’ll keep you warm. Much warmer than that.” He nodded at her fashionable winter coat. “Trust me,” he said. “You’ll thank me when we’re in the midst of the storm.”
He held it open with the fur toward the inside and the skin on the outside. She turned to let him put it on her shoulders.
She swam in the heavy material and it dragged on the floor. She could easily wrap it around her body two or three times. “I don’t know that I can trudge through the snow in this thing.”
His expression softened and a bemused smile tilted his wide mouth as he looked her over. “It’s a little bigger than I remember, but I’ll help you.” He handed her a cap, scarf and mittens. “You’ll need these, too.”
The buffalo robe engulfed her and she could hardly raise her arms. “I don’t think I can manage to put them on.”
He took the robe off again, which allowed her to remove her bonnet. She placed it in her bag and then put on the winter items.
Without warning, he draped the robe over her shoulders again. Its weight almost knocked her down.
“Your boots are impractical for this weather, as well,” he said.
“I can’t possibly wear your boots.” His feet were much larger than hers.
“I suppose you can’t.” He looked at her, the smile returning to his eyes. “I can hardly see you under all that gear.”
She felt ridiculous, but she appreciated the added protection against the cold and snow.
He lifted her bag. “We’ll go out the back door.”
She followed him through the parlor, tripping over the buffalo robe, and entered the kitchen. He glanced out the window, squinting as he looked uncertain. “I hate to take you into this storm—but we have little choice.” He turned to study her. “You’ll need to hold my hand at all times. I’m familiar with the trek to Abram and Charlotte’s, so I’ll rely on my instincts. If, for some reason we’re separated, don’t move. Stay where you are and I’ll find you.”
Apprehension wound its way around Emmy’s heart as she thought of the consequences of being lost in a blizzard. She simply nodded, thankful that he seemed so confident—but wondering if she could trust his instincts.
He opened the door and then reached his hand toward her.
She took it without hesitation and followed him into the storm. The wind bit at the exposed skin of her cheeks and nose. It stole her breath with its intensity and she clung to Reverend Lahaye’s hand with all her might. Somehow, it was even worse now than it had been when the stagecoach dropped her off.
He closed the door and then bent into the storm, tugging her along with him.
The snow whipped about them in every conceivable direction. She didn’t know if it was coming or going. Though she held his hand, she could hardly make out his shape in front of her and it hurt to look into the swirling wind and snow.
There was no sunshine to mark the way—just darkness and bitter cold wind.
They didn’t go more than ten yards before Reverend Lahaye stopped and she bumped into his back. She didn’t dare move as he turned to face her. He bent forward and spoke, but she couldn’t make out his words in the howling wind.
He didn’t move and she feared they were lost. Panic began to creep up her legs. It hit her heart with a thud, making her want to run—yet she didn’t dare.
Again, he leaned forward and spoke into her ear, but she couldn’t hear. What was wrong? Why had they stopped?
Finally, he tugged on her hand again—but if they were going forward or backward, she didn’t know. It was impossible to know anything.
They didn’t walk very far when she made out the shape of a building and he stepped through an open door.
When she followed, and her eyes adjusted, she realized they were back in his kitchen.
He shoved the door closed against the raging wind, breathing hard. “It’s madness out there.”
Emmy swallowed hard, trying to catch her breath, her fingers and toes numb. “Why are we back?”
He shook his head and took off his cap and mittens. “We would never have made it alive. We could have very well ended up in the river, or wandered out of town. I didn’t know my right from my left out there.” His eyes filled with concern. “I’m sorry, Miss Wilkes. I couldn’t risk your safety. We’ll have to stay here for the night.”
Emmy stood motionless in the buffalo robe, the reality of their situation hitting her. “I must choose between my safety or my reputation?”
He took a step away from her, as if sensing her dismay and put some space between them. “We can try again in the morning when there is a bit of sun. Maybe the storm will cease by then.” He went to the stove and put more wood inside. “Are you hungry? I can make you some flapjacks and sausage.”
She hadn’t eaten since lunch, but she didn’t think she could swallow a bite now. “Where shall I sleep?” If she’d sleep at all.
“There are two bedrooms upstairs. I had one prepared for Mr. Wil—” He paused. “You should be comfortable there. I’ll sleep in my room down here.”
She nibbled her bottom lip. Would sleeping unchaperoned in the pastor’s house make it more difficult to convince the superintendent to let her stay? What would the community say? It was vital that they think highly of her.
“I’m sure everyone will understand.” He put an iron skillet on the stove and gave her a reassuring smile, as if he could read her thoughts. “This is a small community, but no one would fault us for staying safe. I’ll explain everything.”
Emmy wasn’t so sure, but what choice did they have? They were stuck in the parsonage until the storm subsided.
The next morning, Ben stood near the cast-iron stove scrambling eggs for breakfast. Snow and ice blew against the house with a vengeance, as if winter was shaking its angry fist at the world, daring it to lay dormant. He’d never seen a blizzard so early, and it didn’t bode well for the lonely months ahead.
A floorboard creaked and Ben turned to find Miss Wilkes fidgeting uncomfortably in the doorway. In the light of day, he found her to be even prettier than he’d first thought by the glow of the lantern. Her blond hair was twisted in a becoming knot, with tendrils curling around her face. Blue eyes, the color of wild forget-me-nots under a warm prairie sun were fringed with those long lashes, and she had the tiniest waist he’d ever seen. She didn’t look as young and defenseless as he’d first thought, either. He guessed her to be twenty-three or twenty-four, though she carried herself as if she had a fair share of life already behind
