her. No man! Not ever.
* * *
Matthew gathered his courage and peeked in the bedroom door. If Sally spotted him, the crying and begging to sleep in Joshua’s room would start again. He considered himself as brave and stalwart as the next man, but Sally’s tears undid him.
Moonlight streamed in the windows, slanted across the bed. He huffed out a breath of relief. She was asleep, one small hand tucked beneath her chin, her long, blond curls splayed across her pillow. He stared at the spot of white fabric visible where the edge of the covers met her hand and a pang struck his heart. He didn’t have to go closer to see what it was. He knew. She was clutching her mother’s glove.
Lord, I don’t know what to do. Will allowing Sally to have Judith’s glove lessen her grief? Or does it prolong it? Should I take the glove away? I need wisdom, Lord. I need help!
He walked to the stairs and started down. He loved Joshua and Sally and willingly accepted their guardianship, but being thrust into the role of parent to two young, grieving children was daunting. He was faced with tasks and decisions he was ill-prepared to handle. That one child was a little girl made it even more difficult. And he had his own grief to contend with.
He shot a glance toward the ceiling of the small entrance hall. “I miss you, Robert. And I’m doing the best I can. But it would be a lot easier if you’d had two sons.” The thought of Sally’s little arms around his neck, of her small hand thrust so trustingly into his made his heart ache. “Not that I would want it different, big brother. I’ll figure it out. But it would certainly help with the girl things if I had a wife.”
He frowned and walked into his study to arrange his possessions that had come by freight wagon that afternoon. Why couldn’t he find a woman to love and marry? He was tired of this emptiness, this yearning for someone to share his life with that he’d been carrying around the last few years. He wanted a wife and children. Having Joshua and Sally these last few weeks had only increased that desire.
He lifted a box of books to his desk, pulled out his pocketknife and cut the cord that bound it. Robert had known Judith was the one for him as soon as he met her. But he’d never felt that immediate draw to a woman, the certainty that she was the one. He’d been making it a matter of prayer for the last year or so. But God hadn’t seen fit to answer those prayers. Unless…
He stared down at the book he’d pulled from the box, a vision of a lovely face with beautiful blue-green eyes framed by soft waves of chestnut-colored hair dancing against the leather cover. His pulse quickened. Was what had happened to him in the schoolhouse God’s answer to his prayers? There was no denying his immediate attraction to Miss Wright. An attraction so strong that he’d lost his normal good sense and eyed her like a besotted schoolboy. That had never happened to him before. But was it the beginning of love? Or only an aberration caused by his loneliness and grief?
He slid the book onto the top shelf of the bookcase behind his desk and reached into the box for another. It had been a humbling moment when the church council had asked him to leave the pulpit of his well-established church in Albany for two years to come and establish a foundation for the church here in Pinewood. But he’d been inclined to turn them down because of his loneliness. If he couldn’t find a woman to love and marry among his large congregation and abundant friends in the city, what chance had he to find one in a small, rural village nestled among the foothills of the Allegheny Mountains in western New York?
He scowled, put the book on the shelf and picked up another. Robert’s death had made up his mind. He had accepted the offer, hoping that a change of scene might help the children over their grief. Two years out of his life was a price he was willing to pay for the children’s healing. That was his plan.
He reached into the box for the last book, then paused. What if God had placed that yielding in his heart because He had a plan? One that helped the children, but also included the answer to his prayers? He blew out a breath, put the last book on the shelf and tossed the empty box to the floor. And what if he were simply letting his imagination run away with him? At least he knew the answer to that question. “Thy will be done, Lord. Thy will be done.”
He picked up the box with his desk supplies, cut the cord and started putting things in the drawers.
Chapter Two
Willa spotted their gray-haired neighbor sweeping her walk next door and sighed. Mrs. Braynard was as plump as her mother was lean, and as cheerful as her mother was bitter. She was also kind and concerned and…nosy. She closed the door and walked down their short, plank walk to the leaf-strewn beaten path beside the street. “Good morning, Mrs. Braynard. How is Daniel today?”
“He’s doing better. He was able to move his arm a little when I was getting him up and around. The Lord bless you for caring.” Her neighbor cleared the leaves and dirt from the end of her walk, paused and looked at her over the broom handle. “I heard the new pastor brought his children to your school. His wife a pleasant woman, is she?”
Willa clenched her fingers on the handle of the small basket holding her lunch. She hated gossip. She’d been on the receiving end of too much of it. But Mrs. Braynard meant no harm. She was simply overcurious. Nonetheless, whatever she said would be all over town within an hour. She took a breath to hold her smile in place. “I haven’t met Mrs. Calvert. The pastor was alone when he brought the children. I’m looking forward to meeting her at the welcome dinner after church this Sunday.” She turned away, hoping…
“Are you getting on all right, Willa? I mean—”
“I know what you mean, Mrs. Braynard.” The sympathy in her neighbor’s voice grated on her nerves. She hated being the object of people’s pity—even if it was well-meant. She smiled and gave the same answer she’d been giving since Thomas had abruptly left town. “I’m fine. Now, I’m afraid I must hurry off to school. Tell Daniel I’m pleased to hear he is mending.”
“I’ll tell him. And I’ll keep praying for you, Willa.”
As if prayer would help. She pressed her lips together, lifted her hand in farewell and hurried down the path to the corner, a choked-back reply driving her steps. Mrs. Braynard, of all people, should know God had no interest in her or her plight. The woman had been praying for her mother and her ever since the day her father had said goodbye and walked out on them, and not one thing had changed. Not one. Except that now Thomas had deserted her, as well. So much for prayer!
She wheeled right onto Main Street and onto the bridge over Stony Creek, the heels of her shoes announcing her irritation by their quick, staccato beats on the wide, thick planks. She avoided a wagon pulling into the Dibble Smithy, passed the harness shop and livery and lowered her gaze to avoid eye contact with anyone heading across the street to the row of shops that formed the village center. She was in no mood for any more friendly, but prying, questions.
She crossed Church Street, then reined in her pace and her thoughts. Her students did not deserve a sour-faced teacher. She took a long breath and lifted her gaze. Oh, no! Her steps faltered, came to a halt. A clergyman was the last person she wanted to see.
On the walkway ahead, Reverent Calvert was squatted on his heels, his hands clasping Sally’s upper arms, while he talked to her. It seemed Sally was in disagreement with him if her stiff stance and bowed head was any indication. Joshua stood off to one side, the intent expression on his face a mirror of the pastor’s. The boy certainly looked like his father. He also looked unhappy.
Something was wrong. Had it to do with school? Her self-involvement dissolved in a spate of concern. Joshua must have
