back the frown that tugged at his own features. Both mother and daughter seemed to have forgotten his visit included Mr. Karcher and decided he had come because of Agnes. He cleared his throat and set himself to the task of disabusing them of that notion without hurting their feelings and damaging the pastor-and-congregant relationship. “I appreciate your kind invitation, Mrs. Karcher, but I’m afraid I must decline. My Saturdays are spent in prayer and preparation for Sunday. As for the children, I have hired Mrs. Franklin as housekeeper and cook. She feeds us well.”
Surprise flitted across their faces. They had apparently not yet heard that piece of news. He hurried on before Mrs. Karcher recovered and extended another, amended, invitation. “Please convey my regards to Mr. Karcher. I regret that I had so little time to spend visiting with him. I shall make another call on him when he is less busy at the grist mill.”
His slight emphasis on the word him dulled the hopeful gleam in the women’s eyes. They had understood. He dipped his head in farewell, stepped outside and blew the air from his lungs in a long, low whistle. He was accustomed to the fact that young ladies and their mothers found bachelor pastors attractive as potential husband material, but he’d never before been subjected to anything quite so…blatant.
He ran his fingers through his hair, slapped on his hat and trotted to his carriage. Thunder grumbled in the distance. He glanced up and frowned at the sight of black clouds roiling across the sky. They were coming fast. The other visit he’d planned for this afternoon would have to wait.
“Time to head for home, girl.” He patted his bay mare on her shoulder, climbed to the seat and picked up the reins. Lightning flashed. Thunder crashed. The mare jerked, danced in the traces. “Whoa, Clover. It’s all right. Everything’s all right.”
The bay tossed her head and turned her ears toward his voice, calmed. “Good girl. Let’s go now.” He clicked his tongue and flicked the reins, glancing up as lightning glinted along the edge of the tumbling clouds. The black, foaming mass was almost overhead now. He would never make it back to town before the storm hit, and the children…
His chest tightened. Joshua would be all right. But Sally— “Lord, please be with Sally. Please comfort her, Lord, until I can get home.” He reined the mare onto the Butternut Hill Road, stole another look at the sky and eased his grip on the lines to let her stretch her stride as he headed back toward the village.
* * *
“The…hen…is on the…b-box.”
Willa smiled and nodded encouragement as Micah Lester shot her a questioning look. “Box is correct. Continue, please.”
The boy lowered his gaze to the English Reader book in his hands and took a deep breath. “The rat ran…fr-from…the box.”
She nodded as he again glanced her way. “And the last sentence, please.”
“C-can the…hen…run?”
“Very good, Micah. You may take your seat.” She stepped to his side and held out her hand for the book. Thunder grumbled. Her students straightened on their benches and looked up at her. She placed the book on her desk and went to the window. Black clouds were rolling across the sky out of the west. She turned back, looked at the expectant expressions on the children’s faces and laughed. “Yes, school is over for today. A storm is coming, but if you hurry, there is time for you to reach home before it arrives. Gather your things. And remember…you’re to go straight home.”
She moved to the door, stepped out onto the small porch and held the door open against a rising wind. The children scurried past her and ran down the stairs still donning their coats and hats, calling out their goodbyes as they scattered in every direction. “Hurry home now, or you’ll be caught out in the open and get a good drenching!”
She glanced up at the dark sky. Lightning glinted against the black storm clouds. Thunder crashed. She stared at the gray curtain falling to earth from beneath the approaching clouds and frowned. She was in for a soaking. By the time she snuffed the oil lamp, adjusted the drafts on the heating stove and gathered her things it would be impossible for her to reach home before the storm hit. Those clouds were moving fast. Should she wait it out? No. If she waited it could get worse. There was no promise of clearing behind that black wall of froth. She sighed, stepped inside and closed the door.
“C’mon, Sally. We got to get home. Miss Wright said so!”
Joshua. She turned and peered through the dim light in the direction of the boy’s voice. He was tugging at his sister who was huddled into a ball in the corner. “Joshua, what’s wrong with Sally?” Her skirt hems skimmed her shoe tops and swirled around her ankles as she hurried toward them.
The boy jerked to his feet and spun around to look up at her. “I’m sorry, Miss Wright. I know we’re supposed to go home, but Sally’s scared. She won’t get up.”
His face was pale, his voice teetered on the edge of tears. “It’s all right, Joshua.” She gave him a reassuring touch on the shoulder, then knelt down. “Sally—”
White light flickered through the dark room. Thunder cracked. The little girl screamed and launched herself upright and straight into her arms with such force that she almost tumbled backward. She caught her balance and wrapped her arms around Sally’s small, trembling body.
Rain pelted the roof. Lightning streaked against the darkness outside the window and lit the room with a sulfurous yellow glow. Thunder crashed and rumbled. Sally sobbed and burrowed her face hard into the curve of her neck. She placed her hand on top of the little girl’s soft, blond curls and looked up at Joshua. The boy’s eyes were watery with held-back tears, his lips trembling.
“Joshua, what is—” The door jerked open. She started and glanced up.
Matthew Calvert stepped into the schoolroom and swiveled his head left and right, peering into the dim interior. “Josh? Sally?”
“Uncle Matt!” Joshua lunged at his uncle. Sally slipped out of her arms and ran after him.
She rose, shook out her skirts then lifted her hands to smooth her hair.
Matthew Calvert dropped to his knees and drew the children close. “I was out on a call. I came as quickly as I could.” The pastor tipped his head and kissed Sally’s cheek, loosed his hold on Joshua and reached up to tousle the boy’s hair. “You all right, Josh?”
Joshua straightened his small, narrow shoulders and nodded. “Yes, sir. But Sally’s scared.”
“I know. Thanks for taking care of her for me.”
She noted Joshua’s brave pose and the adoration in his eyes as he looked at his uncle, Sally clinging so trustingly, and turned away from the sight before she gave in to the impulse to tear the children out of his arms. She well remembered how loved and safe she had felt when her father had held her—and how devastating it had been to learn that the love and security had been a lie.
She swallowed to ease a sudden tightness in her throat and stepped to the open door. Those children have no one else. Please don’t let Joshua or Sally be hurt by their uncle. Her face tightened. Who was she talking to? Certainly not God. He didn’t care about such things.
Lightning crackled and snapped, turned the room brilliant with its brief flash of light. Thunder growled. A gust of wind spattered the rain sluicing off the porch roof against her and banged the door against the porch railing. She shivered, grabbed the door and tugged
