The Preacher's Bride

Her Deepest Secret

When her little brother died, Faith Bennett lost her trust in God. She’s kept this secret from the good people of Simpson Creek, yet she can’t deceive Gil Chadwick. She’ll be Gil’s friend, but without a faith to match his, she can never be the handsome new preacher’s bride.

Though Gil cherishes Faith’s friendship, he wants a wife. And in kind, upright Faith, he’s convinced he’s found her. The secret heartaches of his past fade as he watches her nurse his father. When danger finds her, he’ll risk everything to save her. For where there’s Faith, there’s love...and the promise of a new beginning together.

“Papa wrote me about the beginnings of the Spinsters’ Club while I was away at seminary,” Gil said.

“Did you think we sounded like a band of brazen hussies, advertising for marriage-minded bachelors?” Faith asked, almost afraid of the answer. But she saw a twinkle in his eye that reassured her.

“Not at all,” he said. “You sounded like a plucky lot. I was only worried all the young ladies of the hill country would get the same idea and there’d be no one left for me when I finished seminary.”

“Ah, now, where was your faith, Reverend Gil?” she teased. “Didn’t you believe that the Lord would provide?”

“I’m only surprised you haven’t made one of those matches, Miss Faith,” he said. “I’d have thought those bachelors would have snatched you up when the group first started,” he said.

He smiled at her, and she felt the jolt of it all the way through her heart.

LAURIE KINGERY

makes her home in central Ohio, where she is a “Texan-in-exile.” Formerly writing as Laurie Grant for the Harlequin Historical line and other publishers, she is the author of eighteen previous books and the 1994 winner of a Readers’ Choice Award in the Short Historical category. She has also been nominated for Best First Medieval and Career Achievement in Western Historical Romance by RT Book Reviews. When not writing her historicals, she loves to travel, read, participate on Facebook and Shoutlife and write her blog on www.lauriekingery.com.

The Preacher’s Bride

Laurie Kingery

Jesus said unto him, If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth. And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief.

—Mark 9:23, 24

In memory of Tango, the dog of my heart

And as always, to Tom

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

Simpson Creek, Texas, April 1868

I must be the most misnamed person in this whole town, maybe in the whole state of Texas, Faith Bennett thought, staring into the cool green water of Simpson Creek. Her parents had confidently given her that name, never guessing that by the time their daughter grew up, she would not believe in God.

It was a secret Faith shared with no one, not her parents, her neighbors and certainly not her friends in the Simpson Creek Spinsters’ Club, of which she was a loyal member. She couldn’t imagine what any of them would say if they knew. Her parents wouldn’t know what to do about such a declaration if Faith ever made it. Her mother would worry and fret about her, and she didn’t want that. Her friends in the Spinsters’ Club wouldn’t shun her, she thought. But they might not be so comfortable around her anymore, and they might wonder why she attended church every Sunday morning, just as they did.

A logical person would question why she enjoyed being in church. Attending church on Sunday mornings was just what one did in this small hill-country town, she mused, and everywhere else in Texas. Faith found tradition comforting—singing the familiar hymns and listening to Reverend Chadwick preach. Even though she’d long since stopped believing in the God the preacher spoke about, she always found something uplifting in the sermons, which reinforced her belief in goodness and treating her fellow man with fairness and love.

So she continued to come here each Sunday morning, yet kept her secret—her name was Faith, but she didn’t have any.

She only hoped that if and when she made a match—through the Spinsters’ Club or however else it came about—the man she came to love would not mind that she was not a woman of faith. Somewhere there had to be a man who felt like she did, or if he was religious, wouldn’t mind that she wasn’t. The fact that she was a good, honest person was the most important thing, wasn’t it?

It was probably time she joined her parents inside the sanctuary a few yards away.

“Miss Faith?” someone said behind her, and she whirled around, shading her eyes against the sunlight that filtered through the trees.

It was Gil Chadwick, the son of the preacher, and a fresh-from-seminary minister himself. Gil was staying with his father and sharing in his pastoral duties in preparation for being called to a church of his own soon.

“Good morning, Reverend Gil,” she said, smiling up at him. He had a scholarly looking face, and wore spectacles when he read, but was saved from being too austere by a mischievous cowlick that often popped up at the back of his head despite his attempts to tame it. Any young lady, herself included, would be proud to be seen with the handsome unmarried preacher. But she was not a suitable match for a man of the cloth.

He pushed back a stray lock of chestnut-brown hair that had fallen low over his brow. “I’m glad I saw you coming down to the creek. I hope I’m not intruding on your prayers,” he said.

Faith squelched the urge to laugh at the irony. “N-no, you weren’t.” She’d been thinking, certainly, but not praying. Instead of greeting her fellow worshipers before the worship service started, she’d felt the need for some quiet reflection. “It’s just...so hot inside this morning, even with this,” she said, lifting the ivory-handled fan she had brought with her, “I thought I’d spend a few moments in the shade first. Just looking at the water makes me feel cooler.”

“It is very warm for late April,” he agreed, running a finger beneath his stiff shirt collar. “Why, it’s so hot a farmer told me this morning his hens are laying hard-boiled eggs.” Humor twinkled in his hazel eyes.

She chuckled politely at the old joke, realizing he must feel the heat in his black frock coat and long-sleeved shirt almost as much as ladies did in their heavy layers of petticoats.

A silence broken only by the splash of some fish in the creek below stretched between them. She waited, but he seemed content just to gaze at her.

She heard the first few notes of “Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus” waft toward them from an open window in the church. “Was there...was there something you wanted to say to me?” she prompted.

He blinked. “Oh, yes, of course, Miss Faith. I was merely wondering if—” He took a deep breath, as if gathering himself for a great leap, and went on, “If you might like to join me after church for dinner at the hotel.”

She stared at him. She could not say his asking her out was a total surprise. She’d thought he had his eye on her for a while now. His invitation was both the fulfillment of a dream and the one thing she must not agree to, and she wanted to accept almost more than she wanted her next breath. But having dinner with him today would be the first step in a courtship, and for Gil’s sake, she must not begin something she could not rightly continue.

The congregation began to sing, and she glanced once more toward the church. There wasn’t time to think of a way to decline his offer in a way that wouldn’t hurt his feelings.

“Perhaps we could discuss it more after church, Reverend Gil?” she asked. “We really should join the others inside.” It would be harder after the service to get a private moment with him—in the short time he’d been in town, he was already very popular with the congregation. Hopefully during the sermon, she could think of an acceptable excuse to decline Gil’s wonderful invitation.

Or find a way to justify accepting it, a rebellious voice within her insisted.

He sighed, darting a glance back over his shoulder at the church. “You’re right, of course, Miss Faith,” he said in that pleasant deep voice of his that curled so appealingly around her heart. “All right, then, we’ll talk after church. I’ll meet you under that old gnarly live oak in the back of the churchyard.”

Faith nodded as she took his proffered arm, savoring his nearness. They really should go in separately, so no one got any mistaken ideas that the two of them were courting. But Gil’s invitation suggested he wouldn’t mind at all if it looked that way, and somehow she couldn’t bear to let go of his arm.

Faith felt every eye on them as she let him escort her down the aisle between the rows of pews. She could almost hear the speculative hum rising in the brains of those who liked to be in the know.

Her father and mother looked up from their hymnbook and beamed delightedly at Gil as he stopped with Faith by the pew they were occupying. He acknowledged them with a smile as Faith settled herself next to her mother, then he strode on toward the front of the church.

Her mother cast a sidelong glance at her. Faith knew she was full of questions, but fortunately, she could not ask them now. Safe from parental curiosity for the present, Faith opened her mouth to sing the next hymn along with the rest of the congregation.

After they finished singing, Gil rose and strode toward the pulpit. “Good morning, congregation,” he said, taking hold of the pulpit with both hands and grinning as they returned his greeting. “In just a moment Papa will bring us the message, but I wanted to remind you of next Saturday’s wedding—our first in our new church building. Isn’t that exciting?”

A chorus of murmured agreement arose from the congregation, and Faith knew everyone was remembering the smoldering ruin of the old church, burned to the ground by a band of evil men last summer. The town had worked diligently to rebuild it, and it had been completed just before Thanksgiving.

“Miss Caroline Wallace and her fiancé, Jack Collier, have asked me to remind everyone the whole town is invited,” Gil went on. “The ceremony begins at one o’clock, and the reception afterward will take place in the church social hall. It sounds like a wonderful, blessed time will be had by all, so let’s all plan to attend and support the new couple as they begin a life together.”

Caroline and Jack, sitting on the opposite side of the aisle from Faith with Jack’s twin daughters, waved at the folks around them, radiating happiness.

What a good, generous man Gil Chadwick is, Faith thought, as he returned to the front pew and his father took his place at the pulpit. Gil seemed genuinely happy for the engaged couple, yet a good many people in Simpson Creek knew that not too long ago, Gil would have preferred to announce his own upcoming wedding with Caroline. It was apparent he’d been taken with Caroline when he’d first arrived in Simpson Creek, but had unselfishly kept her company only as a friend until Jack realized he’d better get off the fence and propose to Caroline or risk losing her.

Faith knew some of the other members of the Spinsters’ Club were interested in capturing the interest of the bachelor preacher before he was called to another town and left Simpson Creek. Gil wouldn’t be single for any longer than he wanted to be.

“Our text comes from ‘So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the Word of God,’” Reverend Chadwick said.

He looked a little pale, Faith thought, and thinner than he had been. As he’d moved to the pulpit, his steps had been halting. Perhaps, like some elderly folks, he didn’t sleep well, or suffered from some ailment.

His son had taken over the pastoral calls to outlying ranches that Reverend Chadwick had once made, but once Gil was pastoring his own church, the old preacher’s congregation would have to realize they would have to come visit him, rather than the other way around. No doubt some woman of mature years would have to be found to keep house for the old preacher, for his wife had been dead for a score of years or more.

Reverend Chadwick raked a hand absently through his thinning, snowy-white hair. “H-hearing...by the w-word of God,” the preacher repeated. “What d-does that mean, cong-congregation?”

Was she imagining it or was Reverend Chadwick having trouble speaking? His words suddenly sounded slurred, thick. He’d always been the most eloquent of men, his delivery smooth and polished.

Faith saw she was not alone in noticing something was wrong. Dr. Walker, sitting at the other end of the same pew, leaned forward, an expression of concern furrowing his features. Beside him, his wife, Sarah, bit her lip worriedly.

“Obviously...it means spending time...r-reading the Bi—Bi—” He stopped, and looked around in bewilderment, as if he could not find the familiar word. He looked to Gil as if entreating his help. His mouth seemed to droop on one side.

“Papa?” Faith heard Gil ask. Tentatively, he rose and started forward.

Reverend Chadwick put out a hand as if assuring his son that he was all right. And then he collapsed.

Behind Faith, someone shrieked in alarm.

She watched, horror-struck, as Gil reached his father first, followed close behind by Dr. Walker. With the assistance of the doctor, Gil gently turned his father onto his back and knelt so that Reverend Chadwick’s head could be elevated in his lap. Dr. Walker loosened the preacher’s shirt collar.

Faith could see that the preacher’s face was ashen, his eyes closed. She could hear him breathing, but his respirations sounded rattley and snoring.

People began to leave their pews. An anxious murmuring arose. She heard her father praying aloud, asking the Lord to save the old preacher.

“I think he’s had an apoplexy,” Faith heard Dr. Walker say to Gil. “We’ll need to carry him to my office.”

* * *

Assisted by Sheriff Bishop, Gil lifted his father from where he’d been lying by the pulpit. The old man felt so light, as if a puff of wind could blow him away. Lord, please save Papa. Please don’t take him yet...

It wasn’t far to the doctor’s office. Dr. Walker paced alongside Gil and Bishop, peppering Gil with questions—had his father complained of a headache? Dizziness? Unusual fatigue? Numbness or tingling of his limbs? Pain in his chest? To all of these, Gil shook his head. His father had been his usual cheerful self before church, and had eaten a good breakfast.

A number of people followed them, and some of these lingered in the waiting room with him. He was vaguely aware of Faith sitting in the midst of them, and he remembered with a pang the dinner he had hoped to have with her. But he couldn’t think of her now, nor of the whispered prayers and conversations around him. Instead, he besieged Heaven with silent pleas of his own. And when he could think of no other way to ask that his father be spared, he added, Lord, help me to be willing to accept Your will, if You decide to take him Home.

* * *

“Is my father...still with us?” Gil asked, an endless time later, when Nolan Walker emerged from his examination room. Walker was followed by his wife, Sarah, who often helped him with his patients. Gil looked for clues to what Walker would say. Had his father gone to be with God, leaving only the shell of his body behind?

Nolan Walker nodded. “He’s breathing, but as to whether he will live...” He shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I honestly don’t know, Gil. It does seem to be an apoplectic attack, as I thought in church. It’s in God’s hands now, and the next few hours will be critical. If he lives, he may suffer paralysis and be unable to speak. I’ll keep him here for now and watch him closely. His heartbeat is strong, and his breathing is regular at least. Perhaps by morning we’ll know more.”

“Is he...is he awake? May I see him?”

“He’s still unconscious, but of course you may see him,” Walker said. “Stay as long as you like.”

Because it may be the last time you spend with him, Gil knew Walker was thinking.

Gil followed the doctor into his examination room on legs that felt wobbly as a newborn calf’s.

* * *

Faith couldn’t have said why she’d accompanied the pillars of the town, Mayor Gilmore; Mrs. Detwiler, the town matriarch; Mr. Avery, the bank president; and Mr. Wallace, the postmaster as they followed Gil and Sheriff Bishop carrying the old preacher to the doctor’s office—she only knew she had to be there for Gil’s sake, even though she could not bow her head and join the others in praying for the stricken preacher. She could not have gone home and merely hoped for the best.

And now she didn’t know why she remained. It wasn’t likely Gil would be leaving his father’s side soon. The others had departed, asking Faith to convey their best wishes to Gil.

A few moments later, Dr. Walker returned to the waiting room. “I’m glad you are still here, Miss Faith,” he said in his down-east Maine accent. “I need to ask you a favor.”

She blinked. “Whatever I can do, Doctor.”

“I remember you were one of the nurses who helped us during the influenza epidemic, and I was hoping I could call on your nursing ability once again. Someone will need to watch over the reverend through the night. Ordinarily, my Sarah handles this, you know, but she’s been so tired, since she’s expecting...”

Sarah Matthews Walker, and her sister, Milly Matthews Brookfield, had been Faith’s friends long before they’d met their husbands, but they experienced pregnancy very differently. Milly had never felt better in her life, and carried on her routine as a ranch wife just as energetically as before, but Sarah tired very easily these days and was looking a tad peaked, although her face remained as serene as ever.

“Of course, Doctor Walker, I’ll be happy to help in any way I can,” Faith said, pleased that there was actually something she could do for the preacher and his son, because she couldn’t pray. “I’ll return this evening after supper, all right?”

“God bless you, Miss Faith. You’re a good woman. But as I told his son, Reverend Chadwick’s condition is tenuous, to say the least. It’s a distinct possibility he will pass away during the night or even before you return. That might be for the best, if he is not to regain consciousness. As a fellow Christian, I know he looks forward to Heaven, as we all do.”

Nolan Walker assumed she shared his belief in the hereafter. This was not a time to disagree.

“Yes, Doctor. I hope he recovers, of course, especially for Gil’s sake,” Faith said. “I’ll do everything I can to assist in that.”

The doctor nodded. “I have every confidence in you, Miss Faith.”

Would the physician still feel that way, and continue to look at her with such respect and gratitude, if he suspected her lack of faith?

* * *

“I wish we could talk you into eating something, Gil,” Nolan Walker said as he walked Gil to the door of his office. “Sarah saved a plate for you.”

Gil sighed. “I’m not hungry, Nolan, thanks. I’m not even sure if I’m doing right to let you talk me into going home for the night. What if...” He couldn’t put his dread into words, but he knew the doctor understood.

Walker put a hand on his shoulder. “The parsonage is right across the street,” he reminded Gil. “We could summon you in a minute if there’s any change. You need to go home and get some rest. If your father survives the night—and so far he’s holding on—you’ll need your strength. Ah, there’s Miss Faith now, come to sit up with him.”

Just as the doctor had said, Faith Bennett had just opened the gate and was making her way up the walk. She wore a dark skirt and waist and her gleaming auburn hair lay neatly coiled at her nape. She looked all business, but her eyes softened as she caught sight of him standing in the doorway.

“Hello, Reverend Gil,” she said, addressing him informally as he’d requested of all the townspeople when he’d come to town, to avoid the confusion caused by two Reverend Chadwicks. “How is your father doing?”

He shaded his eyes against the setting sun. “Just the same, I’m afraid,” he said. His throat felt tight with emotion as he thought of his father lying crumpled and motionless at the base of the pulpit. He should be grateful that the old man still lived, he reminded himself. While there was life, there was hope, wasn’t there? “He’s no worse at least, thank God.”

Her green eyes held endless depths of sympathy. “And how are you holding up, Gil? This must be so hard for you, seeing your father like this. It’s good that you’re going home to get some rest.”

“I’m all right, Miss Faith,” he said quickly, although nothing could be further from the truth. He felt so weary that he hardly knew how he would reach the other side of the street, and so shaky after watching the shallow rise and fall of his father’s chest all afternoon that her sympathy caused his eyes to sting with unshed tears. “Look, I don’t feel right about you having to sit up with my father all night,” he said, making a vague gesture toward the doctor’s office behind him. “Just let me go home for a couple of hours, and I’ll be back. It’s my place to do this—”

“Nonsense,” Faith responded crisply. “You look done in, Gil. You need sleep. I’ve nursed before under Dr. Walker’s direction, and he’ll be right here if I need help.”

“Yes, Miss Faith was one of our excellent volunteer nurses during the influenza epidemic,” Nolan Walker said. “She’s very competent. Your father couldn’t be in better hands. Go on now—”

Sarah Walker appeared just then at the door, bearing a plate covered with a cloth. “Hello, Faith. Thanks for coming. Gil Chadwick, you’re to take this home and eat it. I won’t take no for an answer. Then go to bed.”

Their gruff kindness warmed his heart. He would find a way to thank them one day. For now, though, he just silently accepted the plate and nodded to each of them in turn.

But Faith’s heart-shaped face, her green eyes luminous with understanding, was the one that stuck in his mind later that night as he prayed and then struggled to sleep. Was she even now praying for his father and for him? What a comforting thought that was—Faith on her knees in prayer for my father.

Lord, show me if she is “the one” for me.

Chapter Two

“Summon me if there’s any change, Miss Faith,” Dr. Walker instructed her, his hand on the doorknob. “If the quality of his breathing changes, or he seems feverish, or becomes restless...”

“Or if he wakes?” Faith asked, determined to be hopeful.

“I admire your positive attitude, Miss Faith,” Walker said. “Yes, call me if he wakes.” It was clear he didn’t expect that to happen, however. “Our bedroom is just beyond that wall,” he said, pointing. “Just knock on it and I’ll hear you. I’m a light sleeper, and I’m often wakeful anyway if I have a seriously ill patient here, so I’ll probably come and check on him once or twice.”