Read Online Earthly Vows by Patricia Hickman - Free Book Online Page B

York. Jon Flauvert knows everyone, so when I was asked on behalf
     of First Community here in Oklahoma City to find a new minister, I knew he was the man to see about it.”
    Jeb listened to Henry talk about the founding of First Community and then told him, “Dr. Flauvert asked me to speak on Sunday.
     But it’s happening kind of fast. I still have a lot of ties back in Nazareth.”
    “Understood. But we like what we’ve heard about you, so we hope you’ll give us a look and we’ll give you and your bride a
     look and see what happens.”
    “Tell us, Fern, what you think of coming here, of your husband taking the pulpit of a city church?” asked Marion.
    Fern turned to look toward the restaurant entrance. Donna whispered something to her. She said, “I’m not sure.”
    “She hasn’t had a minute to think about it, I’m sure,” said Henry.
    “I’ve made a life for myself in Nazareth. The people are good.” The whole time Fern talked, she shifted her gaze from Marion
     and then back to Henry, avoiding Jeb’s eyes. “Most, I’d say, are good.”
    Everyone laughed.
    “The last thing I remembered saying about Nazareth was to Jeb before we left town. I wondered if we would live there the rest
     of our lives,” she said.
    “Is that what you want?” asked Marion.
    “She said it didn’t matter as long as she was with me,” said Jeb.
    Fern finally looked at him. “I don’t think I said that.” She was smiling for everyone, but there was that irritating tension
     between them.
    Henry laughed and a couple of women leaned forward, elbows on the table.
    The entree arrived and the soup bowls were removed. Donna had ordered a steak for Jeb. He thanked her for that. The waiter
     filled Jeb’s glass again. The jazz singer was taking a break, so the band struck up a soft melody. The lights were dimmed
     so much that all members of the dinner party had a blue cast to their skin. The smoky haze made a halo around Fern’s blond
     hair. She mostly listened to Marion gabbing, communicating by an occasional nod of the head. Donna kept looking at Fern and
     then Jeb. Her fingers nervously tapped the table.
    Jeb closed his eyes when he chewed the first bite of steak. It was a perfect cut, fork tender. He had not dined on steak since
     the time before he and his brother, Charlie, went to work for a man named Leon Hampton in Texarkana. Maybe it had been longer.
     He could taste the rareness of it, the tender pink juice flowing into his mouth. The fluid music lulled him into a relaxed
     state.
    The woman sitting next to him wore a spangled shawl, the border threads dripping over her fingertips whenever she reached
     for her glass. Her husband invited her to get up and dance a slow one. Another couple got up from the table and then a young
     man walked all the way across the room and invited Donna to dance.
    “Looks like we’re the only old fogies left to hold down the fort,” said Henry.
    “Henry, why don’t you ask Miss Coulter to dance?” asked Marion.
    Fern glanced at Jeb. She didn’t wait for his nod of approval, but got up and met Henry on the floor.
    Marion turned around in her chair to watch them gliding around the floor. Then she faced Jeb and said, “That Fern is a pistol,
     sharp, sharp, I’m telling you. She’ll be an interesting one to watch. Not your typical preacher’s wife.”
    “Fern’s a good woman,” said Jeb.
    “She’s got eyes for you, I’ll say that. The whole time we talked, she never took her eyes off you.”
    Jeb slid his glass across the table to the waiter, who filled it again.
    “You like our little city, Reverend?”
    He did not have to keep Marion occupied. As soon as she asked him something else, her eyes would fall on another of her friends
     and she would shout down the table, engaged in a new story.
    Fern twirled under Henry’s arm, an old dance step, but she had it right. It was not his first time to watch Fern dance. Henry
     snapped her out at arm’s length and she