Read Online Masked by Moonlight by Allie Pleiter - Free Book Online
Authors: Allie Pleiter
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Psalms.
“Seen a bit of wear, this Bible has,” said the reverend.
Georgia handed the small, leather-bound book across the table to Mr. Covington, who held it up and squinted at the cover. “Looks as though someone took a knife to this,” he remarked.
Reverend Bauers chuckled. “As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what happened. I wore that Bible in my breast pocket throughout my travels in the islands. I served our Lord setting up no fewer than four churches in Hawaii. We did not always get the warmest of greetings.” He pointed to the gap. “A spear thrown at my heart took out that bit. Saved my life, it did.”
He motioned for Georgia to search the coat she was wearing, and sure enough, in the breast pocket she found a small Bible nearly identical to the one Mr. Covington was holding. Only this one had a black leather binding and was still intact.
“I’ve taken to always wearing one over my heart. And I’ve been looking to pass this on to the right man ever since.” The reverend paused and gazed at his guest. “I think it ought to be you, Covington.”
“I can’t accept this. It saved your life.”
“You saved Grace House from theft, my son. And came out much worse for your effort. No, no, I’ll not be refused. You must have this, I insist.”
Covington looked at Georgia. “I implore you, Miss Waterhouse, reason with him. It’s far too dear a gift. I simply can’t accept it.” He slid the Bible across the table toward her.
She put out her hand to stopped him. “I would think it’s become all too clear to you by now that Reverend Bauers cannot be refused. Accept the gift with gratitude, Mr. Covington. After all, as the reverend is all too fond of saying, God is on his side.” As she spoke, Georgia felt something very close to a wink—the sort of playful glance she would give Stuart over the head of a dull dinner guest—spark in her eyes. It lasted a fraction of a second—a heartbeat, really—but seemed to stretch on in time. Their hands lingered on either end of the Holy Book, and she had the sensation of something important transpiring. It was nothing she could name or even really recognize; rather, the sort of flash one would put down to an overactive imagination or insufficient sleep. A “hunch,” Stuart would have called it.
But he would have been wrong. It was something else entirely.
Reverend Bauers might have called it “the wind of the Spirit,” but that would not be entirely correct, either.
Georgia spent the entire carriage ride home, and the ensuing afternoon sequestered in her rooms, trying to put a name to it.
Some part of her already knew.
Chapter Eleven
S tuart, how could you?
Georgia roamed through the house, fuming. For a moment she stopped in the dining room, but she had no taste for breakfast. Clutching the offending newspaper, she headed toward the parlor.
I cannot believe you’ve done this!
She pushed through the enormous double doors and stood in the center of the opulent room. It seemed stifling. Even though she’d chosen many of the furnishings, because Stuart had no patience for such things, she could see none of her own touches. Stuart’s character was all over the house. He was everywhere, and Georgia seemed invisible. Frowning, she spun on her heels, heading toward his study.
He’d done the unthinkable. Betrayed their agreement in the worst way. She simply stood in the doorway, betrayal choking down all the words she wanted to say.
“Oh,” he said after what seemed like hours, finally noticing her presence. How could he look up from his papers like that, as if she’d just breezed into the room to ask about the weather? “So you’ve seen it?” His voice was casual, almost dismissive. It incensed her.
She dropped the paper onto his desk, astounded that he—her own brother—couldn’t see the pain he’d caused her. “How could you?” she finally asked, sounding so weak she wanted to kick herself.
He sighed, more in frustration than
“Seen a bit of wear, this Bible has,” said the reverend.
Georgia handed the small, leather-bound book across the table to Mr. Covington, who held it up and squinted at the cover. “Looks as though someone took a knife to this,” he remarked.
Reverend Bauers chuckled. “As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what happened. I wore that Bible in my breast pocket throughout my travels in the islands. I served our Lord setting up no fewer than four churches in Hawaii. We did not always get the warmest of greetings.” He pointed to the gap. “A spear thrown at my heart took out that bit. Saved my life, it did.”
He motioned for Georgia to search the coat she was wearing, and sure enough, in the breast pocket she found a small Bible nearly identical to the one Mr. Covington was holding. Only this one had a black leather binding and was still intact.
“I’ve taken to always wearing one over my heart. And I’ve been looking to pass this on to the right man ever since.” The reverend paused and gazed at his guest. “I think it ought to be you, Covington.”
“I can’t accept this. It saved your life.”
“You saved Grace House from theft, my son. And came out much worse for your effort. No, no, I’ll not be refused. You must have this, I insist.”
Covington looked at Georgia. “I implore you, Miss Waterhouse, reason with him. It’s far too dear a gift. I simply can’t accept it.” He slid the Bible across the table toward her.
She put out her hand to stopped him. “I would think it’s become all too clear to you by now that Reverend Bauers cannot be refused. Accept the gift with gratitude, Mr. Covington. After all, as the reverend is all too fond of saying, God is on his side.” As she spoke, Georgia felt something very close to a wink—the sort of playful glance she would give Stuart over the head of a dull dinner guest—spark in her eyes. It lasted a fraction of a second—a heartbeat, really—but seemed to stretch on in time. Their hands lingered on either end of the Holy Book, and she had the sensation of something important transpiring. It was nothing she could name or even really recognize; rather, the sort of flash one would put down to an overactive imagination or insufficient sleep. A “hunch,” Stuart would have called it.
But he would have been wrong. It was something else entirely.
Reverend Bauers might have called it “the wind of the Spirit,” but that would not be entirely correct, either.
Georgia spent the entire carriage ride home, and the ensuing afternoon sequestered in her rooms, trying to put a name to it.
Some part of her already knew.
Chapter Eleven
S tuart, how could you?
Georgia roamed through the house, fuming. For a moment she stopped in the dining room, but she had no taste for breakfast. Clutching the offending newspaper, she headed toward the parlor.
I cannot believe you’ve done this!
She pushed through the enormous double doors and stood in the center of the opulent room. It seemed stifling. Even though she’d chosen many of the furnishings, because Stuart had no patience for such things, she could see none of her own touches. Stuart’s character was all over the house. He was everywhere, and Georgia seemed invisible. Frowning, she spun on her heels, heading toward his study.
He’d done the unthinkable. Betrayed their agreement in the worst way. She simply stood in the doorway, betrayal choking down all the words she wanted to say.
“Oh,” he said after what seemed like hours, finally noticing her presence. How could he look up from his papers like that, as if she’d just breezed into the room to ask about the weather? “So you’ve seen it?” His voice was casual, almost dismissive. It incensed her.
She dropped the paper onto his desk, astounded that he—her own brother—couldn’t see the pain he’d caused her. “How could you?” she finally asked, sounding so weak she wanted to kick herself.
He sighed, more in frustration than
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