Read Online Stealing the Preacher by Karen Witemeyer - Free Book Online
Authors: Karen Witemeyer
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table, all he could identify were a few orange chunks that he guessed might be carrots and a green bean or two. Nothing resembling meat floated in the pale broth.
“I don’t eat with the boarders, so don’t lollygag.” She opened the door to the warming oven and brought out a pan of yeast rolls that smelled heavenly. Man might not live on bread alone, but Crockett suspected the rolls would do more to sustain him through the night than the watered-down soup.
That was unkind . Crockett harnessed the uncharitable thought and forced his mind onto a godlier path.
Miss Bessie hadn’t been expecting company. She’d probably diluted her own small portion in order to share with the guest thrust upon her. He should be thankful for her generosity.
The woman covered the rolls with a dish towel and set them on the table along with a crock of butter. Then spoon and knife clattered beside the bowl. When she finally glanced his direction, it was to singe him with the heat of a perturbed glare.
“Don’t just stand there sucking up the air. Get to eatin’.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Crockett took hold of the chair nearest him and pulled it out. Before he dropped into his seat, however, he favored his hostess with a bright smile. “Thank you for the fine meal, Miss Bessie.”
The woman grunted and turned her back on him. “Just make sure you leave the night’s payment on the table—it’ll be two dollars.” Then without another word, she disappeared into what he could only assume was a back bedroom and shut the door with a decisive thump—a thump followed by a click that sounded suspiciously like a key turning in a lock.
Did she think he would do her harm? Or was she simply protective of her privacy? He supposed the precaution wasn’t wholly without merit. An unscrupulous man might attempt to take advantage. Although Crockett imagined Miss Bessie could hold her own with most. She’d probably have any disrespectful fellow hog-tied and booted out the back door before he could sneeze.
The woman was as no-nonsense as they came and seemed an expert at keeping folks at a distance. She’d never even asked his name. Nevertheless, she provided a roof over his head, food for his stomach, and a place to lay his head. If he’d wanted conversation, he could have stayed with the marshal.
Crockett laid his hat on the corner of the table and took his seat. After saying grace for the meal, asking the Lord’s blessings on Miss Bessie, and thanking God for watching over him during the craziness with Silas Robbins, he took a few extra minutes to petition the Almighty on Joanna’s behalf.
Provide the right man for her mission, Lord. Work through him to reestablish a flock of believers and assist Joanna in her efforts to win over her father. Soften Silas’s heart to your message. Penetrate it with your truth.
As he mentally closed out the prayer, it occurred to him that he’d not mentioned the Brenham congregation. Adding a quick postscript, he asked that the elders be granted wisdom in their decision and that the members be blessed as a result.
His memory jogged, Crockett dug out the telegram from his trouser pocket and set the crumpled paper beside his spoon.Too hungry to resist the call of the rolls any longer, he slathered one with butter, ate it in two bites, then buttered another before unfolding the message.
STAY IN DEANVILLE.
ELDERS WILL MEET AND SEND INSTRUCTIONS.
Crockett’s jaw halted midchew. His eyes moved over the words a second time.
Stay in Deanville? Really? He’d expected them to encourage him to make all possible haste.
Well, if he were to be completely honest, he’d expected them to arrange a late afternoon service to accommodate his tardy arrival. Pretty vain expectation, now that he thought about it. People had farms to see to, families to tend. It would be unrealistic to ask them to stay in town all day or to make a long return trip. And in truth, that wouldn’t be in his best interests, either. Surely
“I don’t eat with the boarders, so don’t lollygag.” She opened the door to the warming oven and brought out a pan of yeast rolls that smelled heavenly. Man might not live on bread alone, but Crockett suspected the rolls would do more to sustain him through the night than the watered-down soup.
That was unkind . Crockett harnessed the uncharitable thought and forced his mind onto a godlier path.
Miss Bessie hadn’t been expecting company. She’d probably diluted her own small portion in order to share with the guest thrust upon her. He should be thankful for her generosity.
The woman covered the rolls with a dish towel and set them on the table along with a crock of butter. Then spoon and knife clattered beside the bowl. When she finally glanced his direction, it was to singe him with the heat of a perturbed glare.
“Don’t just stand there sucking up the air. Get to eatin’.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Crockett took hold of the chair nearest him and pulled it out. Before he dropped into his seat, however, he favored his hostess with a bright smile. “Thank you for the fine meal, Miss Bessie.”
The woman grunted and turned her back on him. “Just make sure you leave the night’s payment on the table—it’ll be two dollars.” Then without another word, she disappeared into what he could only assume was a back bedroom and shut the door with a decisive thump—a thump followed by a click that sounded suspiciously like a key turning in a lock.
Did she think he would do her harm? Or was she simply protective of her privacy? He supposed the precaution wasn’t wholly without merit. An unscrupulous man might attempt to take advantage. Although Crockett imagined Miss Bessie could hold her own with most. She’d probably have any disrespectful fellow hog-tied and booted out the back door before he could sneeze.
The woman was as no-nonsense as they came and seemed an expert at keeping folks at a distance. She’d never even asked his name. Nevertheless, she provided a roof over his head, food for his stomach, and a place to lay his head. If he’d wanted conversation, he could have stayed with the marshal.
Crockett laid his hat on the corner of the table and took his seat. After saying grace for the meal, asking the Lord’s blessings on Miss Bessie, and thanking God for watching over him during the craziness with Silas Robbins, he took a few extra minutes to petition the Almighty on Joanna’s behalf.
Provide the right man for her mission, Lord. Work through him to reestablish a flock of believers and assist Joanna in her efforts to win over her father. Soften Silas’s heart to your message. Penetrate it with your truth.
As he mentally closed out the prayer, it occurred to him that he’d not mentioned the Brenham congregation. Adding a quick postscript, he asked that the elders be granted wisdom in their decision and that the members be blessed as a result.
His memory jogged, Crockett dug out the telegram from his trouser pocket and set the crumpled paper beside his spoon.Too hungry to resist the call of the rolls any longer, he slathered one with butter, ate it in two bites, then buttered another before unfolding the message.
STAY IN DEANVILLE.
ELDERS WILL MEET AND SEND INSTRUCTIONS.
Crockett’s jaw halted midchew. His eyes moved over the words a second time.
Stay in Deanville? Really? He’d expected them to encourage him to make all possible haste.
Well, if he were to be completely honest, he’d expected them to arrange a late afternoon service to accommodate his tardy arrival. Pretty vain expectation, now that he thought about it. People had farms to see to, families to tend. It would be unrealistic to ask them to stay in town all day or to make a long return trip. And in truth, that wouldn’t be in his best interests, either. Surely
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