the interfamilial connections amazed him. The tumble in the stagecoach had reshuffled his brain and stacked the deck.
He relished the breakfast, down to the last grit and last dab of red-eye gravy. Afterward, seated between the two women on the drive to church, he found them equally enjoyable. Lithe Gabriella sat modestly apart, telling of the need for a better school house for Shoshone Flats, while Liza, with her greater spread, talked man-and-woman talk with thigh pressure. Yes, he thought, they were a well-matched span of females.
It was still drizzling when they reached the church, and Ian was disappointed to see only one riding horse hitched to the church rack. Most of the families had come in covered buggies pulled by driving horses, and the one saddle horse present seemed to have been chosen to spare some nobler beast the rigors of bad weather.
Because of the rain, arriving members of the congregation were being greeted in the vestibule by Brother Winchester, the preacher-mayor, rifle straight and ramrod thin, whose gunmetal eyes glinted with pleasure when he met Ian.
“Welcome, Brother McCloud. I’ve heard about your good deeds already, and I hope this visit to our town won’t be your last. If the Lord sees fit to give you the courage to stay over till Tuesday, we’d be grateful to have you at our church picnic. It’s being held down close to the Mormon’s stake boundary. If any of the saints ride over to join us in Christian fellowship, some of the brothers will be bringing their rifles to welcome them, but we could use your pistol. Sister Liza’s furnishing the chicken hampers for our picnic.”
Sister Liza reached over and gave Ian a maternal hug.
“I’m giving him a sample for dinner. If that won’t persuade him to stay over for our picnic, he’s beyond salvation.”
“With your permission, Brother McCloud,” the preacher said, “I’d like to introduce you to the congregation before the sermon and ask you to say a few words.”
“He’d better, Reverend,” Gabriella enjoined, vying with her mother to give Ian a conversational hug, “because I want to show him off.”
“Well, preacher,” Ian said, “I don’t see how I can refuse, but I’m a mite shy around crowds and might not say much.”
“Just tell us a little something about yourself, son, and say a few complimentary words about our town.”
Entering the pew, Liza politely motioned him ahead of her so she wouldn’t come between him and Gabriella, and she whispered, “Brother Winchester’s running for mayor again next June. That’s why he’d like for you to say something nice about the town.”
“You say what you think, Ian,” Gabriella said. “After all, you have to live with your conscience. You don’t have to lie, even for a preacher.”
“I’ll tell the truth,” Ian said.
So he came to be seated between two of the loveliest Gentiles in the Shoshone Flats Methodist Church, and, in his opinion, the three of them made a good singing trio as he held the hymnal for the opening hymn. Mother and daughter had to lean toward him to read the words as they sang, and he found Gabriella’s perfume helped him on the high notes, whereas he favored Liza’s when reaching for the low notes.
After the plate was passed and Ian was divested of another of Brother Trotter’s silver dollars, Brother Winchester introduced Ian with the words, “It’s not yet time to eulogize our late Brother William Trotter. I’ll be doing that, Wednesday, at two p.m., but I would like to introduce and compliment the man who brought Brother Trotter in—Mr. Ian McCloud.”
Ian arose to polite applause. Looking out over the congregation, he spoke in a strong but modest voice. “Pm happy to be here, folks. I didn’t come under the best conditions, but I’ve been well treated by the merchants of Shoshone Hats, with one exception. One of the best things about your town is the chicken served in Miss Stewart’s Restaurant, furnished by the Widow
He relished the breakfast, down to the last grit and last dab of red-eye gravy. Afterward, seated between the two women on the drive to church, he found them equally enjoyable. Lithe Gabriella sat modestly apart, telling of the need for a better school house for Shoshone Flats, while Liza, with her greater spread, talked man-and-woman talk with thigh pressure. Yes, he thought, they were a well-matched span of females.
It was still drizzling when they reached the church, and Ian was disappointed to see only one riding horse hitched to the church rack. Most of the families had come in covered buggies pulled by driving horses, and the one saddle horse present seemed to have been chosen to spare some nobler beast the rigors of bad weather.
Because of the rain, arriving members of the congregation were being greeted in the vestibule by Brother Winchester, the preacher-mayor, rifle straight and ramrod thin, whose gunmetal eyes glinted with pleasure when he met Ian.
“Welcome, Brother McCloud. I’ve heard about your good deeds already, and I hope this visit to our town won’t be your last. If the Lord sees fit to give you the courage to stay over till Tuesday, we’d be grateful to have you at our church picnic. It’s being held down close to the Mormon’s stake boundary. If any of the saints ride over to join us in Christian fellowship, some of the brothers will be bringing their rifles to welcome them, but we could use your pistol. Sister Liza’s furnishing the chicken hampers for our picnic.”
Sister Liza reached over and gave Ian a maternal hug.
“I’m giving him a sample for dinner. If that won’t persuade him to stay over for our picnic, he’s beyond salvation.”
“With your permission, Brother McCloud,” the preacher said, “I’d like to introduce you to the congregation before the sermon and ask you to say a few words.”
“He’d better, Reverend,” Gabriella enjoined, vying with her mother to give Ian a conversational hug, “because I want to show him off.”
“Well, preacher,” Ian said, “I don’t see how I can refuse, but I’m a mite shy around crowds and might not say much.”
“Just tell us a little something about yourself, son, and say a few complimentary words about our town.”
Entering the pew, Liza politely motioned him ahead of her so she wouldn’t come between him and Gabriella, and she whispered, “Brother Winchester’s running for mayor again next June. That’s why he’d like for you to say something nice about the town.”
“You say what you think, Ian,” Gabriella said. “After all, you have to live with your conscience. You don’t have to lie, even for a preacher.”
“I’ll tell the truth,” Ian said.
So he came to be seated between two of the loveliest Gentiles in the Shoshone Flats Methodist Church, and, in his opinion, the three of them made a good singing trio as he held the hymnal for the opening hymn. Mother and daughter had to lean toward him to read the words as they sang, and he found Gabriella’s perfume helped him on the high notes, whereas he favored Liza’s when reaching for the low notes.
After the plate was passed and Ian was divested of another of Brother Trotter’s silver dollars, Brother Winchester introduced Ian with the words, “It’s not yet time to eulogize our late Brother William Trotter. I’ll be doing that, Wednesday, at two p.m., but I would like to introduce and compliment the man who brought Brother Trotter in—Mr. Ian McCloud.”
Ian arose to polite applause. Looking out over the congregation, he spoke in a strong but modest voice. “Pm happy to be here, folks. I didn’t come under the best conditions, but I’ve been well treated by the merchants of Shoshone Hats, with one exception. One of the best things about your town is the chicken served in Miss Stewart’s Restaurant, furnished by the Widow
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