tiny silver bell, she flashed passersby her sweetest smile. "Donations for the Isaac Inman Crusade! Would you care to give?"
A passing matron responded immediately. "The Isaac Inman Crusade thanks you, and God thanks you," June said as the woman dropped a coin into the cup and walked on.
"Thank you, sir. God bless you."
"Thank you."
"Your kindness is deeply appreciated."
By the end of the first hour she'd emptied the cup once and sung "Amazing Grace" fourteen times. Her mouth was as dry as the floor of a chicken coop, but she'd collected five dollars and twenty-two cents for the Inman Crusade.
Darkness closed around her, and the wind picked up. Huddling deeper into her wool cloak, she rang the bell, keeping an eye on the saloon doorway. The door swung open, and a group of men emerged, holding on to each other for support.
Straightening, she sang louder, "that saaaaaved a wretch like meeeeee. I once was lost ..."
The men stumbled down the steps, barely sparing her a glance.
She watched them walk on down the street, then eyed the half-empty cup. Drats. The door opened again, and two large men-loggers, she assumed by the impressive width of their shoulders-teetered out.
Lifting the bell, she rang it harder, extending the tin cup. "Can you spare a coin for the Isaac Inman Crusade, sir?"
"For what?" One man stopped to focus on her.
"For the Isaac Inman Crusade. Reverend Inman intends to build a tabernacle right here in Seattle-the likes of which you've never seen." She smiled, holding the cup a little closer. "Can you spare a coin?"
The man leaned unsteadily against the saloon wall, squinting at her.
"The Isaac Inman Crusade," June repeated. "Donations are gratefully appreciated."
He finally focused. "What's yer name, girlie?"
"June, sir."
The two men obediently fished in their pockets and came up with a few coins. Dropping them into the cup, they draped their arms around each other's shoulders and teetered on. She could hear their deep voices singing in disjointed harmony:
"God bless you, sirs!" June called.
"Well, well. Now, what's your name?" a man sporting the remains of his supper in his unkempt white beard asked a while later.
"God's emissary!" June replied, holding out the cup.
The man gave generously, but his unwarranted winks and ribald remarks brought a blush to June's cheeks. Blowing on her icy fingertips, she thought about calling it a day. Donations had been good, and evening services would be starting soon. Reverend Inman would be delighted when she dropped the day's contributions into the offering plate. The men, for the most part, had given from the heart, pausing occasionally to ask her to remember them in her prayers.
She turned to look over her shoulder when she heard hoofbeats approaching. A huge man rode up and swung out of the saddle, tossing the reins around the hitching post. June frowned when she recognized Parker Sentell.
A shiver raced up her spine. What was he doing at The Gilded Hen?
She had no explanation for what happened next. It was if an invisible force gave her a shove from behind. As the big logger stepped onto the saloon porch, she blocked his path. Her gaze collided with his silver belt buckle, then lifted to follow the long, long row of buttons on his shirt. The man was as tall as a mountain! Lifting the bell, she rang it. "Care to spare a coin, sir?"
Taken off guard, Parker stepped back. June grinned as recognition, then disbelief, dawned in his eyes. She lowered the cup. "Good evening, Mr. Sentell."
Parker eyed her sternly. "What are you doing in a place like this?"
"Collecting donations." She shook the cup, and the coins jangled. "They've been quite good. Care to make a contribution?"
His scowl reminded her of her childhood and Aunt Thalia's disapproving looks. He stepped around her, and she resumed her position by the steps. She didn't care if she annoyed him. Now maybe he would realize she was serious about her intentions to carry out Eli's work. Jingling
A passing matron responded immediately. "The Isaac Inman Crusade thanks you, and God thanks you," June said as the woman dropped a coin into the cup and walked on.
"Thank you, sir. God bless you."
"Thank you."
"Your kindness is deeply appreciated."
By the end of the first hour she'd emptied the cup once and sung "Amazing Grace" fourteen times. Her mouth was as dry as the floor of a chicken coop, but she'd collected five dollars and twenty-two cents for the Inman Crusade.
Darkness closed around her, and the wind picked up. Huddling deeper into her wool cloak, she rang the bell, keeping an eye on the saloon doorway. The door swung open, and a group of men emerged, holding on to each other for support.
Straightening, she sang louder, "that saaaaaved a wretch like meeeeee. I once was lost ..."
The men stumbled down the steps, barely sparing her a glance.
She watched them walk on down the street, then eyed the half-empty cup. Drats. The door opened again, and two large men-loggers, she assumed by the impressive width of their shoulders-teetered out.
Lifting the bell, she rang it harder, extending the tin cup. "Can you spare a coin for the Isaac Inman Crusade, sir?"
"For what?" One man stopped to focus on her.
"For the Isaac Inman Crusade. Reverend Inman intends to build a tabernacle right here in Seattle-the likes of which you've never seen." She smiled, holding the cup a little closer. "Can you spare a coin?"
The man leaned unsteadily against the saloon wall, squinting at her.
"The Isaac Inman Crusade," June repeated. "Donations are gratefully appreciated."
He finally focused. "What's yer name, girlie?"
"June, sir."
The two men obediently fished in their pockets and came up with a few coins. Dropping them into the cup, they draped their arms around each other's shoulders and teetered on. She could hear their deep voices singing in disjointed harmony:
"God bless you, sirs!" June called.
"Well, well. Now, what's your name?" a man sporting the remains of his supper in his unkempt white beard asked a while later.
"God's emissary!" June replied, holding out the cup.
The man gave generously, but his unwarranted winks and ribald remarks brought a blush to June's cheeks. Blowing on her icy fingertips, she thought about calling it a day. Donations had been good, and evening services would be starting soon. Reverend Inman would be delighted when she dropped the day's contributions into the offering plate. The men, for the most part, had given from the heart, pausing occasionally to ask her to remember them in her prayers.
She turned to look over her shoulder when she heard hoofbeats approaching. A huge man rode up and swung out of the saddle, tossing the reins around the hitching post. June frowned when she recognized Parker Sentell.
A shiver raced up her spine. What was he doing at The Gilded Hen?
She had no explanation for what happened next. It was if an invisible force gave her a shove from behind. As the big logger stepped onto the saloon porch, she blocked his path. Her gaze collided with his silver belt buckle, then lifted to follow the long, long row of buttons on his shirt. The man was as tall as a mountain! Lifting the bell, she rang it. "Care to spare a coin, sir?"
Taken off guard, Parker stepped back. June grinned as recognition, then disbelief, dawned in his eyes. She lowered the cup. "Good evening, Mr. Sentell."
Parker eyed her sternly. "What are you doing in a place like this?"
"Collecting donations." She shook the cup, and the coins jangled. "They've been quite good. Care to make a contribution?"
His scowl reminded her of her childhood and Aunt Thalia's disapproving looks. He stepped around her, and she resumed her position by the steps. She didn't care if she annoyed him. Now maybe he would realize she was serious about her intentions to carry out Eli's work. Jingling
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