late husband always brought a rush of fond memories, and she smiled. “Donovan was looking for a wife familiar with life on the river.”
“Then you and Mr. Archer weren’t—I mean there hadn’t been a courtship—I mean. . .”
Rosaleen hurried to Jacob’s rescue when he stumbled for an appropriate description of her unexpected union. “It was a marriage of convenience. Mr. Archer was a widower of some years and a kind and honorable man.” She met Jacob’s intent gaze and hoped he could discern from her look the sentiment of love lacking in her brief marriage. She also hoped to convey the mutual respect and caring that had defined it.
“I’m sure he was,” Jacob replied. “I’m so sorry to learn of the grief you’ve experienced but glad God sent you a season of joy, however brief.”
While they finished the two pieces of apple pie in silence, Rosaleen found it impossible to read the thoughts behind his eyes.
Suddenly, he leaned toward her and took her hands into his, causing her to emit a soft gasp of surprise. The comfort of his strong, warm grasp filled Rosaleen with longing. She could only imagine how wonderful it might feel to be enveloped in the sanctuary of his arms, to rest her head against his chest.
“Rosaleen, you are young. God has so many wonderful things waiting for you, if you will only allow Him to guide you.”
Her gaze followed his to the building under construction.
“I realize it doesn’t look like much now, but God willing, by winter, I will be the pastor of a fine church and growing congregation. A congregation that could be the family you’ve been denied. I pray that you might allow me to be a part—”
“Jacob!” The man’s shouted greeting and the mule-drawn wagon rattling to a stop on Broadway broke into Jacob’s entreaty. “We got that load of two-by-eights from the lumber yard.”
Heart pounding, Rosaleen stood and hastily covered the remnants of their lunch with the linen cloths. What had he been about to suggest? She told herself that she was thankful their conversation had been brought to an abrupt close. She attempted a light tone but couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice. “Mrs. Buchanan will be wondering what’s keeping me.”
Jacob sent a quick glance of dismay toward the three men unloading the lumber from the wagon. As he caught her arm in a gentle grasp, his gaze searched hers. “Please, just consider the possibility of my suggestion.”
Rosaleen nodded, amazed that he’d still want anything to do with her after what he’d learned. She hurried toward Broadway, the graveled street blurring through her tears. What must he think of her? She’d told too much. She was glad she’d stopped short of confessing the horrors she’d experienced at the hands of Bill McGurty.
He meant nothing more than wanting me to attend his church, that’s all.
Whether she believed that made little difference. She knew it was best if she did believe it.
Three blasts of a steamboat’s whistle shot fear through her, and she quickened her steps. She must leave Madison at the earliest possible moment.
As difficult as it might be to accomplish that task, it would be simple compared to the impossibility of expunging Jacob Hale from her heart.
Seven
J acob sat in a horsehair-upholstered wing chair, his face aching from the smile he’d pasted across it. He found only marginal consolation in the fact that the faces of every other person in the parlor mirrored his own.
Broken only by the occasional wince, the stiff features of his congregation expressed their mutual suffering.
Seeming oblivious to the torture she was inflicting, Myrtle Stinnett sat before the keyboard of the new piano, butchering “Rock of Ages.”
Before the final note of the hymn had mercifully faded away, Jacob jumped to his feet. “Thank you so very much, Mrs. Stinnett, for that moving rendition.”
He hurried to help her up from the piano bench, fearing she might be inspired to deliver an
“Then you and Mr. Archer weren’t—I mean there hadn’t been a courtship—I mean. . .”
Rosaleen hurried to Jacob’s rescue when he stumbled for an appropriate description of her unexpected union. “It was a marriage of convenience. Mr. Archer was a widower of some years and a kind and honorable man.” She met Jacob’s intent gaze and hoped he could discern from her look the sentiment of love lacking in her brief marriage. She also hoped to convey the mutual respect and caring that had defined it.
“I’m sure he was,” Jacob replied. “I’m so sorry to learn of the grief you’ve experienced but glad God sent you a season of joy, however brief.”
While they finished the two pieces of apple pie in silence, Rosaleen found it impossible to read the thoughts behind his eyes.
Suddenly, he leaned toward her and took her hands into his, causing her to emit a soft gasp of surprise. The comfort of his strong, warm grasp filled Rosaleen with longing. She could only imagine how wonderful it might feel to be enveloped in the sanctuary of his arms, to rest her head against his chest.
“Rosaleen, you are young. God has so many wonderful things waiting for you, if you will only allow Him to guide you.”
Her gaze followed his to the building under construction.
“I realize it doesn’t look like much now, but God willing, by winter, I will be the pastor of a fine church and growing congregation. A congregation that could be the family you’ve been denied. I pray that you might allow me to be a part—”
“Jacob!” The man’s shouted greeting and the mule-drawn wagon rattling to a stop on Broadway broke into Jacob’s entreaty. “We got that load of two-by-eights from the lumber yard.”
Heart pounding, Rosaleen stood and hastily covered the remnants of their lunch with the linen cloths. What had he been about to suggest? She told herself that she was thankful their conversation had been brought to an abrupt close. She attempted a light tone but couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice. “Mrs. Buchanan will be wondering what’s keeping me.”
Jacob sent a quick glance of dismay toward the three men unloading the lumber from the wagon. As he caught her arm in a gentle grasp, his gaze searched hers. “Please, just consider the possibility of my suggestion.”
Rosaleen nodded, amazed that he’d still want anything to do with her after what he’d learned. She hurried toward Broadway, the graveled street blurring through her tears. What must he think of her? She’d told too much. She was glad she’d stopped short of confessing the horrors she’d experienced at the hands of Bill McGurty.
He meant nothing more than wanting me to attend his church, that’s all.
Whether she believed that made little difference. She knew it was best if she did believe it.
Three blasts of a steamboat’s whistle shot fear through her, and she quickened her steps. She must leave Madison at the earliest possible moment.
As difficult as it might be to accomplish that task, it would be simple compared to the impossibility of expunging Jacob Hale from her heart.
Seven
J acob sat in a horsehair-upholstered wing chair, his face aching from the smile he’d pasted across it. He found only marginal consolation in the fact that the faces of every other person in the parlor mirrored his own.
Broken only by the occasional wince, the stiff features of his congregation expressed their mutual suffering.
Seeming oblivious to the torture she was inflicting, Myrtle Stinnett sat before the keyboard of the new piano, butchering “Rock of Ages.”
Before the final note of the hymn had mercifully faded away, Jacob jumped to his feet. “Thank you so very much, Mrs. Stinnett, for that moving rendition.”
He hurried to help her up from the piano bench, fearing she might be inspired to deliver an
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