June (23 page)

"Maybe-but still, it seems like there's more."

He grinned. "I don't see you being unsure about anything. Seems to me you know your mind real well."

She made a playful face at him. "Don't tell anyone, but most of the time I haven't a clue what I'm doing. I just go by that small, still voice that says, `Do something, June, until you can figure out what you're doing.' But Sam needs help, and I'm it for right now."

June lifted her pole to check if a clever fish had stolen her bait. "I don't like it when I'm uncertain. My papa was a preacher. A good one. A pulpit-pounding, hellfireand-damnation preacher who never wavered. He made me believe that once your course is set you never stray from it. I set my course for Eli, then his dream ... and now it seems like maybe I should stray from that. I'm not sure how it all fits together-Eli, the tabernacle, and the orphanage."

"How did you meet Sam?"

"On the ship. We were excited to discover we were both coming to Seattle." She set her pole aside. "Strange, isn't it, that both of us were drawn here by outside forces? Her aunt, and Eli. Now they're both gone." She sighed. "But Sam has Simon now."

"Simon's in love. He's a man of few words, but he's off the deep end with Sam. I wouldn't be surprised if he leaves me and goes to work at the orphanage."

June sighed, rather liking the thought that love changed lives. "Wouldn't that be nice?"

"For Sam maybe-not for me. Simon Is my right hand, but if he wants more time at the orphanage, I can arrange it."

June debated whether to ask her next question. But since they were being so candid . . . "Do you suppose this was God's plan all along? Bringing Sam here so she could meet Simon?"

"Do you think your coming here was his plan?"

She glanced away. "What do you think?"

"I think that remains to be seen." He playfully wedged a cracker into her mouth.

Biting into the crisp texture, she mused, "I truly do worry about the orphans' welfare. Sam can't keep them forever."

If Sam had her way, she'd keep them together, but if she and Simon decided to marry, the care and custody of all those children would be too much for a young married couple. She couldn't stay on at the orphanage-the couple would need their privacy. And Simon would have to keep working, to provide food for his family. In spite of what Sam might say, or even Simon, they couldn't be expected to assume such responsibility for the orphanage.

If she could, June would open a new orphanage and work even harder to convince Reverend Inman and others in the community to support her work.

She longed to talk to Faith about the matter. She smiled when she thought about her sister. She'd just received a letter from Faith, who had not failed to mention the number of eligible young men in the community-men of faith, upstanding men, with solid jobs in stores and banks or who owned their own businesses. Gentlemen. Potential husbands, June read between the lines.

The idea of visiting Faith tempted her. Sometimes she thought she should go-pour out her problems and have a good cry. But then she'd look at Parker, and Sam and the orphans, and she wasn't so ready to go.

"This is very nice. I'm glad you thought of it."

"It's been a long time since I enjoyed a pretty woman's company." He turned to look at her. Moonlight softened his features. "Thank you for remembering my birthday."

She reached over and laid her hand over his. "You don't have to thank me. No-actually, you should be grateful," she amended. "The hand warmers could have been a necklace." She grinned.

Sobering, she gazed at him, refusing to look away. Leaning closer, he kissed her lightly, and it seemed as natural as rain.

"Thank you for the picnic," she murmured.

"Thank you for the hand warmers." He kissed her again softly, on the nose, then on her forehead. "Can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

"You're a lousy fisherman."

She swatted him on the shoulder. "I know. Why do you think I avoid it like the plague?"

How could it be that just a short time ago she had thought this wonderful, perceptive man was such an oaf?

Sam had left a light burning in the front window of the orphanage. When the buggy rolled to a stop, it was very late.

"Thank you for sharing your supper with me."

When Parker didn't immediately respond, June reached over, turning his face to meet hers. He looked at her, and she had the feeling that he was trying to decide what to think about her. But apparently he couldn't decide.

Brushing the backs of his fingers against her cheek, he smiled. "You may not fish worth a hoot, but you're good company." His gaze softened. "Thank you for having supper with me."

Looking into his eyes, June felt a sense of rightness-that Parker was her destiny, even if he didn't know it yet.

Chapter Fourteen

SAAC Inman was tired. Services were still hours away, yet there were Scriptures to review, final preparations for tonight's sermon. He was usually cognizant of the familiar hustle that preceded other services, but tonight ... tonight he was just too soul weary to notice.

Settling himself at the table, he waved aside Ettie's offer of tea and scones. "I'm not hungry ... but thank you, Ettie. You're a good woman."

"You work too hard, Brother Isaac." Ettie brought his slippers and adjusted the damper on the stove.

"I'm fine, Ettie. I'd like to be alone."

"Of course, Reverend."

The door closed, and Isaac bowed his head, praying for God's guidance for the evening sermon. When he finished, he opened the Bible to Psalm 32:8.

A familiar peace settled over him as he entered into God's Word. "I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go: I will guide thee with mine eye."

"Oh, Lord," Isaac whispered. "This is all I ask of thee. Show me, Father. Show me what you would have me do."

The passage so moved him that he slipped to his knees in prayer, giving thanks and praising God's holy name. Rising again, he sat back down.

Every bone in his body cried out for rest. Removing his wire-framed spectacles and faded black jacket, he rubbed his eyes. Was there time for a short nap before services? Perhaps. The mantle clock sounded five soft, melodic chimes as he crawled into his bed and pulled the soft down coverlet to his chin.

His body surrendered easily to sleep, and yet he tossed and turned, thrashing about on the cot.

When he woke, he sat up with a start. Looking around the small room, he felt confused.

Rolling off the bed, he hurried down the corridor, around the corner, and returned to his desk. Turning to Matthew 5:1-16, he read the Scriptures aloud, savoring the words as if he'd only just heard them.

"And seeing the multitudes, he went up into a mountain: and when he was set ..."

It was a full thirty minutes later when he prayed for guidance and finished the Scripture.

"Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick: and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven."

When he was finished reading, he closed the book. He sat for a long while, staring into the fire's slow-burning embers.

Finally he reached for a silver bell and rang it.

Ettie appeared momentarily.

"Yes, Reverend?"

"I'll have that tea now, Ettie."

"Yes, Reverend ... will you be wanting your supper too?"

"No. Just tea. Thank you, Ettie."

June arrived at the tent a little before six. She'd driven the orphanage wagon. Sam and Joe thought it best to keep the children home tonight. One of the younger ones was running a fever.

She tied the horse to the hitching post, where Ben Wilson was waiting to escort her into the crusade.

"Evenin', Miss June." Ben smiled.

"Hello, Ben." June gave him a quick hug. "It's good to see you again. I've missed you."

"Yes, you missed me!" Ben giggled.

"I haven't seen you at the orphanage for a few days."

Ben hung his head. "Ben misses you." He perked up again just as readily. "The people here, they need me!" He thrust his chest out proudly as they entered the tent.

June was relieved to see that the service was going to be packed again. Every pew was filled to capacity. Men and women were milling around outside the tent in a standingroom-only crowd.

By six-thirty, songs of praise filled the air. Young and old alike clapped in rhythm to the powerful message found in the music.

Gazing out on the audience, Reverend Inman lifted his arms, commanding silence.

The noise subsided, and every head bowed.

The silence stretched. Finally, in a compelling voice, Isaac said, "Father, we gather tonight to praise you!"

At first, Reverend Inman seemed in command, but as the service wore on, June noticed a change. He seemed preoccupied, searching passages from the Bible as if he were speaking more to himself than to the congregation. Even his demeanor was different. His intense blue eyes skimmed the worshipers, yet he seemed to be oblivious to them.

Gone was Reverend Inman's familiar fiery message. No raised shouts, no prowling the altar, no raising his arms toward the heavens as he preached.

June became concerned. Was he ill? His features were pale, and he looked tired-incredibly tired. Guilt assaulted her. Was she responsible for his fatigue? In the weeks she'd been gone, she'd worked as hard as ever for the ministry. Only yesterday three loggers had donated an entire month's salary toward the tabernacle.

Reverend Inman's voice drew her back.

"If the congregation will turn with me in their Bibles to Matthew, chapter 25, verses 29 through 46."

The rustling of turning parchment filled the huge tent.

Standing behind the pulpit, Isaac put his spectacles on. "Earlier I prepared a sermon ... but God has led me to deliver a different message."

Silence prevailed. Every eye steadied on the reverend.

Reverend Inman cleared his throat and began with an uncharacteristic softness. "For unto every one that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance: but from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath."

He paused, and June saw tears well in his eyes.

"For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat," he read softly. "I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in."

There was a faraway look in his eyes, and Isaac ignored the tears that streamed down his cheeks.

"Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me."

Still not referring to the Bible open before him, he continued.

"Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee? Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?"

Isaac looked up, openly weeping now.

"Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

Reverend Inman closed his Bible.

Not a sound was heard throughout the tent.

The ushers exchanged questioning looks. Ben got up and hurried to distribute the offering baskets.

"If the ushers would please return to their seats," Isaac commanded softly.

The activity ceased. The men sat down. Ben looked confused but obediently returned to his bench.

Isaac focused on the congregation, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Tonight it would give me great pleasure if we would stand as a congregation and give thanks for the countless blessings already given in the Lord's precious name."

A man got to his feet, then a woman, then two men. One by one, from all over the tent, the worshipers stood in prayerful gratitude.

What is troubling Reverend Inman? June wondered as she rose from her seat. The service had taken on a surreal atmosphere.

She gradually became aware of sounds outside the tent, and she strained to hear. Was it thunder that shook the earth beneath her? One by one people in the congregation heard the commotion and lifted their heads to listen.