Laurie Kingery - The Preacher's Bride

The congregation began to sing, and she glanced once more toward the church. There wasn’t time to think of a way to decline his offer in a way that wouldn’t hurt his feelings.

“Perhaps we could discuss it more after church, Reverend Gil?” she asked. “We really should join the others inside.” It would be harder after the service to get a private moment with him—in the short time he’d been in town, he was already very popular with the congregation. Hopefully during the sermon, she could think of an acceptable excuse to decline Gil’s wonderful invitation.

Or find a way to justify accepting it, a rebellious voice within her insisted.

He sighed, darting a glance back over his shoulder at the church. “You’re right, of course, Miss Faith,” he said in that pleasant deep voice of his that curled so appealingly around her heart. “All right, then, we’ll talk after church. I’ll meet you under that old gnarly live oak in the back of the churchyard.”

Faith nodded as she took his proffered arm, savoring his nearness. They really should go in separately, so no one got any mistaken ideas that the two of them were courting. But Gil’s invitation suggested he wouldn’t mind at all if it looked that way, and somehow she couldn’t bear to let go of his arm.

Faith felt every eye on them as she let him escort her down the aisle between the rows of pews. She could almost hear the speculative hum rising in the brains of those who liked to be in the know.

Her father and mother looked up from their hymnbook and beamed delightedly at Gil as he stopped with Faith by the pew they were occupying. He acknowledged them with a smile as Faith settled herself next to her mother, then he strode on toward the front of the church.

Her mother cast a sidelong glance at her. Faith knew she was full of questions, but fortunately, she could not ask them now. Safe from parental curiosity for the present, Faith opened her mouth to sing the next hymn along with the rest of the congregation.

After they finished singing, Gil rose and strode toward the pulpit. “Good morning, congregation,” he said, taking hold of the pulpit with both hands and grinning as they returned his greeting. “In just a moment Papa will bring us the message, but I wanted to remind you of next Saturday’s wedding—our first in our new church building. Isn’t that exciting?”

A chorus of murmured agreement arose from the congregation, and Faith knew everyone was remembering the smoldering ruin of the old church, burned to the ground by a band of evil men last summer. The town had worked diligently to rebuild it, and it had been completed just before Thanksgiving.

“Miss Caroline Wallace and her fiancé, Jack Collier, have asked me to remind everyone the whole town is invited,” Gil went on. “The ceremony begins at one o’clock, and the reception afterward will take place in the church social hall. It sounds like a wonderful, blessed time will be had by all, so let’s all plan to attend and support the new couple as they begin a life together.”

Caroline and Jack, sitting on the opposite side of the aisle from Faith with Jack’s twin daughters, waved at the folks around them, radiating happiness.

What a good, generous man Gil Chadwick is, Faith thought, as he returned to the front pew and his father took his place at the pulpit. Gil seemed genuinely happy for the engaged couple, yet a good many people in Simpson Creek knew that not too long ago, Gil would have preferred to announce his own upcoming wedding with Caroline. It was apparent he’d been taken with Caroline when he’d first arrived in Simpson Creek, but had unselfishly kept her company only as a friend until Jack realized he’d better get off the fence and propose to Caroline or risk losing her.

Faith knew some of the other members of the Spinsters’ Club were interested in capturing the interest of the bachelor preacher before he was called to another town and left Simpson Creek. Gil wouldn’t be single for any longer than he wanted to be.

“Our text comes from ‘So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the Word of God,’” Reverend Chadwick said.

He looked a little pale, Faith thought, and thinner than he had been. As he’d moved to the pulpit, his steps had been halting. Perhaps, like some elderly folks, he didn’t sleep well, or suffered from some ailment.

His son had taken over the pastoral calls to outlying ranches that Reverend Chadwick had once made, but once Gil was pastoring his own church, the old preacher’s congregation would have to realize they would have to come visit him, rather than the other way around. No doubt some woman of mature years would have to be found to keep house for the old preacher, for his wife had been dead for a score of years or more.

Reverend Chadwick raked a hand absently through his thinning, snowy-white hair. “H-hearing...by the w-word of God,” the preacher repeated. “What d-does that mean, cong-congregation?”

Was she imagining it or was Reverend Chadwick having trouble speaking? His words suddenly sounded slurred, thick. He’d always been the most eloquent of men, his delivery smooth and polished.

Faith saw she was not alone in noticing something was wrong. Dr. Walker, sitting at the other end of the same pew, leaned forward, an expression of concern furrowing his features. Beside him, his wife, Sarah, bit her lip worriedly.

“Obviously...it means spending time...r-reading the Bi—Bi—” He stopped, and looked around in bewilderment, as if he could not find the familiar word. He looked to Gil as if entreating his help. His mouth seemed to droop on one side.

“Papa?” Faith heard Gil ask. Tentatively, he rose and started forward.

Reverend Chadwick put out a hand as if assuring his son that he was all right. And then he collapsed.

Behind Faith, someone shrieked in alarm.

She watched, horror-struck, as Gil reached his father first, followed close behind by Dr. Walker. With the assistance of the doctor, Gil gently turned his father onto his back and knelt so that Reverend Chadwick’s head could be elevated in his lap. Dr. Walker loosened the preacher’s shirt collar.

Faith could see that the preacher’s face was ashen, his eyes closed. She could hear him breathing, but his respirations sounded rattley and snoring.

People began to leave their pews. An anxious murmuring arose. She heard her father praying aloud, asking the Lord to save the old preacher.

“I think he’s had an apoplexy,” Faith heard Dr. Walker say to Gil. “We’ll need to carry him to my office.”

* * *

Assisted by Sheriff Bishop, Gil lifted his father from where he’d been lying by the pulpit. The old man felt so light, as if a puff of wind could blow him away. Lord, please save Papa. Please don’t take him yet...

It wasn’t far to the doctor’s office. Dr. Walker paced alongside Gil and Bishop, peppering Gil with questions—had his father complained of a headache? Dizziness? Unusual fatigue? Numbness or tingling of his limbs? Pain in his chest? To all of these, Gil shook his head. His father had been his usual cheerful self before church, and had eaten a good breakfast.

A number of people followed them, and some of these lingered in the waiting room with him. He was vaguely aware of Faith sitting in the midst of them, and he remembered with a pang the dinner he had hoped to have with her. But he couldn’t think of her now, nor of the whispered prayers and conversations around him. Instead, he besieged Heaven with silent pleas of his own. And when he could think of no other way to ask that his father be spared, he added, Lord, help me to be willing to accept Your will, if You decide to take him Home.

* * *

“Is my father...still with us?” Gil asked, an endless time later, when Nolan Walker emerged from his examination room. Walker was followed by his wife, Sarah, who often helped him with his patients. Gil looked for clues to what Walker would say. Had his father gone to be with God, leaving only the shell of his body behind?