Chapter 18

Mira bowed her head as Gordon thanked the Lord for their food after they sat down at the small table. When he said amen, she kept her eyes on her plate and picked up her fork. It was awkward being married to a man one didn't know very well.

Then again, a first night married to any man whether one knew him well or not might feel awkward. She and Edward had spoken of marriage. Illness had stolen those plans, but she had no assurance she would not have felt some of the same apprehension if they had shared a first night together.

Of course, their love would have softened the strangeness of being alone together. Alone together for all time. Sitting across the table from Gordon, somehow the alone felt stronger than the together.

Gordon had brought in a dish of chicken and dumplings he'd gotten somewhere while checking out the schoolhouse. Mira found dishes in the cupboard to set the table while Gordon went to a spring to fetch drinking water. Then he carried in another bucket of creek water for washing up. A round kettle hung over the fire to heat the water. An iron teakettle was on the hearth and a metal coffeepot sat on a trivet.

"For coffee when we have it," Gordon said.

"Do we have it?" Mira had not seen any in the cupboard. After Ada June left, she had taken stock of the kitchen area to find only a few basic necessities.

"I brought some from the city." He motioned toward a trunk by the front door. "Coffee is one of my vices."

She feared asking him what his other vices might be. She mentally shook her head at the foolish thought. That had simply been a turn of phrase. Gordon was a preacher. A fine man. He wouldn't be surprising her with unknown vices.

What of her own vices? She had married Gordon for purely selfish reasons. With no place to live or means of support, she had jumped into this marriage thinking only of herself. And now she was totally unprepared for being a preacher's wife or any man's wife.

The very thought made the few bites she'd eaten churn uneasily in her stomach. She cut a dumpling into two smaller pieces and then cut it again.

"Are the dumplings not to your taste?" Gordon looked across the table at her. He'd cleaned his plate with enthusiasm.

"No, no. They're delicious." She put down her fork. "I suppose I'm just tired."

Why had she said that? When one was tired, the obvious solution was bed. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Mountain cooking might not be fancy, but it's nourishing." He pushed away his plate.

Mira looked toward the fireplace again. "I fear I have no idea how to cook over an open fire."

"Don't worry about that. I've learned a little since being in the mountains. I can cook our meals if need be." He sat back in his chair. "It would be nice to have a cookstove."

"Joseph said his mother cut out a picture of one from the newspaper and hung it up. She told him there was no harm in wishing."

Gordon laughed. "If we do get one, we'll invite her to come cook on it."

The way he said "we" pleased Mira. "But do you think that might make her think we were trying to be above the other people here?" If he could use "we," so could she.

"They will be happy for us. For you. We will never completely fit in. The people here might love us, might be glad we're here, but we will always be flatlanders and a little different."

"Brought-in," Mira said.

"Right." Gordon smiled. "Just like John said."

"And Joseph." Mira pushed her plate away too. She didn't like wasting food, but with all the butterflies in her stomach, she couldn't eat another bite. "I'm afraid Joseph was upset with me when he left. You will have to try to make amends for me."

"Oh? That doesn't sound like Joseph."

"He didn't want me to share his peppermint with Ada June."

"The rascal. I'll have a talk with him."

"Don't do that. He would be even unhappier with me. He already thinks I've ruined any chance of you ever being fun again."

"He's at that age where he'd just as soon all girls lived on the far side of the hill."

Mira had to smile at that. "I suppose so. For a certainty, he was not happy to see Ada June. He acted afraid of her or at least of her dog."

"That doesn't surprise me. Did Ada June come up to the house?"

"I enticed her inside with the promise of the peppermint and the fire. She was half-frozen."

Gordon raised his eyebrows at Mira. "She must have really wanted that candy. Did you let the dog in too?"

"I did. I hope that was all right."

"That's fine. With Ada June, if you get her, you get her dog. I'm sure she was happy to see you, especially if she knew you were the new teacher. I think I told you on the train how excited she is about going to school."

"I know." Mira frowned. "I'm afraid she wasn't happy with me, the same as Joseph, when I told her she couldn't bring her dog to school. I can only imagine how haywire things might go if all the children brought their dogs."

That made Gordon laugh again. "A schoolroom of hounds might be a little unsettling." His smile died away. "But I'm not sure Ada June will come without her dog."

"I did get that feeling."

"I suppose she didn't talk to you and tell you that." He said it as fact.

"No, but she listened and nodded a time or two. And then she told me her dog's name before she left. Bo." Remembering that still made Mira feel good.

"That's wonderful." Gordon reached across the table to touch Mira's hand. "I knew you would be a perfect teacher for our Sourwood children."

Mira pulled her hand away. "I don't know how you can say that after I met two of those children and both left unhappy."

He sat back, not seeming upset she had not welcomed his touch. "A teacher has to let children understand the rules. Joseph will come around, and if Ada June said even one word, that means she likes you. She needs people to reach out to her with affection." He blew out a sigh. "Something few here in Sourwood have tried to do. As if the child bears fault for her mother's odd ways that made her an outcast in the community."

"What odd ways?" Mira thought of Joseph saying the woman was a witch.

"I've heard snatches of gossip, but none of that matters now. Ada June isn't her mother. She wants and needs love." He beamed at Mira. "I'm glad you are ready to offer that to her."

"If she'll let me."

"It's a beginning. Just as we have a beginning together." He studied her face.

"Yes," she murmured as she stood up to clear the table.

She looked at the food still in the pot and then at what she hadn't eaten on her plate and had no idea what to do with either of them. She felt lost. Everything seemed out of her control.

"I don't know what to do," she said.

The despair on Mira's face stabbed Gordon's heart. He wanted to hold her, comfort her as he might an unhappy child.

Instead, he took the plates out of her hands. "Here. Let me."

He dumped the scraps in a bucket by the door. If Ada June came by tomorrow, her dog would be happy to clean them up. After putting the dishes in the dishpan and a top on the dumplings, he looked back at Mira. "We can have the leftovers for breakfast unless you would rather have something else."

She still stood in the middle of the floor as though afraid to take a step in any direction. "What else is there?"

"Eggs. Bacon. Applesauce. Honey." He kept his smile gentle and moved back to stand in front of her. "You will feel more at home soon."

"I'm sorry." She blinked to keep back tears.

"Shh." He touched her lips with his fingers for a second. "You just need to settle in. School won't start until the middle of February. That will give you time to get to know the people."

"But what if I always say the wrong things?"

He searched her face. "Did you say the wrong thing to Joseph?"

"Maybe. I thought it was what had to be said because he wasn't being nice to Ada June. I told him to go home."

"Sounds like the right thing. And what wrong thing do you think you said to Ada June?"

"I don't know if it was a wrong thing, but I made her very unhappy when I said her dog couldn't come to school with her."

"Do you expect to always make your students happy?"

"Of course not." A frown puckered the skin between her eyes.

"I'm glad to hear that, because you will have to be stern to keep some of these children on task. Most have never been to school. They won't know what is expected of them."

"I don't know what's expected of me."

He knew she was talking about more than teaching now. If only he could take her in his arms, but he doubted she would welcome his embrace. He didn't know how love had bloomed in his heart so quickly. He simply knew it had. That had to be a gift from the Lord. He would pray a little love might sneak into her heart for him, but that was too much to expect this night.

"Nothing is expected of you except what you want to freely give," he said. "It has been a long day. You're tired. I'm tired."

She stared down at the floor. "Yes."

He couldn't help himself then. He put his fingers under her chin to tip up her face so she would have to look at him. In the dim light from the kerosene lamp, her eyes were a dark mix of green and brown. She didn't pull back from him. For that he was thankful.

"You can go to bed. I'll fix a pallet out here where I can keep the fire burning."

Relief mixed with doubt on her face. "You can't sleep on the floor."

"I've done it many times. You can't imagine the places I've slept here in the mountains. In barns. On porches. Just about anywhere I had room to lie down before the good people here helped me build this cabin last year."

"Oh," she said. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure. We need a quiet night." He really didn't think they had to worry about anyone bothering them, as was the mountain custom.

He'd witnessed several serenades, or shivarees, where neighbors and relatives showed up in the middle of the night at a newly wedded couple's home to make all manner of noise. Surely they had gotten to Sourwood too late in the day for the news to spread that he had brought home a wife. Besides John, who had hurried on to his grandfather's place, Joseph and Ada June were the only ones to meet Mira. Ada June wouldn't tell anyone anything, and if Joseph worried he'd done something wrong to bring on Mira's scolding, he might not tell anybody either.

"The quiet is peaceful," Mira said.

"And we can hope it stays that way since I haven't told anyone I not only brought a teacher home with me but also a wife." He smiled.

"You didn't tell anyone you got married?" Mira looked confused. "But don't you think you should? What might they think if they see me here at your house?"

"Don't worry. I won't keep you a secret long. I'll introduce you at church tomorrow morning, but I thought it best to wait, with the hope we won't have to worry about a late-night serenade tonight."

"A serenade?"

"Have you ever heard of a shivaree?"

"Oh my. Would they do that?" Her eyes widened. "To their preacher?"

He nodded with a wry smile. "Probably especially to their preacher. They will think it's hilarious. But I can hope they will be somewhat more civilized about it than I have witnessed at other times. For one thing, they won't be expecting any moonshine from me, but I did buy some extra candy in Jackson to hand out should they decide to serenade us."

"Serenade? You mean sing to us?"

"Serenade is what they call a shivaree here in the hills. But no singing. Just noise and plenty of it. They do whatever they can to disturb a honeymoon night. Bang pan lids. Shoot up in the air. Shout. Laugh. But all in good fun."

"Doesn't sound like much fun to me. For us."

"I guess not." He shrugged. "But if they do come serenade us the way they do their relatives when they marry, it will show they think of us as belonging here." He squeezed her shoulder slightly. "Don't look so worried. It will be fine. Besides, I'm sure all will be quiet tonight."