Chapter 2

Gordon Covington watched Mira Dean hurry out of the church as if flames were rising from the pews. He could hope his words had stirred awake a fire in her heart, but more likely he had simply frightened her.

Perhaps he had been too direct. A fault he always had, but one that became even worse once he surrendered to the calling to preach. He had no time for dithering. Not when the Lord had so plainly pointed out Mira Dean as the teacher he needed. And the wife.

The wife part had shocked her. The idea was somewhat shocking to him as well. After all, they hadn't seen each other for years. He was a different person than when she knew him in school. Back then, he thought of little but the next good time with his friends. And girls. But wasn't that always what young men had on their minds at that age? He had even looked on Mira with favor, but she had eyes only for Edward Hamilton. Other girls were there to grab his attention.

But no other girl had sufficiently caught his interest. Friends told him a preacher needed a wife, but he was unbothered by his single life. Such seemed best when he decided to go to the Eastern Kentucky mountains to ride circuit, preaching wherever ears were ready to hear.

A wife would not want to ride along on the rough trails in all sorts of weather, nor would any of the women he had ever seriously courted wish to stay alone in a mountain cabin while he was away spreading the gospel.

He had faith the Lord would supply his needs, whether of food or shelter, and he had. If the Lord determined Gordon truly needed a wife, he would send the right woman his way. Hadn't Rebekah come to the well to water her sheep at the very hour Abraham's servant was there with a mission to find Isaac a wife?

Gordon sincerely believed in God's provision. So when his heart stirred at the sight of Mira coming into the church, he had no doubt the Lord was doing the stirring. Often in his ministry, the Lord had given him such a poke. Sometimes to stop at this or that cabin or to soften his words in a sermon or to harden them.

Such a nudge was why he had established a mission in Sourwood. That time the Lord hadn't nudged him. Instead, Dugan Foster felt the Lord pushing him to ask Gordon to come minister to his community.

This morning Gordon had been conferring with the pastor here in Louisville when Mira had grabbed his attention. For a moment, the man's words flowed past him unheard. This woman was here for a reason. He was here for a reason. The Lord's plan.

Pastor Watkins noted his distraction. "Do you know our Miss Dean? She's a faithful member here."

"We were classmates in school some time ago." The man's use of "Miss" had felt like another nudge from the Lord. "I haven't seen her since then."

"A lovely lady. She was engaged to a young man several years ago, but sadly, he passed on. Tuberculosis. She turned her energies to teaching and serving here in our church."

"Oh, in what ways?" More nudges.

"Her kindness draws people to her. Whatever is needed, she is not only ready to help but has the necessary skills to do so. My wife claims she's a gift from heaven."

A gift from heaven. Another nudge. In the service that followed, Mira appeared to listen attentively as he spoke of his mission work in the hill regions of Kentucky. Each time he let his gaze touch on her, he became more positive the Lord had brought her to his attention for a reason.

At school, she was a pretty girl with light brown hair that often escaped the combs used to hold it in place. Her hazel eyes had sparkled with a love of life. She was no longer that girl. Her hair was neatly contained in a roll below her proper black hat. Her eyes were more guarded, although they had widened at his surprising proposal.

She'd left girlhood behind and known sorrow now as most people did. Hadn't he recently lost his source of constant support for his spiritual missions when his mother died? While that wasn't the same as losing your intended life partner, it was a sorrow nevertheless.

But time had a way of blunting the sharp edges of grief. Edward had died five years ago. Gordon was surprised Mira hadn't already married someone else. Perhaps it wasn't a surprise at all, but all part of the Lord's plan. Not that he believed Edward's death figured in that plan, but the Lord could make good come from any situation. He might be doing so now. Gordon merely had to convince Mira of that.

No, he wasn't the one to convince her. He had to leave that up to the Lord. But he wasn't taking the train back to Sourwood for two more days. He would share his mission with another church this evening and then take time to gather needed supplies on the morrow. The Lord could work many wonders in two days.

He had asked Mira to pray. He could do the same. He smiled as he followed Pastor Watkins out of the church to share a dinner table with one of his faithful deacons. The air was frigid, but his heart felt warm as he thought of Mira.

The Lord had created people, male and female. While Gordon had left behind his frivolous young days the same as Mira had, he wasn't an old man. Far from it at twenty-six. He had always assumed he would marry. Someday. The idea that someday might be at hand brought a smile to his face. He was a preacher. Once he accepted the Lord's call, he had never regretted his path, but he was still a man with the same need of love and companionship.

Lord, if it can be, open a path to that love for Mira and me.

Sunday was Mira's favorite day. She could take her time dressing for church without the daily rush to get to school before the children began arriving. At church, she enjoyed the hymns and the pastor's sermons that opened her eyes to Bible truths.

She never missed Sunday morning services, save for times when she was under the weather. The outdoor weather never stopped her. She walked through snow and rain, heat and cold the few blocks to her church. A little discomfort was hardly to be noticed when one thought of the Lord's great sacrifice.

Still, on a day like this with its frigid air, she was happy to return to the rooms she rented from Miss Ophelia Vandercleve, an elderly spinster who had been a schoolteacher herself some years before. The old lady had always lived in this house, except for a few years when she boarded in a nearby county while teaching there. Her parents had long since departed life, and her only relative was a brother who mostly ignored Miss Ophelia, which suited the woman fine, or so she claimed.

"He was always the bossy sort," Miss Ophelia said.

That made Mira smile, since Miss Ophelia definitely shared that family trait. While she was not slow to tell Mira what she thought was proper or not, she did have a kind heart under her brusque manner.

Now as Mira approached the two-story brick house, she felt fortunate to have rooms there. Her school and church were nearby. The steps up to a separate entrance gave her some welcome privacy. Miss Ophelia's father had them built for Miss Ophelia when she was younger so she could come and go without disturbing her mother.

Miss Ophelia said her mother was very fragile. "Nerves, you know. The slightest disturbance could knock her off-kilter for weeks. Poor dear. I say that, but actually it was those of us around her who were the poor ones. Father insisted I tiptoe in my upstairs rooms, and heaven forbid were I to drop something. At times, may the Lord forgive me, I would drop something a purpose." She had tilted her head downward and looked over her spectacles at Mira. "I expect better of you. No loud noises. No gentlemen callers. A schoolteacher has to guard her reputation."

Oh yes, guard her reputation. The school administrators allowed no unseemly behavior. A female teacher wore dark-colored skirts with the proper layers of petticoats underneath and high-necked, long-sleeved white blouses. No bright colors allowed. She kept her hair nicely coiffed in rolls or a bun. Heaven forbid a female teacher be seen smoking a cigarette. She would be ousted from her position before the smoke drifted away. And should a woman decide to marry, she was required to resign her teaching position to devote herself to her husband and family.

That was something Mira had been more than ready to do if Edward had recovered. They had such plans. A beautiful house such as Miss Ophelia's. Room for many children. Edward would prosper in business, and she would make their home a warm and loving place.

Instead, she made a different life for herself, teaching other women's children. She had long ago blocked even the passing thought of a baby in her arms. More times than she liked, her mind betrayed her and let a dream of being a mother rise in her sleep, but such impossible dreams faded away before the water was hot for her morning tea.

She couldn't allow Gordon Covington's idiotic proposal to unsettle her. She had a good life teaching young people, and following a hectic school day, the quiet of her small rooms was more than welcome.

After stepping through her door, she hung her coat on a hook and left her boots on a folded newspaper on the floor. She slipped on soft house shoes that barely made a whisper of noise as she walked across to her small paraffin stove to warm her potato soup.

After her meal, she settled into her one easy chair by the window and picked up Jack London's Call of the Wild. She had passed many pleasurable Sunday afternoons in just such a way. A book and a cup of tea. She had no reason to let Gordon's talk about his plans for a school destroy her peace.

A marriage proposal! That was more than idiotic. Mira opened her book, but the words were simply black marks. They made no pictures in her head. Instead, she was back at the church hearing Gordon's appeal for help to establish his mission. A mission to not only bring the gospel to the people there but also the opportunity of an education to their children. And why not the adults too, if they showed interest in learning?

What did the Bible say about gifts? Pastor Watkins had preached on that a few Sundays ago. If a man had a gift to preach, he should preach the message the Lord gave him. If the gift was to serve, one should serve well. If to teach, teach well. If to encourage, rejoice in that gift and be a blessing to others. Whatever the gift, the Lord gave it for a purpose.

She remembered feeling somewhat smug listening to the pastor's words, knowing that she was using her gift. She did teach well. Her students learned what would help them live more successful and fuller lives.

But now she wondered if she truly made that much difference. The youngsters at her school had no lack of teachers and would learn regardless of who taught them. But what would it be like to start a child with no schooling on the road to book knowledge? That had to be more challenging. And fulfilling.

She put her book aside and picked up her Bible. Reading that passage in Romans might calm her mind and assure her she was using her gift as the Lord intended.

But when she placed the Bible in her lap, it fell open to Genesis. She was ready to flip to the New Testament when a verse caught her eye. "Sarai was barren; she had no child."

The word "barren" jumped off the page at her. But could she, a woman who had never been married, never known a man, be considered barren? Whenever it was mentioned in the Bible about Sarah, Rebekah, Hannah, Elizabeth, the Scripture spoke of a married woman unable to conceive. Each of those women received the blessing of a child in God's time, but they had husbands.

Mira had no husband. Her barrenness went deeper than simply not having a child, but in not having a husband. She was a spinster. A woman with no hope of a child even if she prayed with the same emotion and sincerity as Hannah.

She looked up from the Bible to glance across the room at the small kitchen area with her one-burner stove, a sink, and a narrow table with two chairs. Rarely was more than one chair needed. The table served as her desk. Next to where she sat by the window was a lamp on a small round table. On the other side of the window, a three-shelf bookcase held her treasured books. An adjoining room had just enough space for a bed little bigger than a cot and a chest of drawers. The furniture was plain but serviceable. She had no need for more.

Her father had been a clerk, and while they always had enough, they never had abundance. Her parents laid aside any extra money for her and her brother's education. Her brother had gone on to Harvard and a career as a lawyer in Boston.

The last time she heard from him he had five children, but she had yet to receive a response from her Christmas letter. That number could very well be six by now. She had never seen any of them. Travel was difficult with young children, and Mira didn't have the funds to travel their way even had she been invited, which she had not. She'd last seen Paul at her mother's funeral six years ago. Their father died the year before that.

Paul had little time for a sister he considered well settled as a teacher. A perfect course for a spinster woman.

Spinster. Barren. The words circled in her head. She almost smiled when she thought it was good she was barren since she was a spinster.

With a sigh, she closed the Bible. She should open it to Psalms. Try to find comfort there, but instead she picked up the ceramic bird from the table beside her. A little of the blue paint had worn off the feathers, and no wonder, as much as she held it.

Her mother had given her the figurine a few months before she died. "I'm coming to the end of my time, and I want to pass on to you the hope I've always felt when I hold this bluebird, my dear Almira. When I see a bluebird, I can't help but think of the love with which the Lord surely formed that first bird. Through that love, the Lord gifted us with joy and hope whenever our eyes delight in its sight. May this little bird help you remember not only my love but the Lord's as well. A bluebird of happiness."

Since her mother passed away before Edward, she had not known how Mira's dreams of marriage and children were shattered.

The ceramic bird seemed to warm in her hands. How long had it been since she'd seen a bluebird outside? Perhaps here in the city such birds were uncommon, or had she simply stopped looking for them? The kind of happiness her mother had wished for her seemed out of reach.

Mira did have times of happiness. She did. Moments when she was drawn into a story to share whatever adventures the characters were living on the page. Moments when her students did things to make her smile. Moments when she was lifted up by a passage of Scripture. One without the word "barren."

The word echoed in her head. Barren. Not just her lack of a husband or child. Her whole life seemed barren, with nothing more than another cup of tea to look forward to.

A knock on the door jerked her away from her melancholy thoughts. Her heart began thumping as, for one inane moment, she hoped Gordon Covington would be the one knocking.