Chapter 4

Gordon Covington approached Ophelia Vandercleve's door with trepidation on Tuesday morning. The sun was bright on the dusting of snow that had fallen during the night and hidden the grime of the city. The air was brisk and bracing.

He wondered how much snow might have fallen in Sourwood. He hoped not so much that he would have a struggle getting home.

Home. He smiled as the word settled in his thoughts. He wasn't sure when the mountains had become home, but he had no doubt they were. At first, after he answered the call to go spread the gospel in the hill country, he'd felt as out of place as a pig at a debutante ball. Slowly that changed as the Lord softened Gordon's edges and opened his eyes to the goodness of the people he met on the mountain trails.

Not that they were all good. Nowhere would you find people who were all good. The Lord was the only one ever able to live that kind of life. Certainly Gordon lacked in many ways in spite of trying to corner good as an example to those who heard him preach. But sins were slippery as snakes and could find a hole in a man's goodness armor to slither through.

In his prayer time early that morning, he had wondered if that had happened with his desire to convince Mira Dean to come to the mountains with him. He had been so sure the Lord was behind his proposal to Mira, but maybe instead, the devil had sneaked in to push Gordon's own will over the Lord's.

A teacher for his Sourwood school would be a wondrous blessing. He had no doubt about that being a proper desire, but what about his desire for a wife? A desire that he hadn't known until the words spilled out of his mouth to ask Mira Dean to consider matrimony. With him.

She was so lovely. He was so lonely. True, he was far from alone in Sourwood. People were continually coming to him, needing something, offering something, filling every waking moment. Yet, he was lonely.

In the Bible, Paul said a man, if able, should give his efforts and thoughts to serving the Lord by embracing the single life. But it wasn't a command. Many other Scriptures encouraged a man to find a good wife and a woman, a good husband. Two as one serving the Lord.

Sometimes a man shoved his own wants and wishes to the forefront and found a way to believe such was the Lord's doing. Was that what Gordon had done when he saw Mira come into the church Sunday? Was he still doing that as he knocked on Miss Vandercleve's door?

As he waited for a response, he stepped back to look at the substantial two-story brick house. It could easily have ten rooms. His cabin in Sourwood had two rooms. The brisk air now pushing through his coat blew through poorly sealed cracks between logs even easier.

The fireplace warmed one if a person stayed near it. Much wintertime activity took place around a cabin's fire. Women did their sewing, churned butter, and cooked over the fire. Men sharpened their knives, repaired their harnesses, or took their ease after their outdoor chores. Children played games or learned their lessons by the light of the fire, or would once they had a school. People entertained one another with stories and songs. Those fortunate enough to be able to do so read God's Word by firelight.

At least his wasn't a blind cabin. He did have windows. Glass windows and not just holes with shutters to block out the cold or open to the spring breezes. Two windows both on the south side of the house. When he had thought to cut another window in the north side, the men building the cabin had stared at him as though he lacked good sense. They wasted no time telling him a window there would let in winter winds.

He had wanted to insist. He liked light. It was his house. He would be the one to suffer if the north window invited in cold air, but they had cut the logs and hauled them from the woods. They had the expertise to notch those logs and pile them into a wall. It was wiser to do without the extra window than to go against their advice.

Miss Vandercleve's house had six windows in the front. Those on the bottom floor of the house were large, set together in pairs. Dark window coverings shut out the light, but he supposed the cold as well. His gaze drifted up to the top floor where Pastor Watkins said Mira Dean lived. The two windows were open to the sunlight, but then no one on the street could peer into those windows.

Could he ask her to give up living in such a fine place to move into his cabin and teach in a school just as roughly built? Or more telling, should he? When he asked the pastor about Mira, he convincingly spoke of how she appeared happy to serve where the Lord had planted her. What matter that Gordon had sensed a deep sadness and perhaps even restlessness behind her calm? At least calm until he had shocked her with his outlandish proposal.

He smiled. His proposal had shaken her settled view of life. He'd had that same sort of feeling when the Lord first awoke the call to preach in his heart. At the time, he'd denied it, even laughed at the ludicrous thought of him, Gordon Covington, a preacher.

He had never been devout. He believed in the Lord. He never doubted the truth of the gospel, but he was a casual church member. Went when it suited him and then more to please his mother than because of a desire to worship. Often as not, he let his thoughts wander from whatever the preacher might be saying as he impatiently waited for the final amen.

Now when those listening to him did the same, he wondered if any of the young men wishing for his sermon's end might get a seed planted in their hearts that would someday flower into the desire to preach. That was what had surely happened to him. Even though he had never watered that seed, his mother's prayers had.

He hoped that his words Sunday about the need for a teacher had planted such a seed in Mira's heart. A seed watered by his own prayers and perhaps hers if she hadn't simply brushed aside his words without giving them consideration. Somehow, he didn't think that had happened. At least he hoped not. He looked up toward the windows above him again. He would soon see.

A curtain flicked below in the nearest window before the door creaked open a few inches. One eye peered out at him. "Are you that preacher?"

The voice revealed the speaker was not young. Pastor Watkins had warned Gordon that Miss Vandercleve was somewhat acerbic in speech, but he claimed she had a good heart under her contrary manner.

"I am a preacher," Gordon said. "That is true, but I have no idea which preacher you have in mind."

"Don't be impertinent. You know very well which preacher I mean. The one who shocked sweet Mira Dean with a proposal on Sunday." She opened the door several more inches to reveal her entire face. She wore no smile.

"She told you that?" Gordon didn't hide his surprise.

"I did not say she was the one to convey that news to me. As a preacher, you surely know churches have ears and those ears are always ready to hear."

"Yes, ma'am."

"So why are you pecking on my door to disturb my day? She lives up there." The woman pointed toward the steps at the side of the house.

"I didn't want to compromise her reputation by going to her door."

"You came to mine." The old lady lifted her eyebrows and glared at him. "Had you no concern for my reputation?"

Before Gordon could think what to say to that, the woman laughed. "I do think I've shocked you speechless." She pulled the door all the way open then as her laughter cut off like water after a faucet handle was twisted closed. "Come in before every bit of heat in this house escapes to the street." A sly look slid across her face. "If you're not worried about your own reputation."

He stepped inside, and the woman firmly closed the door behind him. "A preacher does need to guard his good name."

"Do you have a good name, Reverend?" The woman pulled a brown shawl tighter around her as she squinted through her spectacles to look him up and down in the dim entryway.

He considered opening the drapes to give her light for her inspection, but he refrained. Instead, he stayed stuck to the floor until she gave him permission to move. In his youth, he had spent many uncomfortable moments in front of a teacher's desk as he awaited the consequences of a wrongdoing. Miss Vandercleve had not lost her teacher authority. Perhaps if Mira couldn't be talked into going to the mountains with him, he could convince this old teacher to give him a few months. She made him think of some of the Sourwood grandmothers who kept their families in line.

She gave a slight nod. "You don't have the look of an ogre. Our Miss Dean could do worse than accept your absurd proposal."

"Why absurd?"

Again her eyebrows lifted as she pinned him with her teacher gaze. "I do believe you hadn't seen Miss Dean for some years. I do believe you mentioned marriage practically before you said how do you do. I do know most young women want a man to come courting before proposing."

"All so true. Regretfully, I don't have time for the niceties of courtship. I am returning to the mountains this afternoon." He thought to pull out his watch to check the hour but did not. He had time, although he hoped Miss Vandercleve would release him to call upon Mira before too many more minutes slid by. "The children there need a teacher."

"And you need a wife?"

"A man often does, and I thought Miss Dean might be accepted more readily in Sourwood if we were married."

"So, merely a marriage of convenience."

"If that is her desire." He hesitated, then added, "With hope that in time the Lord would knit us into a proper marital union."

"My dear young preacher, knitting is for socks." She frowned at him. "I think the Bible speaks of marriage as cleaving to one's wife."

"Yes." He was not going to win any word battles with Miss Vandercleve. Best to surrender without argument. It would be good to have her on his side. Convenience marriage or a cleaving one.

"Are you saying those in this Sourwood don't approve of single females?" The woman went on without giving him a chance to respond. "Sourwood. Doesn't sound like a very appealing place."

"Oh, but it is. Don't let the name fool you. Bees love the beautiful, fragrant blossoms of the sourwood trees."

"And did you find Miss Dean beautiful? Or accommodating to your proposal?"

"Beautiful, yes. I knew her in school and thought her so then as now. But my proposal yesterday was perhaps too rash. I may have been carried away by the feeling that the Lord had brought her to my attention as an answer to prayer."

"You had prayed for a wife?"

"No, but the families in Sourwood are praying for a teacher."

"Teachers who marry are required to resign from their positions."

"A rather unnecessary rule if you ask me. But in Sourwood, Miss Dean would not be hired by the county or state. She would be a mission teacher helping eager children learn to read while also sharing the gospel with them."

"But what if Miss Dean gets with child? What then?"

He could feel heat rising in his cheeks and was glad for the dim light. Not that he thought anything could escape Miss Vandercleve's sharp gaze. "Should things proceed in such a blessed way, the Lord would provide answers. But the children in Sourwood are not unfamiliar with a woman in such a condition."

"Such a condition." She echoed his words with a little laugh. "You do have a way with words. I am surprised your talk is not too fancy for your mountain mission people."

"The people are ready to hear the gospel not in my words but the Lord's."

She cocked her head and stared at him a long moment before she said, "I like you, Preacher Whatever Your Name."

His face burned hotter. "I apologize, Miss Vandercleve. I am Gordon Covington. Please forgive me for not introducing myself immediately."

She waved her hand to dismiss his words. "Not a worry. Better to judge a person by his appearance and actions than his name. So what do you want from me, Reverend Covington?"

"I would like to speak again with Miss Dean and hoped you would accompany me as a chaperone."

"You will hardly need a chaperone if you marry."

"I fear she hasn't agreed to that. I have been praying. I asked her to pray, but I don't know what answers she's heard from the Lord."

"My knees are still complaining from the last time I climbed those steps, but I will summon her down to speak with you here."

She picked up a school bell, opened her door, and clanged it with vigor the way she must have once called her class in from recess.

A smile rearranged her wrinkles as she turned to put the bell back on the shelf. "Every teacher needs a bell. They tried to get me to leave this one for the teacher who followed me, but the bell was mine. Is mine."

"I should buy one for our school," Gordon asked.

"The one without a teacher?"

"The Lord will send a teacher. If not Miss Dean, someone else."

"You appear to have given in to defeat already." When he started to deny that, she shook her head at him. "Don't give up so easily. I have added my prayers to yours."

"Why would you do that? You don't even know me or the children in Sourwood."

"Children are children. But I am not praying for Miss Dean as a teacher but as a woman." Her face changed, suddenly looked sad. "I once lacked courage. I pray she will not. But whatever she says today, Reverend, please don't give up. She is the teacher you need."

"I don't know if I should even ask her to give up her comfortable life here."

"Comfort is overrated. I daresay you gave up much when you answered the Lord's call." Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. "Do you regret those losses?"

"Sometimes I miss a strong cup of coffee in the morning and a warm bed at night."

"I like a man who does not pretend what is not true." At the tap on her door, she twisted her mouth to hide a smile before she turned to open it. "Perhaps Miss Dean will agree to warm that bed."