Chapter 5

The oatmeal in Mira's breakfast bowl had congealed into lumps. She pushed it aside and looked at her account book. The numbers in it were just as unappetizing. She was running low on funds for even the most basic of needs. She should have looked for a tutoring job during Christmas to tide her over. School would be back in session the next day, but she wouldn't get paid until the end of the month.

She had carefully budgeted and saved barely enough for food and her rent. She had not considered the possibility of losing her rooms and needing more rent money before she received her pay. She glanced around and tried to push away the panic that poked at her and tightened her throat.

Miss Ophelia had not said when her niece would arrive. She should have asked that. It might be this week or not for a month. Mira hoped for the month. She fingered the edges of her account book but didn't open it. She knew the figures on the pages by heart. Again, her throat tightened.

She took a breath and whispered words her mother had lived by. "The Lord will provide."

When Gordon Covington's image jumped into her thoughts, she shook her head so forcefully, a pin holding her hair back from her face popped loose. Not bothering with the pin, she shoved the loose strands behind her ear.

Gordon Covington's bizarre proposal was not the Lord's provision, even if he had claimed the Lord had prodded him to invite her into his mission. Nor did it matter that Miss Ophelia thought his ridiculous proposal was the answer she needed for lodging. Mira was not that desperate.

She shut her eyes and leaned her head into her hands. She was tired. Her sleep had been disturbed by visions of youngsters reaching for books she held up high away from them. Eager children begging to be taught. Nothing like her students accustomed to the privilege of learning here.

She pushed her fingers against her forehead in an attempt to erase the memory of the dreams. They meant nothing. They had simply been brought on by the worries of the day. She would find a new place to live, and her life would settle back into its accustomed routine. Gordon could find another teacher, one who might be happy to accept his proposal to both teach and marry. Many women would be glad to be part of his life. To marry him, have his children. That would be best. For him. For her. She had no reason to feel suddenly so empty.

"Oh, Edward, why did you have to die?" she whispered. Tears came to her eyes, but they weren't for Edward. They were for her lost dreams. Lost chances.

The clanging of Miss Ophelia's bell jerked her away from her sorrowful thoughts. Miss Ophelia never rang the bell before noon. The old lady liked to take her time with her morning ablutions. Something must be wrong.

Mira grabbed a wrap off the hook by her door and rushed out into the cold morning air. When she slipped on the snow-covered steps, she grabbed the icy wooden rail. She should have put on proper boots and gloves and not assumed the worst. After all, the bell had clanged loudly. The old lady had not given it a weak shake.

The door opened at Mira's first knock. Miss Ophelia appeared to be fine. Actually looked cheerful. Maybe she had good news and her niece had decided not to come to Louisville after all.

"Did you need something, Miss Ophelia?" Mira asked.

"My heavens, girl. Where are your hat and gloves? Did you not know it snowed?"

"I was concerned something might be wrong when you rang your bell."

"Well, come in before your ears freeze." The woman pulled Mira into the house. "I'm fine, but someone is here to see you. Reverend Covington."

If Miss Ophelia hadn't been gripping her arm, Mira would have turned to flee back up the stairs to her rooms. She had no desire to see Gordon. None at all. Her mad rush down the steps and the cold air were what had her heart thumping and her skin tingling. Not the thought of Gordon Covington seeking her out with who knew what ludicrous ideas now.

"Mira." He looked almost as uncomfortable as she felt standing there under Miss Ophelia's keen stare. "I hope you don't mind me calling on you."

Mira tucked the stray strands of hair behind her ear again. She should have pinned it back. "I thought you were returning to the mountains."

"I leave this afternoon, but I hoped to speak with you first. Miss Vandercleve was gracious enough to summon you down here."

"He was thinking of your reputation," Miss Ophelia said. "As was only right. So come sit in the parlor while I make our young preacher some coffee. Perhaps tea for you, my dear?"

"I should go back to my rooms. I left things undone." Mira stayed by the door.

"Nonsense. Whatever you were doing can wait. We must be sociable."

Miss Ophelia had never given any sign of concern over social niceties before now. Gordon must have found an ally in his campaign to convince her to go to wherever he had his mission. To wherever those children haunting her dreams clamored for a teacher.

"Please," Gordon spoke up. "I'd like to tell you about the people in Sourwood."

"Many children too, I should think," Miss Ophelia added as she ushered them toward the parlor. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll search out my coffee."

"Don't go to any trouble," Gordon said.

"It's my trouble. I'll go to it if I want." Miss Ophelia headed toward her kitchen.

Mira wanted to follow her. Leave Gordon to his own devices. But she didn't want to upset Miss Ophelia. She might need to beg a place on her settee if the niece showed up before Mira found new rooms. She eyed the stiff piece of furniture. No sleeping comfort there.

She pushed aside the thought. Things hadn't gotten that dire yet. Dire was being in the same room with Gordon, who looked ready to explode with whatever he'd come to say. She forced a smile. "Please, won't you sit down?"

"Only if you join me."

"Certainly." She perched on the edge of a wingback chair. Once she was seated, Gordon gingerly lowered himself down on the settee across from her. He leaned forward and clutched his hands between his knees. "I should have sent a card to ask to call upon you today. I fear I have forgotten some of the social niceties."

She acknowledged his apology with a slight nod, but didn't say anything, even though he obviously hoped she would.

He cleared his throat and went on. "Also, on recalling our conversation on Sunday, I owe you an apology for being too forward."

"Yes."

"I don't regret my words or wish them unsaid."

"Nor do I regret my answer." Mira flashed a look at him and then lowered her gaze to her hands in her lap. She clasped one hand over the other to hide her trembling fingers.

"Did you pray as I asked? For the youngsters at Sourwood in need of a school."

"Doesn't the county there provide schools?"

"There are some schools, but none close enough for the children to attend. They have to board with someone miles away. Few have that option."

"Can't their parents teach them?"

"They do teach them much about how to live and work, but book learning is rare among the adults. They could also use a teacher."

"Then perhaps you should be that teacher." There had to be answers other than her.

"I was called to preach. Not teach."

"It appears to me that a man could do both."

"I don't think I am the answer to the prayers of the good people of Sourwood. I believe you are. I believe if you have prayed about it, you are just as sure of that as I am."

She raised her head to look at him without shying away from his direct stare. "I did pray."

She stoutly claimed that, even if it wasn't exactly true. She had prayed, but she had not asked the Lord if it was his will for her to go to the mountains. Instead, she had refused to allow that thought into her mind and certainly not into her prayers.

"Did you get an answer?"

She avoided answering the question he asked. "I've already given you an answer."

"But was it the Lord's answer?"

She lowered her eyes back to her hands. "Sometimes it can be hard to know that."

"And sometimes it isn't."

Without looking up, she knew he leaned toward her, as if he wanted to reach across the room to touch her. "I suppose that's according to the prayer."

"As well as according to the willingness to hear." His voice deepened in intensity to how he'd sounded in the pulpit on Sunday. He appeared to realize this and was silent a moment before he went on in a less impassioned tone. "I still believe you are the answer to the Sourwood children's prayers for a teacher." His tone softened even more. "I believe you are the answer to a prayer I didn't even know I had made, but one that rose from my heart. I need a helpmate in my mission. I need someone by my side."

She looked up to say once more she was not the answer to his prayer, but he held up his hand to stop her from speaking.

"Let me finish. I realize I was wrong to be so impulsive about my proposal. I can be that way at times when I think the Lord is leading me." He smiled a little. "Actually, my sister says I've always been that way. Pushy, she calls it. Such does not always work well. I should have given you the opportunity to get to know the man I am now and not the boy I was. I have changed."

"Time changes us all."

"So it does. I can see in your eyes the desire to answer the need for a teacher and I have spoiled that with my—" He hesitated a second before he continued. "What you considered my outrageous proposal."

"That is a proper word for it." A smile sneaked out from somewhere to surprise not only Gordon but her as well.

His answering smile lit up his face and settled in his eyes. "So it was. Outrageous, but then the Lord's calling can often be outrageous. I must admit I thought that when I first felt the call to preach."

"But you responded."

"I fought it a while, but the Lord has a way of winning a person over to whatever path he has laid out for him." His smile disappeared. "Or for her. I have heard your no. The Lord heard your no. But I think—I hope—I might hear a maybe behind that no. Would you continue to pray and think of the joy of being a teacher in a place where the children need one so desperately?"

She inclined her head slightly. Not a yes or a no.

He went on. "And in time perhaps consider being the wife of a preacher who needs one every bit as much. If that cannot be, I can find you lodging with one of the families. They would take you into their hearts. I know they would, and although the accommodations would be somewhat less comfortable than those you presently have, the Lord would reward you with many new friends."

"And a husband?" Mira whispered the words.

"I'm not sure how much of a reward a preacher for a husband would be, but I would surely feel greatly rewarded to have a beautiful wife and someday perhaps a child to call me Papa."

"Child." The word pierced her heart. She stood up, no longer able to sit. No longer able to listen to another word. "I can't," she said in a strangled voice as she ran from the room.

He didn't call after her, but Miss Ophelia did. "Mira, where are you going? I have your tea."

Mira didn't look around but instead went out the door. She hardly felt the cold air or noted the snow on her slippers as she raced up the steps to her rooms. She slammed the door behind her and leaned against it, breathing hard.

She looked up at the ceiling. "Dear Lord, what am I going to do?"

She hadn't run to escape Gordon's outrageous words about wanting a wife. She had run because the outrageous word yes was on the tip of her tongue.