Love On The High Plains Collection

Chapter 6

Saturday morning dawned bright and crisp, the Kansas wind creeping past the cracks in the window and doorframes and chilling the little house that slumbered in the shadow of the church.

The cold rather than the light dragged Cody from his deep hibernation. A careless roll dragged the covers out of alignment, revealing one bare foot to the tickle of the icy breeze creeping under the back door. He sat bolt upright in bed. It had almost felt like a human touch on his unguarded toes. Muttering, he pulled the covers back into position as he noticed that the fire had gone out during the night, leaving the room frigid.

Cody reached over from the bed and opened the top drawer of the bureau, retrieving a pair of grey stockings before stepping into his house shoes. Covering his feet improved his mood considerably. Protected from the chilly floor, he rose and changed into clean undergarments before pulling on a pair of brown trousers, a white shirt, and his dressing gown. Quickly tying the belt of the grey and brown garment, he moved to the stove.

Cody could only cook a little—barely enough to keep body and soul together—but he could make a decent cup of coffee provided he had the right ingredients. He opened the first cabinet. Plates, glasses, and bowls. The drawer below revealed a set of utensils.

The second cabinet was filled with staples: flour, sugar, and spices, oats and cornmeal. The drawer held a set of measuring spoons. The last cabinet renewed his faith in humanity. Coffee and tea for the new minister, along with cups, a kettle, and a teapot. A tin painted with tulips proved to hold some cookies.

andCody worked the pump. Frigid water flowed into the washbasin, and he caught the stream in the kettle and set it on the stove. He opened the firebox, overjoyed to see a small ember still glowing. He fed it a couple of sticks and breathed on it gently. The flame flared. Sighing with relief as warmth poured from the stove, he turned to scoop three spoonfuls of rich grounds into the coffee pot. Then he hunted out the long matches and crossed the room to the fireplace

He eyed the ashes doubtfully. He had never lit a fire in a fireplace before, as his previous homes had not been so equipped. Trying to remember what he had seen a few times in parishioners’ homes, he arranged logs from a stack beside the hearth, added a few pages from the outdated newspaper left on the loveseat, and struck a match.

His first attempt proved an abject failure.

A cold draft blew down the chimney and extinguished the flame before he could even touch the paper with it. The second attempt fared little better. The third time, he managed to light the paper, but it burned to ash in seconds, not igniting the logs.

Cody realized he was going to have to ask for instruction on this process, and in the meanwhile, was going to be living in a very cold house. The kettle began to whistle, and he abandoned the fireplace so he could make his coffee.

Pouring the water over the grounds, he leaned his face down to warm it in the fragrant steam.

Returning to the first cabinet, he claimed a cup and poured himself a generous portion of liquid life, warming his hands as he held the steaming beverage under his chin. Then he took a deep sip and sighed as the warmth spread through his belly.

He carried his cup to the sitting area and settled on one of the armchairs, scooping up what remained of the newspaper and reading an article about a gang of bank and train robbers who were stirring up trouble in Southern Colorado, the panhandle of Oklahoma and Southwest Kansas. They had robbed a bank in Liberal—which Cody recalled was about forty miles away—and shot the banker, breaking his shoulder. The man had lived, but the town was in terror of a repeat attack.

Turning the page, he snorted in disgust. The gossip section. Why do people in this small town care about the goings-on of socialites in the state capital over three hundred miles away? Shaking his head, he turned again. Recipes and advertisements filled the last page. It appeared a small café was eking out an existence somewhere on Main Street. That will be a welcome change from my own marginal cooking efforts now and again, provided I can afford it.

The gossip section. Why do people in this small town care about the goings-on of socialites in the state capital over three hundred miles awayThat will be a welcome change from my own marginal cooking efforts now and again, provided I can afford it.A thundering at the door startled Cody so badly, the paper tore in his hands. It sounded as though someone was kicking the wood. He hurried to open it and gaped to see Miss Kristina Heitschmidt standing on the stoop. The reason for her using her foot to get his attention became apparent immediately. She was laden with pots—a huge one with a smaller one stacked on top. A sack hung from each arm.

“Good morning, Miss Heitschmidt,” he greeted her, removing the pots from her hands. More blessed warmth radiated from them, and he carried them to the stove.

“Good morning, Reverend,” she replied, setting the bags on the counter. He opened the larger pot. Soup left over from last night half-filled the large container. It brought a smile to his face. The other, smaller one made him beam. Porridge, still steaming hot and laden with plump raisins.

“You, Miss Heitschmidt, are an angel,” he told her with undisguised admiration, pulling a bowl down from the cabinet and a spoon from the drawer, with which he scooped up a generous portion of the breakfast.

Her blush turned her skin darker than her freckles, but she smiled back.

“Would you like any?” he asked her.

“No, thank you. I"ve eaten.”

“How about a cup of coffee?”

“Yes, please. It"s beastly out today.”

“It"s not much better in here,” he replied. “This is hardly a congenial environment.”

“Oh, your fire went out!” she exclaimed. “Why didn"t you light it?”

“I"m ashamed to admit,” he told her gloomily, “I don"t know how.” Then he dared a glance at her face, relieved to see no mockery in her expression.

“Of course. I suppose cold is less of an issue in Texas.”

“Right. And we had radiators.”

“We do as well. Just not in this little house. Here, let me show you.”

He set his porridge on the table and followed her to the fireplace.

“Oh, this will never work!” she explained in a gentle, neutral tone. “You have to put the fire under the logs.”

under“Why is that?” he asked.

“Because as it burns, the flames rise upwards, igniting the wood.”

“That makes sense. I wonder why it didn’t occur to me.” He rolled his eyes toward heaven in exasperation with his lack of creativity.

Kristina gave him a tolerant grin and showed him how to construct a fire correctly. Then she set a match to the paper, which, as promised, flickered up, licking the logs until they blazed with a steady, welcoming yellow glow.

He smiled ruefully and offered her the rag to wipe her sooty hands. “How many times is it, Miss Heitschmidt, that you"ve saved me from the cold now? Three? You"re a very considerate young woman. Thank you.”

“You"re welcome,” she replied, scooping up her coffee.

“Are you sure it"s all right for you to be here alone?” he asked. “I don"t want to damage anyone"s reputation, including my own.”

“Yes, I’ll go in a moment. I just figured you didn"t have anything to eat. Along with the soup and breakfast, I also brought you some bread and cheese and some fruit.”

“You should be appointed head of the welcoming committee. I suddenly feel very at home in Kansas.”

“I"m glad.” Her smile turned shy.

“Do you know—did your father say—whether I would be expected to prepare the service for tomorrow?”

“As a matter of fact, it"s the other reason I"m here. He would like you to prepare a sermon if you would. You don"t need to worry about the hymns. They"ve been taken care of."

He nodded. “That"s reasonable.”

She drained her coffee. He felt a flicker of admiration that she had drunk the strong brew black with neither cream nor sugar and hadn"t reacted to its intensity in the slightest. She rinsed the cup in the washbasin and pulled a fresh cloth from the drawer, setting it on the counter with the cup inverted on top of it.

“I really must go, Reverend. The Ladies" Altar Guild is decorating the church for Christmas today, and I promised to help. They"ll be expecting me.”

She scooped up one of her two bags leaving the other on his counter and turned to go.

“Wait,” Cody called. Kristina turned. He crossed the room and took her hand. This close, he could see she really was as tall as he remembered. At least five foot ten. He raised the hand, noting it was as heavily speckled as the rest of her, and touched his lips to her skin. “Thank you.”

She gave him that friendly smile that set her eyes sparkling like the Gulf in summer before she turned and left without a word.

Cody watched from the window until she reached the end of the brick path and turned left, heading for the door of the church. Then he sat down and savored every bite of his porridge.

Kristina lingered in his mind as he ate. Though not pretty, she lacks neither intelligence, nor articulation, nor culinary skill. She keeps a clean house, and she possesses a ferocious talent for music. At twenty-three, someone should have married her by now. And yet she"s single, like me. I wonder why.

Though not pretty, she lacks neither intelligence, nor articulation, nor culinary skill. She keeps a clean house, and she possesses a ferocious talent for music. At twenty-three,someoneshould have married her by now. And yet she"s single, like me.I wonder why.Though the entrance to the church was only a few steps from Reverend Williams"s door, Kristina grew thoroughly chilled by the time she arrived for the church decorating party. Inside the building, a table had been set up in the entryway and piled with treats for the ladies: cookies, slices of cake, miniature tarts and urns of coffee and tea.

“Kristina!” A tall blond woman rushed over and grasped her hands, pulling her into the room.

“Good morning, Allison,” Kristina replied.

“Oh good,” a sarcastic voice drawled from the front, “our other sss is here. Ladies, the tree is out in the front. If you would be so good as to bring it inside, we have the stand ready.”

Every one of Ilse"s words sounded perfectly polite, but her tone left no doubt as to what she thought about these two women who didn"t care as much as they should about flirting and beauty, decorations and ornaments.

Allison and Kristina grinned at each other as they headed outside. They didn"t care much about Ilse either.

Sure enough, they found a huge blue spruce lying in the snow. It had come on last night"s train from Colorado. The severed trunk still bled sap.

“You know, I wish I had never mentioned this tradition,” Kristina commented, as she lugged the prickly evergreen up off the ground. “There are so few trees here. This one looks like it"s been murdered.”

“I know what you mean. I suppose in Germany they have plenty.”

“I suppose. Well, maybe once it"s all done up, it will look pretty.”

“We can only hope,” Allison concurred, and together the two women wrestled their fragrant burden through the door and up the long aisle and behind the communion rail, where a metal stand with three long screws awaited them. They carefully tipped the tree into the stand and levered it into position, making tiny adjustments while Ilse shouted advice from halfway across the room.

At last, many pricked fingers and strained muscles later, they finished the task to the satisfaction of the fussy Miss Jackson. Sighing and stretching out their Charley horses, the two women made their way back to the refreshment table. They"d more than earned a cup of tea and a snack. While they relaxed, the rest of the crew—fifteen women and seven girls ranging in age from nine to fifty—converged on the tree, affixing candles to the limbs and hanging strings of beads and little ornaments made of straw and ribbons.

While Kristina munched a juicy apple, a blast of frigid air hit her from behind. Turning, she saw Lydia Carré carrying a plate of peach turnovers, ready to join the fun.

“Lydia!” Kristina exclaimed, and Allison moved the snacks on the table to make room for the pastries. “I didn"t think you"d be coming. Who"s tending your café?”

“Esther,” Lydia replied naming her elderly assistant. “The breakfast rush is over, and it"s just soup and a sandwich for lunch today. Billy Fulton can help her serve. He"s wanted to do it for a while. How"s the decorating going?”

“Hard to say. I"m no expert, but it looks as though the queen of the altar guild is firmly in charge.” The last Kristina said in a whisper, and Lydia squeaked with suppressed laughter.

Kristina poured a cup of coffee for Lydia and took a turnover for herself.

They watched the progress and the squabbling for several minutes before Ilse called out. “Hey, Amazons. We need one of you.”

Kristina gave Allison a rueful glance and set down her half-eaten fruit, heading back up to the tree. Ilse handed her a delicate blown-glass star. It appeared to have been filled with molten gold while still soft. The shimmering metal stretched partway into each of the dozen or more little points.

Kristina stepped carefully onto a stepstool beside the spruce. Stretching out to her full height, she was just able to bend down the top of the tree and thread the bushy branch into the cone-shaped opening of the ornament. She released the stem slowly not wanting it to snap and fling the fragile star into the wall.

The entire room drew a collective breath as the tip of the tree slowly straightened. Kristina stepped down from the stool. As she had hoped, it looked cheerful and elegant in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

The group turned to the rest of the room. They affixed garlands tied with golden bows to the end of each pew and along the length of the communion rail.

Hungry after their efforts, the ladies descended on the table and devoured the snacks.

“So, Kristina, rumor has it you met the new pastor,” Lydia said conspiratorially.

“Yes. He had dinner with Dad and me last night.” Kristina controlled her voice, to make sure no hint of smugness emerged.

“What is he like?” Ilse asked, butting into the conversation.

“Like a pastor,” Kristina replied.

“What do you mean?” the black-haired girl asked sharply, looking up at her much taller conversation partner. “Is he gray-haired and boring? Will his voice put us all to sleep?”

“Not at all,” Kristina replied. “He"s not a bit old. His hair is dark, and he has quite a nice voice.” He does, too. A rumbling bass I would love to add to the choir provided he can carry a tune. Her thoughts drifted to a brief fantasy of how that would sound, and a pleasing shiver ran up her spine. Nothing beats a bass who can truly sing.

He does, too. A rumbling bass I would love to add to the choir provided he can carry a tune.Nothing beats a bass who can truly sing.“Young?” Ilse"s blue eyes widened.

Kristina nodded.

“But skinny? Short? He"s shorter than you, isn"t he? Stoop-shouldered? Does he have a limp?”

Kristina sighed knowing there would be no rest until Ilse was satisfied. “None of those things. He"s tall, muscular-looking, and his hair is black, like yours. In fact, it occurred to me the two of you would match rather nicely.”

Ilse snorted. “As if I would have any interest in a mere pastor when I have Carlton Holcomb courting me.”

Carlton Holcomb, the son of one of the largest ranch owners in a hundred miles, had been courting Ilse for at least two years, but she refused to commit just in case someone even better came along.

“There is one thing I wanted to bring to everyone"s attention, though,” Kristina addressed the group, diffusing the gossip with practicality. “He"s not outfitted for Kansas at all. He has a Texas coat, no gloves, no winter hat. The poor man is freezing all the time. Now I know some of you have extra garments your fathers and brothers don"t need anymore. If it"s for someone tall, or can be let out in the length, donate it. If you"re good at knitting or crochet, put together a hat or scarf. Winter"s almost here and we don"t need our brand-new pastor freezing to death.”

Nods of agreement around the room greeted her request.

“What about you, Kristina?” Ilse asked, in a voice just short of a sneer. “What are you going to contribute? You don"t have anything, do you?”

“Actually, no. You’re right. I can"t knit or crochet.” She forced herself to answer mildly. “I"ve brought him some food, and I plan to go through the charity closet and see which of the coats would be most likely to fit. It will have to suffice.”

Apparently, the scripture that said a soft answer turneth away wrath was correct. Ilse could find no retort, so she remained blessedly silent.

The discussion of the new pastor finished, the women"s altar guild dispersed, heading home, some in groups, others alone, until only Kristina remained.

Though the high sun suggested lunchtime, she felt near to bursting with sweet treats and the organ was calling her. She ascended the staircase and seated herself at the bench. Her fingers tingled, but her mind raced through which pieces to practice, and in what order. A slow smile spread across her face and Kristina began to play.

Cody sat at his kitchen table, his Bible open beside him to the book of Isaiah. A concordance and two books of commentary lay nearby. He held a third. An idea bounced around in his head but refused to gel. Far too much rode on this sermon. As Saturday afternoon waned, he still had nothing to say. Maybe nerves are getting in the way of my ability to form coherent thoughts.

Maybe nerves are getting in the way of my ability to form coherent thoughts.From next door, the organ began to hum. The hum rose in pitch and volume as Kristina played a series of scales, starting with the foot pedals and heading up and up across all the keyboards to piercing heights before descending.

He smiled ruefully. Scales will do nothing but distract me.

Scales will do nothing but distract meAs though she"d heard the thought, the crawling notes ended, and a slow, melancholy tune played in a minor key emerged from the church next door.

“‘Rejoice, rejoice,’” Cody sang, “‘Em-man-uel shall come to thee oh Israel.’” Anticipation, excitement, apprehension. Waiting for someone to arrive. Waiting to arrive. Not knowing what might happen. It"s like waiting for Christmas. We wait with joy because we know the end of the story, but the children of Israel didn"t know. They had prophecies but didn"t understand them. It"s like a pastor coming to a new church. Like a church receiving a new pastor…

Anticipation, excitement, apprehension. Waiting for someone to arrive. Waiting to arrive. Not knowing what might happen. It"s like waiting for Christmas. We wait with joy because we know the end of the story, but the children of Israel didn"t know. They had prophecies but didn"t understand them. It"s like a pastor coming to a new church. Like a church receiving a new pastor…Like a match flaring to life, the entire sermon burst into Cody"s head. He knew just what he needed to say.

Trusting the idea would not leave in a moment, he offered a quick prayer of thanks before reaching for his pencil and beginning to scribble furiously on his paper.