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Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

Prologue

Philadelphia 1881

"Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached your verdict?"

"We have, Your Honor."

"How do you find the defendant, Willard Palmer?"

"We find him not guilty."

David Long looked at his client. He'd defended Willard to the best of his ability, even though he knew the man was guilty as sin. Being the youngest associate in the firm, David had no other choice.

"You did it, David!" Willard exclaimed, slapping him on the back. "You saved my sorry hide. My father will see to it you get a well earned bonus."

"Tell your father to keep his money. I know you well enough to know there will be more legal fees in the future."

"Then I'll make you a wealthy man."

"Not me. This is my last case. I wish you well."

Without waiting for Willard to make further comment, David shoved the papers littering the defense table into his briefcase and stalked out of the courthouse.

In the weeks of preparation for the trial, as well as the proceeding itself, David had felt an uneasiness settling into his being. It hadn't been until the reading of the verdict that it struck him.

Above the voice of the foreman of the jury, David heard another, a softer more powerful one. You are mine, David long. The time has come for you to serve me.

David knew he'd heard the voice before, but then he'd been asleep. In his dreams, God told him of a life spreading the word of the Lord. Upon awakening, the dream was always vivid, the meaning always clear. It was only the weakness of his own flesh that kept him from acting upon it. What did he know about spreading the word of God? He was a lawyer, the son of a blacksmith. Even though he went to church on Sunday and participated in evening devotions with his family, he wasn't a preacher. He had neither the training nor the...

Nor the what? his mind silently questioned. He was a lawyer. He certainly wasn't afraid of facing a packed courtroom to argue the innocence of a man he knew to be guilty. Surely he would have no trouble facing a congregation to spread the word he knew to be the truth.

Hearing the voice as well as the words while he was awake frightened and yet exhilarated David. God wanted him, David Long, to spread His word. In his entire life, David had never heard of God speaking to a modern day man. God talked freely to men like Abraham and Moses, but not to someone in the nineteenth century.

Outside of the courthouse, David pushed through the crowd of people anxious to hear the verdict. Once away from the crush of the mob, David hurried to the building that housed his law office.

"How did it go, my boy?" Raymond Saunders, David's employer inquired.

"We won," David replied, flatly.

"You did a great job. There's a raise waiting for you. I knew we made the right decision when we put you on this case."

"Keep your raise, Mr. Saunders. I won't need it. This is my last case. I'm leaving the law. I'm sick to my stomach over the miscarriage of justice in that courtroom today. Willard was guilty. The only reason he's free is that I convinced the jury he was innocent."

"Do I have to remind you that was your job? Mr. Palmer paid us handsomely for your services."

"From now on, he'll have to pay someone else. I will no longer take money to lie so a guilty man can go free. I have no other cases pending. I'm certain you'll have no trouble replacing me."

David turned from his astonished boss and made his way to the office he'd called his own for the past eight years. It took only minutes for him to neatly stack the papers from his briefcase on the large mahogany desk. It amazed David how quickly he was able to pack up eight years of his life.

Within the hour, David arrived at his parents' home on the outskirts of the city. His reception from his father had been less than favorable.

"You did what?" William Long demanded.

"I quit the firm. I've given up the law."

"But why?" his mother asked, wringing her hands. "Being a lawyer has been your dream."

"It was your dream, Mama, yours and Papa's. God wants me to do His work now."

"My son hears the voice of God," his father lamented, thrusting his hands into the air. "Whoever heard of the son of a blacksmith talking to God?"

"Whoever heard of a shepherd boy killing a giant? A boy with the same name as mine slew Goliath with a rock and a sling. He did it because God guided him to do so. Today God decided to guide me to spread His word. Can I do less than to obey?"

* * *

David sat in the parlor of the parsonage. Around him the shabby hand-me-down furniture denoted the life he would be embarking upon.

Do I know what I'm doing, he silently asked himself. As a lawyer, I'd never want for money. I could easily afford a home in a fashionable neighborhood. Do I want to spend the rest of my life living in the poverty the ministry demands?

The answer came back as an overwhelming YES!

"David," Reverend Kanter said, as he entered the room. "What brings you here today?"

"I...I want to find out how I go about becoming a minister."

Reverend Kanter looked over the top of his spectacles. "I thought you were well established with a good law firm. Why have you had this change of heart?"

David swallowed hard. How did he even begin? "I don't know if you will believe this, but God has called me. He wants me to spread His word."

Reverend Kanter leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped before him. The gesture made David more than a little uneasy.

"Have you given this matter sufficient thought? The young are often impetuous in their actions. They do not always think beyond the moment. Have you thought beyond the moment, David?"

"I'm hardly what you would call young, Reverend Kanter. You must know I've passed my thirtieth birthday. I would imagine by the standards of many this would seem like a sudden decision, but I have prayed about it. I started having the dreams weeks ago. Then, in the middle of a trial, He spoke to me while I was awake. I know you must think I am doing something I might regret, but I don't agree."

Reverend Kanter began to smile. "I am inclined to believe you, but I want you to take a month to consider your decision. While you do, I want you to read some books. When you finish them, come back and we will talk again."

David left the parsonage feeling more than a little disappointed. He'd expected Reverend Kanter to welcome him with open arms. Instead, he'd filled David's arms with books.

"What did Reverend Kanter have to say?" David's mother inquired when he returned home.

"He wants me to read these books," David replied. "I thought..."

"You thought he would give you a church. It takes more than a desire to spread the word of God. If Reverend Kanter says you should read, then you should read."

David reluctantly agreed with his mother. Without further conversation, he went to his room, put the books on the table and began to pour over one of the volumes he carried in his arms.

The first book in the stack was the Bible. Although he'd memorized the verses as a child, now he read the words as a man. Among the other books, he found explanations to the passages he did not understand.

Over the next month, David left his room only for meals. The more he read the more he wanted to know. A whole new world was opening to him.

* * *

"It's been a month, David," Reverend Kanter began, once they were seated in the parlor. "What have you learned?"

From the moment David started talking, the words tumbled over one another in an attempt to be heard. Before he knew it two hours had passed and he'd talked non-stop the entire time.

When he finally exhausted what he had to say, Reverend Kanter smiled broadly then laughed out loud. To David, the gesture seemed humiliating. How could this man he had come to for guidance make fun of him to his face?

As he started to get to his feet to leave, Reverend Kanter motioned for him to remain seated.

After the man regained his composure, he reached across the short space separating their chairs and clasped David's hand.

"Please don't misinterpret my joy, David. I expected you to see what path God intended for you to travel. Instead, you found an extensive map for your entire life. You are indeed blessed. During this time I have been in contact with the church officials right here in Philadelphia. They have assured me you should require no further schooling. As a matter of fact, they want to meet with you on Monday morning. I am to bring you to their church so they can question you before they give you your first call."

David could hardly believe his ears. Instead of the ridicule he'd heard from his father since leaving the law, he'd found acceptance. Within a few days his life would take a new path. The disappointment of a month earlier turned to the anticipation of his new life.

"Where do you think this call will be?"

"I have a friend, Reverend Jonathan Hall, in Mortonville, Illinois. His health is failing rapidly. I am afraid he must give up his church. It will be a perfect first call."

Chapter One

Mortonville, Illinois

"Did you hear the news?" Gertie Kellogg asked when Hattie Fairchild met her on the street Wednesday morning.

"It's no secret that Reverend Hall is leaving, Gertie. Even I know that."

"Well, of course you do. I mean, with you playing the piano at church and all you'd be one of the first to know. I wasn't talking about him. I was referring to the new minister. I hear he's very young, very handsome and very single."

"And just why would this information be of interest to me?"

"Oh really Hattie, everyone in town knows there isn't a single man your age within fifty miles of Mortonville. The new minister might be your last chance."

Hattie rolled her eyes and hurried on her way. She refused to dignify Gertie's comment with a reply. She'd never been considered a great catch and the fact that she was fast approaching her thirtieth birthday didn't make her any more attractive.

Her sister, Laura, had been the beauty in the family and what had it gotten her? From the letters she wrote, Caleb Tyler was an abusive husband who had turned four of their five sons into ruthless killers and bank robbers.

Even her mother had been considered a rare beauty in her youth. There was no denying her life had been extremely hard. She'd been a farmer's wife raising two girls to adulthood and four boys barely past infancy and it stole whatever beauty she had, whatever youth she possessed. Hattie's father had spent much of his time in the tavern playing cards and getting drunk, leaving the work of running the farm to Hattie and her mother who had died long before her time.

After seeing the disastrous marriages of her two closest female relatives, Hattie swore she would remain an old maid rather than endure a loveless and abusive union.

Five years earlier, her father died in a fight over a card game, leaving Hattie with a farm she could in no way, run alone. After selling the land, she sent half the money to Laura and invested her portion with an old friend, Abe Levins, the local tailor. For years she had done piecework for him, so it seemed only logical that they become partners. With Abe's death two years ago, Hattie became Mortonville's only seamstress and tailor. The decision to become a businesswoman had been a good one.

Hattie looked around the shop that doubled as her home. As so often was the case, she realized how much she missed Abe. He'd taught her more in the three years they worked together than her parents did over the entire course of her life.

Abe Levins was a widower in need of a partner as well as a housekeeper. Hattie had been more than delighted to fill both positions. He in return became the kind of father she had longed for all her life. Not only was he patient when he was teaching her something new, he was also a very loving man. Never having children of his own, he was more than happy to take on the role of foster father.

To her amazement, Abe insisted she accompany him to church on Sunday mornings.

"But Abe, you must know I'm not a church goer. I can't even say I'm a believer."

"You may not be either, but you will go to church with me. My Marta and I came here from New York over twenty years ago. As you can see, there is no synagogue in Mortonville. If I wanted to fit in, I had to do as my neighbors did. In my heart, as well as my home, I am Jewish. If you want to be successful in this town, you will make the people think you believe as they do."

At first going to Sunday services had been a chore, but Hattie soon became adept at allowing her mind to wander to things other than the scripture reading and the sermon.

When she'd been asked to play the piano for the services, Hattie was delighted. Music she understood and loved. She found she could concentrate on the black dots that dominated the lines and spaces and not have to worry about the words of praise the congregation sang. With the piano situated in the balcony at the back of the church, Hattie could come and go unseen, the only evidence of her presence being the sweet strains of the music coming from the balcony.

Over the years, the façade she'd built up had done exactly what Abe said it would. No one had any idea their dedicated church pianist carried the classics in her music bag and read them during Reverend Hall's lengthy sermons.

The merry jingling of the bell above the door to the shop diverted Hattie's attention from her thoughts of Abe and the life he'd given her. Putting aside the sewing she held in her hands but hadn't worked on, she turned her attention to her customer.

"Good morning, Hattie," Reverend Hall greeted her. "I wanted to stop by and have a talk with you alone before I leave."

"Please, do come in. I have a pot of coffee on the stove. Can I get you a cup?"

"Don't bother. Much as I'd like one, I'm afraid this old body of mine wouldn't be as appreciative."

Hattie nodded. Instead of making room to sit in her cluttered shop, she put the 'closed' sign in the window, pulled the shades and ushered Reverend Hall back to her private living quarters.

Very few people actually visited Hattie and yet she kept the backrooms company ready at all times. For too many years she lived in her mother's filthy home. As a child, she'd cultivated no friends because she'd been too ashamed to have them at her home.

"As you know, we will be leaving here soon," Jonathan began.

"Where are you and Mabel going?" Hattie asked, once she poured herself a cup of coffee.

"We have a son in Ohio. He has a large congregation there. Once I'm gone, Mabel will be cared for in his home."

Tears prickled behind Hattie's eyes. The thought of this dear man ceasing to exist saddened her.

"Don't cry for me, my dear. I welcome death and the chance to go Home."

His words caused her tears to flow even harder. He so easily talked about a better life after death, yet she doubted it. For Hattie, you lived and then you died. Once you did everything ended.

In comfort, Jonathan covered Hattie's hand with his surprisingly frail one.

"I didn't come here to talk about the life I'm anticipating."

Hattie looked up and into the eyes of her friend. "I...I know," she said, choking back her sobs. "You came to say good-bye."

Jonathan began to smile. "That too. My real reason for coming is to talk about you."

"Me?"

"Yes, Hattie, you. I'm afraid I have let you down. When you first started attending services, I selfishly thought the word I was spreading had taken root. Over the years, I've watched you come to church on Sundays and hide away in the balcony. I have not ministered to you and you have not fully accepted the Lord."

Hattie felt a hurt that radiated from her heart to the very core of her being. The expression on Jonathan's face made it clear the man felt he had failed.

"It's nothing you've done," Hattie said, the words coming almost too quickly. "I consider you and Mabel two of my best friends. I'd never knowingly do anything to hurt either of you. My faith, or lack of it, has nothing to do with you."

Jonathan sat quietly for a moment, as though contemplating her words then continued. "I understood Abe's motives for going to church, but what are yours?"

Hattie shrugged. "In the beginning, I think they mirrored Abe's. When I was asked to play the piano, it was a dream come true. Where else could I do something with my music and still remain a proper maiden lady? For me, what began as something to promote my business has become the joy of my life. I love my music."

"Dear, dear Hattie. My wish for you is that your love will become the road to your future. I will continue to pray for your redemption."

"Will you tell the new minister about me?"

"You know I won't. If David learns about you, it will be by his own perception."

"David?"

"Reverend Long. He grew up in a church where an old friend of mine is the minister. He tells me that even though David is close to, if not over thirty, this is to be his first call. In Philadelphia, he was a lawyer. I think the two of you will enjoy a great battle of wills."

Although Hattie had work she knew must be finished, she sat in her parlor long after Reverend Hall left. As she thought about what he said, she drank the remainder of the coffee in the pot.

The fact Jonathan saw through her carefully planned façade was upsetting. When the new minister came, she would have to be more careful. The last thing she needed was to be exposed. Not only would it be disastrous for her business, but it would also be the end of being the pianist at the church. She could survive without her sewing. She had enough money set aside to live comfortably for quite a while. Her music was something else. The only joy she could remember in her life centered on the piano and the music she could coax from its keys. To give up the one thing that made her happy would be devastating.

"What am I going to do, Abe?" she asked, as though her old friend stood beside her.

When her question remained unanswered, tears began to roll down her cheeks. It had been a long time since she'd indulged in a soul-cleansing cry. Since Abe's death, she'd been totally and utterly alone. Until today it hadn't mattered. She had her music and that made her happy. What if Reverend Long forbid her to play once he realized she didn't believe in his God?

* * *

David passed the time on the trip from Philadelphia to Mortonville absorbed in one of the many books Reverend Kanter suggested he read.

Along with his other belongings, his father insisted he take his law books.

"I'll never use them again," David remembered protesting.

"Maybe you won't, but what will it hurt to take them with you? I realize that God has called you to spread his word, but he also gave you the mind to be a lawyer. There may come a day when the minister will need the lawyer. When it does, you will be prepared."

David looked back down at the book he held in his hands. These are my books now, Papa. I loved the law, but I love the Lord more. Even though I may never use the law again, it is a comfort to have my law books with me. Thank you for insisting I make room for them in my new life.

"Mortonville, Illinois! Next stop Mortonville, Illinois," the conductor called as he made his way through the passenger car.

David put the book in his traveling bag. As soon as the train came to a stop, he was on his feet. After sitting on the moving train for so long, his legs felt as though they wouldn't support the weight of his large frame.

He stepped from the train to the platform and inhaled deeply. The sweet smell of summer in the country told him he'd made the right decision. Having grown up surrounded by the odor of smoke from his father's blacksmith shop mingled with that of horses in need of shoeing, he knew he would have never been content to spend his entire life in the city, away from the wonders of nature God provided. Within the walls of the courthouse, to say nothing of his office, he missed the reminders of home.

Across the platform, David noticed three men fidgeting nervously. They certainly looked out of place in their Sunday best on this Wednesday morning.

"Excuse us, sir," the eldest of the trio said, as he crossed the wooden structure. "Did you see anyone else getting off at this stop?"

David smiled. He knew what was coming next. Just as no one believed a man of his bulk was a lawyer, it would be harder to comprehend him being a man of the cloth.

"Are you expecting anyone special?" David inquired, unable to resist the chance to have a bit of fun at the expense of the men he decided must be the members of the church council.

"We're supposed to be meeting the new minister for our church," the second man to approach him explained.

"Then I think you've found him. I'm Reverend David Long. I'll be ready to join you as soon as my horse and carriage are unloaded."

"You're our new minister?" the youngest man in the group questioned, his mouth gaping open.

"I was the last time I checked. Now, if you will excuse me, I see my horse being unloaded. I'll be with you shortly."

David left the group to stare after him as he hurried to where two men were busy leading David's high-spirited black gelding from the train. From the next car, the carriage his father gave him upon completion of law school was being unloaded. It was all he could do to keep from cautioning the men to be careful with his most prized possession.

Behind him, the Black nickered, as if trying to get his attention. David turned, and then stroked the horse's nose. "Did you have a good trip, Buck?"

The big horse nodded his head as though saying he was happy to at last be out of the cramped quarters of the car where he'd been stabled.

"Is all of this baggage yours, Reverend Long?" the man he would soon come to know as Edward Harmon, the town's barber and president of the church council asked.

"Yes, it is. Don't try lifting any of it, though. Most of the crates are filled with books. I wouldn't want you to hurt yourselves on my account."

After hitching Buck to the traces, David effortlessly hefted the crates and trunk to the storage area behind the seat of the carriage.

"We didn't know you'd have your own transportation," Ed commented, nodding toward David's horse and rig. "Herman here brought over his wagon, but it looks like you won't be needing it."

David extended his hand to the man referred to as Herman. "You must be Herman Kellogg. It's a pleasure to meet you."

The man with a ruddy complexion, at least the part that showed beneath his full beard, smiled. "Don't know where Ed's manners are. He should have introduced the rest of us right off."

David knew where the man's manners were. They'd gotten lost when he realized someone who looked like a blacksmith was their new minister.

"This here is Ed Harmon, President of the council," Herman continued. "The youngster over there is George Ramson. We didn't know if you'd have transportation to get to the parsonage, so we brought along my wagon. Since we don't need it, George can ride back to town with you. We certainly don't want you getting lost on your first day here."

If the three men who greeted him hadn't been so down right serious, David would have burst out laughing. The expression on the faces of the illustrious church council was priceless. If he lived to be a hundred, David knew he would never forget the disbelief he'd seen mirrored in their eyes.

Once David was assured all of his belongings were accounted for, he climbed onto the seat of the carriage. He smiled as George scrambled up to sit next to him.

"Herman called you the youngster," David observed. "Do I have to guess what he meant?"

"I doubt it. I'm the youngest member of the 'Good Old Boy's Club', otherwise knows as the church council."

"The 'Good Old Boy's Club?" David questioned.

"Herman and Ed as well as my dad and Ralph Mason have run the church for the past twenty years. When my dad died last year I inherited the position. I have a feeling you're going to shake up more than Herman and Ed."

"You mentioned another man, Ralph Mason. Why wasn't he here today?"

"He had a run in with his new bull last week and stove in a couple of ribs. Doc's got him confined to bed. I feel sorry for Edna having to put up with him. He can be as grouchy as an old bear."

"Let me get this all straight. You're the youngest member of the church council. Are there any young families in the congregation?"

"Lots of them. They just don't have much say in things. Reverend Hall was older than my dad, so he didn't have a problem with the things that were going on."

For the first time David found he could contain himself no longer and laughed out loud. "I'm afraid the church council is in for a shock. I'm not exactly what they were expecting. You might as well know, I'm more learned when it comes to trying a case in court and shoeing a horse than I am about preaching the word of the Lord. What I do know is God spoke to me. He told me to leave my life in Philadelphia behind and do his bidding. My ways may be different from Reverend Hall's, but I pray they will be just as effective."

The smile on George's face said more than words. David was certain he'd made his first friend in Mortonville. George was close enough to David's age that they could easily become close. If nothing else, the man knew where all the skeletons in town were buried.

"So, when you're not meeting new ministers at the station, where will I find you?" David asked.

"My wife, Ruth, and I run the general store. I'm sure you'll be seeing a lot of me, since I'm also the postmaster. Everyone in town shows up at the store at least once a day six days a week."

David had little trouble visualizing the small town country store George described. Back home the general store in their small town outside of Philadelphia had been the hub of activity for the entire community. Old men went there to play cards and checkers, young men to talk about the weather and women of all ages to share the things women had shared with each other since the beginning of time.

At George's direction, David turned Buck onto a tree-lined residential street. Ahead of him, David saw the spire of a white clapboard church. Somehow he'd envisioned his first call would take him to a country parish surrounded by cornfields and dairy farms. He certainly hadn't expected close neighbors.

"What do you want to see first, the church or the parsonage?" George asked, once David stopped the carriage in front of the white two-story house next door to the church.

From the wide veranda style porch, it was evident to David that his predecessors had large families. He could almost see children playing beneath its sheltered roof on rainy summer afternoons.

"I'd like to see the church. It doesn't matter what the house looks like. Without a family, it's just a place to sleep." From the look on George's face, David knew the man had anticipated his answer.

After getting down from the carriage, David stood staring at the building in front of him. This was his church. The people who worshiped here would look to him for spiritual leadership. Am I up to this calling?

"Shall we go in, Reverend Long?"

The question left David's silent inquiries unanswered, as he replied, "Yes, of course."

George led the way up the steps and opened one of the double doors. David gasped with pleasure as he stepped into the bell room, which doubled as the narthex of the church. Instantly, he knew this was where he belonged.

It took only a few steps for him to move forward into the sanctuary. Two rows of divided pews painted a pristine white stood in direct contrast to the highly polished wood floor made up of wide cut boards. Two steps of a darker wood led to the raised area where an ornate altar and pulpit stood. For a moment, he silently stared at the area where he would spend his time, where he would preach his sermons and read the words of the Lord.

"It's not what I expected," he finally said. "How long has this congregation been established?"

"Officially about twenty years, at least that's how long ago the church was built. Before that they met in the homes of the parishioners for an additional twenty years."

David nodded. This was not some struggling congregation. It was made up of affluent farmers and merchants who took great pride in their church.

Dear God, he silently prayed, why have you sent me here? Is it to teach me or to somehow help the people who worship here?

Chapter Two

By noon, Hattie was more than ready to close up the shop. Saturday mornings were reserved for people to pick up the sewing she'd finished over the past week. Since no one had been in for the last hour, whatever was left hanging on the rack would remain there until she reopened on Monday morning.

After eating a light lunch of fresh lettuce from her garden and cold chicken from the night before, Hattie put on her bonnet and left the house. The walk to the church would take less than ten minutes. Once there she would take on her other tasks for the week. She would polish the piano and pick up the songs for tomorrow's service.

As usual, the church was deserted. The solitude reminded her that tomorrow Jonathan would not be the one giving the sermon.

She'd heard, from Gertie Kellogg, as well as Ruth Ramson, about how shocked the council had been when they met the Reverend David Long at the train station. If anyone asked Hattie, which they didn't, it was about time someone shook up Ed Harmon, Herman Kellogg, and Ralph Mason.

Hattie's thoughts continued until she found herself seated at the piano. From her music bag, she pulled a soft cloth and lovingly dusted the keys. Although someone came in on Thursday and cleaned the church, she knew they never made it to the balcony. It didn't matter. Hattie loved the piano Ralph sent all the way to Chicago for five years ago.

Once she finished with the keys, she concentrated on the fine wood of the cabinet. From her bag, she produced a bottle of lemon oil. Even if the oil was expensive, Hattie didn't care. When it came to caring for such a fine musical instrument, cost was not a concern to her.

When she reached the music stand, Hattie stopped short. Instead of a note with Jonathan's neatly printed list of hymns for the next morning, all she found was dust. It was apparent Jonathan had not told the new minister about the arrangement.

By the time she finished, mere annoyance turned to anger. How could Jonathan have forgotten to tell the new minister to leave her the list? She laughed at herself for being upset. One visit to the parsonage would straighten out the misunderstanding.

You've become a fussy old maid, Hattie Fairchild, her inner voice declared.

"I most certainly have," Hattie said aloud, as she closed the door to the church.

"Did you say something to me?"

Hattie was startled by the sound of a man's deep voice behind her. She turned, surprised to see someone who could only be Reverend David Long standing so close he cast a shadow over her entire body. She judged his height to be well over six foot three. His sandy brown hair curled around his shirt collar. For a woman, such beautiful hair would have been a blessing, for a man, especially a man built like this one, she assumed he considered it a curse. More enticing than his stature or his hair were his piercing blue eyes. She'd have to watch her step where this man was concerned.

"Were you talking to me?" he asked for the second time.

"Ah...no. I was just muttering to myself. You must be the new minister."

"Then you have me at a disadvantage."

Hattie could feel a blush creep into her cheeks. "I...I'm Hattie Fairchild," she stammered, extending her hand. "I play the piano. I was on my way to meet you, since I didn't find a list of the hymns for tomorrow's service."

David took her hand. As he did she became painfully aware of the feel of flesh against flesh. Any proper lady would have been wearing gloves if she were out for an afternoon stroll. Of course, Hattie wasn't strolling. She was cleaning, but no one knew that she carried lemon oil and soft cloths in her music bag on Saturday afternoon any more than they knew about the novels that occupied the same space on Sunday mornings.

David smiled at her comment, the gesture causing a pair of deep dimples to appear in his clean-shaven cheeks. Instantly a comment her mother often made popped into her head. Dimples in a child's cheeks are the touch of the angels, a dimple in its chin is the mark of the devil.

Hattie didn't believe in either angels or devils, but this man certainly looked angelic with those dimples, which were so deep she could get lost in them.

"I just found Reverend Hall's note about the hymns," David continued, bringing Hattie back to the present. "I was hoping to get here before you arrived. Unfortunately, I see I'm a bit late. I was having a little trouble with tomorrow's sermon."

David cringed at the white lie he'd told. His sermon had been written for days. He'd purposely waited until he knew she'd be done to come over from the parsonage. Jonathan left a note detailing Hattie's schedule, right down to how long she spent at the church on Saturday afternoon.

Everyone had told him about the mysterious Miss Fairchild, from Jonathan to Ralph Mason. From what he'd heard, she came and went without people even seeing her. The general consensus, he concluded, was that Hattie Fairchild was an old maid and more than a bit strange.

David didn't care how strange she was; the lady intrigued him. He couldn't help but wonder if her flaming red hair and emerald green eyes hid a tempter or a more passionate nature. Whichever, she certainly wasn't the woman everyone described. He couldn't be so cold as to call her old. If she'd seen her thirtieth birthday, he'd be surprised. He supposed by the rural standards of Mortonville she was old. In Philadelphia, he knew several women who opted to marry later in life. It certainly didn't make them old.

"I'm sorry if I've caused you any inconvenience," he said, holding her hand a bit longer than necessary. He enjoyed the blush the gesture brought about.

"That's...that's perfectly all right, Reverend Long. I usually take the list of hymns home to practice them."

The woman certainly had a knack for stammering--he'd give her that. "I thought perhaps you practiced here on Saturday afternoons."

He wouldn't have had to make the comment. He knew perfectly well what she did on Saturday afternoons. On Thursday he talked to the young girl who did the cleaning. When he asked her about cleaning in the balcony, she said no one ever went up there, so she never bothered.

One trip to the balcony told him someone bothered. The pews up there were covered with a layer of dust, but the piano carried a high gloss shine. The keys were as perfectly white as they had been on the day they were installed. From other pianos he'd seen, keys often yellowed with lack of proper care.

Only one person in the congregation would take such good care of the piano and she now stood in front of him. From the faint smell of lemon oil, he knew his assumptions were correct.

"In the late afternoon the light is much better at my home than in the balcony," she said, in an attempt to explain why she didn't practice at the church. "I could light a lamp, but it seems a waste of good lamp oil."

"Could I persuade you to play through them for me now?" David asked. "Since I'm not familiar with your technique, I prefer not to be surprised tomorrow morning."

David wondered if he saw Hattie cringe at his suggestion. If she did it was only momentary. She flashed him a brilliant smile before turning back to return to the church.

Once inside, he allowed her to lead the way up the broad staircase to the balcony. He enjoyed watching her climb the stairs.

"It certainly smells fresh up here," he observed.

A sunbeam streaming in through the only window in the balcony accented the highlight in her hair and softened the expression on her face. He could tell by the look in her eyes she was trying hard to bite back a tart reply.

"I wondered who took such good care of the piano," David continued, "when the pews up here were dust covered and in dire need of a good cleaning."

"An instrument like this cries for attention. It takes little effort to keep it looking like new. I'm certain no one else cares as long as it produces music for the congregation to sing to on Sunday morning."

"I'm pleased to see you care, even if no one else knows what you do when you come on Saturday afternoon."

"I trust this won't be spoken of again," Hattie declared, her head held high, her expression suddenly stern.

"Not unless you want to speak of it. After today there shouldn't be any reason for me to intrude on your Saturday afternoons again. Now, can we run through the hymns?"

He watched as Hattie pulled the piano bench out and seated herself. Without saying anything more, she found the first number David had written down and after opening the case covering the keys, began to play the familiar notes. He could see his mother's delicate fingers playing the same songs on the piano in the parlor as well as the one at church.

"Was my playing to your liking?" she asked, once she sounded the last note of the last hymn.

David almost jumped at the intrusion of her voice on his private thoughts. "It was perfect. Some people tend to rush the tempo."

Hattie looked at him, her eyebrows raised. "Rush the tempo? You sound as though you know music."

David smiled. He hadn't meant to be so transparent, but somehow his background tended to shine through. "I guess I do. My mother plays at church and gives lessons through the week. I'm afraid I was her only failure. She always said these hands weren't made for piano playing." He held up his hands for emphasis and Hattie reached out to touch them.

"They are rather large, but I have a feeling it was the boy and not his hands that wasn't made for piano playing. Not everyone who appreciates music has the ability or the desire to play it."

"You are very perceptive, Miss Fairchild. I'll look forward to hearing you play at the service tomorrow morning."

She nodded and then hurried back down the stairs, leaving him alone in the balcony. Once he heard the outside door close, he sat down where Hattie had sat moments earlier. He could still feel her dainty fingers against his large ones. He wished she had stayed a bit longer, but George warned him about her being a bit strange.

Once assured he was completely alone, David began to play one of the few classical pieces he still remembered. He hadn't exactly lied when he told Hattie he never mastered the piano. Although he wasn't a failure, he wasn't his mother's prize student either.

* * *

Hattie looked over her shoulder at the church. Reverend Long was indeed a handsome man. He could also prove to be a great temptation. Over the next few weeks she would have to be extremely careful. David Long, she was certain, would prove to be a worthy adversary.

The last thing she needed was to be exposed as a non-believer. If such a thing were to happen, she would have to admit the truth about not only her life but also her family. She just couldn't have the secrets she'd worked so hard to bury coming to the forefront to haunt her.

Before returning home, Hattie made her way to the general store. With all her morning and early afternoon chores, she'd not been able to pick up her mail.

"Good afternoon, Hattie," George greeted her. "It looks like you've been over at the church. Did you meet the new minister?"

"Yes," Hattie replied, "but not by my choice."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I usually don't run into anyone on Saturday afternoons. Jonathan usually left me a note with the songs for Sunday written on it. Today it wasn't there. Reverend Long forgot to leave it for me. He was bringing it over just as I was leaving."

"You sound as though running into him was an imposition. You could do a lot worse, Hattie Fairchild."

The thought of anyone, let alone George Ramson, hinting that someone like the new minister might be interested in her was almost too outlandish to be believed. She neither wanted, nor needed, a man in her life. The thought of any man, to say nothing of the new minister intruding on the life she'd built for herself, was almost more than she could stand.

"I have some mail for you," George said, changing the subject. "Mostly it's the usual ads for the shop, but there is a letter from Nebraska."

Hattie took the neat stack of letters. After shuffling through them, she selected the one from her sister, Laura.

"Thank you, George. Before I go, I need some thread and a package of needles."

After George totaled her bill, she pulled out her coin purse and counted out the correct change. "When will you be getting in that new fabric you told me about last week?"

"I received a wire from the supplier in Chicago this morning. It said I could expect the shipment to be on Wednesday's train."

Hattie thanked George and hurried toward her home. She was anxious to read the letter from Laura.

Once back in her kitchen, Hattie brewed a cup of tea before going to the parlor to read her letter.

Dear Hattie,

Spring has never been so late or so beautiful here before. It has been a peaceful year, since Caleb did not come home this winter. He did send money for the children and me, even though Gary insisted we shouldn't take it.

Gary finished the eighth grade and has been very busy with the planting as well as working for one of the neighbors, helping with the milking and other chores. I am so proud of him and the way he cares for Jesse and me.

How I wish you could know at least the youngest of my children. As for the older boys, I am afraid I've lost them to their father. Contrary to what anyone believes, I know who they are and what they have become. It saddens me, to say the least. I have failed as a wife and mother.

From the sound of your letters, you are happy with your life in the tailor shop. I also rejoice over the fact you are able to attend church on Sunday mornings. I only need to close my eyes to hear you playing the piano. You have no idea how very lucky you are. The children and I tried to attend church in Clarkston several years back, but we were turned away at the door. It seems as though Caleb Tyler's wife and children are not welcome among their congregation.

As I write this letter, the light is beginning to fade. Soon evening will be upon me and I will need to close down the house for another day.

I pray for your continued prosperity and enjoyment of life.

Your loving sister,

Laura

Hattie set aside the letter and cried bitter tears. How could life have been so cruel to Laura? Hattie's beautiful older sister deserved better than an abusive husband who robbed banks, murdered innocent people and corrupted her sons.

Even worse than a husband who was a monster, were the uncaring people in town that would not allow Laura and the children to worship in their church.

It was no wonder Hattie clung to her non-belief. Better to be a hypocrite by attending church and not believing, than to believe and not live that faith.

Chapter Three

David's hands were clammy as he paced the small room behind the altar area of the church. He had no idea why he was so nervous. The people were members of his congregation. They certainly weren't argumentative prosecutors or jurors who needed to be convinced of the innocence of his clients. These people were believers, hungry for the word of God as interpreted by the Reverend David Long.

The door to the room was slightly ajar, giving him a small opening where he could see the congregation. Through the crack, he could hear the buzz of conversation. He smiled to think of his father equating such overheard snatches as chickens in the hen house. They all clucked so that one could not be distinguished above the others.

The first chords of the prelude wafted down from the balcony, instantly silencing the members. Some of them, he was sure were cut off in mid-sentence. David was pleased to recognize the tune and waited until he knew only a few bars remained before leaving the room to take his place in the pulpit.

Even with the heat of mid July, the church was packed. Women in high necked, fashionable dresses, as well as their bonnets, fanned themselves with stiff paper fans attached to highly polished wooden sticks. The men wore their stiffly starched shirts as well as string ties and coats.

The church council occupied the front pews, as though their presence gave a silent blessing to the new minister.

David began, "I've been told you always begin your services with Holy, Holy, Holy. For now, some things will remain the same."

David wondered if he heard a collective sigh of relief when Hattie played the first stanza of the familiar hymn. Feet shuffled and pages turned as the congregation got to its feet to sing the words they all knew by heart.

After the singing ended, David gave the mandatory prayer and scripture readings. Just as the people in front of him were settling down for a long and powerful sermon, he invited the children to come forward.

One by one children of all ages made their way to the front of the church and joined David in sitting on the floor. Once he had about twenty youngsters around him, he began talking to them.

"It's really hard coming to a new town. I don't know anyone here. It's a little like Jesus when he'd go around the countryside. During those times, he loved the children because they were so pure and honest. I want you to know you can always come to me and ask any question you want about the Bible or my sermons. I know you can ask your folks, but sometimes they get busy. That's when you can come to me. Now, I need to talk to your folks about a few things, but I hope you'll listen, too. I want us all to become very good friends."

* * *

Hattie sat at the piano, her novel in her hand. Although she held her opened book in her lap, she couldn't take her eyes from the giant of a man surrounded by the children who usually fidgeted next to their parents.

Even after the children returned to their seats, Hattie found concentrating on her book next to impossible. While Jonathan's sermons had been easily blocked out, David's seemed to echo off the walls of the church.

She was enchanted as he told of growing up in a small town on the outskirts of Philadelphia, playing in his father's blacksmith shop. The sermon ended with the story of how David heard the voice of God in the middle of a legal proceeding and became a minister.

Whether or not the man actually heard the voice of God, Hattie knew the story did what it was intended to do. It impressed the self-righteous parishioners of the church.

"A-Men."

David's booming proclamation of the end of his sermon took Hattie by surprise.

In an attempt to start the hymn of the day on time, she almost dropped her book to the floor.

After regaining her composure, she began to play the hymn. It was unfamiliar to her as well as the congregation, but apparently Reverend Long knew it well as his thundering bass belted out the words. By the second verse, everyone else had joined in. At least his choice had been singable.

With Reverend Long in the pulpit, Hattie knew ignoring sermons and scripture readings would be more difficult than in the past. Lost in her thoughts, Hattie automatically played the mandatory final hymn and the postlude.

After sounding the final note, she carefully put the cover over the keys, packed her music bag, and made her way to the side entrance to the balcony. She'd found it when the church council first asked her to play. It afforded her the privacy needed to leave the church unnoticed while the parishioners stood around gossiping about the events of the past week.

As warm as the day was becoming, Hattie was glad to be out of the sweltering balcony and on her way home. Other than changing to a cooler dress and sponging herself down with cool water there was little that could be done to beat the summer's unrelenting heat.

It's too hot to eat, Hattie thought, as she made her way to her bedroom to lay down for a short nap. With all the windows open, she was certain to catch whatever breeze would be available.

It took only moments for her to fall into a peaceful sleep, one filled with dreams of the new minister at the church and what it would feel like to be enfolded in his strong arms.

* * *

David shook hands with each parishioner. He sensed mixed emotions among the members of his congregation. If they'd been given the choice, would they have picked this untried son of a blacksmith, who left the law and Philadelphia to preach in Mortonville?

"That was a good sermon Reverend," George said, as he pumped David's hand.

"Thank you, George, but I do wish you'd call me David."

"I don't see why that can't be arranged. Since I'm the last in line, I'll help you close up the church. Then Ruth asked me to be sure and bring you over for Sunday dinner."

"I'd like that. If the truth be known, my cooking leaves a lot to be desired." He turned back toward the empty sanctuary and glanced toward every corner.

"Are you looking for anyone in particular?"

David turned to face George. "I must have missed Miss Fairchild. I wanted to tell her how much I enjoyed her music this morning."

"You didn't miss Hattie. She is quite adept at slipping out the side door. Unless I'm mistaken, she's already home relaxing. She's a very private person."

"Doesn't she have friends she'd stay and talk to?"

"Let's table this discussion about Hattie's personal life until after dinner. I'm getting hungry and I'm sure you must be as well. Ruth will have my head if we're late and the chicken gets cold."

David could almost hear his father saying the same thing. All women were proud of their cooking and none of them liked to be kept waiting.

* * *

Ruth's Sunday dinner reminded him of home. The roast chicken complete with mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing and fresh peas were much better than anything he could have made for himself.

With dinner finished, Ruth cleared the table while the children went outside to play. When David moved to the Ramson's front porch, Ruth brought out cups of coffee.

Over the next hour, David listened as George described Hattie Fairchild, Mortonville's resident old maid. David could almost visualize the drunken father who finally ended his life at the bottom of a bottle and the wrong end of a gun over a card game. It was no wonder Hattie took in sewing to help with the expenses. The natural progression of things was for her to sell the family farm and buy into the tailor shop.

"Hattie's a hard woman to get to know. We've been friends most of our lives and yet I would never be so bold as to tell you I know her. She's a very private person. I'm sure she feels she has good reason. We all knew about her old man, but she never let on like it bothered her, so no one tried to help."

David shook his head in sympathy. "You mentioned a sister. Whatever happened to her?"

"Laura was much older than Hattie. She married and moved away when Hattie was just a little girl. I think she and her husband are farming out west somewhere. Hattie gets letters from Nebraska."

Later that evening David decided to take a walk. It came as no surprise when his unplanned route took him past the tailor shop.

Although the shop was dark, a light burned in the attached house. From the open window, he could hear the classical strains of Bach. It was the music his mother taught her students. This was the music he loved listening to on evenings like this when his mother would play to ease the tensions of his father's day.

"Whom do you play for Miss Hattie Fairchild?" he whispered to the wind. "Is there anyone special who listens to your music?"

David continued to stand in the shadows until the piano was silent and the light extinguished. Only then did he return to the parsonage. As he did, he vowed to be the one person in town to get to know the lovely Miss Hattie Fairchild.

* * *

Hattie played the last note of the new Bach piece she had recently sent to Chicago for. She knew purchasing so much sheet music was foolish, especially when there was no one but herself to enjoy it.

Once she turned down the lamp, Hattie had an eerie feeling, as though someone was watching her from the street. Hattie knew she must be mistaken, as at this time of night people were home preparing for bed. It would do no good to look out the window, since the darkness of the night would hide any prying eyes.

Before getting ready to retire for the night, Hattie went to the kitchen and took pen and paper to write a letter to Laura.

Dear Laura,

How I wish you had the farm in your name. If that were the case, you could sell it and move home to Illinois. I have more than enough room for you, Gary and Jesse in my home and there is far too much work in the shop for me to do alone. We could have a good life here and Caleb would not be able to find you.

If you decide to take me up on my offer, I would gladly send tickets for you and the children. Mortonville is much more civilized than Clarkston, and the authorities would be able to protect you from Caleb.

Please give my suggestion some thought. It would be wonderful to have my family with me again.

Hattie

She reviewed the hastily composed note. As she did, Hattie analyzed the reasons behind her offer to Laura. What Laura would consider generous, Hattie knew was completely selfish. Even surrounded by a town full of people she'd known all her life, Hattie was lonely. In a world where women were considered strange if they weren't married and the mother of several children by the time they reached Hattie's age, she didn't fit in.

Unwilling to give in to her dark thoughts, Hattie turned down the kitchen lamp and made her way to bed. If luck were with her the unsettling dreams of the handsome new minister would be kept at bay.

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