Lightning and Lace Page 4

  Travis sensed his own face growing warm beneath his beard. “Mrs. Kahler, I’m attempting to be accommodating. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  “The problem is that none of you have any sympathy for what the poor child or my other children have gone through in losing their father.” Mrs. Kahler stiffened.

  Morgan shook his finger in his sister’s face. “He is no longer a child, Bonnie. And you may not have noticed, but Michael Paul and Lydia Anne are well behaved. Zack is fighting and causing trouble wherever he goes.” He stopped abruptly and glanced at Travis, then his mother. “I apologize for this outburst. You’re right. Our discussion is not appropriate for our guest or our children.”

  “And I apologize, too,” Grant said. “We’re not helping the situation at all.”

  “Well, you can continue your dinner in peace, because the Kahlers are leaving.” Bonnie nodded at Michael Paul and Lydia Anne. In the next instant, the three were gone from the table and out the front door.

  The reverend rubbed his face. No one said a word.

  “I lost my temper,” Morgan said. “I just heard an earful from Chad and Lark before we got here. Guess I was already angry.” He gave each of his children a stern look. “All of you are old enough to understand that you don’t repeat family business.”

  “Yes, sir,” the three echoed.

  Grant’s daughters said nothing. Travis believed they were afraid to speak.

  “Brother Travis, I hope the rest of your congregation is easier to deal with than we are,” Morgan said. “I was fixin’ to offer my help with whatever you need, but I have a feeling we need you more than you need us.”

  Chapter 5

  Bonnie tossed and turned while the rest of the house slept. She heard every sound outside her window, from the dogs scrapping to insects serenading the night. She despised what had happened that evening—from the incident with Zack to the angry words shared with her brothers. What made matters worse was that Morgan and Grant were right. Horribly, honestly right.

  All of her life, she’d let others take care of her: her parents, Morgan, and Ben. Grant had refused to coddle her, and later Mama had as well. If she thought about it for very long, she realized Mama and Grant had shown the most love. Now she must guide and parent her children, and she lacked the knowledge or the strength. But she could find what she needed.

  Zack’s disrespectful comment proved to her that he had to be reined in or the words of her brothers would haunt her forever. She hated her inability to control her oldest. She stared out the window into the inky blackness, lit only by a half-moon. The morning might look better, but first she needed sleep. A little wine always pushed aside whatever bothered her. She could almost taste it . . . feel the warmth trickling down her throat . . . and the moment her mind dulled to the pain. It rested mere feet from her bed.

  No! I will not. Those days are over.

  The longer she fretted about the future of her children and how she wanted desperately to rise victorious as a strong woman and mother, the more she craved a glass of wine. Guilt scraped its fingers through her heart, but it didn’t stop the desire to simply sleep and forget.

  Bonnie’s head pounded. She could win this war of weakness. She must. Her children’s lives lay in the balance. Throwing back the coverlet, she rose from the bed and dressed. Stealing across the floor, she reached into the wardrobe and pulled out the bottle of wine from the corner. She wrapped a shawl around it and crept downstairs, holding the beloved enemy to her heart. The stairs creaked with every step she took.

  Once in the kitchen, she reached for the kerosene lantern from the table and lit it. With its light, she made her way outside to the shed and found a shovel. The three dogs, a mixture of whatever stray mutt spent a few days in Buttercup’s company, pushed each other aside for her attention, which, oddly enough, gave her some sense of ease.

  She resolved to bury the bottle behind the barn where no one would find it. A small hole would do. If Lester produced another bottle, she’d refuse it, even to the point of letting Sylvia know about her husband’s gifts. Bonnie knew she’d been wrong in accepting the wine and even more wrong in drinking to forget her grief, and she wouldn’t continue the ruse any longer.

  She slammed the shovel into the ground and turned over one clod then two. The smell of fresh earth met her nostrils, bringing back a flood of memories of when she used to watch Ben dig worms for his and the boys’ fishing days.

  “Miss Bonnie, are you all right?”

  She nearly fell over the shovel. “Land sakes, Thomas, you frightened me.”

  He reached out and steadied her. “Ma’am, you did the same to me.”

  Bonnie massaged her right temple. “I’m not sure what to say.” The truth? “Can you keep another secret for me?”

  “Yes ma’am. I’ve done so in the past, and you can depend on me.”

  In the shadows, his deep voice, mellowed with age and simple wisdom, gave her more determination to complete the task and admit her wrongdoing. “Remember when you found me some months ago . . . after . . . I—”

  “I remember.”

  She sighed and braved on. “I’m burying this bottle as a way of burying that habit.”

  “I see. Would you like me to do it for you?”

  “No, thank you. This is something I must do. My children need me. This ranch needs me, and I have to be strong.” Emotion crawled up her throat, and she forced it back down. “I depend on you way too much, and that’s not fair.”

  “But you’ve had it hard since Ben passed on.”

  Just the mention of his name caused her to gasp. Oh, how she missed him. “I appreciate your sympathy. But it’s no excuse to take on detestable vices or not make Ben proud of me. I want him to look down from heaven and not worry about poor Bonnie and his children.” She stopped herself before uttering another word. “My, I’ve said far too much.”

  “I understand, and I’ll keep your secrets.”

  “It’s easier to talk in the dark.”

  “You can always talk to me. No one ever hears about it but the Lord.”

  “This ranch never would have made it without you. You’re worth your weight in gold. Tomorrow I want to start learning more about everything you do.”

  “Are you sure? It’ll take lots time.”

  “I’m positive. I want folks to say that I’m just like the rest of my family. I’ll pay you extra for your effort.”

  He laughed lightly. “No thanks. Seeing you take an interest in things is payment enough for me. Me and the Lord been talkin’ about you. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. I need all the prayers I can get. And Zack . . .” She took a breath. “He needs prayers too.”

  “Yes, ma’am. He’s had a hard time of it. You want me to leave you alone or wait till you’re finished?”

  “Best wait. Your presence keeps me accountable.”

  When the hole was large enough, she slammed the shovel onto the bottle’s neck and broke it. Glass tumbled into the hole with the wine. She piled dirt on top with a fierce vengeance.

  “I’ll put the shovel away,” he said.

  “No, I need to do this whole thing. All my life, somebody’s been doing things for me that I could do myself.”

  Once the task was completed and she had made her way back inside the house, she took a moment to remember the many nights she and Ben had crept outside to watch the stars. Yawning, she mounted the stairs, feeling very satisfied and amazingly lighthearted. She slipped inside the door of each child’s room and planted a kiss on a sweet cheek. Only Zack awoke.

  “What’s wrong, Mama?” he said through a sleep-laden voice.

  “Nothing.” She touched his head and wove her fingers through his hair. “I love you, Zack, and I know you aren’t happy. I won’t let you get by with any more bad behavior. Lov
ing you means making you mind.”

  “I don’t think you can do it.”

  She smiled in the darkness. Odd how burying a bottle of wine could give her such confidence. “I’m not sure how, but I will find a way.”

  Zack turned over and pulled the sheet over his face.

  “Hiding from the truth doesn’t make it any less the truth,” she said. “You may be too old to whip, but there are other ways.”

  “How?”

  “Military school.”

  The sheet whipped back. “I’d run away.”

  “And do what? Lie? Steal? The law would find you and punish you worse than I ever could. You’re hurting, Zack. Why not talk to Grandpa or one of your uncles?”

  “They don’t care about me. No one does.”

  “Like I said before, I love you. All of our family cares about you.” Bonnie didn’t attempt to continue the conversation. She’d taken a giant step this night, and tomorrow she’d take another.

  “I’ll hurt Michael Paul and Lydia Anne if you try to stop me from doing what I want.”

  “You’d hurt the ones who love you?” A tear slipped from her eye. To think this was only the beginning of making up for all her mistakes.

  *****

  Early Saturday morning, Travis and the reverend walked down the road away from town. Dew-kissed leaves glistened in the early sunlight, and birds called to one another in bright song.

  “I want to learn all there is to know about Piney Woods Church before tomorrow.” Travis laughed. “I sound like a kid.”

  “Just eager. We do church simple here in Kahlerville. Sunday morning, evening, and Wednesday night prayer meetin’. Sunday school is at nine with church at ten, and we usually have revival services in early spring. Deacons meet once a month, and the ladies have a Bible study with Jocelyn every Thursday morning.”

  Travis smiled. “Good. What about a choir?”

  “Not regularly. Grant’s wife, Jenny, plays piano and has organized folks to sing on special occasions.”

  “I’m hoping we could start one. Do you think many would be interested?”

  “I think you’d have a good turnout. When would you practice?”

  Travis considered the church week. “Most likely Wednesday evenings before prayer meetin’. I’ll put the matter to prayer.”

  “And I will too. Heard you singing last night. Right pleasing voice. I suspect we could have a fine choir.” He paused. “I just remembered something. An old friend of mine said he heard you preach a revival. Said it greatly moved him, much like the preaching he remembered as a young man.”

  Travis startled. Did the reverend’s old friend reveal any other information about him? “What was his name?”

  “Adam Edwards. Said he was passing through a small community near Knoxville at the time.”

  “I don’t recall the man.” Travis forced a chuckle. “Anything else I should know? My singing could have stopped a few from showing back up at the next service.”

  “That was all he said. Are you ready to start preaching? I was thinking about Sunday morning.”

  “Sure. Might as well get started. I’d like to visit a few folks today and see what kind of reception I get without you beside me.” Travis grinned. “Can you suggest a few? I’d like to meet those who won’t be running me out of town with buckshot in my behind.”

  The reverend laughed. “Once we get back to the house, I’ll see what I can do about a list of agreeable folk and where to find them.”

  After breakfast and prayer, with his shoulders erect, Travis walked into town, his frayed Bible tucked under his arm. His hat, worn thin around the brim, fit his bushy hair, but the slightly large pants would have fallen to his ankles if not for his suspenders. With a quick brush of his hand, he wiped his dirt-covered boots and wondered at the picture he must be presenting.

  Call me Jeremiah, he inwardly chuckled, or John the Baptist. I’ve come from the wilderness with a word from the Lord.

  He visited various businesses and stopped by homes to introduce himself. Wherever he went, Travis carried a small notepad. When he met a new face, he jotted down the name and something that would help him remember that person. Most of the townspeople were polite, but a few acted apprehensive—wanting to know where he’d come from, if he had a family, did he believe in the Bible, and countless other questions.

  He called upon the banker, Lester Hillman, a dandy-looking man who dressed more like he owned a bank in New York or Boston instead of small town in Texas. The two men stood in the lobby of the bank. “Come back at another time. One day next week,” he said. “I enjoy giving to those in need, and I’m asking you to keep me informed about situations in which I can help. Did the reverend tell you I’m the largest contributor?”

  No, he didn’t, but do you know Jesus? “The reverend and I haven’t had an opportunity to discuss all the members.”

  Travis stopped by the telegraph office and made conversation with a spindly, toothless old man, Jake Weathers, who openly stated no preacher would ever be as good as John Rainer.

  “Probably not,” Travis said. “I just hope ya’ll have patience with me while I learn from him.”

  “Won’t take nary a bit of patience.” The old man frowned. “Either you have it or ya don’t.”

  “Well, with God’s help, I’ll do my best.” Travis tipped his hat. “Thank you for your time. I look forward to seeing you on Sunday morning.”

  The man who owned the livery ran him off. He told Travis he didn’t need God. Religion never gave him a thing but trouble. Picking up a pitchfork, the owner indicated he wasn’t a bit afraid of the devil, either. Travis still invited him to church.

  The barber, also the undertaker, proved to be friendly and offered a free haircut and shave. Travis politely declined but inwardly found the offer amusing. He knew exactly how badly he needed to be groomed.

  Midmorning he stopped by the lumberyard. The reverend had suggested he visit the owner, Frank Kahler, who was in charge of fixing up Travis’s soon-to-be home. The man was also Bonnie Kahler’s brother-in-law.

  The front door stood open, inviting in the light breezes of the September day. Travis inhaled the sweet smell of sawdust, and the hearty sound of “Mornin’” instantly put him at ease.

  “I’m looking for Frank Kahler,” Travis said to a huge, square-looking fellow wearing overalls and hosting a wide grin. “Is he around?”

  “That would be me. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Brother Travis Whitworth. Reverend Rainer suggested I stop by and introduce myself.” He stuck out his hand and received a vigorous shake.

  “Pleased to meet you. Follow me on out here.” Frank walked outside to where logs were being loaded onto a wagon, and Travis followed. “Has the reverend told you about the new parsonage?”

  “He said you were in charge of fixin’ it up.”

  “Yes, sir, I am.” He laid the last log on the wagon bed. “That’ll do it,” Frank said to the mule driver. He turned his attention to Travis. “Do you want to take a look at the house? My wife is there sanding woodwork, and I know she’d really like to meet you.”

  Travis agreed, and Frank drove a wagon through Kahlerville and past the town’s businesses. They soon discovered a common love of carpentry, and their conversation turned to types of wood and methods of construction.

  “This house once belonged to my brother,” Frank said. “He lived here until he got married. Then a young couple stayed in it about two years before they bought a farm of their own. My brother passed on, and his widow deeded it over to the church.”

  “I’ve met Mrs. Kahler. A fine woman.”

  “My brother sure loved her.” They stopped in front of a small, freshly whitewashed house sitting back off the road. Travis admired the new roof and paned windows. It suited him just fine.r />
  Stepping up onto the front porch, he welcomed the woodsy scent, the feel of sawdust scattering beneath his boots, and the whisking sound of someone sanding wood. He’d missed the feel of wood in his hands.

  “Looks to me like you’ve done more than fix this house up. Why, it looks and smells brand-new.”

  “The reverend was real concerned that you had a good place to live.”

  “Frank, I’d have been happy sleeping under the stars.”

  “Ellen,” Frank called through the open doorway, “I’ve got someone here for you to meet.”

  “Just come on back,” a soft voice said. “But tread lightly. The baby’s asleep.”

  The big man cringed. “Guess I’d better not talk so loud.”

  Travis nodded knowingly. “I have lots nieces and nephews. Mamas always have work to do while their babies sleep.”

  They entered the parlor, where Ellen Kahler stood wiping the sawdust from her hands. Travis simply grinned. The house sparkled with fine workmanship. Frank showed him the kitchen and two bedrooms, then returned to the parlor.

  Frank gave an admiring glance at the baby resting peacefully on a quilt in the corner. He wrapped a muscled arm around a tiny, fair woman.

  “This is my wife, Ellen, and our baby, Frank Jr.,” Frank said. “And this is Brother Whitworth, the new preacher.”

  Ellen extended her hand shyly, and Travis looked into the face of a strawberry blond with peach-colored freckles dotted across her nose. Frank towered over the tiny woman, wordlessly expressing his devotion to her.

  “Welcome to Kahlerville,” she said. “I’m sure the Rainers are glad you’re here. They do need to slow down a bit. I hear you’re from Tennessee.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Not far from Erwin.”

  “I lived near there until I was fifteen, but you don’t look familiar.”

  Travis coughed. “My home and church was pretty far up in the hills.” He pointed to the sleeping baby. “Good-looking boy.”

  “Thank you. He’s been teethin’ and a mite fussy with it. I wanted to have more done on the sanding—”