Page 5 of The Preacher's Wife
“Lord? What have I done? I know that Your will shall be done, and I pray I haven’t made a mistake in this desire for a helpmate of my own. I pray for Your hand upon the future and will be content to wait upon Your will.”
As he prayed silently on the weathered wooden boardwalk, Hubert could hear the rhythmic thud of boots approaching. He tried to focus on his prayers, but his mind kept straying to thoughts of temptation and doubt. The Lord knew his struggles and would guide him, but Hubert couldn’t help but worry that his own desires might lead him astray.
“Well, you’ve done it now,” Silas Beausignor chuckled, stepping up beside him. Silas was one of Hubert’s friends from childhood and came with the original group to help settle in Sterling, Colorado.
Hubert opened his eyes and looked at his friend. “What do you mean by that?”
“You sent your letter off, didn’t you? Asking Mama Holstead’s friend to send you a bride?”
Hubert’s shoulders slumped as he let out a heavy sigh, his mind swirling with doubts and uncertainties. Despite seeing his friends in fortunate marriages, he couldn’t shake off the weight of apprehension that settled in his chest at the thought of settling down. After all, none of his married friends had planned to be in their current life situation either.
“C’mon, I’ll pour you a cup of coffee.” There was always a pot of hot coffee on the stove inside the mercantile.
Hubert shifted uncomfortably in his boots as Silas prattled on about marriage and relationships. At thirty-one years old, Hubert was already feeling pressure to settle down and start a family. But the thought of the type of woman who might be his wife filled Hubert with anxiety. Not the marriage part, though. His parents had been married for nearly forty years, and he longed for that kind of companionship. He glanced at Mrs. Easton, who had made her way outside, and he wished she would leave so he could talk freely.
“I’m just going to go back over to the boarding house.”
Silas let out a belly laugh before matching his steps as they crossed the narrow main street of Sterling.
What the seven friends who traveled from Nebraska to Colorado by wagon train had accomplished in the last two years was more than he thought possible. The church—his church, stood proudly beside the boarding house. Mrs. Easton and Charlie Holstead’s wife, Amanda, had even put up a little picket fence around the churchyard.
He’d thought they were fussing when they wanted to build the fence. Now that there were children who ran around like tinywhirlwinds, he could see that God had foreseen the need to keep the children containedwhile the adults worshiped.
Hubert slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and fingered the letter, thinking about the words his mother wrote. His parents were well, but there was a woman there expecting her husband, and he was still miles away.
Bride.His bride.
When he’d written the letter for Mama Holstead to send to her friend, he had poured his heart into it, asking for help from above to find a suitable match. He had little hope, but he couldn’t ignore the desperate longing in his heart. Now it was less than a month, and his bride was sitting at his parent’s house.
He hadn’t even corresponded with her!
Was that how matchmaking worked?
He was looking forward to some quiet reflection back at the boarding house, but there was no solace to be had. As Hubert entered the dining room, he saw Charlie and Will Jericho sitting at the table. Their chairs were pulled out, as if they were waiting for him to join them.
Hubert took a deep breath and forced himself to remain calm as he approached them. He had been wanting to talk to Charlie about something important anyway, so this was just the opportunity he needed.
“Friends.” Hubert acknowledged each with a nod of his head before pouring himself a cup of coffee and joining them at the table.
“Rev? Everything all right?” Will’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“It will be.” Hubert’s eyes narrowed on Charlie. “How fast can I get to Omaha?”
Charlie scratched his chin, looking at the ceiling. He was counting. They had all seen him do it a hundred times before. That was comforting.
Charlie Holstead was a wagon master who had led many settlers to the west, so he knew the country better than anyone. He was also the one that everybody went to for advice. The man even kept up with travelers coming through; said it helped him stay sharp. Though he’d heard Charlie’s wife make jokes about restless boots from time to time.
Silas wheezed, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead by the second. Hubert wondered if they would disappear off his face altogether. Taking pity on the man, he clapped his friend’s shoulder.
“My mama is fine, Silas.”
The other man seemed to deflate a bit, and Hubert almost felt guilty for not starting with that.
Charlie stopped counting and leaned his elbows on the table. “Stage is going to be your fastest method. They are coming through here tomorrow. That will take you about four days. Otherwise, if you’re taking a team and wagon, it will be about three weeks. That will depend on how high the rivers are.”
“If your mama is all right, then why are you rushing to Omaha?” Silas was never one to leave things alone.
“Apparently, my bride is at my parents’ house?” Hubert attempted to speak his statement in confidence, but the squeak at the end of his sentence betrayed his nervousness.
