Page 7 of The Preacher's Wife
The Fitzgeralds were surprised to see her, and the announcement of her being the Reverend’s intended was met with disbelief. Instead of the welcome she expected, Prudence was met with laughter from a woman whose face resembled an overripe apple left out in the sun for too long. The woman’s silver hair cascaded down from a loose braid, gently swaying with each step she took.
“My dear, I’m afraid Reverend Fitzgerald has been taken by someone else for many years. When I received a wire from Ingrid Chapman, I couldn’t believe it. Are you sure that you were looking for him?”
Prudence was tired, embarrassed, and a little horrified, but the portly minister who stood nearby seemed only amused.
“Althea. She came in and announced that she was the Reverend Fitzgerald’s intended. I’m sure she means Hubert. Didn’t you tell me he mentioned requesting help from Marjorie?”
Before the older woman could answer, Prudence grabbed hold of the names he’d mentioned and began her lengthy explanation.
“Yes. Here I have a letter from Mrs. Chapman with an introduction. I also have the letter that someone named Marjorie Holstead sent, along with a letter from ReverendHubert Fitzgerald. Could you possibly tell me where to find him? I apologize for disturbing you.”
Her fingers trembled as she held out the letters. But as she went to hand them over, her hand hesitated at the last letter. It was the one Hubert had written. She couldn’t bear to part with it. She read and reread his words many times, each one etching itself into her heart. His request was simple, without extravagant demands, showing his understanding and thoughtfulness through his simple request.
He listed the qualities he wanted in a wife. She had to love the Lord, enjoy helping others, have exceptional culinary skills and domestic talents, and be open to starting a family someday. He had also mentioned the development of their town in Colorado, and how it created a sense of community and camaraderie among its residents. Prudence was unsure if she was prepared to meet a large group of people all at once, but the description in his letter reassured her it was still a small town with a close-knit community.
“Hubert isn’t here.” Mrs. Fitzgerald frowned before waving a hand and walking back out the door she’d just come through.
“Don’t mind her any. She’s probably off to find her own letter from our son,” the minister assured Prudence. “We received the wire from Ingrid Chapman, though.”
Mrs. Fitzgerald came back with a letter and a key in her hand. “I sent him a letter, but I’ve not received a response yet. The letter probably just arrived in Sterling, but it may be a few days until Huey can get here. We can walk over and get her settled in Marjorie’s house.”
Huey?
Prudence struggled to stifle her laughter as the elder Fitzgerald, with a graceful nod, gestured for both her and his wife to join him. Picking up her bag, he lifted an eyebrow.
“Is this all you brought with you?”
“Yes, I packed lightly,” Prudence replied, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and self-consciousness. She had wanted to appear practical and unburdened by material possessions, but now she worried that her meager belongings would make her seem ill-prepared for life in this small town.
He simply chuckled and led the way towards Marjorie’s house. “We will get you squared away, and you can have an evening to yourself to rest and relax.”
As they walked through the quiet streets of Omaha, Prudence couldn’t help but notice how different it was from the bustling city she had left behind in Boston. Here, life seemed slower, simpler. People greeted each other with warm smiles and waves as they passed on the sidewalk.
Prudence trailed behind Reverend Fitzgerald, her boots scuffing against the dirt road. Her fingers itched to grab her bag from him as it swung back and forth with every step he took. She longed to take it from him but was too afraid to speak up.
The Reverend’s coat swished as he strode confidently through the quiet town, leading them to a small house at the edge of town. She pulled her dusty wrap tighter around her body, feeling exposed and vulnerable without her bag. As they walked, she tried to take in the unfamiliar sights and sounds of this new place, so different from bustling Boston, where she had hurriedly boarded the stagecoach to escape.
Now all she could do was follow along, uncertain of what would come next.
It didn’t take long to arrive at a small house with a wide porch and drawn curtains. She didn’t know what to expect, but when the front door opened, it felt like coming home.
With a soft sigh, Prudence shut her eyes and was instantly transported back in time. She could smell the comforting scent of wood burning in the fireplace and see the faded floral pattern of the couch and armchairs. The staircase would creak under her feet as she made her way down for breakfast, and the sound of sizzling bacon drifted from the kitchen at the end of the hallway. This home, with its worn furniture and familiar sights and smells, had once been her sanctuary before her mother’s passing.
“I’ll take care of the fire,” the Reverend mumbled, putting the satchel down inside the door and then moving toward the fireplace.
“Follow me, and I’ll show you where things are. Marjorie keeps a good pantry, and since you’ve been traveling for at least a few days, I would suggest a simple meal of oatmeal.”
Prudence trailed behind the older woman down the long hallway, her mind still reeling from how drastically her life had changed. How fortunate she was to have found a group of women who had taken her under their wings like a flock of mother hens. She couldn’t help but feel grateful for their kindness and support, even though she was still trying to wrap her head around it all.
“Ah ha!” Mrs. Fritzgerald hooted, finding the pantry full. “Oatmeal, rice. There’s even flour in here. Marjorie really hasn’t been gone that long, and you’re welcome to help yourself to anything else you find.”
“I’m sorry. Who’s Marjorie?” Prudence finally asked, letting herself slip into a kitchen chair.
“Oh! Marjorie Holstead. I wonder if Huey mentioned her in his letter.”
“Yes, Mrs. Chapman mentioned Mrs. Holstead, but I wasn’t sure of the relationship between everyone.”
“Marjorie is one of my oldest friends. Her son, Charlie, has been friends with my son for most of their lives. She’s in Sterling right now with the boys. It was Marjorie who had the idea to write to Ingrid, but I didn’t think she’d do it.”
