“Missus,” Wilma replied. “I am happy to make friends.”

  They shared a comfortable pause, then Wilma turned aside, holding up one hand. She disappeared amongst the stack of fabrics on the right side of the room. There was a thump and rustle of movement before she returned, holding two particular bolts of fabric. “For a woman of your beauty and coloring, you need the blue, not a traditional Christmas shade, but suitable I think.” She stretched a length of fabric out, holding a corner up to Pigeon’s face. “Yes, very appropriate. I also think you should take something in brown. You could wear this doing chores and such. As to cut …”

  Wilma circled in front of her, stretching her arms this way and that as if making choices. “With your figure, you could pull off a scooped neckline nicely. I would hate to give you a high collar. It will make you looked choked.”

  Pigeon dipped her chin. “I will trust your judgment on both. It is sad to say, but I haven’t any idea how to sew or mend. Lafayette has holes in much of his clothing that will, I fear, one day wear clean through.”

  Wilma, once again, appeared to think. “If you like, I can show you a simple stitch and send home some fabric samples, thread and needles to practice on.”

  “Would you?” Pigeon’s mood lifted. “I like to learn. He showed me how to make cornbread and says I’ve conquered it. I’m afraid, previous to our marriage, cooking wasn’t my gift either.”

  This brought a chuckle to Wilma. She pressed her hand to her chest with the sound. “I apologize,” she said afterward, “but when Maximilian and I married, most of our meals tasted like shoe leather.”

  Pigeon smiled back at her, heartened by her story. “I am most glad I visited today,” she said, “and hope we can be friends.”

  “We can and we will,” Wilma replied. “I have a good feeling and think we should celebrate with our tea and my own secret stash of cookies.”

  “Cookies? You baked them?”

  Wilma nodded. She left her there again, this time going into a storage room. She returned with a small box, a dozen sugary treats tucked inside. “Have to hide them from Mr. Vail,” she said. “There’s simply some things a woman does not tell a man.”

  Pigeon laughed and reached for one. “Amen to that.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Lafayette shoved his foul mood aside and tried to look suitably calm as he entered the livery.

  The owner, an older man, shuffled down the clean-swept aisle, halting upon sight of him. He dusted his fingers together. “Mr. Faulkenberg, how are you today?”

  “As well as can be expected,” Lafayette replied. “I was hoping Thomas was in.”

  The old man glanced behind, as if the man in question would appear there, then straightened again. “He should be in the back. I can fetch him.” With that, he revolved and walked back the way he’d come.

  Minutes later, a man in black workpants emerged. Middle-aged with a distinct paunch, Thomas Vail, as well as spending considerable time at the livery, also ran a lumber company. He was known to be a particularly religious sort, from dealings Lafayette had had with him in the past, apt to ask you of the nature of your soul at the most inopportune times. Years ago, when head of the church, he would have welcomed a godly man like that. Now, he feared them. Forked tongues, he’d discovered, dwelt between the lips of those you’d least suspect.

  “Lafayette, it is good to see you,” Thomas said, offering his hand.

  Lafayette shook it and returned his arm to his side. “You asked about cutting timber on the south slope, and I find myself in need of money to buy a dress for my wife.”

  At mention of a wife, Thomas’s expression changed, curiosity rising upon it.

  “I was hoping we could work a trade,” Lafayette added.

  Thomas inhaled. “We can, and I promise not to scald the landscape. But … I wasn’t aware you’d married. God has brought you someone?”

  God. Had God brought him Pigeon or played a cruel joke? Currently, he suspected the latter.

  “We met by correspondence,” he replied. “She came west by train then across the river on the ferry. I wished companionship in my sister’s absence.”

  “Companionship is a good goal,” Thomas replied, “but marriage requires give and take.” He held up the flat of his palm. “I will not lecture you. You came here about lumber. If you will follow me, we’ll write something up, a more formal agreement.” He turned and aimed for the old man’s office, inside, digging out paper and pen.

  His head bowed, he wrote a short note, signed it and pushed the paper toward him. “If everything looks fine, you can initial it.”

  Lafayette scanned the words then, with a flourish, wrote his name. He slid both paper and pen toward Thomas.

  Thomas, claiming it, made no effort to rise or to lift the page. Instead, he slid forward. “Lafayette, if I might speak out of turn … our pastorate has been vacant for quite some time, and I know from rumors I have heard that you are qualified.”

  “I am not …”

  “Please, hear me out.” Thomas interrupted him. “Whatever your reason for living here, I see the love in your heart through your care for your sister. The Millfords, too, speak well of you. We are a small community lacking leadership in our faith. I ask you to look inward and see if, at least for this Christmas season, you will hear God’s voice speaking.”

  A retort sat on Lafayette’s tongue, dying there. To refuse outright would brand him without conscience, though to accept made him heretic. Pigeon spoke of forgiveness, yet that was the one thing he denied himself. He was undeserving. God could not possibly want to use a man of his ilk again, not with blood on his hands and self-hatred in his heart.

  “A church is not meant to house the saints,” Thomas said. “We are all of us fallen short of God. It is, instead, a place where anyone can come and find acceptance. My wife would tell you how many times I have needed to repent.”

  “Mine would tell you …” How cruel he’d been. He didn’t say the words, but wore them on display, and Thomas seemed to see them there.

  He stood finally and rounded the desk, without asking, taking Lafayette’s hand. He clasped it firm and pulled him close. “A wife is a man’s joy and, in everything he does, deserves his devotion. I have not met yours, but perhaps while you consider guiding our flock, you will also seek God for that devotion. Two souls cannot become husband and wife on paper, it takes much more than that, time and patience most of all.”

  “Who says I don’t have that?” he asked.

  Thomas offered a soft smile, his forehead forming long lines. “The man in front of me who wanted to run when I suggested he consider the pastorate.”

  “You are more quiet than usual,” Pigeon said.

  She held a square of cloth, dotted with poorly sewn threads, in her hands. He admired her continued tries at it though. Like with baking, she set her mind to something with the intent to conquer.

  “You wish me to talk about what? The cow has a bad udder. I can describe it to you.”

  Pigeon wrinkled her nose. “I do not wish to discuss the cow, though I feel for her. You will not know what it is like to have that kind of discomfort.”

  “If you have that discomfort, I will gladly help you with it.”

  She smiled, receiving his statement with the sarcasm in which it’d been spoken. “No, I was wondering what occupies your mind. Since we returned from town yesterday, you have been … thoughtful. Did something happen with the lumberman?”

  Lafayette returned his gaze to the fire and a dozen memories flickering there. “You met his wife. What was your impression?” he asked.

  Pigeon’s chair creaked as she shifted her weight. “The lumberman is Wilma Vail’s husband?”

  Lafayette nodded. “Thomas. He agreed to make the trade. But you haven’t answered my question.”

  “Well …” She paused. “She was very kind. She is teaching me to mend your shirts, but I told you that. She spoke of him with fondness. Why does it matter?”

  “It doesn’t, but it seems you and he are of the same mind regarding Christmas.”

  “And what mind is that? Will he be at the Millfords?”

  “Maybe.” He hushed.

  When a good deal of time had passed, he heard Pigeon rise and counted her footsteps toward him. He expected her to stand before him, a frustrated look in her eye, but instead, she turned to the side and perched in his lap, one hand toying with his hair. Part of him, once more, wanted to protest, but the other part enjoyed it, so he said nothing.

  “I am afraid to ask you things,” she said, “because you’re apt to blow up and we’ll end up fighting.”

  Lafayette winced.

  “I don’t want to fight. But let’s be honest, your past stands between us, and furthermore, it blocks your path into the future. What secret is too painful you cannot share it with me? Do we need more time? Another month? An entire year? Should I learn of all your other foibles first? How you turn your fork upside down when you’ve completed the meal, how you always scrub your boots on the top step. Or what about that adorable snort you make when you first fall asleep?”

  “I do not snort,” he grumbled.

  She laughed and the sound took hold of his ears and dwelt there. He would lie flat and let her apply it to him like perfume.

  “You do, and I’ve grown to adore it. I even think I like to hear you grouse about the day …” She threw her voice lower. “‘Dumb cow trompled in the clean hay.’”

  “You do not sound good as a man,” he replied.

  “I will stop then, but my point is … to move on you must let go. To let go, you must tell me who she was.”

  Lafayette jerked in place, and their eyes met. “I haven’t mentioned another.”

  “I am not a fool,” she replied. “When you kissed me, I felt it. That was not inexperience, the fumbling of awkward souls. You have loved, and it meant something.”

  Gripped by her words, he could hardly breathe, and her weight in his lap, pleasant moments ago, became the biggest stone. He wished to relieve himself of it, to sit her aside, but saw her hands tied together by all the things he’d hidden.

  “Lafayette,” she whispered. “I will not hate you for it.”

  He swallowed. “Thomas Vail asked me to the pastorate.”

  Pigeon sighed, her frustration leaking out, but she simply didn’t understand. To share something so personal, he had to arrive there by his own methods.

  “I started to refuse, but he prevented me. He told me to search my heart, which is what I’ve been doing since.”

  “Your quietness,” Pigeon said.

  Lafayette nodded. “God feels like He’s closer to the moon than to me. I’ve lost the touch of His presence. I used to rise early and greet the dawn and worship. I’d read the Scriptures, study for hours at a time. I cannot even recall where my Bible is now, nor if found, do I have the strength to open it. I feel it would spit at me … the worst accusations. How can I speak of godly things after what I’ve done?”

  “What have you done?”

  He quieted, building his strength. “She was young, barely eighteen, the daughter of my dearest friend. She used to come to see Cosette, though there were several years between them. I never intended …” He exhaled. “But I guess what I didn’t want to do lived in my thoughts.”

  He saw her again, her black locks, her large doe eyes, heard the words whispered in his ear by the devil in his flesh, that he was a man and he should prove it. She’d flirt with him; he’d return the words. Innocent, at first.

  “She showed up one day, but Cosette had gone to visit a friend. I offered her dessert we had, and she agreed to partake. We retreated to the kitchen to talk … meaningless enough. The devil on my shoulder had been there for days though, saying the most unconscionable things. I … I don’t know what happened. I’ve asked myself if she leaned in first or if I did. Did I mislead her? She was so young and impressionable … Regardless, we kissed, and I could not stop myself there.”

  “Her family would have objected to the match?” Pigeon asked.

  His gaze having drifted, he returned it to her face. “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking of that. I thought of nothing but how good she made me feel and so indulged my fantasy. Three months later she came to the door and placed my hand on her belly.”

  His heart ached thinking of it. A man of God, a pastor, and he’d fathered a child out of wedlock. Yet even then, he could have made it right. Instead, he’d denied it. The hurt on her face, the pride on his …

  “I was selfish and cruel, every bit the man I’ve been to you. I told her if she spoke a word, I’d say it wasn’t true. She didn’t; she refused to tell anybody. But people wanted to know and the closer she came to her time, the more they figured it out. Cosette’s friends turned on her; the congregation became restless. The people I’d loved became the thing I hated the most, yet I wouldn’t come clean. I … I used my pulpit to protect myself instead, and in so doing, I forsook everything the gospel stands for.”

  “What happened to her?”

  Numbed, Lafayette forced himself to speak it to Pigeon’s face. “She died during childbirth, protecting me to her grave.”

  “And the child?”

  “Was misshapen, deformed. People said it was a demon. It lived only hours. Long enough, though, to foment the townspeople’s hate. They forced her family to leave and ran Cosette and me out of town in their wake. I am vile and sinful and disgusting … I cannot forgive myself and deserve every hard thing life can throw at me.”

  “What about me?” she asked.

  He started.

  “A man I didn’t know saved my life. Another man I didn’t know married me, and that man received a gift that day. I would have him unwrap it.”

  A lump in his throat, Lafayette, once more, told the truth, speaking everything he’d longed to tell her for weeks. “He would unwrap it and enjoy it, but he would damage it and that will be too much for him to bear. The child was my fault. What’s to say it would not happen again? I do not deserve happiness. I do not deserve joy or success.”

  Pigeon held silent for a minute, then brushed her hair from her cheek. “You cannot forgive yourself, but the verse quoted by children is plain. ‘For God so loved the world.’ I don’t recall anyone being left out of those words. Jesus forgave the thief on the cross … a woman taken in adultery … He will also forgive a man fallen from grace, at the very least, for my sake.”

  “You should fear me,” he said.

  She smiled wide. “I have not been afraid of you before now; I am not going to start today.”

  “What if …?” he began to ask.

  “What if not,” she replied, interrupting. “What if not.”

  Lafayette clutched her to him and imagined what it’d be like to give in, to fuel the ardor of his flesh with the emotions crowding his heart. They pulled him forward, willing him to unite with her at last, a new voice, louder than the rest, telling him it’d be different this time.

  His disbelief held him back. He couldn’t quite believe in himself anymore.

  You have loved, and it meant something, Pigeon had said. But had he? There lay the last of his doubt. Had he loved the girl or had he used her? She’d said all the girlish things a young woman in love will spout, and he’d laughed and returned them. How much of that had been a lie? And even if it wasn’t, he’d not stood by her when she’d needed him.

  Pigeon wriggled, tilting her mouth his way, seeking his kiss, but he tucked her tighter, unwilling to give in. His soul had lightened with telling her of it, but not his guilt or his urge toward self-destruction. He knew the Scriptures, had heard the simpleness of what she’d said. He’d preached the same to many who’d been under his spiritual care, but that’s what made his behavior so much worse. He’d trodden underfoot the very words he’d spouted.

  The room grew silent and still. Pigeon’s breaths became even. Her body slackened, he released her and reversed. She was none of the things he’d expected, but everything he would have chosen. She wore his ring and shared his name. She now carried his past as well. But between them and the future lay a bumpy road shrouded by trees and banks of snow, every curve hiding the view on the other side.

  His hand rose to her cheek and rested there. Impetuous, unafraid because she slept, he bent forward and sampled her lips. His mind shifted back to the parsonage and the girl in his arms, to what in hindsight felt more like greed. Greed and avarice, lust that’d driven him to take, seeking satisfaction, but finding none, and the girl … a sweet, innocent girl had paid the price.

  He didn’t want to do that to Pigeon. He wanted to be sure of himself first and able to look others in the eye without thinking of his failure. How Christmas and the church fit into that he didn’t know, but he drifted to sleep better than he’d been hours earlier, if not one quite hopeful yet.

  Several days later, she and Lafayette made a trip to town to retrieve her new clothing. They were a half day there, the fitting needing last minute adjustments. They returned home and spent a pleasant twenty-four hours leading up to the night of the Millfords’ party. Pigeon dressed, having saved the blue one as a surprise to him, and emerged from the bedroom, hoping for his compliment.

  He acted on edge, although she wasn’t sure why.

  “It is a good color,” he said, “but you would look appealing in a burlap sack.”

  “You would like to dress me in one?”

  “I would rather undress you from one. I fail to see how you ever thought yourself plain.”

  Thinking of the real Pigeon Burgess gave her the same twinge it always had … that she lived the life meant for another, without recourse or veracity. More than once, she’d considered telling him the truth, but with his feelings about himself already so mountainous, knew he wouldn’t respond to it well. And she was happy here, inordinately happy, in spite of his cross nature. She was fast becoming addicted to his moods, yearning especially to see sunshine on his face. It was rare, but when it shown, it warmed her. She couldn’t entirely place the sensation because of the size of her deceit and could only hope that over time the guilt of it would die and her past fade from existence.