Free The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter by Lawana Blackwell Page A

obeyed, taking a spoonful of soup into her mouth and then another. Presently the effort of eating something even as easy as soup took its toll on her, and she held up a trembling hand just as Mercy was lifting the spoon from the bowl again. “No more, Mercy.”
    “You really should try to finish the bowl,” Mercy admonished gently. “You’re wasting away to nothing.”
    “Ah, but my soul is fat, child, from feasting on the Word. Take it away—I’ll have Janet give me some more later.”
    It was useless to argue once Mrs. Brent made up her mind. In her own softer way she was perhaps as stubborn as Mrs. Kingston. Setting the bowl and spoon on the bedside table, Mercy leaned over to take her friend’s bony shoulders, move two of the pillows from behind her, and ease her back onto one. Mrs. Brent lovingly smiled up at her, and after Mercy had taken her chair again, she said in a voice growing hoarse, “When you take my little herd, dear, remind your father that they’re yours.”
    The subject of Mrs. Brent’s cows was not a pleasant one for Mercy because they would be in her possession only because of her friend’s death. But to comfort her, Mercy mumbled something in agreement. However, that didn’t satisfy the elderly woman.
    “Of course they will be pastured with his herd, and he will profit from the milk. But only until your husband comes along,” Mrs. Brent said.
    “Yes, Mrs. Brent,” Mercy replied obediently. She could not match Mrs. Brent’s adamant faith regarding a husband but would not have argued with her dying friend had she declared that a prince would ride into Gresham upon a white horse and claim her for his bride.
    “Thank you, child.” Even the frailty of Mrs. Brent’s voice could not prevent her affection for Mercy from coming through. “Now run along and tend to your chores at home. You’ve enough to do without listening to an old woman ramble.”
    Mrs. Brent’s six cows had their heads loped over the drystone wall separating the pasture from the yard. Mercy could feel their gentle brown eyes following her as she walked out to the lane, as if the small herd had assembled themselves to inquire about their mistress’s condition and were now mutely calling her back to them. Finally Mercy could stand it no longer, and she turned and went over to the wall. She pulled some long stalks of hawkweed from the ground. “There, there now,” she cooed as they nudged one another gently for a better position to receive the treat. Her vision blurred. “Everything will be all right.”
    She had doubts about that herself, but she didn’t think God would fault her for saying it to reassure a few pitiful cows.

Chapter 6
     
    Andrew left Luther Sloane’s small dairy farm north of the river later than he had intended and now wondered if he would reach the vicarage before his guests arrived for supper.
    The Sloanes’ four-month marriage had reached a crisis state when Mrs. Sloane demanded that her husband make a choice between her and his collie, Shep, that had enjoyed the run of the cottage and slept at his master’s feet long before she was carried across the threshold. In reply to her demand, Mr. Sloane had requested a day or two to consider his answer, causing his wife to pack her belongings and threaten to leave.
    As Rusty pulled the trap up Church Lane, Andrew flicked the reins lightly to coax a little more speed. Thankfully he’d been able to negotiate a compromise between the husband and wife. Mr. Sloane was brought to the understanding that wives were more important than pets and offered to clear a space in the hay barn for the dog’s bed, keeping him outside from now on. Warmed by that concession, Mrs. Sloane had decided that a blanket in a corner of the gardening hut would provide more comfort for sleeping, and that the animal could continue taking meals at the cottage hearth.
    Please grant my daughters good marriages, Lord , Andrew prayed as Rusty automatically turned north up Vicarage