Free Love in the Balance by Regina Jennings Page A

Hebrews,” the pastor said. “They wandered forty years before they reached the Promised Land.”
    “I don’t think Molly’s going to wait forty years.”
    Mrs. Schmidt watched their approach through checkered curtains and met them at the door before Reverend Stoker could knock.
    “Come in. He’s in the bedroom.”

    For a woman with a husband on death’s door, she seemed remarkably composed. Bracing himself for what he might see, Bailey followed Stoker inside. As promised, there lay Mr. Schmidt in his nightcap, reading comfortably before the window.
    “What are you doing here? Oh no.” His eyes flashed as he slammed the book down on the nightstand. “Is this Gretchen’s doing?”
    “Mr. Schmidt, we’re here to visit and pray with you if you’ll allow us.”
    The reverend didn’t need to go any further, because Mr. Schmidt was on his feet, barreling out of the room.
    “Where’s that wife of mine? Gretchen!”
    Bailey backed into the parlor, unsure if they were witnessing a miracle or a crime.
    “I told you I would send for the preacher. You wouldn’t listen.” She poured a glass of milk and took a sip, indifferent to his ire.
    “This is preposterous!”
    “Any man who stays in bed and makes his wife chop firewood must be on death’s door,” she said. “Two days with a fever, not so much as a cough since then. You tell me what’s wrong.”
    The man flung himself into the rocker and pulled on his boots. Bailey looked away to spare himself more flashes of the hairy legs beneath the nightshirt.
    “Mr. Schmidt, while I’m glad you’re feeling better—”
    “You want firewood, then I’ll get firewood, but if I catch another cold, my blood will be on your hands. The parson’s my witness. My blood on your hands.” And he stomped out to the woodshed, nightshirt billowing in the breeze.
    Bailey chewed the inside of his lip to keep from smiling. Mrs. Schmidt set her glass down and stood with hands folded.

    “Thank you for stopping by. Seems like he’s on the road to recovery.”
    “I don’t approve, Mrs. Schmidt.” Stoker’s white eyebrows lowered over reproving eyes.
    “I apologize, but very few avenues were available to me.”
    “Besides patience?”
    She raised her chin but didn’t possess the nerve to meet his gaze. “Once again, I’m sorry to disturb your evening.”
    Clearly unrepentant, but what was the good reverend to do? “Excuse me, ma’am. I think I’ll give your husband a hand with the firewood,” Stoker said.
    Bailey was on his heels to follow when Mrs. Schmidt stopped him.
    “I haven’t had a chance to tell you, young man, but I was impressed by the stand you took at church.”
    He didn’t have to ask her to clarify. His repentance had garnered all sorts of unwanted attention. “Thank you, but I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Just trying to settle with God.”
    “And that’s the fastest way to it. There’s some who’ll lead you astray. Some who don’t care about their souls.”
    Bailey’s neck grew hot as he discovered sympathy anew for Mr. Schmidt. Where did Mrs. Schmidt get the misguided idea that Molly was the problem? He hadn’t insinuated that, had he?
    “Ma’am, I’m afraid you misunderstand. I had no grand plans. I was scared to death and knew I needed to do something about it.”
    “If everyone had the courage to correct wrong when they see it, like you and me, the world would be one step closer to glory.” She looked out the window at her husband swinging the ax in his nightshirt.
    As distasteful as the woman’s attitude was, she had stumbled into some truth. While his actions with Molly grieved the Lord, surely his willingness to address his sin pleased Him. His decision to stand before his parents, his church, and Reverend Stoker had been one of the most difficult of his life, but he’d done it. And although it still wasn’t easy, missing Molly and leaving his family while he tried to establish himself, he was shouldering the