Free June by Lori Copeland Page A

come. She jumped at a surly voice.
    "You want somethin'?"
    The tall, skinny man, his beard thick with tobacco spittle, studied her. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Where had he come from?
    He stepped closer. "I'd be more than happy to accommodate."

    A second logger approached; he was almost as big around as he was tall. Five or six huge, dirty men drifted out of the tent. Their eyes greedily assessed her.
    Please, God, June prayed silently. Make my words bold.
    "Well, sir, I'm ... I'm here for a purpose." She cleared her throat, trying to think of it. "I've come to bring you good news!"
    Please, God, let them consider Sunday services good news!
    "What good news?" The skinny man eyed her up and down, then bent at the waist to hawk up a wad of tobacco.
    "Very good news." She tried to smile confidently. "Wonderful news."
    A man pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He was so slovenly that the smell of him reached the buggy before he did. "What do you want, woman? Spit it out."
    June turned away from the stench and silently implored God to give her strength. "I've come to offer you services-Sunday services-for you and your families-"
    The men's laughter overpowered her faint voice. She glanced from man to man. Scraggly beards, dirty hands with nails bitten and broken to the quick, clothes that reeked of unwashed bodies. Should she turn around and leave?
    She summoned the courage to continue. Her voice rose. "I want to come to your camp on Sunday mornings and share with you and your families preaching, prayer, Bible study, singing-"
    The rounded man approached the buggy, fingering the hem of her blue wool skirt. He leered at her. "What is it you're offering to share, little lady?"

    The men broke into laughter, elbowing each other.
    June reached out and firmly removed the man's fingers, determined to keep her head. She had done a foolish thing. She couldn't afford another mistake. Staring straight ahead, she reiterated her intent. "I am with the Isaac Inman Crusade. I'm here this morning to see if your camp is in need of Sunday services-"
    "You're one of those preacher women? One of those crusaders?"
    The men roared. "That's a good one!" someone called.
    "She's here to see if we need any churchin'! What say, men?" A man held out his suspenders, winking. "Do we need any churchin'?"

    Leaning back in his chair, Parker stared out the office window. For some reason he couldn't shake the thought of the morning's visitor.
    He was surprised at how quickly June had given up. He didn't know her well, but he did know she was pushy and somewhat naive. He'd gotten the feeling that she wasn't easily swayed from a purpose. So why hadn't she tried harder to persuade him to hold services at the camp? His gut feeling told him that deep within June Kallahan there burned a fire that would not easily be extinguished.
    "Parker, I need your signature on these documents. There's a shipment of new saws due out of Seattle first thing tomorrow morning." Simon Hendricks handed his boss a stack of papers.

    Drawn from his thoughts, Parker looked up. "What?" he asked absently.
    Parker's clerk rattled the sheaf of papers. "Your signature? On these?"
    "The new saws?"
    "The new saws. Where's your mind today?"
    Parker leaned across the desk and took the papers. His mind was on June Kallahan, Eli's mail-order bride. With Eli gone, she should go back to Michigan. His jaw tensed when he thought about her declaration that she wanted to see Eli's dream realized. He mentally snorted. Eli's dream building that tabernacle was Isaac's dream, a dream to glorify Isaac's work. If Inman wanted a cause to promote, he need look no further than the poverty in the area. Families going hungry, the orphanage where children were going without proper food and clothing. That old woman, Angeline, who was trying to raise a houseful of kids with no help except that old Indian. Inman's "tabernacle" wasn't going to put food in folks' bellies, or shoes on those orphans' feet.
    "Is