Free Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) by Sharlene MacLaren

just three days. Yes, these were good people,
made of strong moral fiber, courageous and full of spirit. He
had confidence in them. Just the sane, he approached the
topic with caution.

    "I want to talk to you today about our Christian responsibility
to help and encourage those less fortunate than we. Now some of
you might say, `I don't have a spare dine to give. How can I help
the needy when I'm in need myself?' I'm not talking about emptying your pockets; I'm talking about emptying your hearts."
    Just then, Anna Johnson hefted a squirming twin into her
arms, motioned for Sarah Jenkins to look after the other one,
then wove her way to the front of the house, creating a nionien-
tary disturbance. Jon watched while folks made room for her
passing. Against the west wall, Harvey Coleson, the town's only
barber, mopped his sweaty brow and shifted his two-hundredpound frame, angling old Mrs. Jarvis with a perturbed look
when she succumbed to a coughing fit. Jon sighed. If he had
to guess, he'd say he'd lost his audience at the words Christian
responsibility. Still, he forged ahead.
    "The early church carried each other's burdens, looked
for opportunities to help. Jesus said in Matthew 25:35, `For I
was hungry, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave
me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in."'
    Jon proceeded to speak about the duty of all Christians to
uplift the downhearted, provide hospitality, and work as onto
the Father-without grumbling or complaining. He cited relevant Scriptures and gave examples of the generosity of the
first Christian church. As he sought to end his message, he
scanned the people's faces. "God calls each of us to live holy
and righteous lives, following after Paul's example to cone together as laborers with God," he charged. "Why, right in
this fine community there are those without hope who could
benefit from the fruit of our labors."

    Outside, a brisk breeze blew through the open windows,
parting Mrs. Winthrop's long, velvet curtains and providing momentary relief from the sweltering air. Jon removed a
handkerchief from his hip pocket and made a sweep across his
face. Again, he studied the roomful of faithful worshippers,
comforted by Ben Broughton's encouraging look.
    "Our number one responsibility is to reach lost souls for
Christ," he continued, "but often that is accomplished by first
healing the sick, feeding the hungry, and befriending the
lonely. I would hope that folks would see Little Hickman Coni-
munity Church as a place that cares."
    "Amen to that, Reverend," offered the elderly Esther
Martin from the second row, her floral hat so big that those
sitting behind her had given up trying to see around it.
    Jon smiled. "I think it's clear we need to erect a new church
building."
    A resounding "Amen!" came from several different directions along with nods of agreement.
    "And I'm ready to proceed as soon as you are, but first
there is a pressing situation in our community we need to
address, an individual that sorely needs our help. His house
is in sad shape, I'ni afraid, missing windows, peeling paint,
broken porch steps. And the inside is just as bad. With the aid
of several able bodies, nien and women alike, I believe we can
help get this poor soul back on his feet. Can I count on you to
lend a hand?"
    Heads turned toward each other and waggled up and
down. Faces rife with eagerness sought Jon's challenge, awaited
his direction.

    "Who is it, preacher?" someone asked.
    Jon swallowed down a lump the size of his breakfast of
grapefruit and sucked in a cavernous breath. "It's Ezra Browning. I paid a visit on hini three days ago."
    Gasps and whispers rose up all around, the mumbling and
buzzing akin to a roomful of bumblebees. At the front of the
house, Mrs. Winthrop suddenly came to life, pressing a hand
to her ample chest. If Jon didn't know better, he'd say she was
about to have a coronary right in her own living room. He
gripped the