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

corners of the box that held his big King James
Bible and uttered a silent prayer for guidance.
    "What's this about, Reverend?" asked Elmer Barrington, his
voice carrying over the simmering crowd. Elmer, who'd been sitting around the corner in the front parlor with his family, came
out in plain view to ask the question. "Why would you bother
visitin' him? He ain't nothin' but a foul-mouthed, drunken dolt.
His own daughter don't have nothin' to do with 'im."
    "I'll say," came the voice of Martha Atwater. "He's rude
and obnoxious. I don't even want to walk down Main Street
when he's out and about. Smells to high heaven, if I do say so.
Cain't even walk a straight line in broad daylight."
    "I've made him promise he'll sober up," Jon offered. Well,
saying he'd squeezed a promise out of the fellow was a bit of a
stretch, rather like saying he'd wrestled a bull into submission,
but Jon refused to retract his words for fear of losing more
ground.
    "What makes you think anything will change if we do fix
up his place?" This from Clarence Sterling, an aging farmer
who'd lived in Hickman most of his life. He stood next to an
open window, his petite wife, Mary, sitting in front of him in
an English club chair fanning herself, her white hair wrapped
in a tight little bun.

    "I don't know that anything will change, Clarence," Jon
replied. "For all I know, Ezra Browning will curse the ground we
walk on, might even kick its off his property. The man's rarely
been shown any kindness, so he won't know how to handle it.
On the other hand, our good intentions just might provide a
channel for some positive changes. Sadly, there are no guarantees when a Christian steps out on a limb to help a wayward
soul. One thing I do know. If we don't start showing hint some
brotherly love, he'll never see God's grace in action.
    "Think of it, Little Hickman Community Church just
could be his only hope for salvation."
    "I'ni all for it," said Ben Broughton.
    Several others offered nods of agreement, but then Iris
Winthrop's emphatic throat clearing drained his hopes. "Well."
She pushed herself to a standing position and the room went
quiet as a cemetery. It was a known fact she carried weight in
the town, and even more in the church since she opened her
home every Sunday for morning services, a generous act to be
sure. Because of that, folks paid her heed whenever she called
for it. Jon braced himself for the coming lecture, her expression enough to scare off a bat.
    "I, for one, think the idea quite preposterous. What has
this insufferable man ever done for Little Hickman except
embarrass us? His actions at the Independence Day festivities were quite inexcusable, if you ask me, not to mention
humiliating."
    Humiliating for whom? Jon wanted to ask.
    "Mrs. Winthrop, I-"
    "Furthermore, the people of this town would do well to
concentrate their efforts on finishing the schoolhouse and
church before wasting precious time on the likes of Ezra
Browning. Most lead busy lives, and expecting folks to donate their time and energy at this abhorrent man's house is not
only foolhardy, it's-it's insolent."

    "Insolent?"
"And disrespectful," she added, as if he needed another
insult.
    Upon finishing her speech, she clicked her tongue in disgust, the flowers on her wide-brimmed hat fairly trembling.
Slowly, she sat herself back down, taking care to fix her bountiful skirts on the way to her wingback chair.
    "I'ni not asking for the town's help, nia'ani," Jon said while
begging the Lord for patience. "I'ni asking the church to step
in. God has called us to be His servants, to rescue the perishing, care for the dying. Did we not just sing those very words
in the morning hymn?"
    "I don't care what we sang," she said with a cool stare.
"Wasting our time on this man is-"
    "Oh, Iris, for the love of all that's good, be quiet." Jon was
certain God Himself had intervened until he recognized the
voice of Clyde Winthrop.
    "Amen!" mumbled