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

Esther Martin quite loud enough for
everyone to hear. A few snickers filtered through the air.
    Normally sedate by nature, if not downright compliant,
Clyde possessed the innate ability to rein in his blustering wife
at the most opportune times. Jon believed he also had the
patience of job to have lived with Iris for nearly half a century. With surprising servility, she lowered her chin, expelling
a loud sniff.
    Clyde moved to stand behind his wife. "Now then," he
said. "It seems to me we ought to hear the reverend out. He's
spotted a need within our community and apparently has a
plan for meeting it. I, for one, am curious to hear what that
plan night be."

    Heads bobbed and faces once full of doubt now sparked
with interest. It was a start, Jon mused, nodding his appreciation to Clyde for defusing an otherwise tense situation, then
sweeping his gaze out over the small congregation before presenting his proposal.

    "Supper's on!" Emma called from the dining room just
as the clock in the hallway chivied six times. "And ya best not
dawdle."
    All around the house, a clatter arose as feet hit the floor.
Then came the pounding traffic on the front and back stairs and
the slamming of the front screen door, its squeaky hinges making
it quite impossible for anyone to enter the house unnoticed.
    Tonight there was an extra place setting at the table-in
the spot where Mr. Dreyfus used to sit. It was the reverend's first
official meal with the other boarders. For that matter, tonight,
Sunday, would mark his first night's stay. She wondered how
long it would take him to regret his decision. Surely, Gideon
Barnard's foul mouth would do the trick-or the loud Saturday night carousing. And if those didn't do it, then their poker
games would-or their blatant mockery of his beliefs. Whatever, he'd be gone before any of them could spell pig snout.
She'd bet money on it.
    As usual, Luke arrived first, his hair neatly combed to the
side, with the exception of a few unruly strands at the back of
his head that stood straight and tall as a cornstalk.
    "The p-p-preacher's comin'," he announced to the floor.
"He'll sit here." Luke pulled out a chair and stood behind it
like a soldier awaiting his commanding officer, no doubt anticipating Jonathan Atkins' grand entrance. A tiny smile tickled the corners of Emma's mouth as she took her place at the head
of the table and closest to the kitchen.

    Harland Collins sauntered in next. A widower in his sixties, he was one of Little Hickman's blacksmiths, keeping shop
in a room off the livery. No matter how hard he scrubbed, his
hands never seemed to cone clean, much to Emma's chagrin.
He nodded at both of then and took his usual seat, opposite
Luke's chair. On his tail came Wes Clayton and Elliott Newman.
Wes took the chair at the far end, same side as Luke, while
Elliott sat on Luke's right and next to Emma. "Why ain't you
sittin', boy?" Elliott asked, deep lines etched into his long, haggard face, making hint look as if he'd already reached the century mark, even though Emma knew him to be no older than
Harland Collins. Of all her boarders, Emma felt sorriest
for him. He had watched a malignant tumor eat away at his
beloved wife, Matilda, before she finally passed on, leaving
him with a teenage boy and a mountain of doctor and hospital bills. One year later to the day, his house burned to the
ground. Because he'd let his insurance expire, there'd been
nothing with which to rebuild. And that's when he'd come
knocking on her door.
    "I'ni w-waitin' on the preacher," Luke explained in his slow
voice.
    His father took up his napkin and laid it out on his lap, the
only one of her boarders who used the cloth for its intended
purpose. On more than one occasion, Harland Collins had
used it as a handkerchief, while Gideon Barnard thought it
most useful for shining his belt buckle.
    "You night be standin' awhile then," Elliott said. "Last I
seen the preacher, he was