Free Donovan’s Angel by Peggy Webb Page B

you anymore.”
    “Does that mean just in person, or does that
include treetop and fence-hole conversations as well?”
    “All of them, I think.”
    “But how will you tell me about Baby’s raids
on my clothesline?” he asked.
    “You can patch the holes in the fence so she
can’t come over.”
    “I like it this way. I think I’ll let the
holes stay.”
    “Then I’ll patch the holes. Goodbye, Paul.
And that’s my final word.”
    He chuckled, then called across the fence,
“I’m going to pray that you forget to buy the nails, angel.”
    “I’m not an angel!” she yelled. “And that’s
really my final word.”
    Paul stood smiling beside the fence for a
long time after he had heard her screen door slam. He could wait.
He knew as surely as the sun rose in the east that Martie was part
of his future. The grand design had already been drawn, and neither
of them could change it. He might hurry it along, however. He
tamped out his pipe, stuck it in his sweater pocket, and headed for
the parsonage whistling.
    o0o
    Monday morning Martie went outside to pick up
her forgotten roses.
    “Good morning, Martie.” Paul’s rich voice
startled her, coming as it did out of nowhere.
    She ran to the fence and put her face to the
crack. Finding herself nose to nose with the minister, she pulled
back. “What are you doing?” she asked.
    “Greeting you.”
    “I’m not talking to you, remember?”
    “That’s all right. I’m still talking to you.
Besides, we didn’t finish that conversation about my shorts.”
    “Reverend
Donovan
!” Miss Beulah
Grady had entered his yard unnoticed. Her eyes were glazed with
shock at the minister’s strange behavior and outrageous remark.
“What on earth are you doing?”
    Paul straightened up. “Hello, Miss Beulah.
I’m having a neighborly chat with Martie.”
    “Morning, Miss Beulah,” Martie called through
the fence, grinning impishly. Most of Miss Beulah was not visible
through the peephole, but the part that was, was heaving with
indignation.
    Miss Beulah squinted her eyes and tried to
see what that brazen woman was wearing, but the hole in the fence
was too small and the minister was blocking most of the view. All
she saw was a flash of scarlet. She’d give her eyeteeth to know
what had been going on when she appeared. Shifting her covered
basket from one arm to the other, she spoke with saccharine
sweetness.
    “I’ve brought the preacher some scones, fresh
from the oven. Why don’t you come over and join us?”
    “That’s a wonderful idea,” Paul agreed
enthusiastically. “Just scoot up the tree, Martie, and I’ll help
you down on this side.”
    Miss Beulah’s eyebrows shot up into the air
at that scandalous suggestion, and all attempts at subtlety
vanished.
    “Reverend
Donovan
! I should think
that conduct is highly unseemly for a minister. What if somebody
sees? Word would get all over town before the day was out.”
    A small muscle twitched in Paul’s jaw, the
only sign of his inward struggle. “I think you’ve underestimated
the good people of this town, Miss Beulah.”
    Martie was furious and immediately charged
full tilt into battle.
    “I don’t believe the Reverend Donovan’s
reputation needs any defense, Miss Beulah,” she declared loudly,
“but I’m going to put your mind and your tongue at ease. I have no
designs, either scandalous or otherwise, on the minister. The only
thing we have in common is a fence. And now, if you two will excuse
me, I’m going to clean my honky tonk.”
    She whirled away from the peephole without
waiting to see Paul’s face. Covering her ears with her hands, she
ran into her house. Don’t look back, she told herself. She had
burned her bridges, and everybody was better off.
    She didn’t stop running until she was
upstairs. Furiously she ransacked her closet, looking for a box.
The only thing she could find was a heart-shaped one that had once
held candy. Grabbing the mended shorts from the wicker rocker, she
stuffed