Free An Unlikely Love by Dorothy Clark

wished he could comfort her. He locked his gaze on her, willed her to look his way, to notice him, to at least know that he was here and that he cared that she was hurting.
    â€œLadies and gentlemen, the consumption of strong drink in all its forms is more prevalent today than it has ever been in our nation. It is destroying families and ruining young people’s lives. And it has to stop! I know many of you feel helpless and alone, but you’re not. And if you will only find the courage to speak the truth at church meetings and women’s clubs, at sewing and quilting bees when you return to your towns, you will find others will gather strength from your honesty and stand with you. There is comfort and strength in knowing you are not alone. And there is power for change in numbers. The temperance movement is growing. I urge you to add your voice to our protest against the damage done to families by strong drink and those who provide it.”
    Whoa!
Grant swept his gaze to the other side of the canopy, found John Hirsch and his cohorts standing in a group on the edge of the crowd. They did not look pleased.
    â€œThat concludes my message. Are there any questions or—”
    Voices erupted into a cacophony of called questions and challenges. He darted a look back at Marissa. Her hands rose for silence.
    â€œI will be pleased to answer your questions, ladies and gentlemen. But I cannot hear when you all call them out at once. Please keep order while presenting your questions. I will answer all that time allows tonight. And if it becomes too late, I will answer any remaining questions after my next lecture.” She nodded toward someone on her right. “Have you a question, madam? Please stand and speak out so all can hear.”
    A woman stood, her back straight as a ramrod. “Do you include wine when you speak of ‘strong drink’?”
    Wine?
He shook his head. That was ridiculous. They drank wine in church during Commu—
    â€œI do indeed, madam. Wine can alter a man’s judgment and personality the same as all strong drink.”
    A man shot to his feet, his chin thrust out in a belligerent jut. “Who are you to vilify wine, when Jesus Himself made wine at the wedding feast at Cana?”
    A murmur spread through the crowd. Grant stared at the man’s angry face and his gut tightened. This could get nasty. He glanced at Marissa standing alone at the edge of the platform, slipped back behind the post and edged through the cluster of people behind him. He had to get to her in case things got unruly. He hurried along the space between the people and the edge of the woods toward the platform, paused as Marissa’s voice rose clear and firm above the muttering.
    â€œIt’s true that Jesus made wine at Cana. But, as that wine was
freshly
made, I do not believe that it ‘biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder’ as does wine ‘at the last’ as we are told in Proverbs, chapter twenty-three. That chapter carries a strong warning against drinking that type of wine. It says we are not to look upon it, and warns us of the consequences.”
    He searched his memory but couldn’t recall ever hearing of such a warning.
    â€œâ€˜Who hath woe? who hath sorrow? who hath contention? who hath babbling? who hath wounds without cause? who hath redness of eyes? They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed wine.’ Ladies and gentlemen, I
know
these things are true! And not only for those who drink the wine, but for those who live with them also.
That
is why I include wine when I speak against strong drink! Next question please.”
    One of the men with John Hirsch pushed forward. “I’ve heard you people close down taverns and bars. You close churches that hold Communion services, too?”
    Another of the group thumped the man’s shoulder, looking pleased at the trap his cohort had sprung. “That’s right!