Free The Calling of Emily Evans by Janette Oke

down.
    But even as Emily spoke the words to herself, she knew she had no right to wreck another’s property—no matter what its seeming worth—without taking responsibility.
    “I’ll have to find some way to make things right,” she said slowly.
    “But I’ve no idea how to go about it.”
    Emily remembered that she did not know who the man was that owned the property. Nor did she know how to get in contact with him.
    “Oh, dear,” she sighed, “that means he will have to contact me—and that makes it look like I’m trying to avoid my responsibilities.
    Oh, dear. I should have asked him—”
    Emily turned the team onto the road and took another quick look at her map. But she wouldn’t have needed to, for as she lifted her head she could see in the distance the small town where she was to serve. Her heart began to thud; then her mind quickly cautioned her emotions—both anxiety and excitement—to slow down.
    “Surely the people won’t all be like him,” she voiced out loud. She reminded herself that though he was gruff and uncouth, he had rescued her horse from the fence, fixed the tongue of her buggy, and single-handedly, pushed her buggy out of the barn. Even though he had been in a hurry to get her off his property, perhaps he really wasn’t all bad and rude and uncouth.
    Then another thought came to Emily, and it brought another flush to her cheek.
    “I didn’t even thank him,” she said in a whisper.“What kind of deaconess am I?”

Chapter Nine
    Beginnings
    Emily could see no unobtrusive entry into the small town. As far as she could tell, there was only one road leading into it—right down the main street, between the houses and shops and the eyes of the townspeople.
    Emily, her cheeks coloring, really did not wish to place the distinguishing bonnet upon her head. Nor did she wish to greet any of those who might be her new parishioners. But she did both. At the very edge of town, she reached for the carefully wrapped bonnet and lifted it out. With trembling hands she brushed her hair back from her warm face and attempted to push stray brown curls into proper place before settling the bonnet on her head. She brushed the dust from her skirts and tried vainly to brush away the wrinkles as well, and then clucked again to her team.
    If she was going to minister to these people, she had to be friendly, she decided. So with that determination, Emily headed into the heart of town, ready to greet anyone she met with a warm smile and a nod of her head.
    Though it damaged her pride, she kept her resolve, smiling and nodding to all she passed as though she were properly groomed and attired. She could feel their curiosity as she continued on down the street.
    When she reached a large building called Wesson Creek Mercantile, Emily pulled the horses up before the building next to it. According to her map, this was to be her home and the church for her parish.
    It was not an impressive looking place. The paint had long since washed from the plain board sides. The door was sagging slightly, the two front windows dirty and broken, the walk in front of it covered with clutter. Emily looked at it in dismay. It couldn’t be expected to draw people to worship.
    For a moment she felt like crying, and then her sagging shoulders lifted and she forced a smile. It wasn’t the building that mattered. She was here to share the Gospel. She would do that.
    She tied the horses to the front rail, hoping that it was secure enough to hold them, and set off to survey her domain.
    Through the gate that swung open on squeaking hinges, along the grass-hidden, broken walkway, toward the back where she understood her living quarters to be, Emily made her way.
    The door would be secured with a padlock, Emily had been told, and so it was. But ironically, right beside the padlock, the key hung on a piece of rusty wire. Emily could not help but smile.
    She opened the protesting door and entered the small closed-in porch. It was dusty,