Chapter 6
Sunday morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the small church, illuminating dust motes that danced above the congregation’s heads.
Levi stood at the pulpit, his hands resting on the worn edges of the lectern, delivering his sermon in the steady, measured tone the town had come to expect.
This Sunday’s message focused on God’s faithfulness during seasons of waiting.
He drew on the story of Abraham and Sarah and the long years of waiting before their promise was fulfilled.
The words flowed from him easily enough.
He had prepared them with care the night before.
Yet they did not settle in his own chest. They felt distant, like echoes in an empty room.
His faith, once a living fire, had cooled in the wake of Ruth’s death.
So he spoke to his congregation about trust, even as his own heart remained guarded against it.
In the front pew, Louisa sat with Nora on her lap.
The little girl was exceptionally quiet throughout the service, her small fist clutched tightly around Eleanor’s dark braid as if it anchored her.
Eleanor’s gray eyes were attentive, her posture straight but not stiff.
Twice during the sermon, Levi noticed her gaze drift to the third row, where Sarah Hartwell sat beside her mother-in-law, Agnes.
The young woman was small but heavily pregnant, her face pale as she shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench, one hand pressed against her side.
When the final hymn ended and the benediction was given, the congregation spilled into the churchyard.
People lingered in clusters, exchanging news and pleasantries.
As soon as Levi stepped over the threshold and into the bright spring sky, Hector Callaway immediately gripped his hand.
“The sermon was good today, Pastor. We all needed to hear that one.”
Levi nodded, managing a small smile. “Thank you, Hector.”
As Hector began chatting about the remarkable weather, Levi’s attention waned, drifting across the yard until he found Eleanor.
She stood with Cora Teague, and Nora, now reaching eagerly for the ribbons on Cora’s Sunday hat, laughed.
The child’s laughter carried on the breeze, causing an ache in his chest.
Quickly, Levi excused himself and slipped behind the church, where a small, fenced burial plot was shaded by a lone cottonwood.
The wooden cross he had carved himself stood straight at the head of the grave.
He had spent three careful evenings etching Ruth’s name, making each letter perfect.
With a heaviness settling in his chest, he removed his hat and stood in silence for a long moment as the wind stirred the grass around his boots.
“I’ve married again, Ruth,” he said quietly, his voice rough.
“Her name is Louisa. She came all the way from Philadelphia. She’s…
good with Nora. The child reaches for her without hesitation and settles into her arms as if she belongs there.
” He swallowed hard, staring at the fresh spring growth pushing up around the base of the cross, adding color to the bleak landscape.
“I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve spent eighteen months trying to be everything she needs, but I still haven’t figured it out.
Most nights, I’m still lost. But Louisa seems to know exactly what to do.
She has steady hands and kind eyes, but…
there’s something about her I can’t read.
I hope you can understand. I hope you approve and that you know you are not being replaced, but Nora needed a mother, and maybe… maybe I need a bit of company, too.”
Levi stood with his late wife until the voices in the churchyard began to fade. Only when he heard the last wagon roll away did he set his hat back on his head and walk toward the parsonage.
That afternoon, Levi and Eleanor walked together to Hector and Grace Callaway’s house at the edge of town. Nora rode contentedly in Eleanor’s arms, her head resting against her shoulder. The path wound past blooming wildflowers and sagebrush, with the mountains standing sentinel in the distance.
They walked in companionable silence, though Levi remained keenly aware of every step she took beside him. His heart raced more than it should, but there seemed to be no remedy for it. All he could do was focus on the path.
When they arrived, the Callaway kitchen was warm and cheerfully cluttered.
Bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling beams, drying and filling the air with the scent of rosemary and mint.
Hector’s medical bag sat open on a chair by the door, as if ready for his next call.
The table had been set for four with mismatched plates and simple tin cups. Grace greeted them with open arms.
“Come, come, take a seat! And let me take that little miss.”
Grace lifted Nora from Eleanor’s arms and settled her on a thick blanket in the corner of the room, leaving her with a wooden spoon and an empty cup to play with.
The conversation flowed easily, largely carried by Grace’s warm, practiced hospitality.
She asked after the garden Levi had started behind the parsonage and gently teased him about his voice carrying clear across the valley that morning.
Across the table, Hector was quiet, watching both Levi and Eleanor with the careful attention of a man who had spent years diagnosing more than just physical ailments.
To his right, Eleanor answered questions politely, offering small, careful replies that revealed little of herself.
She was composed and confident, but Levi sensed the restraint beneath her words.
Grace eventually mentioned Sarah Hartwell. “Poor girl is carrying so small for how far along she is. It’s got her up all night with worry, I’m sure. And she looked as pale as a ghost this morning. I pray for that little one.”
Hector nodded as he spooned more stew onto his plate. “The baby hasn’t turned yet, either. I intend to check her again next week, but I am not confident the little one will want to cooperate.”
Levi noticed Eleanor’s hands still on her cup at the doctor’s report.
She swallowed before speaking, a hesitancy to her tone.
“Carrying small at his stage sometimes means the baby is sitting high and hasn’t dropped yet.
My mother, a midwife back in Philadelphia, used to check a baby’s position by pressing two fingers just below the navel.
With a little bit of pressure, she could feel for the head or determine whether it's a breech baby.”
The table fell silent for a long stretch. Hector studied her with renewed interest, his eyebrow raising in surprise. “Your mother taught you how to feel for a baby’s position?”
Eleanor nodded once, keeping her eyes on the still surface of her drink. “I watched her do it many times.” She lifted the cup and drank, offering nothing further.
Levi watched her closely. There was competence in her knowledge and the same surety in her voice that he had witnessed when she had soothed Nora that first night. Yet she seemed to be holding back as if afraid of saying too much.
On the walk home, Nora slept soundly on Eleanor’s shoulder, her small body limp with trust. Levi and Eleanor walked in step without speaking, their footsteps matching on the dirt path. The silence between them felt heavy, filled with everything left unsaid at the dinner table.
At the parsonage gate, Levi paused, his hand resting on the latch. “The Callaways like you,” he said. “Especially Grace.”
Eleanor shifted Nora’s weight to her other arm. “They are kind people.”
“Grace doesn’t bother to give someone the time of day unless she deems them worthy,” Levi added, his voice low.
Eleanor’s cheeks colored faintly. She adjusted her grip on the sleeping child again and did not answer.
Neither of them moved as the golden light of late afternoon caught in her gray eyes and in the loose strands of hair that had escaped her braid.
For a moment, Levi felt that dangerous pull in his chest again, anchoring itself more deeply so that Levi feared he might never rid himself of it.
Before he could be caught staring, he opened the gate for her, and they walked inside together. Whatever secrets Eleanor carried, whatever pain lay beneath her careful composure, she had already begun to weave herself into the fabric of his household.
Levi was no longer certain he wanted to cut away the seams.