Elijah's Angel

Feeling like guilty school children anticipating a thrashing, the three heard the sound of the back door opening and heavy boots walking through the kitchen. The swinging door opened. Watchful, expectant, they all looked up. M.B. Spencer stood in the doorway. He was tall man, thin, but with a large frame. His brown hair was coarse. His face was almost entirely covered by a long brown beard just beginning to go gray. Suspicious brown eyes appraised them all. Unconsciously Polly and Addie took a step backward. There were harsh lines around M.B. Spencer’s eyes, lines of bitterness.

He nodded in their direction, “Preacher,” he said, stepping forward to shake Daniel's hand.

Daniel smiled, “Matthew,” he replied.

“The children said you wanted me. What do you want?”

Daniel cleared his throat, “Well Matthew, I can see the Lord at work in our little community. His will-”

“Get to the point, Sheridan,” Matthew interrupted. “I've got grain to flail.”

Daniel drew a breath and began again. “We've just made acquaintance with this lady here, and since she is in need of work, and since you need a housekeeper, we thought if you were agreeable, an arrangement might be made that was beneficial to you both.”

Matthew's stern glance passed over Addie and fixed on Polly. She was a tiny woman with a plain face, red cheeks and brown eyes. She wore her brown hair braided and wound on top of her head, with an absurd little row of straight bangs across her forehead. Matthew's voice was as rough as his words. “Did they tell you anything about me?” he demanded. She nodded. “What did they say?”

Polly lifted her eyes to his, reluctantly. “That you are a curmudgeon, sir.”

Matthew laughed shortly. He glanced at Daniel and Addie, now horrified into silence. He knew they were thinking that there were some things better left unsaid and that their companion should know the difference. He eyed her curiously, “Why do you want to be my housekeeper?”

“I have no other opportunities sir,” she murmured.

“Speak up,” Matthew ordered, waiting for her to meet his gaze. When she did he said fiercely, “I want a housekeeper. I don't want a wife.”

“I don't want a husband, sir.” It was hard to deny the ring of sincerity in her voice; they all heard it.

“She's an excellent seamstress, Matthew,” Daniel put in. “My wife will vouch for that.”

Matthew surveyed her coolly, “Would you say you are a good cook?”

She hesitated briefly, and glanced down again, “I am an adequate cook, sir.”

“Ah,” Matthew smoothed his beard, savoring this, “adequate.”

“Yes sir.”

“And why is this your only opportunity?”

“She's a widow, Matthew, didn't we say that? Her husband was a doctor,” Daniel began, but Matthew interrupted. “Let her speak for herself.”

“I was coming west on the train, sir. I had all my money in my little handbag and it was stolen while the children and I slept.”

“Greenhorn!” Matthew snorted. “If you are that sheltered madam, then you should not be let loose on an unsuspecting world.”

Polly closed her lips and said nothing.

For the first time, Matthew noticed the children lined up on the green brocade couch. He turned toward them and Polly followed his gaze just in time to see Libby dart recklessly toward the fireplace.

“Libby,” she called in an embarrassed appeal, “Come back here, darling.” Libby turned to her mother and smiled, then took a few more steps toward the fireplace, her arms outstretched for the poker. Matthew took the poker from her and carried her back to the couch beside the others. He looked them over carefully, one by one. When he got to three year old Andrew he paused, Andrew put a leg over his head and stuck out his tongue.

Under the camouflage of M.B. Spencer's beard, his lips twitched.