For the Love of God Page 11

  “Both of them are single. I don’t see that there’s anything wrong in him dating her,” the man said. And Abbie thought, Hooray for George. At least he was sticking up for them against the malicious intonations of his wife, assuming the woman was his wife.

  “She doesn’t live with her parents, you know, although a lot of people think she does,” the woman went on. “She fixed up an apartment for herself in the loft above the garage. It’s completely private from the house.” The woman’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper that Abbie was just barely able to catch. “They say the reverend has been in her apartment.”

  “Really.” George’s voice was dry with disinterest.

  “Don’t you think it’s strange the way she came back so suddenly from Kansas City? Supposedly she gave up a good job.” The remarks were full of malicious innuendos that had Abbie bristling. “If you ask me, there has to be a reason why someone as attractive as the Scott girl hasn’t gotten married. I’ll bet she’s hiding something.”

  “You have a remarkable talent, Maude, for seeing sin in other people,” George muttered.

  “I still think he should be dating a nice girl instead…. Don’t look now, George, but he’s coming this way.” In a louder voice, the woman issued a sweetly bright greeting. “Hello, Reverend. How are you today?”

  “Fine, thank you,” Seth’s voice replied.

  In the next second, he entered Abbie’s side vision. She glanced at him briefly, her smile a little stiff. He slid onto the opposite booth seat, a warm light gleaming in his blue eyes for her.

  “Hello, Abbie. You’re early,” he observed. “I thought I’d have to wait for you.”

  “I had a couple of errands to run.” She opened her menu, willing herself not to pay any attention to the idle gossip she’d overheard.

  But Seth was too well acquainted with her moods, too able to read her mind. “Is something wrong?” He tipped his head to one side, the thickness of his dark bronze hair showing signs of having been ruffled by the wind and then tamed with combing fingers.

  Abbie started to deny that there was anything the matter, then she thought about the woman in the next booth, who must have realized she’d been sitting there all the time. When Abbie spoke, her voice was a little louder than it needed to be.

  “I was just thinking about ‘sticks and stones,’” she replied. Seth drew back, his gaze narrowing slightly to study her with a considering look. Abbie turned her attention on the menu, missing his glance at the booth behind her. “Meat loaf is the luncheon special today. It sounds good. I think that’s what I’ll have.”

  When the waitress came to take their order, Seth echoed her choice. “Might as well make it two luncheon specials.” He waited until the waitress had left to ask, “How have you been?” As if it had been awhile since he’d seen her when it was only two days ago.

  “Fine. By the way, I finished typing the manuscript,” Abbie informed him. “It’s safely delivered into the writers’ hands already.” Abbie was careful not to mention the Coltrain sisters by name, not with the possibility of a big set of ears listening.

  “That’s good timing,” he replied.

  It seemed a curious response. “Why is that?” She laughed shortly.

  “Because I could use some help typing up some church notices I want to mail out next week. It shouldn’t take you more than one evening.”

  “That sounds as if I’ve already volunteered,” Abbie retorted in amusement.

  “I knew you’d agree.” Seth mockingly pretended she had. “Is there anything wrong with doing it tonight?”

  “I suppose not,” she replied, acknowledging that she would do it.

  “Why don’t you stop by the parsonage a little before seven?” he suggested. Abbie tensed, wondering what the woman in the next booth was making out of her going to the parsonage. “I have to be at the church shortly after seven for a wedding rehearsal,” Seth added, and she breathed a silent sigh of relief. “You can have the office all to yourself. I wouldn’t want to be accused of disturbing you while you were working.”

  “I should hope not. Shall I bring my typewriter or do you have one?” she asked.

  “A manual.”

  “I’ll bring my portable electric,” Abbie stated. Halfway through their lunch, a member of the church board stopped by the booth and sat down to chat a moment with Seth. Abbie heard the couple in the adjoining booth leave and relaxed a little.

  Inevitably the conversation between Seth and the director turned to church matters, which fairly well left Abbie out of it. From church business, there was a natural transition to a discussion of the Bible, and a pointed, but amicable, difference of opinion about the correct interpretation of a particular passage of the Scriptures.

  “You settle it, Miss Scott.” The board member turned to her for a third opinion. “What do you think it means?”

  She felt suddenly trapped, and embarrassed, because she wasn’t familiar with the passage they were talking about at all. Seth came to her rescue.

  “I think Abbie is going to insist on remaining neutral,” he said. “She doesn’t profess to be a student of the Bible, so it isn’t fair to ask her to referee.”

  “The reverend is right.” Abbie used his title when referring to him in the company of others. “I stay quietly neutral about such matters.”

  “I imagine you and the reverend have other things to discuss besides the Bible.” The man winked.

  It was an innocent remark, without any critical intention, yet Abbie wondered if she shouldn’t become more familiar with the Bible. Just as this man had, others would expect her to be more knowledgeable about it than she was. The thought continued to prey at the back of her mind through lunch, and the rest of the day as well.

  Abbie slowed the car as she neared the parsonage that evening. “I guess we might as well park right out in front, Mabel. The whole town probably knows I’m going to be here tonight anyway,” she murmured aloud to the car, and maneuvered the cranky vehicle close to the curb.

  With the brake set, she stepped out of the car and walked around to the passenger side where her typewriter was sitting on the seat. The screen door to the parsonage banged shut. Abbie half turned to see Seth running lightly down the steps. He looked so striking, dressed all in black, with only the narrow band of his white collar for contrast.

  “Let me carry that typewriter for you,” he said as he approached the car.

  “It’s lightweight.” Abbie objected to the notion that she needed any help, but he firmly took it out of her grasp.

  “How would it look to the neighbors if I let you carry this into the house when I’m empty-handed?” Seth reasoned with a mocking gleam. “They’d think I didn’t have any manners at all.”

  “And do you?” she challenged, and moved ahead of him to open the door, letting him enter the house first.

  It was an old house with typically high ceilings. The screen door opened into a wide foyer with doors leading off from it. A throw rug didn’t quite cover the worn patches of the carpet and layers of dark varnish covered the woodwork. The fern-patterned wallpaper probably had once matched the carpet on the floor but it had faded.

  “The office is through here.” Seth pushed open the door to the right with his foot.

  Abbie followed him into the office. There was an immediate difference. The entryway had created the overall impression of something tired and worn down, but the study had a vibrant warmth to it. A pair of plushly stuffed armchairs were covered in an ocher-gold corduroy, a color carried through in the drapes at the front window. The carpet was a pale cream shade that widened the paneled walls of the room.

  “This is where you spend most of your time, isn’t it?” Abbie guessed.

  Seth placed the typewriter on his desk and turned to lean against the front side of the old walnut desk, letting his gaze sweep around the room before settling on Abbie. “It shows, does it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I had the chairs recovered and bought
new drapes and carpeting,” he admitted. “The whole house needs something done to it, but I don’t know what.”

  “It has a lot of possibilities.”

  “Such as?” Seth challenged dryly, and pushed away from the desk to walk to the middle of the room where she was standing.

  “As old as this house is, I wouldn’t be surprised if there are hardwood floors under that carpeting in the entryway. You could paint the walls a sunny yellow and brighten it up a lot,” Abbie said, throwing out ideas off the top of her head.

  “Would you like to fix the place up? I’ll give you a free hand to do whatever you want,” he offered.

  It would be a challenge, but Abbie shook her head, expressing skepticism. “I don’t think the church would go along with spending that much money on the parsonage. You’d have to go to the board with plans and estimates.”

  “The board wouldn’t care if I paid for it out of my own pocket.” Seth dismissed that obstacle. “What do you say? Do you want to do it?”

  Again she shook her head. “People are talking now. Can you imagine their reaction if I started redecorating the parsonage?” Abbie eyed him as if he had taken complete leave of his senses.

  “‘Sticks and stones.’” He used her phrase from lunch that day—deliberately.

  “‘May break my bones.’” She continued the children’s rhyme, but changed the ending to it. “But words can end up hurting you, Seth.”

  “And what about the words you heard today?” he challenged quietly.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Abbie protested.

  “Yes, you do,” he insisted, taking her by the arms and pulling her slowly toward him. “You overheard Mrs. Jones saying something before I arrived for lunch today, didn’t you?”

  “It was nothing. I just considered the source and forgot it. I’m not thin-skinned,” she assured him, and spread her hands across the black material covering his chest.

  “You have a very sensitive skin,” Seth replied, and folded her into his arms to prove it, kissing her throat and the side of her neck.

  Little quivers of delight ran along her flesh to thrill her. His clean-shaven cheeks were smooth against her skin, the tangy fragrance of a male cologne stimulating her senses. It seemed every time he held her in his arms, she experienced this heady rapture that burned deep into her very soul.

  “I thought you asked me here to type.” The huskiness of her voice revealed how much he was disturbing her.

  “Maybe I changed my mind.” He burrowed his mouth into the side of her hair.

  “What about the wedding rehearsal at the church?” she reminded him, then added to get his attention, “Reverend?”

  “Now that was unkind.” He lifted his head while his hands continued to glide up and down her back with lazy interest.

  “The bride and groom can’t practice without the minister.” Her gaze lingered on the strong shape of his mouth, fascinated by the feelings it could evoke.

  “But the minister isn’t expected for another twenty minutes,” Seth informed her. “That’s plenty of time for Seth Talbot to—”

  “Behave yourself, Seth.” Her hands pushed against his chest as she suddenly realized the screen door was unlocked. Anyone could walk in and find them.

  “Why?” He allowed her to create a small space between them, but kept his hands linked together behind her back. “Do you think I’m going to lose control of my prurient desires?”

  “Don’t you think you’d better show me what you want typed?” Abbie suggested, unable to handle his conversation.

  “I suppose.” He sighed with mock reluctance. “Come on.” He took her by the hand and led her to the desk where he’d set her typewriter. “Here are the envelopes.” He pointed to a stack, then to a card file. “And in there are all the addresses of the names on the list.”

  “Is that it?” Abbie had been under the impression it was more complicated.

  “That’s it. Do you think you can handle it?” A light danced in his glittering blue eyes.

  “It looks simple enough,” she conceded. “Any schoolgirl with one semester of typing could do it.”

  Seth angled his body toward her, that disturbing darkness back in his look. “So you think you’re overqualified for the task?” he challenged huskily.

  “I didn’t say that at all,” Abbie denied with a reproving smile.

  “Good, because there isn’t anyone else I want to do it,” Seth declared, then glanced at the wall clock with its swinging pendulum and sighed in regret. “It’s time I was getting over to the church. Are you sure you don’t have any questions?”

  “None,” she assured him.

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be.” He released her hand. “If anyone calls, they can reach me at the church.”

  “Okay.” Abbie nodded.

  His fingers gripped her chin to hold it still while he pressed a warm kiss on her lips. Then he was drawing away, winking at her as he turned and walked to the door. In just that brief contact, her pulse beat at an irregular rhythm, affected by the possessive quality in his kiss.

  The screen door banged shut before Abbie finally moved from where Seth had left her standing. She walked around the desk and found the outlet to plug her typewriter cord into, but her actions were all automatic, not directed by conscious thought. There had been nothing special in this parting, nothing to set it apart from others, yet Abbie had no more doubts about the way she felt toward him. Even without Seth there to disturb her senses and affect her physically, she was in love with him. The knowledge was clear and certain within her, no longer shadowed by question marks that it might be mere infatuation or physical attraction.

  A small smile touched her lips as she sat down in his chair. There weren’t any bells or lightning bolts, no blinding light—just the pure, warm feeling filling her whole being with the certainty of her emotion. It was a discovery to savor for the moment. Later on, she could wonder whether it was a love that was requited.

  She rolled the first envelope into the typewriter and switched on the power, then went over the list of names and addresses to quickly familiarize herself with them before she started. Once she began, more time was spent taking the envelope in and out of the typewriter than typing.

  A moth fluttered into the room, drawn to the goose-necked lamp that curved over the typewriter. Abbie let her fingers pause on the keys and arched her back muscles to ease their tension. With satisfaction, she noted that the stack of typed envelopes was taller than the stack of blank ones.

  As she typed out the city and zip code to complete the address on the envelope in the carriage, the telephone rang. She picked up the receiver, using her shoulder to cradle it to her ear while she rolled the envelope from the typewriter.

  “Parsonage.” There was a faintly preoccupied tone to her voice. Silence followed on the other end of the line, drawing her full attention. She gripped the receiver in her hand and glanced at the mouth piece. “Hello?”

  “Who is this?” a woman’s voice sharply demanded.

  “This is Miss Scott.” Abbie identified herself, a defensiveness creeping into her words.

  “I want to speak to Reverend Talbot. Is he there—with you?” The light emphasis on the last monosyllable made the woman’s implication very plain.

  “No, he isn’t.” Abbie made her voice very definite on that point. “Reverend Talbot had a wedding rehearsal this evening. You can reach him at the church.”

  “I have already tried the church, Miss Scott, and I didn’t receive any answer,” was the haughty reply. “Are you sure Reverend Talbot isn’t there?” The question blatantly implied that Abbie was lying.

  “I am very sure,” Abbie retorted, just managing to keep her temper. “Perhaps you should try phoning the church again and letting it ring. It’s possible Reverend Talbot wasn’t able to answer it earlier.”

  “And it’s possible he isn’t there,” the woman responded. “Do you have any idea what time it is, Miss Scott?”


  She had been so busy typing that she hadn’t paid any attention to the hour, except to note that it had grown dark outside. She glanced at the wall clock, a little surprised to learn how much time had gone by. “It’s eighteen minutes after nine.”

  “Would you mind telling me what you’re doing at the parsonage at this hour, Miss Scott?” the woman challenged.

  “The reverend had some typing that needed to be done.” If it weren’t for the possibility that Seth might suffer the repercussions of her rudeness, Abbie would have informed the woman that it was none of her business.

  “How convenient,” the woman murmured dryly.

  “If the reverend comes back in the next few minutes, may I tell him who called?” Abbie sweetly demanded to know the woman’s identity.

  But the woman ignored the question. “I’ll do as you suggested, Miss Scott, and try the church again.” There was a click as the connection was broken, followed by the hum of the dial tone.

  Burning with indignant anger, Abbie slammed the receiver down. Her lips were pressed tightly together as she glanced at the window. She hoped the woman had to eat all her nasty little thoughts when Seth answered the phone at the church. A flicker of curiosity ran through her mind and she wondered why he hadn’t answered when the woman had supposedly rang the church earlier.

  The question impelled her to leave the desk and cross the room to the front window. The outer darkness created mirrorlike reflections in the glass panes, making it difficult for Abbie to see outside. There didn’t appear to be any lights burning in the church. A frown narrowed her eyes. If the wedding rehearsal was over, where was Seth? Bewildered, she turned from the window and walked blindly back to the desk. She had to force herself to concentrate on typing the balance of the envelopes.

  Forty-five minutes later, she took the last one out of the typewriter. A dull pain was pounding at her temples. She rubbed at it with her fingertips, but it didn’t go away. Sighing heavily, Abbie turned in the chair to arrange the typed envelopes in neat stacks. The desk lamp cast a pool of light over her work area but shadows lurked in the rest of the office-study.

  “All finished?”