A Heart's Blessing - Linda Ford Page 0,19

water.” He took the basin and left the room, making it possible for Delcie to calm herself.

Burnsie studied her a moment. “’Tis good he’s offerin’.”

“I suppose so.” It was hard to appreciate the way Mr. Remington had upset her careful existence though, again, she couldn’t blame him for the preacher’s state.

Mr. Remington returned and Delcie continued cleaning the wounds. “I need to put a dressing on those two to soak up the blood.” How long would they continue to ooze?

“Tell me where to find what you need.” Mr. Remington waited for her to give the information.

She understood there was no point in arguing. Even without her injured ankle, he seemed the sort that did what he made up his mind to do. Not always a bad thing, but it could be aggravating. She told him where to find the needed supplies and kept pressure on the worst wound. Someone had almost cut off the preacher’s ear. Such cruelty was abominable.

A little later, she had dressings on the two worst wounds and strips of an old sheet wrapped around the preacher’s head to keep them in place.

“Preacher Peabody.” She hoped hearing his name would cause him to rouse.

Burnsie leaned over the man and called, “Ezra.”

No response.

“T’will take time.” Burnsie rose. “He’s in good hands. I’ll be on me way.” He left Delcie alone with Mr. Remington at the preacher’s bedside.

She sat at one side of the bed. He had pulled a chair close and sat at the head of the bed.

“Doesn’t seem to be anything else we can do for the poor man. We’ll just watch and wait,” she said.

“And pray.”

“Of course.” But it seemed odd to be praying around the preacher. Like they had taken him from his pulpit and stood there in his place.

Apparently, Mr. Remington did not feel the same way. He bowed his head. “Father in heaven, holy and all-powerful, please see fit to bring this man back to health and wholeness. Amen.” He chuckled, which seemed a very odd way to end a prayer.

Her eyebrows rose though she did not say anything.

“It’s something Sally said.” He explained how she wondered how God could be holey.

Delcie laughed. “Children are so literal.”

“We had a very interesting discussion about God being holy.” He went on to relay what he had said to Sally. “I thought I was teaching her but really, I was reminding myself of things I believed but had pushed aside.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Life got in the way.”

She was about to ask for an explanation when he asked, “Do you mind if I ask where the children’s parents are?”

Shock rocked her so hard her injured ankle spasmed with pain and she held her breath, waiting for it to pass.

“I’m sorry if that was inappropriate but I couldn’t help but notice they call you aunt.”

“It’s fine. Of course you wonder. The parents are both deceased.” Did the words sound as high-pitched as they felt? As if her throat had decided against letting them out.

“Now I’m doubly sorry. Please accept my condolences.” A beat of awkward silence that neither seemed to know how to fill.

Mr. Remington continued. “They are fortunate to have you to care for them.”

At least he hadn’t suggested she was wasting her life to take in children not her own. “I’m not really their aunt. Their mother, Sophie, was my cousin and my best friend.” A rage of emotions swept over her. Anger at the way Sophie had died. Sorrow at her loss and at what the children had lost. “Her husband died two years ago, and since then the man’s brother has tried to get the children. I believe he wants to sell them.” Bitterness burned her tongue at how mercenary some people could be. Robert as well. “Six months ago their mother was killed. The bullet was meant for the militia man she had appealed to for protection.” Every word was like an arrow to Delcie’s heart, attacking old wounds with cruel persistence.

Mr. Remington didn’t say anything. She lifted her stinging eyes to see if he’d been shocked by her confession. She’d said more than she should but once she’d mentioned Sophie, she couldn’t seem to let it go. In fact, all the details pressed at the back of her tongue, begging for a voice.

Mr. Remington seemed lost in studying the preacher’s battered face. He touched the bandage where blood had seeped through.

She would have to change the dressing soon.

His eyes still on the preacher, Mr. Remington spoke. “Life just isn’t fair.” He