The Small Town Preacher's Fake - Lucy McConnell Page 0,13
he fought against it. Only watching him struggle made her realize he was trying to maintain a level of professionalism that she was systematically destroying. Chagrined, she clasped her hands in front of her and sealed her lips shut. God, please help me behave like Hannah and find a way to break the awkward feeling I created.
Tires in the parking lot brought all their gazes to a charcoal-gray Hurst bumping over several potholes. It backed up to the handicap ramp, and the driver and an assistant, wearing matching black suits, jumped out.
Not exactly what I had in mind, Lord. She glanced up at the sky, wondering if, now that she was married to a pastor, she had some sort of direct line. Had her prayer for deliverance brought the Hurst? She hoped not. Of course, God did have a sense humor, so maybe …
“What’s this?” asked Seth.
“Baptism by fire, my friend.” Mr. White slapped him on the back. “We had a call from another church in the area. This lady passed away just last night, and they already had a wedding booked for this morning. I guess the family had things all lined up except the time of death.”
“I wonder if they placed bets?” Evie quipped, and then she slammed her lips shut. Joking about someone’s death was irreverent—something a pastor’s wife should never be. She glanced back up at the sky, this time watching for lightning bolts that could strike her down.
The corners of Seth’s mouth twitched up, like he was trying not to smile. At least, she hoped that was why they twitched. She really did want to be a good preacher’s wife.
Mr. White gave her a sidelong glance but moved on without commenting. “They asked if we had an officiator yet, and I assured them you were gunning to get in the saddle.”
“Well, sure.” Seth gave her a wide-eyed look Mr. White couldn’t see that screamed, WHAT?!
She felt his panic. Officiating at a funeral was personal. Being asked to jump in at the last minute wasn’t unheard of, but they’d planned to spend the day familiarizing themselves with the church building and going over the list of parishioners and their needs left behind by the last pastor before he died. It was eerie, like he’d had a premonition that his time on earth was up.
Conducting a funeral wasn’t on the schedule.
She lifted her chin with a sense of determination. Life wasn’t predictable, and she could roll with the punches. They could do this. She’d been to several funerals over the years, and surely Seth knew what he was doing. They must have had classes on this sort of thing in the seminary he’d attended.
“Let’s go inside and give you the rundown.” Mr. White showed them through the doors and into the small room off the chapel. “The viewing will be in here. Don’t worry, the mortician will set everything up—it’s part of the package. The family should arrive around 10:30.” He pointed at Seth. “You’ll conduct the meeting, introduce the speakers and such. They’ll expect you to say a few words.”
Evie held her breath, wondering if he was going to back out. Sure, he spoke in front of people all the time, but there was an old saying that most people would rather be in the casket than give the eulogy. She would.
Seth nodded sagely. “I have a few passages I can use.”
“Great. I’m not sure what the family expects; I’m sure they’ll be grateful for anything.”
Mr. White rounded on Evie, and her palms went slick under his blue stare. This was a man who did important things in life. Her throat constricted, and she had to clear it.
“The ladies’ auxiliary offered to put on a lunch for the family after. You’re in charge of the kitchen.”
“Me?” she squeaked. She’d never been in charge of anything, not even the cookie fundraiser for her girl scout troupe. She’d hated selling door-to-door and dropped out the next year before the fundraiser came about again. She suddenly felt like that ten-year-old girl quaking on a porch step and praying no one was home.
“It’s tradition for the pastor’s wife to run things like this.” Mr. White opened cupboards and left them hanging open. She wondered if he was the one who left the kitchen in the cottage that way too. She suddenly had an overwhelming desire to check his house and see if any of the doors were shut. Maybe he was a pathological door opener.
He continued speaking. “The family will