Courting Trouble by Deeanne Gist

Ewing’s coming home.’’
    ‘‘Ewing? Ewing Wortham?’’
    ‘‘Mm-hmm. He’s to graduate from that fancy Bible college in Nashville in another few months, and our church is considering him as a replacement for Preacher Bogart once he retires.’’
    ‘‘That would be awfully strange, wouldn’t it?’’ Essie shook her head. ‘‘Seems like yesterday he was running around in short pants and pulling the girls’ pigtails. I can’t quite picture him at the pulpit, can you?’’
    The knock was abrupt, causing Essie to jump. In a slow and unruffled manner, her mother set aside her stitching and answered the door.
    ‘‘Good evening, Mr. Crook. Won’t you please come in?’’
    ‘‘Thank you, Mrs. Spreckelmeyer. I was, uh, wondering if I could visit with the judge for a few moments?’’
    The sound of his voice filled Essie. She closed her eyes, wanting to commit to memory every detail of this life-changing occasion.
    ‘‘Yes, he’s been expecting you. If you would like, Essie is in the parlor and I’m sure she’d be glad to keep you company while I tell him you are here.’’
    Essie stood as he entered.
    He still wore his Sunday clothes, his hat grasped tightly in his hands. ‘‘Miss Spreckelmeyer.’’
    ‘‘Mr. Crook,’’ Essie said. ‘‘Please, sit down.’’
    They both sat while her mother went to get Papa.
    ‘‘Yesterday’s winner was quite the topic at church this morning, I noticed,’’ she said.
    He nodded. ‘‘I’m so glad Willie Waddle was not the winning name. Having a pet snake is bad enough. But having one named Willie Waddle would have been more than I could bear, I’m afraid.’’
    ‘‘Well, Colonel is a grand name, I think.’’
    ‘‘Yes. Yes, I agree.’’ His gaze caught, then narrowed on her book. ‘‘Is that one of Mrs. Lockhart’s novels?’’
    Essie sighed and placed the closed book on the table beside her. ‘‘I’m afraid it is. She’s foisted it on me, insisting I read it. I have been trying for an hour to get past the first few pages but haven’t had much luck.’’
    ‘‘I should hope not.’’
    Silence.
    ‘‘How is Mae today?’’
    He smiled. ‘‘Fine. Just fine. She’s such a good baby, you know.’’
    Essie returned his smile. ‘‘She’s lovely, Hamilton. Very much like you.’’
    His eyes widened and Essie could have ripped her tongue out. Oh, where was Mother? ‘‘May I get you something to drink? Some lemonade, perhaps?’’
    ‘‘Yes, please. If it’s no trouble.’’
    She hurried from the room and with fumbling fingers poured the lemonade. Upon her return, she found Hamilton studying Mrs. Lockhart’s novel. She froze, tray in hand.
    Hamilton snapped the book shut, the edges of her personal papers peeking out. ‘‘I must admit, it has been very interesting reading after all.’’
    ‘‘Hamilton,’’ she said, placing the tray on a nearby cart. ‘‘Let me explain.’’
    ‘‘Mr. Crook?’’
    They both started at Mother’s beckoning.
    ‘‘Judge Spreckelmeyer will see you now. Won’t you come this way?’’
    Essie placed a hand on his arm. ‘‘Wait—’’
    He shook off her hand, his eyes frosty and distant. Mother glanced between the two of them before escorting him out, their footsteps echoing down the hall.
    Moments later her mother returned to her chair and gave Essie a 73 brief, questioning look before plying her needle.
    Essie picked up the book. Her hands shook so badly, she immediately sat and rested the novel upon her lap. The clock chimed the quarter hour, then the half hour.
    Her father’s door opened.
    ‘‘Thank you so much for seeing me, Judge.’’
    ‘‘Anytime, Crook. Anytime. Good day, now.’’
    ‘‘Good day to you, too, sir. And thank you.’’
    The front door opened and closed. The sound of Hamilton bouncing down the porch steps reached the ears of those in the parlor. When all was silent, Papa stepped into the room.
    Mother lowered her stitching. Essie clutched her