Edge of the Wilderness by Stephanie Grace Whitson Page B

been studying it, thinking it might encourage the men at Davenport.”
    She nodded. “I like the idea of God beginning a work . . . and then sticking with it—bringing it to its logical end someday. It’s comforting, thinking that He cares enough to be involved in our lives that way.” While they talked, Gen made fresh biscuits, scrambled eggs, and dished up applesauce. She set the meal on the table half apologetically. “I know we usually have potatoes, too, but we—”
    “I’m not really that fond of potatoes for breakfast,” Simon said quickly.
    “Oh—I-I didn’t know that.” She sat down beside him.
    The simple fact that she chose to sit beside rather than across from him did not go unnoticed. Nor did the, way her dark hair glistened against her crisp yellow gingham dress. He managed to mumble a juvenile blessing, but afterward an awkward silence reigned over them both until Meg appeared on the stairs, scooting down on her bottom, Hope in her arms.
    “We smelled breakfast,” Meg said, yawning.
    The instant Meg’s feet touched the floor, Hope strained to get out of her arms. When Meg put her down, Hope crawled toward Simon, who scooted back from the table and welcomed her with outstretched arms.
    “Good morning,” Simon said, looking over Hope’s head to Meg. “How are my two girls this morning?”
    “Hungry!” Meg said, and sat next to Gen at the table.
    “Pa-pa-pa-pa!” Hope said, and patted Simon’s cheek.
    Gen and Simon exchanged glances, and for the first time neither one felt compelled to look away, lest they reveal too much to the other.

    Only one week later, Simon stood alone again in the predawn dark. This time, he was in the parlor, looking out toward the street. He had packed last evening and spent a restless night waiting for morning and the time to go. Everything pointed to it being God’s will that he go to Camp McClellan. And every emotion in him still cried out against his leaving. He would miss Hope’s next new words. He would miss her learning to walk on her own. He would miss hearing Meg read aloud every evening and discussing theology with Aaron, who had recently developed a precocious interest in Bible doctrines.
    Added to the burden of loneliness he would feel apart from his children, Simon dreaded separation from Gen. Still, he knew it was right to go. He had not heard God’s voice audibly, but phrases from Scripture still rang in his heart, confirming that he was to feed the sheep. If he didn’t obey the inner voice, how could he call himself a Christian? If he did not distance himself from Gen, how would he avoid behaving like a love-struck fool? He had seen Miss Jane Williams watching him closely over the last few days. He assumed Gen had mentioned their private breakfast the previous week. It was time he put some distance between himself and the situation.
    “There’s a storm brewing to the northwest,” Gen said from the doorway. She walked toward him and stood at his side, pointing to the west where clouds were just becoming visible on the horizon.
    His heart pounding at her proximity, Simon answered, “I’ll be on my way long before that reaches us. As dry as it has been this spring, I’d welcome a thorough drenching if it breaks the drought.”
    “I made coffee,” Gen said. “And there’s a small lunch tucked into your saddlebags by the door.”
    “Thank you, my dear,” he said. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
    “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Gen said quickly.
    “What?”
    She mimicked his tone as she said aloud, “my dear.” She continued looking out the window while she talked. “Yesterday when Aaron was so angry about your not letting him go along, you told him you needed him to ‘look after the girls.’ And you looked right across the table at me.” She glanced up at him. “I’m not one of ‘your girls.’”
    “I didn’t mean it to sound that way,” Simon said carefully. “I’m sorry if I offended.”
    Gen backed away.