The Preacher's Bride (Brides of Simpson Creek) by Laurie Kingery Page A

knees, begging God out loud for another son to carry on his name, and his business—as if he had no child left who could help him, no daughter who needed to know she was loved, even if the Bennett name would die with her!” Angry tears slid down her cheeks now, tears she sought to dash away with her fingers. “But when no more children came, they didn’t stop believing.”
    For a moment he could only stare at her, aching for the hurt she had felt as a girl. Hurt she was still feeling. He didn’t know Robert Bennett, the editor of the Simpson Creek newspaper, very well, but how could he have failed his daughter so completely?
    “What did he say to you when he discovered you had heard him, Faith?” Could any loving father have failed to comfort a child when he realized what she had overheard, and mistakenly believed she wasn’t loved and valued?
    “He never knew,” Faith said, her tone wooden. “No mouse ever scurried away more quietly than I did that day.”
    “And your mother?”
    “I never told her what I heard,” she said.
    She hadn’t wanted to risk hearing that her mother felt the same way.
    Help me help her, Lord. Give me the right words. The words he chose next were of critical importance.
    * * *
    If her life depended on it, Faith could not have discerned what Gil was thinking. “I...I’ll understand if you’d prefer that I not care for your father anymore,” she said at last, when the silence stretched on too long for her to endure.
    “Faith, I don’t prefer any such thing,” Gil said then. There was sadness in his eyes, but his voice was as warm as ever. “I would like you continue helping with Papa—as your time permits, of course—for as long as you’re willing. I know he enjoys your company and appreciates what you’re doing for him. And so do I.”
    She let his words echo in her mind. She shouldn’t have been surprised that Gil would continue to be as kind as a man of the cloth should be. Not all of his congregation would be so understanding, though, nor would they have continued to let her nurse a family member once they knew she was a nonbeliever. Some might even call her a heathen.
    “Th-thank you,” she breathed. “I’d be glad to continue.”
    “And I can understand why such a tragic loss might undermine your belief in the Almighty,” Gil went on. “Many have found their faiths shaken, especially in recent times, after the war and the influenza epidemic.”
    Faith waited, sure she knew what was coming. Gil would point out those who lost loved ones found comfort in their faith, even if they questioned the Lord’s caring for a while. And she would be expected to feel shame.
    But he didn’t.
    “You must have felt very alone since your brother’s death, Faith,” he said instead, “because you didn’t feel safe in telling anyone how you felt.”
    Faith’s jaw dropped in surprise. How could he know exactly how she felt? Her heart gave a painful squeeze. She hadn’t even realized herself how alone she’d felt until he had voiced it, or how much she had longed for someone with whom she could be genuine.
    “Yes,” she murmured, her throat choked with emotion. Now it would come—the question of why she attended church if she didn’t believe in the God who was spoken of there. But he didn’t ask, and when he didn’t, it left her floundering for what to say.
    “You see why you should choose someone else to court,” she said. “A good Christian lady who shares your beliefs. Perhaps you should look at some of the other ladies in the Spinsters’ Club.”
    His next remark neither agreed nor disagreed with what she had said.
    “Faith, it sounds like you’re in need of a friend,” Gil said. “A real friend, someone who accepts you, the real you,” he said. “I’d like to be that friend, if you’re willing.”
    “Why?” Did he see her as a charity case, someone to be helped, such as Daisy Henderson, perhaps? She didn’t want to be an object of his pity. Now that