He must see the look of disbelief on my face, because he chuckles again. “You don’t believe me?”
“Well, no,” I admit baldly, and then hasten to explain, “I thought all… real Christians… just, you know, believed.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Blindly?”
I feel myself blush. “Well, no,” I say quickly, before I’m compelled to admit, “well, kind of.”
“That’s understandable,” Pastor Todd replies, and to my relief, he doesn’t sound offended. “Belief—faith—is a funny thing. It’s the firmest foundation you can possibly have, yet it can feel like the slipperiest, flimsiest thing in the world.”
I stare at him, shocked and yet gratified, because my faith has certainly felt flimsy. It’s felt non-existent, or almost. Very muchalmost.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” I confess. “I suppose I’d say I wouldliketo believe. I would like to beableto believe.”
Pastor Todd nods, taking even this in his stride. “There’s a verse in the Bible for that. ‘Lord, I believe. Help me in my unbelief.’ Mark 9, verse 24. Cried out by a father whose son was desperately and dangerously ill.”
I feel a lump forming in my throat. Darn those pregnancy hormones. I don’t recall having ever heard that verse before.
“We don’t have to talk about it now,” Pastor Todd continues. “But maybe we can set up a time for you, me, and Josh to talk together? Nothing scary or pressured. Just as I said, figuring out how the church can best serve you.”
I nod jerkily. Stupidly, I still have a lump in my throat.
“All right, then.” Pastor Todd smiles easily and rises from his chair. “Thanks for the lemonade, Abby. It was delicious.” Hiseyes twinkle at me as he smiles. “And make sure to watch out for Satan!”
Chapter eighteen
It’s mid-July, and our garden is beginning to give us its bounty. I have a basket full of sun-ripened tomatoes, golden zucchini, and fresh, bright-green spinach. The kitchen counters are covered in mason jars, and I’ve been canning for most of the morning. This afternoon, we’re heading to Buckholt for Hooch and Jessie Mae’s wedding, and tomorrow night, I’m having Mike Landry and Diana Ames over for dinner. I would have invited Jolene, too, except for my dad’s obvious reluctance. I still haven’t figured that one out, but I’m willing to be patient.
We also had our first glampers last weekend, a family of four with two angelically behaved children who said please and thank you on cue and were delighted to help Rose collect the eggs. I joked to Josh that I think he created them with AI because I don’t think anyone could have convinced me more that this glamping thing might work. They didn’t even leave any trash behind, and they were as quiet as mice. Next weekend we have two couples coming, and the weekend after that a family of five.
And meanwhile, this baby is due in less than a month. At my last appointment, my OB said she’s measuring right on target,and she also advised I head to the hospital at the very first twinge. “Fifth baby, fast labor usually.”
I nodded soberly. Rose’s delivery was two hours from start to finish. I joked to Josh that I might be having a home birth after all, which he did not find very funny.
All in all, though, I’m feeling surprisingly peaceful. Last week, we sorted through the baby stuff and arranged it all in Bethany’s room, which she graciously agreed to give up as a nursery. When—if—she comes home to stay the night, she’ll sleep with Rose. Still no ring on her finger, and Josh and I have stopped expecting her to flash a diamond at any given moment.
We also set a date to meet with Pastor Todd, which I am, somewhat to my own surprise, looking forward to. His conversation the other week really put me at ease. Maybe I don’t need to have the faith thing all figured out. Maybe it’s a journey, and all that matters is you’re on it, taking one baby step at a time.
As for now, I need to get this canning done before we get ready for the wedding. The kitchen is full of steam and good smells as I go about my work, Max determinedly underfoot and cats swishing their tails everywhere as I shoo them out.
Josh, Jack, and William are all working outside, and Rose is making a new sign for her farmer’s market business. Bethany and Ben have gone out for the afternoon; she said they’d see us at the wedding.
Life feels very full but in a good way.
Just then, I trip over Max and swear out loud. I really am thankful, I tell myself as Max retreats under the kitchen table, giving me a martyred and baleful glance, and I rush to the stove to check on my tomatoes.
Several hours later, we’re all cleaned up and heading to the wedding at Buckholt Baptist Church. I bought a new dress for the occasion, a flowy number in cotton batik that I liked when Ibought it but now makes me feel like I’m wearing a tent. There is just no getting around being this huge.
Josh, William, Jack, and my dad all look spiffy in matching khakis and blue button-down shirts, which is pretty standard formal wear around here. Rose is wearing a castoff of Bethany’s, a pink sundress with straps that tie in a bow on each shoulder. We’ve all got farmer’s tans and freckles on our faces, but that’s one of the benefits of country living.
Josh puts on John Denver as we hurtle up the hill toward the main road into Buckholt, and I lean my head back against the seat, content with my world.
The wedding is, of course, beautiful. Pretty much all weddings are. Seeing Hooch standing at the front of the church, his beanpole frame filling out a tuxedo, his thinning red hair slicked back from his forehead, and his usually droopy moustache and side whiskers neatly trimmed… well, it brings a lump to my throat.
The adoring expression on his face as Jessie Mae comes down the aisle, resplendent in ivory satin bedecked with more ruffles and frills than I could have ever imagined, is enough to make me wipe my eyes.
As the ceremony ends and the minister tells him, in good humor, that he may kiss his bride, Hooch lets out a holler and gives Jessie Mae a big old smack right on the lips. Everybody cheers.
Afterward, we troop over to the church hall, where a hog is well on its way to being roasted, and a folding table is practically bowed beneath two dozen homemade pies. The bluegrass band is already warming up, and the mood is merry, the lemonade and iced tea flowing freely.
