Franz paused outside the room where Patrick Flanaghan rested. “She will be alone sooner than she expects, my friend. To have a place where she is welcome, to be needed, this is important for Maggie. Once her father is gone, she will need time to not only grieve, but to make plans and decisions. She will be a part of our family for as long as she wishes.”
“Maggie isn’t the only one in this house who is kind and generous, Franz Bittner.” Kris clapped a hand onto the doctor’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
Franz preceded Kris into the sick room and crossed to his patient. In the light of day, Maggie’s father looked even weaker, more absent from the world than present. It was a time in life that Kris recognized. He had attended many deathbeds in the eight years since he had accepted God’s call to shepherd His people, and he knew that Mr. Flanaghan would return to the Lord’s arms soon. Closing the door behind Franz, Kris positioned a chair so he faced the dying man, opened his Bible and began reading.
He found Maggie at the stove when he returned to the kitchen some time later. “It smells wonderful in here.”
She aimed a smile in his direction and his heart stuttered. With her face flushed from the heat, and curling wisps of shiny hair clinging to the curve of her cheek, she was the loveliest woman he’d ever seen.
“Hello, again. How is Papa?”
Sadness wrapped around him, grounding him in what was real. “Can you sit with me, Margaret?”
Watching her smile fall made him hurt for her, for what was coming. She moved the soup to a cooler part of the stove, poured coffee for them both and added two spoons of sugar to his cup. When had she noticed how he preferred it? As she joined him, he held out the chair to his right. “You are still remarkable.”
“Not really,” she disagreed.
He didn’t want to cause her pain, but there were decisions that had to be made. “I wish I could tell you not to worry, that you have plenty of time with your father, but—”
“That would be a lie,” she finished.
“Not a lie,” he countered. “More a hope. My hope, and yours. Only God knows how long Patrick will be with us. There are things you need to consider.”
She heaved an audible breath, her shoulders rising and falling with the effort. “I know, but can’t the considering wait? Just for a few days?”
Kris reached for her hand. “No, it can’t. I know it hurts you, and I’m sorry for that.”
When she pulled free to wrap her fingers around the warmth of her cup, he almost reached for her again, just to feel the softness of her skin for a moment longer. It took an effort to remember he was here as a pastor, not as a man. “I would—I mean, my church would be honored to hold the funeral service.”
Her broken sob was a knife to his heart. To hell with only being a pastor! He took her hand again and held it between both of his. “Your father will be treated as one of our own, Margaret. I promise.”
She barely nodded, but the small movement sent tears cascading down her pale cheeks. “Where will—” She hesitated, but only a moment. Margaret was nothing if not brave. “Where will he be buried?”
“River’s Bend has a pretty plot just east of town. I could show you tomorrow, if you’d like to see it.”
“Yes, thank you.” Tugging free once more, she rose to tend the fragrant soup. “Will you stay and eat with us, Reverend?”
Never had he hated his title more than that moment. I’m Kris, he wanted to argue. Not just a preacher, but a man.
“No, thank you. I suspect you’d be happier if I left you alone.” He washed his cup and put it away on the shelf with the others. “Now go sit with your father for a while. I’ll be at the church in the morning, if you need me.” Letting himself out, he turned up his collar against the cold wind and headed for home.
Forgive me, Lord. You know I didn’t mean it. He enjoyed the work God had set before him, even if River’s Bend wasn’t quite the place Kris had planned on serving. But that woman, that tiny slip of a female, had him wishing he could be someone else.
“You are a pastor,” he lectured into the deepening twilight. “She needs your experience and guidance. It’s why you’re here, in this place.” He considered himself God’s hands on this earth, doing the work that needed to be done. If he was doing it alone, that was God’s will, too.
He checked that the church windows were closed and no candles were left burning before wandering through his little garden. There were a few late vegetables to be harvested, and two or three stalks still held ripening corn. After that was gone, the season would be over and another winter upon them.