A thought suddenly stopped her as Emma reached the back door. Did Malachi compare the women he met to his memories of her? How did she compare? Emma nibbled on her thumbnail, an unflattering picture painting itself in her head. He probably held her up as an example of what not to look for in a woman. Bossy. Opinionated. Stubborn. What was it he’d said? Oh, yes. He’d taken one look at her tonight and named her greatest failing. “Still getting into trouble.”
Yep. Not exactly the sweet, biddable type a man looked for when searching for a bride. But then, she’d never really wanted a husband. The aunts had gotten along just fine without a man. Why couldn’t she? She had her bank, her women’s colony, dear friends to keep her from getting lonely. She didn’t need a man to fulfill the ministry God had laid on her heart.
How many times had Aunt Henry quoted 1 Corinthians 7:34? “The unmarried woman careth for the things of the Lord, that she may be holy both in body and in spirit: but she that is married careth for the things of the world, how she may please her husband.”
Men were a distraction. One she couldn’t afford. She had a town to preserve, her ladies to protect. Emma squared her shoulders and yanked the back door open, Aunt’s Henry’s charge ringing in her mind.
Yet as she made her way through the kitchen, it was Aunt Bertie’s voice that met her ears, bringing to mind all the times Bertie had countered her older sister’s argument with other biblical truths. Like the fact that women were created to be a helpmeet to man. How countless godly women accomplished powerful ministries while being married. Deborah, Esther, Huldah the prophetess, Priscilla, and Jesus’s own mother. Bertie had been adamant that Emma not be raised to believe that the path the aunts had chosen was the only one available. God could work through all women, married or single, young or old, rich or poor. All he required was a heart open to his leading.
“Where are you leading me, Lord?” Emma whispered as she slowed her step in the hall and peered into the small parlor. Bertie was plying Malachi with cookies and asking questions about his work while Aunt Henry shook his coat out over the entryway floor, away from the rug, wagging her head over the amount of dust that fell. And Malachi? Well, when Bertie turned to place the cookie plate on the small table between his chair and the sofa, he slid one of the two cookies he’d taken into his lap, covering it with his napkin.
Emma’s lips trembled slightly. He still saved back food. The sight struck a chord deep within her breast. After all these years. A man grown with steady employment and a wage that reflected the danger of his work. Yet he hid food in his napkin as if he were still the half-starved boy she’d found in her barn.
The boy who’d first given her purpose. Now the man who’d left his job to answer her call for help.
Emma pressed her lips together and straightened her shoulders. Whatever feelings had stirred inside her upon seeing him again must be set aside. Malachi hadn’t come all this way to renew an old acquaintance. He’d come to lend his aid. Aid that the women of Harper’s Station dearly needed.
Time to focus on what was truly important.
Emma’s light tread on the floorboards brought Malachi’s head up, but he masked the rest of his reaction. A pretty remarkable feat given the staccato thumping of his heart against his ribs. He better get used to the grown-up Emma soon, or this was going to be an uncomfortable few days.
“There you are, Emma.” Bertie bustled over to her niece and ushered her to the chair directly beside the one Mal sat in. Great. As if being in the same room wasn’t bad enough, the woman had to sit within touching distance.
Mal glared at the large quilt frame shoved against the adjoining wall. There would have been more room to spread the furnishings out had it not been for the oversized wooden frame. What was it doing here, anyway? The aunts didn’t even like sewing. Nor did Emma. But there the thing sat in their parlor, the red and tan squares stretched atop it, taunting him. Maybe he should go unpack his gear in the barn.
“Malachi was just telling us about his railroad work, weren’t you, dear?” Bertie smiled at Mal, dashing his hopes for escape as she took her seat on the sofa. “It must be so exciting to see history unfolding right before your eyes. The wheels of progress continually turning.” Her eager smile was so enthusiastic and genuine, Mal couldn’t help but feel a touch of pride in his meager accomplishments. But then he remembered why he had come to Harper’s Station.
Bertie might be acting as if his visit was nothing more than a long overdue social call, but he couldn’t afford to pretend. Danger stalked these ladies. The very ladies who’d taken him in, seen to his needs, mothered him. And Emma, his brave little angel, the one bright spot in a childhood of darkness. She was counting on him to protect the colony she’d built. He’d not waste time playing house when he could be gathering the information he needed to stop the man threatening her.
“Now that Emma’s here,” Mal said, “I think we should discuss other, more urgent matters.”