It had been so long since she'd felt this strange fluttering in her chest, this awareness of herself as a woman rather than just a mother and survivor. "Don't be foolish," she whispered to herself. "He's just being neighborly." But as she finally closed the book and prepared for bed, Faith couldn't quite convince herself that neighborliness alone explained the warmth in Yates's Turner's smile, or the way her heart had raced when he'd stood in her doorway, hat in hand, looking at her as if she were something precious. Sunday arrived clear and cool with a hint of autumn in the air. Faith dressed Emma in her best dress, a blue calico, with only one small patch at the elbow, and tied her dark curls back with a matching ribbon.
For herself, Faith chose her navy Sunday dress and pinned her honey blonde hair into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. "Remember your manners in church," Faith reminded Emma as they walked the short distance to the white clapboard building at the edge of town. "And stay close to me. The church was nearly full when they arrived, and Faith felt numerous curious gazes upon them as they slipped into a pew near the back. Martha Jenkins spotted them and waved, her friendly face a welcome sight among the sea of strangers.
As the service began, Faith noticed Yates Turner sitting several rows ahead with a group of men she assumed were his ranch hands. He turned once, scanning the congregation, and when his eyes found hers, he nodded in acknowledgement. Faith quickly looked down at her himnil, feeling oddly flustered. After the service, many towns people approached to introduce themselves, particularly parents of schoolage children. Faith did her best to remember names and faces, knowing these would be important relationships in her new community.
Mrs. Summers, Mayor Wilson boomed, approaching with his wife and son Sam in tow. I trust you're settling in well. Yes, thank you, Faith replied politely, keeping a protective hand on Emma's shoulder as Sam eyed her wearily. Mrs.
Wilson, a thin woman with pinched features, assessed Faith with barely concealed judgment. We were quite concerned about finding a suitable teacher. Children need proper guidance, especially in moral matters. Faith met the woman's gaze steadily. I assure you, Mrs.
Wilson, moral development is as important to me as academic progress. Before Mrs. Wilson could respond, Yates appeared at Faith's side. Mrs. Summers, Miss Emma, he greeted them, touching the brim of his hat.
My buggy's out front whenever you're ready. Mrs. Wilson's eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline. "You're going to the Circle T, Mrs. Summers," Mr.
Turner kindly invited us for Sunday dinner, Faith explained, uncomfortable under the woman's scrutiny. "How hospitable," Mrs. Wilson remarked, her tone suggesting it was anything but. "Come along, Samuel. We mustn't keep your father waiting." As they walked away, Faith heard Mrs.
Wilson murmuring something to her husband that made him frown. "Don't mind Harriet Wilson," Yates said quietly. "She considers herself the arbiter of propriety in Redemption Creek." "And she clearly finds me lacking," Faith replied, trying to keep the hurt from her voice. "Yates's expression hardened slightly. Her opinions matter far less than she believes.