Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 53965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
My gut clenches, and a horrible, heated, devilishly wicked feeling of excitement washes over me before I can stop it. I swallow thickly, my throat tightening, when suddenly my father saves me.
“Oh, I’ll get it, dear.”
Thanks goodness. The idea of opening my front door to him, and facing him after earlier is… well, it’s either an entirely mortifying or an entirely far too exciting thought. Perhaps both, which is even worse.
I hear the door swing wide, and my father warmly greeting the wicked preacher himself.
“Come in! Come in, preacher!”
The door shuts, and I can hear the sound of my father ushering him into the house and then into the dining room off the kitchen.
“Delilah?” my mother arches her brow and pantomimes brushing her hair.
“Huh?”
She smiles. “Your hair, dear. Just tuck it back.”
“Right, yeah,” I mumble, doing just that. I feel my face burn as I follow my mother into the dining room, and I keep my eyes to the floor.
“Welcome to our home, Preacher Gabriel!” my mother says warmly. She elbows me, and I finally relent, and I look up.
…And nothing happens. No instant eternal damnation. No fire, or Godly smiting. In fact, Preacher Gabriel is standing there smiling at all of us, and then at me, as if nothing happened. There isn’t a single freaking trace of what happened earlier on his face. Not a hair of recognition, or a flicker, or anything. I even frown and stare at his devilishly handsome face a bit longer than I should. But it’s clean—a blank slate with nothing but a charming, wholesome smile on his extremely handsome face.
It’s nothing like the last look earlier, when I was walking back across that field, soaking wet and burning with heat. I looked back to see him staring right at me from his little camp—looking at me like that. Like no man has ever looked at me before. That look was pure fire and hunger, and it’s been seared into my mind ever since, burning and scorching me from the inside out.
This time, though, it’s just a warm, preacher smile. Part of me feels awful that I’m actually maybe a little disappointed about that.
“It’s so good to see you both again,” Gabriel says warningly, shaking my father’s hand vigorously. “And an absolute pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Somerset. Well Lordy, I almost thought Delilah here had a sister I hadn’t heard about!”
My mother giggles shyly and waves her hand at Gabriel. “Oh well now, Jeb didn’t mention that you were such a charmer, Mr. Marsden!”
Gabriel and my father both laugh good-naturedly. “It’s just Gabriel, please, Mrs. Somerset. And bless you for having me over for what smells like a heavenly meal.”
“Well now, son, you’re in for a real treat with Christina’s roast!” papa chuckles before looking up past us. “Ah, and here’s our very own family phone line to the good Lord!”
Paul strides into the living room through the kitchen in his usual half-slouched, half overly brisk amble. Mama calls it his “boogie-woogie shuffle,” which I think is hilarious, and Paul hates.
“Mr. Marsden,” he says stiffly but warmly and extends his hand. Gabriel shakes it firmly.
“Just Gabriel, if you please, sir,” he drawls in a voice that seems to be getting increasingly more southern with every word.
“Paul here is fresh out of seminary school,” papa exclaims, patting my brother on the shoulder.
“One year.”
Mama and papa, and Paul, actually, all turn to shoot me sour looks. I have no idea why I said it, but I immediately feel the shame of it.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
“You got any college under that belt, Lah-Lah?” Paul scowls.
“That’s enough.” papa’s voice isn’t loud, or even that stern, but it’s got that edge to it that lets you know he’s done messing around with the subject. Paul’s being a jerk, even if I do deserve it after that dig about his one year in seminary school. High school graduation was a month ago, but I’m not off to school in the fall. Even with in-state tuition and the financial aid package I’d get at U of Georgia, it’s a little out of reach. I mean it’s not like my parents are loaded or anything. Canaan is a nice little town, but the people who live here aren’t rich. So the plan is to find some work here or close to here for a year, save a little while I live at home, and then go to college next year.
“Well, Paul,” Gabriel says warmly, breaking the tension. “I’m not ashamed to say that I myself never went to school for what I do. No sir.” He smiles broadly. “Bring His word to His flock is a calling from a higher power than higher education. And if you believe you’ve been touched to carry out His word, well then sir, I believe it’s your duty to do so, no matter the schooling or not. Let His Word be your schooling.”