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 father is beaming. My mother wipes a tear away and clutches her hands over her heart. “Bless me, Gabriel, that was just beautiful.”
I stare at him, my mouth tight and my brow arched, like I’m trying to look closer. It’s like he’s wearing this mask now that he wasn’t wearing before when… well, before. And part of me feels that if I look hard enough, I might just spot the edge of it and get a glimpse of what’s underneath.
“Well then, let’s sit and eat!” papa finally exclaims. “Gabriel, sir, I hope you know you’re speaking the grace tonight, if you’d honor us.”
“Of course,” Gabriel smiles. His eyes sweep the room, and I almost feel like I see that flicker from before. But then his gaze lands on me, and my goodness, there’s not a single chink in that armor. He just smiles serenely at me and nods. “The honor would be mine, sir.”
By the time mama is clearing the dishes away, Gabriel has my family wrapped around his finger. I mean, mama’s been hanging off his every word. Papa’s been speechless the whole meal, which is in itself a miracle. Even Paul’s been staring at him in awe, like he’s drinking in every word. And the whole meal, there I’ve been too, just watching him—bible in hand, wholesome smile on his face, and a charming twinkle in his eye.
…Okay, I’m beginning to admit that this might just be me. I’m beginning to think that there’s no way any man has this good of a “facade” or mask, and that my earlier opinions on Gabriel being a wicked, lecherous, carnally sinful fraud might be, well, me. It might be that my shameful attraction to a preacher is clouding my head.
I sit there at the mostly empty table after helping Paul and mama clear away dinner, and I frown. I think back to the baptism pool, and my nose wrinkles in disgust… at myself. Did I even feel what I thought I felt? Who’s to say it wasn’t something in his pocket? Or just my wicked, shameful imagination?
I cringe inwardly and chew on my lip. Lord help me from my sinful mind. I need to repent, immediately. I was re-baptized less than six hours ago, and I think it might have already worn off.
My mother waltzes back into the dining room holding a pecan pie with a smile on her face. And I watch as Gabriel’s face lights up.
“My-oh-my!” he drawls with this completely wholesome, pure smile on his face. “Is that pecan, ma’am?”
“It surely is!” she laughs. “One of my specialties, if you’ll forgive my pride.”
“Ma’am,” Gabriel chuckles. “Having just dined at your table with that delicious food you’ve prepared, I do believe the good Lord is willing to overlook any pride at all, given the talent of the cook.”
Papa chuckles and stands. He ducks into the other room and comes back with a sheepish grin on his face and look towards my mother, something in his hand behind his back.
“Preacher Gabriel, I hope you’ll forgive my one earthy sin.”
Gabriel arches a brow. “Oh?”
My father grins and brings out the jar of peach moonshine from behind his back. Gabriel chuckles, and his eyes light up a little.
“Sir, once again, I believe I can speak with His authority that that would be just fine!”
My mother scowls and grumbles. “Canaan is a dry town,” she mutters.
“Well I’m not drinking in town, Christina,” papa grins. “Just in the comfort of my own home.” He frowns. “But preacher, if you object…”
Gabriel’s grin says it all, but he opens his mouth anyways. “Jedediah, I believe I could share a glass with good company, and He’d know that was okay.”
Papa beams and grabs three glasses for Gabriel, Paul, and himself. It’s not a sexism thing—mama strictly doesn’t drink, and I’m only eighteen. He pours the amber liquid into them and passes them around before making a quick toast once again welcoming Gabriel into our home. They clink their glasses, Gabriel profusely thanks my parents again for having him, and then they drink.
That’s it. I mean, that’s the “sinner” in him. The man is having some booze with my father and brother after a Sunday dinner, in a dry town. That’s his big, dangerous, wickedness. I mean, yes, I know it’s technically wrong. But who cares? Whatever brand of sinner I had him pegged for before, I was clearly wrong. And clearly, everything that I felt was all in my head.
If one of us is the sinner here, it sure as heck isn’t the preacher.
He even stops after a second glass. He stands and warmly shakes my father’s hand before turning to shake Paul’s. He crosses the room and even gives my mother a big hug before he steps back and looks at us with such warmth and emotion.