Pastor Lovelace relaxed on his chair.
“It’s because I know the parishioners as well as I do that I feel I can speak freely about their concerns.”
“As you see them?”
“Yes.” There were things she could tell him that would turn his hair prematurely gray. If he showed any indication of wanting to know the levels of depravity some of the upstanding members of this very church had shown, she’d be happy to tell him. Only as a matter of prayer, of course.
“There appear to be a number of areas of deep concern,” she said, meeting and holding his gaze.
He arched his eyebrows. “I’m afraid I’m not following you.”
“First off, let’s discuss Emily Merkle.” She could tell by his blank look that he hadn’t placed the name. “Seth Webster’s new housekeeper.”
“Ah, yes.” A smile quivered at the edges of his mouth.
Harriett wondered what he found so amusing. “The woman’s a busybody.” And an old biddy besides, but she feared Pastor Lovelace would find her words unkind She didn’t want to alienate him before she zeroed in on the real reason for her visit.
“I find Mrs. Miracle…I mean, Merkle…to be a woman of unique faith.”
“Perhaps.” Harriett was willing to grant the woman that much. “She certainly has found a way to ingratiate herself with the women of this church in short order.” Harriett, however, wasn’t as easily taken in by a smooth tongue and slick manners. The woman was trouble with a capital T. Baking cookies for the women’s bazaar and contributing the recipe for winter fruit dip. Why, it was pure indulgence, that’s what it was. Pure indulgence.
“Don’t you agree?” Pastor’s gaze narrowed as he looked at her. “Mrs. Merkle is a woman of unique faith.”
“Faith, perhaps, but I see very little religion in her.”
“How do you mean?” the young minister pressed. Something in his attitude changed; she noticed it in his eyes and believed he was keen to hear her response.
“Well, it’s difficult to explain…with words. It’s as if the woman isn’t quite like the rest of us, if you catch my drift.”
“You mean she isn’t of this world?”
“Something like that,” Harriett agreed. “When she looks at me I’m left with the feeling that…” She didn’t dare voice the truth, not with the opposite sex. The fact was, she’d been left feeling exposed, as if Emily Merkle had the power to know things she had no business knowing.
Once several years ago, shortly after her husband had passed on, Harriett had purchased a pair of silk underpants. She attributed the minor decline in common sense to her overwhelming loss and grief. She’d worn them only once and had hidden them in the back of her drawer ever since. For reasons she couldn’t explain, Harriett felt Emily Merkle knew about those black silk panties.
“The feeling that…，” he prompted.
“Frankly, Pastor, I’m not here to talk about the Websters’ housekeeper. It’s Ruth Darling who concerns me.”
“Ruth Darling?” He sounded surprised. “Ruth’s the delicate matter you wish to discuss?”
Harriett sat up on the chair, stiffening her spine. She was so close to the edge of the cushion that she was in danger of falling butt first onto the floor.
She didn’t expect this to be a comfortable conversation, but she considered it her Christian duty. If she could save one lost lamb from stumbling into the den of wolves and being trapped in iniquity, then she’d completed her task.
“What I say must stay in this office,” she warned, glancing over her shoulder to be certain the door was completely closed. She didn’t know Joanne Lawton well, but she wouldn’t put it past the church secretary to listen in on conversations that were meant to be private.
“But of course.”
Once she’d been granted the assurances she needed, Harriett felt free to continue. “I fear for the spiritual well-being of my dear, dear friend.” Unable to meet his gaze, she stared at her clenched hands. “I’ve discovered that…” She closed her eyes, hardly able to voice it. “That my friend has”—she paused for effect—“lusted after another man.”
“Ruth Darling?” Pastor Lovelace leaped to his feet, then quickly sat back down. “I’m sure you’re mistaken,” he continued in a less boisterous manner.
Harriett had feared it would come to something like this. She reached for her purse and withdrew an envelope. “I’ve kept a list of my observances,” she said, wanting it to sound as if the task had been repugnant to her. With a show of reluctance, she handed him the envelope. “You’ll discover that the first occurrence happened several months ago. In September…September seventh, to be exact, and right here in this very church.”