A Mail Order Bride for Thanksgiving (Love by Mail #5)(9)

Eddie grunted in reply. They weren’t pals, but at least Eddie talked to him without throwing an insult.

“Hip won’t budge,” Eddie muttered, trying to reach a hammer that had fallen below one of the work tables situated a few feet from where the chapel would soon stand.

“Here, let me.” John dove under the table to retrieve the hammer. He handed it back to Eddie and patted the man on the back.

“Have you seen the new pastor?” John asked.

“Nope, but I heard young Marlon talking ‘bout ‘im this mornin’.”

“It’s good to finally have our own pastor,” John said, dragging blocks of wood to the table. “Our own services, our own chapel…”

Eddie coughed into his fist and levelled John a sad look. “Yer a good kid, John. Can’t understand why you’re still hanging around these folks. They don’t treat you right.”

“You’d miss me if I went, Eddie.” John laughed.

Eddie snorted. “You’re young – you and your missus. You don’t fit here, John.”

John grinned and shook his head, although his jaw felt heavy maintaining the expression. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought of moving, even before he met Betty, but the house had belonged to his mother’s grandfather, and had been given to him when he came of age. Plus, it was costly to move. Not to mention that anywhere John went, people would be just as wary of his dark skin and black hair.

“They’ll turn around,” John said. “I’m sure of it.”

But as if to prove him wrong, a man passed by and bumped John in the shoulder.

“Sorry,” John immediately called, as the man glared at him.

Eddie grunted. “Why’re you always so nice to them, John?”

“The Lord said to love your enemies and to forgive those who persecute you.” John took his tools, prepared to start pounding at the chapel site. “See you later, Ed.”

The man just shook his head. He must’ve thought John was an idiot, trying to win over the people who’d throw tomatoes, or worse, at him in the blink of an eye. John glanced at the long table where Betty spoke with the other wives and sisters who’d came to help too. He smiled, before standing beside Chris Donovan, who immediately stepped away from him.

John tried not to let the other man’s wary look bother him.

“So, how’s young Mel? I heard she’s turning one next month.”

‘She’s – she’s fine.”

“Bet she’s crawling faster than you can run,” John said, sawing off a piece of wood.

“Yeah,” Chris said with a nervous chuckle and relaxed a bit. “She’s a real rascal.”

“What’s it like,” John continued, turning to the next piece of wood, “I mean, to look after a kid? To have a child of your own?”

Chris shook his head, a smile blossoming on his face. John stopped his sawing to look at his neighbor, grateful that the conversation was warming Chris up to him.

“It’s tiring, and she gets food all over the place. And not just food…” He laughed again. “But thankfully my wife does most of the caring. I help too, but Mel really is the apple of her mother’s eye.” He scratched his bearded chin and leaned against a tree. “Whenever I get home from work Mel crawls to me and asks to be picked up. It’s a great feeling. You and the missus should definitely start working on your first.”

John stopped sawing, afraid he’d accidentally saw his fingers off. He reddened and coughed into his fist. “Uh…”

Chris chuckled and patted him on the back. “You’re all right, John.”

He went to his work with a hammer and nails, and the two of them worked in silence, with Chris sharing some more about the youngest member of his family.

When lunch time rolled in, John went up to Betty. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek.

“Everything all right here?” he asked. He hoped no one had harassed her.

Betty blushed and smiled leaning into his arm. “Yes. They really like my cooking.”

She motioned her head to the builders and the women who gathered around the chicken sandwiches, juice, and meatballs that Betty had prepared. His wife certainly had been busy.

“Best meatballs I’ve had in a long time,” Eddie said, biting into one.

“That’s true,” Chris nodded, his mouth already full.

Many others murmured in agreement. John felt so proud and blessed at the same time. Several other woman approached them to ask Betty for her recipe. He shared a look with his wife and with a last quick peck on the cheek left her to give a lengthy explanation of her cooking methods.

After a few more hours of working on the build, John was done for the day. He wiped his sweaty brow packed his tools and said goodbye to Chris still working beside him. With Betty on his arm he went home.

He admired the sun setting over their rooftops looking forward to a quiet evening as they made the last turn towards their house. But instead of respite John was horrified to see the same blood-red marks painted on the front of their home.

Betty gasped beside him, nearly dropping her basket.

Will we never stop reliving our first day in Fernville? John rushed up to their front porch. He ached as if his heart had hardened into lead, too heavy for his chest, nearly dragging his knees to the floor.