The Witch of Tin Mountain(18)

The stranger sat himself across from Mama, folding his tall frame into a hoop-backed chair. “I’m sorry I didn’t formally introduce myself upon arrival, ma’am. Ambrose Gentry.”

“Finola Werner,” Mama replied, offering her hand. Gentry took it, and for a moment, Deirdre thought he might bring her hand to his lips. A faint blush pinked Mama’s skin. She pulled away, then offered a bowl of steaming broth to him, which he drank heartily.

“Mr. Gentry here is a pastor, Nola. A healin’ man,” Arthur said. “He came all the way from Tennessee. Means to start a church in Tin Mountain.”

“Is that so?” Mama asked wistfully. “Well, that’s fine news.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gentry said. “I mean to stay on as long as you good folks’ll have me.”

A new preacher? In Tin Mountain? Deirdre would be surprised if Old Stack would let that come to pass. He was mighty territorial.

“He’d sure like to pray over you, Nola. I told him of your ailment. I know he ain’t one of your Catholics, but a healin’ man is a healin’ man.”

“I have a different sort of ministry than most preachers—a calling,” the stranger said. “Mr. Cash says you have a pernicious cough that might be helped by my gift?”

“It’s the galloping consumption, sir,” Mama answered softly. “There ain’t no cure for it.”

“It might seem so, but with faith, I’ve healed such ailments before. May I pray for you?”

“Please. Let him try, Nola,” Arthur coaxed, squeezing Mama’s shoulders.

As she watched, the stranger cupped his hand gently over Mama’s forehead, and closed his eyes. He began praying, his alluring, melodious voice sinking deep into Deirdre’s ears. She closed her eyes and listened, hoping that there was some truth to the man’s promises.

After a time, the preacher’s hypnotic words ceased, and Mama raised her head, tears shining in her eyes. Color flooded her cheeks, driving away her bluish pallor. “I could feel your prayers, sir. I ain’t never felt anything like that afore.” Mama pulled in a deep breath, and Deirdre watched her shoulders rise and fall, expecting the raw cough that nearly always came after. Instead, Mama laughed, hearty and loud. “I can breathe! Truly breathe!”

Arthur Cash laughed with her. “Praise Jesus for that.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The stranger rose from the table. “I received my gift as a boy, after a vision I had. I healed my own mother from her fits. I’ve been helping good folks like you ever since.”

Mama stood, taking his hands. “I ain’t sure how to repay you, sir. We haven’t much to give in way of an offering for your ministry. But I made molasses bread last night. There’s fresh churned butter, too. Would you care to take some with you for later? You, too, Arthur.”

“I’m honored by your hospitality, I’ll surely appreciate your broth and your bread, but no other payment will be required, ma’am. I do what I do in service of the Lord. Still, as I mean to stay on in Tin Mountain, I’d be much obliged if you might spread word of my ministry.”

“Of course! This town has long needed a true man of God.”

Arthur Cash ducked his head and whispered something in Mama’s ear, bringing a smile. Deirdre bristled. He was far too familiar for her liking.

“Perhaps you might call on us for dinner some other night? It’s just myself and my daughter, but I’ve gathered you’re a gentleman not yet married?”

The minister ran a hand through his damp wavy hair. “Why, ma’am, I’d be delighted. It’s been far too long since I enjoyed fair company and a square meal.”

At this, Deirdre flew around the corner. She would not be offered up like chattel to a stranger, no matter how pleasing his voice or looks. “Mama, what’s this all about?”

“Deirdre!” Mama startled. “Mr. Cash has come to call. He brought this young man to pray for me. He has a gift of healing. He means to settle here, in Tin Mountain. Start a ministry. I thought we might have him come for dinner this Sunday.”

The stranger turned. His green eyes crawled from the hem of her dress up to her face. A tremor of nervousness went through her at the intensity of his gaze. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Deirdre. I’m Ambrose Gentry.”

Deirdre ignored his outstretched hand, which looked nearly as soft as her own. A learned man instead of a laborer. Something in his manner reminded her of Robbie, though there was a smoothness that Robbie lacked. She had the sense Ambrose Gentry was well honed and clever and knew his own charm, and that made Deirdre wary. Plenty of girls had fallen to the seductions of wandering pastors over the years—promises made in the heat of summer and then forgotten as soon as the harvest fell. “Mama, you know I already have a beau, though I’m pleased to meet you all the same, Mr. Gentry.”

“Deirdre!” Mama laughed nervously. “Goodness gracious. No one said a word about courting, although . . .” She cast a furtive look at Mr. Cash. “Arthur?”

Arthur cleared his throat and picked his hat up from the table. “Now, my Robbie does regard you fondly, Miss Deirdre, but he’d need to ask for your pa’s permission before courting you formally.”

“Pa might be reached by telegram,” Deirdre said flatly. “Can’t we get his permission that way, Mama? I don’t reckon I see a difference whether he gives his blessing from here or from there.”