Monica doubted that she had such finely tuned discrimination herself, and after meeting Chet she was convinced of it.
“Did I know that first Sunday I was going to love your mother?” her father repeated her question slowly, his look thoughtful. “It’s funny you should ask about her. I was just thinking about her myself and how she loved cold, crisp mornings such as this.”
“How soon after you met did you realize you were going to love her?” Monica pressed, anxious now.
Her father poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. “It would sound romantic if I said I did that first Sunday, wouldn’t it? Don’t get me wrong, I was attracted to Esther from the moment I laid eyes on her. Any young man with a lick of sense would have been. She was lovely then and more so as the years progressed.”
“You dated for several years, didn’t you?”
“Yes, those were difficult times. We weren’t married until four years later, after I’d completed seminary.”
“I know that. What I want to know is when you realized you were in love with her.”
He sat down at the table and rubbed his hand over his face.
Monica laughed. “It shouldn’t be this hard, Daddy.”
He nodded, his dark eyes intense. “I was trying to think back and it’s been more years than I care to count. As best as I can remember, falling in love was a gradual process for me. Your mother and I saw a good deal of one another and I always enjoyed her company. It just seemed to me that she’d make a good pastor’s wife and so I asked her to marry me.”
“I see.” Monica didn’t bother to hide her disappointment. She’d been looking for something that hadn’t been there. Her parents, while deeply in love, hadn’t shared any great passion for each other. To the best of her memory she couldn’t remember them doing more than holding hands in public.
Her disappointment must have shown because her father looked at her and asked, “This troubles you?”
“Oh, no. I . . . I was just wondering, is all. It isn’t important.” Only it was.
Even when they were young and in love her parents had been sensible and prudent when it came to choosing their life’s partners. There hadn’t been any explosion of—she hated to even say the word—passion between them. They’d drifted into marriage as a natural conclusion to a long-standing relationship.
It was the way her romance had started with Patrick, but their relationship had fizzled out and died without Monica even realizing what had happened. What she’d hoped to hear had been a confirmation of the feelings she’d experienced since meeting Chet. Not that she’d ever consider marrying anyone like him.
“I deeply loved your mother.”
“I know that, Dad.”
“I understand you’re impatient to be a wife yourself, and all I can say is that God will bring a man into your life in His own time.”
Monica nodded and, returning to the stove, placed an iron skillet on the stove. “I’m in no rush,” she said, and even as she spoke, Monica knew that wasn’t true.
“Remember what happened when Sarah decided to take matters into her own hands by giving Abraham her servant girl?”
“I remember.”
“Don’t make this a do-it-yourself project.”
Monica laughed. “I won’t.”
Her father was silent for a moment, then asked, “Michael’s certainly a nice-looking young man, don’t you think?”
Monica resisted the urge to laugh outright. Her father couldn’t have been less subtle. The choir director was a couple of years younger than Monica, not that it mattered. He was reserved and quiet, and frankly, she couldn’t imagine spending the rest of her life with him. She liked Michael, and appreciated his efforts with the choir, but when she looked at him there wasn’t any spark, any sizzling attraction. She felt nothing.
How she wished she could say the same for Chet. What she felt for him had to be immoral. It was immoral. Only that morning, when she was trying desperately to sleep, her thoughts had been full of Chet and the kiss they’d shared. The mere memory had turned her body into a traitor. Monica was convinced those feelings were ones godly women were never meant to experience.
“Ah, yes,” her father continued, blithely unaware of the route her unruly thoughts had taken. “Michael would make you a good husband. I’m an old man, and I don’t know much about romance, but my guess is that he’d very much like to get to know you better.”
“He’s a good man,” Monica agreed, unwilling to say anything more.
“You could do far worse.”
Her father hadn’t a clue how true those words were. He approved of Michael, but she had no doubts of what the good reverend would think should she introduce him to Chet. Monica could well imagine the look of alarm that would come into his eyes. Naturally, he’d be gentle with his concern, but his response would be impossible to conceal.
After she’d finished frying the bacon and eggs, Monica set the plate on the table and said, “I’m going upstairs to change.”
Her father tossed a surprised look her way. “You’re not eating?”
She shook her head.
“You’re sure you’re feeling all right?”
At the moment Monica wasn’t sure of anything.
“Come sit with me,” Andrew invited. Leah’s husband was relaxing on the white leather sofa, his feet stretched out and propped against the end of the glass coffee table. He set aside the morning paper and held out his arms coaxingly to her.