Dishonoring Jack

Chapter Twelve

 The next morning found Jack in church once again, squeezed into a pew betwixt Christina and Corrie with a basket of pennyroyal and willow bark beneath her arm. Jack fidgeted, her behind sore from the wooden bench, and thought about anything she could as the organ played the final notes of the Doxology.

After the surprisingly personal conversation with Donovan the day before, Jack had thought of little else but the handsome stranger. While Reverend Smalley preached on the eminence of forgiveness in the Christian walk, Jack's mind lingered over Donovan's black eyes on hers and the aching vulnerability in his voice as he told her about the close relation he had lost in the war.

"Aunt Jack, stand!" Corrie hissed from beside her.

Everyone else in the small church had stood to receive the pastor's benediction. Jack scrambled to her feet, upsetting the basket of pennyroyal in her haste to rise. As soon as Reverend Smalley finished the benediction, Jack fell to her knees to gather the herbs, now scattered across the floor.

"Hurry up before Father notices," Christina whispered at her as Jack struggled to refill her basket, finally clambering to her feet to help her niece.

"That was close," Jack sighed in relief as Christina leaned on her, her face painted by the red hues of the Baby Jesus in the stained glass window.

"Hello, Jacqueline!" a warbled voice cooed from the pew behind them and Jack turned to find the renowned Matilda Tuttlebrook leering at Jack and her niece.

"Howdy, Matilda," Jack answered, grinning as the woman's wrinkles furrowed deeper.

"I've heard some rather remarkable tales of you lately," Matilda crooned, putting an icy hand on Jack's arm. "I understand you were with a rather unsavory fellow yesterday. Word of this gets around, my dear Miss Harrison. You must be careful."

Jack felt her skin prickle with resentment. How dare she insult a man she'd never met? But she was Matilda Tuttlebrook--she insulted practically everyone she had met as well as those she hadn't.

"Oh, I assure you, we were quite careful. I promise he is a most conscientious driver," Jack answered, a smile quirking at her lips.

"That's not--you should be more careful, Jacqueline," Matilda sputtered. "I'm not one to be trifled with." She flounced a way in a huff, leaving Jack to fall into a spasm of laughter as she escorted Christina from the church.

"Did you really go riding with that Indian fellow, Jack? Alone?" Christina asked in a hushed whisper as they limped out of the building.

"I did, and I'm not ashamed of it!" Jack cried. "We were on a mission for the doctor, and there's nothing untoward about riding in an automobile with a decent fellow."

Christina just shook her head. "Oh, Jack. I'm glad you don't care much about what people think."

And though her niece's words were meant to be a compliment, they stung for a moment. Is everything I do destined for disapprobation? Jack was accustomed to the censure of the town, but even when she tried to do right, was she still to receive judgment? Donovan was a good man--beloved by the Bookers and upstanding in Jack's esteem. What legitimate reason they could have for disapproval?

Jack and Christina bid a warm goodbye to Reverend Smalley and exited the church into the warm Sunday sunshine, following after Corrie and Dr. Benjamin, arm in arm, and Hannah and Titus Fletcher, walking closely behind them.

"If it ain't Jack Harrison." The coarse, embittered voice surprised both women as Jack spun around, nearly knocking Christina off her feet.

Margaret Hunt stood in the middle of the street, legs spread apart and arms crossed over her Sunday best, a dress several sizes too small and designed for a girl much her junior. She scowled at Jack, her eyebrows knitted together.