Page 17 of If the Boot Fits

Samantha’s pulse fluttered with new excitement. “I’m so glad you asked.” She straightened her posture and smoothed the front of her dress. Why was she suddenly nervous? This was Aunt Regina, for pity’s sake. Not her former headmistress. “I’d like your help in finding a way to minister to the less fortunate here in Palo Pinto.”

Her aunt blinked at her.

Samantha rushed to continue. “I don’t simply want to be Eli Dearing’s daughter. Privileged and prized for my dowry. I want to make a difference in my community.” Her voice rose as passion ignited. “I wrote you about my work in Boston. The soup kitchens and hospitals where I volunteered. The class for illiterate girls I started, teaching them to read and write so they could better themselves.”

Leaving her girls behind had been the hardest part about coming home. The five girls she taught worked long hours in factories to help support their families. Yet despite their exhaustion, they came to her class three nights a week and drank up knowledge with a thirst she envied. Thankfully, one of the ladies from church had agreed to take over the lessons, but Samantha still prayed for each of her girls by name every night.

“Please, Aunt Regina, I believe God wants me to serve. I’m just not sure how to do that here.”

“God wants all of us to serve, but you must be careful in how you go about it. In a big city like Boston, I imagine you rarely crossed paths with the people you served. Here, however, it will be impossible not to cross paths with them.”

“Why does that matter? We are called to love our neighbors as ourselves, aren’t we?” Samantha hadn’t expected resistance. She’d expected support. Eagerness, even. “I thought you’d be glad to have another volunteer to help with your charity work.”

“That’s just it. People don’t like to be thought of as charity work.”

Samantha sputtered. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But I’m afraid that’s how you might be perceived. The people around here know you. They know your station. Your wealth. Whether it is your intention or not, they are predisposed to see any help you offer as an act of condescension.” Her aunt took a breath, then reached out and patted Samantha’s knee. “I’m not trying to discourage you. Truly. I’m proud of you for seeking ways to be involved in the Lord’s work. You have a kind heart and a holy passion. But to be effective in this place, you need to serve from a place of humility, otherwise people will likely reject the help you wish to give. They must feel respected, not pitied. Ministry is not about you helping those in need, it’s about God helping those in need through you. Do you understand the difference?”

Not really, but she did understand a person’s need for respect. To be seen as an equal. That was the basis for the women’s suffrage movement, after all.

Samantha took a long breath before she responded. “I understand that I have a lot to learn.” She’d be foolish to ignore her aunt’s experience, yet she couldn’t ignore the Lord’s call. “Perhaps we can start small? Maybe there is a child I can help in some way or an elderly widow?”

Aunt Regina smiled. A proud, satisfied sort of smile that sent a wave of warmth radiating through Samantha’s chest.

“I’ll pray about it tonight and discuss the idea with Obadiah.” Her aunt’s enthusiasm blossomed as she spoke. Her words picked up speed, and her eyes danced as possibilities stirred to life. “Oh! I’m lunching with the other ministers’ wives tomorrow. I’ll mention it to them as well. There might be needs within their congregations that would be suited to your situation.”

This was the reaction Samantha had hoped for. Energy zinged inside her midsection as she leaned forward in her seat.

“I’ll come see you on Wednesday,” she said. “And I’ll be praying that God leads me to the place where I can do the most good.”

8

Asher sat in Clyde Milton’s office on Monday afternoon, hat in his lap, heart in his throat. His knees bounced incessantly as he waited for the lawyer to read over the rental agreement Mama Bess had provided. There had to be a clause or stipulation somewhere banning the raising of rent. A new rate should require a new contract, shouldn’t it? The tenant had rights, too.

Unfortunately, Asher hadn’t recognized anything actionable when he’d scoured the document this morning, but the convoluted lingo had been hard to decipher. That’s why he’d decided to pay for an interpreter. Someone he hoped could find him a legal leg to stand on when he faced off with Eli Dearing.

After many scowls, a handful of thoughtful hums, and one rather laborious sigh, Clyde Milton sat back in his desk chair and met Asher’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ellis. I don’t see anything in this contract that prohibits the owner from raising the rent price. In fact, it seems Mr. Dearing could have evicted your mother after your father died. The fact that he allowed her to stay without a credible source of income will likely endear him to the judge. Make him seem long-suffering, especially since he didn’t raise the rent for six years.”

Asher jumped from his chair and paced in front of Milton’s desk. “Can’t we argue that the price increase was exorbitant? That it placed undo hardship on my mother?”

Milton stood slowly, his bones creaking slightly as he straightened his middle-aged frame. “I’m afraid your mother’s poverty does not have any bearing on the case. The owner can set the rent to any figure he deems appropriate as long as he communicates the change to the tenant in advance. Which he did, judging by this letter.” He slid the second paper out from behind the first and pinned it to the desktop with his index finger.

“What about the improvements she made to the land? Shouldn’t she be compensated for that in some way?” Asher was grasping at straws, and he knew it, but he couldn’t come away from this with nothing.

“I’m afraid not. Mr. Dearing owns the land, and therefore any improvements made to it belong to him as well.”

Asher’s hand fisted around the brim of his hat. “What about the garden? Mama Bess could feed half the town with her harvest. Shoot, she gives away as much as she keeps, so she probably has fed half the town over the years. The seeds planted were hers, not Dearing’s. The labor was hers, not Dearing’s. And since she left, the plot just sits there, rotting. What good does that do anyone?” He flung his arms wide. “The land is his, sure. But the food growing in and above that soil belongs to her. She should be allowed to harvest it.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ellis. The law cannot compel him to do so. And if your mother”—he raised a pointed brow—“or anyone else trespasses on the property to collect items growing there, that person will be subject to criminal charges and a steep fine. If said parties are unable to pay such a fine, jail time could be imposed, or the family might be relocated to the county’s poor farm.”

The fight drained from Asher’s stance. “Please, Clyde. She depends on that garden to feed herself and the boys. Taking that away from her is stealing food from their mouths. There has to be something we can do.”

The lawyer moved out from behind his desk, shedding his professional persona in favor of the one the Ellis family saw when they sat across the aisle from him in church. He clapped Asher’s shoulder and wagged his head. “I’m sorry, Ash. I wish I could help, but legally there’s nothing I can do.” He turned back to the desk and collected the papers. “Personally, though, I can bring some supplies by the house after work. I’ve been on the receiving end of Elizabeth’s generous nature. It’s only right that I return the favor.”

“That’s kind of you,” Asher said, his mouth tightening, “but unnecessary. I’ll see she has the supplies she needs.”

Even if it bankrupted him.