Glorious Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series) by Debra Holland

he touched his hat to an elderly lady he didn’t know and returned the wave of a man across the street. But he had no problem remembering the hatchet-faced woman who stopped in front of him, the handle of a basket looped over the crook of her arm.
    Fear fluttered through him. The difficult woman was quick to take offense, and he didn’t want to make trouble. Joshua had to sternly remind himself that he was an adult and a minister.
    “Mrs. Murphy.” He took off his hat and gave her a little bow. “Good to see you again,” he politely fibbed. “I hope all is well?”
    She sniffed. “ ’Bout time you returned home, Joshua Norton. Your parents have pined for you.”
    “I followed God’s call to Africa, Mrs. Murphy,” he said, keeping to his most charming tone.
    She shook her head and the wattle under her chin quivered. “Those heathen didn’t need you as much as your parents did. . .as our town did.”
    “Well, I’m home now.” He changed the subject. “How is Mr. Murphy?”
    The woman frowned and stiffened her back. “I’m surprised your parents didn’t inform you,” she said tartly. “My husband passed on six years ago.”
    Well, I just went and put my foot into a painful hole. “I’m sure they did write to me about Mr. Murphy’s death,” he said gently, trying to respect her grief and not respond to her prickly communication. “My mother and I were just talking about how many of our letters went astray. However, I’m sorry to hear of Mr. Murphy’s passing. He was a good man, and he loved you dearly.”
    Mrs. Murphy’s eyes clouded, and her sharp features softened until, for an unbelievable moment, she looked vulnerable. “Thank you for those kind words. No one talks about him. It’s as if Thomas is not remembered by anyone but me.”
    “I remember him quite clearly.” Joshua gave her a kind smile. “Your husband was always so proud of the garden produce he shared with my family. And I know we weren’t the only ones. I believe he had not only a green thumb, but green fingers and toes. He could practically feed the whole town.”
    Her answering smile was fleeting. “The garden doesn’t do as well without him.”
    “I’m sure the memory of Mr. Murphy lives on in many people’s hearts and minds. However, grief is such a touchy subject. Knowing how close you two were, I suspect people don’t mention your husband because they’re afraid to bring you pain.” Or because they avoid talking to you at all. But now wasn’t the time to point out the woman’s tendency to alienate others. She needed comforting, not admonition.
    “Well, perhaps you’re right,” the widow admitted in a grudging tone.
    “I suggest you try bringing up the subject. Start with your friends. Mention Mr. Murphy in conversation and see how people respond.”
    “I’ll try that.” She gave a brief nod and held up the basket, obviously changing the subject. “My garden might not grow as well anymore, but my chickens continue to lay just fine. I have some eggs for your mother.”
    “That’s very good of you, Mrs. Murphy. You’ll catch her and my son at home. They’re just about to set out.”
    “I’ll hurry on, then.” She paused and gathered a breath. “Thank you, Reverend .”
    “Good day, ma’am.” Floored by her unexpected approval, Joshua continued down the street, lost in thought. Not for the first time he reminded himself to refrain from judgment, for too often he was wrong. He never would have thought he’d make an impact on one of the most difficult women in Sweetwater Springs. But, as had happened many times in the past, he knew that the words that had flowed out of him weren’t his alone. He was just a channel for a power far wiser than he.
    Judge not, that ye be not judged. He continued down the street, reciting the words of the seventh chapter of Matthew to himself as a much-needed reminder.

    Sitting beside his grandmother in the surrey, Micah shivered in the cool air. Grandmother