Hell's Belle (7 page)

Sometimes a man
ended up worse off by denying allegations. Del opted to let that one pass.
Marriage was the
last
thing in his plans. After Betty Lee's defection,
he'd decided the new fireplace and rug were nice presents for a man to give
himself, the hell with having a woman to share them with. But if the local
menfolk wanted to believe Del was itching to find another bride, let them
indulge in their wishful thinking. Didn't change the color of Del's socks.

But someone in town
definitely needed to change the color of his, or get his belly lanced of a big
dose of choler. Maybe if Del settled his debt to Bell, the man would ease up
chastising his family's black sheep. What she'd ever done to deserve the slur,
Del couldn't imagine.

He let his mind
conjure her face and features again. Saw the wide amber eyes and noted the
amazing open clarity of them. She'd been shocked at the arrival of a bucking
bronco coming through her front window, yet she hadn't hollered or swooned or
done anything typical gals would do to set up a fuss. She'd calmly stood there,
letting the offending animal chew on her apron, more concerned about her cousin
than whether she'd been cut by flying glass. And now that he studied the frozen
tableau from his memory, she
had
been.

Del could see a
little trickle of blood near her temple, another small cut on the back of one
wrist.

"Goddammit!"
He stomped out of the saloon.

There was no
justice in a sweet gal being called the curse of her family, having folks look
at her askance, or whisper that black cats followed her around or she danced
naked with the Goat under the light of a full moon.

Del would have told
the uncle that, but the Emporium was boarded over and locked up. No one
answered when Del thumped his fist on the door and shouted for a good ten
minutes. Finally, Del had to get a leash on his anger and tell himself he'd
simply have to ride back into town tomorrow. And maybe that was better, because
Del had some hard thinking to do.

He didn't like
bigots. He didn't like malicious gossip. He didn't like weak men who needed to
mistreat others to feel big and important. Whatever figure Bell quoted as
damages, Mitchell was prepared to go higher…as long as the man understood he
had to treat his niece better in the bargain.

Del knew he'd be
sticking his nose into something that many would say was not his funeral, but
somehow it felt as though it was. If an animal belonging to Del Mitchell had
never broken into the store, the townsfolk wouldn't be talking of a broomstick or
bewitchment. It was purely unfortunate happenstance that the girl had been
sweeping the floor at that moment. It had been just a freak accident…yet Del
felt responsible. Irrational and ludicrous as it was, he did.

He glanced back at
Minerva's and snorted with disgust. A freak accident at the new emporium in
town, and
he
was responsible. Just when he'd been able to go back for
his regular weekly poker games, he doubted he could afford them.

"My uncle
won't be pleased that you had me ignore a customer," Twila warned.

She hadn't quite
understood how it was that the local preacher had turned up at her door while
Uncle Fletcher and Lucius had gone to Reno. Reverend Phillips had offered a
convoluted explanation that she was helpless to untangle. She'd invited him for
tea upstairs, to let him further explain about this unexpected visit, and his
"troubling concerns." She just wasn't at all certain what the nature
of these concern were, or why it brought him to the closed mercantile.

Which
hadn't
been closed, until he'd insisted that she couldn't fairly give her attention to
store customers and discuss eternal salvation at the same time. Now she heard
banging and male shouting downstairs, and prayed Reverend Phillips also heard
it and realized she needed to tend to the family business.

Not listen to more
of this confusingly vague sermonizing. He'd been sitting at their kitchen table
for twenty minutes, and she still didn't have a solid grasp of why. He'd quoted
verses from various books of the Bible and watched her the way a snake focuses
on a rat. She'd been wary about replying to his occasional questions with more
than a noncommital shrug or discreet cough.

Now she spoke up
more directly, since clearly he was purposely ignoring her polite hint. "I
should at least go down and see who it is. Maybe it's just a simple item. I
wouldn't be but a moment."

"My dear, I'm afraid
for your safety and welfare. It's for your own sake that I caution against
serving the public in the absence of your male relatives."

The pounding
ceased. Twila gathered there would be little point in defending the unknown
male customer now, so she rose and went to the sideboard. She'd baked a loaf of
squash bread that morning and cut her visitor a slice to go with his tea. Tea,
she noted, he hadn't even touched.

Phillips addressed
her in a somber tone. "I realize this may be difficult, but you must bare
yourself to me, so that I may know you. Truly. The Lord asks that all of us
make ourselves as naked unto Him, that we might know Him."

Oh, dear. A minute
ago, Twila was wondering if perhaps she'd imagined the lurid undertone in the
preacher's words. But he'd actually used the word "naked" and it was
hard to misinterpret what that meant. This whole situation was growing more
awkward by the second.

"I…uh, I'm not
familiar with the exact section of the Scripture that contains such a
reference, but—"

"Hearken,
child." Phillips cracked open his Bible again. Twila noticed he'd placed a
ribbon bookmark at a particular passage, which he now read aloud. While there
was nothing in the least bit untoward or erotic in the words themselves, Twila
became increasingly uneasy. The preacher had warned her against being alone
with strange men…yet here she was alone in the apartment with him. And he was,
for all intents and purposes, just as much a stranger as anyone else who came
by the store. In point of fact, he sounded a lot crazier than most of the other
shoppers.

"Sir, I
appreciate you stopping by today, but we attend services."

"Yes, the
entire populace is aware of that, my dear. But Miss Bell, it cannot have
escaped your notice that more than a few honorable souls are discomfited by
your presence there."

Twila gasped out
loud. How dare he say such a thing to her? She knew what he meant. When they'd
gone to church, a whole family had moved to a different pew after the Bells
took their seats. Twila had heard the whispers, knew others had unaccountably
adopted her uncle's negative outlook. She would have protested, if she thought
doing so would do any good. It never had with any of his accusations. And if
the patriarch of her own family called her "Hell's Bell," how could
she expect strangers to think any better of her?

However, it had
also dawned in her mind late one night that as long as people were
uncomfortable around her, they'd be less likely to discover she kept a
priceless necklace hidden in her room. So she decided to play along just a bit.
Be clumsy and oafish, if that's what everyone thought of her, anyway.

Yet she was
offended by this man, who passed himself off as some pillar of the community
and a man of God. If he truly was such, he should be the epitome of tolerance
and charity. Instead it seemed he resorted to the same cold treatment as several
others. "I think you should leave," she said, getting to her own
feet. "If our family's not welcome at your church, we can observe the
Sabbath in our own way here."

"I've spoken
to your guardian about regular visits here. To observe prayer and request His
forgiveness with you folks privately…to spare you further shame."

Twila felt her face
burn. She crossed to the head of the stairwell. "In future, such visits
must include my uncle and cousin. They've gone for supplies in Reno, but will
return tomorrow. Perhaps you could call again later in the week."

"I wanted a
chance to speak to you alone first. Twila…" he said softly, reaching for
her chin and tipping her face up. His eyes blazed as he stared at her. "Do
you know the story of Jonah? The man swallowed by a whale?"

She nodded,
wondering how she was able to move her neck muscles when every sinew in her
body felt frozen.

"Do you know
why misfortune and calamity befell Jonah? Because he would not do God's
bidding, Twila. He had refused his Lord. He'd been given a task by our Master,
and he refused to perform it. Thus, he opened his heart for Satan to seize
hold, and sure as sun follows rain, he began to experience evil and
misery."

"I see."
The sick feeling in her stomach crept up into the back of her throat.

"Do you, Twila
Bell? Because
you
are a Jonah. Several people in town say so, and in
speaking with your cousin and uncle, I've learned that yours is a dolorous personal
history. In what way did you fail our God? What did He ask of you that you were
unwilling to give? How deeply selfish have you been? Tell me about your sin.
Tell me and be cleansed." He released her chin and waited, pinning her
with his intense gaze.

In that horrifying
moment that stretched into a silence raw and painful, Twila didn't know what to
do. Regardless of her reaction, they would never later be able to pretend he
hadn't come here, that this entire distasteful conversation hadn't taken place.
She was to the point that she'd say almost anything, if it would get him to
leave.

"I…I took
something that didn't belong to me. The other girl…she never knew. Still
doesn't know. That was wrong, and I tried to apologize and return it. But I
didn't try hard enough. It seems I may have lost my chance."

He smiled. An
awful, reptilian smile that told her there was good reason indeed for her
senses to be screaming at her to avoid him at all costs.

"No, Miss
Bell. God has given you another chance to redeem yourself. Remember, the whale
vomited Jonah back out. We've made a start. I will call again, and we will pray
together. Your uncle will be pleased."

He made his way
down the stairs without looking back.

Twila felt stark
naked, exposed, mortified. She waited to hear the click of the lock being
released and the door opening and reclosing behind him before she too went down
the staircase.

She was shaking
with mingled rage and relief by the time she relocked the door. What an odious,
disgusting man! And she had absolutely no way to prove it…or even get anyone in
this horrible scab on the landscape of a town to listen to her. About their
beloved preacher? They'd never believe it. He was revered; she was reviled.

She began to pace.
There was no point in speculation about what might have happened today, or what
he might do or say the next time he came visiting for "prayer." She
wasn't going to tolerate a next time. Not even with Uncle Fletcher or Lucius
present…Oh no, that would be even worse! She could just envision Uncle Fletcher
spewing his pointless accusations while Reverend Phillips skewered her with his
unwholesome leer. Lucius snickering…

She flew to her
room and jerked open a bureau drawer, thinking to pack and leave before the men
came back. Then she laughed aloud and sank onto her mattress.

Pack what? They'd each
purchased a handful of garments to replace what had been stolen in their
steamer trunk. Twila was even now sewing a new day dress for herself. But none
of the Bells had been allowed by to replace the lost luggage itself. She didn't
have
a bag to pack.

Or money for the
train, a way to get to Reno to catch the train…the least idea of where else to
go. And beyond those problems, she still had the costly necklace and hadn't located
the Vogels. But that reminded her that she did have one thing in her favor—a
friend in town. Mr. Dobbs would help her, somehow. She just had to get a
message to him.

An hour later, she
found herself trudging along the bank of the Truckee heading out of town. The
ridiculous people she'd approached hadn't been willing to lift a finger for
her. Not the telegraph operator. The barber gaped at her. Leave his shop in the
middle of the afternoon? Slim Johnston informed her he never closed up early. Needing
to send a note to Henry Dobbs about his order for a bunion pad? He couldn't
help her. Didn't know anyone else who could. Nobody had time to ride out to the
ranch to pass on her message.

Well, perhaps she
could have thought up something more critical than a bunion pad, but Twila
suspected it wouldn't have mattered
what
she said. The barber, his
customers…they all looked at her as though she might sprout hissing serpents
out of her skull any second, or cause the barbershop roof to collapse just by
being under it.

Jonah, indeed!

She knew her uncle
was the root of that particular evil, but she'd just bet Lucius had played a
part in the entire town whispering about her. Somehow the tale of the broken
window and the horse had altered so that Twila had caused the mess with some
kind of evil spell.

She just hoped the stupid
rumors hadn't turned Henry Dobbs against her, too.