Molly Noble Bull (17 page)

He thought about what he’d done to Mr. and Mrs.
Kline, stealing from them, then accepting their hospitality. Until that instant, he’d never considered asking for forgiveness. Yet he found himself wanting to tell them what he’d done, even if it meant he would never see them again.

Lucas put down his knife and fork. “I have something to tell you good folks.”

Reverend Kline’s brows lifted. “And what might that be, Mr. Scythe?”

“I…I was the one what stole your silver tray and coffeepot. Then I went and sold them for money. I truly am sorry, though. Now, I reckon I best leave.” Lucas put down his napkin and started to rise.

“Don’t go!” The minister smiled. “Sit back down and finish your meal. Please.”

Lucas stopped, standing by his chair. “Didn’t you hear what I said, Preacher? I was the one who—”

“We know all that, Mr. Scythe.”

Lucas stared at the minister. He couldn’t believe his ears. “You knew?”

“We’ve known all along. The top from one of your whiskey bottles must have fallen out of your pocket the night you broke into our house. We discovered a cork exactly like that one in your pocket the day we found you unconscious in the snow.”

My good luck charm, he thought.

Had the charm finally started working? Or had his good fortune come from somewhere else?

“Then, if you knew all this about me, why did you take me in, nurse me back to health, and do all those other things to help me? It don’t make no sense.”

“No, it doesn’t, unless you know and love our God,” the reverend said. “I was once just like you, Mr. Scythe. I was a poor boy, and my papa beat me almost every day. So I ran away and stole something from a man. When he caught me, I thought he would beat me and have me put in prison, but he didn’t. I found out he was a godly man. He took me in and raised me as his own son. Even sent me to college, where I became a minister.

“The man said he was able to forgive me and love me because God first forgave him and loved him. So now I’m passing that on to you.” The minister sent Lucas a soulful glance. “Has anyone ever hurt you, Mr. Scythe? Or have you ever hurt anybody?”

Too many to name, Lucas admitted to himself.

“If you’ve hurt others, you’ll have some repenting to do,” the reverend went on. “When you tell the Lord you’re sorry and really mean it, He will forgive you and wash away all your sins.”

“Is that the heavenly bath you were talkin’ about?”

The minister laughed. “It sure is.” Then his face turned sober. “Would you like to have what my wife and I have, Mr. Scythe?”

“Would I have to give up drinking?”

“That’s not the way it works. You just have to repent and ask the Lord to come and live in your heart. Let God worry about your drinking and everything else. Would you like to do that—right now?”

Lucas shook his head. “I don’t know yet. I’ll let you know when I do.”

“Don’t worry about telling me. Tell Him.”

“You mean God?”

The minister nodded. “He’s the Creator of the universe, you know. And He loves you very much, Lucas Scythe.” He paused again and smiled. “And don’t forget. We’re expecting you for Thanksgiving dinner.”

The following afternoon, Honor sat at the kitchen table, writing her grocery list. The roast baking in the oven smelled delicious, and the biscuits were ready to pop in when the roast came out. She’d never thought she could run a boardinghouse, but she was doing it.

The supper crowd would be small that evening. Jeth, Elmer, Mrs. Clark, Mrs. Davis and Dr. Harris. Belinda and Honor would eat what was left over.

Jeth would have read John Crammer’s letter by now. Honor wondered if he intended to mention it.

“Hey, there,” Jeth said. “What are you doing all hunched over? Don’t you know positions like that are bad for your back?”

Honor straightened. Surprised to see Jeth standing beside her, she manufactured a quick smile. Well, at least he hadn’t sounded angry.

Jeth sat down at the table. “Supper sure smells good.”

“It’ll be ready by seven. Elmer should be here by then.”

She wanted him to tell her about John’s letter, to get it over with. Waiting to hear what Jeth might say and when he might say it worried her more than an honest discussion.

“I noticed you got a letter from John Crammer.” She swallowed before going on. “What did he have to say?”

His smile disappeared. “That’s what I came in here to talk to you about.”

Honor stiffened. “Go ahead, then. Talk.”

“Mr. Crammer said your uncle left Falling Rock, looking for you, a day or two after the stage robbery. Until recently, he didn’t know where your uncle was. But a letter from Mr. Scythe arrived a few days ago, mailed in Pine Falls. Mr. Crammer wrote your uncle and told him where you were staying. Then he wrote me to let us know what he’d done. I think it’s time that you wrote to your uncle, Miss McCall. You’ve waited long enough.”

She rose from her chair. The very idea! She’d expected Jeth to tell her about his letter from John, but he had no right to come in here and tell her what to do. Who made him an expert on everything? He’d promised never to reveal her location to anyone. Was he breaking his promise now?

“Did John Crammer also tell you that he expects my uncle to give him a reward for finding me?”

“No, he never mentioned anything like that. And that reminds me, I’ve got your uncle’s mailing address, if you want it.” He hesitated. “So, what will you do?”

“I plan to finish cooking supper. Then I’ll serve it. That’s my job. What do you plan to do,
Preacher?
”

“I still think you’re making a mistake not writing to your uncle. I really do.”

“Why don’t you write my uncle yourself since you think it’s so important? I’m sure you would do a better job than I ever could.”

Honor went to the stove, got the old quilt rags she used as pot holders, and opened the door of the oven. Her anger felt hotter than the heat coming from the cookstove.

“The roast should be cooked by now,” she said, more to herself than to Jeth. “It’s time to put in the biscuits.”

As she carried the heavy roasting pan to the cabinet by the hand pump, she realized she wasn’t as frightened at the thought of seeing Lucas as she had thought she would be. Had raw fury eclipsed her fears? Or did God have some thing to do with it?

B
y nightfall, Honor’s disagreement with Jeth had become a distant memory. Fear replaced her anger. Visions of Lucas with a club in his hand haunted her. The fact that the house creaked and the wind whistled through the shutters didn’t help.

In the middle of the night, Honor went down to the kitchen for a glass of water. The boardinghouse was dark except for the lamp she held. She paused at the foot of the stairs, listening to the old house settle after each burst of the howling wind. Once, she’d worried that her uncle might find out where she lived and come after her. Now she knew for
sure
that he knew her location. So what must she do? Run away? Find a new place to hide?

A stagecoach ticket waited for her at the depot in Hearten, and she’d saved enough to live on for a while, until she found another job. But she felt that the money she’d put aside was the Lord’s. It should only be used to
pay back what she took from the church in Falling Rock. She couldn’t,
wouldn’t
steal from God again.

Still, she needed to feel safe. There might never be a better time to tell Jeth everything.

She shook her head. No, not now, she thought. I’ll discuss all this with Jeth some other time.

She remembered the six-shooter and the bullets under Mrs. Peters’s bed. Honor inspected the weapon every time she cleaned the bedroom, touching the cold metal, fingering the bullets.

She was a fair shot. Aunt Harriet had made sure that Honor had learned the correct use of firearms, though their target practice sessions had always been held in secret. How many times had Honor and her aunt sneaked out to the woods to practice shooting when her uncle was far from home?

Would it be wrong to borrow Jeth’s mother’s gun until the woman returned? And if necessary, use it?

Honor crept up the stairs. Then, after looking both ways, she darted into Mrs. Peters’s bedroom at the head of the stairs.

As soon as she returned to her own room, Honor loaded the pistol and placed it under her bed along with the rest of the bullets. Still, she couldn’t sleep that night. Tossing and turning, her thoughts returned again and again to Lucas and what he might do to her. Would he ravish her? Beat her? Or simply drag her back to Falling Rock and make her his slave?

Suddenly, she heard footsteps in the hall outside her door, and a chill snaked down her spine. Soundlessly, she lowered herself to the floor and reached under the bed for the six-shooter. Rolling on her side, she held her finger on the trig
ger. Heart pounding, she pointed the weapon toward the door. A
click
seemed to echo loudly when she cocked the gun.

“Who’s there?” she demanded.

“It’s just me,” Belinda said softly. “Sorry I woke you.”

Honor relaxed. “What are you doing up at this time of the night?”

Belinda giggled. “If you must know, I’m on my way to the privy.”

“Oh. Well, be careful. It’s cold and dark out there.”

“Don’t worry,” Belinda called back. “I’m always careful. Go back to sleep.”

How was Honor expected to go back to sleep when she hadn’t been asleep in the first place? She removed her finger from the trigger and guided the hammer back in place. When she’d pushed the six-shooter under the bed, she got into bed. Yet memories of Lucas still haunted her. She didn’t fall asleep until shortly before dawn.

There were so many people expecting a Thanksgiving meal at the boardinghouse that Jeth decided they should have the dinner at the church, in the adult Bible study room. On Thanksgiving morning, it took Honor and Belinda over a half hour to carry platters and white china bowls of food to the covered wagon and load them in the back.

The frozen ground was slick under their feet and dangerously rocky and uneven. Honor slid a few inches and staggered while she was transporting the mashed potatoes. A small amount spilled over the side of the bowl and fell on the icy ground.

“Now look what I’ve done!”

“Don’t fret, dear,” Belinda said. “It’s not like you dropped the whole thing and broke the bowl. Besides, I heard some news that should perk you up considerably.”

“What news?”

Belinda had reached the wagon, carrying a bowl of corn-bread dressing. “Well, yesterday at the store, I talked to one of the ladies who knows all the gossip going around about the ring the reverend ordered at Baker’s.”

“And?”

Belinda placed up her heavy white bowl in the wagon and reached back to take the potatoes from Honor. “Nobody but the pastor knows for sure who the engagement ring is for. And he’s not telling. It could be anyone. Even you, Miss McCall.”

“Well, it’s not me.” Honor reached over to cover the bowls with a linen cloth. “Besides, I’m planning to move away from here.”

“Move away? When?”

“As soon as Mrs. Peters returns from Pine Falls. And I’m sure Reverend Peters must have guessed that by now.”

“Have you told him?”

“Not in words, no.”

“Then how would he know?” Belinda asked.

Honor shrugged.

Belinda put her hand on Honor’s shoulder as they walked back to the boardinghouse. “Miss Honor, why don’t you keep that bit of news about you leaving between the two of us for now? Give the reverend the chance to reveal who his future wife will be before you hand him your resignation. What do you think?”

“I have no plans to tell him anything until his mother comes back. But then, I’ll be moving far away. And you’re the only one who knows about it.”

The Thanksgiving meal at the church appeared to be a huge success. Everybody raved about the food. Unfortunately, Honor and Belinda never found time to taste any of it.

When the last dish was washed, carried back to the rooming house and put away, Jeth insisted that Honor and Belinda sit at the kitchen table and rest.

“I’m warming up the leftovers and serving you ladies a midafternoon feast fit for a queen—or rather two queens.” Jeth put a white washcloth over his left arm, clicked his heels together and bowed at the waist. “Chef Peters, at your service, ladies.”

Belinda laughed, clapping her hands, and Honor joined in. Belinda started to get up out of her chair. “Are you sure you know how to do this, Reverend?”

“Absolutely. Keep your seats. I helped Mama boil water once and remember just how to do it.”

Female laughter filled the room.

Jeth opened the door to the cupboard beside the stove and peered inside. “Where are the pots and pans? All I see in here are stacks of white dishes.”

“The pots and pans are in the cupboard next to it,” Honor informed him.

Jeth took three dishes from the stack and put them on the table. Then he pulled out more pots and pans than three people could ever use and lit the oven.

Honor gazed at Belinda. They burst out laughing again and didn’t stop until they started eating. When they finished their meal, Honor offered to wash the dishes, but Jeth insisted on doing them.

At last, he sat down at the kitchen table, panting as if he’d run a mile. “And I still have to dry all those dishes and put them away,” he said.

“I’ll finish up,” Belinda volunteered. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you,” he said. “That was hard work.”

“You’re not telling us anything we didn’t already know,” Belinda said. “How would you like to fix breakfast in the morning for fifteen people? Mrs. Clark, upstairs, likes her eggs hard on the outside and soft in the middle.”

Jeth groaned. “No, thank you.”

He laid his head down on the table, closed his eyes and feigned an attack of snoring.

“What would your future wife say if she knew you snored, Reverend?” Belinda asked. “If you ever marry again, that is.”

Belinda had a mischievous gleam in her eyes. Honor knew that look. Belinda’s next question to Jeth would probably include the word
ring.
She didn’t want to be around to hear it.

Honor rose from her chair. Neither Belinda or Jeth appeared to notice.

“How’s Miss Jordan?” Belinda asked Jeth pointedly. “I didn’t see her at the Thanksgiving doings today.”

“I have no idea how she is,” Jeth said. “But I would imagine that she and her mother went to Denver to visit her aunt. They have been spending Thanksgiving there for years.”

You would know, Honor thought and then cleared her throat. “Thank you for the meal, Reverend. It was very good. But I should go upstairs now. I still have sewing for Miss Jordan to do.”

She didn’t wait to hear any response. Honor hoped to be in her room and engaged in handiwork before Belinda and Jeth discussed the ring.

Lucas had Thanksgiving dinner with the Klines, and the next day he moved back to his room over the grocery store. How he’d changed since he left. His desire for alcohol had diminished more than he had ever thought possible.

As he’d told Reverend Kline, “I used to think about drinking all the time. Now I only think about it half the time.”

“It’s a struggle all right,” the pastor had said. “But remember, even one drink can put you right back where you were before you passed out in front of our house.”

Lucas didn’t want to be on that road again. It should be easier to go straight since he wouldn’t be working in a saloon, but sometimes, the urge to drink did seem stronger than he was. Would he be able to resist the urge, now that he’d returned to his room and the Klines lived several blocks away?

Standing near his bed, Lucas gazed around. He’d never seen the room looking so clean and neat. Mrs. Kline had washed and ironed all his clothes. Some were hung on the hooks that lined the wall, and the rest were neatly folded in the chest of drawers. He vowed to keep his room exactly as it was now.

Two letters had been placed on the little table by his bed—probably by his landlord. Lucas opened the first envelope.

Lucas glared at the letter, digesting the news. Honor wasn’t in Pine Falls. She’d probably been in Hearten all along. Why, that little…His old anger began to resurface, growing into rage. He felt as if his body might explode at any moment.

Lucas headed for the door, his mouth watered. He needed a drink. But reaching for the knob, he stopped. Yes, he wanted a drink, but could he survive without one? He paced back and forth in front on the door, trying to decide what to do.

Reverend Kline had insisted that Lucas could stop drinking if he really wanted to. God would help him.

He could pack his clothes and leave immediately, and that was just what he wanted to do. But where would he get the money to buy a ticket for the stage? Reverend and Mrs. Kline had given him food, but no money, and his job as the church caretaker had barely started. He hadn’t been paid yet.

The letter had mentioned Jethro Peters, and Lucas suddenly remembered that was the name of the young preacher who’d come to Harriet’s burial. Words he’d learned by heart from the Bible came to his mind: “For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your Heavenly Father will also forgive you.”

A week ago, Lucas would have started out for Hearten at once, even if he had to walk. However, finding Honor wasn’t as important anymore.

Maybe I should leave Honor alone—let her have whatever money she might have found. It probably isn’t much anyway, he thought.

Lucas stopped, startled by his own thoughts. Had he really said in his mind that finding Honor and the money didn’t matter anymore? Lucas shook his head. Who birthed those notions? Where was the anger? Was God changing him? Softening his heart? He didn’t have any answers, but he meant to keep looking for them. He opened the second envelope. The letter was from Ruby.

Won’t marry a man who don’t share her faith, huh? Lucas clenched his fists. His jaw hardened. Who does Ruby think she is?

Then he remembered Ruby’s beautiful face. Sure she was pretty, but Lucas had known a lot of handsome women in his life.

I still love you,
she’d said.

What did Ruby know about love? Once, Lucas had thought he loved Ruby. Maybe he still did. He wasn’t sure
what love was. But he knew if he ever took another wife it would be—Who?

He’d thought he wanted to marry Honor. But now the name Ruby rippled through his brain.

Honor was hardly more than a pretty child. Ruby was a woman, perhaps more of a woman than someone like Lucas deserved.

At that moment, a grinding, gnawing sound interrupted his musings, and Lucas recoiled. He looked around. The noise came from the wall behind the chest of drawers.

Instantly, he thought of the horrible hallucination he’d had about the big rat at the foot of his bed. Rats had frightened him as a child. If he were honest, rats still disturbed him, but the gnawing sounds they made didn’t bother him as much now.