Second Chance Bride (20 page)

“No.” Annie shook her head. “Go away. Leave me alone. You don’t want to be near me,” she croaked. “You don’t want to know me.”

“Of course I do.” Amanda embraced Annie. “You’re my dear friend.”

“No.” Annie took a deep breath and pushed her away. Telling Amanda would be nearly as difficult as telling John. “I’m not Matilda Cunningham.”

“Of course you are, dear.” Amanda took Annie’s hand and helped her into the phaeton. “Let’s get you home.” Before Annie could protest, Amanda had cracked the reins and the horse took off.

“Matilda Cunningham died in the stagecoach accident. Annie MacAllister survived.”

Amanda frowned as if trying to understand.

“I’m not Matilda. I’m Annie MacAllister.” She looked at Amanda and could tell her friend still didn’t understand. Gently, she put her hand on Amanda’s. “Please listen to me.” When her friend pulled the phaeton to a stop in front of the schoolhouse, Annie said, “Before I came here, when I lived in Weaver City, I was a prostitute.”

Her eyes round, Amanda titled her head to study her friend. Annie had known she’d be upset. Blinking tears back, she turned in her seat to get down from the carriage.

“You poor dear.” Amanda hugged her again. “That must have been terrible.”

Annie sat back and gazed at her friend. Tears ran down Amanda’s face. Where was the condemnation she’d expected? “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes. Life must have been very difficult for you. You must have suffered and hated every minute of it. Let’s go inside and you can tell me about it, if you want to.”

“I can’t go back to the schoolhouse.”

“Did you tell John?” At Annie’s nod, she said, “He didn’t take it at all well, did he?” She sighed. “John is a proud man, too proud of his family and reputation. I’d hoped you’d soften that.” She shook her head. “This would be hard for him to accept.”

Annie didn’t know how to respond. “I need to pick up my valise and Minnie, and I have a letter to mail.” She looked down at her clenched hands. “I don’t know where I’ll go after that. Probably to the hotel so I can wait for the stage.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll come live with Cole and me until you decide what to do.”

“The sheriff won’t want me there.”

“Of course he will. Matilda, you’re our friend.”

“And there’s no room.” Annie knew the small house well from her many visits. “The other bedroom is filled with your—” she paused to try to remember what the sheriff had called them “—with your gewgaws.”

“My friend, you are much more important to me than all the gewgaws in the world. Don’t you know that?”

Once they had picked up her belongings, Amanda drove Annie to the tiny white cottage with dark blue trim. In front was a trellis, which Amanda planned to fill with roses in a few weeks, whenever it finally rained.

Amanda helped Annie from the phaeton and supported her up the steps as if she were an invalid. Once inside, Amanda settled her in the sheriff’s comfortable chair. “I have to take the horse to the stable boy,” she said. “I’ll be right back. We’ll talk when Cole gets home,” Amanda said. Before she left, she fixed Annie a cup of tea.

Annie didn’t know how long it would be before Amanda came back and the sheriff arrived home. While the tea cooled on the table, she sat quietly with Minnie curled on her lap and looked out the window. A few clouds drifted in the sky, more than she’d seen for months. As she watched, the sun sank lower and lower. She reminded herself about the message of Easter. It didn’t help with the pain much now, but it would eventually.

When the sheriff walked into the house, Amanda took him aside for a few minutes. Then she served dinner, but Annie only pushed the food around on her plate and nibbled on a biscuit. After dinner, they settled around the cleared table.

“Annie, if you can, will you please tell us what happened?” Amanda put her hand on Annie’s.

She looked at her friends. Concern showed on both faces. She swallowed and began her story. “My father was a weak man. He married my mother and changed because he loved her.” Annie looked down at her hands. “She died when I was five, and he couldn’t handle her death. He started drinking and gambling. In the end, he lost everything. I started working when I was seven, cleaning houses to support us.”

“Did he ever hurt you?” Amanda asked gently.

Annie nodded. “When I didn’t bring enough money home, he’d beat me. Finally I started sleeping outside, when the weather was good enough.” She stopped to calm herself. She’d wished for years she could forget the terror of those days but never had. “The drinking and the fighting got worse. When I was fourteen, he killed a man in the bar and was strung up right there.”

“Hung?” the sheriff asked.

Annie nodded. “After that, the good women of the community didn’t want the daughter of a killer in their houses.” She shrugged. “I couldn’t read or write. No one would hire me. I didn’t have any money. I couldn’t even leave town. So I became a prostitute.” She shivered and couldn’t look at her friends. “I hated every minute of it. I saved my money for five years and finally bought a ticket to Trail’s End. You know everything else except that my real name is Annie MacAllister. The woman who died on the stagecoach was the real teacher, Matilda Susan Cunningham. I took her place because…because I knew that was the only way to escape my past.” She gave a forced laugh. “All that effort, and it didn’t work. Didn’t make a bit of difference.”

“You couldn’t read or write?” the sheriff asked.

She shook her head. “I taught myself to. I studied every night and taught myself what I needed to know to teach the students the next day.”

“You are an amazing woman.” Amanda shook her head. “You are courageous and remarkable. I can’t believe you taught yourself all that.”

She shrugged. “I had to.”

“Why did you decide to tell John?” the sheriff asked. “You didn’t have to.”

“I did. I always knew I had to, but I couldn’t find the courage to do it until yesterday. A man from Weaver City saw me and threatened to tell John if I didn’t pay him five hundred dollars.”

“What’s his name?” The sheriff leaned forward.

“Willie Preston.”

“Preston knew you from Weaver City?”

“Yes, he works for one of the ranchers there, Roy Martin.”

The sheriff nodded. “I know Roy Martin. Mean as a snake and greedy.”

Suddenly she began to shiver. She’d stayed calm for hours, but the hopelessness of her future and the loss of John hit her again, hard. And what would people think when they found out who she was? She had to leave town before that happened. She couldn’t face the Johnsons or her students once they found out what she’d been.

Where would she go?

Amanda held her. “Matilda or Annie, I don’t care who you are. We’re your friends.”

The sheriff took her hand. “Stay here until you know what’s ahead for you and where you want to go.”

Overwhelmed by their kindness and unable to speak, Annie nodded and allowed Amanda to take her to the spare bedroom. All of Amanda’s gewgaws had been shoved in a corner and a small bed had been made up for her. Annie knew she’d never fit.

Not that it mattered. She doubted if she would sleep anyway. She sat next to Minnie on the side of the bed and clasped her hands. From the parlor, she heard voices, then the sound of the sheriff walking across the room and out the door. From outside on the prairie came the howling of a coyote who sounded as lonely as she felt.

She tried to sleep but couldn’t stop thinking about how happy she’d been here, and how much she’d loved her students. And then John’s angry face appeared, his furious shouts ringing in her ears over and over.

“Dear Lord….” She didn’t know what more to say. He knew her sorrow. He shared her grief.

And He had forgiven her. When she turned her life over to Him, He’d given her a second chance. She clung to that as sleep finally claimed her.

“F
ather?” Elizabeth knocked on the door. “May I come in?”

John turned to look out the window of his study. Dark already. How much time had he spent pacing from one side of the room to the other? Rubbing his hand across his eyes, he moved slowly to the door, feeling as if he’d been very sick, as stiff as if he’d grown old. “What is it?”

Elizabeth stood before him, her hair braided neatly and wearing her long cotton nightgown. “My prayers. It’s bedtime but you haven’t heard my prayers.”

“Not tonight.” He didn’t think he could bear to listen to prayers tonight, not when God had deserted him. “Go on to bed. I’ll be up later.” He started to close the door but Elizabeth put her hand up to stop it.

“Lucia told me Miss Cunningham was here earlier.” She paused. “I didn’t get to see her.”

What should he tell his daughter? Probably at least part of the truth. “Miss Cunningham had to leave. She came to say goodbye.”

“Why didn’t she tell me in person? Why is she leaving?”

“An emergency.” Not a complete lie. “Of course, she wanted to see you, but she didn’t have time.”

Elizabeth came into the study and sat in one of the chairs. As he watched, he realized how tiny she was, so little she took up less than half of the chair. How could he tell his daughter exactly what had happened? Of course he couldn’t. She’d never understand. He barely did.

“When will she be back?”

“She won’t come back.”

She looked at him in surprise before her chin trembled. “She won’t come back? She won’t be my mother?”

He shook his head.

Elizabeth leaned forward and pointed at the desk. “It’s the ring. She left the ring. She won’t be back.” Her body trembled and tears began. “Doesn’t she love me?”

“Of course she does.” He kneeled before her. “Sometimes things happen. She didn’t
want
to leave, but she had to.”

“Why? If she loved us, she wouldn’t leave us.” She gazed at him, her eyes filled with grief. “Did I do something to make her leave?”

“No, no. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He took her hand but didn’t know how to comfort her. “She…she just had to go away.”

“Where did she go? Can I visit her?” she sobbed.

John stood. He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t talk about this anymore. Selfish, he knew, but it hurt too much to respond to the child’s questions. He picked Elizabeth up and cradled her in his arms, holding and rocking her until she fell asleep, worn out from crying.

“Lucia,” he called. When the woman appeared at the door, he said, “Please take Elizabeth to her room and put her to bed.” He handed his tiny, sleeping daughter to Lucia, then fell back into his chair. If he were a drinking man, he’d probably attempt to lose himself in a bottle, but he wasn’t and knew that indulgence wouldn’t solve the problem or alleviate the pain.

“How could she have lied to me?” he whispered.

He would have been happier never knowing, to live with Matilda—or whatever her name was—in happiness and ignorance. He wished she hadn’t told him. But she had. If only he hadn’t been brought up in a family that expected so much from him. Perhaps then he could’ve married a former prostitute without feeling as if he’d betrayed his name.

For a moment he clasped his hands, closed his eyes and attempted to pray, but he and God had never been all that close. His God was a moral being, not one John could go to in sorrow. In fact, he and God were barely on speaking terms. How could he confess or feel close to a distant God? He’d never been the type of man who told God about his problems and expected God to listen or solve them.

And yet
she
had.

Reaching out his hand, he picked up the ring and clenched it until the crown cut into his finger.

“I’d like to see Mr. Sullivan, please,” a man’s voice came from the front hall.

Who would come by so late? Before he could move, the study door was thrown open and the sheriff entered.

“Sullivan,” he said, and settled in a chair in front of the desk as if he’d been invited.

“Sheriff.” John nodded politely. “How are you and your wife?”

“Very well.”

But the smile that usually covered the sheriff’s face when he thought of his new wife didn’t appear. “I came to talk to you about something. Actually, two things. First, I hear someone has shown interest in that parcel of land over northwest.”

“Yes, I’ve been in and out of Austin because a lien was placed on it and questions have been raised about its ownership. How did you know that, Sheriff?”

He answered that query with another question. “Do you know a rancher up in Weaver City named Roy Martin?”

“Only by name. He’s the man who’s challenging my right to the title.”

“Seems there’s a man named Willie Preston in town, a man who works for Martin. Preston’s come to Trail’s End a couple of times for his boss. Don’t know much more than that, but thought I should drop by and mention it.”

“I don’t know a Willie Preston, either.” He glanced up at the sheriff, wondering. “Again, how do you know this?”

“Preston knew Matilda—or rather, Annie—in Weaver City. He recognized her in town and attempted to blackmail her. Said if she gave him five hundred dollars, he wouldn’t tell you who she was.” The sheriff nodded. “Guess you know the rest of that story.”

The fact that Annie—he must think of her that way from now on—had come forward herself made no difference. She was who she was, and he didn’t want to talk about her. “I still don’t understand. Why is Preston here?”

“Might be that Martin sent him down to see if he could do a little mischief, figure out a way to get that piece of land cheap. Don’t know. I’m going to talk to the man tomorrow.”

“You think my land is safe?”

“Don’t know.” He sat in silence for a moment before he looked into John’s eyes and said, in a soft voice with an edge of anger, “I hear you tossed her out.”

“Men like Roy Martin and his man Preston are what a sheriff should deal with.” John stood. “But this woman? She’s none of your business, Bennett.”

“Yes, she is. You see, she’s a friend of mine and a friend of my wife, and that makes it my business. They’re both over at my place, crying. A man can take only so much of that.”

John leaned his palms on the desk and glared at the other man. “Your wife shouldn’t be around that woman.”

“I guess you mean Annie when you call her ‘that woman.’ Well, Sullivan, if you wouldn’t mind sitting down, I’d like to tell you something about her.” When John continued to stand, the sheriff said, “Have it your way. I’m going to tell you no matter what.”

As the sheriff talked, John had to sit down to listen. The details of her life horrified him.

“Just seven years old,” the sheriff said. “Younger than your daughter, beaten every day, sleeping outside and working to support her drunken father.”

John’s stomach churned. He stood and went to the open window to take a deep breath and gain control of himself. “She didn’t need to become a prostitute.”

“Not many choices for an illiterate fourteen-year-old out here that don’t include a man.”

John turned. “Illiterate?”

“Amazing, isn’t she? She couldn’t read or write when she got here. She taught herself and worked hard to stay ahead of the students.”

“Sheriff, I appreciate your coming by, but—”

“Lucia told me that your daughter is upset and crying.” The sheriff stood. “Think about what you’re doing, Sullivan. Your daughter already lost one mother. Now she’s lost another because you can’t accept the love of a good woman.” He turned toward the door. “Doesn’t make sense to me.”

“What you said sickens me, Sheriff, but what kind of man could forgive and accept that woman’s lies and her past?”

The sheriff looked back at him. “Only a good Christian could, John.”

He watched the sheriff leave and soon heard the front door shut behind him. For a moment, he considered what Bennett had said about Annie. It didn’t change the fact that he’d had fallen in love with a prostitute. He’d been deceived and he couldn’t forgive that. Guess he wasn’t that much of a Christian. The idea of forgiveness had never sat well with him.

When Annie heard Amanda in the kitchen the next morning, relief filled her. Now she could stop pretending to be asleep.

She’d barely been able to sleep, all night, she’d looked out the window. She’d sat on the edge of the bed, thinking and praying. She knew God had heard, and felt the comfort of His presence holding her in love. Whatever happened, she wouldn’t face it alone.

She rolled out of the tiny bed, washed up and straightened her clothing before she went out to the kitchen. In the early light, she checked her watch. Only six-thirty.

“Breakfast?” Amanda asked, then she gasped when she saw Annie. “Didn’t you get any sleep?”

“A bit. Do I look that bad?” Annie tried to smile. “I’ll sleep later, after I see Willie Preston. I’m not hungry, but thank you.” She looked at her friend. “You’re really becoming a homemaker, aren’t you? Cooking and cleaning house?”

Amanda nodded, refusing to be distracted. “Coffee?”

Annie shook her head and walked to the window. Dark clouds roiled across the sky and the wind blew so hard the trees bent before its strength. “Do you think it will rain?”

“Probably not.” The sheriff entered the room and sat at the table. “Looks like perfect conditions for dry lightning. Hope we don’t get any.”

After Amanda made a few attempts at conversation, they all finished breakfast in silence. Then the sheriff took a gulp of coffee and pulled Amanda to him.

“Goodbye.” He kissed her, then turned toward the door. “Annie, don’t you forget we’re your friends.”

Annie watched him ride out, holding onto his hat as the wind tried to tear it from his fingers. Once he’d left, she turned to Amanda. “I’m going out now.”

“You can’t.” Amanda dipped a plate in the dishpan and picked up a towel. “The weather is terrible.” She gestured toward the window. “You can’t go out there.”

“I have to meet Willie Preston. I want to know why he came to Trail’s End, and I have to stand up to him.” She hugged her friend. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be back as soon as I talk to him.”

“But you’re almost ninety minutes early.”

“I’ll be fine,” Annie repeated.

When she opened the door, the blast of wind hit her, almost pushing her back into the house. Leaning forward, she forced her way through the gusts that tore at her hair and clothing. Above her, dark storm clouds scuttled across the sky.

With the struggle against the searing, dusky blast, the walk took over an hour, nearly three times longer than usual. Upon her arrival, she looked around the plain but saw only the blowing grass that looked like a dry ocean.

Almost nine o’clock. He would be here soon.

After a few minutes of being buffeted by the wind, she sought shelter under a live oak, sitting against the rough bark of its trunk. Time passed, but there was still no sign of Preston. With an exhausted sigh, she rested her head on the tree trunk and closed her eyes, just for a moment.

Annie awoke with a start. How long had she slept? She blinked and covered her eyes as dust blew into her face. The clouds churned, dark and ugly, but no rain fell from them. In the distance she saw a flash of lightning.

Dry lightning, the plague of a parched prairie.

It took a moment for her to wake up enough to become aware of her surroundings. She leaned forward and took a deep breath. Thick smoke filled her lungs. Annie took a deeper breath. Yes, smoke. A roar reverberated across the meadow. She leaped to her feet and looked around her.

The fire must have started from a stroke of dry lightning while she slept. Or perhaps Willie Preston had started it. Not that it mattered.

From the east she saw smoke and flames, blown by the storm and headed directly toward her and the Sullivan ranch. With no thought for her own safety, she began to run. She had to get there before the fire did. She had to warn them.

As she sprinted across the rapidly closing space, she realized how quickly the wind raced and swirled across the plain. Flames leapt and spun and sowed more fires all over the prairie. The new conflagrations were fed by the maelstrom and moving much faster than Annie could. In no time, the blaze surrounded her, a huge roaring circle closing in.

To the south, she saw an opening. Could she reach it before it closed?

Hot air scorched her lungs and she gasped for air in short pants as she ran. She pushed herself, coming nearer and nearer to the quickly disappearing space.

Intent on reaching the gap, she almost didn’t hear the distant call for help. Stopping, she turned west. When she’d run twenty yards and could see the top of the ranch house, she heard people yelling on the other side of the blaze, their words indistinguishable but their panic unmistakable.

After a few more feet, she saw the reason. Elizabeth stood perhaps fifty feet from her, and a glowing, crackling wall of fire separated the child from the house.

With a burst of speed, she dashed toward her and shouted, “Elizabeth!”