The Substitute Bride (22 page)

Well, she wouldn’t take to her bed. But what would she do? Where would she go? She was caught in the same trap as Mama.

“Elizabeth, can I have a few words with you?” Hat in hand, Pastor Sumner stood in the doorway. “I’ll only take a minute.”

“I don’t want a lecture on forgiveness.”

“I’ve learned hurting people need a good meal or a helping hand or maybe just someone to hold their hand. What they don’t want is advice. But I can’t seem to stop myself. I apologize for that in advance.”

“You’re right about all that, you know.” She sucked in a breath. “So what’s your advice? Besides to forgive. Besides submitting to my vows until the marriage destroys me?”

“Marriage is a holy bond. And yes, forgiveness is a command. We’re forgiven as we forgive, but there’s something else I need to say.”

She raised her head, daring him to sermonize when her world had turned upside down. Yet she wanted an answer, a way to get through this mess. “What?”

“A couple weeks ago, Ted told me about this strong Call to ministry, certain he’d misread God’s will. Then he told me why. I wasn’t as shocked as he’d expected. You see, I’ve got a past I’m not proud of.”

He let that statement hang in the air between them.

“I pointed out that many men God used in the Bible had done
shameful things. Yet God used those imperfect men. In fact, He handpicked them for His service.”

Elizabeth didn’t speak. She didn’t trust her voice or the words shoving to get out of her mouth.

“There’s a story in Luke’s seventh chapter of the sinful woman who washed Jesus’ feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. The woman proves that those who are forgiven much love much. Ted’s a grateful, changed man. I believe him, Elizabeth. Ted gambled in the past. He’s not a gambler now.”

He peered into her eyes. “Can you find it in your heart to forgive him?”

“He’s lost my trust. He could return to that life. My father did time and again.”

“Do you really believe Ted would return to a life that would put his family’s security at risk? Do you believe he loves gambling more than he loves his family? More than he loves God?

“You’re strong, Elizabeth. Lydia said she’d never have had the courage to leave her home, her family and travel alone without money to marry a stranger. But you have more than courage, Elizabeth. You have God. He’ll get you through this. Talk to Him.”

“Why didn’t Ted tell me?” The words ripped from her throat. “Especially after I told him about my father’s gambling.”

“Ah, that would be fear. Fear of losing you.”

“Ted doesn’t care enough about me to hold such a fear. Our marriage is a business arrangement, a convenience for us both.”

“Oh, Elizabeth, I wish you could’ve been there when Ted asked for my help to convince you to come back home.” Pastor Sumner patted her hand. “Let me pray with you.” He bowed his head and beseeched God to give her wisdom, strength, all she needed. “God will reveal the truth.” He opened the door to leave. “Will you talk to Ted?”

What was the point? Papa’s gambling had taught her how
easily the dice could flip. “I’ll talk to him, but I won’t be taken in by his promises.”

Pastor Sumner nodded. “Pray, Elizabeth. Talk to God. He loves you both,” he said, then closed the door behind him.

Feeling drained, she rose and walked to the back room where she and Robby had stayed. She’d stay here tonight until she could think. She looked out the window at the creek running along the edge of the property, low from the lack of rain.

On past the mercantile she glimpsed a man sitting on a rock, hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands dangling in front of him, staring down into the creek. Even from here those powerful shoulders and that windblown blond hair told her the man’s identity. Ted. Probably praying.

Tears streamed down her face. Ted’s arms had come to mean acceptance. Home. Joy.

How could she ever trust him again?

What did God think about all this? As Pastor Sumner said, she needed to talk to God. Then she’d talk to Ted.

Though talking to Ted would be a waste of time.

Ted rose from his position on the rock and Elizabeth stepped back from the window, not ready to talk to him. Yet.

Papa wanted her. Martha, too. But had Papa changed, really? “Lord, I don’t know what to do. Show me the way.”

A gloved hand clamped over her mouth, stifling the scream pushing up her throat. Rough hands hauled her back against a man’s chest.

Fear gripped her and confusion muddled her thoughts. Who had her? What did he intend? Nothing good.

Heart pounding and tasting blood, she thrashed against him. Failing to get free, she bit the gloved hand covering her lips but didn’t reach skin.

A mouth lowered to her ear. “If you’re smart, Elizabeth, you’ll forget about God and take orders from me.”

Adrenaline shot through her. She twisted, turned, battled against the viselike grip, lurching until she heard the sound of ripping fabric. Pins fell from her hair, clinking against the wooden floor.
God, help me!

She smashed her heel into a shin. Her captor cursed, then slammed her to the floor and pulled a bandanna between her lips. Dragging her into a sitting position by her arm, he shoved her hands behind her back and bound them with a length of rope he’d tugged from his jacket. Then, smirking at her, he tied her feet.

Her efforts to scream sucked the fabric into her mouth, gagging her. The man scrambled to his feet and pulled a gun, a snarl on his face. “Shut up that bellyaching! You’re making my trigger finger jumpy.”

She quieted.

“That’s better, doll face,” he said with an ugly smirk. “Now I can introduce myself proper like. I’m Vic Hammer, remember? We met in Seymour’s library in Chicago. I’m here to collect the gambling debt your pa owes me.”

Heaving for breath, Elizabeth eyed her captor warily, a little snake of a man, full of self-importance. Anger. Greed. By the shabby clothes he wore, he, and most likely his family, paid a high price for his habit.

Ted had rubbed shoulders with such a man. Rubbed shoulders with her father, a man blessed with every material advantage, yet for some reason had been determined to throw it all away. Rubbed shoulders with every sort of a human being who believed a life of ease could come from the turn of the cards.

Vic walked to the window. “Just what I need—a messenger,” he said then slipped out the door.

Ted stared into the creek. Much-needed rain would fill it to overflowing but only a trickle of water ran through it now. He felt numb. Just when he and Elizabeth had gotten closer, every
thing good he’d tried to make of his life had blown up in his face. Not that he blamed Seymour. It was his fault for not telling Elizabeth before this. His throat clogged. The town would never accept him as a pastor now. And Elizabeth…

He’d lost his chance with her.

She fit him, her shape, her lively mind and her energy. Everything about her fit him perfectly, as if God had ordained their marriage.

Last night he’d come close to telling her he loved her. But knew he couldn’t until he’d told her everything. He dropped his head into his hands. From the look in her eyes as she learned about his past, all her feelings for him had been shattered. He’d deceived her, given her half-truths, omitting things he’d feared she’d discover.

How had he fallen into this trap? The same trap of deception his father had lived? He’d told Elizabeth truth would set a man free. Yet he hadn’t behaved as if he believed it. He’d kept silent to protect what he had, a dangerous motivation.

Why had he taken the same path as his father and turned to gambling to earn his way? He hadn’t intended to. He’d hired on to the riverboat as a deckhand. But one night he’d sat in on a game and won. Then he competed every night, getting little sleep. Unlike his father, Ted had a knack for sensing when to hold and when to fold. He lost, sure, but the money piled up.

One windless night his life changed forever. He’d left the game, walking along the upper deck toward his quarters, listening to the raucous laughter from the gallery, the faint call of an owl on shore, the soft slap of the paddles as the boat moved through the murky waters of the Mississippi.

He heard footsteps behind him. Smelled whiskey. Then felt the end of a barrel in his back. “Hand it over, all of it. Or give me the great pleasure of putting a bullet in you.”

Ted whipped around, caught the man with an elbow to the
throat, tossing him against the hull. The gun clattered across the wood as Ted trapped him against the side of the boat. In the faint glow from the half-moon, he recognized Alex, the redhaired, mouthy kid who’d lost every dime—then accused Ted of cheating.

“Go on to bed, Alex. We’ll forget this ever happened.”

“You ruined me!” He sprang at Ted, hands reaching for Ted’s throat, coming full tilt. The intoxicated young man stumbled and teetered to the right. Before Ted could get hold of him, Alex tumbled over the rail and sailed down the side, arms and legs flailing. Down, down, down into the water. In his nightmares, Ted still heard the boy’s screams. Still felt the whisper of his shirt as he tore out of Ted’s grasp.

Ted grabbed a life preserver, tossed it to the river, then dashed to the deck below and dove into the water. Time and time again, he dove, searching. But Ted never found him.

Weak with exhaustion and shaking from the cold, he’d been forced to give up, barely making shore with the last ounce of his strength. He was certain Alex had gotten entangled with the paddlewheel and died.

He collapsed on the bank of the river. As he sputtered water out of his lungs, half-frozen, Ted did what he’d never done before. He prayed. Under the stars, weary with guilt and grief at the terrible end of this young man’s life, Ted pleaded for God’s forgiveness. In a moment of total surrender, he felt the peace of God wash over him. He met God that night and knew he’d never be the same again.

The next morning, Ted made it to the nearest town and heard from a shopkeeper that a young man named Alex had arrived half-drowned after falling overboard. God had brought this second miracle into Ted’s life. He hadn’t caused the young man’s death.

Sick at how close he’d come, Ted boarded the riverboat one
last time. He packed his belongings and got his money from the safe. He’d found Alex huddled over the rail and returned every dime he’d won from him, reminding him that gambling had almost cost him his life.

From that moment with God the night before, he made a clean break from his existence as a riverboat gambler and gave his life to the Lord and never looked back.

In one of the many towns he’d traveled to, looking for a new beginning, he’d met Rose. She wanted the same thing he did. To work the land. To rear a family. To love God. He’d been drawn to her goodness and proposed. He’d found a farm he could afford in New Harmony and a niche in the community. A chance to give back what his father had stolen from the good people of this town.

He and Rose had been content, something he prized. He’d seen little evidence of it in his father’s life and among the gamblers he’d known. He’d grieved when Rose’s life had been cut short. He cared for her and she’d believed in him.

But then gambling hadn’t destroyed Rose’s family as it had Elizabeth’s. Whatever feelings Elizabeth had for him, he’d destroyed them now.

He hurled a small stone into the water. It skipped across the creek then disappeared beneath the surface. Waves flowed out in ever-growing circles wherever the stone had touched. Ted’s silence had produced ramifications that rippled outward, affecting the good folks in this town, all three children but most of all Elizabeth. If only he’d admitted his past.

Well, he couldn’t change that now. Could he and Elizabeth get beyond all the lies? Start anew?

There was only one thing to do.

T
he rope was embedded in the skin of Elizabeth’s hands and feet, cutting off her circulation. She battled against the fear tingling in her limbs and despair clawing up her throat by reminding herself God would protect her. God would save her.

But as she looked into the dark, ominous eyes of her captor, doubt whispered in her ear. Victor Hammer—Vic—demanded money Papa didn’t have.

As he checked her bindings, she caught the sweet scent of whiskey on his breath, the thick stench of sweat, and something more—an odor of desperation oozing off him in waves.

She’d felt that same desperation when she’d come here. Knew it now. The hope fluttering in her chest a moment ago ebbed.

Vic stepped back. He was short, stocky, with a scar that carved like a scythe along his cheek, ending at his downturned mouth. She’d never forget the man or his appearance. That he didn’t hide his face now could only mean one thing. Nausea climbed her throat. He didn’t intend to let her live.

He paced the room, his steps calculated like a panther circling its prey. With each footfall, the gun in his hand beat against his thigh. Tap. Tap. Tap.

She wanted to scream. To run. To do something. But he had all the power, and she…she had nothing.

No, she had the power of prayer. Closing her eyes, she raised her head and sent an entreaty to God.

“What you doing? Praying?” He snorted. “Waste of time. I ain’t letting you outta here. Not until I get paid. I don’t care if Gabriel and his hoard of angels come for me. I need that money. All those riches you’re enjoying are about to be mine.” He snarled. “Your father thought he’d hold me off forever. That ain’t smart. You’re my bargaining chip, to bring in what I’m owed. All of it this time.”

Elizabeth shook her head, fought at the gag, trying to explain they had no money, but her words caught behind the muslin.

Vic smirked. “I don’t care ’bout your problems. Got enough of my own.” He planted his hands on the wall alongside her head, the gun clattering against the plaster. “If I don’t get this money, my family’s tossed out on the streets. All because your brainless father wagers money he don’t have.”

Papa had done this to them. A heavy weight squeezed against Elizabeth’s chest. No, she’d brought this trouble to Ted. To this town.

Lord, help us. Please. Before it’s too late.

Ted gave his children a kiss then plopped Henry on Dan’s lap and helped Anna scramble into the bed of the wagon between the Harper brood. None of the children appeared to grasp the significance of what had happened at the café. Thanks to Rebecca’s quick action, they hadn’t heard much. “Thanks for taking Anna and Henry home with you. If it’s not too late, I’ll pick them up later.”

“Wait until morning. Give yourself a chance to…”

Had Dan been about to say,
to repair your marriage?
If so,
Ted couldn’t see how. But he knew God could change his wife’s heart, as he’d changed Ted’s one momentous night.

Rebecca patted Ted’s arm.
Give her time,
she mouthed.

He nodded and tried to smile, but his lips wouldn’t cooperate. He waited until Dan turned the wagon and drove north toward the Harper farm. Once they were out of sight, he strode to the mercantile where Seymour waited.

He’d asked Elizabeth’s father for a chance to talk to him. The Sorensons had offered their store as a meeting place then gone home. Ted dreaded facing Seymour’s wrath. Not that he blamed him. If Anna ever married a man with Ted’s past, he’d feel the same.

If only he could talk to Elizabeth. But both Jacob and Rebecca had suggested he give her time. “Let her calm down,” Jacob had said. Ted had seen that chilling anger in her eyes. She hated him. Was it already too late for them?

A man who loved God should know better than to deceive. He was a fallen man, a miserable creature who failed God at every turn. What made him think he should pastor a church?

God had.

Well, if God wanted him to pastor, Ted needed His power to resolve this mess.

One step in the mercantile door and Seymour started in on him. “You aren’t worthy to lace my daughter’s boots, Logan! I want you out of her life. Out of Robby’s life.” He jabbed a finger into Ted’s breastbone. “You hear me? Before you destroy my children—”

“Like you did.”

There, he’d called a spade a spade. Not to retaliate, but to push Seymour Manning to face the truth. To face how his conduct, the mistakes he’d made had wounded his family.

Ted’s gaze swept the back wall hung with every imaginable tool, many used to dig, to break up, to cultivate the soil. The
time had come to examine the choices he and Seymour had made, even if that excavation unearthed a shovelful of regret.

Seymour paled. “I’ve changed.”

“Then why can’t you believe I’ve done the same? Nine years ago, I made a clean break with gambling. I won’t go back. Once Elizabeth’s had a chance to calm down, I’m hoping she’ll find it in her heart to trust me.” He swallowed against the lump forming in his throat. “But, even if I lose her, lose everything—I won’t go back to that life.”

If only he could get Seymour to understand God could change a man overnight, as He had Ted. “I love God, Seymour. I want to obey His teachings. I want to do His will. I want to fulfill His purpose for my life.”

Seymour scowled. “Why should I believe a word out of your lying mouth?”

“Why would I want that life? I have my children, my—” his voice caught “—wife. I cherish them. I don’t want them to be ashamed of me, as I was of my father, as I was ashamed of myself for following in his footsteps.”

Ted leaned his hands on the table. Before him lay the bolts of material Elizabeth had selected that first day. He smoothed a hand over the blue gingham, seeing her in that dress, and then paused at an unraveled bolt of black stripe. “Except for God, nothing is more important to me than keeping my family together,” he said quietly.

Seymour rubbed a shaky hand over his eyes. “You’re right.” He sighed. “All these years, I’ve hidden from the truth. It’s far easier to bluff.” His distant gaze filled with regret. “I blamed you and all those I lost money to,” Seymour said. “It was easier than blaming myself. Now my children are paying for my mistakes.”

“I believe God has a plan for us, a purpose.”

Seymour snorted. “What purpose?” His hardened face dropped
away, and a whisper of vulnerability wavered in his eyes, like a man searching for something.

Peace? Forgiveness? Grace? Exactly what Ted had craved before he’d found God.

“You think a man like me has a God-ordained purpose?” Seymour said. “After everything I’ve done?”

Ted laid a hand on Seymour’s shoulder. “I think everyone—”

The door of the mercantile slammed open with the impact of a gunshot. Ted and Seymour jerked toward the sound.

Red faced with exertion, Cecil Moore leaned against the frame, panting. “Someone’s got Elizabeth!”

“Who?” The question echoed from Ted’s and Seymour’s lips.

“A man.” Cecil sucked in another breath, a third. “Says he wants money to free her.”

Someone has Elizabeth.
Oh, God, no.
His heart twisted. His wife was in danger. His mind scrambled to make sense of the threat. “Money, what money?”

Cecil turned to Seymour. “Said you’d know how much.”

The color drained from the older man’s face. “It’s Vic,” he said, his words a horrified whisper.

“Who’s Vic?” Ted grabbed Seymour’s arm. “What’s this about?”

“Vic’s someone I…” The pallor of Seymour’s face gave way to crimson, then resignation. He dropped into a chair and appeared to collapse into himself. “I did this. I…”

And then Ted knew. This was about a debt—a big one. How many times had he witnessed these disputes? How many men had he seen lose their shirts, their horses, their homes? But this involved his wife.

Ted wanted to shake Seymour, demand how he could be so foolish as to lead this Vic to New Harmony, to practically lay a breadcrumb trail to Elizabeth. But Seymour’s eyes had filled with pain, regret and bone-deep worry.

Ted reined in his anger. For now, he and Seymour were on the same side—

The side that would save Elizabeth.

Lord, protect my wife. Show me what to do.

Ted met Seymour’s gaze. “Vic’s here to collect?”

Seymour nodded. “I have nothing to give him. There’s nothing left.” A sob tore from his throat. “He’ll…hurt her.”

Not if Ted got to him first.

The
tick, tick, tick
of the wall clock chipped away at the tenuous hold Ted had on his composure, an unnerving warning that, while he and Seymour talked, Elizabeth was in peril. He turned to go then stopped, as a memory hit him. “Seymour, what’s this Vic look like?”

“Swarthy, short…” Seymour hesitated then turned toward Ted. “Oh, and he has a scar on his face.”

“Right about here?” Ted traced a finger along his left cheek.

“That’s him.”

It had been years, but some men stuck in your mind. Ted could still picture Vic as clearly as if it were yesterday. “Victor Hammer. Gambler, small-time operator.”

Ted had thought him more pathetic than frightening. But get him mad enough and Vic was capable of anything.

He’d once seen him knock over a table and pull a gun when the cards hadn’t gone his way. But Ted wouldn’t say that aloud. Not to Cecil. Not to Seymour. Not to himself.

Seymour slumped forward. “If only she’d married Parks.”

Fire shot through Ted’s veins. Didn’t he care that Elizabeth despised the man? “What does that have to do with any of this?”

“Vic threatened my children if he didn’t get his money. I had to do something to protect them. When Parks agreed to pay the debt in exchange for Elizabeth’s hand—”

“What kind of a father would barter his daughter?”

Seymour jerked to his feet. “A frightened father! Do you think I’d force my daughter to marry that old codger unless I had no other choice?” He threw up his hands. “Wouldn’t you do anything to protect your children?”

“I would do anything
but
put my children’s lives at risk.” Ted shook his head. “I’m sorry. We’re both worried and my temper—”

“No, you’re right. I gambled away everything that mattered.”

“It’s not too late for a second chance.” Ted laid a hand on Seymour’s shoulder.

Seymour’s face crumpled. “I pray to God you’re right.” Tears flowed unchecked down his cheeks.

Ted gave Seymour’s shoulder one last squeeze then turned to Cecil. “Where’s he got her?”

“In the ladies’ club.” Cecil paled. “Ted, he’s got a gun.”

Ted’s mind sped through possibilities. “If I bust in on Vic, he might panic. Hurt Elizabeth.”

Seymour paced the room. He paused and veered toward Ted. “Where are your winnings? Surely you have some of that money left.”

If only he did. “It’s tied up in my farm.”

“Once Vic realizes he’s getting no money, he’ll kill her. He’ll kill my daughter!”

“Not as long as I’m breathing,” Ted vowed. “You and Cecil round up as many men as you can. Have them arm themselves—handguns, rifles, shotguns, whatever they’ve got—then cover the exits to the ladies’club. Don’t shoot unless I give the word.”

Ted clamped on his hat and strode to the door.

Cecil trotted alongside him. “Where are you going?”

“First to the church to ask Jacob to gather everyone he can to pray. Then to the ladies’ club.”

“You ain’t facing him without a gun, are ya?”

God keep her safe.

She needed—they all needed—a miracle. “I’ve got the power of prayer, Cecil,” he said, opening the door. “And the weapons God gave me.”

Ted’s long strides ate up the distance from the church to the ladies’ club. Around him, neighbors took up positions behind a wagon, from a rooftop, alongside a barrel. The town had turned out to help, either to offer up prayers or carry a loaded gun. As Ted knew it would.

Seymour crouched not far from the entrance, holding a pistol. Ready to do whatever he could to save Elizabeth. Even Cecil and Oscar carried shotguns, looking ready to blow Vic to smithereens. Ted’s stomach twisted. He prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

God, I love my wife. Help me get her out of there.

And he was sure that somewhere someone loved Vic. But if not, God did.
Let no harm come to anyone, Father. Not even Vic.

Ted prayed his plan would work. A sense of calm eased the tension in his limbs. With God’s help, he would not fail.

He thought of all he knew about Vic. The man was a wretched gambler. He couldn’t sustain a poker face during a bluff. Or read tells—all the expressions, mannerisms and intonations that gave people away. But that hair-trigger temper of his posed a threat to his wife. He dared not underestimate the man.

Elizabeth’s life depended on it.

Ted banged his fist on the door of the ladies’ club. “Open up! It’s ‘Hold ’Em’ Logan.’”

Ted caught a glimpse of Vic at the lone window in the front of the clapboard building. But he couldn’t see Elizabeth. He covered his eyes with a hand to block the glare of the late-afternoon sun on the glass, searching for his wife. His stomach lurched. Where was Elizabeth?

“That’s my wife in there, Vic. Let her go.”

The man cursed. “Do you have the money?”

“I want my wife. I’m not showing my hand until I’m sure you’re playing fair.”

A pause. Ted’s heart dropped ten times in that moment.

“Guns are aimed at the exits, Vic. The men behind them aren’t in the mood to jaw. Now open up.”

More cursing from inside. Vic sounded close to losing control.
Lord, calm Vic. Show him another way.

Armed men and a sense of God’s protection surrounded him. But where was Elizabeth? His heart stuttered in his chest. Had he hurt her? “I’m unarmed.” He’d speak the language Vic understood. “Face it, Vic. I’m the only game in town.”

Slowly the door inched open. Ted looked down the barrel of a revolver. “It is you,” Vic said. “Raise ’em.”

Holding up his hands, Ted stepped inside. While Vic checked him for weapons, Ted’s gaze swept the room. An overturned chair. The podium askew. Then he saw her.