Prairie Romance Collection Read online

  In life, he had never looked as peaceful as he did at the moment of his death.

  Ethan splashed cool water on his face and stared into the mirror on the wall even though he could see only a dim outline of who he was in the dark. It was better that way. He didn’t want to look a killer in the eyes. He put his wet hand on his aching left arm and looked down at the bottle of laudanum the doctor had given him. He’d stopped taking it, so if his recurring nightmare didn’t disturb his sleep, the persistent ache in his arm did.

  Would it comfort Laurel to know that at the end her pa was at peace? Would she want to hear it from him? Or had Ethan imagined the peace to ease his own conscience? If death brought peace to Mr. Rivers, did that make his own misdeed less atrocious?

  He’d relived that day over and over and always came to the same conclusion. If he hadn’t fired, Mr. Rivers might have killed an innocent person in his agitated state before coming to his senses. Mrs. Turner had been in the bank with her three children.

  Ethan had done the right thing. He just wished he had been accurate—for the first time in his life. Lord, help me put this all behind me. Show me I did the right thing. And please help Laurel to see that, too, and to forgive me.

  He sat down at his upright piano, lifted the lid, and caressed the keys. Did she enjoy her song? He looked up at the blank sheet of paper propped on the piano and freed his left arm. Doc had told him not to use it at all for at least a week, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t need the written music. It was committed to heart, so he played the notes softly in the dark. When he got to the last one, he continued playing, adding a new line. He lit a lamp and wrote it down. Why couldn’t he have done that before he’d left the song for Laurel? He’d tried to figure out another line, but nothing had come; he’d decided that was all there was and had left the sheet of music for her on the piano in the church.

  After writing in the second line, he filled in the first. A drop of ink fell on the edge of the sheet. He blotted it with his finger, smearing it slightly.

  Ethan put his fingers to the keys again and played through the first two lines, hoping to continue. He tried several things, but nothing sounded right with the beginning. He tried to force the notes to cooperate. He struggled the remainder of the night to add to the melody. Nothing came. It was done, then.

  First thing in the morning, before work, he would rush the new sheet of music over to the church. Hopefully Laurel hadn’t seen the other one yet.

  At daybreak, he walked to the church and crept inside. He came early to avoid the risk of anyone catching him, especially Laurel. His music was set on top of the piano. Had she seen it? She must have. He’d left it right on the stand. She had to have moved it. Had she bothered to play it? Or had she simply cast it aside as unimportant?

  He put the new sheet in the center of the music stand. She couldn’t miss it.

  Lord, please let this song touch her in some way. Let her know I care.

  Laurel hummed the song that had become dear to her heart as she wiped crumbs from the cutting board after supper. Two more lines of music had been added on separate days this week. The song soothed her aching soul and allowed the healing to come gently. She could feel it. Thank You, Lord.

  “That’s a lovely tune.” Minister Howard stood in the doorway holding the supper tray. “I don’t recognize it. What is it?”

  Minister Howard had taken a tray up with plates for his family, since Mrs. Howard missed eating with them. Laurel didn’t blame her. If Laurel were her, she would want to eat with her family, too, but she had no family. That left her to eat by herself, but she didn’t feel lonely doing so. She had the song playing in her heart for company. It surprised her how comforting it had become. The song was her own special gift from the Lord. “It doesn’t have a title yet.”

  “Did you compose it?”

  She shook her head. “It’s a tune I committed to memory.”

  “Who did compose it?” He set the tray on the counter.

  Should she tell him that someone was sneaking into the church and leaving it? No harm was being done. “I don’t know.”

  He seemed satisfied with that. “Thank you for supper. It was delicious. You will make someone a fine wife.”

  Ethan’s face immediately popped into her head. She mentally shook it away. “You’re welcome.” She hoped she got the chance to be someone’s wife one day. “Minister Howard, can I ask you something?” He nodded. “The piano at the church—does anyone else play it?”

  He squinted his eyes in thought. “Not that I know of. Why do you ask? Is something wrong with it?”

  “No, nothing wrong. I was just wondering.”

  He headed for the door. “Tommy fell asleep, so I put him in bed.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you. Your being here is a godsend.”

  She didn’t want to say it out loud, but she had to. “Minister Howard, you should know that Mrs. Howard still doesn’t want me here. If you want me to leave, I will.” There. She’d said it.

  “Nonsense. I’ve noticed a marked improvement in Mrs. Howard’s health since you arrived. She has more color in her face. She’s just not used to sitting back while someone else does her work.”

  That was a relief. She’d felt like a stowaway all week, knowing how Mrs. Howard felt. But Mrs. Howard’s contention toward her was a result of more than just her inability to do her daily chores.

  On Pa’s grave, a single dried firewheel flower lay next to her own dried bundle of bluebonnets from the funeral a week ago. Who else had been there? And why? She looked around, but she was alone.

  She discarded the dry bundle but left the single dried firewheel. Someone had cared enough to leave it. But who? It didn’t seem right for her to be the one to take it away, so she laid down her fresh, colorful bouquet of rose vervain, winecup, foxglove, and butterfly weed. The sweet fragrance settled around her.

  “Pa, I’m sorry for not coming back sooner. I’ve been busy since … you left. I’m staying with the minister and his wife. Mrs. Howard hasn’t been able to keep up with her chores in her condition, so I’ve been doing a lot of catching up for her. It’s awful hard work, but I don’t mind so much. It keeps my mind off things.” She thought of it as her duty.

  “To be honest, Pa, I’ve been avoiding you because of my guilt, not over your shooting Ethan—I mean Mr. Burke—but over not mourning you as I feel I should.” Tears filled her eyes. “I miss you so much it aches, but I’m not sad at your passing.” She drew in a shuddered breath. “I know it sounds mixed up, but you went away inside yourself so long ago.” She wiped her cheeks with her ma’s old embroidered handkerchief. “I’m going to California as soon as I pay the debts just like you promised Ma.” She fingered Pa’s watch in her pocket. “I love you, Pa.”

  Pa’s struggles in this life were over after nearly a year of fighting with his sorrow, but she would see him again in heaven. Jesus had left the ninety-nine sheep to come rescue her pa from his pain. His suffering was finally over, and he was in a far better place.

  She opened the church door, the cool, dark interior a peaceful solace. Propped up on the music stand was the hymn in progress with another line of notes. She rubbed her finger on a smudge of ink on the side and smiled. There were two different sheets of music after all. The one with the smudge and the one without. When the smudged one had disappeared, she’d thought the composer had made a fresh copy and discarded the other. But he was using both.

  Whoever was writing this song was writing it at another piano or in his or her head. Should she write something back? My longing heart has found solace. As she had hoped Pa had found at last in death. The Lord had given her a measure of serenity in this simple piece of music. But why was the composer adding such small chunks? Why not write the whole thing and then leave it? Why leave it here at all? She didn’t really care why. She was just grateful to have it.

  Once she had bathed in the song, she turned to the hymnal. The music Mrs. Howard had chosen was once
again some of the most difficult she’d tried. Someday she might be as good as Mrs. Howard, but today was not that day.

  Laurel hated what she was about to do. But was it any worse than finding out what Pa had done? She took a deep breath and steeled herself as she entered the mercantile.

  She stood at the counter with Tommy on her hip. Mrs. Jones eyed her sideways as she measured out red gingham yard goods for a woman. She’d always wanted a dress of red or green gingham. Maybe in California.

  She would rather Mr. Jones helped her. He seemed a touch more compassionate toward her plight, but he didn’t seem to be nearby. Mrs. Jones was probably hoping she would go away. Well, she wasn’t, so she waited.

  After helping two other customers, Mrs. Jones turned to her. “You’d best have money if you’re wanting something, even a pickle. I don’t run a charity.”

  There would be no pickle today. “I have money.”

  Mrs. Jones squinted her eyes as though not believing.

  “I’m here on Mrs. Howard’s behalf.”

  “How is Roberta doing?” Mrs. Jones’s sneer softened.

  “As well as can be expected, now that she’s able to rest.”

  “It’s a wonder.”

  Laurel bit her tongue to keep from making a snide remark back. “Mrs. Howard made out a shopping list. She asked if you would mind putting the prices and total on the list for her.” She handed the list and money to Mrs. Jones as instructed.

  Giving a knowing nod, Mrs. Jones went about filling the order.

  Laurel also knew the reason for the prices and total. She hated the distrust. She’d always been an honest person, and she would prove herself trustworthy to the citizens of Hollow Springs. This is a lot to bear, Lord. How much more before I break?

  Mrs. Jones made the notations on the list then handed it back with the change. “I’ve noted the money Roberta should receive.”

  How humiliating. “I’ll see that she gets every penny.” She grasped the handle of her shopping basket and left.

  Ethan stopped her outside. “Laurel.”

  She liked the way her name sounded on his lips. It soothed her ire. Maybe he didn’t hold Pa’s actions against her after all, but still she could do little but stare at his arm cradled in the white sling, a stark reminder against his dark suit. “Mr. Burke, I hope you are healing well.” It wasn’t exactly the apology she knew he deserved, but at least he knew she held concern for him.

  “It’s feeling better.” He touched his arm but didn’t linger over it. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

  Tommy wiggled out of her arms. She held his hand as he stood next to her.

  “Bug.” Tommy pulled his hand free and sat on the boardwalk to watch the ant crawling along the wood.

  “I was there that day in the bank … with your pa.”

  She riveted her gaze back to Ethan’s sling. As if she wasn’t already painfully aware of that fact. “Yes, I know.”

  “I was beside him when he … died.”

  Tears welled in her eyes thinking of Pa and the way he died—from a plan of his own making. Were things so bad he had to resort to robbery and violence?

  “Just before…” Ethan looked to the ground then back up to her. “The pain…” He seemed unsure of what to say.

  If tears hadn’t closed her throat, she would have spared him from going on.

  “…seemed to disappear, and he had a look of pure peace on his face. He whispered, ‘Katherine,’ then just closed his eyes.”

  Pa had thought of Ma. The thought warmed her. At peace, and with Jesus and Ma. Her prayer answered.

  “I just thought you should know.”

  Tommy screamed.

  She spun to see him on his hands and knees in the dirt just off the boardwalk. She set her shopping basket down, lifted him up, and put him on the edge of the boardwalk. Tiny rocks and dirt were embedded in his chubby hands and knees.

  Ethan wetted his handkerchief in the watering trough and handed it to her.

  She tried to wipe Tommy’s small hands, but he just reached out to her and gripped her around the neck. She lifted him, and he whimpered near her ear. His tears and slobber soaked her neck. “I should get him home.” She held out the handkerchief to Ethan.

  Ethan held up a hand. “You may need it later.” He picked up her shopping basket. “Do you need some help?”

  She took the basket. “It’s not far. I can manage.” She’d caused him enough pain and misery, or rather Pa had. Besides, he shouldn’t be lifting or carrying things with a bullet wound.

  She was halfway to the minister’s house when she realized she hadn’t thanked Ethan for telling her what he had. Next time, Lord.

  Chapter 5

  Laurel pulled her shawl tighter as the wind whipped her hair around her face. She wouldn’t have gone out at all if she hadn’t been anxious to see if the mystery composer had added any more to the hymn. Two new lines had been added last week and one on Monday. She also needed to practice more before Sunday.

  As she reached for the handle on the church door, someone called her name. Alonzo Chavez came toward her with a brown paper-wrapped bundle under one arm. “Señorita Rivers, these shirts you can fix.” He handed her the package.

  “You want me to mend some shirts?”

  “Sí. One shirt needs buttons. One shirt needs new cuffs.”

  “Shouldn’t you have Miss Menendez do that for you?”

  “You do this. I pay you.” He started to walk away. “But—”

  He held out his hands as he walked backward. “Por favor.”

  “Are the buttons in here?”

  He nodded. “The old shirt there, you use parts of it.” He turned and hurried off as the first drops of rain began to splatter; the dry, thirsty earth swallowed them with hardly a trace on the surface.

  She scurried inside. That was odd. Was Rosita Menendez not skilled with a needle and thread?

  She set her shawl and the package on the front pew and went to the piano, hoping for another line of music. Not one but two lines. Her heart danced then suddenly stopped. Bittersweet. Since the staffs were all full, the melody was finished now; there would be no new lines to look forward to. But still the author had not signed it or titled it.

  Would the composer take the music away now that it was complete?

  Why would someone write this song elsewhere and leave it here? If the composer didn’t play here and no one else played here except her… Someone was going to a lot of trouble to make sure she found it. Was the song truly meant for her? Was someone writing her a song? Was it the Lord Himself? She shook her head. He wouldn’t need two separate sheets. “Lord, I care not from whence this music comes, but I thank You.” She raised her hands to the keys and played the first four lines by heart then plucked through the last two lines several times until she had them perfect.

  Ethan settled into the second pew from the front on the piano side, close to the outside edge. He’d discovered this seat gave him the best view of Laurel without making it obvious that he was watching her. The piano bench sat empty, and the pews were filling. Where was she? It had to be about time.

  Laurel walked in the side door. As she took off her shawl, Minister Howard spoke to her. She nodded and sat then stopped suddenly as she looked up at the music stand. She quickly tucked the sheet of music behind the hymnal.

  Does she like the new addition? Did she read it? As with the melody, he’d been given only one line of lyrics, but at least he knew others would come. He understood the Lord’s pattern now.

  He felt the worship to his innermost being with Laurel’s playing. Something he’d never felt with Mrs. Howard’s. But then, he wasn’t in love with Mrs. Howard.

  As soon as the opening three hymns were through, Laurel gave a nod to the minister, scooped up her shawl, and slipped back out the door.

  She wasn’t staying? Disappointment settled in his gut like a hot coal. Mrs. Howard must need her. Would she come back this afternoon to play the song? Did she ever p
lay it? Did she care?

  Yes, he believed she did play it; otherwise, why would the Lord be having him write it for her? He was sure she would be back to play it. He waited outside the church all afternoon so that when she did come back and play it, he could hear her.

  She never came.

  Laurel lay awake, disappointed and exhausted. Tommy had been sick. The poor tyke just wanted the comfort of his ma, but Minister Howard didn’t want to risk Mrs. Howard’s health or the welfare of the baby. Laurel had had her hands full all day and hadn’t been able to go back over to the church to play the piano. She’d desperately wanted to know what the line said. She’d been too stunned to read it and in too much of a rush. At least she knew the music wouldn’t be taken away… just yet.

  The sooner she slept the sooner she could go back to the church, so she let the exhaustion consume her.

  In the morning, Tommy behaved as though he hadn’t been sick yesterday, running around and eating a larger than normal breakfast. Minister Howard was staying home today, so Laurel left the breakfast tray upstairs. She wanted to run into town before Mrs. Howard started loading her down with additional chores.

  She knew she should run her errands first so that she could sit and enjoy the music and study the words, but she couldn’t wait that long. She hurried up to the piano. The words were still there. “‘I am here for you through everything,’” she read aloud. She held the sheet to her chest and closed her eyes. No matter her circumstances, the Lord was with her.

  Thank You, Lord, for this reminder.

  It didn’t take much to memorize the words. “I’ll be back.” She set the music back on the stand and walked into town.

  Laurel looked through the bank window. Ethan Burke was talking to the sheriff. She would run her other errand first. She went to the barbershop and paid Mr. Adams what she’d been given from playing piano and went back to the bank. Thankfully, the sheriff was gone. She took a deep breath then opened the door. She hadn’t been in the bank since Pa had died there.