Prairie Romance Collection Page 9

  Poor Mrs. Howard—to lose so many children before they even had a chance in this world. And then to have her mental condition on top of that. She understood all too well about a loved one no longer being the person he or she once was. Such a cross to bear. “How long until the baby is due?”

  “About eight weeks or so. I’ve been praying powerfully hard for this child. I fear Mrs. Howard might not be able to handle losing another.” He turned and left the room.

  But she’d caught the sheen in his eyes that he’d tried to blink away. A loss would likely be as hard on him. She sat down at the table and prayed for grace and mercy to blanket the minister, Mrs. Howard, the unborn babe, and little Tommy.

  Once she finished in the kitchen, Laurel climbed the stairs to the room she would be sharing with little Tommy. Her heart ached for family, but she’d lost everyone. She desperately wanted to belong but had no one. The loneliness seeped deep inside as she unpacked her traveling bag. She opened Pa’s pocket watch, and the photograph of Ma and Pa on their wedding day blurred before her. Once she cleared her vision, she pulled the picture free. A small lock of Pa’s ashen hair lay with Ma’s cinnamon curl. “I’ll take you both to California. It’s where you wanted to be.”

  She dressed and curled up in bed, wishing she were seven again in Pa’s lap, crying into his chest over the cruel words of the other schoolchildren. He would stroke her long cinnamon hair and promise her that everything was going to be all right, that Jesus would make everything better. That was the pa she lost the day Ma died. Then it was no longer Pa she imagined holding her, comforting her, but Jesus. She sobbed silently in the darkness until she fell asleep in her Savior’s arms.

  Chapter 3

  Laurel confiscated the last piece of bread and jam with which Tommy was painting the table—and himself. “I think you’re done with that.” She ruffled the boy’s hair then dumped the mashed bread into the slop pail. As she came back with a cloth to wipe Tommy’s face, Minister Howard entered the kitchen.

  “Mrs. Howard hasn’t finished with the tray you brought up, so I left it. I’ll be out all day but back for supper.”

  “I’ll have it ready.”

  “Thank you. Could you choose four hymns, three for the beginning of the service and one to close? Mrs. Howard always did that. Whatever you pick will be fine. I’ll be speaking on forgiveness.” He kissed Tommy on the top of his head and walked to the doorway then turned. “I can’t tell you the amount of comfort it gives me knowing you are here for my wife.”

  She wished poor Mrs. Howard could feel the same.

  “She’s just going through a difficult time right now.”

  Mrs. Howard wasn’t the only one. But Laurel couldn’t dwell on her own hardships, or she’d be stuck in that muddy place Pa had been for nearly a year. She couldn’t think too long on being orphaned in an unwelcoming town in a strange part of the country where she knew next to no one and had no place to go, no home.

  “In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.”

  She had to focus on her blessings, though she couldn’t think of any at the moment. But then she looked up and saw the roof over her head, felt the food in her stomach and the clothes on her back. Next to the Lord, wasn’t that all she really needed?

  She cleaned up Tommy, set him on the floor with his blocks, and headed up the stairs to retrieve the tray. She had put off long enough facing Mrs. Howard without the minister there. Knocking softly on the door, she opened it. Mrs. Howard lay on her side with her back to the door. Please let her be asleep.

  Laurel tiptoed in and took the teacup off the nightstand, setting it on the tray on the floor, but left the glass of water. She lifted the tray. On top was a sheet of paper labeled Hymns for Sunday. How thoughtful. Maybe Mrs. Howard was warming to her after all.

  Laurel finished up her chores in the kitchen then took little Tommy for a walk to tire him out before she stopped at the church to practice for Sunday service, two days away. The songs Mrs. Howard had chosen were some of the hardest she’d ever tried; she must be far more proficient. Not having played in a long time, Laurel chose easier, more familiar hymns, hoping Mrs. Howard wouldn’t mind.

  When she finished, she still felt alone and wrapped her arms around herself. She needed a great big bear hug from Pa, but the closest she could hope for was a hug from Tommy. She went over to where he lay sleeping on her ma’s granny square shawl and scooped him up. “Time to go,” she whispered. She dreaded returning to a place she wasn’t completely welcome, but she had nowhere else to go. Even so, she really was grateful for the Howards’ generosity.

  Laurel’s stomach was all aflutter as she sat on the piano bench. The small rustic clapboard church was so different from the church with stained-glass windows and padded pews she’d come from in Maryland. She waited for the minister’s signal to start. She hadn’t played in front of anyone in so long and with so little practice. She had wanted to come over early and practice before anyone arrived, but taking care of Tommy and making sure Minister Howard had a filling breakfast had consumed all her time. Now she had to make do and trust in the Lord.

  Shoe soles scuffled on the worn wood floor. People looked her way then whispered to those close to them. They would be scrutinizing everything she did, every mistake she made. She knew they could pressure the minister to have her removed. But she needed this job. She would show them that God could still use her. Dear Lord, help me play for You and to forget about all these people waiting for me to make a mistake.

  She swung her gaze to the minister, who was talking to Mr. Jones at the side of the pews. She let her gaze travel the room, and it froze on Ethan Burke. When he looked at her, she looked away. He was the reason she’d wanted to stay in town. Now she couldn’t even look at him for the shame she harbored inside. She needed to ask his forgiveness on behalf of Pa, but how could she if she couldn’t bring herself to face him?

  Had someone just spoken to her? She turned and found Minister Howard staring at her.

  “You may begin.”

  “Oh.” She put her fingers to the keys and took a deep breath. Please let me play well.

  She made it through the first line but stumbled over a note in the second. People were singing, so she hoped no one noticed. Being in front of the town was harder than she’d thought. She usually loved being in church, but today she couldn’t wait for it to be over so she could leave.

  Ethan ached for Laurel as she missed another note. She was so tense. It didn’t help that people had come in whispering behind her back like circling vultures. He hadn’t expected to see her here today. Her presence here took all the courage and inner strength that he heard in her playing.

  She played the notes with all her heart and soul. The music had emotion. Mrs. Howard’s playing was technically perfect, but there was no life in it. Laurel put her whole being into it.

  Minister Howard spoke on forgiveness. Ethan could tell that the minister was wanting the people of Hollow Springs to forgive Mr. Rivers for what he’d done and, in kind, forgive Laurel. He noticed a great deal of shifting and slouching in the congregation as the minister spoke about removing the log from your own eye before removing the speck in your brother’s, and about forgiving others so God can forgive you. But forgiveness was slow in coming in this town—if it came at all. Like the time Kenneth Kline was drunk and accidentally shot Widow Olson’s goat, thinking it was a deer. Kenneth eventually moved away.

  Then the minister seemed to speak to him, though he never looked directly at him, and discussed forgiving oneself. How could he do that? He’d killed a man, and the townspeople hailed him as a hero. He was no hero, just the unfortunate soul who’d had the misfortune to pull the trigger.

  After the service while the congregation filed out the door, Laurel played softly through the final hymn again. He let the melody wash over him. He would wait until she was finished to approach her.

  As the last note hung in the air, Laurel closed the lid to th
e keys. Here was his chance. He headed toward the front, but she scooped up her shawl and slipped out the side door at the back.

  He scrambled to the front and followed her out, but she was already almost to the minister’s house. He watched her long hair pat her back as she hurried away. It was clear that she hated him. He’d suspected it, but now he knew.

  After preaching on Sunday, Minister Howard took Monday off, leaving Laurel free to run her errands without little Tommy along. With her handbag clutched tightly, she hurried to the hotel. At the door she stopped and took a deep breath. She hoped Mr. Gonzales wouldn’t be offended at her small offering toward Pa’s account. She opened the door and walked to the counter. Mr. Gonzales was registering a man and his young daughter. She stared at the little girl clinging to her pa’s side. Sorrow lodged in Laurel’s throat. The man handed the room key to his daughter and picked up the two larger suitcases. He looked down proudly at his daughter taking charge of the smaller bag and headed up the stairs. Longing ached deep inside Laurel.

  “Miss Rivers, is there something I can do for you?”

  She took a small amount of money from her handbag. “I’ve come to make a payment on my pa’s bill. I know it’s not much. I can even pay a little more if you need me to.” She’d wanted to make a small payment on each of Pa’s debts, but if Mr. Gonzales wanted more, she’d give him the whole sum and pay on the others next week.

  He pushed her money back across the counter to her. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “But my pa did.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t understand. Your bill has been cleared.”

  Cleared? “Someone paid it for me?”

  “Yes, miss.” “Who?”

  “I can’t rightly say.”

  “I want to thank them. Let them know I’ll pay them back.”

  “The person doesn’t want to be paid back. And I think he knows you are grateful.”

  “But who would do such a thing for me?”

  He just shook his head.

  Obviously Mr. Gonzales had been sworn to secrecy, and she wouldn’t push him any further. “Mr. Gonzales, the next time you see my benefactor, would you tell him thank you from me?” She turned to leave but stopped. “And tell him I’d like to meet him and thank him in person.”

  Well, that would make paying off her other two obligations go faster. She walked to the mercantile. Mrs. Jones looked down her long, narrow nose at the money Laurel set on the counter. “I know it’s not much, but—“

  Mr. Jones stepped over. “You don’t owe us anything. Your account here has been settled.”

  Again? “By whom?”

  “We are not at liberty to say.”

  Who was clearing her debts? “Will you tell the kind person thank you for me? And that if I knew who he was, I’d thank him in person?” In spite of their frowns, her spirit buoyed. She couldn’t think of one person in town who would do this for her. Everyone avoided her and looked away as though ashamed and appalled. Just as the Lord Jesus had paid the price for her sins, someone was paying Pa’s. Thank You, Lord, for the kindness of a stranger.

  She headed across the street to the barbershop and bathhouse. “Mr. Adams, do I still have a bill here?”

  He ran the straight edge of the razor up Mayor Vance’s neck then wiped it on a towel before looking up at her. “Four bucks.”

  So her benefactor hadn’t found her last debt. She was glad in a way. It would give her a chance to show the citizens of Hollow Springs that she was not the bad person they thought she was. And maybe a certain bank clerk would see it, too. “Here is a small part of what my pa owed you. As I earn it, I’ll pay the rest.” It shouldn’t take her more than a month to settle this account. Then she could start saving to purchase a stagecoach ticket and move on to a town where the people didn’t know her story. There she could earn money for a train ticket to the West Coast.

  Mr. Adams took her coins and put them in his pocket. “I appreciate that.”

  “I hear Hank over at the saloon is always looking for pretty girls,” Mr. Toole said, waiting for his turn for a shave.

  She felt her cheeks warm. She would let them lock her up in jail before she’d work there.

  “We don’t need any of that, Silas.” Mayor Vance shot him a stern look.

  She didn’t know what to say after that, so she hurried out the open door and crashed into Ethan Burke.

  Ethan gripped his wounded arm and sucked in a breath through his teeth.

  Laurel gasped, her eyes widening. “I’m so sorry.”

  He nodded.

  “Are you hurt?”

  He straightened and took his hand from his arm. “I’m fine.”

  His hard-set jaw told her he was trying to hide the pain she’d inflicted. Or was he still angry with her over what Pa had done to him? “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “I said I’m fine,” he hissed through gritted teeth, a grimace on his face.

  She backed away. “I’m really sorry.” It was bad enough that Pa had shot him; she didn’t have to hurt him, too.

  Ethan held his breath as Laurel walked away at a brisk pace. He wanted to call her back and tell her he was fine, but the truth of the matter was, he wasn’t fine. The pain that shot through his arm had caused sweat to bead on his lip and forehead. He’d probably popped stitches again. It had happened the second night when he had the nightmare that had haunted him every night since.

  He walked to Doc Benson’s office and slumped into a chair.

  Doc came out of the examination room and shook his head. “What happened this time? You didn’t roll over on that arm again, did you?”

  “No. Just a little accident. I got clumsy. I may have pulled a few stitches out.” He took his hand from his arm. Crimson tinged his shirt.

  “That you did. Come on in.”

  The pungent medicinal odors in the room stung his nostrils. He held his breath for a moment but was then forced to breathe in the smells.

  “Sit.”

  He sat on the table.

  Doc helped him remove the sling, rolled up his sleeve, and slowly unwound the dressing. “Looks like all you did was tear her open. I don’t see any signs of infection.”

  The bullet had barely missed the bone but had ripped his flesh wide open. He thanked God again that his wound was minor and that there was still no infection. Mr. Rivers hadn’t been so fortunate.

  “Is the laudanum helping with the pain?”

  He hesitated. “I haven’t been taking it.”

  “Why on earth not? Do you miraculously have no pain?”

  “No. It makes me lethargic.” He didn’t like feeling tired and in a semi-dream state. The stuff tasted awful, to boot. And what ached more than his arm, the laudanum wouldn’t help.

  “Well, I’ll offer it anyway. You want laudanum before I clean this and stitch you back up?”

  “I’ll pass.”

  Laurel fell to her knees at the front pew. “Please, Lord, heal Ethan’s arm. Don’t let him be in much pain. And please let him know I didn’t mean to run into him and hurt him.” She knelt there for a long while pleading for Ethan Burke and crying.

  When she’d exhausted her heart, soul, and mind, she stood and walked to the piano bench. A single sheet of music stood on the music stand, a carefully hand- drawn staff, with notes only on the first line. She picked out the tune in her head then opened the lid to the keys and played the notes. She played it again and let it wash over her until it was embedded in her heart. The notes caressed her and wrapped around her like a toasty warm hug on a chilly night. It was a natural tune, flowing and simple but with a depth in the chords. The piece, however short, ministered to her soul, as well as to her aching heart.

  She looked for an author, but there was no signature.

  “Thank You, Lord, for this small blessing in the midst of my trials.”

  Chapter 4

  Ethan saw the glint of the Colt.45 and pulled the bank’s.45 out of the drawer behind the counter, coiling hi
s finger around the trigger. He raised it up and fired a moment after a flash exploded from the end of the other gun. Burned gunpowder accosted his nostrils. Through the haze of smoke he could see red soak through the front of the bank robber’s shirt as he fell to the ground. He wanted to go to the man, but his legs wouldn’t take him there. Then suddenly he was at the dying man’s side and putting his hand on his chest. The bleeding wouldn’t stop.

  Mr. Rivers grasped Ethan’s shirtfront with a bloodstained hand. “Laurel will never love you now.”

  He sat up with a start and moaned, tossing back the covers with his right arm, the sling holding his left arm to his chest. A cold sweat dampened his body. Oh, Laurel. He scrubbed his face then stared at his free hand. He rubbed it down the side of his nightshirt then went to the washbasin and poured some water. Though the only physical blood on his hands that day was his own, he could feel Jonathan Rivers’s blood in every line and crack. He’d scrubbed and scrubbed, but the feeling would never go away.

  His nightmare was different in another way. In reality, Mr. Rivers hadn’t mentioned love. He’d looked at the hole in his tan shirt grow red with blood; then he’d looked at Ethan with the utmost sorrow, as though he’d come back to his senses, out of some crazed delusion, and realized what he’d done. He’d looked directly at Ethan and said, “I’m sorry,” then dropped to his knees.

  Ethan had dropped his gun and come out from behind the caged counter, gripping his left arm and kneeling beside him. “I only meant to shoot the gun out of your hand.”

  Pain contorted the dying man’s face as someone eased him to the floor. His gaze locked with Ethan’s. “Tell … Laurel…”

  He waited. “Tell Laurel what?” He wanted to tell Mr. Rivers not to die but knew the request would be futile. “Tell Laurel what?” Tears pooled.

  The pain seemed to leave, and a smile touched Jonathan Rivers’s mouth. A peace settled on his face as he whispered, “Katherine,” then closed his eyes.