Читать книгу The Angel and the Outlaw - Kathryn Albright - Страница 8

Reverend Crouse yanked sharply on Jericho’s reins to avoid a large dried rut in the dirt road, yet their carriage still bumped through the edge, jostling Rachel to one side. She grabbed her seat and smiled gamely. “I hope after all this, we find them at home.”

“I don’t know where else they would be. Light keepers as a rule must not leave their lamps unattended.”

“Well, that gives us a place to start, then,” she said, thinking of her brother and how easily he slipped out of sight whenever he wanted to. “Trying to tie Caleb down and keep track of him is not easy.”

Reverend Crouse chuckled. “It may seem that way now, but you’re doing the right thing. Caleb will be the better for it in the long run. He’s not a bad boy, he just needs direction.”

“I suppose.” Rachel sighed, thinking her brother more and more showed signs of being like his father. “I’m glad you had chores for him to do today.”

“Terrance Morley stopped by earlier. He has things Caleb can help with at the mercantile.”

She shook her head. “Caleb needs something physical. He’s never been one for being cooped up inside. Often he talks about joining up with the whalers. And I’m afraid he might. That would suit him.”

The reverend skirted another deep rut where rainwater had gouged out the quickest path to the sea several hundred feet below. To Rachel’s left glistened the deep-blue waters of the harbor, and to her right the ocean stretched out unbroken to the horizon. Stunted light-green sagebrush and chaparral lined both sides of the road, struggling to keep a foothold in the dry ground. No homesteads broke the monotony of the single dirt road they traveled, a road that striped the ridge of the peninsula like the line down a lizard’s back.

Jericho pulled the carriage up one last rise and the lighthouse came into view. The sandstone house and tower stood sharply defined against the brilliant blue of the Pacific sky. Two short chimneys straddled the peak at each end of the two-story roof, the far one emitting small burps of black smoke. The light tower rose straight up through the center of the roof’s peak. She searched the black iron catwalk that circled the lamp for any sign of the inhabitants.

The reverend stopped Jericho at the picket fence that surrounded the lighthouse and enclosed a small, barren yard and the shriveled remains of a garden. “He’s home, all right,” he murmured, his eyes focused on the opening door.

Mr. Taylor stepped outside, his shoulders dwarfing the size of the doorway, his mouth set in a tight scowl as he slipped his shoulder suspenders into place. He wore a cream-colored muslin shirt, open at the collar on this warm and windy day, and dark brown pants that, as his clothes yesterday, appeared serviceable.

A small thrill went through her. What was it about this man that his very presence commanded attention? Would he lump her with all the other people from town? Most likely. She sat straighter in her seat, the urge to prove him wrong infusing her with courage. She wasn’t here for him, but she did need his support regarding his daughter.

“Hello. Mr. Taylor, is it?” Reverend Crouse climbed from the carriage. “I’m Reverend Crouse and this is Rachel Houston, the schoolteacher in town. We’ve come to invite you and your child to Sunday services.”

If it were possible, the light keeper’s scowl deepened further. His gaze flicked to Rachel, still seated in the carriage, and then settled back on the reverend. “Then you’ve wasted your trip, Pastor. I’m not on speaking terms with God.”

The blunt reply surprised Rachel, but the reverend seemed unruffled. “If not for yourself,” the reverend continued, “surely you want your daughter growing in the faith.”

Sarcasm twisted Mr. Taylor’s mouth. “I’m certain the good people of La Playa want nothing to do with her or me. You must have heard about what happened at the mercantile.” This time his stormy gaze settled on Rachel.

She swallowed hard, unable to look away, and felt her heartbeat quicken.

“An unfortunate incident, to be sure,” said the reverend as he swept off his black-brimmed hat. “You’ll find Hannah is treated better in church.”

Taylor turned back to Reverend Crouse, and Rachel took the moment to descend from the carriage and approach the two men. “That has not been my past experience.”

Reverend Crouse’s silver brows knitted together. “We are not a group of perfect people. Everyone is welcome in God’s house.”

Mr. Taylor didn’t answer, but his eyes hardened to blue slate. He folded his arms across his chest. “Look, Pastor, I mean no offense, but it’s best if you just leave. It’s too bad you had to ride all the way out here just to hear me say no, but no it is.”

The reverend shrugged his shoulders and gave a brief smile. “There is always that chance in my line of work. However, my job is to sow the seeds. Only God can make them grow.”

He seemed on the verge of continuing in the same vein, but then pulled back. “Very well. I won’t press you further. Remember, though, the invitation stands in the event you change your mind.”

“Good day, Pastor.”

“One more thing,” the reverend continued, smoothly filling in the awkward quiet. “We are planning to hold the annual community picnic here in a few weeks. You weren’t here last year, so I wanted to forewarn you.”

Taylor pressed his lips together. “Thanks for the warning.”

Concern softened Reverend Crouse’s eyes. “You’re welcome to attend, of course.”

Mr. Taylor nodded his acknowledgment.

“Come, Rachel.” The reverend started back to the carriage along the hard dirt path.

When she didn’t move, Mr. Taylor’s steely gaze fastened on her. She swallowed hard. He made it difficult to breathe, let alone speak. It seemed he really hated their intrusion into his life. “I…I brought something for Hannah.”

Conscious of being watched, she walked to the carriage boot, and withdrew her present. She’d wrapped it in a large scrap of brown cloth to protect it from the dust on the trip. Perhaps Mr. Taylor would be angry about the gift. Perhaps it would remind him about the incident in the mercantile and he’d refuse it. She hadn’t thought of that when wrapping it, and now that made her nervous. But when she turned back to him, she caught a glimpse of his daughter peeking around the door frame. Curiosity and shyness warred on the young girl’s face, and Rachel’s confidence grew. This wasn’t about Mr. Taylor. It was about the girl.

Returning to stand in front of him, she unwrapped the cloth to reveal a papier-mâché doll. Pupilless glass eyes stared up at the light keeper from under painted brown hair. The doll was not new—spidery, hairline cracks ran along the chest and shoulders—but Rachel hoped Mr. Taylor would let Hannah have it. She drew back the cloth further to reveal the green satin gown that had dressed the doll at the mercantile. “The dress fit perfectly. I thought Hannah might give my doll a good home.”

Mr. Taylor’s brows drew together. “We don’t want your charity.”

“That’s good, because I’m the least charitable person I know,” she said, her anger surfacing. “You’ve already paid for the dress. Sarah sits in a box under my bed day in and day out. She needs a little girl to play with again.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of girls at your school. What about them?”

Frustration knotted within her. “I want Hannah to have Sarah.”

He continued to watch her silently.

She was not going to back down!

“Do you bribe all children this way?”

He would think such a thing! She struggled to keep her voice low so that Hannah would not hear her anger. “You, sir, are being ridiculously suspicious of a simple kindness. This is not a bribe. And I do not appreciate your rudeness over a simple gift!”

“Perhaps I’ve had a little experience with Greeks bearing gifts,” he said. But he turned to stare at his daughter in the open doorway. Hannah’s heart-shaped face was filled with anxious hope. Tangles of blond hair fell over her thin shoulders and onto the same brown dress she’d worn at the mercantile. Timidly, Hannah inched down the stone walk to stand behind her father.

Rachel glanced up at Mr. Taylor but his closed expression told her nothing. A shiver stole through her as she watched him. He was a formidable man, standing a full head taller than her, and she was not a small woman. Yet, he hadn’t actually refused the gift. She squatted to the child’s level and then held out the doll. “This is Sarah. She was my doll when I was little. I brought her for you.”

Hannah glanced up at her father and then slowly reached for the doll, her eyes filled with wonder. She pressed Sarah against her in a hug.

Rachel smiled and let out the breath she’d been holding.

She rose and met his gaze, determined to ignore his surliness. “I know you said church is out of the question. Would you consider school? Hannah is old enough to be in the first or second grade by now.”

His look of incredulity gave her his answer even before he spoke. “Absolutely not.”

“Mr. Taylor, you can’t keep her isolated out here. She’ll never learn that there are decent people in this world. She’ll always expect the worst.”

Anger flashed in his eyes. “Hannah. Go back inside.” He held up a hand, forbidding Rachel to speak again until Hannah had done as she was told. When his daughter was at a distance that she could not hear him, he turned to Rachel. “You were there. You saw how they treated her! They talked as though she couldn’t hear.”

Rachel remembered all too well the lack of empathy in the mercantile. She was still upset at her friend, Amanda. “It bothered me, too,” she admitted. “They just need to get to know her. If you were to bring her to school, I would take extra care with her. You must know that this constant isolation is not good for her.”

Her words hung suspended in the air between them.

His eyes narrowed, but he seemed to consider her suggestion for the space of an instant. “Prove it. You tutor her.”

Startled, she met his gaze. “Tutor her? But that’s not what I meant!”

He waited, watching her closely.

The thought took hold. Could she do it? She had so little teaching experience, and Hannah was not an ordinary student. Did she have what it would take to help her? She swallowed hard, intrigued with the idea.

She met his gaze. Was that hope in his eyes beneath the hardness? Perhaps he was reaching out. In his own way, he was asking for help and she suspected he was a man who seldom asked for anything. He confused her—and he fascinated her.

But how could she agree to his offer? If the school board got wind of any arrangement, she’d lose her job for sure. They wouldn’t see it as her teaching Hannah. They’d see it as an unmarried woman visiting an unmarried man—without an escort. It could jeopardize her employment at the school.

“I…I’m sorry, but I haven’t the time,” she said, her excuse sounding weak, even to her ears. “As I said, bring her to school. I’ll see she’s looked after and not hurt by the others.”

He shook his head. “Why should I trust you any more than the others?”

“I guess you have no reason to. It’s just tha—”

“Just forget I asked. I’ll teach Hannah what she needs to know.”

“You must understand, Mr. Taylor—”

He shut her out. “The reverend is waiting. You better leave now.”

She felt her chance slipping away. “Mr. Taylor. I really do want what’s best for Hannah.”

“You’ve made your point, Miss Houston. Apparently, we’re at a standoff. I won’t change my mind.” He walked past her and then headed to the carriage where Reverend Crouse waited.

Well that didn’t go as planned, she thought. Disheartened, she followed him and let him help her up onto the burgundy-cushioned seat. Her fingers tingled where he steadied her with his callused hand. Unsettled, she busied herself adjusting her skirt about her knees even as she felt him continuing to study her. Then her curiosity got the better of her. “The other day at the mercantile…”

He nodded curtly, listening though she sensed he was impatient for her to leave.

“What did you mean when you said I should believe everything I hear?”

“Why don’t you ask that friend of yours? She seemed to know it all.”

“I prefer to know the truth.”

He just stared at her.

She refused to be baited—handsome or not—and plunged on. “Amanda said you killed your wife.”

Beside her, Reverend Crouse inhaled sharply and grabbed the reins. “Rachel! That’s quite enough. I believe we have just overstayed our welcome.”

Stubbornly she notched up her chin. “If one can call this a welcome at all.” She wasn’t about to back down. Mr. Taylor had dared her. “She said you escaped from prison.”

The light keeper leveled his gaze at her and she felt a twinge of remorse.

“Isn’t there something in the Bible about gossip, Reverend?” he asked. Suddenly, with the flat of his hand, he struck Jericho’s rump. The horse bolted.

“Oh!” Rachel grabbed her hat with one hand and the edge of her seat with the other, holding on tight as the carriage careened away from the yard.

Reverend Crouse struggled with the reins for control and finally maneuvered Jericho into a jerky canter down the dirt road. They neared the rise and Rachel glanced back, fervently hoping Mr. Taylor’s palm stung like the bite of a ruler against bare skin. To her keen disappointment, he snapped an obviously fine-feeling hand to his brow in a mocking salute.