Читать книгу Cowgirl Under The Mistletoe - Louise Gouge M. - Страница 11
ОглавлениеMicah prepared his notes for the Wednesday night prayer meeting with special care. He must say just the right thing about the outlaws and the local robberies. The people of Esperanza were hardy, stouthearted folk. Otherwise they wouldn’t be living here in this harsh land. But no one ever benefited from their town leaders stirring up alarm. Of course most folks probably already knew about both threats.
Most of the time, only a third of the congregation came to prayer meeting. Some folks lived too far out of town to make a midweek trip. Others only came on Sunday to put on a show. The more involved members of the church knew the importance of praying together, so they made every effort to attend on Wednesday evenings.
After one more prayer for guidance for tonight, Micah made his way from the parsonage to the church, entered by the back door and set his notes on the lectern.
At the same time, Nate and Rand Northam came through the front door, early as always, to set out hymnbooks. Micah walked up the aisle to shake their hands and then glanced over Rand’s shoulder. “Any other Northams coming tonight?”
“No, they all stayed home,” Nate said. “Grace told us about Hardison and his crazy crony, so we moved our wives and children up to the big house so our folks could look out for them.”
“If only I hadn’t killed Hardison’s cousin.” Rand’s drawn expression revealed both worry and sorrow. “He never would have come to Esperanza for revenge in the first place. He never would have noticed our small town.” He shook his head. “Never would have tried to rob the bank.”
Rand had shot the outlaw’s cousin, a wanted murderer, for cheating in a card game in Del Norte over six years ago. Three years ago, Hardison had showed up and tried to charm the community, all the while threatening Rand in private. He’d even come forward in church one Sunday pretending a conversion experience. But his eyes lacked the look of a man whose repentance was genuine, so Micah hadn’t trusted him from the start. In their few subsequent chats, Micah further discerned the falseness of his supposed conversion.
“You’ve been forgiven, Rand.” Micah set a hand on his younger friend’s shoulder. Here was a prime example of true repentance. “You need to forgive yourself once and for all. Besides, as you well know, men like those two don’t need an excuse to do evil.”
Rand’s expression cleared. “Thanks. I have to keep reminding myself that the Lord’s truly and completely forgiven me. Times like this make it harder.”
“Just look at it this way, brother.” Nate poked an elbow into Rand’s ribs. “Mother can’t ever get enough of her grandchildren, so this is her opportunity to spoil them.” He chuckled. “Poor Dad. He won’t have a moment of peace with the three of them climbing all over him.”
“Soon to be four, come December.” Rand’s remorseful expression cleared, and paternal pride took its place. “I’m glad for an excuse to make Marybeth stay with Mother. She always tries to manage things on her own, but Randy’s getting to be a handful, and in her condition...” He stopped and offered a self-conscious grin, as if embarrassed for discussing such a private matter with them. “She needs Mother’s help.”
At the reminder of Rand’s impending expansion of his family, Micah had an odd moment of longing, a yearning even, he’d never felt in all his twenty-nine years. How rewarding it must be to have a wife and children to care for. He’d love to have a sweet little daughter or an energetic little son to rear. Maybe when Miss Sutton arrived, he’d be well on his way to having that family. Only two months until he found out if it was even a possibility.
Forcing such thoughts to the back of his mind, he recalled his discussion with Grace about all things working together for good. Here was another positive thing about Hardison’s escape from prison. Marybeth had to let go of her independent streak and depend upon her kindhearted in-laws for protection.
Micah probably wouldn’t be able to convince Grace that anything good could come from the outlaws’ escape. He hadn’t seen her since Monday, but he did know she hadn’t liked the new bowler hat he’d bought to improve his wardrobe before Miss Sutton’s arrival. Somehow the thought bothered him. Maybe he shouldn’t have bought it, but Mr. Cappello didn’t carry wide-brimmed hats such as cowboys wore, and he needed the business. Micah couldn’t please everyone. Besides, he liked his new look, including the suits he’d ordered from the tailor. Maybe he’d make a few more changes before Miss Sutton arrived. If Grace didn’t like them, he’d have to tease her out of her disapproval.
Other folks began to fill the small church, all moving forward to the front pews to keep the prayer meeting cozy. While the Northam brothers handed out hymnbooks, Micah greeted each person with pastoral affection. These were his children, even the old ones. If he never had a wife or offspring of his own, he would always thank the Lord for giving him this responsibility and joy.
George and Mabel Eberly, Grace’s parents, arrived along with their youngest daughter, Georgia. Grace soon joined them in the second row. She sat sideways on the pew, probably so she could keep an eye on who came into the sanctuary. That protectiveness always impressed Micah. She made a good deputy. A good friend.
Would she still be his friend if she found out his next book was about her? He’d better keep that a secret, just as he’d decided not to let anyone know about his writing. Folks might be offended if they knew he’d created some characters based on them. Worse still, they might no longer trust him as their pastor. Not that he’d ever think of using situations shared with him confidentially. No success was worth betraying a friend.
Rand led the congregation in an opening hymn, and then Micah took his place behind the lectern. As he surveyed his flock, he noticed that every man wore a gun and every woman carried a reticule that drooped as though containing a heavy object. At the same time, every congregant’s expression bespoke peaceful determination. Micah chuckled to himself. He needn’t be concerned about these good folks. They’d look out for one another. In fact, after the prayer meeting, he’d go home tonight and clean his own guns. The men with whom he’d attended seminary in Massachusetts would be shocked, but out here in the American West, Micah wouldn’t be the only preacher who carried a sidearm.
* * *
After the final prayer, Grace’s parents, Georgia and the rest of the congregation filed out of the pews to the stirring tones of “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” a song well suited to the battle that threatened Esperanza. Grace stayed in her seat in the second row because she never tired of hearing Mrs. Foster play the church organ. The kindly old lady’s face always took on a sweet glow while she played, as though the words to the songs came straight from her heart.
Tonight it wasn’t the music that kept Grace seated, but a bittersweet pang. Due to Mrs. Foster’s fine teaching, Laurie had thrived as a piano student well enough to be accepted at the Denver Music Conservatory. After she completed her studies, she might find a teaching position—or a husband, either of which would probably take her away from home forever.
Grace already felt bereft. With Beryl gone for good and Laurie’s return not certain, nothing would be the same around here. Of course Grace wouldn’t want Laurie to pass up an opportunity to teach music someplace else, but she hoped her sister would come home in a year or so and take dear old Mrs. Foster’s place as the town’s music teacher. In spite of her enthusiastic playing, the older lady was growing feeble and often needed help to get her chores done. Just yesterday, Grace had moved into her boardinghouse to be closer to work. Even though she needed to do that, it took her away from her family. Her days seemed to be getting lonelier and lonelier with everyone she cared about moving away or occupied with their own lives.
“You’re deep in thought.” The Rev walked over and sat beside Grace, resting one arm on the back of the pew. “Anything you want to talk about?”
“Nope.” Grace emphasized the word with a shake of her head. Here was another person she cared about who would likely be leaving her. Not going away, but leaving the closeness of their friendship as soon as he found some young lady to court. “Just listening.” She nodded toward Mrs. Foster.
“She certainly has a gift, doesn’t she?” The Rev smiled as the last chord died away.
Mrs. Foster gathered her music, stepped down from the organ platform and followed Grace’s family up the aisle. These days she was still trying to persuade Georgia to work harder at her piano playing, but Georgia never seemed to remember to practice.
Grace stood and settled her gun belt on her hips. “Time to go.”
The Rev stood, too, even though he’d had a long day of ministering to folks in the area before conducting the prayer meeting. Always the gentleman, even around Grace. She appreciated his courtesy since he was the only man in town who treated her that way. Well, except the Northam menfolk, but they didn’t count because they were like brothers to her and her sisters.
“It’s mighty good of you to move in with Mrs. Foster.” The Rev followed Grace up the aisle toward the double front doors. “I’m sure she appreciates the company.”
“You know it’s not just for company. When Hardison tried to court Marybeth, Mrs. Foster did all she could to stop him. The sheriff and I want to be sure she stays safe.”
“As I said—” The Rev gave her that look of his, the one she liked and disliked at the same time, chiding her for not receiving compliments well. “It’s mighty good of you.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t know why she hated to be praised. She just did.
They’d reached the front doors and stepped outside into the cool evening. The Rev’s house was closer to the church’s back door, so he hadn’t needed to escort her out.
“There you go following me again.” She pulled her hat up on its strings and plopped it on her head.
He chuckled, a warm, comforting sound that always made her feel good.
“Actually, I’ve been trying to think of a way to ask you something.”
Her heart stumbled oddly, so she posted her hands at her waist and cocked her head. “Yeah?”
“You know I’m a fair shot with a rifle, but I’ve never learned to fast draw my revolver. Would you teach me?”
She gave him a sidelong look. “You funning me, Rev?”
He laughed out loud. “I’m entirely serious. You never know when it will come in handy, especially with notorious outlaws making threats against our community.”
Grace faced him and crossed her arms. “I’m a little confused. You’re a man of peace. A minister of the Gospel. But you want to learn how to outdraw an outlaw.”
“Outdraw an outlaw. That has a poetic ring to it, however disconcerting the idea behind it may be.” His jolly expression faded. “To tell the truth, I’ve wrestled with the notion and prayed about it for some time. The Lord reminded me that He sent David to defeat Goliath and Joshua to bring down the walls of Jericho, to name only two biblical warriors. I wouldn’t like to take a man’s life, but I do believe it’s no sin to protect good people from danger.”
A sense of wonderment filled Grace’s mind and heart. There was no end to the depth of this man. “Rev, I’d be pleased and proud to teach you all I know about how to draw fast. If it doesn’t snow, let’s start tomorrow morning before the winds get bad.”
“Would Friday work as well for you? I have some folks to visit tomorrow.”
“Friday it is.”
A pleasant sensation warmed her heart at the thought of spending more time with the Rev before he found his bride. As she strode up the dark street toward the boardinghouse, hurrying to catch up with Mrs. Foster, she decided to help the older lady prepare his supper for tomorrow evening. The married ladies in town took turns sending meals to the minister, but they’d deemed it unseemly for the single ladies to participate lest it become a contest to win him through their cooking. Of course, the Rev didn’t know anything about that. Nor did anyone need to know if Grace put some of her own cooking into Mrs. Foster’s basket. She’d have to think real hard to decide which of her special recipes to prepare.
* * *
On Friday, after Grace completed her morning rounds of Esperanza and the surrounding area, she rode out to the vacated ranch northwest of town. A thin layer of powdery snow covered the house, which was little more than a ramshackle cabin, and the grounds, which included the barn and two or three other outbuildings. In a nearby field, straggly cornstalks and a rusted plow bespoke broken dreams of a pioneer family who’d come out here about the time Grace’s father and Colonel Northam had staked their claims and succeeded in building vast cattle ranches.
The Rev waited for her by the corral, so she rode that way. From time to time, she wondered what people thought about her spending time alone with him. Young women of good character always took along a chaperone when they were in the company of a man, even when a couple began to court. Yet no one had ever mentioned such a thing to Grace, as if they weren’t concerned about her reputation. Or didn’t consider her a lady. While it made her deputy job easier, something always nagged at the back of her mind about it, not to mention causing a dull, foolish ache in her chest. But since the Rev had reminded her that the Bible said all things worked together for good for God’s people, He must have planned for her to be tall, plain and gawky so she’d make a good deputy.
Before leaving home this morning, Grace had made up her mind to enjoy his company for as long as she could before he found himself a wife. So as she rode into the barnyard, she summoned up a happy disposition more like her sister Maisie’s than her own.
“Mornin’, Rev.” She pasted on a big smile as she dismounted from Mack, her black gelding, and ambled over to him. The Rev wore his black Stetson, looking more appropriate for today’s task than he would in that ridiculous bowler.
“Good morning, Grace. It’s a great day for shooting.” The Rev held a small burlap sack that clattered like it was full of tin cans. “Let’s see how many of these we can knock off the fence.” He nodded toward the corral.
“Good idea.” Grace helped him line up the cans on the top rail. “You know, Rev, these cans won’t be shooting back. Are you sure you can face a man who’s trying to gun you down?”
He grunted. “Not at all sure. As you well know, it would be a real test of mettle.” His eyes lit up with a look she took for admiration, just not the kind she’d begun to wish for. “A test you passed quite admirably three years ago, young lady.”
A silly streak of gladness jolted through her at his calling her a lady, especially considering her earlier thoughts. She stared down at her boots and kicked at a rock. “Didn’t exactly have a choice back then, did I? It was them or us.” And they’d nearly killed Beryl, a tragedy Grace had never been able to shake off, even after Beryl recovered and went on with her life.
“Yes, it was. And we all need to be ready to protect one another just as you did the first time Hardison and Smith came to town, especially since they might be bringing their gang with them.”
“Then let’s get to it. The wind will be kicking up pretty soon.” Grace had a feeling these lessons weren’t really necessary, but at least it gave her more time with the Rev. She would take all she could of that.
* * *
Micah wished he could convince Grace that nobody faulted her for the shoot-out at the bank. She’d saved lives that day, not to mention every depositor’s bank account. But like Rand, when the memories came back, she let them get to her. As her pastor and friend, he would continue to seek the Lord’s guidance in encouraging her. So often she shrugged off his compliments.
What would it take to give her more confidence? Was there any way he could help, or should he leave that up to their female friends? Once he was married, he wouldn’t have to worry about such things; all the more reason to marry soon. If Joel’s sister turned out to be the Lord’s choice for him, Micah would soon be able to set aside such concerns when counseling young ladies. His wife would always be nearby to ensure propriety.
“First of all,” Grace interrupted his thoughts, “you need to lower your gun belt.” She demonstrated by adjusting her own to a comfortable drawing level.
Micah did as she said and then tucked his frock coat behind his holster. “Like that?”
“Yep. Now show me how you draw.”
Suddenly self-conscious, Micah had an unexpected memory flash before his eyes. His older brother had always dared him to do this or that and then taunted him for not performing perfectly the first time. He dismissed the memory. Grace might tease him, but she wouldn’t criticize. He gripped the handle of his gun and quickly slid it from the holster, then fanned the hammer with his left hand, firing off three rapid shots. Each time his hand hit the weapon, it threw off his aim, and not one shot struck an empty tin.
“Uh-huh.” Grace’s tone held no condemnation. “Mind if I ask where you learned that?”
He cleared his throat, and his face warmed. “Last July Fourth at the fastest draw contest.”
“Uh-huh,” she repeated. “Sometimes cowboys like to show off with that style because they think it looks fancy. But if you ask ’em, they’ll admit it’s a little hard on the gun’s action. Plus their six-shooters need fixin’ real often. Anyway, it’s not even the fastest draw.”
“Ah.” Micah returned his Colt Peacemaker to its holster. “And I fell for it. All right, you show me the right way.”
She gave him a brief nod and stepped away several paces from him. “Thumbing is the best way. You grip the handle and at the same time place the tip of your thumb on the hammer.” She demonstrated as she spoke. “As you begin to draw, let your thumb roll off the inside of the hammer. At the same time you’re drawing, get a full grip on the handle, aim and squeeze the trigger.” Her Colt .45 fired three times before Micah could blink, and three tin cans flew off of the fence.
He whistled in admiration. “I see what you mean.” He slowly went through the smooth motions, returned his gun to his holster and then drew quickly but without firing. The roll of his thumb seemed the key because it had to bring the hammer back and yet not hold it there. The pull of his trigger finger felt instinctive. On his third draw, he fired, knocking a can from its perch.
“Good job, Rev.” Grace seemed about to slap his shoulder, but turned the gesture into a strange little wave. “Most folks can get the hang of it with one lesson. You have the advantage of being real good with your rifle. I didn’t have to remind you to keep your eye on the target.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Warmth spread through his chest. Her approval meant a great deal to him. Maybe she wouldn’t mind if he confided in her about his plans for courting. After a few more fast draws, a reload and a few more cans scattered across the corral, he holstered his gun. “I think we’re done here, but I’ll keep practicing. May I buy you some ice cream as a thank-you?”
An odd, almost vulnerable look crossed her pretty face. “I’d rather have some of Miss Pam’s pie.”
“If we’re going there, we’ll just have dinner. What do you say?”
She shrugged in her endearing “aw-shucks” way. “Sounds good.”
While Micah retrieved the battered cans from the corral, he spotted fresh hoofprints in the smattering of snow. “Say, Grace, I didn’t think anyone was living here.”
She strode over to him and eyed the ground and then knelt down to trace the wider-than-normal horseshoe print with a slight indention on one side. “Hmm. Could be our man Hardison. Could be a drifter taking shelter last night.”
She stood and walked toward the half-open barn door. Micah followed her inside, and they both looked around. The unusual hoofprint wasn’t repeated, and nothing caught their attention as being disturbed.
Outside again, Grace tilted her head toward the run-down cabin and spoke a little louder than necessary. “Well, let’s get back to town.” She drew her gun and walked toward the wood frame abode.
“Good idea.” Micah also spoke loudly, while the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Had they been watched the whole time they were shooting?
Grace again tilted her head, this time toward the side of the cabin. Micah nodded and ambled around the corner to peer in through a shattered window. The room held broken-down furniture, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
From the other side of the room came the screech of a rusty-hinged door opening, and soon Grace appeared in the room. She caught his gaze and shook her head. “The snow on the porch didn’t have any prints, and the dust hasn’t been disturbed in any of the rooms, so I reckon nobody’s been in here.”
Micah nodded his agreement. Every afternoon, the wind blew a new coat of dust over the entire San Luis Valley, so those fresh hoofprints could only be a few hours old.
He met Grace by their horses. “Why would anyone want to ride into a corral like that if they weren’t going to take shelter in the barn or the cabin?”
“Maybe some drifter stopped to see if there was any hay in the barn.”
“Could be.” Micah heaved out a quiet sigh of relief. The idea that they might have been watched had unnerved him, and yet Grace had remained as cool as an autumn day. Most girls he’d ever known were skittish as colts about such things. What a woman Grace was! He felt privileged to be her pastor and her friend.
* * *
The Rev didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get back to town, so Grace kept Mack’s pace to a moderate walk. After a few hundred yards, the Rev seemed inclined to talk, so she gave him an inviting smile.
“Something on your mind?”
He chuckled in that way of his that always put her at ease. “I could use your advice.” He tilted his Stetson back on his head a ways. Once again, she felt pleased that he hadn’t worn his dandified bowler hat. That thing sure did annoy her, though she couldn’t say why she concerned herself so much with his appearance.
“About shooting?”
“No. I think we covered that this morning.” He gazed east across the San Luis Valley toward Mount Blanca, which was nearly snow-covered despite it only being October. “I have guests coming to visit from Virginia around the first of December. Joel Sutton’s a childhood friend. After the war, he and his folks were the only people who remained friendly. The rest treated my family badly because my uncle fought for the North.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Some in the South continue to fight the war even though it’s been over for almost twenty years. Even my decision to attend seminary in Massachusetts angered many people, and they didn’t want any part of me after I graduated. Couldn’t get hired in a church, no matter how many I applied to.”
Grace shook her head in disgust. The war wasn’t his fault. In fact, he was truly a man of peace. Those people didn’t know what they were missing to reject him that way. “Their loss is Esperanza’s gain. Now tell me about this Joel Sutton.”
The Rev leaned down to pat his horse on the neck, a gesture Grace found endearing. He took care of his horse just like he took care of the folks in his congregation and anybody else who needed a kind touch, including her. “Joel and I have been corresponding for a few years, and now he wants to come out here, he and his sister.”
Grace didn’t need for the Rev to tell her the rest. This sister was probably a gracious Southern belle like Susanna Northam, all pretty and petite and just what the Rev needed in a preacher’s wife. But if all things worked together for good, then Grace should assist him all she could. Maybe she’d even play matchmaker and help him get the job done.
“So, are these folks going to stay at the hotel, or should I see if Mrs. Foster wants to take in a couple of new boarders?” Grace liked that plan. She could get the measure of the woman and decide if she was good enough for the Rev.
“No, I think they should stay at the parsonage. I have those two extra bedrooms, and they’re rarely put to use.”
Grace held her breath and counted to ten while she considered how to answer. “Will you be comfortable with a single lady staying in your home?”
“I’m not sure. That’s why I wanted your advice. Do you think anyone will be offended, considering that Joel will be there, too?”
For some odd reason, Grace wanted more than anything to say yes, the whole town would be offended. That by all means, Joel and his sister should stay someplace else. Anyplace else. But she couldn’t lie. Nor could she explain her reservations about the plan. After several seconds of listening to the clop of their horses’ hooves and an occasional bird calling out from the thickets along the road, she sighed to herself.
“Well, Rev, we don’t have a whole heap of gossips around here, and most folks don’t pay them any mind when they do speak out of turn.” She had to force a smile as she finished her thought. “I think you should have your friends stay at your house so they don’t have to pay rent. Maybe that sister can feed you some fine Southern cooking and put some meat on your bones.”
Why had she said that?
He sent a worried frown her way. “You think I’m too thin?”
Oh, my, no. Not thin at all, and certainly not the opposite. He appeared as strong as any hardworking cowboy, although she had no idea how a preacher who read books and visited the sick all day could be so well put together. She also had no idea why she’d made such a foolish remark about putting meat on his bones. The local ladies kept him well fed with their best cooking. Now, how could she turn this into teasing?
“Naw, not too thin.” She grinned. “Just on the edge.”
He laughed. “Don’t say that to Mrs. Foster. She already sends over enough food for a small army.”
“I’ve noticed that.” Grace chuckled. After some serious thought last evening, she’d decided to put four pieces of her special fried chicken into Mrs. Foster’s basket. Of course he had no idea, and Mrs. Foster had promised not to tell. Not that Grace meant anything by it. She was just trying to be helpful. That was all. Yet it pleased her that he hadn’t complained about last night’s supper.
* * *
“She did something special with that fried chicken last night.” Micah could still taste the mouthwatering fare. “Best I’ve ever eaten.”
Grace looked away quickly, and Micah followed her gaze westward toward the San Juan Mountains, seeing nothing of significance.
“Something grab your attention?”
“Nope. Just checking the landscape.” She gave her familiar dismissive shrug, but when she faced toward town again, she seemed to be fighting a smile.
Maybe she was embarrassed about her comments regarding his health. Ladies and gentlemen didn’t usually discuss such matters. And yet Grace always spoke the truth, painful or not, so Micah had a feeling she might be right about his condition. He’d always vowed not to become a flabby, indolent preacher, like some he’d met. However, being too thin wasn’t any healthier. So far he’d managed to stay fit, but maybe he needed more exercise.
Very few people knew that, weather permitting, he rose early six days a week before anyone else was out and about so he could run around the outskirts of Esperanza. After that, he lifted the barbells Bert, the blacksmith, had made for him, which he kept hidden in one of his extra bedrooms. He’d have to find a new place for them before Joel and Miss Sutton arrived. Would have to find another place to do the lifting. Maybe when he ran, he needed to add another lap around town.
Other than Bert and the sheriff, no one seemed to know about his exercising, which was just as he preferred it. Like his writing, he kept his exercise private, a part of his life that belonged to him alone. Once he married, he’d tell his wife, of course. But for now, he did what he had to do to keep up with the hardy folks in his congregation. No one needed to know how he managed it. In fact, telling others about it might seem boastful. And surely his cowboy friends would laugh at him for having to go out of his way to stay strong and healthy while their normal work kept them in fine fettle. Not that he minded teasing. Their good-humored remarks made him feel even more a part of the community. But he would still keep his exercise a private matter.
“I hope Miss Pam still has some of her beef stew left,” Grace said as they dismounted in front of Williams’s Café. “I didn’t realize how late it was.” She nodded toward the brand-new clock tower above the bank. “One thirty. The pickings will surely be slim.”
Before Micah could voice his agreement, Mrs. Winsted barged out of her store two doors down from the café.
“Grace, where have you been? I couldn’t find the sheriff, either.”
All business now, Grace hitched up her gun belt and strode over to Mrs. Winsted. “What happened?”
Stifling his surprising disappointment that their time together would be cut short, Micah followed her onto the boardwalk and focused his attention on Mrs. Winsted.
Hands fisted at her waist, the older woman glared at Grace as though her troubles were the deputy’s fault. “Why, I’ve been robbed again, and this time it’s even worse.”
