Molly Noble Bull (4 page)

A middle-aged man in a dark suit came out and stood on the porch. The preacher? Lucas didn’t want to find out. He stepped up his pace. Hurrying down the street, he didn’t look back.

By the time Lucas reached the livery stable, his breath was coming in gasps. Then he coughed.

The room used for blacksmithing jobs smelled of smoke. Ben Kraken stood in front of a heavy anvil mounted on the stump of a big oak tree. He was hammering a piece of iron into a horseshoe.

“Good afternoon,” Lucas said from the doorway.

Ben must have heard him, but he kept on working. His hammer hit the metal again.
Whop!
The metal glowed red-hot.

Even on such a cold day, the room was sweltering. Lucas unbuttoned the top button of his jacket and stepped inside. Ben raised the heavy hammer again. When it came down against the soft metal and the anvil, another loud metallic bang rang out.

Lucas stepped closer. “I said hello.”

“I heard ya.” Ben glanced at Lucas out of the corner of his eye. “Good afternoon. Or it will be—if you came in to pay what you owe me.”

Lucas felt his temper rising, but he feigned a pleasant expression. “My niece run off with all my money, and I come lookin’ for her. What else could I do?”

Ben Kraken lifted the hot iron with a pair of long-handled tongs and dropped it into a tub of water. The water sizzled. A puff of gray smoke spiraled upward.

Lucas took a step back from the tub. He had a deep need to punch Kraken in that big nose of his until it bled. Hearing Ben speak in mocking tones and with such a lack of respect was galling. Nevertheless, to get what he wanted out of the man, Lucas would hold back. For now. He could settle the score later.

“Do you know if Honor took the stage somewhere?” he asked in a calm voice.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Lucas stepped forward again. His hands clenched into fists, and his wrath grew, but he held his tongue. Looking Kraken right in the face, he glared at him. “Why won’t ya tell me, Ben?”

“Word gets around.” Ben looked down at his work, ignoring the rage that Lucas could hear in his own voice. “The whole town knows how you treated your wife and that poor girl.”

Ben pulled the horseshoe from the water with the tongs, then turned and thrust the metal into the forge. The blaze licked the iron, crackling and popping. Red and yellow sparks flew.

Lucas jammed his hands deeply into his pockets to prevent them from flying out as fists. “But if I don’t get my money back,” he pointed out, “how was you expecting me to pay ya?”

Ben dragged the iron from the fire. “Knowing you, I doubt I’ll get paid anyway.” The metal had turned a bright
red. Heat radiated from it. Ben took the horseshoe back to the anvil and reached for the hammer. “Besides,” he said, “if I can help that girl a little, I will.”

Lucas gritted his teeth. Kraken was asking for it. He counted to ten, trying to calm down. Then twenty. At last he asked, “Did a stage leave for Pine Falls early yesterday morning?”

“As a matter of fact, one did. And somebody robbed it,” Ben said. “I had to send out another coach to take the folks on to Pine Falls.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“If they were, I don’t know about it,” Ben said shortly.

“I guess I’ll ride over to Pine Falls, then, and take a look around. See what I can find out. And thanks for your help.”

“The best thing you can do for me, Scythe, is to get out of my livery stable. And don’t come back without my money.”

Lucas stood in the doorway, glowering at the back of Ben Kraken’s head. He fought the desire once more to punch him and keep on hitting until Kraken cried for mercy.

Lucas turned and headed to the saloon. He
really
needed a drink now. If necessary, he wasn’t too proud to wash dishes.

When he’d saved enough to buy a bottle of whiskey, he would ride on over to Pine Falls. The trip would take a day or two—maybe more. If he took it slow and easy, his mare should be able to make it all the way.

Maybe he would post a “Wanted” sign in the saloon. He thought for a moment. What should a sign like that say?

Pondering, he scratched his right ear. Twenty dollars. Thirty. That’s it, thirty.

WANTED

Miss Honor McCall for stealing from Lucas Scythe. Thirty-dollar reward for information on her whereabouts.

Lucas spent the rest of the day and most of the night working at the saloon. When the bartender wasn’t looking, he snatched a few drinks. During his supper break, he printed a sign on a piece of wood with some black paint he found in the storeroom.

He kept a close eye on Mitch. When Lucas saw the bartender escort a rowdy drunk outside, Lucas took a hammer, nails and the wooden sign, and sneaked to the pine wall at the front of the saloon where other signs were posted, looking for an available spot. A vacant square of discolored wall was right in front of the door.

Lucas nailed his sign to the wall with one whack of the hammer. Then he crept back to the kitchen and started washing dishes.

When the saloon closed for the night, Lucas stepped up to the bar to get his pay. Mitch handed him a few small coins.

“Is that all I get?” Lucas asked.

“Sorry, Scythe. I saw you steal drinks when you thought I wasn’t lookin’.”

“Have a heart, Mitch, and give me a whole bottle. I reckon I’ll do anything to get it,” Lucas wheedled. “Why, I’ll promise to come in early tomorrow and work until closing time again if you’ll give me a bottle of whiskey. Is that a deal?”

“You think you know how to get what you want, don’t ya.” Mitch shook his head like someone who didn’t want to believe what he’d just seen and heard. “All right, I guess I could give you one bottle. But you better be here tomorrow. Early.”

“You can count on me.”

Lucas rode home, chugging down whiskey as he went. He finished the bottle before falling into bed. With nothing in his belly but liquor, he fell asleep immediately.

Honor opened her eyes and sat up. She was in a bed in a clean room, but had no idea how she’d gotten there. A sharp pain in her head and a wave of nausea caused her to consider lying back down, but she didn’t want to give in to the discomfort.

Rose-print curtains framed the windows, and a cool breeze came into the small bedroom. A cast-iron stove stood in one corner, with a stack of wood nearby, but no warming fire blazed in it to take the chill from the air.

Glancing around, Honor noted a carved, wooden headboard, and a rose-cushioned chair with oak arms, placed beside the bed as if a guest was expected. A middle-aged woman of average build suddenly appeared in the doorway. She had salt-and-pepper hair and wore a white apron over a dark blue dress.

“Good morning,” she said in a welcoming tone. “I’m Regina Peters, the reverend’s mother.”

Honor blinked. “Is it still morning?”

“It’s morning, all right,” came the cheerful reply, with a sunny smile. “But you arrived yesterday around noon.”

“Yesterday?” Honor pressed a hand against her forehead and felt some sort of bandage. She wanted answers—explanations, though she barely felt able to ask questions.

“What happened to me?” She lay back against the soft pillow.

“You were on the stagecoach coming from Falling Rock when the stage was robbed,” the woman said. “Afterward, they brought you to Hearten, to my boardinghouse to rest up, and I dressed you in one of my nightgowns.”

Although she’d never seen Mrs. Peters before, there was something about her that reminded Honor of Aunt Harriet. Maybe it was the warmth in her gray eyes and the way the edges of her mouth lifted when she smiled. There was kindness in the woman’s face—just as there had been in Aunt Harriet’s—and Honor felt drawn to her.

At the thought of her late aunt, a wave of sadness swept over Honor. Her beloved only relative had died, and Honor had run away from…

Lucas.
She sat up in bed again, her heart pounding.

Mrs. Peters came to the bedside and pressed her hand gently on Honor’s shoulder. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing,” Honor answered quickly. “Has anyone been asking for me?”

“No. But if you’re upset, I can’t blame you. Bumps on the head are no fun. Being robbed isn’t, either.”

“Robbed?” Honor’s hands began to shake. “Was I robbed?”

Mrs. Peters nodded.

Honor remembered getting out of the stagecoach, but nothing after that. She’d planned to mail whatever money she had left back to the church in Falling Rock, but now she had nothing and no way to begin to repay what she’d stolen.

“I know you must have a lot of questions,” Mrs. Peters said softly. “And I’m sure my son will answer every one of them just as soon as he gets back to the house.”

“Where is Reverend Peters?”

“He went over to our church to check on things. A preacher’s work is never done. But he’ll be back before you know it. The church is just down the road.” Mrs. Peters patted Honor’s shoulder again. “Why don’t you lie down and try to rest until he gets here? Or would you like something to eat? I have warm chicken soup in the kitchen. Would you like some?”

Honor shook her head. “Maybe later. But thank you for asking.”

“You know,” Mrs. Peters said, “according to my son, you’re a very nice person.”

“Me?” Honor put her hand to her chest.

Mrs. Peters nodded. “My son is a pretty good judge of character, and I just know he’s right about you.”

What would Mrs. Peters say if she knew Honor had robbed the collection plate from a church? The preacher might
think
he was a good judge of people, but he wasn’t. Nobody knew that better than Honor.

H
onor woke the second time that day to the scent of roses. A white vase filled with flowers sat on a table at the end of her bed. She guessed that Mrs. Peters had brought in the arrangement while she slept. When she heard a noise in the hallway she turned her gaze to the doorway.

Jeth Peters entered the room. “So, how are you feeling?” he asked warmly.

“Fine.” Honor tried to return his smile, but all she could think about was how stiff he looked. With his hands behind his back and his legs planted apart, he reminded her of a toy soldier—one of the tin men she played with as a child.

She liked the look of his dark curly hair and his blue eyes, but he seemed so self-conscious and uncomfortable in her presence. Could it be that all preachers turned into toy soldiers when alone in a room with a woman? Honor pulled the covers higher on her neck lest he become even more embarrassed.

“You took a big whack on the head,” Jeth said. “We’ve been worried about you.”

We?
Who did he mean? Could Lucas have come here while she was sleeping? A chill ran down her back. “Who’s ‘we’?” she asked.

“Me, my mother, Mr. and Mrs. Carr, the stagecoach driver, and almost everybody else in Hearten.” He moved to the table at the end of her bed and pulled a pink rose from the arrangement. “Mama sure likes flowers. In the spring and summer her garden is full of them.” Jeth offered her the rose.

Honor waved a hand, refusing his gift. Lucas had given her aunt flowers whenever he’d wanted something in return. Honor had nothing to give.

As Jeth continued to hold out the pink flower, she saw that it was made of silk. So the scent she’d noted was rosewater. How had she not realized such an obvious fact immediately?

Honor looked back at Jeth. “Would you mind telling me exactly what happened? I still don’t remember much.”

Jeth returned the flower to the vase. Facing her, he again stuck his hands behind his back. “When you got off the stage, one of the outlaws caught you trying to hide your money and hit you over the head with the butt of his gun. Our entire congregation is praying for you.”

“Was anyone else hurt?”

He shook his head, and she saw his shoulders relax a little. “The rest of us did exactly as the robbers said to do—especially after we saw what happened to you.”

Jeth paused, as though he expected her to reply. When she didn’t say anything, he stepped to the window near the foot of her bed and turned his back toward her.

Honor sat up. The pain in her head had faded slightly. “The elderly couple—Annie and Simon—” She swallowed. “Can you tell me…?”

He turned briefly, gazed at her, and then peered out the window again.

Honor wondered what he found so interesting out there. All she saw was brownish-green grass, trees, and a few clouds in a blue sky.

“What would you like me to tell you?” Jeth prompted.

She hesitated; she’d almost forgotten what she had planned to say. “Oh, about the Carrs. How are they?”

“They’re fine. Except that, like you, they lost all their money.”

When he turned back to face her, Honor flinched. It had happened again. For a moment, she had thought she was looking at her uncle instead of at Jeth. Why did she keep seeing a resemblance? The two men were nothing alike.

“The stage company honored the Carrs’ tickets,” Jeth continued, “and they caught another stage to Pine Falls.” He took a step toward her. “They sure hated to leave before they found out how you were doing.” A wrinkle appeared on his forehead. “How
are
you doing?”

“My head hurts. Other than that, I’m all right.”

“Frankly, I’d be a little surprised if your head didn’t hurt—after the smack you got.”

A jumble of questions swirled in her head, but in her present state, she had trouble sorting them.

“You said the stage company honored the tickets of the other passengers?” she finally managed to ask. “Will they honor mine?”

“Of course.” White teeth gleamed in his smile. A lock of thick brown hair fell across his forehead. “In fact,” he added, “your ticket is waiting for you down at the stage office here in Hearten. As soon as you’re able to travel again, you can pick it up.”

“I’m ready now.”

“No, Miss McCall, you’re not.” He shook his head firmly several times. “Dr. Harris wants you to stay in bed for the rest of the week.” Jeth stepped to her bedside and touched her forehead. “Well, at least you don’t have fever.”

His palm felt rough on her skin. Weren’t preachers supposed to have smooth hands? The only real work they had was to preach a sermon on Sunday and preside over a funeral or wedding every once in a while.

He stepped back from the bed and adopted his soldier stance again, hands behind his back. “When you’re well enough, we’ll see about getting your ticket.”

“But I want—”

“No ‘buts.’ Doctor’s orders. In the meantime, try to enjoy your stay here—and my mother’s cooking.”

“I have no money to pay—”

“We know, and it’s all been taken care of.”

“How?” Honor felt a twinge of alarm. “Who paid for my room and board?”

“The Lord did,” he said.

That sounded too unlikely to be believed. “Would you please explain how God was able to do that?” she asked.

“The money came directly from the collection plate at our church,” Jeth explained. “But it really came from the Lord.”

“Why would God give me anything?” she asked.

“Because He loves you, that’s why.”

Honor shook her head doubtfully. The preacher must be just talking his line. God could never love someone like Honor McCall.

After Jeth left her room, Honor considered what he’d said, and she thought about the terrible irony of her situation. She was being supported by money from one church’s collection plate, after stealing from the collection plate at another church.

She’d done a terrible thing. Yet God was rewarding her with goodness. It didn’t make sense.

The sun shone high in the sky by the time Lucas woke up. When he climbed out of bed and crossed the room to draw the curtain, he saw two riders coming up the road.

Not those grave diggers again, he hoped.

As the riders grew closer, he realized they weren’t the Brown brothers after all. One of them looked too small to be a grown man, and the other was heavy and stout, with carrot-colored hair and a red beard.

No matter who they were, Lucas wasn’t in the mood for visitors. He closed the curtain and turned back to his bed. When a knock sounded at the door, he considered ignoring it, but curiosity captured him. He got up and headed through the kitchen to the small parlor.

Lucas opened the front door. Cold air blew inside. A thin layer of frost covered his front porch. And a man and a boy he’d never seen before stood there, staring into his face.

“Mr. Scythe,” the man said, “I’m John Crammer.” He
glanced at the skinny, blond boy. “This here is my little brother, Bobby.”

The brothers wore tattered dark coats and caps. Puffs of smoke seemed to come from their mouths, their breaths visible in the wintry air.

“Someone told us you put a sign up in the saloon,” John Crammer said, “offering a reward for information on Miss Honor McCall. Is it true?”

“It shore is. Have you seen her?”

“Maybe.” John took a step forward as if he expected to be invited inside. His black boots crunched on the icy porch. “I seen a young woman get on the stage yesterday headed for Pine Falls—the one what was robbed.”

“Was she my niece?”

“I can’t rightly say, sir, but I think so. I knew Honor when we went to school together in Falling Rock—but that was back before she dropped out.”

Lucas held the door open only a crack, to keep out the cold wind. “My late wife taught Honor to read and write here at home. My Harriet was a former schoolteacher, you see, and a smart woman.” Lucas had kept Honor close to home most of her life. Not many in town knew her. Apparently, John Crammer was an exception.

John shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Mighty sorry to hear about your wife’s death,” he said.

Lucas nodded, studying the pair. The boy had a mass of curly blond hair beneath his black cap. Though Lucas’s mind was still cloudy, he intended to remember John and Bobby Crammer.

“So, do I get my thirty dollars?” John asked. “I could shore use it, seeing as I’m about to get married.”

“You’ll get nothing from me until I know exactly where Honor is,” Lucas replied firmly. “But if you’re wantin’ to make a little money, I might have a job for you.”

“What could that be, sir?”

“I need to be gone for a few weeks, looking for my niece. If you and the boy would look after my place and my cattle for me until I get back, I’ll give you one of my milk calves and call it even.”

“I reckon that sounds like an honest trade,” John said. “We accept. When are you leaving?”

“Today.”

At noon, Mrs. Peters returned to Honor’s bedroom. She placed a wooden tray on the bedside table, then removed a blue cloth that covered a white bowl. The aroma of chicken broth made Honor’s mouth water.

“Hungry?” Mrs. Peters asked in a perky voice.

Honor glanced at the older woman’s radiant smile and friendly expression and couldn’t help smiling in return. “Yes, ma’am, I would like some. Thank you for asking.”

Jeth’s mother chattered away as Honor ate her soup, talking about herself and her son. Honor learned Mrs. Peters was a widow and owned the only boardinghouse in Hearten, Colorado. Honor also discovered that Jeth rented a room there. In addition to being a pastor, he farmed the six acres behind the rooming house and was the handyman for all house repairs.

Now Honor understood why his hands were rough.

“My son is a widower,” Mrs. Peters said suddenly, simply.

Honor met her gaze. “I didn’t know.”

Honor hoped to hear more details, but instead of continuing to speak, Regina Peters gestured for Honor to lean forward. Then she reached for the pillow behind Honor’s back.

“Jethro lost his wife in a terrible fire that burned down the parsonage,” Mrs. Peters said as she fluffed the pillow. “My son hasn’t fully recovered from the pain of it yet.”

Honor looked into the older woman’s eyes again. “How terrible.”

“Yes, it was.” Mrs. Peters placed the pillow behind Honor’s head and put gentle pressure on her shoulder, encouraging her to relax. Then she pulled the covers up to Honor’s neck, tucking her in as if she were a small child.

“Jethro was visiting his former in-laws, Reverend and Mrs. Andrew Fields, in Falling Rock, when the grave diggers told him about your aunt’s death, Miss McCall. Ordinarily, Reverend Fields would have been the one to visit the gravesite, but he’s been a little under the weather the last week or two. So Jethro went in his place.”

“I don’t know Reverend Fields, but I’m sorry he’s sick,” Honor said. “And I hope he’s feeling better now?”

“Yes, let’s pray so.”

After Mrs. Peters left the room, Honor started thinking about Jeth again. Was he the man who had stood in the vestibule of the church on the morning she stole the money? Did Jeth know she was a thief? If so, why had he played innocent and acted nobly? There must be a reason.

She needed to leave Hearten as soon as possible. She couldn’t go on being a burden to these good people much longer.

It was Honor’s plan to move to Pine Falls. She had a lot of money to pay back. But first, she needed to find a job.

From the edge of the bed, she glanced out the open window. Jeth and his mother were in front of the boardinghouse, sitting in a wagon. A moment later, the team of brown horses started down the dirt driveway, Jeth at the reins.

A gust of wind rattled some papers on the table at the foot of the bed, sending them spinning. The vase of flowers stopped them from whirling to the floor. Honor crawled to the end of the bed, gathered the papers, stacked them, and placed a book on top, to keep them from scattering again. She was turning away when her eye fell on the title at the top of the first page: “Sermon for Sunday.”

Had the sermon been left deliberately? Was Reverend Peters hoping to convert her? More likely, it was an oversight. Still, she wondered….

Honor glanced toward the bedroom door. If she was going to leave now, this might be her best opportunity to get away without being noticed.

Swinging her legs around, she rose out of bed. When her feet touched the soft rag rug, she felt as if the carpet had grown wings and was about to fly away. To keep from falling, she grabbed the bedpost and waited for the wave of dizziness to disappear.

Several moments later, the flying carpet became a rug again, and she reached for her tan dress. Pulling the garment from the hook on the wall, she saw that it had been cleaned, freshly ironed, and smelled faintly of rosewater. She buried her nose in the sweet scent, grateful for Mrs. Peters’s kindness. Honor’s shoes, bonnet and shawl were on a shelf by her dress—and those items, too, had all been cleaned.

Honor still felt slightly woozy. Jeth had said Dr. Harris wanted her to stay in bed for a week. For a moment she was tempted to follow medical advice and climb back under the covers. But no, if she planned to make her escape, she had to do it now.

Jeth and his mother were indeed generous to have done so much for her. Aunt Harriet had always valued giving thanks, and Honor couldn’t leave town without writing a thank-you letter.

After quickly buttoning up her dress and gathering her bonnet and shawl, Honor went downstairs. In the entry hall, she noticed dark wood paneling. A small maple desk stood against one wall, and writing materials lay on the desktop. Honor sat down to write.

The minute she stepped out the door and onto the wide, front porch, a rush of cold wind whipped around the corner of the big, old house and slapped her in the face. The air smelled like rain. For a moment, she doubted her strength, and her resolve weakened. Perhaps she should have stayed in bed.