Margaret Brownley (21 page)

“She’ll be all right,” David said. His face lit by firelight was smudged with soot, his voice roughened by smoke.

Choked with relief, Lucy’s mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Her watery eyes distorted the flames into a blur of bright light.

David took her hand and pulled her to her feet. He gathered her in his arms, holding her so tight she could feel his heartbeat. “It’s okay,” he murmured soothingly. “You’re safe.”

Head on his chest, she clung to him, her trembling body seeking the warmth and comfort he offered.

From the distance came the shouts of men racing up the hill toward them on horseback and foot.

“I have to go,” David whispered. He held her face and gazed at her for an instant before pressing his lips against her forehead. “Take care of your friend.”

With that he turned, limped down the hill behind the still-burning church, and vanished in the thick grove of trees below.

Still very much shaken, Lucy dropped to her knees. Monica’s eyes were open now. “Oh, Monica, if anything had happened to you, I don’t know what I would have done.”

Monica took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m okay,” she rasped.

Lucy squeezed back. “What were you doing here?”

“Caleb—” As if it took all her strength to utter that one word, she laid her head back, breathing hard. “I was worried about you. You’ve been acting so strange lately. I made Caleb tell me where”—she coughed—“where I could find you.”

Marshal Armstrong came running up to them, followed by at least a dozen other men. After that everything was a blur, like an underexposed photograph.

Wolf stayed hidden in the woods and watched the chaos on the hill. All that remained of the church was a blazing framework and a pile of burning debris. No one attempted to put out the blaze, but two men moved Lucy’s and Monica’s horses a safe distance away. Several others scattered across the church property, shoveling dirt onto any sparks that had landed on the ground.

A man hastened toward the two women with bag in hand. From his hiding place, Wolf couldn’t make out the man’s face but he was certain it was the doctor.

Satisfied that Lucy and her friend were being cared for, Wolf started through the woods. He still felt weak and his leg was sore. His progress was slow. When he was a safe distance away from the fire, he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled.

Nothing. He walked another mile or so and tried again. Still nothing. On the third try, his whistle was greeted with a high whinny—a welcoming sound.

Muffled at first, Shadow’s hoofbeats quickly grew louder. The horse flew out of the woods in a black streak, his coat aglow in the silvery light of a full moon.

Sixteen

Persons with generous proportions should make every effort not to
draw the camera’s eye away from those less endowed. Never speak
disparagingly of another’s photograph or suggest in any way that
your image is superior.

– M
ISS
G
ERTRUDE
H
ASSLEBRINK, 1878

L
ucy couldn’t sleep. It was a warm night, and the air hung heavy and still. Even so, she lay in bed shivering. Her throat felt dry and no amount of water could quench her thirst. Nor could any amount of bathing get rid of the rancid smell that permeated her hair and skin.

Doc Myers seemed confident that Monica would fully recover, but she had inhaled a great deal of smoke and Lucy couldn’t help but worry.

Fortunately the fire hadn’t spread to the nearby woods, but nothing was left of the church save a pile of smoldering ashes.

She should never have hidden Wolf in the anteroom. Pastor Wells and Sarah had worked hard to restore the church and grow the congregation. Now it seemed that their efforts had all been in vain.

She groaned and covered her face with both hands. “The church is destroyed and it’s all my fault.”

It wasn’t only guilt that kept her tossing and turning. She couldn’t stop thinking about David. Where was he? What was to become of him? And why did her overactive mind continue to dwell on their last tender kiss? Wolf hadn’t kissed her as much as branded her, and the very thought made her heart race.

She reached on the nightstand for the carved bracelet he gave her and held it close to her heart.

“This is good-bye
.”

It was for the best. He had his secrets, she had her dreams. There wasn’t much room left for anything else. Still, she would miss him. Miss that crooked smile of his. The way he tilted his head when she spoke.

From the distance came the sound of a rooster greeting dawn. The familiar crow lulled her into a restless sleep. By the time she woke, her room was bright with sunlight. The events of the previous night flooded back like water from a broken dam.

Papa! She jumped out of bed, grabbed her dressing gown, and ran barefooted through the house.

Too late. Her father had already left for the day. Now he would hear about her latest misadventures from the townsfolk. She’d hoped to save him embarrassment by telling him herself.

Torn between racing to town before her father heard the news from his customers, or checking on Monica’s condition, she quickly dressed. A short while later she was in the saddle, heading for Ma’s boardinghouse where Monica lived.

The proprietor, Mrs. Stephens, was a grandmotherly woman who insisted upon being called just plain Ma. She opened the door and greeted Lucy with an uncharacteristic frown. The delectable smell of fresh-baked pastry wafted from the house.

“Am I glad to see you. I’ve been worried sick. Monica never came home last night.”

Lucy was alarmed by the news. Doc Myers told her Monica would be all right and she believed him. Lucy would never have left her had she thought otherwise. “Doc Myers must have kept her overnight.”

Ma’s eyes grew round. “My word, whatever for?”

“There was a fire at the church last night—an accident. Monica and I were there.”

Ma’s hands flew to her face. “Mercy me. I hope she’s all right.”

“Me too.” Lucy started to leave but then remembered something. “Would you please tell Mr. Garrett that I’ll retake his photograph at no extra charge?” Mr. Garrett was one of Ma’s boarders. Lucy hadn’t seen the Englishman since their strange exchange.

“I guess you haven’t heard,” Ma replied. “Mr. Garrett has left town.”

“Left town?” That was a surprise. “What about his plans to go into the cattle business?”

Ma rolled her eyes skyward. “He had some sort of religious experience. Something to do with his departed wife. Said he’s going to join a monastery.”

Lucy’s mouth fell open. “All because of a double exposure?” she gasped.

Ma’s eyes widened. “A
double
exposure? Oh dear. I hope it wasn’t smallpox.”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Lucy was in too much of a hurry to explain how Mr. Garrett had mistaken the ghostly figure of Mrs. Weatherbee in his photograph for his dead wife. She promised to check on Monica and left.

Since the quickest way to Doc Myers’s house was through town, she decided to stop on the way and face her father.

Riding down Main Street, she was surprised by the number of people lining the boardwalk. Had something happened to Monica? To David? Were Monica’s burns worse than she knew? Did those annoying wild man rumors still persist?

The number of vehicles parked haphazardly in every direction forced Lucy to tie Tripod to a hitching post a distance away from her father’s store where a crowd was gathered in front. No one noticed her presence.

“Lucy’s gone too far this time,” a rancher named Hampton said. “It wasn’t bad enough that she stampeded my cattle. Now she’s gone and burned down the church.”

“And that ain’t all she’s done,” Old Man Appleby added.

Everyone started talking at once. Even those who had never stepped foot inside the church saw fit to lament its destruction.

Town Marshal Armstrong stepped forward. He had done much in his short time as marshal to rid the town of troublemakers, but he had less success in keeping folks from storming his office every time the least thing went wrong.

He raised his hand. “One at a time. Mrs. Hitchcock.”

A collective groan rose from the crowd. A member of what was now called the Suffra-Quilters, it took Mrs. Hitchcock twice as long as anyone else to voice her opinion because of her habit of repeating herself.

Seemingly oblivious to the protests around her, she made her way to the front, her outlandish hat serenely floating through midair like a ship at sea.

The marshal stepped back to make room for her generous proportions. Turning around, she looked down her considerable nose at her dissenters. “I say Mr. Fairbanks should pay for building a new church . . . a new church.” She then promptly repeated herself before adding, “Lucy is his daughter . . . his daughter. It’s only right.”

Groans turned to approval and some even clapped.

Alarm flew through Lucy. Papa couldn’t afford to pay for a new church.

The woman’s strident voice ringing in her ears, Lucy marched in front of the crowd and stepped onto the wooden sidewalk. She squeezed next to Mrs. Hitchcock and turned to face the icy stares. Everyone fell silent.

“I apologize for what happened last night. I can’t tell you how terrible I feel. I just want you to know, I will find a way to pay for a new church building.”

“How do you propose to do that?” someone called.

It was a question she was not prepared to answer. “I’ll . . . I’ll sell photographs.” Lots of them, she hoped. And, God willing, maybe the mail would soon bring a much-needed job offer.

“That’s all we need, more trouble,” heckled the owner and namesake of Jake’s Saloon.

“Ain’t you caused enough trouble with that camera of yours? I say we should ban it!”

“Stop it, all of you!” came a woman’s voice from the back of the crowd. The preacher’s wife, Sarah, barreled through the crowd like a cannonball, red boots flashing beneath the swishing hem of her skirt.

Silence prevailed as she made her way up front and stomped up the stairs to the boardwalk. No one would be so bold as to show disrespect to the Reverend’s wife, at least not to her face.

“Instead of standing up here jawin’ like a bunch of ole crows, we should be figurin’ out a way to build a new church,” Sarah charged. “If we can build a barn for the Bensons, we can build a church for the Lord.”

Appleby scoffed. “It costs money to build. Lumber don’t grow on no trees.”

Heads nodded. No one saw fit to point out the error of his statement.

Sarah addressed her next comments to Appleby who, as far as anyone knew, had never given a single coin to the church or even to charity. “I reckon we’ll all have to dig a little deeper in our pockets, won’t we?”

Lucy’s father walked out of his store. The moment he spotted her he turned and walked back inside. Lucy’s heart fell. She didn’t know how she would make up to him for all the trouble she’d caused.

Muttering among themselves, folks began to drift away and Lucy chased after Sarah.

“Sarah, wait.”

Sarah turned. “Lucy. Are you okay? You weren’t injured in that fire, were you?”

“I’m fine.” Lucy laid a hand on Sarah’s arm. “I’m so sorry. After all the work you and Reverend Wells have done . . . the fire was an accident and I’ll do everything I can to make it right.”

“Praise God that no one was seriously injured,” Sarah said kindly. “But I don’t understand. What were you doin’ at the church that time of night? It’s not safe for a woman to be out so late.”

Lucy withdrew her hand. She didn’t want to say anything about David, but she owed Sarah and the pastor an explanation.

“Promise you won’t say anything?” Lucy said.

Sarah frowned. “It don’t seem right for a wife to keep secrets from her husband, if that’s what you’re askin’ me to do.”

“No, of course not,” Lucy said quickly. “I plan to talk to Reverend Wells myself.”

Sarah nodded in approval. “Then you have my word, whatever’s on your mind stays with me, the pastor, and God.”

Lucy glanced around to make certain no one was eavesdropping. “Remember the article in the paper about the wild man of Rocky Creek?”