Molly Noble Bull (7 page)

The parlor windows were edged with heavy, green drapes. Three overstuffed, gold chairs separated the sitting area from a pump organ. A bookcase lined the north wall, and a sturdy-looking desk with a lamp stood in one corner.

The
snap
and
crackle
of a fire burned in the fireplace, and there was a scent of smoke and pinecones in the air. Honor felt a sense of peace just looking at the red and yellow flames.

She settled onto the hunter-green settee and gazed at the organ. She wondered who played it. When she heard footfalls, she turned toward the sound. Jeth stood in the doorway. Honor smiled. He didn’t smile back.

“What’s wrong?” Honor stood. “Did I forget to pin back my hair or something?”

“It’s not your hair.” His jaw firmed, and his gaze shifted to the ceiling. When Jeth glanced back at Honor, a hint of anger gleamed in his eyes.

“What is it, then?” she asked.

“It’s your dress.”

“My dress?” Honor glanced down at the gathered skirt of her green outfit. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s—” He glanced away again. “It was Selma’s, my late wife. She wore it on the day I asked her to marry me. She’d left some of her clothes here at the boardinghouse to be mended. That’s why some of her dresses weren’t burned in the fire.”

Honor stared at him. “Why wasn’t I told?” She continued to peer at him, waiting for him to say more, anything.

He stood before her and remained silent.

“I’m so sorry,” Honor said finally. “I—I didn’t know.” She spun around, heading toward the stairs. Before she could reach the first step, Jeth grabbed her arm.

“Whoa! Where are you going?”

“To my room—to change into something else.”

“No reason for that.” His grin looked forced, but at least he was smiling. “I told Mama to give Selma’s clothes to a person who needed them. It surprised me, that’s all, seeing you in the green dress. But I’ll get used to it.”

“You won’t have to get used to it because I’m returning all the dresses. And again, you can’t know how sorry I am about this.” Jerking free of his hand, she continued toward the stairs.

“No, wait! Please.”

Honor glanced back.

“Selma would have wanted you to have her things.” His face looked kind and tender. “Really. That’s the sort of person she was.”

“I’m sure your late wife was a nice person, but I won’t wear her clothes. I just can’t. I guess that’s the sort of person I am.” Honor raced up the first three steps, then paused. “Don’t wait for me, Preacher. I won’t be driving into town with you after all.”

Honor hurried up the stairs and into her room. Why had Jeth’s mother given her the clothes in the first place? She should have known how Jeth would react when he saw Honor wearing them.

She hadn’t owned a new dress in ages and had especially liked the green one. Now she wanted to throw the garment on the bedroom floor and stomp on it.

But fine clothes were much too precious to treat carelessly—even dresses that had once belonged to someone else’s late wife. Still, Honor found it difficult to understand how this situation could have happened. She folded the green dress, put it on the shelf next to her bed with the rest of Selma’s clothes, and changed into her one and only—the tan dress that had once belonged to Aunt Harriet.

Selma. Wasn’t that the name mentioned in the dedication—the one written in the new hymnal back in Falling Rock? After contemplating the possibility, Honor became convinced it was. Suddenly, a new question shut out all others.

Was she jealous of this woman, this Selma Peters? Jeth Peters meant nothing to her. Furthermore, Honor would be moving on soon. She would probably never see him again. And yet…

Jeth’s mother flew into Honor’s bedroom with a bundle of clothes in her arms. Honor turned, focusing her attention on the trees outside her window—anything to keep from looking at Mrs. Peters.

“I know now, Miss McCall, that I should never have given my late daughter-in-law’s dresses to a lady who lives around here. But you were the first person I’ve found who was thin enough to wear them.” The woman paused before speaking again. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Honor swallowed, then slowly turned. “Yes, ma’am, I can forgive you. But please don’t expect me to wear that woman’s clothes.”

“Of course not.” Mrs. Peters held out the stack of garments. “Here are some of my dresses. They’re old and too small for me now, and they will be much too big for you. So make all the alterations you need to. I’ll never wear them again.”

Honor cleared her throat, reflecting on what she should do. She lacked clothes. Mrs. Peters was offering her several outfits that looked warm. Perhaps this wasn’t the time to allow pride to control her thinking.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Honor faked a smile, taking the clothes from her. “I’ll gather up your son’s late wife’s things and return them to you later today.”

“There’s no hurry,” Mrs. Peters said softly.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m afraid there is.”

The woman nodded, then grew silent. “There are needles and spools of thread downstairs if you need them. And I’ll be happy to help you with all the alterations.”

Honor produced a weak smile. “You’re very kind.”

As soon as Mrs. Peters left, Honor changed into one of the dresses—a threadbare blue wool with a wide collar. The garment was too big in the waist for Honor, but it had a matching sash. Honor pulled the sash tight and tied it in a bow in front.

I guess this dress is good enough for a thief like me, she thought. Then she hurried downstairs.

When Jeth climbed onto the wooden seat of the wagon, a cold wind whipped around him. Reaching for the reins, he thought of his earlier conversation with Honor McCall.

He shouldn’t have mentioned the green dress. A thoughtful minister would have known she would be upset. Jeth should apologize.

Was he becoming fond of this young woman, Miss Honor McCall? He shook his head, replying to his own question. He merely felt sorry for Honor because of what the robbers did—because they hit her in the head with the butt of a gun.

Yes, Honor needed a man in her life, but it had only been two years since…

Selma. He still hated to admit his wife was dead. Besides, it was much too soon for Jeth to consider…

Was he considering?

This young woman needed prayer, not Jeth Peters. He’d been praying for her and intended to continue.

“Heavenly Father, You are the Lord my God, and You answer the prayers of those who turn to You. Please help me to help Miss McCall find You, Lord, and deliver her out of this trouble she is in. In the name of Jesus, Amen and amen.”

Jeth pulled down his hat. He snapped the reins. The team of brown horses moved forward at a brisk pace. He would visit the sick in his congregation and finish all the chores his mother had asked him to do. He wouldn’t think about Honor’s soft, pink lips or her long, auburn hair.

But he knew it would be hard to keep that promise.

An hour later, Honor stood at the kitchen window, looking out as she stirred cake batter with a wooden spoon. The temperature had dropped since morning. An icy wind scat
tered dry leaves on the back porch. Shivering, Honor felt the cold seep in through the crack under the door.

A dapple-gray horse appeared at the top of the hill. Honor froze for a moment, then, dropping the spoon into the batter, she moved to the window. The approaching rider wasn’t close enough to identify, but the gray mare had a round belly. And Lucas had a horse exactly like the one coming over the rise.

L
ucas!

Honor crouched in the pantry closet, afraid to move. Had Lucas come to the boardinghouse to drag her away? Or to beat her as he’d abused her aunt?

She’d left the chocolate cake batter behind and raced to the mess room where food supplies and medicines were kept. Mrs. Peters had said the walls in the rooming house were thin. Even with the door shut, Honor would probably be able to hear most of what took place in the kitchen. If she wasn’t careful, others might also hear her. She didn’t intend to move.

Honor heard a knock at the back door.

She tensed.

More rapping sounds followed.

“Just a minute,” Mrs. Peters shouted.

When Jeth’s mother passed in front of the storage room where Honor was hidden, the older woman’s rapid foot
steps tapped the pine floor. The
squeak
of a door indicated she’d opened it.

A blast of cold air seeped under the mess room door. Shaking from the cold as well as fear, Honor waited to hear the caller’s name.

“Well, Elmer,” Mrs. Peters said. “Come in and warm yourself. It’s getting cold out there, isn’t it.”

“Yes, ma’am, it sure is.”

Honor freed the breath she’d been holding. Lucas wasn’t the person at the door after all. She could come out—pretend she hadn’t heard the man knocking. However, she hadn’t calmed down enough yet. Her heart still pounded inside her chest.

“And Elmer,” Mrs. Peters said, “you don’t have to knock at the door when you want to come in. You live here now. All you have to do is just walk right in.”

“Sorry, ma’am. I forgot.”

There was a short pause before anyone spoke again.

“It could snow tonight,” Mrs. Peters said.

“Yes, I reckon it could.”

Honor heard another
squeak
and a muffled
bang.
She relaxed a bit and stopped shaking. Someone finally closed the kitchen door.

“Have a seat at the table there, Elmer. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Well, make yourself at home,” Mrs. Peters said. “How’s the mare you bought working out?”

“Mighty fine.”

“That’s good. Now, sit there and rest while I warm up
the pot.” Mrs. Peters paused before speaking again. “I don’t know what happened to the girl who was working in here. She’s new, you see. In fact, this is her first day on the job. Her name’s McCall. Miss Honor McCall. Sweet little thing. I don’t guess you’ve met her yet, have you?”

“No, ma’am, I reckon not.”

“You will. With you living here at the boardinghouse, I’m sure you’ll run into her, sooner or later.”

Honor heard the scrape of a chair, followed by footsteps, and assumed someone had left the kitchen. She opened the door a crack. The cake batter would probably go flat if she didn’t finish mixing it soon. If Elmer was still there, she supposed she should introduce herself.

A man was sitting at the kitchen table, near the archway that led to the hall. By hiding behind a high cupboard, Honor was able to study him without being seen. He was tall and skinny with protruding front teeth and red-brown hair. When he lifted his cup, she noticed his dirty, freckled hands. She wrinkled her nose. He needed a bath. Even from across the room, she could smell him. He wore tan trousers and a filthy tan jacket, and Honor judged him to be middle-aged.

“Hello, there.” Faking a smile, she stepped from behind the cupboard. “I’m Miss McCall.”

The man turned and stared. “Hello.” He took a sip of coffee.

“I work here.”

Elmer set down his cup without smiling. He wasn’t much of a talker, which suited Honor just fine. She finished mixing the cake, popped the pan into the oven and
washed and dried the dishes. Then she glanced at the safe box with its perforated, tin doors. This was the only cupboard in the kitchen where the cake would be protected from mice. When the cake was done, she placed it in the safe box, wiped her hands on her white apron, and eyed Elmer to see if he needed anything.

“Ma’am.” Elmer pulled an envelope from the pocket of his dirty jacket. “I almost forgot I had this.” He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Peters says your last name’s McCall. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Then I guess this here letter is for you.”

“Letter?” Honor gasped, and a shiver trailed down her back. Did Lucas know where she was?

“Thank—Thank you, sir.”

Honor took the letter without looking at it. The mere thought that it might be from Lucas tied her stomach in knots. A wave of the jitters followed.

“Ain’t ya gonna open it?”

Honor blinked several times before focusing on Elmer. “What did you say?”

“That there letter you got. Why don’t you go on and open it?”

She’d almost forgotten Elmer was still watching her, and with his mouth gaping open, too. She shook her head and dropped the letter into the pocket of her apron, without looking at the return address. She glanced at Elmer. “I thought Reverend Peters always brought in the mail.”

“Whenever I can, I pick it up of a morning. I work on a ranch a ways on t’other side of town. Sometimes I stop
at the post office. I reckon the preacher come to town after I done rode out.”

“Yes. I see.”

Honor nervously wiped her hands on her apron. A moment later, she realized that she was pacing in front of the stove. “I guess I’ll—I guess I’ll go up to my room now so I can read my letter.”

On her way up the stairs, Honor pulled the envelope out of her pocket. The printing was large and she smiled in relief. It wasn’t from Lucas. Honor would know his small, scratchy handwriting anywhere.

As she climbed the stairs, she saw that the letter came from Simon and Annie Carr, the couple she had met on the stagecoach. Honor opened the envelope and stopped to read it in the hallway outside her room.

“No!” Honor trembled from head to toe, thinking, don’t you dare tell him a thing!

An hour later, Honor was swishing the broom back and forth across the wood floor in the entry hall. She’d already written a letter to Mr. and Mrs. Carr and told them not to reveal her location to anyone.

When she heard the sound of footfalls on the steps outside, she went to one of the windows that framed the front door and looked out. Jeth.

For a moment, she wondered if she should tell him about the letter she’d gotten from the Carrs. Then she decided not to, since he would probably want to read her letter, and then expect her to tell him about Lucas. She was still exasperated with Jeth over the incident with Selma’s dress. She didn’t want to explain anything to him.

Jeth opened the door. An icy wind whooshed inside. Standing before her, his breath looked like a puff of whitish smoke. She’d thought he was alone, but then she saw a small boy with big, green eyes beside him, wearing one of the warmest smiles she’d ever seen on a child. His dark coat looked two sizes too big for him. Black, curly hair edged his brown wool cap.

“Miss Honor McCall, meet Timmy Rivers,” Jeth said. “His parents are members of our church. He’s the little boy I’ve been wanting you to meet.”

A smile formed on her lips. Timmy was the little boy that Jeth had told stories about when she’d first woken from unconsciousness and came to herself.

“Hello, Timmy,” she said.

“Hello, Miss McCall. I’m very glad to meet you.” He offered her his tiny hand.

Honor smiled. “I’m glad to meet you, too.”

His hand felt icy when she shook it. Timmy should be wearing mittens on a cold day like this.

Bending down to the child’s level, her smile lingered. “What brings you out here today?”

“My mama has the sneezes.”

“The sneezes? I’m sorry to hear that.”

“She’ll be all right, though. Dr. Harris said so when he came to our house a while ago. Reverend Peters is taking care of me so Mama can rest.”

“That’s probably a good idea.” She brushed snow from the shoulders of his jacket with her fingertips. “Let’s go into the kitchen now, Timmy, and see if we can find something good to eat and drink, shall we? It’s warmer in there.”

As she ushered the child down the hall, she sent Jeth a hard glance. She wanted him to know that, despite the boy, she hadn’t forgotten the tension between them.

Jeth must have known she would warm to a child no matter how she felt about him. Could he have invited Timmy over deliberately to provide a buffer?

No, she thought not. Timmy had said his mother was sick. Still, Honor wasn’t ready for a truce.

Jeth followed them into the kitchen. “How about heating up the coffee?” he asked.

The muscles around her mouth tightened. “Very well.” But her expression softened when she gazed back at Timmy. “And what would you like, young man? We have cookies and milk. Would you like some?”

“Yes, ma’am, I sure would.”

Jeth removed his heavy, woolen jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. Then he sat down at the table.

“You’re still upset with me,” he said, “aren’t you.”

Ignoring his question, Honor turned to Timmy. “Just put your coat and cap on the back of a chair like the reverend did.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Honor went over to the sideboard and started putting cookies on a white plate. Timmy hung up his coat and trailed right behind her.

“Timmy,” she said, “I hear you have a birthday coming up. Is that right?”

“Yes, ma’am, it is.”

“And how old will you be?”

“Six.”

“Six years old? Why, that’s big, isn’t it? What do you want for your birthday?”

“A new kite. I busted my old one.”

“That’s what Reverend Peters was telling me.” Leaning over, she offered him the platter of cookies. “How did it happen?”

“Playin’.” He grabbed three cookies from the platter. “I was just running down the road one day trying to get my kite to fly…and it happened.”

Timmy put one of the cookies in the pocket of his wool breeches and held the other two, one in each hand. Honor tried not to smile. When she glanced at Jeth, he appeared to be holding back a grin as well.

“So what exactly happened?” she asked.

“Well, I just kept on running. I didn’t see the old speckled hen and her baby chicks when they ran across in front of me. Guess I wasn’t lookin’.”

“You didn’t step on one of the babies, did you?” Jeth asked.

“No, but I almost did. Anyway, the old hen fluffed out her feathers and started chasing me. She was real mad. I ran so hard my kite hit the trunk of a tree.”

“You weren’t hurt, were you?” Honor asked.

“No, but my kite sure was.” His expression matched the sound of his crestfallen voice. “And it was the best one I ever had, too.”

“How many kites have you owned, Timmy?” Jeth asked.

He shrugged, a cookie lodged in his jaw. “Just that one.” The words came out muffled through his mouthful.

Honor and Jeth both laughed, but she recovered quickly.

“So why don’t you sit down now, Timmy, and I’ll pour you that glass of milk?”

The child nodded. “All right. And can I have some extra cookies to take home—for later.”

“Take all you want. But you have to agree to ask your mama before you eat them. Promise?”

Timmy grinned. “Yes, ma’am, I promise.”

Later, Timmy went outside to check on Mama Cat and her litter of baby kittens living in the barn. Honor and Jeth continued to sit at the table a while longer, drinking their coffee.

“So far, it’s been a warm winter.” He glanced out a kitchen window. “Just a trickle of cold rain and snow now
and then. But it sure looks like snow’s coming. Maybe tonight.”

“That’s what your mother said.” Honor moved to the stove and stoked the flames to warm the coffee. When she heard his chair move, she looked back at Jeth. “Is it too hot in here for you?” she asked.

“Not at all. I like it warm and cozy like this.”

He fingered his empty cup. She wondered if something was bothering him—like the fact that he’d scolded her when he’d seen her wearing his wife’s dress.

“I really am sorry, ma’am, for mentioning the green dress the way I did. As a Christian, I should have known better. But when I saw you wearing Selma’s clothes, I kind of flew over the chicken coop—so to speak.”

She knew she should accept his apology. Someday, she probably would. Now, all she felt was embarrassment.

A few minutes later, steam sizzled from the pot, and the smell of coffee filled the room. Hurrying to the woodstove, Honor poured hot coffee into their tin cups and handed one to Jeth. Taking hers in both hands, she settled into the chair across from him. A smile wasn’t in her.

Honor reached for the sugar bowl. “So what happened in town today?”

“I visited Miss Lucy Jordan.”

She dropped two lumps into her cup and stirred without looking at him. “Who’s she?”

“A member of our church.”

“How nice for a single man like you.” A fresh blush warmed her cheeks when she realized what she’d said.

He grinned. Had she amused him?

“Miss Jordan lives with her mother.”

A
ping
startled her. Glancing down, Honor realized she had bumped the metal spoon against her tin cup. She set her spoon on her crumpled napkin and rose from her chair, hands flat on the table.

“I baked a chocolate cake. Would you like a slice?”

“No.” He covered her hand with his. “I want you to sit back down. There’s something else I need to say.”

“Oh,” she said, inching her hand free.

“I told you there are folks in our church who have been wanting to learn how to read. Well, Lucy Jordan is one of them. She knows your name now, Miss McCall, and that you’ll be her teacher. And she’s very excited. When can you start?”

“When would you like me to?”