Prairie Storm (20 page)

“I know.”

“I'm doing the best I can here.”

“You're doing a wonderful job. I heard how you sat up with the Rippeto family when their youngest was sick. Everyone in town speaks well of you.”

“There you go! See? I can't do a thing without everybody watching. And I'm trying my best to stay on the right track. But I'm just a man, and you're a woman, and—”

“It's Ted, isn't it?” She looked up at him, her face pale. “You're put off by the fact that I was married before. That I took a husband out of necessity. That I'm not pure.”

He frowned for a moment, trying to understand. “What?”

“On the wagon from Topeka, you and I spoke so honestly together. You held my hand. After all we endured with Samuel, I just thought we were … we were friends. But since we've been back in Hope, you've hardly looked at me. You won't speak to me more than a moment or two. Do I repulse you?”

“Repulse me?” In disbelief, he knelt on the floor beside her. “Lily, it's all I can do to hold back from you. You're the most beautiful, precious, gentle—” He leaned away. “No, I can't do this.”

“Do what? You're not doing anything.”

“It's not you, Lily. It's me. I have to focus on being a pastor. There's the Cornwall wedding tomorrow and two sermons the next day. And Seth Hunter asked me to give a little talk at the Independence Day fish fry next week.”

“Do I get in the way of your work?”

“All the time.” He shook his head. “That's not what I meant to say. It's just that I keep thinking about you. Thinking about …” He tried to make himself breathe. “Thinking about what's going to happen to you. You'll be going back to Philadelphia.”

“Not until I've earned the money for my ticket. Without my melodeon to sell, I won't be able to leave until fall.” She moistened her lips. “Elijah, I wanted you to know that Rolf Rustemeyer has asked me to go with him to the fish fry.”

“Rolf Rustemeyer?” Eli slapped his hand on his thigh. “I thought he was after Violet Hudson!”

“I think he's after a wife. Anyone will do.”

“You're not anyone. You're
you
. You're … you're Sam's … Sam's aunt.”

“Aunt?” She stared at him. “Is that how you see me? As a sister?”

He raked a hand back through his hair. Confound it, he wasn't about to let Rolf Rustemeyer marry Lily Nolan. If he thought he was in torment now, he could hardly imagine how bad
that
would feel.

But Elijah couldn't court Lily himself. He could never take her as his own wife. And he couldn't tell her why. Or could he? Should he just blurt out the whole thing?
Lord, help me here!

“I thought Beatrice was wrong about you,” Lily said as she tucked the baby's blanket around him. “She insisted you were like my father—concerned only about how the world viewed you. On the way back from Topeka, I was sure she was mistaken. I saw you as a real man, caring and honest. It didn't matter what I'd done wrong. You accepted me and made me think that God would too.”

She stood, her blue skirt swirling down to the tips of her black boots. “Now I understand that Beatrice was right about you, Elijah,” she went on, her voice taking on that harsh quality he knew too well. “In the watchful eyes of Hope, you're the high-and-mighty preacher. You can't be friendly with a woman from a traveling show. You can't be seen talking to me too often or caring about me too much. I'm not a real person anymore, am I? I'm your business partner. Samuel's aunt. Your sister.”

“No, you're wrong—”

“It's all right, Elijah. You warned me you were only human. You told me I couldn't count on you.”

“I said I'd stand by you, and I will.” Rising, he took her shoulders. “Lily, listen to me.”

For a moment he stared down into her blue eyes, trying to make himself speak. What did he want to say? That she was everything he'd ever wanted in a woman? Spunk and determination mingled with gentleness. Intelligence and talent softened by a tender heart. Fragile beauty, a loving spirit—

“Oh, Lily.” Without meaning to, he pulled her into his arms and held her tight. He didn't have the words he needed to say. So he pressed his lips against her forehead … and then her cheek … and finally her mouth. Her hands slid tentatively around his back. He could feel her trembling as he struggled against the war inside his heart.

“Lily, I—”

“Brother Elijah?” Seth Hunter stepped through the church door into the little back room. “Oh, 'scuse me. I didn't mean to interrupt.”

Lily jumped like she'd been shot. Elijah wheeled around to face the visitor. He could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck.

“Seth,” he said, jamming his hands into his pockets. “Come on in. How's the farm? Rosie feeling okay today?”

The tall farmer eyed the two as Lily scooped the baby up from the floor. “I was just coming to tell you the news,” he said. “Looks like that traveling show is back. And they've brought wagons loaded with lumber. Jack Cornwall and Ben Hanks went down to see what was up. Turns out those folks have plans to build an opera house.”

Lily fled out behind the church with Samuel wriggling unhappily in her arms. She could hardly hold back the tears of dismay as she raced across the rutted main street toward the Hanks house, where she'd been living since her return from Topeka. She needed to talk to someone, to pour out the confusion and agony in her heart. But Mother Margaret was gone. Eva Hanks wouldn't understand. No one would understand.

She hurried into the shadowy depths of the small frame house and laid Samuel in the little crib Elijah had built for his son. Instantly the baby let out a wail that would deafen heaven. Lily set her hands on her hips and stared down at the screaming, frustrated bundle of tiny arms and legs.

“Well, I'd like to cry, too,” she told him. “Go ahead and yell for both of us, Sammy. Are you hungry? I just fed you an hour ago, didn't I? Are you wet? Is that it?”

She felt the baby's diaper. “You're dry. You're full. And there's not a pin pinching you or a bug biting you. So what's the matter?”

By now Sam's face was bright red. His little fists pumped the air, and his legs churned as though they were working milk into butter. At her wit's end, Lily stared at the baby's wide mouth, twisting head, and frantic squirms.

“What's wrong?” she asked.
“What … is … wrong?”

By now tears were streaming down her own cheeks. What was wrong with
her
? Everything. Beatrice had come back to Hope. Samuel was screaming. Rolf wanted to take her to the fish fry. And Elijah … oh, Elijah!

“You just want somebody to hold you close,” she said, lifting the baby back into her arms and snuggling him against her neck. “That's all you want, isn't it, Sammy? Calm down, now. I'm here. I won't leave you alone, sweet boy. I love you.”

As the baby's wails began to subside, Lily rocked him from side to side. “I love you, Samuel,” she whispered, feeling the tension slide from her own body. “I can't protect you from every hurt. I can't choose the path you'll take. But I'm here, Sammy. I'm here, and I love you.”

Closing her eyes, she swayed alone in the stillness of the little house. Even now, she could feel Elijah's arms around her and his lips against hers. Oh, it had felt so good to kiss him. So right to be held in his warm embrace.

But Elijah had made plain his feelings about her. She shouldn't count on him. No matter what he might feel—what either of them might want—Elijah would not be more to Lily than her employer, her brother … her pastor.

As a woman, she sensed the power his male attraction gave her. If she chose, she might be able to tempt him away from his calling. She could lure him into her arms and away from the very purpose of his life, from the work that made him the man he was.

But she would hate herself for it. He would hate her, too, in the end. It would come to nothing but pain. More pain.

No, she thought, brushing her cheek against the baby's downy dark hair, she would not be alone with Elijah again. She would not tempt him. She would not even speak to him. By September she would have enough money to buy her ticket back to Philadelphia. And then she would leave Hope behind.

If only she had someone to talk to. Someone with whom she could share the terrible ache in her heart. Someone she could trust.

“I wish to goodness Mother Margaret was here!” Eva said, racing into the house and throwing her apron onto the table. “Oh, Miz Lily, there you are! It's a terrible thing. Just awful! They've picked out a place right next to the road. The opera-house people, I mean. The lot is not on Mr. Seth's land, so he doesn't have the right to run them off. And they've got a deed for that land! It's all legal, too. You should just see Ben. He's about to have a conniption.”

She threw open the oven door and took out two steaming pies. “Some folks are saying that one of 'em's the same wagon you came in on,” Eva continued as she set the tins inside the screened pie safe and then began rearranging every plate on her shelves. “They want you to go down there and talk to them, Lily. Ben says you'll convince those folks to leave. But Mr. Jack thinks maybe you're the one who encouraged them to come back here. And Mr. Seth says he doesn't care why they're here, he's not going to allow that kind of folk in his town. He's thinking of holding an election come the Fourth of July fish fry, and setting up a town government, and a mayor, and all that. And Mr. Rolf says we need a sheriff before we need a mayor. Those folks are unloading their lumber already!”

She restacked her plates and turned all her tins and canning jars label-side out. “Why, you know what an opera house is like,” she went on. “It'll be painted some bright color and hung with red curtains. There'll be a saloon in there; I just know it. Anyhow, Ben says they're planning to serve liquor. Just think what kind of undesirables that will attract.”

Lily walked across the room to the rocking chair and sat down to nurse the baby again. Maybe if Samuel took a little milk, he'd drift off to sleep. As she rocked, she watched Eva begin to scrub her rough-hewn wooden table.

“Dancing girls,” Eva said. “They'll have dancing girls. The men will flock down there—you can count on it. And they'll be too tired to come to church of a Sunday after they've stayed up half the night watching the dancing girls. Oh, mercy, I miss Mother Margaret. Ben's mama could put us all to peace about this.”

She wrung out her rag and began to scrub again. “I hear they put on plays in those opera houses. You know what I mean? They act things out. How can that be right?”

“Now, Eva,” Lily finally interjected, “some very great and moving dramas have been written. They touch people's hearts.”

Eva paused in her scrubbing. “I don't know. I never saw a play. But I can't imagine folks dressing up in costumes and pretending they're something they're not. That's just plain strange, if you ask me. And singing! Ben says they sing the rowdiest songs you ever heard at those opera houses.”

“Not all the songs are rowdy. Some of them are beautiful. They often present selections from the great operas of Europe.”

“Well, they won't let a black man into an opera house anyhow, so I don't have to worry about my Ben. Thank the Lord for that.” Eva hung her rag over the side of the washtub. After straightening her colorful scarf, she sank down onto a stool and pressed her hands together. “You're not going back to them folks, are you, Miz Lily? You wouldn't join up with those actors and dancing girls, would you? Not after all this time with us. And knowing how much Samuel needs you. And seeing how the preacher feels about you.”

Lily looked up from the dozing baby. “How does the preacher feel about me, Eva?”

“Why, he loves you,” Eva said with surprise. “Can't you see that? He loves you, Miz Lily. Sure enough.”

Chapter 11

B
Y the power vested in me by God and the state of Kansas,” Elijah said, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

He took Caitrin Murphy's slender hand and placed it on the large callused palm of Jack Cornwall. The young couple, beset by delays ranging from Samuel's illness to a huge order for nails from the nearby military fort, had postponed their wedding date two weeks. Finally, on this sun-warmed Saturday afternoon, they were pulling it off.

The bride wore a white gown trimmed in tiny beads, her flame red hair caught up in a small hat adorned with plumes and a wispy veil. The groom stood tall and handsome in his new black suit and fine store-bought top hat. Roses and prairie wildflowers festooned the church. Ribbons decorated every pew. In all, the Murphy-Cornwall wedding was the most lavish event Eli had ever witnessed.

“May I kiss the bride, Brother Elijah?” Jack Cornwall asked, drawing the preacher from his reverie. “Or are we supposed to stand here all day?”