Rumors and Promises (48 page)

We’re going to give this to the Lord and we’ll weather this storm together.
Ian’s words, from the time she’d told him Charles may be searching for her, came to her mind as clearly as though Ian were in the depot with her. She turned her head and craned her neck despite the pain, half expecting to see him standing next to her. Nobody, except for Mr. Sims, the station manager, was visible. Sitting in his office, he hummed a vague tune, interrupted by the distant, high-pitched squeal of a train whistle.

Ian wouldn’t yet know she was leaving town, but if he did … Sophie knew he would keep to his end of things. He would stick with her, trusting the Lord to get them through. Why was she running home then? Didn’t she belong at the side of her future husband? Not back in the Bidershem nest. Ian had supported her knowing that he might lose his ministry. He’d forgiven her deception.

Sophie closed her eyes, realizing that after all he’d done, by running away she was refusing to trust Ian. The whistle sang out again, and the distant rumble of wheels on the tracks pounded in cadence with the ache in her head.

“Your train to Detroit will be here in just a minute, Miss Bidershem.”

Sophie stood, picking up their bags. “Mr. Sims, I’ve changed my mind.”

Ian jogged toward Main Street, clenching and unclenching his fists, filled with less charitable thoughts than any pastor should have.
Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord
flashed through his mind and convicted him.

“Where does this leave me, Father? What about justice? And what is right?” The words poured forth between breaths. He knew his job wasn’t to be sheriff, judge, and jury, but if he had to come between Warner and Sophie and it came to blows, he certainly had just reason to protect his future bride.

Gray clouds above threatened. The wind blew, damp and chilled against the sweat under his coat. He pushed through the door into the lobby of the Pink Hotel. The darkness and silence added weight to the air. Hitting the bell on the counter, Ian hoped to wake someone.

The proprietor came to the front desk. “May I help you?” He gazed sleepily over the top of his spectacles.

Ian gasped for a breath. “I’m looking for a Mr. Charles Warner. Is he staying here?”

“Slow down, son.” The man shuffled the papers of the registry. “Afraid not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Would I lie to you, Reverend?”

“I suppose not.” Ian eyed Mr. Markey, a man with a curly fringe around his balding head and a bit of a paunch over his belt. He wasn’t much for attending church, but he’d never heard him to be less than an honest businessman.

“Need a drink of water, Reverend?” Mr. Markey motioned toward a pitcher on a tray stacked with clean glasses behind him.

“No, thanks.” Ian was already heading toward the door.

Sophie bent to gather her carpetbag and another small bag from the floor. “Beautiful child you have there,
Miss Sophia.”

She didn’t have to look to know the voice, which sent chills up her spine like a snake slithering toward its prey, was that of her tormentor, Charles Warner. Sophie straightened, letting her bags
drop to the floor and gripped Caira’s hand. A glance sideways around the room let her know that Mr. Sims had likely stepped outside to meet the train. Charles Warner blocked the entrance.

Father, help me. What do I do now?
Remembering the Lord was ever present, strength surged through Sophie. She jutted her chin up a bit. “Fancy meeting you here.”

He only looked at her for a moment, then stared at his child. “I suppose she has my eyes, doesn’t she?” Tenderness passed quickly across his face. “Does she know about me?”

“Why would she? She thinks I’m her sister. She’s too little to understand.” His steely gray eyes commanded possession of a woman if she let them. His straight nose and strong chin fit nicely in his perfect face, with a beguiling smile he’d used to fool many, but his façade no longer charmed her. In Sophie’s eyes, he was disgusting and pathetic. The scar on his face had most likely been earned.

The fleeting tenderness left. The coldness returned. “So that’s how you’re playing it? Well, that’s going to change.”

The way his hand was positioned in his coat pocket, Sophie suspected Charles pointed a gun at them. “You’re both coming with me. We’re getting on that train to Detroit.” Charles smirked. “I’m sure your parents don’t want to lose the privilege of seeing their granddaughter. What’s your testimony against mine? Any court in the land would favor me as the father.”

“How could you prove it?” Sophie gritted her teeth. Still, her insides felt like jelly, ready to melt under such pressure, but she had to be steady.
Give me strength, Lord.
She swung Caira up into her arms, holding her tight.

“You should know, Miss Bidershem, I have plenty of friends in high places. Now, do what I say if you want to keep the child.”

Caira whined and pushed against her until Charles came closer. Then her daughter stilled and placed her head on Sophie’s shoulder.

“Well, hello there.” As he reached up to stroke the child’s hair, bile rose in Sophie’s throat, and she grew dizzy, especially as she caught the stench of his alcohol-laden breath. The closeness of the scar on his cheek. The fury that possessed his eyes. Her thoughts transported her back to the parlor in the Warner mansion as he gripped her arm. She remembered being pressed against the silk brocade upholstery of the chaise and the sweet smell of pipe tobacco clinging to the piece of furniture. Yet she couldn’t call a scream forth like she had that day, and she was frozen to the wood plank floor beneath her.

“I said let’s get a move on.” Then the reality of the situation hit her. She wouldn’t take a chance of either of them being shot, but they would get out of this yet. God had been with them through their trials. She saw this now. Caira clung closer to her, pulling away from the man who was a stranger to her.

Sophie moved forward and out the door onto the platform. “All aboard for Northville, Detroit!”

Steam hissed a warning as it billowed a menacing cloud onto the platform ahead. Sophie felt as though it pictured her future—hidden and uncertain when she thought she’d finally had everything planned out.

“Miss Sophie, I thought you changed your mind.” Mr. Sims eyes widened as he looked up from his pocket watch.

“She’s with me now.” She could just picture Charles’ oily grin as he pushed her ahead.

“And who are you, sir?” Mr. Sims, though an unimposing older man, took a step forward.

“Why, I’m
family,
not that it’s any of your business. I’ve arrived in time to alleviate any of her travel worries. Good day, now.”

Knowing Charles couldn’t see her face, she did her best to give Mr. Sims a concerned look and gave him what she hoped was a slight, but perceptible shake of her head.

“Up onto the train, my dear, we don’t want to miss it.” She felt the gun graze her back and obeyed.

“Certainly,
dear.”
Sophie hoped the sarcasm wasn’t lost on her captor. The whistle blew its final warning as she stepped up into the passenger car, not daring to look back.

The train inched along the track. Ian heard the train door slam shut as though his hopes and dreams had also been closed off. Still he raced to the open door of the station and looked around inside.

Mr. Sims stood just inside the doorway, scratching his head. “What in tarnation?”

Ian took a deep breath. “Have you seen Sophie … and Caira?”

“Something’s wrong, Pastor Ian. She had tickets to go to Detroit but changed her mind at the last minute. Next thing you know some stranger showed up, said he was family and he was herding the two of ’em onto the train. But her bags are still here.”

What Ian feared the most pierced his very being. Warner had kidnapped them!

“Mr. Sims, telegraph ahead to the next stop. Tell them they’ll need the sheriff because there’s a criminal on board! And get Sheriff Baxter over here. We may need him before this is over.” As he finished, Ian backed onto the platform and turned with swiftness toward the moving train. If he hurried, he could catch the caboose.

“Don’t get yourself hurt or worse, Pastor!”

“I’m not planning on it!” Ian ran alongside, gulping in air that burned his lungs as it filled them. He hadn’t pushed himself this much since a boy.
I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.
The clacking of the wheels on the track increased in speed. If he timed it just right, he could grab the railing off the back of the caboose and swing himself on. One, two, three … the pull
nearly wrenched his arm out of its socket as he swung sideways and hooked his feet on the edge.

“Careful, mister.” A barrel-chested giant of a man, wearing a suit, had opened the back door and bent out to grasp his free arm.

“Thank you.” Once pulled onto the train, Ian hunched over with hands resting on his knees and caught his breath. “Have you seen a man with a young woman and a little girl, both with curly dark hair?”

“Don’t think so, but they may be further up.” The large man’s eyebrows furrowed and he examined Ian carefully, scratching his chin. “You need some help?”

“I’ll let you know if I do.” This wasn’t a stranger’s business. Ian was pretty sure that he needed only God’s strength and grace to face a coward such as Warner.

Ian pushed forward, grasping the backs of the seats. People turned to stare up at him. He figured that he must look like a wild-eyed dog hunting prey. His hat long gone, he could feel his hair had become tangled as he smoothed it back away from his eyes. “Excuse me.” Through each car, he moved on, searching each face.
Lord, help me make it.
Jumping over the car couplings between passenger cars had him repeating the prayer as he aimed his feet for the platform ahead. Ian worked at not looking down toward the deadly tracks moving beneath him. The ground below rushed past in a blur.