The Preacher's Bride (Brides of Simpson Creek) (17 page)

“Well...I see there’s but one box left, and two of you gentlemen. Because I was late, I have one that’s way too much for me to eat by myself. My main dish is ham, too, raised and smoked right out on our ranch. I know our
preacher
—” she gave deliberate emphasis to the word “—would really like to sit with Miss Faith for supper, while I’d love to hear all about Atlanta, and Georgia...” She smiled appealingly at Merriwell. “Would you do me the kindness of sharing my supper, and letting Reverend Gil share Faith’s?”

Merriwell flushed. He was fairly caught and he knew it. To refuse and insist on his own preference would not be the act of a gentleman. Worse, his rudeness would render him permanently unwelcome in Simpson Creek.

Faith stared at Milly. The former spinster’s face was all innocent entreaty aimed at the Georgian. Faith saw Gil was as surprised as she was. When she glanced at Sarah, however, she could tell Milly’s sister was trying to smother a conspiratorial grin.

“Of course, Mrs. Brookfield. I’d be delighted,” Merriwell said. He shot a regretful glance at Faith before striding to the front to claim his prize. When he would have dropped his eagle in the bowl, however, Gil held up a hand to stop him.

“Oh, you don’t have to pay, Mr. Merriwell. Your generosity of spirit should be rewarded, I think.”

* * *

“Lord, we thank You for these supper boxes and the ladies who prepared them. Bless the food in them to the nourishment of our bodies. We thank You for the fellowship we experience with each other and all the blessings You give us. Amen.”

After an answering chorus of amens, Gil led Faith to the stone bench under the live oak trees, close to the tables but far enough away that their conversation would not be overheard. He figured the congregation would understand.

He watched as Faith gracefully set out the contents of her supper box between them. She looked happy, though still a little dazed.

He took up one of the ham croquettes, dipped it in small bowl of sweet mustard sauce that she had provided, and took a bite. “Mmm, delicious.”

She looked at him, her green eyes shining. “I’m glad you like it, Gil.”

He glanced over to where Milly Brookfield was sitting with Merriwell, her sleeping son napping on a quilt at her feet. Gil was relieved to see Merriwell was smiling and talking to Milly—he had been afraid the Georgian would sulk after being maneuvered into sitting with someone other than Faith, but Merriwell had apparently accepted defeat with reasonably good grace.

He nodded toward them. “I think we just experienced a miracle, Faith,” he said. “We were rescued out of a disagreeable situation against what seemed like impossible odds.”

Her gaze shifted, and he saw she was looking at Milly and Merriwell, as he just had.

“I think it’s more like a conspiracy of wonderful friends,” she said, skeptical but still smiling. “Sarah Walker just winked at me.”

“At the very least, an answer to prayer. I thank God for the deep friendship among you ladies that brought about the blessing.”

“I suppose I would say amen to that, if I was a believer,” she said lightly. “But you said you prayed about it?”

He nodded. “Before the auction, and again when it seemed I would have to watch Merrifield eating supper with you.”

Her eyes widened at what he had implied.

Yes, that means I would have been jealous. I don’t know what is going to happen between us, given the impasse we face, but I would have been jealous, watching you with him.

When she spoke again, she made no reference to his implication. “Do you think God wants to hear about such little things?” she asked, as if she hadn’t even considered such a possibility.

“I do, Faith. The Bible says He cares if a single sparrow falls. I knew you didn’t want to sit and eat with that fellow, and I asked Him to make it possible for me to do so instead.”

He watched delightedly as a pink blush rose into her cheeks.

“I can’t imagine how they managed the timing,” she marveled.

“Timing?”

She chuckled. “You don’t think Milly’s lateness was an accident, do you? I wouldn’t be surprised if old Josh was hiding in the bushes somewhere in the trees by the creek, so Sarah could signal him when to bring the wagon around to the church to cause Milly to arrive just
after
the bidding for the married ladies’ suppers.”

“And the unexpected appearance of Polly’s former fiancé, just at the right time?” He nodded toward the end of one of the other tables, where Polly sat with Bob Henshaw. Neither one of the reunited couple was eating—they were both too busy staring into each other’s eyes. “If that wasn’t a miracle, I don’t know what is.”

“Whether it is or not, I’m happy for her,” Faith remarked. “She’s been so miserable since he left. It’s why she’s been so bossy, I think.”

And flirtatious.
Gil was relieved to think he wouldn’t be fending off Polly’s coquettish behavior toward him anymore, because he hadn’t been able to return her feelings.

Because he was in love with the woman across the table from him.
Help me, Lord. Help me win Faith for Your kingdom.

“Yes, I think I’ll be performing another wedding soon,” he said.

Faith chuckled. “I only wonder if Polly will move to Austin or she will talk him into opening a druggist’s shop here.”

Later, when the planks-and-sawhorse tables had been taken down and put away, and the last of the cowboys, spinsters and married couples had departed for their respective ranches or houses in town, Gil walked Faith home.

“Your supper was delicious, Faith,” he said, as they walked down the quiet street. “I’m so glad your friend did what she did to make that possible.”

“Me, too,” she murmured. “I’ll have to thank Milly when I see her in church tomorrow. I think she was just going to stay the night with Sarah because tomorrow’s Sunday.”

“I’ll make it a point to do the same.”

Once again, Gil wished Faith lived farther than she did from the church. He wanted to spend more time with her, discover what on her mind.
In her soul.
But they had only to walk past the parsonage and the doctor’s office, and there was the Bennett home. And from the light he saw through the curtains, it looked as if her parents might still be in the parlor. He didn’t want to talk with her on the porch, aware that their conversation might be overheard through the open windows.

“Perhaps we could go for a buggy ride tomorrow afternoon?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

He could feel her hesitance. She stared up at him in the dim light.

“Gil—”

“Are you worried about running into Comanches? I happened to speak to Major McConley and Sheriff Bishop the other day, and from what they were saying, there haven’t been any other Indian sightings since my encounter with them. I think they probably left the area after that, fearing I’d report the incident. In any case, we wouldn’t go far.”

“No, it’s not that,” Faith said. “Like you, I think they’ve gone. But I thought we agreed we weren’t going to do anything that looked like courting.”

“It’s not—not unless...well, you know. I’m thinking of it as spending time with a friend.”

She looked skeptical at his argument. “Gil, I can’t help thinking that spending time with me is keeping you from courting the right woman.”

You are the right woman!
he wanted to exclaim.
If only—

If only.
He could not wish her into something she was not.

“Faith,” he said instead, “I want you to rest easy on one thing. As nice and pretty as the other ladies in the Spinsters’ Club are, I do not feel led toward any of them. If you weren’t here, I don’t believe that would change.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she agreed to go.

Chapter Seventeen

“D
id you have a nice supper with the preacher? You certainly seemed to be enjoying yourself,” Merriwell said from the parlor, as she stepped into the house.

Faith whirled from the hat rack, where she had hung her light muslin shawl.

“Oh! I thought Mama and Papa were sitting there,” she said, looking around the room as if they still might be lurking in the corner somewhere.

“They went on to bed,” he murmured in his smooth drawl, and waited.

She realized he had asked her a question, and she had not answered. Something about the man put her so off balance.

“Yes, we had an enjoyable time,” she said. “Reverend Gil is my friend. I always enjoy his company.” She was aware she sounded a little defensive.

“Careful, Miss Faith,” he said, keeping his voice low. “For all your protestations of being a freethinker like myself, I believe he’s trying to transform you into one of his sheep.”

Better a sheep than a sly goat like yourself,
she thought but didn’t say it.

He sighed. “But it’s none of my business, I suppose.”

“That’s right. What I do and think is my own affair.”

“Pity. We could have made quite a team, you and I. Your father doesn’t appreciate what a keen mind you have, you know. I’ve seen it, though. Working on the newspaper together, we could have been quite a force for freedom of thought in this town.”

She stared at him.
How had he known how much she longed to be a part of the newspaper business? To be important to her father?
Merriwell tempted her with the very thing she longed so much for.

She remembered Gil’s father once doing a sermon on Christ’s temptation in the wilderness, how the Devil had led him up to a summit and tempted him with worldly power. Had Jesus felt the pull of what could be, like she did?

“And what would Simpson Creek look like, with more people like you here, I wonder?” she murmured out loud. “No, Mr. Merriwell,” she said, deliberately using his last name instead of Yancey, as he’d asked her to before. “I think I like Simpson Creek just as it is.”
Before you came, that is.

It was a pointed reply, and she knew he got her point by his swift intake of breath.

“Very well,” he said after a moment. “If your mind is quite made up, do not fear that I will press you further. But you
do
have to make up your mind as to what you are, you know. Sooner or later you will trip up, and reveal yourself for what you are. Already, I’ll wager, you’ve come close, haven’t you? How will they treat you when they find out you’re different?” He chuckled. “They won’t act so
Christian
to you then, I believe.”

She couldn’t quite stifle a shiver, remembering the times she’d left her eyes open and her head unbowed during prayer—either out of rebellion or absentmindedness, only to have someone in the congregation look up too soon and see her. Or the time when she’d daydreamed during one of Papa’s table blessings over the meal, and kept her eyes shut, only to hear her mother laugh and tell her he’d said amen a minute ago?

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me, Miss Faith. I wonder, though, does the Bible thumper suspect?”

“Gil’s never thumped a Bible in his life,” she said indignantly, though she was careful to keep her voice down, too, lest her parents hear her. “But yes, he knows. I would not keep such a thing from him. And he does not condemn me.”

Merriwell arched a brow. “I give you credit for your honesty, then—with him at least. How very noble of him. But he can never marry you, can he, as things are? What do they call it, those Christians, an ‘unequal yoke’? Yes, that’s it, as if you were both dumb oxen.”

She felt as if he’d struck her. “
No,
he can’t,” she breathed, her throat so thick and tight with that truth it threatened to choke her. It was all she could manage to utter, with the wild sorrow and anger swirling inside her. “And as it doesn’t concern you, you have no right to talk about such a thing,” she seethed.

“I suppose not. My humblest apologies, Miss Faith,” he said, his regret patently false. He moved toward the door. “I believe I will take a walk before I turn in. Good night.”

Going out to smoke one of those smelly cheroots, Faith guessed, or perhaps to have a drink at the saloon. She’d smelled both tobacco and whiskey on him before, and had heard the door open late at night, after the household had gone to bed. She supposed her father didn’t care as long as his employee did these things away from the house.

Now she stared at the door long after it had closed behind him, knowing the anger he had aroused and her uncertainty about what she should do about Gil would keep her sleepless for hours.

* * *

Gil lay awake for a long time, too, pondering his course just as Faith was doing. Yet when the insistent knocking at the door came, it woke him from a deep sleep.

“Rev’rend, we need you! Wake up!” shouted a voice outside.

His brain still fogged with sleep and the remnants of a dream, Gil stumbled out of bed. Coming out into the hallway that divided the two bedrooms, he saw his father struggling to get up.

“Papa, I’ll see who it is,” he said. “You can stay in bed.”

George Detwiler stood on the doorstep, his collarless shirt splashed with crimson.

“Reverend, y’ got t’come to the saloon! She’s cut bad...I think she’s d-dying!” George cried, his eyes wild, his hands raised in entreaty. They were bloodstained, too.

Faith!
But no, the saloon owner hadn’t said her name, Gil realized. He’d been dreaming about her just before the knocking. There was no reason to think Faith would be at the saloon.

“
Who’s
been cut, George?” he asked. “Did you tell Doc Walker?”

“Yessir, I notified him first, and he ran on down, but she said she was gonna die and she wanted th’ preacher,” Detwiler said. “It’s Dovie, one of the two girls workin’ in my saloon, Rev’rend. She went upstairs with one a’ the customers—that’s strictly between them and the men, y’understand, I don’t tell them they can or they can’t, and I sure don’t take no part of any money—”

Gil raised his hand from the shirt he’d been trying to button. “I don’t need to know that right now, George. Just tell me what happened as we go,” he said, joining the man on the step. “Papa, I’ll be back soon as I can,” he called back into the house.

“Rev’rend, there was a handful a’ cowboys drinkin’ in the saloon, and that fella from Georgia, too,” Detwiler said as they walked. “I wasn’t payin’ no special attention, but then I saw Lupe was the only one servin’ drinks, an’ she said Dovie’d gone upstairs with that Georgia feller. An’ then we heard this unearthly scream, and we ran upstairs, and there was blood everywhere... He cut her
everywhere,
Rev’rend...”

The Georgia feller. Yancey Merriwell.

“Where’s Merriwell now?” Gil asked as they passed Gilmore House. They were nearly to the saloon. “Sheriff Bishop have him in a jail cell?”

The saloonkeeper shook his head. “Nope, we heard a clatterin’ on the roof as we ran up the stairs—that was Merriwell slidin’ off the roof to escape. Then we heard a horse gallopin’ away, and one of the cowboys yellin’ that he’d stolen his horse. Bishop and th’ deputy are ridin’ out after him, but I reckon that scoundrel got a good start,” he said.

They reached the saloon then, and pushed the batwing doors open. A handful of cowboys milled around the bottom of the steps, staring upward, but they opened a path for Gil and Detwiler as they approached.

Gil’s first thought on seeing the young woman stretched out on the narrow bed with its cheap white-painted iron headboard was that she was several shades whiter than the threadbare, dingy sheet she lay on.

Instantly the bare-board walls of the little room faded and Gil was standing in another saloon, in another city, at another time, standing over another bloody saloon girl. Only that girl was dead—and her baby inside her, too.
His baby.

Nolan Walker raised his head from the bloodstained bandage he was pressing to her chest, his face grim, his eyes devoid of hope. He shook his head at Gil.

Gil thought he meant she was already dead, too, and his heart sank.
Lord, how could this be happening again?
But then the doctor smoothed her hair away from a sweat-pearled forehead and said, “Dovie, the preacher’s here.”

The saloon girl’s eyes fluttered open and she stared at Gil as he knelt beside the bed. “Preacher, I’m...not gonna make it,” she said in a voice so devoid of strength he couldn’t be sure he’d actually heard it. “Wan’ you to pray for me. I ain’t been...a good woman.”

Gil had never met the woman, but now he called her by her name as if she’d sat in a pew every Sunday. “Dovie, Doctor Nolan’s here, and he’s doing everything he can for you. You’ve got to hang on. I’m going to pray that you get better.”

The injured woman shook her head with a vigor borne of desperation. “No...stabbed me in th’ lung, I think,” she said, gulping for air like a landed perch. “I ain’t got...much time. Wanna repent my s-sins...”

Gil met Nolan’s eyes, and the look in them confirmed his fears and Dovie’s own words. He closed his eyes, asking for the right words.

“Dovie, Jesus told the thief on the cross that he was forgiven for his sins, and you must believe He forgives you, too, for whatever you’ve done. Are you asking Him for forgiveness, Dovie?”

She nodded, gulping again for air. There was a bluish-gray cast to the skin around her mouth now, and the irises of her staring eyes widened. “Wanna go to Heaven,” she murmured. “Don’ d-deserve to...” Her eyelids sagged halfway over her eyes as if she no longer had the power to hold them open.

“None of us do, Dovie, but He forgives us and takes us home to be with Him,” Gil murmured, holding her cold, clammy hand.

She made an attempt at a smile, exhaled shakily and went still.

* * *

Her father returned to the house just as Faith and her mother were finishing breakfast the next morning. His face was drawn, his eyes stricken.

“Robert, what’s the matter?” her mother asked, rising.

“I went out to see if anyone had seen Merriwell,” he said, sinking into a chair. “His bed hadn’t been slept in, so I thought maybe he’d overindulged at the saloon last night. Thought he mighta got into trouble, so I checked at the jail. No one was there, but I ran into George Detwiler, and he told me Yancey’d killed a woman in his saloon last night. One of the—” he darted a glance at Faith “—one of the women who works there.”

Faith covered her mouth in horror. She heard her mother ask, “Is he in jail?”

Her father shook his head. “Apparently he stole one of the horses at the hitching rail and lit out. Sheriff Bishop and his deputy rode after him, and they haven’t come back yet.” He laid his head on his arms and his shoulders shook. “Lydia, how could I have been so wrong about a man?”

Her mother went to him and put her arms around him, laying her head on his. “Robert, you couldn’t have known...”

Faith stared at them without really seeing her parents, remembering last night when the Georgian had said he was going out for a walk. There’d been a darkness in Yancey Merriwell’s eyes, and she could almost see the anger radiating from him in waves. He’d taken her rejection of him out on another woman, and the woman had paid with her life.

“Detwiler said there’s no church service this morning, just the mayor leading folks in prayer if they want to participate,” her father went on, his voice muffled and thick with unshed tears. “He said young Gil came and comforted the woman until she...passed. He’s apparently taking it real hard. No one knows where he went.”

“G—Reverend Gil left?” Faith cried. “Where would he have gone?” Surely he wouldn’t have tried to apprehend the murderer himself. Not in a buggy.

Her father lifted his head. “Detwiler said his mama is sitting with Reverend Chadwick now,” he said.

She had to find him. She ran upstairs, got enough coins from her small savings to rent a horse and headed for the door.

“Are you going to church, Faith?” her mother asked, half rising. “Wait a moment, and I’ll go with you—”

“I have to find Gil!” she called over her shoulder.

Her father shouted something after her, but she was out the door before he could complete his sentence.

* * *

Faith wished she believed enough to pray, at least enough of a prayer so she would go the correct way. But she figured it wasn’t right to pray just for a selfish wish like that, if you weren’t first on speaking terms with the One you prayed to.

Hoping she was picking the direction Gil had gone, Faith headed the rented gelding eastward at a lope. She was nearly all the way to San Saba when she spotted the buggy sitting under the shady bows of an enormous live oak.

She nudged the horse forward, but only at a walk. The back of the buggy faced the road, so she couldn’t tell if Gil was in the buggy or had left it.

She found him sitting in the buggy, his head bowed in prayer. He was so intent he hadn’t even heard her approach.

“Gil?” Faith called softly, not wanting to startle him.

He raised his head slowly, as if coming out of a trance, and she saw that his eyes were full of torment.

He blinked, his eyes struggling to focus. “Faith.” His voice was dull.

“Are you all right? I was worried about you, Gil,” she said, peering into the buggy from the back of her mount. She was still worried about him, she thought, seeing his red-rimmed eyes.

“Have they found Merriwell?” he asked.

Faith shook her head. “I passed Sheriff Bishop and his deputy riding back into town as I was leaving it,” she said. “They tried to track him as soon as it was light, but they lost his trail after he forded a creek in a rocky area. They’re putting the word out to other towns nearby.”

“Is Papa all right? I shouldn’t have left him like that, but he said it was all right. That I needed to go pray.”

“Mrs. Detwiler is with him, so I’m sure he’s fine,” she said. “Gil, it’s horrible what Merriwell did. That poor girl...but...” Her voice trailed off. As awful as the murder of the saloon girl was, Gil seemed to be grieving over more than that. Unless—
had he had some sort of liaison with her?