The Preacher's Wife Read online

  Brandi creates strong, believable, memorable characters that will touch readers’ hearts.

  —CECELIA DOWDY

  AUTHOR OF CHESAPEAKE WEDDINGS

  (THREE-IN-ONE COLLECTION)

  Brandi Boddie has written a wonderful story of redemption and forgiveness set on the Kansas plains in 1870. The hero is an unconventional preacher who has eyes for only one woman—a saloon girl. Their heartwarming story is sure to delight and the fast-paced plot will keep you guessing. Best of all, the end is bound to leave you with a smile.

  —MARGARET BROWNLEY

  NEW YORK TIMES BEST-SELLING AUTHOR OF

  THE ROCKY CREEK SERIES

  The Preacher's Wife is a heartwarming tale of God’s forgiveness and changed hearts when people let God guide their actions rather than acting on their own feelings and desires. Brandi Boddie has woven a story that is full of characters who will grab your attention and keep it until the last page is turned and the last sentence read.

  —MARTHA ROGERS

  AUTHOR OF THE WINDS ACROSS THE PRAIRIES AND

  SEASONS OF THE HEART SERIES

  The Preacher's Wife is full of characters that draw you in and hold you fast. Brandi Boddie has written a book that is compelling and heart tugging. I didn’t want it to end.

  —MARY CONNEALY

  AUTHOR OF THE KINCAID BRIDES SERIES

  Not afraid to tackle sensitive subjects, Brandi Boddie weaves an intriguing romance around fascinating characters. In The Preacher's Wife Ms. Boddie drew me into the story of 1870s’ social prejudice in a small Kansas town. The more I read, the more caught up in the lives of these brave settlers I became. Truly a rewarding read.

  —DONITA K. PAUL

  BEST-SELLING AUTHOR OF THE DRAGON KEEPER

  CHRONICLES AND CHRONICLES OF CHIRIL

  Most CHARISMA HOUSE BOOK GROUP products are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchase for sales promotions, premiums, fund-raising, and educational needs. For details, write Charisma House Book Group, 600 Rinehart Road, Lake Mary, Florida 32746, or telephone (407) 333-0600.

  THE PREACHER'S WIFE by Brandi Boddie

  Published by Realms

  Charisma Media/Charisma House Book Group

  600 Rinehart Road

  Lake Mary, Florida 32746

  www.charismahouse.com

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means— electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  Unless otherwise noted, all Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  The characters in this book are fictitious unless they are historical figures explicitly named. Otherwise, any resemblance to actual people, whether living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by Brandi Boddie

  All rights reserved

  Cover design by Bill Johnson

  Visit the author’s website at http://brandiboddie.blogspot.com/.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:

  Boddie, Brandi.

  The preacher's wife / Brandi Boddie.

  p. cm. -- (Brides of Assurance ; bk. 1)

  ISBN 978-1-61638-843-0 (trade paper) -- ISBN 978-1-61638-844-7 (e-book)

  1. Rural clergy--Fiction. 2. Widowers--Fiction. 3. Women dancers--Fiction. 4. Bars (Drinking establishments)--Fiction. 5. Frontier and pioneer life--Fiction. 6. Kansas--Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3602.O32564P74 2012

  813'.6--dc22

  2012025536

  To James,

  whose love and encouragement served to make

  this long-held dream a reality.

  I’m blessed to call you my husband.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  I’D LIKE TO thank my agent, Kimberly Shumate of Living Word Literary Agency, for taking a chance on this first-time writer. Your expertise and support have been invaluable.

  I’d also like to thank the members of ACFW’s Colorado Springs chapter of Worship Write Witness for welcoming me into their community when I first moved to Colorado. This journey would have been lonely without you.

  Thanks to my editor, Lori Vanden Bosch, for her knowledge and time spent getting my writing into top form.

  Thank you to the entire Charisma House team and authors for welcoming and supporting me throughout the entire process.

  And a big expression of gratitude and praise to God, who made the desire of my heart come to be.

  Chapter 1

  July 1870, Kansas Plains

  WHAT DID I get myself into? Rowe Winford carried his three large valises from the passenger train to the station wait area. He had arrived in Clay-walk, Kansas, sooner than he expected. Then again, he had been daydreaming the entire trip, from the carriage ride in Richmond, Virginia, all the way west on the tracks of the Missouri-Kansas-Texas Railroad.

  So this was to be his new home, away from the war reformations, away from the bittersweet memories of his late wife, Josephine, and their stillborn son. The land seemed to engulf every living thing in its wide-ranging vastness. He felt like a tiny speck upon the face of the green, rolling earth.

  “Over here, sir.” A tall, lean man in rugged canvas trousers, work shirt, and Stetson hat waved him over to the other side of the wait area. A small schooner and horse awaited him.

  “Welcome to Kansas, Rev’ren.” The man’s white teeth flashed in his tanned face as he grinned. “We wouldn’t have expected you this early if you hadn’t sent that letter. I’m Dustin Sterling.” He stuck out his hand. “My friends call me Dusty. David Charlton sent me to come get you and take you to our lil’ town of Assurance down the road.”

  Rowe shook his hand. It was rough with calluses. He guessed him to be a horseman or rancher of sorts. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dusty. My name is Rowe Winford, but how did you know I was the new minister?”

  He pointed to Rowe’s overcoat and gray trousers. “Clothes don’t get that fancy in these parts. I knew you must be one of them city preachers back East.”

  “Richmond.”

  “Yep, I was right.” He picked up Rowe’s valises and hoisted them into the schooner. “Well, you’ll get used to this place soon enough, if you have the mind to.”

  Dusty drove him away from the train station. The trip toward the “lil’ town of Assurance down the road” turned out to be more along the lines of sixty minutes. Rowe passed the time taking in the nearly treeless plains and the endless open sky. To his left and right he found himself surrounded in a sea of green grass.

  “We just got rain last night, after a dry spell.” Dusty chatted amiably along the way about the land. “You have to watch out for the July wind.”

  “Wind? There’s barely a breeze out.” As the words escaped Rowe’s lips, a sudden gust blew in his face. He grabbed hold of his hat before i
t flew from his head. “Where did that come from?” He coughed as the wind forced air down his throat.

  Dusty chuckled. “Some say the devil’s in the wind. That’s how come it knocks you off your feet.”

  “Well, as long as we can keep him in the wind and out of town, things should be alright.”

  The wiry man cast him a wry glance. “’Fraid you might be getting here too late then, Rev’ren’. The devil’s come and set up shop in Assurance. And, sadly, business is sure boomin’.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Dusty shook his head. “There’s a saloon run by a businessman named Jason Garth. He can get a man to part with his wallet faster than a rattler strikes your heel. His girls help, with their short skirts and paid services.”

  “You mean prostitution.”

  Dusty shrugged. “I went to the dancehall before it got bad the last year or so. I haven’t been lately, but you’ll hear things. You’ll get your fill of gossip in Assurance.”

  Rowe thought about the people who hired him. “What about the church? Haven’t they tried to put a stop to what the saloon is doing?”

  “They grumble mostly. Folks here believe they shouldn’t sully their hands with the things of the world. Much easier to judge from a distance, I suspect, but I’m just a hired worker.”

  “Aren’t you also a town citizen?”

  He shook his head. “I’m all the way from San Antone. David Charlton hired me to tend his cattle, but I used to drive longhorns up here to the railroad.”

  “Well, it sounds like the people of the church don’t want to confront corruption.”

  The cowboy gave him another look. “Maybe that’s why they hired you.”

  Rowe chewed on the inside of his jaw. His first position as head of a church. An apathetic one, from what Dusty implied. He could prove himself by going after the saloon and its seedy practices, but what would be harder, doing that or convincing the church to get their hands dirty along with him?

  “Get thee clothed, heathen woman!” A man yelled down at her from the raised dais of the town square. “Thou art the scourge of this fine land, with your harlot’s garments!” He shook his fists.

  “I’m not a harlot. I’m just a saloon and dancehall girl.” Words she had repeated all too often.

  Marissa Pierce recognized the man as a traveling speaker, clutching his worn Bible to his chest. She hurried along the edge of the main road toward the bank, doing her best to hide her face from the disapproving looks from several of Assurance’s finest and upstanding populace.

  They would be right to judge me if I was an evening lady, she thought. I wish they knew the truth.

  She walked faster, adjusting her headpiece in a self-conscious attempt to push down the high feathers. Jason Garth, proprietor of the town’s only saloon, sent her out on a last-minute errand while she was getting dressed for the weekly Wednesday Night Revue. The money had to be deposited in the bank before it closed today, he stressed. Well, he could have let her know that earlier, before she changed into the tawdry costume!

  More than a few men eyed her in her knee-length ruffled skirt and soft-soled dance boots peeking out from her coat. She knew a number of them as patrons. Those walking with wives, mothers, or another respectable woman had the presence of mind to avert their gazes.

  “Have you no shame, lady of the night?” The orator cried in the profession’s flowery prose.

  “More than you’ll ever know,” she muttered.

  Marissa kept her back straight and face forward, tightly gripping the leather money satchel that held the saloon’s ill-begotten earnings. Would that she could put a stop to the corruption and leave the shady establishment today, but soon she would be away from it all. Her saloon contract with Jason was about to end, and she had some money saved for room and board.

  She considered her investment in a small share of the general goods store in Claywalk that was up for sale. If she received all the money due her, it would be enough to live off of until she found employment in the nearby town.

  A rush of excitement surged through her as she contemplated a new life elsewhere. She would be free, in a respectable position where no one knew of her horrible past.

  Marissa slowed her steps as a schooner rolled down the street. A dark-suited man seated atop peered about curiously, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun.

  “That must be our new preacher.” Linda Walsh, the town’s young seamstress, walked up beside Marissa. Always eager for conversation, Linda would speak to anyone who stopped to listen, as Marissa had learned since coming back to Assurance a couple years ago. “We weren’t expecting him for another two weeks. I wonder what made him take off from home so fast.”

  Marissa groaned at the thought of meeting another preacher. Every preacher she came across had turned her away once they discovered her profession.

  She watched the small schooner pull up to the local inn. She recognized the driver Dusty Sterling seated beside the other man. Dusty hopped down and tethered the horses. The man in black stepped onto the dusty curb. His recently polished boots gleamed.

  “Fancy one, he is,” Linda continued. “I hear he comes from a city somewhere in Virginia.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “It was in the paper a month ago. Our advertisement for a new preacher was answered from a man back East.”

  Marissa focused again on what was in front of her. The traveler indeed looked foreign to the prairie. Not a hint of travel dust stuck to his long, black frock coat and four-in-hand necktie, probably changed into just before departing the train. His gray pants were new and expertly tailored. He removed his hat briefly to wipe his brow, and Marissa saw the dark, wavy hair cropped close to his head.

  “He doesn’t have a wife or children with him. Such a shame.” Linda clucked her tongue. “He’s a handsome fellow, for certain.”

  Marissa agreed with her on that. He must have stood over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a powerful build. The man’s profile was strong and rigid, his square jaw and straight nose a true delight for the eyes. Assurance’s former preacher, Reverend Thomas, did not look like this.

  “Would having a wife and children make him a better preacher?”

  Linda tossed her a look. “That’s got nothing to do with it. One ought to be settled down at a certain age, wouldn’t you say so? Instead of running wild with the barmen?”

  Marissa absorbed the sting of emotional pain. Anything she said in response would not sway Linda or anyone else’s notion that she was just a beer-serving streetwalker. She put on a polite stoic face. “I’m sure the ladies of this town will clamor for his attention. Will you excuse me, Miss Linda? I should be going.”

  She left the seamstress just as Dusty carried the new preacher’s valises inside the inn. The preacher moved to follow then stopped short, pausing for Marissa to walk past. Marissa saw his blue eyes widen and take in her entire form, from the feathered hat on her head to the dainty-heeled boots on her feet. By his expression she didn’t know whether he admired or disapproved.

  His lips settled into a firm line of what looked to be distaste, and she got her answer.

  The preacher hadn’t been there for an hour and already she drew out his scorn. Marissa returned the stare until her image of him blurred with beckoning tears.

  He jolted from his perusal. His low, straight brows flicked. “Good day to you, ma’am.” He amiably tipped his hat to her.

  She paused, not used to being addressed in that fashion. Kindness was in his greeting, not the sarcasm she normally heard from others. Marissa tilted her head to get a clear look at him. His eyes were friendly, calm deep pools. The rest of his face, with its strong, angular lines, remained cordial.

  “Good day,” she replied, hoarse. Awkwardness seized her person. Marissa hastily continued on her way to the bank.

  Rowe stared after the brightly costumed woman, not noticing Dusty come from the inn until he stood in front of him, blocking the view.

 
“Your cabin by the lake is still bein’ cleared. The Charltons will pay for your stay here since they don’t have room at the farmhouse.”

  “That’s kind of them, Dusty. Who is that saloon woman? I hoped she didn’t think me impertinent for stepping in her path.”

  Dusty squinted in the distance. “Oh, Arrow Missy? She’s a dancer down at Jason’s.”

  Dancer. That explained the light-stepping gait. “Why do you call her that?”

  “She’s got a sharp tongue and even sharper aim with the drinks. That is, before I stopped going there.” Dusty scratched his chin.

  “I think I upset her. She looked sad.” Rowe studied her shrinking form as she went inside the bank. She was a lovely young woman, tall and raven-haired. Her features carried an exotic lilt. He guessed her to be in her early twenties.

  If he wasn’t the one who caused her to be upset, then what made the tears brim in her eyes?

  “You carrying that last bag in, or you want me to do it?”

  Rowe picked up his valise. “I’ve got it, Dusty.” He went inside the inn, glancing one more time in the direction of the bank, his mind still on the melancholy woman with the dancing boots.

  Chapter 2

  TWELVE CASES OF whiskey containing nine bottles apiece. Add four cases of bourbon, and we have one hundred and forty-four bottles in total.” Jason Garth, owner of Jason’s Saloon and Dancehall, stacked the ledger books on the table. His long face stretched into a smile as he pushed several lank strands of prematurely graying brown hair off his forehead. “It’s going to be a very good week, wouldn’t you say, darlin’?”

  Marissa dragged her heel under the table, watching him take out a pencil and record the respective amounts. Last night had been a good night for the saloon. Tonight would also likely be a winner. Men were sure to come out in droves for the Revue this evening, eager to spend their hard-earned money from the production of crops, livestock, and merchant goods on strong drink. Their money went to the saloon girls too if they persuaded the men to dance or buy them a libation.

  “Yes,” she replied, her enthusiasm for the work long gone. “We earned double the amount we usually make in one evening.”