The Preacher's Wife Page 11

  Rowe read the name of the bride elect on the document. “What does your fiancée, Miss Alice Carson, have to say about the expedient wedding date?”

  Keith hung his head. “Well, you see, I said I would marry her when I was able to leave the railroad and earn my money an’ all, but things happened.”

  “What things?”

  Keith scratched his neck, looking everywhere about the study except directly at Rowe. “I ain’t been the best steward with my money. I hurt Alice with my venturin’ to the dance-hall most nights. It’s time I do what’s right by her.”

  “That’s honorable of you, but why do you want to be married today? Is Miss Carson with you?”

  “She’s on her way here. She wanted to stop at her ma’s house and change into her best Sunday dress. I went on ahead because I wanted to spare her of hearin’ me tell you this.”

  “Tell me what?”

  Keith hesitated. “We should be ’shamed, sir. And we are ’shamed. Mighty so.”

  Rowe had an inkling of what the man was trying to say. He patted his shoulder. “I’m not here to pass judgment on you or your fiancée. If you don’t want to tell me, I won’t press.”

  “So you know?” Keith glanced at him sideways.

  “I think I have an idea.”

  That seemed to put him at ease. “I wasn’t even thinkin’ about marryin’ her right away, but when she told me that she was expectin’, I know I needed to be a proper man to her.”

  “You’re doing the right thing.”

  “A child needs a father. Mine wasn’t around too much for me. I don’t want my little boy or girl to grow up without knowin’ their pa.”

  “That won’t happen now.”

  “That’s why I need you to marry Alice and me today. We can’t live in sin any longer. Please, Rev’ren.”

  Rowe went to the bookshelf for the book containing his outlines for ceremonies. He skimmed through the pages. “Do you and Miss Carson have any vows you’d like to present to each other?”

  Keith scratched his neck again. “No. She just realized her condition today when she was feelin’ poorly. We went to get the license and ran straight here. I think I hear her comin’ now.”

  A woman’s soft footsteps padded down the hall by the entrance to the sanctuary. Marissa stuck her head in the open doorway seconds later. Her skin was luminous, and her hair gleamed in a glowing, vibrant picture of health. As her sweet smile formed, all the battered images of her from days ago fled Rowe’s mind. “I’m returning the clothes you were so kind to lend.” She held up a wrapped bundle. Her lips parted slightly when she saw Keith.

  “Missy,” Keith greeted her, equally caught off guard. His eyes darted about the room again, this time avoiding hers.

  Rowe suddenly understood. Marissa was Keith’s reminder of all his time spent in the saloon when he wasn’t courting his fiancée.

  “I didn’t expect to find you here this afternoon, Keith,” Marissa spoke first, awkwardly. “I thought you’d be on the Claywalk line.”

  “I’m gettin’ married today.”

  She gasped. To Rowe’s surprise she dropped the bundled clothes on the desk like delivered laundry and let out a gleeful cry. “Congratulations, Keith. I’m so very happy for you.”

  Keith’s nervous mood washed away, and he ceased scratching his neck. “Thanks, Missy. You’re the first to wish me well.”

  “I know how much you wanted to settle down. You told me how lonely it is, laying track work across the prairie for monthly stretches at a time.”

  “Yeah, I’m just sorry for all that bad dancin’ I put you through.”

  She shook Keith’s hand and patted the top of it with her left. Were they good friends, or did she simply recognize Keith as a frequent saloon patron? Rowe never witnessed her come so alive around another person.

  “Keith, what in the name of decency are you doin’, touchin’ that painted cat?”

  Rowe viewed the shrill lady that marched into the study. Her flat-soled boots slapped the floor. From her slightly green pallor and the way her arm covered her abdomen in a protective gesture, he knew her to be only one person. Miss Alice Carson.

  Alice bristled up at Marissa. “Remove yourself from my future husband, you no-good, common slattern.”

  “Alice.” Keith’s eyes bulged. “Don’t speak that way in front of the rev’ren. You’re in a church. Missy was only congrat-ulatin’ me on the marriage.”

  “I’m sure she was. Jason’s women see more of you than I do. Don’t matter if you’re in the saloon or you ain’t.”

  A vein in his neck pulsed. “All that’s gonna change, Alice. I’m gonna be a father.”

  “Must you say that aloud before we’re married, Keith?” Alice covered her face in a show of humiliation.

  Rowe had to do something before more havoc ensued between the three people in his study. It was easy to see why Alice would be angry at finding Marissa near her fiancé, but her words were a whip that lashed out uncontrollably. “I can begin the ceremony whenever you’re ready, Miss Carson. Would you care for some tea first?”

  As Alice measured Marissa up and down with contempt, her expression showed just what she imagined doing with that tea. “No, Reverend Winford. I’d rather you marry Keith and me right away.”

  Marissa’s joviality from earlier had packed itself away tightly in a little box. Standing straight as a rod, her only movement was in the constant furling and unfurling of her hands. “You’re getting a good, kind man, Miss Carson.”

  “As I am marryin’ him, that knowledge hasn’t escaped me.”

  Rowe pickled at Alice’s caustic tone. “I have to ask you to refrain from your conversation, Miss Carson. As your fiancé stated, you are in a house of God.”

  Alice shut her mouth, shame written across her lips.

  “I should be going,” Marissa excused herself.

  “Wait.” Rowe stopped her just as she was halfway out the door. “Let me have a word with you when the ceremony concludes.”

  Sighing, she seated herself in the chair facing his desk and reached downward to tug the bottom of her slate-colored skirt over the tops of her boots.

  Keith ushered his fiancée out. Rowe followed behind them.

  The newlyweds waved good-bye to Rowe as they left the church. Marissa’s wagon was fixed alongside the steps, where the horse chewed lazily on the grass. Rowe blew a puff of air, grateful that she hadn’t stolen away while he was uniting Keith and Alice in matrimony.

  She was still in the chair when he returned to the study, pulling at her skirt as he saw her do before. The hem was curiously short, revealing the brown tops of boots that looked like a smaller version of the McKays he once tried to squeeze his feet into.

  “Thank you for waiting and for returning my clothes.” He placed the book of ceremony outlines back on the shelf.

  “If Keith hadn’t been getting married today, I’m certain he would have stopped to ponder why I’d be returning such items to you.” She gave a slight laugh, although nothing about her indicated she was feeling the least bit humorous.

  He placed the bundle of clothes in a drawer. “Have you fully recuperated from your injuries?”

  “Yes, I’ll have to visit Dr. Gillings tomorrow for Mrs. Arthur’s peace of mind.”

  “How did you get her to let you leave her sights today?”

  “I promised that I’d take the wagon instead of riding a horse.”

  “I asked Mr. Arthur about you.” Rowe moved in his seat for a comfortable position. Since when had the chair become so high-backed and rigid? “I hope you’ll forgive the new Mrs. McCauley for her comments. Brides sometimes do forget themselves on their wedding day.”

  Marissa made a small sound as she massaged her fingers. “Hmm. One can hardly blame her. Keith visited the saloon often. Seeing him with a former employee would stir her defenses.”

  “She still shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. You handled yourself well against her rudeness.”

  “It b
ecomes second nature when you hear it enough.”

  “You don’t have to hide it from me, Marissa. I know those words hurt you.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Once a saloon girl, you never quite lose the title. Even a woman pregnant out of wedlock can scorn.” She rose so hastily that he mirrored her movement without thinking. “That was wrong of me to say about Alice. Now I’m being rude. I should return to Mrs. Arthur before she worries.”

  “I’ll walk you outside.” Rowe vaulted around the desk to reach the door first. While holding it open for Marissa, he had the opportunity to observe her feet again. They were definitely men’s boots He was curious as to why Zachary hadn’t given her a pair of ladies’ shoes instead but politely remained silent. Her light steps made the thick-soled boots glide along the floor like dance slippers.

  Rowe offered his arm to her before they descended the steps outside. The hearty breeze pushed them from behind, making her cling to him.

  “I’m pleased to see you in good health,” he said as they came to the wagon. She started on her hands again, massaging and rotating each finger clockwise. “Do your hands trouble you?”

  “They do when I’m upset. You were correct about Mrs. McCauley’s words hurting.”

  Rowe studied the skin of her palms for redness or irritation. “I don’t mean to be rude or forward, but I don’t understand why you do that.”

  She shrugged. “My hands ache when I’m upset. Some people blink their eyes rapidly when they lie, or their neck muscles twitch when they’re anxious.”

  “You’re a good observer of people’s features.”

  “I learned that in my former profession. It saved me from many an unwelcome encounter.”

  Rowe assisted her when she put her good foot on the wagon platform to step up. His hands went to support her waist. “What do my features tell you?”

  Pausing with one foot on the platform and the other suspended in midair, she swiveled her neck to gaze at him. “You haven’t lied to me, and I’ve yet to see you twitch.”

  Good. She was unaware of how clumsy and doltish he became when she was around. He determined never to let her see it.

  “However,” she added, settling into her seat, “you do move about restlessly.”

  “What do you think it means?” he asked, putting a hand on the seat back.

  Her diaphragm expanded and contracted beneath her dress. “A constant purpose or passion, maybe. Only you know which.”

  Marissa’s nearness was heady. Rowe peered at her as he sensed tender, invisible threads weaving them together. Warm. Delicate. He grew afraid that if he broke her gaze, they would break.

  “Will you come to church on Sunday, Marissa?” He switched to a pastoral tone, trying to keep the hidden emotions from his voice.

  Her eyes flicked away. “I don’t know. I don’t want to be a distraction.”

  “You won’t be.” He didn’t know if he was lying to her—or himself.

  “You know I would be, after all that…happened.” Marissa shifted away from him, fumbling for the reins. Her face awakened with some untold sentiment. Sensing her discomfort, Rowe moved to untie the horse’s tether then got out of the wagon’s path.

  “Maybe when things calm down,” she said. “Then I will think about coming. Thank you for the invitation.”

  The horse’s head rose up in attention with a snap of the reins, and the animal pulled the wagon away.

  Chapter 13

  MARISSA’S ENCOUNTER WITH Rowe and the strange, indescribable sensation that passed between them came back to haunt her as she shivered in Dr. Gill-ings’s modest office. Despite the warm temperature in the room, her skin prickled beneath her white, tucked bodice.

  Rowe made contact with her before with handshakes, accidental brushes of the arm, and when he applied bandages to her wounds. What happened outside the church yesterday was altogether peculiar. Her whole being responded to it.

  It was terrifying.

  What force made her so abruptly aware of him? And how cruel it was, for how could there be anything between a man of God and a woman from a den of iniquity? She banished the notion from her mind again, as she did numerous times that day. These feelings surfaced because he had shown her kindness. It was foolish to imagine anything else.

  Besides, she had her livelihood to think about. She couldn’t continue to hide from Jason in such a small town. Marissa didn’t mention it to the Arthurs, but she knew that she had to come up with a more permanent arrangement, for their safety as well as her own. Eventually she would have to leave Assurance.

  “Looks like you’ll be receiving a clean bill of health, Miss Pierce.” Dr. Gillings put all his medical instruments away as Marissa set her feet on the floor.

  Rebecca thanked the doctor for his time. “I appreciate you caring for her. Her recovery was more swift than I could have imagined.”

  Dr. Gillings escorted them out. Back on the street Rebecca turned to Marissa. “You’re so quiet. Does your leg hurt?”

  “No.” Marissa cast a tentative glance in the direction of the woman who cared for her like a mother. Despite her terse refusal to accept Rebecca’s invitation to follow Christ, Rebecca maintained a loving and sweet disposition, bringing her tea, food, and making sure she got enough rest. The attentiveness left her awash with guilt. She had nothing with which to repay the woman for her kindness.

  Marissa came out of her brooding when Rebecca touched her shoulder. “I was thinking that we should pay a visit to the seamstress. Perhaps Mrs. Walsh or Linda will be on hand to make you dresses to wear for work at the store.”

  Marissa cheered up momentarily at the mention of clothes that fit. Now if something could be done about her feet. Zachary had been gracious enough to give her a pair of men’s boots until he could fashion a pair of ladies’ shoes in her size. The boots were comfortable, but every time she looked down and saw the tops of them, she felt more than a little self-conscious.

  At the door of the seamstress she had a change of heart. After all that had transpired lately, she didn’t want to give Linda Walsh more grist for the gossip mill.

  “On second thought, Mrs. Arthur, let’s find a few bolts of calico fabric from the general store. I can sew my own dresses, and it will be less expensive.”

  “Nonsense. This is my gift to you. Let’s go inside.”

  They found the store empty of all the Walshes except for one family member. Linda sat by the Wheeler and Wilson sewing machine as she embroidered a lovely white fabric with deep blue threads. “Hello, Mrs. Arthur.” Greeting the older woman cheerily, her expression immediately blackened at the sight of Marissa.

  If Rebecca noticed the abrupt change of face, she gave no acknowledgment. “Miss Walsh, we have need of your talents. Marissa needs several tucked bodices and a skirt or two, a Sunday dress, and some ready-made undergarments.”

  Linda assessed Marissa’s form. “She’s very big. I’ll need to measure her for sleeves and hem.”

  “We’ll have to have these clothes as soon as possible.”

  “You can have the bodices by tomorrow if I only have to fashion the sleeve length. A skirt too. The dress will take longer.”

  “How long?”

  “About a week, if I pause from my other customers. My parents will ask that I obtain a percentage of the payment today.”

  “Done.”

  Marissa started to dissuade Rebecca from extra spending, but the woman quieted her. “I said, consider it a gift. You can help me with the housework and in the store. Now I’m off to get some sorghum and molasses from the general store. I may even sit with Mr. Decker and his wife for coffee. See you in about an hour.”

  Rebecca made the impending ordeal sound as pleasant as gathering prairie violets and larkspurs. Marissa stifled the urge to pull her back, not wanting to be left alone with Linda’s sarcasm.

  The bell on the door chimed when it closed. No sooner did Rebecca leave than Linda’s true nature surfaced. “What do you need new clothes for all of a sudden?”


  “Mrs. Arthur thought I should have them.”

  “Why should she care about you?” Marissa, by instinct, formed a retort in her mind, but she held it at bay. “Mrs. Arthur has known my family for years.”

  Putting the sewing machine aside, Linda instructed her to stand in the dressing room. Marissa removed her skirt and bodice before a tall mirror in order for the measurements to be taken.

  “How did you get so tall anyway?” Linda spoke to Marissa’s reflection in the mirror.

  “Most of the women in my family were tall. My father was almost six and a half feet.”

  “Well, it makes you hard to sew for, and costly.” Linda put the tape around her waist. “You could make do with a tighter corset.”

  Marissa sighed. “Not every woman is meant to be whittle-waisted.” The temptation to trade insult for insult was great. She bit her tongue and listened as Linda described the white fabric she had been working on before Marissa and Rebecca came inside the shop.

  “That’s going to be a dress for Sophie. The material is imported from France, the very same cloth that the ladies of Paris use for their dresses. Very expensive.”

  “How nice.”

  “Don’t you wish you could afford one?”

  She refused to let Linda’s childish pettiness make her angry or envious. “Linda, I know we’ve bickered in the past, but it’s time to stop. There’s no need for it.”

  The girl scoffed. “You’re only saying that because you want Reverend Winford on your side. I’m no fool. Sophie told me how you tried to talk to him after church that Sunday. You can’t compete with her.”

  “I am not about to compete with any woman for the attention of a man.” A thread of unwelcome tension laced her tone. What exactly did Rowe think of a young lady like Sophie?

  Linda scoffed at her again after a short interval of silence. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” Kneeling at Marissa’s feet, she measured the length of her legs for a skirt hem.