The Preacher's Wife Page 6
He knew the man who welcomed him. Zachary Arthur and his wife were in the first row of pews at church last Sunday. Their encouraging smiles took much of his nervousness away at delivering the first sermon in front of a half-empty sanctuary.
Still gripping the broken handle of his hammer, Rowe hastily shoved the tool in the belt loop of his work pants. He needed to think up a good excuse for his presence. “Good morning, Mr. Arthur. I, ah, was wondering if you carry any work boots.”
Zachary inclined his head. “That I do. What size do you wear?”
“Size?” Rowe glanced down at his feet. “Twelve, stout.”
“Hmm.” Zachary tapped his chin. “I may carry several of those in stock. Let me check for you.” He headed for the back room. “Oh, and Mari can help you look out here while you’re waiting. She knows the store like the back of her hand, don’t you, Mari?”
Marissa folded her arms across her chest. Her caramel brown eyes shifted from Zachary to Rowe to the shoe seller again. Rowe offered a smile, but she turned her face before he could see it. “Show the reverend what the store has, child. I think there’s some McKays on the shelves.” Zachary disappeared into the back room.
Marissa’s dusky pink lips thinned into a straight line as her chest rose and sank, suppressing a sigh. Rowe studied her carefully as she turned, rather stiff.
Her greeting was forced politeness. “Reverend, how do you do?”
The maroon dress she wore flattered her dusky complexion. Tiny silver buttons reached all the way to her collar, where a delicate ring of lace framed her neck. A stray wisp of hair escaped her coiled black braid, the color and texture of it hinting at a mysterious heritage somewhere in her bloodline. Her eyes, slightly slanted in the corners, narrowed as she awaited his reply.
He straightened his posture. “Fairly well, thank you. I’d like to see a pair of those boots Mr. Arthur mentioned.”
The spicy scent of lavender trailed after her as she went to the shelf on his right and lifted one of a pair of brown boots for inspection. “This one?”
Rowe pretended to inspect the boot. He hoped that he didn’t look like a complete fool to Marissa. “Yes, it seems sturdy enough. I think this is what I need.”
“Do you want to try it on first?” She handed him the boot and indicated to a low stool set up in the corner facing a mirror. “You can see how it fits over there.”
Rowe crossed the room and had a seat on the stool. Untying his bootlaces, he proceeded to tug on the heels to get them off.
“Use the boot jack.” Marissa reached on the floor beside him for a simple contraption comprised of two wooden planks.
After he removed his right boot, he tried on the new McKays. The snug leather hugged his foot at the heel and instep. “Could I try the left one too, please?” he called to Marissa, who had disappeared behind another shelf.
He walked around the store when he had both McKays on. “What do you think?”
She offered no opinion. “How do they feel?”
“A bit tight at the instep.”
“The leather needs a chance to break in. I can show you a pair in a larger size if you want.”
“No, you’re probably right. New shoes never feel good at first. I’ll see what Mr. Arthur brings out.” Rowe sat down again and tried to remove the boots. They wouldn’t budge, even when he used the boot jack.
“Here.” Marissa knelt on the floor and started adjusting the bootlaces. “You may just need to loosen them a bit. Try now.”
While she held the boot, Rowe attempted to pull his foot out. She tugged one way, he another. “What if I can’t get them off?”
“Then you get to wear them home. After you pay for them.” The makings of a smile formed on Marissa’s face. Glad that she was no longer being taciturn, Rowe hoped to keep that pleasant expression there.
“Tell me that was your attempt at humor, Miss Pierce.”
“It was. What we’d really do is go back into the storage room for the saw.”
Rowe yanked his foot back, toppling over the stool. His back came in contact with one of the display stands. Several pairs of dainty ladies slippers fell into his lap.
“Are you alright?” Marissa hurried to his side, holding the boot that he successfully kicked off. A mischievous light in her eyes revealed the laughter they contained.
Mortified, Rowe jumped to his feet and rushed to place the slippers back on the stand. Zachary called out from the back room. “Did I hear something fall?”
Moments later the old man emerged with two pairs of boots in his arms. “These are all I carry in twelve, stout. Not too many men in this town have feet that size.”
“As I’m learning,” Rowe mumbled.
Marissa let out a chuckle. “Don’t feel bad. I have a similar problem finding women’s shoes. When I was a child, my mother sewed leather to the bottom of old burlap sacks.”
Zachary huffed. “Shame on you, Mari, fibbin’ to the preacher. Now, Reverend, I’ll have you know I’ve been supplying shoes to this young lady since she learned to wiggle her toes. None of my customers ever had to resort to using burlap sacks.”
Rowe grinned at Marissa and shook his head. A soft blush bloomed on her cheeks. “Your saleswoman has a unique sense of humor, Mr. Arthur.”
“You’ve heard nothing yet.” Zachary carried the shoes up to him. “Do you want to have a look at these, or did you like the ones she showed you?”
“I don’t think those suited me. What was their make, Miss Pierce? Miss Pierce?”
Rowe caught Marissa staring out the shop window. A melancholy expression replaced her former mirth as she made eye contact with a tall, ashen-brown-haired man standing outside in the street. The leanness of his build only served to enhance his height, giving him a sullen and sinister edge. His face was hard, with lines etched in a frown around his thin mouth.
Marissa moved to the door. “Good day, Mr. Arthur. Good day, Reverend.”
Rowe watched as she hurried across the street to the man, barely dodging an oncoming stagecoach. The man’s face folded into a deeper scowl as she communicated with him. His lips moved in a reply.
Rowe couldn’t make out his words, but judging from Marissa’s defiant stance, she was not pleased by what was being said. The man glared through the window again, his malevolent countenance fixed on Rowe this time. Rowe held his gaze, unflinching. The lean, wiry man clenched his fists at his sides once and put a hand on Marissa’s back, leading her away from the town square.
A second oncoming stagecoach blocked the view of their departure.
Shaking his head, Zachary turned from the window. “That Jason Garth is somethin’ else. I wish poor Mari were free of him.”
Rowe quelled the urge to march outside and tear the man’s hand away from Marissa’s person. He handled her as though she were his property. “So that’s the saloon’s proprietor.”
“Jason is the owner of the saloon, alright. Marissa’s an employee of his. What he has some of those women doing in that rotten establishment is downright despicable.”
“Mr. Arthur, what if you and I could work together to help Miss Pierce and gather the town back to the church?”
The old man twisted his mouth in curiosity. “I would like to see that happen, but how does Mari have a part in it?”
Rowe set the toppled stool upright as an idea came to him. He remembered Dusty stating that aside from the regular attendees, most people were occasional visitors, drifting in and out when they needed to hear a word of encouragement. “A dramatic conversion might draw the rest of Assurance to renew their own faith. Marissa already has your support, I gather.”
“Rebecca and I offered her a place to live and work, but she won’t take it. She worries about doing us more harm than good.”
“She has the desire to leave the saloon. She just needs a push from people who care. It’s as though Marissa knows better, and wants to do better, but is being held back.”
“You hit the nail on the head, Reverend,” Zachary agreed. “She
wasn’t raised to be in the position you see her in. Her mother came from good stock.”
“What happened?”
“Elizabeth got mixed up with an actor fellow who became Mari’s father. Gregory Pierce strolled into town one day with a traveling show, and before we knew it, Elizabeth went and fell in love with the man. They lived here for nine years after Mari was born, but Greg wasn’t too keen on life in our little town. He wanted to go back to the cities, be onstage in the concert halls and on the riverboats. So he took Elizabeth and Mari on down to St. Louis.” Zachary paused to set the two pairs of boots on the floor. “Well, Greg found that folks just didn’t care for his old act. He fell on hard times and took to gambling. When the debts got bigger, he eventually left his family to fend for themselves. Elizabeth went to work in a dancehall then, desperate to make ends meet.”
Rowe couldn’t imagine what it was like for Marissa as a small girl, with no stable home. “Why didn’t Marissa’s mother come back to Assurance? Surely she had family or friends she could turn to.”
“By that time most of the folks Elizabeth knew moved out to seek land of their own or build the railroad. Her own parents died on a missions trip farther west. Before Elizabeth got sick with cholera, she made Jason Garth’s acquaintance while he was staying in Missouri. He was a businessman, startin’ up the plans for his own saloon here. He had already drawn up her contract to work for him.”
“Marissa’s mother wanted to work for Jason?”
“She had no other prospects. But Elizabeth died before she could fulfill the agreement. She still owed him money.”
“How did Marissa start working for him?”
“Mari was seventeen when her mother passed, still in need of a guardian. Jason told her that he would give her room and board if she agreed to take her mother’s place.”
Zachary paused again. Strong emotions came upon him, and his kindly face grew weathered and shadowed.
“Sir, I didn’t mean to stir these sad memories,” Rowe said.
The old man drew a breath and collected himself. “I think about Mari and her family often. I’ll gladly share what I know if it serves to help her. Where was I?”
“You said Jason promised Marissa room and board if she took Elizabeth’s place.”
“Yes. So when she turned eighteen, he had a contract officially drawn up for her to work in his establishment.”
Rowe felt sick to his stomach. “That’s why she’s there.”
Zachary shook his head slowly from side to side. “Rebecca and I were so happy to see Mari when she came back after so many years. But on the arm of Jason Garth…” His voice trailed off as his recollection became too much.
Rowe observed the genuine love and concern Zachary held for Marissa. If Mr. Arthur and his wife had been given the opportunity, there was no doubt they would have taken her in as their own. “Were you and Mrs. Arthur friends with Elizabeth?”
“We knew Elizabeth from her grandparents. Rebecca and I would go to their home in the early days for Bible study. Her grandmother, a Comanche woman, married Hank Procter, one of the missionaries.”
That explained the striking beauty that lent itself to Marissa’s features.
“Thank you for sharing this with me, Mr. Arthur. I know it must have been hard—”
The old man suddenly jabbed a finger at him. “See here, young man. I didn’t share this with you to see if all my memories were still between my ears. Mari told my wife and me the truth about her life so we wouldn’t judge her. I expect you to put this new knowledge to work and help her. Hear me, son?”
Not expecting such a powerful reaction to come from an elderly man, Rowe was stunned. He put on the boots he came in with. “I’ll go to her. My guess is, she’s at the saloon. I’ll be back to purchase shoes another time.”
“One other thing. Yes, her conversion would be good for the church. But whether she converts or not, she needs our help. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Rowe agreed. But he was still excited at the idea of saloon girl, rescued from a shady establishment, finding new life in the church. It was just what he needed to start his ministry with a bang.
Heading for Jason’s saloon, Rowe completely forgot about the broken hammer and trip to the general store.
Chapter 7
MARISSA BEGAN TO set up the ale glasses for the evening crowd. Thursday night usually drew in fair numbers for the saloon.
Jason devised a skit routine for the girls that involved customer participation. They would go about the room and get men to do impressions of animals, famous people, or other fluff. The men could earn a kiss, a tickle, or quick cuddle. Jason said that it made men want to spend more time with the girls—private time, even—and would allow them a small sampling of what their money could buy.
She was very thankful only to have to dance and serve beer.
“How long is it gonna take with those glasses?” Jason demanded from behind the counter. “You have whiskey to dilute too.”
“I’m working as fast as I can.” As she increased her pace, her elbow bumped into a stray glass that hung precariously close to the edge of a table. It fell to the floor, shattering across her boots.
“Clumsy woman.” Jason uttered a curse as he grabbed a broom that rested against the staircase and flung it in her direction. She picked it up from the floor, careful not to slit her hand on the larger glass shards. “You wouldn’t have to rush and make mistakes if you hadn’t wasted all that time talking to the preacher man.”
Marissa swept as he approached, his boots crushing the glass beneath his heels into a gritty powder. Cigar smoke clung to his clothing like cheap cologne. “Just what were you two laughing and smiling about in old Zachary’s store?”
Her stomach turned at the overpowering scent of rye whiskey on his breath. “He needed work boots. I showed him some.”
Jason snorted loudly. “Since when did you start advising men of the cloth about what boots to buy?”
“Zachary asked me to help.”
“And while you’re helping old Zachary sell shoes, you’re telling the reverend how to shut my saloon down. I know about his Sunday sermon. He’s got every church-goin’ man and woman in town talking about being a good steward with money, about not being deceitful. I even had Sheriff McGee come in to ask me if my dealings were fair.”
Marissa dealt with a mix of trepidation and secret gladness that Jason’s practices were being called to attention. “We can make the dealings fair and still earn honest money. Lower the drink prices and charge an entrance fee at a certain hour of the night, for instance. Or let the men have a free dance if they’ve already spent a certain amount.”
He stopped her hands on the broom handle. “I knew you had something to do with this. It’s your way of getting revenge.”
“No, Jason. I want to be good to the customers and treat them with respect. I hate lying. Can’t you see if we dignify them, they’ll patronize the saloon even more?”
“I know what he’s doing,” he barked. “That preacher’s making an example of you. He is using you to build his church. Draw in the sinners! I’m not about to change my ways because some new preacher skips through town and charms the starch out of your petticoat!”
She snatched her hands away from his. “You think that’s what this is about, that I only want to do what’s right to impress a man? You don’t know anything about me.”
Daylight shot in, illuminating the drab browns of the room and the tiny dust particles that floated about. Marissa gasped when she identified the tall man who stood at the entrance.
“You lost, Reverend?” Jason snarled.
Rowe closed the doors behind him, sending the saloon back into its murkiness. He kept his eyes on the proprietor, his face unreadable. “May I speak to Miss Pierce?”
This sudden interruption was sure to make things worse. Marissa looked frantically at Jason. He started fist fights when provoked, and there wasn’t a time she could remember when he didn’t finish them.
With a smirk he then gestured for Rowe to come forward. “Go ahead. Talk to her.” Taking his time to go to the other end of the bar, he sat down on a stool to watch the impending exchange.
“Thank you.” Rowe approached.
Jason drew a cigar from his vest pocket and lit the tip. Inhaling, he let a puff of smoke drift out of his nostrils. Marissa pictured a bull preparing to gore his rival. “Sure you don’t want somethin’ to drink, Reverend? A glass of milk, perhaps? I’m afraid we’re out of holy water.”
Marissa glowered at Jason, but Rowe didn’t react to the insult. “No, thank you, Mr. Garth. I only came to speak briefly to Miss Pierce, and then I’ll be on my way.”
Rowe blocked Jason’s view of the two of them as he faced her. He always kept his posture straight and tall, but in the dim confines of the saloon, his broad-shouldered frame became the focal point.
“Hello again, Reverend Winford.”
“Call me Rowe.” He persisted with familiarity. “We’ve been introduced.”
“Rowe.” Her voice sounded small and nervous to her ears. She spared a glance at Jason to see if he noticed the change in pitch. He pretended to study the mysterious smudges on the ceiling. “What brings you to the saloon?”
“One other matter.” Rowe carried on. “I wanted to invite you to church this Sunday.” The seriousness in his eyes let her know he was not being facetious.
Jason let out a snicker.
Humiliation crept into Marissa’s cheeks and flooded her whole body. Didn’t Rowe know where he was? More importantly, what she was? She swept the line of gritty glass between them into a pile. “I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”
“But you should hear the choir. They’ll be singing several beautiful pieces.”
Was he naïve enough to expect her to actually attend? The sanctuary would be so abuzz with hushed whispers that no one would hear the sermon for the constant drone of gossip.
“You shouldn’t be here. Why do you keep after me? Did Mr. Arthur put you up to this?”