The Preacher's Wife Page 8

  The saloon din downstairs rose as the hour grew late. The tinkling piano gave entrance to Simone’s routine. At Marissa’s urging, the older woman had taken her place for the hurdy-gurdy dance. From the sound of glasses clinking and men cheering, she was a good replacement.

  Marissa changed into her nightgown and brushed out her hair. For an hour after the saloon closed, she read familiar passages from the book of Psalms. A thin blanket covered her legs on the bed.

  Falling into an uneasy sleep, she started when someone turned a key in the latch of her bedroom door.

  “You thought to lock your door and take the night off?”

  Jason’s voice chafed her ears. The recesses of his face swallowed the light of the candle he held. Marissa instinctively drew her legs closer to her body, tucking the Bible at her side. What time was it? The darkness outside and the quiet of the saloon told her it was late. Two or three o’clock in the morning.

  He came to the side of the bed, reeking of strong spirits. Something was different about him. His usual spiteful humor was replaced by something darker, something cruel.

  “What are you hiding?” He indicated to her right arm. She shifted in bed.

  “Nothing.”

  “Show me.”

  “There is nothing to show. Leave me be, Jason.”

  “You lie!”

  Her shoulder hit the wall at a painful angle as he shoved her roughly against the headboard. Seizing the Bible that was under her arm, he flung it across the floor.

  Marissa’s heart thundered against her chest. Pain coursed down her left arm in waves as she held her shoulder. “I will be gone tomorrow morning. Don’t do this. My contract is out—”

  Jason struck her across the face before she could finish her sentence. The hard blow sent her crashing against the wooden headboard. Her vision blinded to pinpoints of yellow light.

  “Your contract isn’t out until I say it is! You’ll leave when I tell you to leave!”

  The coppery taste of blood formed in her mouth. Jason clamped down on her leg and dragged her from the bed. The splintery wooden floor scraped her bare knees and hands. She pushed to get up, but he sent her on her back with a kick to the stomach.

  “I should have done more of this to you earlier. Then you would know how to behave with a man.” He started unbuckling his belt.

  “No!” Her abdomen throbbed as she pleaded with him. Each breath felt like drawing in heavy gulps of fire.

  He whisked the belt from his pant loops and lashed her across the torso. Her body instinctively curled up into a tight ball as he whipped her, her screams drowning out the sound of each lash.

  “What’s going on, Jason?” Simone appeared in the doorway, along with two other frightened saloon girls.

  “Get to your rooms!” He paused in his whipping to address them.

  That pause was what Marissa needed to escape. Groping for something to throw at him, her fingers found it in a heavy porcelain pitcher and washbowl stacked on the floor, too big and odd-shaped to be packed into a trunk. She hurled the pitcher at his head with all her might.

  Once it left her hand, she didn’t stay to find out if it hit her mark. Scrambling to her feet, she made for the door. Simone and the other girls jumped out of the way before she collided into them. Marissa raced down the hallway and flew down the stairs, leaping the last several when she lost her balance. More pain seared through her body.

  Above, she heard Jason order the girls to pursue.

  Her bare feet trampled on sharp rocks stuck in the unpaved road outside, but she didn’t slow down. She ran as fast as she could through the town, searching for a place to hide.

  Stark moonlight cut a path through the road. The shops and stalls had been closed and boarded up for hours. All the lamps in the houses had long since gone out. No one was outside. Not the sheriff, a passerby, or even a late-working blacksmith showed himself as she searched left and right for help.

  Hooves pounded behind her. Jason’s curses carried in the air as he pursued on horseback. “You can’t leave me! You owe on your mother’s debt!”

  Marissa’s lungs tore with each frantic breath. Her mind willed her to go faster. Wind stung her bruised face, forcing tears to flow toward her ears. Jason had passed the point of anger. He was out for a kill. She veered on the left path at the fork in the road, toward the lake.

  Moonlight failed to illuminate the path as it did the town road. Stumbling in ditches and grooves left by wagon wheels, her foot twisted painfully on a large stone. She fell and clawed her way back to her feet, ignoring the agony that raced up her left leg.

  “Marissa, I see you. I hear your breathing.”

  If she could get to the forest of trees surrounding the edge of the lake, she could hide there until Jason rode down the path. It would wind around and take him back to town. Then she could return to the fork and take the right path, where an old, abandoned cabin stood at the end of it. The cabin would provide shelter and a hiding place until morning.

  Bramble and twigs stabbed her feet as she came upon the first line of trees and forced herself through. Low-lying branches caught in her hair and tore at her nightgown, ripping the lightweight fabric at the shoulder. Her skin was cut and scraped as she darted between the tree trunks.

  Jason skidded his horse to a halt some distance behind her. Marissa dropped to her knees on the forest floor, hoping the brambles hid her white nightgown from the moonlight.

  The trees hid what little moonlight there was to see him. Marissa barely made out the outline of his horse as it stood in the middle of the path, pawing the ground restlessly. Sweat burned her eyes as it ran down her face. She listened for Jason’s clomping steps and wondered if he would dismount and search for her on foot.

  Minutes stretched like hours before the horse and rider went onward down the left path. Marissa slowly allowed herself to take deep breaths as the sound of horse’s hooves faded.

  Blood flowed from her nose. She wiped it on the sleeve of her nightgown. With head pounding and a wave of nausea assaulting her, she picked herself up and pushed through the remaining trees.

  The lake edge waited at the end of the small forest. Moonlight reflected off the shimmering surface, lighting the way to the path around the right side. She hurried along, dizzy, legs protesting every inch of the way.

  The old cabin was just down the path. An oil lamp’s glow shone from one of the downstairs windows. Someone had moved in recently.

  Marissa spurred herself on, and the ground shook beneath her. She spun in time to see an unsaddled horse rushing toward her. She leapt aside. A hand caught in her hair.

  Jason jerked her head back. Marissa cried out as he pulled her to him, his nails digging into her scalp. She raked her own nails into the flesh of his hand until he let go. Grabbing hold of her nightgown, he ripped the already torn and tattered garment at the sleeve.

  Marissa broke free and stumbled backward, blurred vision and dizziness overpowering her other senses. The ground tilted to the left and right. Jason was a large, menacing haze that fast closed in.

  “Get away from me!” She threw her arms in front of herself in defense. The action further upset her delicate footing, sending her toppling upon the grass in front of the cabin.

  Jason pounced. She braced for attack, her head and heart pounding as one. God, help me! Where are You?

  A movement occurred in her right field of peripheral vision. Another person. A man’s voice.

  Through half-closed eyelids Marissa saw the figure run up upon Jason and block his attack. The figure drove him backward, away from her. Arms swung. Jason swore, reaching for the knife he always kept in his pocket.

  The distinctive sound came of bone cracking.

  The knife clattered harmlessly in the dirt. Jason fell to the ground on his hands and knees beside it, howling as blood streamed from his nose.

  Marissa saw no more. Pain, fatigue, and the taste of blood from her injuries made the nausea finally overtake her. She turned and vomited i
n the grass.

  Chapter 9

  ROWE FLEXED HIS fingers as the feeling returned to them. He meant to push Jason away, not be forced to punch him in the nose. The saloon proprietor left him no choice but to intervene.

  He heard a woman screaming for help and ran outside to find Jason attacking Marissa as though she were some forest animal. The initial sight of her, filthy, bleeding, her gown in tatters, caused a reaction within him that awaited no thought. He dashed from the front door to jump in front of Jason. Absorbing the blow meant for Marissa, he shoved Jason back before he could recover and strike her again. Jason threw wild punches, but Rowe effectively dodged them, long enough to deliver a swift blow that struck the saloonkeeper on the nose.

  When it was over, Jason stumbled to his feet and loped down the road to his horse. The animal carried him away at a fast gallop to town.

  Rowe crouched beside Marissa now as she wept softly, her head sloped on her chest in a miserable fashion. He smelled the sickness that she had expelled in the grass. His pulse raced when he saw the dark stains streaking her cheeks and chin—blood mixed with tears.

  “Marissa, can you walk?”

  She didn’t raise her head. “My leg…”

  He couldn’t see much in the dark, but her left leg appeared to be swollen around the ankle. “I’m going to carry you into the house. Put your arms around my neck.”

  “N–no…”

  But he had already hooked an arm beneath her knees and around her back. He stood up with her slowly, adjusting her weight in his arms so that she wouldn’t slip.

  “I’m too heavy,” she murmured into his shoulder.

  Rowe carried her into the cabin and kicked the door shut behind him. Going into the study proved to be a challenge, but he managed to place her upon the settee and moved the lamp closer to inspect her injuries.

  The nightgown alone told the story of her night’s struggles, bearing streaks of dirt, leaves, grass, and blood. Where it had been torn or ripped away from her skin, he saw the various scrapes and cuts along her shoulder and arms. The left ankle was swelling and inflamed.

  “Please allow me to look.” As he reached out slowly for the gown’s hem, she jerked back like an animal cornered.

  “Don’t touch me.” She eyed him suspiciously between strands of hair that fell in her face.

  “Marissa, I carried you into the cabin. I want to help you.” Rowe studied her pupils for signs of shock. Her heavy breathing punctured the room’s silence.

  “Where’s Jason?” She hugged her knees at her own mention of the man’s name.

  Rowe clamped down his jaw in silent anger for the terrified state Jason’s actions had brought her to. “He’s gone. He took off on his horse. You’re safe.”

  She remained with limbs drawn until her curled body took up very little space on the settee. “He could be waiting in the woods.”

  “I promise that Jason will not harm you here.” Rowe spoke as though the words themselves were weapons of defense. “I won’t let him.”

  Honey-brown eyes caught the light of the flame from the mounted opal font lamp above the desk. He knew then he would do anything in his power to protect her.

  “Am I safe from you?”

  First Marissa was pursued by a drunk, raging man. Now she sat alone in a cabin in the woods with another male. He understood her reasons for being fearful, but the distrust still stung like salt water on an open sore.

  “I would never harm you. I want to help. First, your ankle. May I see it?”

  She gradually relaxed until her legs extended across the settee. Rowe gingerly took the swollen ankle in his hand. The reddened skin was warm to the touch. “It might be broken. Can you move your leg?”

  Marissa nodded, and he had to ask her to demonstrate. Maneuvering her ankle in a circle, she winced. “It hurts.”

  “It’s not broken at least. It’s just a bad sprain. And you’ve got some splinters.” He examined the filthy, blackened soles of her feet.

  She drew in a ragged breath as he pulled the sizeable splinters out with his thumb and the edge of a fingernail. He hated to cause her pain, but it was necessary in order to prevent infection.

  Rowe left her seated to go upstairs for the washbasin and pitcher. On a shelf near the washstand he kept clean linens, a bottle of Dr. Tichenor’s Antiseptic, and a jar of liniment. He took them and returned to the lower level of the cabin.

  Marissa watched from the other room as he heated some water on the stove and poured it into the basin. He carried it into the study and set it on the floor beside her.

  “I would have left the saloon a long time ago if I had the money. This is my fault.”

  Rowe lathered a clean cloth with soap and wrung out the excess water. “It is not. Jason is the one at fault for not having self-control.” He pushed the wild, tangled sea of black hair away from her face, biting down his jaw when he uncovered the developing bruise across her cheek, and the dried blood under her nose. “Jason’s a disturbed man to beat a woman.”

  To his relief Marissa allowed him to clean the dirt and debris from her face. She had a small gash on her forehead with swelling in the surrounding area, which he dabbed carefully with the antiseptic.

  “Jason did it because he didn’t want me to leave.” She frowned when the antiseptic burned. “His anger’s gotten worse since the customers discovered that he dilutes the whiskey and overcharges.”

  “You told them about the price inflation?”

  “No, you preached about it in a sermon. Men have been repeating what they heard from you and the churchgoers.”

  Rowe stilled his hand. “I gave a sermon to make the town aware of deceitfulness. I intended to expose Jason without getting you in trouble, but it happened, anyhow.” Guilt settled on him, black as the stains on Marissa’s feet.

  “Oh, I don’t blame you. I’m glad you told the church. I was too worried about myself and scared to do anything.”

  “I caused this to happen to you.” He stared at the red-tinged water in the basin as ice cold sensations ate at him from the inside. Yet another woman he hurt.

  Concentrating on the scrapes along her calves, he washed and dressed them. They were as shapely and strong as the black-seamed stockings of her dance costume had once indicated.

  “If anyone saw the two of us like this, it would be scandalous,” she noted.

  “I could almost agree, except they would change their opinion if they knew what happened to you tonight.”

  Marissa shook her head. “They would think me cursed. I’ve been trying to get away from Jason and that saloon for years. I thought I had saved up enough money to leave town, but I got swindled out of an investment by so-called businessmen. No one’s hiring in Claywalk, either. I’m here in Assurance with no family, no friends, and little prospect.”

  “You have friends, Marissa,” he reminded her. “The Arthurs adore you.”

  “I don’t want them involved in this.”

  “But they are involved. They know the events of your life better than anyone else, and that causes them to reach out to you more.”

  “What events of your life brought you here?” She shifted her weight on the settee as she eyed him curiously.

  It was best to go along with her hasty way of ending an uncomfortable subject if he wanted to make any progress. Rowe had to bring it up again shortly if they were going to find a place for her to rest safely tonight. “I wanted a place to start fresh because I lost much after the war. My wife died delivering our son.”

  Marissa’s eyes widened. “Did the boy survive?”

  “No. I buried them both in Virginia.”

  Her voice was as soft as a child’s. “I’m deeply sorry for you.”

  He picked up another cloth and started tending to her feet. “I understand your reasons for wanting to leave a place because I’ve also gone through intolerable situations. Unlike you, the faults were my own.”

  “Your loss was tragic, but you can’t blame yourself.”

&nb
sp; “But I could have prevented that danger had I watched the signs. She wasn’t strong enough.”

  “No one can ensure that birthing a child won’t put a woman in danger. I’m sorry if I sound cruel.”

  “No, you don’t.” She sounded like the voice of truth, even if Rowe could not accept her as such. She hadn’t seen how Josephine suffered, how weak a shell his wife became in her final hours.

  In the dim light Marissa’s cheeks held the tiniest hint of a blush. Her voice softened again. “Did you have other family to turn to for comfort when they passed? A sister or brother?”

  “Yes and no. My family wanted me to farm instead of going into the ministry.” His gaze traveled to the desk, where Nathaniel’s letter lay folded atop a set of study volumes. “But it’s different with you. You have the help and concern from Zachary and Rebecca. I urge you to accept it.”

  The muscles in her foot tensed. “You saw what went on tonight. I can’t let that happen to them.”

  “It won’t. They’re strong people, like you.”

  She propped her cheek against her hand, fixing skeptical eyes on him. “You think running and screaming for help is strong?”

  “Not just physical. I see your strength in character because you persevere. A lesser woman wouldn’t have survived this long.”

  A single tear drop fell onto her cheek. “I feel like my strength is just about to give out.”

  “Then ask God to supply you with His. He never tires. He’s waiting to be with you.”

  “Are you saying that because you’re a preacher?”

  “I’m saying it because I’m a man. I’ve had my share of hard times.” Rowe sensed the bond beginning to form between them. It was a kinship of sorts, spun from having to face some of the severest adversities the world had to offer. Marissa wasn’t truly all that different from him. He presumed to be the helpful one, yet she was giving him encouragement simply with her presence and by listening.

  “Do you think God meant for us to meet?” Her question was so innocent, it immediately brightened his mood.