The Preacher's Wife Read online

  “I believe it so. Do you consider me to be a friend, Marissa? Have you forgiven me for the way I spoke to you in the saloon?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. I had to say those things to make you mad enough to leave, or Jason would have become violent toward you.” Her tears had dried, and now the familiar mischievous glint lit her eyes. “But since you’re on the floor, scrubbing my feet, I can hardly think of a better show of remorse.”

  He considered the implications and burst out laughing. His humor infected her until she was forced to join in. Their combined hilarity filled the downstairs and carried throughout the sparse cabin. Rowe was grateful the nearest neighbor was a half mile down the road. Marissa composed herself first and reached down to take his hand. He nearly twitched from the touch of her soft palms. “You are a very good man. Thank you for coming to my aid tonight. It didn’t concern you, but you took it upon yourself to prevent Jason from doing worse.”

  Rowe let the cloth drop from his other hand and rose to sit beside her, sobering at the intense gratitude on her face. Whispering, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It did concern me. Very much.”

  Marissa didn’t flinch or shy away from his touch as his fingers grazed her cheek. The room suddenly grew too warm, and he had to draw back and stand. “I have to take you somewhere else. You may have other injuries that require a doctor, and a lady will need to assist you with your nightgown. We need to inform the sheriff of what happened as well.”

  “No sheriff.” Realizing how badly the nightgown was torn at the shoulder, exposing part of her back and collarbone, she gathered the tatters in her fist. “And I don’t need a doctor. Other than a few scrapes and bruises, I’m fine. My ankle will heal in a few days.”

  “You can’t stay here for that long. I don’t have the supplies to tend to you like you should be taken care of.”

  “I didn’t plan on staying here. Are you concerned for my reputation, Reverend, or for your own?”

  Rowe winced as she returned to the use of formal address. They warmed to each other beyond bare acquaintance, and once again his poor choice of words placed them at a distance. “My concern is for you. For your health and, yes, for your reputation. I respect you too much to let you be subjected to more ignorant gossip just as you’re on the verge of starting a new life. I won’t get the sheriff, if that’s what you want, but please allow me to take you someplace where I know you’ll be safe and well cared for.” Pleading against her unwilling stare, he added, “Give me that much.”

  Marissa nodded, if still somewhat reluctantly. Rowe finished applying antiseptic to the visible wounds on her arms and feet and bandaged them. The ankle had ceased its swelling.

  “I’ll give you a shirt and some pants to wear over your gown. You probably have already guessed where I’m taking you.”

  She nodded reluctantly. “I’ll scare Zachary and Rebecca if they see me like this.”

  Rowe left her momentarily to return to his bedroom. There he pulled a carefully folded tan shirt and pair of dark brown trousers from a trunk. The trousers were from his days at university, before the war put additional muscle weight on his frame. Since moving west, he meant to have the seams let out to fit his current proportions, but they would suit Marissa for the time being.

  “I’ll saddle the horse while you put these on.” He laid the garments beside her, along with a belt.

  “I’ll only bring trouble to the Arthurs if I go there. Jason will come after me when he finds out I’m in their home.”

  “Jason will not trouble you again.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I’m going to see him this morning, right after I take you to Zachary and Rebecca.”

  Rowe left Marissa in the study while he went to empty the washbasin outside. He scanned the darkened trees around him. The trip to town might be dangerous if Jason was foolish enough to wait in the woods.

  Marissa was dressed by the time Rowe returned to the cabin.

  “The horse is awake and saddled.” He came into the study and rummaged through the desk until he withdrew a gun from the bottom drawer, an old Colt Navy revolver with some bullets. “After the war I hoped never to use a gun again. That was Virginia, where such a vow could be upheld for the most part in the more civilized areas of the state.”

  Marissa regarded him with widened eyes. “Don’t break your vow for me.”

  The Colt disappeared into a holster inside his waistcoat. “If a gun is required to protect you, then I will carry it, but I hope to get you to safety before I have to even think of using this.”

  Holding the settee arm for support, Marissa struggled to stand to her feet.

  “Sit back down. Your ankle hasn’t healed already.” Rowe crossed the room and proceeded to lift her again.

  “I’m too heavy for this,” she protested.

  “I’m carrying you, aren’t I?” He took her all the way outside and placed her atop the awaiting horse. Climbing astride the saddle behind her, Rowe patted his waistcoat for the Colt.

  Leaning against him, Marissa moaned. “I’ve caused nothing but trouble this night.”

  Rowe kept her securely astride the horse with his arm across her torso. “Are you going to let hopelessness cloud your every thought?”

  “I didn’t intend to sound hopeless. Do I?”

  “Yes, you do. Whatever you do, don’t give up.”

  Chapter 10

  THEY MADE IT to town without trouble. Marissa directed him to the Arthurs’ house. The faintest trace of early morning light dawned on the horizon as Rowe knocked on the door.

  It opened a crack, and a sleepy Mr. Arthur peeked out, yawning loudly. “Who’s there? Do you have any idea what time it—oh, it’s you, young man. What can we do for you at this absurdly early hour of the morning?”

  Marissa heard their conversation from the street. The cuts and scratches she sustained chafed against her clothes, and sitting upon a horse did absolutely nothing to ease her discomfort. Still, fatigue set in hard enough to enable her to doze in the saddle. Absently stroking the animal’s brown mane, she continued to listen to Rowe and Zachary.

  “Marissa’s been hurt. She needs someplace safe to stay until she can recover.”

  Zachary looked in her direction. “Hurt? What happened?”

  Rowe gave a short explanation of the chase through the town and into the woods. “I heard her scream outside my cabin. Jason was assaulting her. I managed to stop him, but as you’ll see, she’s had a very hard night.”

  Marissa looked down at the pommel of the saddle. The Arthurs should not see her this way. It wasn’t just her pride at stake. She hated for people to worry about her, and there was no question Zachary and Rebecca would fret themselves ill over this pit that she had fallen into.

  Rowe returned after Zachary closed the door. “He’s gone to tell his wife to prepare the spare room for you. He said you can stay as long as you need.”

  She encircled her arms around his neck so he could take her inside the house. Rowe handled her as though she were fragile glass, about to shatter with a mere breath of air. No man considered her delicate before. Most of the time she was practically tossed, dragged, and yanked across the saloon’s dancehall floor.

  Zachary and Rebecca waited for her inside, worried and nervous. Rebecca also was in her nightclothes. Her curly red hair, peppered with gray, spilled out of its loose topknot as she hastened to lead the way down the short hall to the spare room.

  “Oh, good,” Rowe said under his breath. “No stairs.”

  “I heard that,” Marissa chided.

  “Set her on the bed, Reverend,” Rebecca instructed. “I have drying cloths, water on the boil, smelling salts.”

  “She’s injured, Rebecca,” Zachary murmured, “not suffering a fainting spell.”

  “You only told me that Marissa was outside and she couldn’t walk. I didn’t know whether she was conscious or not.”

  The bed was soft and welcoming, especially after the fast
trot upon the horse. Marissa stretched her hurt leg upon the coverlet. Her nausea returned. “Could I trouble you for a glass of water? My stomach is all nerves.”

  Rebecca poured her a glass of water from the bedside table and held it to her lips. “Drink, my dear.”

  “Thank you.” The cold, clean-tasting water settled her stomach.

  The older woman examined her face while she finished her glass. Like Rowe, Rebecca gently felt her bruised cheeks and temples for deeper wounds. “Who could do this to your pretty face?” She spotted the long hem of Marissa’s nightgown where Marissa had tucked it in the waist of her borrowed pants. Rebecca pulled a few inches of the fabric out. “Good heavens.”

  “What is it?” Zachary rushed over, and seeing the bloodstained, dirty fabric, recoiled. Rebecca rolled up Marissa’s shirtsleeve and found more blood on the arm of the nightgown.

  Marissa turned her eyes away from their horrified glances. “It looks worse than it actually is. I had a nosebleed, and I had nothing to wipe with.”

  Zachary became enraged. “You shouldn’t have had a nosebleed. That no-account scoundrel should never have laid his hands on you.”

  Rebecca replaced the shirt over Marissa’s nightgown. “Please step out so that I can wash her and give her a clean nightgown.”

  “I’ll kill Jason for this.” Zachary stomped from the room. Rowe followed after him.

  Marissa heard Rowe’s calm voice attempting to assuage the older man’s anger. Their footsteps receded down the hall. “I’m sorry I’m causing you and your husband all this distress, Mrs. Arthur.”

  “Hush.” Zachary’s wife made her lie down while she began washing the dirt away from her back and legs. “Family owes no apologies.”

  Rowe kept one eye on the closed door, the other on Zachary as the old man paced about the room. For the past fifteen or so minutes, he had done his best to calm him, but the shoe seller was all but ready to go up in arms to the saloon.

  “He had no right to touch her that way. No right.” Zachary knocked a kerosene lamp over by accident.

  Rowe breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t lit. He went in search of rags to mop up the spilled mess. Zachary declined his help.

  “It’ll give me something to do while I wait for Rebecca to come out here. Go sit down over yonder at that table.” The old man found a cloth and started cleaning, picking up the broken lamp first. “I wish that Jason Garth never set foot in this town, he and his gamblin’ cheats. It’s one thing to let your workers go if you don’t care for their ways, but it’s quite another to beat up on them.”

  “Mr. Arthur, I feel the same way that you do. What Jason did to Marissa makes me furious, but we can’t go fist to fist with him. We can’t repay evil for evil.”

  “Well, we can’t just let him get by, either.” Zachary got on his hands and knees, joints popping.

  Rowe got down beside him and started mopping with the rag, unable to sit idle while the elderly man exhausted himself. “Jason won’t get by. He’ll get what he deserves, but not by our hands.”

  “No one else in this town’ll take action. Sheriff McGee’s got to be the laziest law enforcer this side of St. Louis. He sits in that little office in town and puts his big, flat feet up on the desk. The only thing he’ll shoot is tobacco juice in a spittoon.”

  Rowe’s own anger threatened to rise higher as Zachary continued to talk of the lack of law enforcement in the town and the saloonkeeper’s free rein. “Your fury is making you say those things, sir. You’re an upright man, and I know you don’t really want to commit any violent acts against another person, even Jason.”

  Zachary let out a loud and weary sigh. Stretching his legs out in front of his belly, he sat, helpless. “I’m an old man. I couldn’t raise my hands against anyone if I wanted to. But I’d sure try for Rebecca and for Mari.”

  “Marissa is safe and being cared for by your wife. That’s all that matters.”

  Zachary wrinkled his nose at the strong scent of kerosene beginning to fill the room. “I don’t want her to go back there. Dear God, help that child.” He bowed his head.

  Rowe’s nostrils burned as he worked faster to combat the stench. “He is, Mr. Arthur. He placed you and Rebecca in her life.”

  “And you, Reverend. She wouldn’t be under our roof if you didn’t bring her here.”

  Rowe smiled. “She did resist. I kept telling myself along the way here that her stubbornness will one day reveal itself as character strength.”

  “That I am waiting to see.” Zachary’s gruff countenance melted into a more presentable expression.

  Rebecca came out of the bedroom. Rowe stood as she entered, his stomach twisting in anticipation of her news. “How is she?”

  Rebecca sighed. “She seems to be alright, other than the cuts and bruises on her body. I didn’t see anything that looked dangerous, but I do want Dr. Gillings to examine her this morning.”

  Zachary nodded. “I’ll call for him as soon as possible.”

  “I’ve already washed her and given her one of my nightgowns. She’s sleeping now. I’ll give her something to eat when she wakes up.”

  The first rays of morning sunlight shone through the patterned curtains. Rowe heard the neighbor’s rooster crow. “I should be going.”

  “Thank you, Reverend,” Zachary said. “We hate what Jason did to Mari, but we’re sure glad she’s with us now.”

  Hopefully, she’ll stay with you. “I’ll return to visit when she’s well enough. Good day to you.” Rowe removed his hat from a peg and took his leave.

  It may have been a mistake to leave the Navy revolver in the saddlebag before going inside the saloon. He battled within himself about carrying it for safety, but seeing Zachary temporarily overcome by malice made him change his mind. Who knew what Jason was capable of, now that his attack on Marissa was thwarted?

  Jason’s clerks and serving ladies congregated in the dance-hall. From their frantic expressions and quick phrases about a doctor visit, Rowe surmised the boss wasn’t on the property. “Excuse me,” he called.

  All of the employees turned their heads toward him as one collective unit. Some of the women gasped. One winked. The men stared him down with reproach.

  “If you come here lookin’ for the boss, you’ve got some nerve, Preacher,” one of the clerks spat. “I’d get out of here if I was you.”

  Rowe faced him, not intimidated. “Tell me where he is, and I’ll leave. I don’t want any trouble.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have come. Gettin’ into Jason’s business was your mistake.” The clerk put his hands on his hips. “None of us are gonna give you any information.”

  He took in the various scowls, coy smiles, and blank stares and knew he would not make any progress with them. The workers were loyal to Jason.

  “Maybe you should preach your sermons here.” The lady who winked at him spoke. “We seem to be your favorite topic, and you come here enough.”

  “Shut your mouth, Nellie,” the clerk warned. “You can go on now, Reverend. Your business is finished here.”

  Rowe exchanged glances with each and every one of the saloon’s employees, memorizing their faces in case one of them would approach him in the future. He walked out of the saloon while entertaining the idea that he could get shot in the back. Blessedly he emerged outside, unscathed.

  The sun made its steady ascent into midmorning as he rode around the corner and up the street to the physician’s office, where Dr. Gillings’ name was painted on the door.

  “Is the doctor in yet?” he asked the female attendant at the front desk.

  “He’s tending to a patient at the moment. It could be for some time. The man has a broken nose.”

  That wasn’t good to hear. There was no way Jason or anyone else would believe he had tried to shield Marissa peaceably.

  “Is anything the matter, Reverend Winford? I could ask for the nurse.”

  “No, I’ll wait. It’s the patient with whom I need to speak.” His neck grew wa
rm as the attendant nodded her head in a slow, perplexed manner.

  “Then please take a seat.”

  After about ten more minutes passed, the door to the doctor’s examining room opened and Jason stepped out, holding up one arm in a self-conscious attempt to cover the wide bandage across his nose. He gave a start at the sight of Rowe.

  Rowe stood up. “Jason, hear me. Breaking your nose wasn’t intentional. I just wanted to get you away from Marissa.”

  Jason glared at him and headed for the door. Rowe followed him out, and Jason halted at the bottom of the steps.

  “Where did you put my girl, Reverend?” Jason’s voice sounded different, muffled by the bandages on his nose. “I know you’re hiding her. She didn’t come back to the saloon last night after you got into our business.”

  “I wasn’t about to let you continue to brutalize her. No woman in her right mind would return to you after what you did. And she is not your girl.” The man’s sense of ownership disgusted him.

  “She ain’t gonna be yours, that’s for sure. Customers have tried to put up a price for her, and she refused.” Jason managed a twisted sneer, although his swollen face prevented the expression from having full effect.

  Rowe willed himself to remain grounded. It was just an attempt to make him lose his peace. There was no need for him to engage in another round of violence after last night’s demonstration. “You’ve spoiled many things for Marissa, but her life is not one of them. She can have the life of a respectable woman.”

  “You think you can give that to her, Reverend? You think your Bible readin’ and sermons and church dinners will satisfy a woman used to dancing and serving up drinks all night? Think she’ll want to turn in her fancy garters for prim lace?”

  Rowe thought of the difficulties that lay ahead for Marissa. Could he, a simple minister, be there to help her? She acted as though she didn’t desire anyone’s aid, with her maddening independence demanding its freedom.

  “Marissa has already shown you what she thinks of the things you’ve given her. That was clear before she met me.”