The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs Collection

by Robin Lee Hatcher

“Really?” Now that surprised him. He would have wagered a pretty penny that Gwen would ignore his request that she stay at home. Maybe he hadn’t left things last night in as bad a place as he’d thought. “Well, please tell her I came by.”

  “Of course. And Mr. McKinley, may I say congratulations. I understand you and Mayor Arlington are to be married.”

  “Yes, we are. Thank you.”

  Morgan left the municipal building, this time turning toward Gwen’s home. Even if she had honored his request, that didn’t mean he shouldn’t tell her he was sorry for the way he went about it.

  A few minutes later, he arrived on her front porch and knocked on the door. When it opened, it was Elizabeth Arlington who stood on the other side of the screen.

  Morgan removed his hat. “Good morning, Mrs. Arlington. I was hoping to talk to Gwen.”

  “She isn’t here. She left in her buggy some time ago. I understood she was going to your home.”

  “We must have crossed paths somewhere along the way.”

  Elizabeth opened the screen. “So you haven’t already seen her this morning?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Well, when you do, please talk some sense into her. I certainly couldn’t do it. Mark my words. This is because of her father’s influence. Filling that girl’s head with all kinds of nonsense. Why else would she choose to live all alone in this town when she could have returned to the East and married long before this? And now she wants to throw away the best opportunity of her life. Well, you can imagine how upset I’ve been.”

  No, he couldn’t understand. She wasn’t making a great deal of sense, other than to let him know she was upset with Gwen. Another time he might have stayed and tried to sort it out. But right now all he wanted to do was find Gwen.

  Morgan set his hat on his head. “If she returns, please tell her I’m looking for her and to wait for me here.”

  Shakespeare trotted along the road at a smart clip, and with each stride the horse took Gwen felt the pain in her chest increasing.

  “I could be wrong, of course,” Mrs. Cheevers had told Gwen a short while before, “but I think Mr. McKinley must have gone to New Hope with his overseer. I understand he and Mr. Doyle were in the study late last evening, and neither one looked too happy when I saw them this morning.”

  If Morgan was at the resort, Gwen had decided, then that’s where she would go. She couldn’t accomplish anything in her new office until this matter was settled between them. She must tell Morgan she couldn’t marry him. She had to make him understand why.

  She loved him. Loved him more than she’d thought possible.

  But that wasn’t reason enough to marry. Was it?

  Perhaps he hadn’t meant to come across the way he had.

  But if he didn’t mean it, he shouldn’t have said it.

  No, she had to go through with it. She had to break their engagement. She’d known all along it was better that she remain single. She liked her life just as it was.

  Or at least the way it had been before Morgan came into it.

  With a sigh, Gwen refocused her attention to the road ahead. They were nearing New Hope. Less than a mile to go. Her gaze went to the creek off the right side of the road.

  “Too bad,” she heard Harrison Carter whisper in her memory. “I wanted to speak with him about some concerns the board has regarding the effect the spa will have on Crow’s Creek. Once it joins the river a few miles south of here, it will become our problem.”

  Gwen pulled on the reins and brought Shakespeare to a halt. Her gaze lifted to the forest that stood between her and New Hope. The bathhouse and pools had to be due north of where her buggy sat right now.

  This time it was Fagan Doyle’s voice she heard: “One of the guards found dynamite not far from the bathhouse. In the forest just below it.”

  She was looking at that forest.

  What was the real reason Harrison Carter had been down there? Had he told her the truth or had he spoken lies? Was it possible Morgan was right about the commissioner?

  She looped the reins around the dash rail and climbed out of the buggy. “I won’t be long, Shakespeare,” she said, giving the horse a pat on the neck. Then she picked her way down the slope to the creek.

  The water was shallow near the bend, slipping and splashing over smooth stones that lined the bottom of the creek. Any other time she would have stopped to remove her shoes and stockings. But now curiosity pushed her across the stream without taking the time to do so. Once on the other side, it didn’t take too long to find a narrow trail leading into the forest. She followed it, going from bright light to deep shadows in seconds. A few more steps and she was forced to stop to give her eyes time to adjust.

  The air smelled of moss and pine and blew cool upon her skin. Dried needles crunched beneath her feet as she moved deeper into the woods. Sometimes the trail became indistinct, and Gwen had to guess which way was north.

  If Gwen was nowhere in town — and she wasn’t; he’d looked everywhere — Morgan realized she must have gone for a drive in her buggy. If she’d only meant to go to his home or to the municipal building, she would have walked instead of hitching her horse to the buggy. Perhaps she’d gone to her father’s ranch.

  Morgan set out in his automobile to do the same. But when he reached the bridge over the river, something nudged him to head north instead. It made no rational sense, yet the impulse wouldn’t be ignored. It was the same sort of feeling that had brought him to Idaho to build New Hope — that belief that God was directing him. Only this time it felt urgent.

  He pressed hard on the accelerator with his right hand and drove toward New Hope. Ten minutes later, he saw Gwen’s horse and buggy standing on the side of the road, Shakespeare doing his best to find shoots of grass to nibble on. Gwen was nowhere in sight.

  Remembering the horse’s distrust of automobiles, he braked to a halt while still a good distance away and killed the engine. Then he hopped over the side of the car and hurried forward. Shakespeare was startled by his approach but only tossed his head and took a few steps forward.

  “Easy, boy. Easy.” He took hold of the reins close to the bit. “Gwen! Where are you?” He heard nothing in reply.

  Why would she have left Shakespeare here? Had he pulled up lame? Morgan led the horse forward. No sign of a limp.

  “Gwen!”

  Silence.

  He turned in a circle, and that was when he saw a lady’s handkerchief caught in some brush halfway down the slope. He moved toward it and picked it up. The delicate fabric was embroidered with the initials G. A.

  Gwen.

  His eyes searched the area once again and he realized where he was. If a person wanted to reach the New Hope bathhouse without being seen, this would be the way — right through the dense forest in front of him. Gwen must have realized the same thing.

  He sprinted the rest of the way down the slope and crossed the creek in a few long jumps, water splashing up to dampen his trouser legs.

  Gwen felt something poke her back between the shoulder blades a second before a man said, “Hold it right there.”

  She caught her breath.

  “Lady, what’re you doing here?”

  This couldn’t be one of Morgan’s men. Anyone in Morgan’s employ wouldn’t put a gun to a woman’s back. Heart racing, she said, “I… I’m here for information.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “For the… for the story I’m writing for the newspaper.”

  The man moved to stand before her, the gun now pointed at her chest. She didn’t know him, had never seen him before. He was short in stature and looked more like a banker than someone who would blow up a building. But something in his eyes, even through his spectacles, told her he would not hesitate to use the weapon if provoked.

  Fear iced the blood in her veins.

  He glanced down the trail in the direction she’d come. “You came here alone?”

  “No,” she lied. But it wasn’t a lie. Go
d was with her. Help me, Lord. She stood a bit straighter. “The dynamite isn’t there. Your plans have been found out. The authorities are right behind me.”

  She’d hoped her words would make him retreat. Instead he moved closer, and his expression turned angry.

  “Then I guess I’d better keep you close.” He pressed the barrel of the gun against her breastbone. “Hadn’t I?”

  O God. Rescue me!

  THIRTY-THREE

  Morgan’s mouth felt dry, his breathing shallow. Nothing in his life had struck terror in him like the sight of Gwen held captive at the point of a gun. He eased stealthily forward, circling off to the right, away from the trail he’d followed into the forest.

  “Let’s go,” the man with the gun said, motioning with it to let her know the direction they were to take.

  “You cannot think you will succeed.” Gwen didn’t move other than to lift her chin in defiance. “Mr. Carter will see that all the blame falls upon you.”

  Morgan allowed himself a grim smile. If she was afraid, she didn’t show it.

  “If you take me with you, I will only slow you down. You had best get away from here as quickly as you can.”

  The man stepped so close to Gwen that their noses almost touched. “If you don’t move now, I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

  Something in his voice told Morgan he might follow through with his threat. Time was running out.

  Gwen’s captor spun her around and gave her a push. A soft cry of complaint escaped her, and Morgan’s response was quick and involuntary. He hurtled forward, tackling the man from behind and sending them to the ground. The gun went off.

  God, no! But there was no time to see if the bullet had struck Gwen. First he had to make certain her attacker couldn’t fire again.

  They rolled across the trail and slammed into the trunk of a tree, Morgan grasping the man’s right wrist with both hands, pounding it against the ground time and again until, at last, the gun flew free. The smaller man fought hard, but he didn’t have much of a chance against Morgan’s fury.

  Morgan rose to his feet, dragging the smaller man up with him. Still holding the fellow’s shirt with his left hand, he brought up his right fist, catching the assailant under the chin, knocking off his glasses at the same time. He let go of the shirt and followed with two more punches, one to the jaw, the next to his midsection. The other man fell back, his head hitting a tree on the way down. Morgan would have hauled him up again if not for Gwen.

  “Stop, Morgan.”

  Breathing hard, he turned to look at her. There she stood, the gun now held in her trembling hands. He glanced back at the stranger. Out cold. Then he heard her small sob. In an instant he was beside her, taking the gun from her hands, drawing her to him, holding her there, never wanting to release her again.

  If he had lost her…

  She’d thought the man would kill her. For all her bravado, she’d thought she would die. But her silent cry for God to rescue her had been answered. God had sent Morgan. She’d thought she didn’t want or need his protection. She’d been wrong.

  “Shh,” he whispered near her ear. “It’s all right. I’m here. The danger is past. The guards at New Hope will have heard the shot. They’ll be here soon.”

  His words proved prophetic almost at once. In the distance, she heard the sound of men’s voices and dogs barking.

  “Over here!” Morgan called without loosening his tight embrace.

  It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d released her. She would have stayed right where she was, her forehead pressed against his collarbone, her hands clutching his shirtfront.

  “Morgan?”

  “We’re here, Fagan.”

  Gwen rolled her head to the side, enough to see Fagan Doyle and three other men — two of them with dogs on leashes — appear through the forest.

  “Take this,” Morgan said, handing the gun to Fagan. “And our friend on the ground there. He tried to kidnap Gwen and almost shot her. Tell Sheriff Winston that I think with the right incentive, he might tell us who hired him.”

  “And Miss Arlington? Is she — ”

  “She’s fine. Just scared.” Morgan’s right hand stroked her hair. “We’ll join you in town. My car’s back on the road a ways. See that one of the men takes her horse and buggy back to town, will you?”

  “Aye, I’ll see to it, Morgan.” Fagan’s voice softened. “Sure and it’s good you’re all right, miss.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Doyle,” she whispered.

  Morgan continued to stroke small circles on her back with the flat of his left hand while rubbing his cheek against the top of her head until long after the other men had left the forest and silence had fallen over them like a comfortable blanket.

  At long last Gwen pulled back far enough that she could look into Morgan’s eyes. “I was coming to find you to break our engagement. I didn’t want anyone telling me what to do.”

  “And I was looking for you to apologize for last night.” His smile was tender, his gaze understanding. “Forgive me.”

  “When I faced that man and his gun, I asked God to rescue me, and He sent you.” She wondered if he understood the importance of that admission. She wasn’t wholly self-sufficient. She needed others. She needed Morgan. And sometimes she even needed to be rescued.

  He kissed her, brief touches upon her forehead, the tip of her nose, her lips. “ ‘And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken.’ Me and you and God. The three of us together will be stronger, no matter the circumstances.”

  His image blurred as tears welled in her eyes.

  “Gwen, I won’t ever ask you to change. I fell in love with a woman who had the courage to leave her home in the East and begin a new life in Idaho. I fell in love with a woman who loves to teach music to children and who cares deeply about her neighbors. I fell in love with a woman with enough confidence to become the first woman mayor in Idaho, maybe in the nation. Don’t break our engagement. Don’t break my heart.”

  She sniffed and swallowed the lump in her throat.

  “Say you’ll marry me.”

  Although she wanted to respond, she couldn’t seem to find her voice.

  He kissed her again, this time a languid caress that indicated he was willing to stay right there in the forest for as long as it took her to believe him. And when their lips parted, he said, voice husky, “Madam Mayor, how about a vote of confidence for the man who loves you.”

  A cool breeze whispered through the trees and swirled around them, and as it moved on, she felt the last shred of uncertainty, the last iota of insecurity blow away with it. She believed him. She believed him and she loved him.

  She smiled, hoping it would tell him more than would her words. “Yes, my love. I vote yes.”

  THE DAILY HERALD

  Saturday, July 24, 1915

  After a thorough investigation by the Crow County Sherriff, the Daily Herald has learned of the arrest of Mr. Harrison Carter, Esquire. He is charged with destruction of property and attempted kidnapping as an accessory before the fact. We have also learned that the subject’s wife, Susannah Carter, has taken the couple’s children and gone to stay with other members of her family in Illinois.

  Prior to his arrest, Mr. Carter served on the Board of County Commissioners for four terms and was considered one of the leading members of Bethlehem Springs society.

  The trial of Mr. Carter — as well as that of his associate, one Elias Spade — is set to begin in September.

  THE DAILY HERALD

  Monday, August 16, 1915

  On Saturday afternoon, August 14, 1915, Miss Guinevere Arlington, daughter of Mr. Griffin Arlington of Crow County and Mrs. Elizabeth Arlington of New Jersey, was joined in marriage to Mr. Morgan McKinley. The ceremony was held in the Syringa Prayer Chapel on the grounds of the New Hope Health Spa, which is owned by the bridegroom.

  The bride wore a delicate tea-length gown of ivory satin and sheer lace and a tulle
veil crowned with roses and beads. Her sister, Miss Cleopatra Arlington, attended the bride, and Mr. Fagan Doyle stood with the groom. Among the guests were the bride’s parents; the groom’s sister, Miss Daphne McKinley of Massachusetts; and Idaho senator William Rudyard of Boise.

  After a honeymoon trip to California where, among other sights, they will visit the Panama-California Exhibition in San Diego, the couple will return to Bethlehem Springs, at which time the new Mrs. McKinley will resume her duties as the town’s mayor.

  Fit to be Tied

  Once again, to the CdA gals.

  You made Cleo’s and Sherwood’s story

  such a fun one to write.

  From start to finish, I frequently heard

  the sound of your laughter in my mind

  and I always remembered

  the overflow of your love,

  for one another and for writing fiction

  for the glory of God.

  For every beast of the forest is mine,

  and the cattle upon a thousand hills.

  Psalm 50:10

  PROLOGUE

  DUNACOMBE MANOR, ENGLAND,

  MARCH 1916

  “Your father is waiting in the library, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Chadworth.” Head pounding from the previous night’s enjoyments, Sherwood Reginald Wakeley Statham, the youngest son of the Duke of Dunacombe, shrugged out of his coat and handed it to the butler, followed by his hat and gloves. “Is Mother with him?”

  “No, sir. I believe her grace has taken to her bed.”

  Sherwood flinched. That didn’t bode well for this meeting. His mother had acted as a buffer between him and his father’s anger since he was a boy. “Is she ill? Maybe I should go up to see her first.”

  Chadworth lifted his eyebrows but said nothing. He didn’t have to. Sherwood knew he was expected in the library immediately, not fifteen or thirty minutes from now. The duke hated to be kept waiting, especially by Sherwood, the son who disappointed him at every turn.