Molly Noble Bull

by The Winter Pearl

  Forgive him? At first, Honor didn’t know how to reply. “I don’t know right now, ma’am. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Honor kept herself busy for the rest of the day, fixing meals, washing dishes, running here and there. She wanted to gather her belongings and just walk away, but it wouldn’t be right until things settled down.

  The boardinghouse provided rooms, nursing care, clean clothes and clean linens to all the victims of the robbery. Honor made a point of staying as far from Lucas’s room as possible. Let Belinda tend to my uncle’s needs, she thought.

  Later, Honor put on her coat and knit scarf over her blue wool dress, and she and Belinda Grant went onto the back porch to do the weekly wash. The laundry consisted of soiled clothes belonging to the stagecoach passengers as well as the regular boarders.

  From the porch, Honor gazed at the frozen ground and the hills beyond the pasture. A blanket of fresh snow partly masked the usual barnyard smells, but traces of unpleasant odors were still noticeable.

  Elmer’s mare and filly were penned near the barn. On wobbly legs, the baby animal followed her mother into the barn. Belinda had said the filly had a white dot on her forehead, and she had suggested that Elmer name her Star.

  Honor looked down at the tub of hot, soapy water. The thought of touching the shirt and trousers that Lucas had worn made her feel sick. She handed them to Belinda. “Will you wash these, please?” Honor started down the rock steps. “Nature calls.”

  She went to the privy and shut the door, planning to stay there as long as possible. A few minutes later, with no excuse to tarry longer, she rejoined Belinda at the washtub.

  Pinching her nose, Honor held up a pair of dirty blue socks filled with holes. “These must belong to the reverend.”

  Belinda giggled. “I think you’re right.”

  Honor smiled. Belinda’s giggle always lifted her spirits.

  “A good thing you’re giving him a pair of socks for Christmas, Miss Honor.” Belinda went on. “Have you finished knitting them yet?”

  “I’ve not only finished them, I’ve already wrapped them and put them under the Christmas tree.” Honor reached down and picked up Simon’s shirt. “I guess you’ve finished washing the injured man’s clothes by now, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, but look what I found in his pocket.” Belinda handed Honor a black Bible. “Guess he must be a religious man.”

  Honor put down Simon’s shirt and took the Bible in both her hands. Opening to the first page, she read the dedication.

  To Harriet Mary McCall

  With Love,

  Mother and Father

  A mournful cry escaped from deep in Honor’s throat.

  Belinda grabbed Honor and held her close. “What’s wrong, honey? You’re shaking like a leaf.”

  “This…this Bible reminds me of one my late aunt had.” She handed the Bible back to Belinda. “It was just a shock to see it, that’s all.”

  “You’ve been working too hard.” Belinda patted Honor’s back gently. “Why don’t you go up to your room and rest a while? I can finish the wash. I’ve done it dozens of times.”

  “No, I’m fine now.” She held out her hands for Belinda to see. “Not even shaking.” Honor forced a weak grin. “Besides, I’m your boss until Mrs. Peters tells us differently. And I say I’m going to finish this wash.”

  Belinda giggled and shook her head. “Well, if you’re sure you’re all right.”

  “Positive.” Honor glanced at the hitching post in the backyard where Jeth sometimes tied his horse. Where was Jeth? She’d expected him back hours ago. Had something happened?

  Slowly an image of Lucas replaced Jeth’s handsome face in her mind’s eye. She tensed. Uncle and nephew. Even their eyes were the same shade of blue.

  Jeth was sure to become fond of his only uncle. If Lucas ever changed, that is. Lucas could become the father Jeth never had. Or was Dr. Harris expected to play that role?

  The kitchen door opened a crack.

  “Miss McCall,” Dr. Harris said.

  Surprised, Honor turned.

  “Would you mind coming in here a minute, please?”

  “Of course.” She sent Belinda a smile spiced with amusement. “Here I go again. But I’ll be back to help you finish the wash before you know I’m gone.”

  Honor followed the doctor to the front of the house. As she walked past the parlor, she glanced inside at the Christmas tree, which was charming, decorated with popcorn, paper flowers and colored ribbons.

  Honor looked back at Dr. Harris, who now stood in front of the room Lucas occupied.

  “What is it, Doctor?” she asked in as calm a tone as she could produce.

  “I have to leave now to deliver a baby. Joe Miller stopped by to say that his wife’s time has come. I’ll be back as soon as I can. And Reverend Peters should be back shortly.” He looked down at his pocket watch. “Frankly, I don’t know what’s keeping him, and I don’t know where Regina is, either. Upstairs maybe. Until she gets back, you and Mrs. Grant are in charge of the wounded man.”

  “But—”

  “But what?” Dr. Harris pulled off his spectacles and wiped the lenses with a white handkerchief.

  “I’m not a doctor.” Honor’s knees felt like jam. “And I don’t know anything about nursing sick people.”

  “Hogwash! The three of you ladies will do fine. But I’ll admit this isn’t the best way to spend the day before Christmas Eve, is it? Hope you’ve finished your holiday buying.” He shrugged and put his spectacles back on his nose. “The gentleman inside isn’t going to do much for the next few hours, except sleep. The best thing you can do for him is pray he wakes up.”

  “Is there a chance he might not?”

  “Are you a praying woman, Miss McCall?”

  She nodded.

  “I thought so.”

  Honor noticed her hands shaking and hoped he hadn’t noticed.

  “I’ve seen you in church lately,” he said. “In fact, you’re a new member, aren’t you?”

  “I joined a few weeks ago.”

  “Joining the church is a good first step. But true Christians invite the Lord into their hearts and give their bodies as a living sacrifice to the Lord.”

  Worry lines formed on her brow. With thoughts of Lucas and what he might do to her flooding her mind, she was having a hard time concentrating on what the doctor was saying.

  “Are you saved, young lady?” the doctor asked pointedly.

  His question startled her—maybe because Jeth had asked her that same question several times. “I think I’m saved.”

  But was she?

  “Don’t wait too long to find out for sure,” he said as if he’d read her mind. “And before I go, are you all right, Miss McCall?” He studied her carefully. “You seem a little preoccupied.”

  “I’m all right,” she said. “Anything else?”

  “Just keep him nice and warm. I noticed the woodstove in his room could use a log or two.”

  “I’ll see to it right away.” She felt the blood drain from her face at the thought of being alone with Lucas.

  “Then I guess I’ll see you after the blessed event over at the Millers’.”

  Honor watched the elderly gentleman remove his coat and hat from the hall tree, put them on, and wrap a blue wool scarf around his neck. When he’d gone, she went out the back door.

  Belinda still stood at the washtub. Honor could ask Belinda to bring in the logs and check on Lucas, but she might wonder why Honor chose not do it, and that would require an explanation. Honor would do the jobs quickly and that would be the end of it. Later, she would just walk away as she’d done on the day she left Falling Rock. Goodbyes were too difficult, too painful.

  “I need to gather wood,” Honor said to Belinda. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  “Don’t hurry. As I said, I can finish here.”

  At the woodshed, Honor gathered all the small logs her arms could hold. Then she swept back through the house. At
the door to her uncle’s room, she hesitated before going inside.

  Lucas still slept, one arm across his chest, the other at his side. Honor had kept on her coat and bonnet since she planned to go right back outside to gather more wood for the upstairs bedrooms.

  Bending over, she opened the little iron door of the stove with a wooden stick, then dropped a log on the hot coals. A small fire ignited, and the second log caused a quick blaze. She closed the door. Warming her hands for a moment, Honor glanced back at Lucas.

  His eyelashes fluttered a few times. Then his eyes opened.

  Honor’s heart raced.

  Lucas blinked and rubbed his eyes. “Is that you, Harriet?” He hesitated, peering up at her. “Why, it’s you, Honor, ain’t it? How long have I been sleeping?”

  Honor’s hands at her sides became fists. “A while.”

  Her jaw tightened, looking down at him, she saw that his blue eyes looked clear instead of bloodshot. Could all the alcohol have worked its way out of his body? Was Lucas actually sober? If so, it was the first time in years.

  Honor started for the door, eager to leave.

  “Please,” he pleaded. “Don’t go!”

  She heard distress in his tone and she glanced back. He smiled weakly, looking frail and helpless. Pity welled inside her, seeing her uncle so vulnerable. It almost made being in the same room with him tolerable.

  He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something else, but failed to utter a sound. Rubbing his throat, he motioned for her to come closer. Against her better judgment, Honor crossed to his bed.

  “Is there something you need, Uncle?”

  “W-water.”

  Honor poured water from the pitcher into a glass. Then she lifted his head so he could drink. He sent her a helpless smile instead of his usual mocking one. She put the glass back on the table by his bed with shaky hands.

  She had thought merely touching the back of his head would send her running for cover. But compassion was the only emotion she experienced.

  “Go get—Go get—”

  “Go get what, Uncle?”

  “Harriet’s Bible.”

  Honor was flabbergasted. Lucas wanted a Bible? Could it be that he really had changed?

  “Did you say ‘Bible,’ Uncle?”

  “Yes, hurry.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Honor raced through the kitchen to the porch. Belinda still stood at the washtub.

  “Back already?” Belinda said. “I’m almost finished here.”

  “Would you mind handing me that Bible, please? The wounded man wants it.”

  “I knew he was a Christian. Here.” Belinda handed Honor the Bible. “By the way, while you were gone, Mrs. Peters came down. She took the buggy into town. The couple upstairs wanted a few things. She said to tell you that she would be right back to help.”

  Honor hurried back to her uncle’s room and gave him the Bible. His hands shook when he opened it. A letter was folded inside. He gave it to Honor. “This is for you.”

  Honor put the letter in her pocket, planning to throw it away later. There was nothing Lucas could say or give her that was worth hearing or reading.

  Lucas cleared his throat. “I’m…I’m a changed man, missy. And I forgive you for stealing the money what Harriet hid from me.”

  “Money? Aunt Harriet never had any hidden money. There was no money. Is there something else you need, Uncle?”

  He grabbed her hand and held it like he was a drowning man, about to go underwater for the last time.

  Honor froze. All her old memories of Lucas returned in an outpouring of angry thoughts and feelings.

  His touch hadn’t bothered her earlier. Now it disgusted her. She shook, more from rage than fear. Shaking her hand free, she raced from the room, down the entry hall, and out the front door of the boardinghouse.

  “Where are you going?” Belinda called from behind her.

  Honor didn’t reply or look back. She just kept running, with no destination in mind. Being any place was better than being in the same house with Uncle Lucas.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  At dusk, Jeth crouched behind a big rock, his six-shooter cocked and ready. The sheriff had deputized him, and a silver badge was pinned to the front of his jacket. The deputies had arrived in the wilderness area ten miles west of Hearten in late afternoon and had secured their horses and extra mounts in the brush behind the cabin. Now Jeth waited for further instructions.

  It had all happened so fast. One minute he was the pastor of a church, the next he was also a special deputy. A gust of anger shook him. Nothing could keep Jeth from doing his part in bringing to justice the crooks who had knocked Honor unconscious and tried to harm his mother.

  But that didn’t make the job any easier. He wasn’t even a very good shot.

  Earlier, the snow had melted into a white slush. Now the weather grew colder by the minute. Despite the frosty air, Jeth wiped moisture from his forehead with the back of his free hand.

  The mountains had disappeared behind a bank of low-lying clouds, and a feeling of foreboding had come over him. Images of Honor unconscious on the road with a gash on her head still haunted him. When those same outlaws had robbed the stage coming from Pine Falls, with his mother on board, he had known he had to act.

  Now, gritting his teeth, Jeth tightened his grip on his gun.

  He should have tried harder to defend Honor during the stage robbery. He’d just stood there with his hands up. Jeth would never make another mistake like that one.

  The sheriff had needed an extra deputy and he’d only been able to find a few men. So Jeth had answered the call, too. But was he doing God’s will?

  He thought of the story of King David in the Bible. David had been a man of the sword. When he was a boy, he killed a giant with nothing but a rock and his slingshot. Jeth had never thought of himself as a warrior like King David, but somebody had to bring the outlaws to justice. As long as they were out there, Honor, his mother and others could be harmed, not to mention Uncle Lawrence—the man Honor called Lucas Scythe.

  Jeth squinted at the log house at the bottom of the hill. The Sharp Gang were holed up there. Sheriff Green stood behind a tree to Jeth’s right. Several other men huddled in the bushes behind them.

  The sheriff raised his right arm. Bob Grayson, one of the other deputies, moved into the open. Jeth tensed, ready to provide cover for him.

  A crash like glass shattering came from the cabin. Had an outlaw hit a window with the butt of his gun for a better shot?

  A rifle blasted.

  Jeth fired back, and a ping sounded when his bullet hit an old piece of rusty farm equipment in front of the cabin.

  Grayson crept behind the cabin and out of sight. The sheriff held up two fingers, giving the second signal. Two more deputies came out from behind Jeth and veered toward the other side of the cabin.

  For several minutes, a volley of gunfire exploded. A man cried out, but it was impossible for Jeth to tell who had been hit.

  Grayson threw a torch onto the shingled roof. A fire started, and the other two deputies lit their oil-soaked sticks and tossed them on the roof. Another blaze ignited. The cabin was quickly covered in flames.

  Under the cover of the smoke, Jeth and the sheriff crept closer to the cabin. Jeth coughed and pulling up the red bandana from around his neck to cover his mouth.

  “Come out with your hands up!” the sheriff demanded.

  The outlaws tumbled onto the frozen ground, coughing, sputtering and holding their bellies. The sheriff’s men surrounded them.

  “I said drop your guns!” the sheriff shouted.

  Nearby, in the thick cloud of smoke, Jeth saw the outline of a man pointing a gun at the sheriff. Jeth kicked high, and the gun sailed from the outlaw’s hand. Jeth socked the man in the jaw, knocking him to the ground. Then he grabbed the unconscious man’s hands and tied them. “Got one!” he called.

  “Me, too,” Grayson exclaimed.

  “W
ell, boys, I guess we got ’em all,” the sheriff shouted back. “Let’s take these outlaws in and put them behind bars.”

  It was after midnight by the time Jeth got back to Hearten—cold, bone-tired and hungry. He didn’t argue when Sheriff Green invited him to spend the night in his spare bedroom.

  When Jeth finally hit the bed, all that had happened that day played in his mind, calling up uneasy feelings of guilt and remorse. The frontier was a dangerous place, and Christian men were expected to defend women and children, but did that include Jeth? He was a man of the cloth, not a man with a gun.

  He’d planned to ask Honor to be his wife. But that morning seemed like a long time ago, so much had happened since then.

  Jeth couldn’t stop thinking about the man he’d knocked in the jaw. He also recalled the helpless look he’d seen in the eyes of one of the other wounded outlaws, a young man who Jeth had helped carry up the stairs to Dr. Harris’s office. The fellow reminded Jeth of Willie Sharp—he must be one of the boy’s older brothers.

  Nobody knew who had shot the outlaw. It could have been Jeth. Thankfully, the man would recover, but if Jeth had been the shooter, was he worthy to continue as a pastor? Still, he knew that if Honor was in danger, he would defend her, always.

  His thoughts drifted. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. His mother was home from Pine Falls. Yet with all that had happened, he hadn’t found time to visit with her and learn what had happened while she was away.

  As a result of the gun fight, Jeth must decide whether to keep on the course he’d believed the Lord had given him or take a new direction in life. He prayed long and hard into the night.

  By dawn, he had his answer.

  The stagecoach from Pine Falls had parked across the street from the hotel in front of the general store. Honor watched from the shadows, clutching her ticket. She’d spent the night hidden in the cellar under the general store. During the night, her body shook—as much from a fear of rats as from the cold. Weeping always caused her to tremble, too, and she’d cried off and on until morning.