Angel's Embrace

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Not that grammar mattered, when she felt so desperately hot and exhausted and alone in this awful town. If there was indeed a funeral—or heaven forbid, if—

  “I hope it’s not one of your family being buried?”

  The kid laughed, displaying large front teeth smeared with black licorice.

  What a stupid question! she chided herself. He’d be at the church himself if—

  But her mind simply wasn’t working anymore. Eve wondered if her trip to Abilene was her worst idea yet—and she’d made her share of stupid mistakes lately. But she refused to knuckle under. She refused to grovel or cower back home, and she would certainly not let this rude, candy-chomping kid belittle her by—

  “You swallow a punkin seed, lady, or you just fat?”

  The blood rushed from her head as heat scorched her cheeks. “None of your business, you—”

  “So how come you wet yourself?”

  Eve clenched her jaw against an outburst that would only fuel the boy’s crudeness. It was time to go elsewhere, but a wave of hot, prickly nausea made her close her eyes and stand still until it passed. As if the humiliation of a soaked skirt weren’t enough, her belly began bobbing visibly.

  “Some cowpoke git in your britches?” The kid leaned on the counter, his eyes burning with curiosity as he pointed his black braid of candy at her. “Plenty of that goes on here, ya know. What with ranch hands comin’ into town of a Saturday night—why, if you’re lookin’ for a man to—”

  “Billy Bristol,” she wheezed. It felt as if a huge steel hand had just clamped around her belly.

  “Billy done that?” The kid hopped gleefully onto the counter. “Why, it’s Billy down at the church gettin’ married! This very minute! Wait’ll I tell—”

  “You move from that counter, young man, and I’ll slap you into Kingdom Come!”

  Where she found the strength to say that, and to point a finger as only an incensed school marm could, Eve didn’t know. Her exhaustion was suddenly replaced by a fear so desperate—so driving—that she turned on her heel like a bulky ballerina.

  If Billy Bristol was getting married, she had not a moment to waste.

  If Billy Bristol was getting married, she had no one left on the face of this earth to turn to. Had she driven all the way from Missouri, with just the clothes on her back, in this awful heat, for nothing?

  Eve Massena refused to accept that.

  That blasted bell tinkled above her head as the door slammed behind her. She waddled as fast as her bulk would allow, sweating profusely. Her thoughts churned full throttle as she focused on the church down the street. The slickness between her aching legs disgusted her. Fear nearly choked her now, and she wanted to vomit. What if she didn’t find Billy in time?

  It was wrong to interrupt a wedding ceremony. She’d grown up knowing the rules at church, respecting those who attended even though she’d walked away from religion this past year. Too confining. Too quick to condemn, those good Christians back home. And her mother, the organist, was the leader of the pack who’d heaped guilt and shame upon her at every turn. She needed Jesus more than ever now, but everyone else in her life made churchgoing unthinkable, made it clear her condition would offend the Lord, as it obviously offended them.

  But that was behind her.

  Before her, the simple church beckoned. Eve walked faster, aware of her ungainly sway and the ridicule she was inviting by coming here. No doubt her condition would embarrass Billy—not to mention his bride. Why would he have any use for her, the daughter of the man who’d foreclosed on his home? He’d probably torn up her letter rather than bothering to respond.

  But he was all she had. The thinnest thread of hope hung on her belief that Billy Bristol would understand her predicament. That he would right the wrongs of his wayward twin brother.

  Eve stopped with her hand on the door. Organ music swelled, making her frown at the memory of her mother’s playing.

  Was she too late? Had the couple been pronounced man and wife?

  She gripped the door handle as another powerful wave of pain crested in her belly. She’d waited too long—had no time to waste if she wanted to see Billy while he was still single and she was able to make coherent conversation.

  She wanted to kill Wes for heaping this humiliation on her!

  And then the music from inside washed over her, a progression of triplets she would have recognized anywhere, from the familiar Bach tune her mother had played for dozens of weddings.

  Jesu, Joy of man’s desiring,

  Holy wisdom, love most bright.

  Drawn by Thee, our souls aspiring,

  Soar to uncreated light.

  For a blissful moment Eve forgot her misery. The singer sounded very young, but what a voice! She sang with utter trust and conviction—

  And you’ve left those things behind, remember?

  Eve hefted the heavy door, hoping its creak didn’t disturb those in the back pews. Every nerve within her jangled, telling her this was wrong—this was holy ground she was treading! God might strike her down with a lightning bolt for the way she’d behaved nine months ago, and for her motives now.

  But she stepped inside, daring the Lord to interrupt a wedding with His punishment for her.

  She let the door close slowly. The church was larger than she’d expected from its plain exterior, and the pews were crammed. Billy had a lot of friends in Abilene. And he’d obviously found a woman to share his life with.

  But that little inconvenience couldn’t stand in her way, could it? He would probably toss her out—every thundering beat of her heart told her so. But for the sake of the baby kicking her rib cage, she had to take her chances.

  Eve clutched herself to keep from crying out with another pain. The girl on the chancel steps wore a gown of shimmering pink, and long blond ringlets framed her lovely face. She looked toward Heaven as she began the second verse.

  Through the way where hope is guiding,

  Hark, what peaceful music rings!

  Where the flock in thee confiding,

  Drink of joy from deathless springs.

  The irony of those words helped her focus her thoughts again. It was all well and good for these people to hear such lofty phrases, sung by a young lady in pink frills, whom they obviously adored. Eve was about to shoot down their ideas about God’s providence—just as those Border Ruffians had shot Billy and Wes’s father and started the decline of that fine family . . . and her own.

  Folks in the congregation nodded, holding their breath as the girl’s voice soared to the high ceiling. She sang like an angel, with a God-given confidence and sense of purpose Eve envied.

  A collective sigh filled the church as the solo’s last note lingered like a blessing in the warm, still air. Eve stood absolutely still. She swallowed hard, torn between speaking out and walking away. What right did she have to barge in on this sacred ceremony? What had Billy done to deserve the burden she was about to thrust upon him?

  The preacher opened his book and intoned the familiar words that made her heart clench.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in God’s house to witness the sacrament of holy matrimony, to join together this man, William Henry Bristol and this woman, Emma Jane Clark.”

  Eve’s throat tightened. She felt ugly and fat and tainted. She had no right to intrude on the bride’s special day; no right to expect her childhood friend to come to her rescue, as he had when they were young. It wasn’t Billy’s fault his brother still couldn’t tell the truth or honor his promises.

  She swallowed again, battling the urge to collapse with exhaustion or vomit from agitation—or both.

  “If there be anyone present who believes this man and this woman should not unite as one, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

  A spasm ripped through her abdomen and Eve cried out. Her knees buckled. As her body slid down the back wall, she saw a multitude of faces turn toward her in horror, and Billy’s eyes widening in disbelief.

>   “My word, she’s passed clean out—”

  “Who in tarnation would come into a church during—”

  “You can’t tell me she was invited! Look at her! Obviously a harlot—”

  “Step aside, please!” Malloy ordered. His voice was quiet, but commanding enough that everyone got out of his way. Mercy moved around him and knelt to cradle the young woman’s head in her lap.

  “Poor girl’s going to deliver her baby any minute—”

  “No! She can’t do that here!” Emma cried, gripping her bouquet. She stood on the chancel steps, scowling behind her veil. “Of all the—”

  Amid the chaos and outrageous remarks, Billy made his way down the aisle clogged with his friends and family. He’d turned in time to realize a young woman had walked in, and that she was very much in the family way, but then everyone had rushed to the back when she hit the floor.

  “Who is it?” he asked, breaking through the last row of people. “Asa! Better fetch some water from the restaurant!”

  “Yessir, Mr. Billy!” The wiry Negro headed for the door as fast as his stiff legs would allow. “I’ll get us some tablecloths and linens, too. ‘Less I miss my guess, we’ll be needin’ ’em real soon.”

  When Billy got a good look at the young woman sprawled across Mercy’s lap, his eyes widened. She resembled an undernourished mare who’d been ridden hard and put away wet: her baggy dress smelled of sweat and dust, and her mane of chestnut hair had come undone. She clutched her huge belly even though she was out cold, as though she was used to defending herself and protecting that baby.

  His heart lurched. He recalled delivering Mercy’s firstborn during a blizzard and the hot autumn afternoon when Temple Gates bore a stillborn child despite the power of the angels in that room. Another such situation was at hand, and these crises never came at a convenient time.

  Maybe this is God stepping in, a voice inside him whispered. Maybe this unlikely angel has come to steer you down the path He wants you to follow.

  He heard Emma fussing as she came down the crowded aisle, but the other voices faded as he knelt beside Mike and Mercy.

  “She’s gonna birth that baby any minute now,” he breathed, brushing away the damp hair that clung to the girl’s face. “Where can we move her?”

  “Damn right we’ll move her!” Emma’s face was flushed as she broke through the murmuring onlookers to glare at the stranger’s big, shifting belly. “Anybody who’d barge in on a wedding—in her condition—is up to no good!”

  Billy closed his eyes against the sharpness of that voice. Though Emma had endured her share of grief and pain, she didn’t understand the torment their uninvited guest was going through.

  Asa returned then, wheezing as he came through the door with a jar that sloshed water.

  “Here—give her a sip of this,” Michael said quietly.

  Billy took the jar and then steadied the girl’s head. Beneath her damp coating of dust, she was pretty; fine-boned with a graceful, slender neck and skin the color of cream.

  He fought a surge of emotion. Why did she seem familiar to him? He knew just about everyone in Abilene, and this young woman would certainly have caught his eye.

  “Easy now,” he murmured, placing the jar’s cool rim to her lips. “You better open your eyes, hear me? Don’t want this water runnin’ down your chin, or chokin’ you.”

  She shuddered. Her eyes flew open, but she couldn’t focus. “I—where—”

  “Never mind about that,” Billy said. “Take a minute and get yourself together. You’re gonna be all right.”

  How he knew that was beyond him. This sweaty, shaking young girl looked anything but—

  Those eyes—where had he seen them? Intensely green, like the windbreak of evergreens back home, with a distinctive ring of gold around the pupils. She was looking full at him. As if she knew him.

  When she clasped his hand, Billy felt her quivering pulse. She gulped the water greedily.

  Gently he pulled the jar away. “Easy there. Don’t want you to—”

  “Billy,” she breathed. “Please—please hear me out.”

  A murmur surged through the crowd, while Billy’s pulse galloped. How could she possibly know him? And why had she shown up now?

  “If I know you, you’re gonna have to help me out.” His voice sounded high and thin. Emma’s gaze scorched the back of his neck.

  “Stay calm,” Mercy soothed the girl when she began to struggle. “You’re scared. Maybe not in your right mind, with the baby coming so—”

  “I know exactly where I am,” she replied tightly. “I’ve come to Abilene to find Billy Bristol. Wrote you a letter last spring, and . . . you never wrote back.”

  Billy’s jaw dropped. Things were spinning out of control way too fast. “I—sorry, but I never got a letter—”

  “In my pocket,” she rasped. Then her distended body arched with another contraction.

  “Hang on,” Mercy urged. “It’ll pass better if you take deep breaths.”

  Billy set aside the water and gingerly reached into the girl’s gritty pocket. Never had he imagined his wedding being halted for a birthing—by a stranger who knew him and said she was looking for him.

  When he unfolded the limp, yellowed paper, a short laugh escaped him. “Been a day or two since we saw this,” he said, showing the faded article to those around him. “It’s the piece that reporter wrote up after I stopped Reuben and Sedalia’s runaway mule. What’s it been—five, six years ago?”

  “At least that,” Michael agreed. He was studying the girl in his wife’s lap with a curious compassion that made his hazel eyes shine. “So who are you, honey? Why have you come here?”

  The girl’s eyes softened with gratitude, and after her contraction passed, she drew a shuddering breath. Billy was ready to burst, but he nipped back his anxious questions.

  “Eve Massena,” she whispered. “I wrote earlier—because—because I hoped Billy would see me through this situation—”

  “Billy did not cause your—your situation,” Emma blurted. “So if you’ll just move along to someplace else—”

  “I’m truly sorry.” Eve braced for another pain, her eyes wide. “But Wesley pulled another of his quick getaways, and Billy’s my last hope—”

  “Last hope for what?” Emma demanded shrilly.

  Eve doubled over with another contraction, her face contorting.

  Wes is alive! Those Border Ruffians didn’t kill him!

  Billy sat back hard on the church floor, his breath escaping in a rush. The confused expressions around him were nothing, compared to the wild way his thoughts were racing. Could it really be Eve Massena, from back home? Should he believe what she’d said about his brother?

  This brought Mama out of the crowd, with Carlton right behind her. “Did somebody say my boy’s name?” she rasped. The feather on her hat quivered crazily as she stared at the girl on the floor.

  “Somebody’s got a lot of explaining to do!” Emma replied hotly.

  Billy’s stomach bunched. Bad enough that his bride-to-be had gotten her plans waylaid. Now Mama was in the thick of things, at the hint her long-lost son was alive. Another plague of grasshoppers—topped by a tornado—would seem calm and controlled compared to the way this storm was whirling.

  Chapter Three

  Emma clutched her bouquet so hard, its stems cut into the hot flesh of her hand. She felt light-headed and lost, as she had when they’d lowered her mother’s casket into the ground. Felt the same claustrophobic fear, as though she had been dropped into a grave and buried alive.

  If she let this conversation go any further, her nightmare would only get worse. Who could have guessed Eve Massena would show up? And why on God’s earth had she appeared today?

  Emma recalled accounts of how Billy had helped with Solace’s birthing; how he’d doted on Mercy when she grew huge with baby Grace. He had a big soft spot in his heart for women in the family way, and for their kids.

  But this was ter
ribly wrong! And so unfair!

  “Billy, why do you believe a word this stranger’s saying?” she demanded, not caring that Miss Massena could hear her, too. “She kept that newspaper clipping as a reminder of old times, and she’s taking advantage of your trusting nature! You have no proof her baby is your brother’s!”

  Billy blinked. “Emma, Eve’s a friend, from when Christine and I lived—”

  “Well, she’s obviously got no manners! Or morals! Only a harlot would allow—” Emma’s vision blurred with anger. “Didn’t this girl’s daddy foreclose on your home? And besides, we’re getting married today, Billy! What about all the months of preparation that’ve gone into this wedding? How can you let this intruder change our plans? Our lives?”

  His deep blue eyes watched her, but anyone could see Billy Bristol was a man adrift. His mind was in Missouri, and somebody had to talk some sense into him, because Mike and Mercy Malloy would remain neutral. They had a reputation for allowing their children to make their own mistakes and choices.

  Well, this wouldn’t be one of them!

  “Billy, please! Do something,” she pleaded, widening her eyes at him. “All these people are staring at her, wondering about the wedding—”

  “Don’t you dare imply that my Wesley is the father of your misbegotten baby!” Billy’s mama had suddenly come out of her shock, and she planted her fists on her hips. The feather on her stylish green hat fluttered like a wild bird’s wing. “Even as a girl, you tried to lure my sons into—”

  Virgilia Bristol Harte looked as startled—yet as excited—as Emma had ever seen her. And she had traveled the country posing as a land office agent, selling cheap Bibles, and pretending to be a medium. Nothing bothered her! Yet now she was dabbing at her eyes, disregarding her husband’s attempts to settle her. Such quicksilver mood changes had always irked Emma, and this was no time for Virgilia’s theatrics!

  “How is he? Wesley, I mean?” Billy’s mother breathed. She clutched her hanky, searching for words. “After all this time, not knowing whether he was dead or alive, I can’t believe I’m hearing—where does he live? What does he do?”