by Maggie Ryan
Stepping forward, he lifted his rifle. "Drop it. Get your hands up or I swear to God, I'll drop you where you stand." The sound of him cocking the hammer back was clear in the air. The man slowly lowered himself in order to place the object on the porch and then straightened, lifting his arm in the air.
"Both hands," Wyatt barked. "Get your fucking hand off my wife and step away. One false move and I'll send you straight to the hell you love, Wallace."
"Wyatt, no!"
The rifle never wavering, Wyatt shifted his glance to see another woman stepping onto the porch. What the hell?
"Catherine?"
"Yes, please, Wyatt, please don't shoot him."
"If he doesn't get his hand off Agatha, he's a dead man."
"Wyatt, no," Agatha's voice finally reached him. "It's not Wallace. God, please, it's not him!"
Not Wallace? He heard her but didn't believe her until she slid around the man who remained still, offering no resistance.
"Wyatt, he can't raise his other arm, it's broken. It's in a sling. I swear to you, he doesn't mean any harm. Put the gun down. Please, put the gun down," Aggy said again.
He allowed the rifle's muzzle to drop towards the ground and released the hammer. Though lowered as his wife was running towards him, he'd have the rifle cocked, aimed, and fired in a heartbeat if the man made a single move. Agatha reached him, flinging herself forward and wrapping her arms around him.
"Are you sure?" he asked, wanting nothing more than to believe her, and yet his gut was telling him not to fail in protecting her again.
"Yes, I'm sure," Agatha said. "He brought Ma to me. Come and meet him."
Wyatt stepped forward, Agatha held against his side. Once they reached the first step, the man spoke for the first time. "Can I pick that up?" he asked, his head barely tilting to indicate the object he'd dropped. Wyatt's eyes lowered to discover what, in his fear he'd thought was a gun, was in reality a leather-bound bible.
"Turn around first," Wyatt said, needing to know for absolute sure that this stranger had not somehow disguised himself.
The man turned slowly. He was definitely not Wallace, and his arm was definitely in a sling. Wyatt took his first easy breath since stepping from the barn and he bent forward and picked up the bible. He held it out.
"I apologize."
"There's nothing to apologize for," the stranger assured him, reaching out to take the book. After tucking it into his sling, he held out his hand. "Isiah Jorgensen. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wilcox."
Wyatt shook the man's hand but was still leery. What was he doing here? Where had Catherine been? Most importantly, where in the hell was Wallace?
"Come inside, honey," Agatha said, tugging on his hand. "Come in and Mr. Jorgenson will tell you everything."
Wyatt shook his head. "No."
"Wyatt, please…"
"I mean, let's wait. No reason to tell the story twice. Richard is expecting us and we can all go over there. That way Mr. Jorgenson can tell the story to all of us."
"Yes, that would be better," Agatha said. "Let me get my cloak." She'd just pulled it on when a knock sounded.
Wyatt reached for his gun, which he'd left on the table. "Don't anyone move!" Had Wallace somehow coerced this Jorgenson to enter some sort of plot? Once he had Wyatt inside the house, had he planned to—
"Wyatt, it's just us. Open the door." Recognizing Richard's voice, Wyatt relaxed and opened the door.
He was amazed to see everyone crowded onto his porch, every person carrying something.
"I got home and Anna told me what she knew. We figured it would be best to carry dinner over here."
Wyatt thanked him and everyone stepped into the house. "Let's put the kids down," Anna suggested. She had Johnny, and Charity had Grace. Agatha took Hope from her Pa and with her own mother following, the women went into the bedroom. Catherine turned down the covers and the children were tucked in, a baby on each side of Hope.
"Me watch," Hope said, her mouth opening in a huge yawn.
"That's right, sweetheart, you watch," Charity said, bending to kiss her eldest daughter's cheek.
They returned to the other room, taking a seat on their husbands' laps, Catherine in a chair next to her daughter. Once everyone was settled, Wyatt nodded. "We're listening."
Isiah told the story.
* * * * *
"I'd been preaching in a town to the south and that's where I met Mrs. Kennedy," he began, only to be interrupted by Wyatt.
"Who's Mrs. Kennedy?"
"That's Ma," Agatha said, smiling across at her mother. When Wyatt's mouth opened, Isiah held up his hand.
"I understand from your wife that you've had a rather trying day. I suggest we could save some time if you just let me tell the story. I assure you that I'll answer any questions that you have." At Wyatt's nod, he continued. "As I was saying, I have been the resident preacher in a town about twenty miles from here. I began my ministry as a circuit rider but have been looking for a permanent church. I'd been in Elm Creek for about three months. I met Mrs. Kennedy, Catherine, at the restaurant in town—"
"I'd been working there since we arrived," Catherine interrupted. "We had no income and Wallace, well, it was decided that I would work."
"Oh, Ma, why didn't you come to me?" Agatha asked, her hand squeezing her mother's.
Wyatt was about to remind them that Jorgenson had asked not to be interrupted, but Catherine answered.
"I didn't know where you were, honey."
"I know it's hard, but please," Isiah said, and Catherine apologized. The man earned a bit of Wyatt's respect when he smiled and reassured Catherine that she'd done nothing wrong.
The story resumed. "I ate at the restaurant every evening and Catherine always served me. She was so quiet and timid, as if she was scared of the world. She only seemed happy when she talked about her daughter, Agatha, glad she'd found not only a man who loved her but an escape from Thompson."
"Oh, Ma," Agatha said quietly.
"A mother's love runs very deep," Isiah said, giving her a moment before he spoke again. "It might seem rather disorganized to a layperson, but there is a hierarchy to traveling preachers. After all, there is no desire to have a dozen appear in the same town when more and more settlements are beginning as people head west. The day I met her husband, I understood why Catherine was the way she was. I'd heard about a man pretending to be one of us and was very concerned when I realized that Wallace was that man. I didn't want to frighten Catherine so I didn't want to say anything until I had proof. Without her knowledge or permission, I sent some letters to people I could trust. With each answer, I learned a bit more… until I had most of the complete puzzle." He paused and shook his head.
"First, let me say that Wallace was never ordained. He was only pretending to be a man of God."
"More like a man of Satan," Charity snapped. When her husband shushed her, she shook her head. "Well, he was!"
"That he was," Isiah agreed. "While it isn't against the law to preach without being ordained, it is definitely against the law to perform official ceremonies," he paused and looked at Catherine, "such as marriages."
The room was silent for a moment and then Wyatt spoke.
"So, that's why you speak of Catherine as Mrs. Kennedy. The son of a bitch faked his own marriage! He tormented Catherine and Agatha while knowing he was the sinner. I swear, when I find that bastard—"
"Wyatt, please," Agatha said, placing her palm on his chest. "Let Mr. Jorgenson finish."
"Believe me son, I understand your anger," Isiah said. "Let me wrap this up, okay?"
Wyatt nodded. "As I was saying, Wallace was not only not Catherine's husband, he wasn't even Wallace Thompson.
"What?" Richard asked, speaking for the first time.
"His real name is Wally Timmons, and he was a wanted man. He'd been involved in a poker game and lost big to Charles Grover, a local businessman back east. Timmons signed over his farm but when Grover presented it at the title
office, he discovered that Timmons had already sold it to get a stake in the game. Needless to say, Grover didn't like being swindled. Timmons had already left town but Grover went after him. By the time the smoke cleared, Grover had been shot and left for dead and Timmons had disappeared."
"Oh, my," Anna said, "that's horrible."
"Yes, it was," Isiah agreed. "From what I've put together, Timmons kept moving, probably thinking he'd actually killed a man. He couldn't take a steady job and keep running, but he formed his plan when he saw a revival. He figured he could easily pose as a preacher, travel wherever he wished, finding food and shelter given by his congregation. It was only by a stroke of bad luck that he landed in Pinefork. He'd only been there a few months and when he discovered Agatha in a compromising situation, he saw an opportunity. He could not only add to his disguise with a wife and teenage daughter, he would also be able to take possession of their farm, which he could sell if he needed to run again. He took Agatha home and convinced Catherine that her daughter's life would be ruined over what was really nothing more than a bad decision on Agatha's part. He offered a solution."
"And I was a fool to take it," Catherine said softly.
"No, Ma, please don't think that," Agatha said, reaching out to take her mother's hand. "You did what you thought was right."
"The thing is," Isiah continued, "Wallace preached against sin and yet he lived it every day. He not only had no power to marry anyone, he took advantage of a woman who was deeply hurting." He paused and looked at Wyatt. "That's why I will always address Catherine by the name she took when she married the one man she truly loved; Agatha's Pa." He, too, reached to lay a hand over Catherine's. "When I told her all I'd discovered, her first concern was that she'd committed an unforgivable sin." As Wyatt's mouth opened, Isiah shook his head. "I told her the only sin committed had been against her and against her daughter."
"And I was finally free," Catherine said, "but I didn't know where Agatha was."
"Only a bit more," Isiah said. "When the citizens of Pinefork told Wallace it was time for him to go, he sold the farm and joined the wagon train.
"What he didn't know was that, though he was gravely wounded, Grover recovered, and a warrant had been issued for Timmons's arrest. The law has been looking for him for years."
"Wait a minute, how'd you know Timmons was Thompson?" James asked.
"That's where I believe the good Lord stepped in," Isiah said. "It turns out that Grover's injury to his chest and lung had the doctor suggesting he move west for the drier air. He did, and imagine his surprise when he attended a revival and recognized the preacher. He went for the sheriff, but again, Timmons disappeared. The good thing was that they now had his new name. Grover had money and put out a reward for his return to stand trial. Circuit riders cover a lot of territory, as do bounty hunters. I'd seen a poster about a year ago, and when Wallace returned from his circuit, I recognized him. I admit I was unsure as to what to do next. We don't have a sheriff in Elm Creek so I knew I'd have to send for the marshal. Before I did that, I wanted to tell Catherine what I knew."
"I was livid," Catherine said, taking up the story. "I'd promised not to say anything but I just couldn't stay quiet. That night I told Wallace that I knew. I told him if he ever came near me or Agatha again, I'd kill him myself. I-I know it was a sin, but it's one I will stand before God and confess without guilt!"
Wyatt reached over and put his arm around the woman's shoulders. "You'd have to stand in line, Catherine."
"So why did he come in search of Agatha?" Richard asked.
"He didn't," Catherine answered. "After I told him, he got on his horse and I thought he was just running again. I was wrong."
Isiah told the rest of the story. "I had received and accepted your town's invitation. I was leaving the next day but Wallace knew it had been me who told Catherine. He came into my room and, well, let's just say I'm not much of a fighter. He beat the crap out of me, breaking my arm and knocking me unconscious. By the time I woke up, he'd ransacked my belongings, stolen what money I had, and evidently found the invitation."
"So no one knew he wasn't Isiah Jorgenson," James said, shaking his head. "Man, what a story."
"I saw his eyes," Wyatt said, softly. "He didn't know Agatha was in Cascade."
"I had to come and explain to Samuel about the ruse," Isiah said. "I didn't want to leave Catherine alone in case I was wrong and Wallace was just waiting to get her alone. We didn't know about Agatha, either. Mr. Goldman told us the church had emptied and that Wyatt had to take Agatha out in his arms. Honestly, I don't think I've heard a woman scream, praise God, cry and laugh all at the same time before the way Catherine did when she realized it was her Agatha. Samuel gave directions and, well, here we are."
"Since our cabin is closest to the road, they stopped there first," Anna said, "and I told them where your cabin was."
"They've been here since lunch time," Agatha added. "In fact, they were leaving when you came home. They were going back to town so that I could talk to you first."
"This is all well and good," said Wyatt, "but I still have one question. Where the hell is Wallace?"
"Gone," Isiah said quietly.
"Shit, is the man ever going to pay for what he's done?" Wyatt asked, banging his fist onto the table.
"I'm sorry," Isiah said, "by gone, I mean he's dead."
"Dead! How?"
"We think his heart gave out," Isiah said. "He was found a few miles outside of town. He left right after the debacle at the church. I'm sure he was livid that the church emptied, stressed about his story falling apart, and worried that he'd be caught and tried. Evidently, he had a heart attack and fell off his horse. The horse wandered back into town and, when a search was made, they found Timmons half buried under the snow."
The group was quiet as they assimilated what he'd told them. It was a story none could have imagined.
"Are you sure?" Wyatt asked.
"Yes, son, the man is gone from this earth."
Wyatt nodded. "And is now hopefully roasting in hell."
After sharing the meal Charity and Anna had prepared, along with slices of fresh bread and coffee and cookies provided by Agatha, it was obvious that Wyatt was fading. The couples began putting on their outerwear in preparation of leaving.
"I'll sleep on the floor," Wyatt said. "Catherine, you can sleep with Aggy."
"No, son," she said, placing her hand on his cheek. "I've got a place to stay." He started to protest and she shook her head. "No, I'm going to do it my way and you are going to let me."
Agatha giggled and wrapped an arm around her husband's waist. "I've waited for years to have my Ma back. And, when she talks in that tone, I suggest you listen."
"You can't know how happy I am that you are here," Wyatt said. "I expect you to come see us every opportunity you get. Aggy needs you."
"That's lovely for you to say, Wyatt, and I'm sure you'll see far more of me than you wish, but for now, my daughter needs you and you need her. I'm not going anywhere," Catherine assured him, kissing his cheek.
After learning that Isiah would escort her back to town and that she'd already been offered her choice of jobs, either working in the store or cooking in the restaurant, Wyatt agreed. After the others had left, he sat down again, his head in his hands.
Agatha knelt beside him and laid her head on his leg. Though they had spent the last several weeks in a far better place than that in which they'd begun, and had learned to trust and love one another, they had also lived under a cloud of sorrow and tension. Sorrow because they'd not known where Catherine was or whether she was all right, and tension because the man who had tormented Agatha was still with her mother. Learning that Catherine was not only alive, but would now be with them, freed from the horror of Wallace, was truly sinking in. They sat in silence for a long time until Agatha finally spoke. "Come, let me help you."
All she asked him to do was bring in the tub. Once he'd set it before the fire, she began to empty the
buckets of water she'd kept simmering over the fire into the bath. Wyatt stripped out of his clothes, dropping them as he walked towards her.
"Don't think I'm so tired that I won't spank you," he said, a smile tugging on his lips. "I specifically told you to go no further than the barn."
"Hmm, as much as I wouldn't mind a repeat of that last spanking, I'm going to have to deny you that opportunity," she said, emptying the last bucket before lifting her eyes. "I didn't even have to go as far as the barn. Have you not seen the piles of snow right outside the door?" When he chuckled, she stood up straight, her hands on her hips. "Now, if you are expecting to share my bed, Mr. Wilcox, I suggest you get into the tub."
"Shall I help you disrobe, darlin'?"
Agatha slapped away the hand that was reaching for her button. "There is no way I'm sharing a tub with you, Wyatt. Have you seen yourself?"
He looked down at his body. "Sorry, it's just that I've come to love sharing our baths."
"I know," she said and then grinned. "Maybe you'll learn that after a really hard day, you can love just relaxing and letting your wife bathe you… all over."
"Yes, I think that's a definite possibility," he said, putting one foot into the tub before she stopped him.
"Wait," she said, dipping a cloth in the water and running a bar of the soap she'd made over it. When she had made a thick lather, she washed his chest to remove the blood that had seeped through his shirt. Dropping the soiled cloth in an empty pail, she picked up another. "Now you can get all the way in."
He did so, sighing in bliss as he sat down. Agatha sat on the stool and had him bend forward so she could pour water over his head. Her fingers moved through the wet strands, her hands massaging his scalp. After rinsing his hair with another douse of water, she washed his back, her nipples hardening as her fingers worked their way down his spine and slipping down to wash his backside. Forcing herself to remember how exhausted he must be, she allowed him to sit back and continued his bath. She washed him slowly, massaging his arms and legs, rolling his ankles in her hands and causing him to moan as she massaged the arches of each of his feet. Smiling, she saw that despite how tired he must be, his shaft was growing. Forgoing the cloth, she soaped her hands and wrapped them around his erect cock before moving one to roll and caress his balls. When he groaned, she looked up, expecting to see his head resting against the back of the tub. Instead, he grinned and before she could react, he reached up and pulled her into the tub."