by Gina Welborn
Jonas grinned, his expression full of confidence. “I, however, am an excellent one.”
“Then tell me what you need.”
“First, let’s make sure we’ve found the right place, then we’ll figure out our approach.”
They inched closer until voices became distinguishable.
“. . . if she knows what’s good for her and that baby o’ hers.” The voice was deep and filled with authority.
“I still don’t know why one of us can’t just marry the gal.” This voice was higher-pitched with a hint of a whine.
“Because there ain’t no preacher man round here we could threaten into performin’ the ceremony. No, it’s like I told her, she either gets outta Montana Territory or she gets buried in it. She’s got ten more minutes to decide.”
Jonas glanced at David and whispered, “At least we know she’s safe.”
“For now.” A flicker of red caught David’s eye. Keeping his voice low, he said, “Marilyn was wearing a red shawl today. I just saw it in the window of the shack.”
Jonas loaded his rifle with bullets. “Then leave the shooting to me while you go rescue the future Mrs. Pawlikowski.”
Chapter 8
Marilyn listened with increasing fury to the two men deciding how to get rid of her so they could gain control of her ranch. If the men wanted land, why not apply for a homestead claim themselves, unless it was to take advantage of the barn, cabin, and animal pens Gunder had built with his bare hands. Were these miscreants so lazy that they would kill just to take advantage of his work?
She paced around the pile of boards they magnanimously called a cabin looking for a means of escape, but even if she did manage one, she faced the daunting task of making her way back to Helena before they discovered her gone. She’d probably not make it a mile before they caught her again. She lowered herself to the floor and offered up her hundredth prayer that God preserve her child’s life despite the rough wagon ride and her struggle with the kidnappers. It didn’t seem possible that she, who had suffered miscarriages without any provocation, could keep this child after so much strain.
What would she do if she lost the baby? She’d told herself a thousand times not to place too much importance on how she’d kept this babe longer than the others, but it hadn’t kept hope from growing inside her heart. Watching Ellen’s loss had dredged up every fear about losing her child, or even her life in delivery, should she make it that far.
So she’d proposed to David Pawlikowski. And he’d told her his story. One indicating his wife left him for another man because she wanted a child.
Marilyn understood the desire to run away better than David might think. For a time, she’d considered leaving Gunder so he’d be free to find a woman more worthy of him, one who could give him the child he so desperately wanted. But Gunder had said, If God chooses not to bless us with children of our own, there are plenty of orphans in the world. I’m sure He will send at least one or two our way.
His words came three years into their marriage, and it was the first time she’d suspected a warm heart beat under Gunder’s hard exterior. Theirs had never been a joy-filled marriage, but he’d been a good man in his way. Headstrong, but that wasn’t always a bad trait. His willingness to adopt had been a tenacious sort of love, one Marilyn appreciated more now than ever. Men who stuck by their wives through their deepest hardship were worth more than all the gold being dug out of the Montana hills.
Which brought her back to David Pawlikowski.
Lord, I’ve no wish to play the fool for a man, but I think David may need the same kind of stubborn love that Gunder showed to me. I’d be ever so grateful if you’d give me some indication of whether I’m right about that.
The sound of gunshots filled the air.
Marilyn struggled to stand but was unable to pull herself up because her hands were still tied. “I’m here! In here!” she screamed over and over.
More gunfire shattered the air. Someone grunted in pain. A man shouted, “Don’t leave me!” and was answered by some vile curses.
Was this a rescue? If so, she prayed the person shot and the one running away were her two captors instead of her rescuers.
The cabin door opened. David Pawlikowski’s dirt-smudged face appeared. “How would you like to get out of here?”
Warm joy spread through every limb. “I’d like that very much, thank you.”
* * *
Two hours later
David listened as Marilyn told Sheriff Blanchard the entire story of her capture. When she finished, Jonas picked up the story from his point of view. He’d shot one of the men in the thigh, but the other had run off. Using the wagon the miscreants had kidnapped Marilyn with, Jonas and David made a bed for her with blankets and straw to cushion as much jolting as possible. They took no such care with the injured man, draping him over the back of Goliath as they rode back to town.
They stopped at Doc Tolbert’s to have him examine Marilyn. He told her there was nothing to do but wait and see if any harm had come to her child. David tried to convince Marilyn to go home immediately, but she wanted to see justice done first. She could sit at the jail while her captor was being interrogated just as easily as she could sit at home.
Doc was in the cell with the injured man, wrapping bandages so tight it made the criminal wince and everyone else grin. “What’s your name, son?” Doc asked as he tied a knot.
“John Smith.”
David grunted with skepticism. So did Marilyn, Sheriff Blanchard, and Doc. Only Jonas remained impassive, his tall posture and unrelenting stare making David hope he would get to see his friend argue in a court of law someday.
“We saw a lone woman walkin’ the streets of Helena and thought she was in danger.” Smith spoke the words as though reciting a memory verse. “We was just tryin’ to help.”
Everything about the man, from his bland face to his monotone voice, indicated he was nothing more than a lackey. The real brains of the kidnapping had escaped, but David had been too anxious to get Marilyn back to Helena to let Jonas go after him.
“And what’s your accomplice’s name?” Doc Tolbert wiped his hands on a towel, his work done. “John Wilkes Booth?”
A chuckle came from Marilyn.
David swiveled his head to look at her. How was she maintaining any sense of calm? A stupid question. This was Marilyn Svenson, after all. Where any other woman would be weeping with fright, she—both now and inside that rickety shack—remained calm and in control of herself.
She was not made of sugar, as she had once told him, and he found her more desirable with every passing day. Klaudia had vacillated between elation and melancholy with very little time spent in between. Marilyn was too logical to let her emotions get the better of her. Some men might not enjoy that in a woman, but David did.
Jonas’s question repeated inside David’s head. What if God called you here specifically to marry a certain lovely widow?
David inched his head to the right to observe her unnoticed. What if coming to Montana was an unlooked-for blessing? It would explain why God hadn’t taken away the feelings she stirred every time he saw her. Unlike Klaudia, Marilyn Svenson would not grieve herself to death if she lost her child. She’d survived five miscarriages. If she endured another, she’d still be the strong, capable woman he’d come to love in spite of himself.
Lord, I need to be sure this prompting is from You rather than the desires of my own heart.
Another scripture came to his mind: And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten. It was followed by an even more pointed one: Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.
His chest muscles squeezed his ribcage. Was that God’s answer? David had always wanted to be a husband and father more than anything, and Marilyn had offered him the chance. Only . . .
What if, now that she knew he couldn’t give her children, she didn’t want him?
“What’r you sayin’?” Smith’s outrag
ed question drew David’s attention back to the jailed man.
“Exactly what the sheriff said.” Jonas took a step closer to the iron bars. “What you found on Mrs. Svenson’s land is fool’s gold. I had it tested myself.”
The look of disbelief on Smith’s face was the first honest thing David had seen from him. “You mean”—Smith scattered frantic looks at everyone in the room—“we killed that man for nothin’?”
Marilyn gasped. “You murdered my husband?”
Sheriff Blanchard stepped closer to the iron bars. “That’s a hanging offence, Mr. Smith, so I suggest you tell us where your partner is so’s we can tell the circuit judge you were cooperative. Who knows, maybe he’ll give you life in prison instead of allowing us to stretch your neck.”
Smith’s eyes bulged. “You don’t understand. My brother, he’s. . . he’s . . . well, my mama said that when Charlie was born, the Good Lord left out the part that knows the difference between right and wrong. He can put on a good show when he wants, but if he ever found out I snitched, why he’d kill me slow and painful-like.”
After what this miscreant had done to Marilyn, David wanted to help.
Smith shook his head and looked the sheriff in the eye. “No, sir. I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’. I’d rather hang.”
Chapter 9
After her abduction, Marilyn stayed in bed for two days on Doctor Tolbert’s orders. She had no pain, bleeding, or any other signs of miscarriage, for which she was so grateful she didn’t mind the sore muscles and bruises. Jonas and David both stopped by to check on her and apologize for not telling her about their suspicions regarding Gunder’s death. Jonas brought her chocolates and a novel about some frippery female in search of a husband. She read two pages and gave it to Ellen. As for the chocolates, Marilyn shared them with the Palmers because she wasn’t particularly fond of the sweets. David brought her a cuckoo clock to take apart and repair, which was the best gift anyone could have given her under the circumstances.
She fixed the clock by the end of the first day and was bored beyond endurance by the end of the second. Thursday morning, she was up with the rooster. She made a trip to the necessary and brought eggs in from the coop on her way back into the house. After dressing, she fixed herself a cup of coffee, fried two eggs, and made herself a slice of toast before leaving the house with the repaired clock. It was too early for David’s shop to be open, but she walked there on the off chance he’d be downstairs working on his ledgers or a repair of his own.
The sun warmed her neck and shoulders, her shadow long on the dusty street. A few clouds speckled the endless blue sky but didn’t promise rain. Both Mr. Oleson and Mr. Ingraham were outside their respective shops, sweeping their entries. She greeted them but kept walking.
When she reached David’s shop, she used the toe of her boot to tap against the bottom of the front door and then squinted to see through the glass-paned window. The curtain between shop and repair space was swept aside, and he appeared. Warmth spread from her chest down her arms. How pleasant it would be to share a life with him.
Lord, is it too soon to ask him again to marry me?
David opened the door and took the clock from her hands. “Marilyn, what are you doing here? You should be resting.” He stepped back to make room for her to come inside. He set the clock on a nearby crate, then braced both hands against the door frame and leaned out to look down the street.
Marilyn smiled. “I made sure there were people outside to watch me, if that’s what you’re checking.”
He turned to face her. “Still, you need to be careful. Until this Charlie character is caught, I hope you will allow the Palmers, Jonas, and me to mollycoddle you a bit.”
Disappointed that he’d included others in the list of those he wanted protecting her, Marilyn pulled the reticule from her wrist and opened the latch. She withdrew a thin gold ring and held it out to him. “I found this inside the clock. It was lodged in one of the gears. There was nothing else wrong with the mechanisms.”
A slight grin lifted the corners of his lips. “I know.”
She frowned. “Well, if you knew that was the cause, why did you bring it to me?”
He tilted his head and scratched his chin. “Well, my dear, if you think about it a little longer, I’m sure the answer will come to you.”
My dear? The endearment, the wedding band, and the softness in his dark brown eyes combined to make her heart soar and her stomach—
“Ouch!” She put a hand on the right side of her belly.
David took hold of her left elbow. “Are you all right? Do I need to get Doc? Here, sit down.” He swiped a stack of tin plates off a nearby barrel and kept hold of her arm until she was seated. “What do you need me to do?”
Marilyn clasped his hand between both of hers. “Marry me.”
He dropped to his knee in front of her. “No, seriously, what do you need?”
If there weren’t a large baby in the way, she would have leaned forward and kissed him. She settled for cupping his cheek. “I need a husband and a father for my child and a man who understands that I love tinkering with gears and who isn’t afraid to tell me when I’m wrong or being too impulsive. In other words, Mr. Pawlikowski, I need you.”
* * *
January 4, 1866
“Nervous?” Jonas set the marriage license on Marilyn’s kitchen table.
David stopped pacing outside her bedroom door. “Not about getting married but about whether or not we can speak our vows before the baby comes.”
It had taken three months for Jonas to be named a justice of the peace so he could officiate at the wedding. Both David and Marilyn wanted to get married right after they’d proposed to each other, but no traveling preacher had come through Helena and she refused to let Judge Williston preside over the ceremony.
Jonas’s official papers arrived on the morning stage, which had been delayed due to snow. They’d been standing in Marilyn’s parlor and had barely made it past “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here,” when Marilyn cried out with pain and started to sink. David grabbed her before she fell and settled her in bed while Wendell Palmer fetched Doc Tolbert. He and Ellen Palmer were with Marilyn, and every one of her cries tore through David’s stomach like he was the one giving birth.
Ellen poked her head outside the bedroom door. “She’s in a bit of a lull. You’ll have about a minute if you want to get this wedding done.” She opened the door wider.
David hastened to reach Marilyn’s side. Her forehead glistened with sweat, damp tendrils of hair clinging to her skin. He took her hand in his, wincing at her strong grip.
Jonas walked to the opposite side of the bed. “I believe we should dispense with everything but the vows, don’t you?”
David nodded.
Marilyn pressed her lips into a flat line, held her breath, and managed one dip of her chin.
Jonas patted her hand, then cleared his throat to begin. “David Matthew Pawlikowski, do you take Marilyn Eleonore Svenson to be your wife? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health for as long as you both shall live? If so, say I do.”
“I do.”
“Marilyn Eleonore Svenson, do you take David Matthew—”
“I do, I do, I do.” Marilyn’s face scrunched with pain and her grip on David’s hand became bone crushing.
Doc Tolbert put a hand on Jonas’s shoulder. “Hurry it up.”
Jonas turned a little green. “Then by the power vested in me by.. . a whole host of authorities, I now pronounce you man and wife.”
Doc Tolbert jerked his head toward the door. “Mr. Pawlikowski, you can kiss your bride after she delivers your child.”
David felt warmth spread outward from his heart. In the eyes of the law, Marilyn’s child was his. From this moment forward. Just as Marilyn was.
David peeled Marilyn’s fingers off his hand but leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I’m yours, too,” he whispered. “From
this moment forward.”
She smiled for an instant before her face contorted with pain.
Doc yelled at David to leave the room.
Jonas was already at the kitchen table. He held out a feather pen. “You should sign the license. We’ll fill in the rest of the information when your wife is ready.”
David appreciated the optimism. Childbearing was dangerous work. He’d lost two sisters and a sister-in-law, and none of Doc Tolbert’s assurances that Marilyn was healthy and strong loosened the bands around his stomach until he heard the wail of a child and Ellen Palmer walked from the bedroom with a bundle of squalling baby in her arms, her smile telling David that his wife was fine.
She placed the child in his arms. “It’s a boy.”
A fierce tenderness filled him as he looked down on the scrunched, red face. “Hello, son. I’m your papa.” Tears blurred his vision and pride filled his chest. He’d waited to be a papa for what seemed like his entire life. Now his son was here, and he could scarce contain his happiness. “We’re going to call you Isaak Jakob Gunderson after your grandfathers, and using your father’s first name as your surname in the Swedish tradition. It’s a bit of a mouthful, but I’m sure you’ll grow into it.”
Jonas came close enough to peer down at the baby but didn’t touch him. “I suppose it’s cute.”
“It?” David glanced at his friend. “Considering you’re his godfather—”
“Mrs. Palmer!” Doc Tolbert’s yell cut through the room. “We’ve got another one here!”
She scurried back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Jonas touched the edge of the blanket near the baby’s face. “I think I’d better learn how to hold one of these, since it appears your arms are going to be full with a second one.”
David reluctantly handed the baby to Jonas, then scratched his signature on the marriage license. He turned at the sound of another wailing infant.
A minute later, Ellen Palmer appeared. “Another boy. Marilyn said she wants to change the names a bit. She wants the first one named Isaak David and this one”—she glanced down at the bundle in her arms—“Jakob Matthew.”