Woman of Courage (Four Full length Historical Christian Romances in One Volume): Woman of Courage Series

by Cynthia Hickey

  “A café! Is that like an eating place?” A man with a beard that reached half-way down his chest peered closer. “The pretty woman can cook!”

  “Out of the way; she’s mine.” Another man, just as wiry as the first shoved his way in.

  She headed to the place she’d call home for as long as God deemed. Not that He seemed to take much notice of her. If so, she wouldn’t have lost her parents, or be in the position of having males ogle her like a prize heifer on display. Once she reached her porch, she turned.

  “Y’all come back day after tomorrow. We’ll be serving three meals at a quarter a plate.”

  “One quarter?” A man with stained overalls took a step forward. “That’s highway robbery.”

  “No one’s forcing you to come, but we’re hoping you will.” Ruth smiled to take some of the bite out of her words and stepped into the house. The door slammed shut behind her. Her grin widened. They’d come in droves, thus securing her family’s future.

  Inside, she paused and surveyed the difference they’d made in two days. Gingham curtains hung at the windows. The wooden floor shone with a fresh polishing, and every surface gleamed. Her and her sisters dragged each table and chair into the dining room to await the breakfast rush. If there wasn’t enough space, some of the men could wait in the sitting room, or on the porch.

  Ruth squelched the sense of pride at what she’d accomplished. She strolled into the kitchen where Grandma set a fresh-baked loaf of bread on the sideboard. Others stood in a golden-brown row.

  “Did you get the notices out?”

  “Every one.” Ruth pulled up a chair and kicked off her shoes. “My feet ache.”

  “How many proposals did you get today?” Grandma giggled.

  “Five.” Ruth laughed and secured the pins in her hair. “Where are the girls?”

  “They’re supposed to be cleaning up the yard.” Grandma moved to the window. “But it looks as if they’re holding court instead.”

  Ruth joined her. Sure enough, Deborah and Sarah sat on stumps with several wide-eyed men squatting at their feet. She frowned. If she didn’t intervene, they’d be married before the week’s end. The girls were her responsibility. She couldn’t allow them to wed some boy barely out of short pants. They needed someone to support them. Provide a good life—one like they had before God snuffed it out.

  “Those two are too young to be surrounded by boys. Besides that, we need their help running this place.” Ruth pulled a knife from the block beside the sink.

  “They aren’t that young.” Grandma kneaded dough for several more loafs. “If not for the war and us being uprooted, you and Deborah would most likely be hitched by now, and Sarah betrothed. All three of you would’ve had a dowry.” She sniffed. “And you wouldn’t have the burden of caring for all of us. I should be taking care of you, not the other way around.”

  “I want to do this. There’s no sense in crying over something we can’t change.” She leaned her cheek on her grandma’s shoulder. “And you aren’t a burden. We’re family, and family sticks together. We take care of each other.”

  Across the yard, John emerged from his cabin and crossed his arms. He said a few words Ruth couldn’t understand, and the crowd dispersed. As easy as that. Maybe she didn’t need a gun after all—just a guard-dog sheriff with a bad attitude.

  She groaned as he turned his long-legged stride toward the house. “He’s coming.”

  “Don’t be like that. It’s good to have a man around. Wouldn’t hurt you to smile. The sheriff poses a mighty fine picture to look at, don’t you think?” Grandma set the dough aside to rise before wiping her hands on her apron. The sheriff stepped inside. “Sheriff, it’s good to see you.”

  “Afternoon, ladies. Call me John, please.”

  Heat crept up Ruth’s neck into her face. Why did the man affect her so she couldn’t think? She forced a smile to her lips. “Mister Powell is more seemly.”

  He looked taken aback. Probably because her expression most likely resembled a dog ready to bite, but she wasn’t comfortable being so informal with a man she’d barely met. She relaxed her lips in hopes of looking less stern.

  Deborah and Sarah rushed past him, glaring. Sarah planted fists on her hips and stood so close to John, her nose almost touched his chest. “We were talking out there.”

  “Is that what you call it?” A corner of John’s mouth curled. “I say you were keeping hardworking men from making a living.”

  “Their choice, not yours.” Sarah flounced to the closest chair.

  “Your sister needs you in here.” John leaned against the doorframe.

  Ruth straightened. Since when did she need someone to tell her how to handle her sisters? “Now, wait a minute. Who gave you the right to boss us around? Just because we’re women—”

  “I got that right when you leased this place.” John’s face reddened. “You aren’t running a sideshow attraction. The men want to see your sisters, they can buy a plate, eat, then move on until the next meal. It’s gotten so a man can’t turn around in his own house.”

  She took a deep breath, then released it in a huff. The man had some nerve. “Then we’ll move this instant.”

  He laughed. “Where?”

  She opened and closed her mouth several times before storming out the front door and to the porch. Choosing a robin’s egg-blue rocking chair, she plopped down and did her best to ignore the three men who gawked at her from the road. Instead, she kept the chair moving as fast as possible without her flying off the seat.

  The door squeaked as the sheriff stepped outside. The men dispersed, grumbling and frowning.

  “Go away.” Ruth rocked harder. “I have work to do.”

  He leaned against the railing. “Don’t look like you’re working to me. You don’t like someone stating their mind, do you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You felt like I was telling you what to do in there, and you didn’t like it.”

  “You’re entitled to your opinion, sheriff.” She leaped to her feet and grabbed a broom propped against the wall. Dust flew as she swept, coating his boots. “See, I’m very busy.”

  Sneezing, he stepped back and pulled the neck of his flannel shirt over his nose. Eyes flashed beneath lowered brows before he stalked from the porch and around the corner.

  Ruth let the broom fall, then sagged against the wall. What was wrong with her? The sheriff wasn’t the enemy, was he? He wasn’t one of the bushwhackers who killed Ma and Pa. Not every man was out to steal from her. Besides some glowering looks, the sheriff had been pleasant enough. Him scolding Sarah shouldn’t matter, but it did. Sarah was Ruth’s family. If either of the younger girls needed to be reprimanded, Ruth or Grandma would do it. No matter how handsome the man might be.

  *

  Ruth Stallings was the most aggravating woman he’d ever met. The thought hadn’t left his mind all night; robbed him of sleep, and still nagged at him in the morning. He marched his way to the opening meal of Ruth’s Place. A line formed at the door and overflowed into the street.

  Well, they could just wait. Amidst protest, he elbowed his way to the front of the line.

  Deborah and Sarah scurried from the kitchen to the dining table, plates balanced on their arms. As soon as one man stood, another grabbed the empty seat, providing a steady flow of revolving customers. John nodded in their direction and made his way to where Ruth stirred something over the stove.

  Ruth swiped damp bangs from her eyes. Perspiration left a dark stain down the back of her dress. “You have to wait in line and pay like everyone else.”

  “No, I don’t. This is my house.”

  “You leased it to us.”

  Why was she so cantankerous? He took the time to wear something other than his standard dark blue uniform pants. John crossed his arms. “I’ve been eating in here for a long time. Don’t plan on stopping now.”

  “Hush, Ruth.” Miriam handed him a plate full of flapjacks. “You want to enjoy your meal in here, yo
u’ll have to stand. All the chairs are out there.”

  He accepted the plate. The pleasant aroma of melted butter and maple syrup tickled his nostrils. The first bite tasted like heaven. He forced himself to eat slower in order to appreciate the cooking talents of the Stallings women. After the last bite, he wanted to ask for another plate, but felt certain that would go over with Sergeant Ruth, like a cannonball through a castle wall. And despite her surly attitude, watching her flit from one corner of the room to another, her face rosy from the oven, provided the best mealtime view he’d had in a long time. Maybe he enjoyed sparring with her more than he’d like to admit. “Good food, ladies. Thank you.”

  Ruth blushed. “You’re welcome.”

  Turning to leave, he ran into two men trying to squeeze into the kitchen. Deborah and Sarah pushed past, arms loaded with dirty dishes.

  “Gentlemen?” John nodded.

  Ruth rushed them with a broom. “I’ve said it many times, out! Before I smack you with a frying pan.”

  One of them pointed to John. “He’s in here.”

  Ruth lifted her chin. “He’s the sheriff, and the owner, so he’s entitled to special privileges.”

  “Ain’t fair, I tell ya.” They raced toward an empty chair. The loser fell to the floor with a thud.

  Ruth sagged against the counter. “We’ve been dealing with that all morning. I dread the lunch crowd, and we’re not finished here yet. I’ve had three proposals of marriage, Grandma has had four, and there’s no telling about my sisters. How does a woman get any work done in this town?”

  “She gets married.” He chuckled. “I’ll step out and speak with them.”

  “Wait until breakfast is over,” Miriam told him. “We don’t want you running off any paying customers.”

  “Grandma.” Ruth pushed off the counter. “Don’t be mean.”

  “Well, we don’t.”

  “I’ll wait on the porch.” John fought the crowd until he stepped into the cool outside air. By lunchtime, he’d need to open the windows to vent the room, or the heat would be unbearable.

  As soon as a rocking chair cleared, he plopped into it and set his booted feet on the railing. A chuckle escaped him. Ruth and her family didn’t have a clue what they’d bitten into. More than they could chew, he’d guarantee. The proposals would continue until someone laid claim to each of them. Now that the men knew the women could cook as good as they looked, the pressure would increase.

  A buggy carrying a family rattled by. John needed to invite Ruth and the others to church on Sunday. Preacher or not, the townsfolk got together to sing hymns, read a scripture or two, and sometimes pray about concerns. This week the traveling parson would make an appearance.

  The Stallings women should know they weren’t the only females in town. The number of families grew every year. Things would get better now that the war was over. He removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. Two customers strolled outside.

  “Mighty fine meal, Sheriff.”

  “Best I’ve eaten.”

  John rose to greet the handful of customers emerging from the house. “Y’all fetch the others. I’ve something to tell you.”

  He stood on the top step and surveyed the faces of the customers. Ruth and the other women stood behind him, like petticoat-wearing soldiers. John squared his shoulders.

  “Now, look here. Y’all have got to leave these women alone. No more marriage proposals. At least not until they’ve had time to adjust to our town.” He grinned. “You wouldn’t want them to up and take their good cooking with them, now, would you?”

  Ruth stepped close, and smiled at him. “Gentlemen, although I thank you for the offers, I’m not interested in any of your marriage proposals.” She lowered her voice. “Thank you for clearing things up.”

  He glanced at her, then at the others who grinned at them. His heart stopped.

  Lord, help me. The men thought he’d staked his claim on Ruth. His heart raced as fast as the river’s rapids, sucking him into its undertow. “Well, I don’t think they got the message.”

  One from the crowd threw his hat to the ground. “That’s the one I had my eyes on, Sheriff. But, since you’ve claimed her, I’ll take the next one. They’re all purty.”

  Ruth shook her head. “No, wait –”

  John swallowed against the lump in his throat. “Men, hold on. You’ve misundersto—”

  “Sheriff’s got this one. We’ll have to try for the others.” The men circled John and Ruth, clapping him on the back and winking at her.

  “When’s the wedding?” One of them shouted.

  Chapter 4

  How dare he!

  The nerve of the man to lead the residents to believe he and Ruth were together. Staking a claim? What was she, a gold mine? Ruth snapped her mouth closed and stomped into the house, slamming the door behind her. She ignored her sisters’ inquiring glances.

  A dishpan full of dirty dishes beckoned. Washing dishes was just what she needed while her mind spun. She plunged her hands into the soapy water. Suds splashed her face and stung her eyes. Good. Now she could blame her tears of frustration on the soap. She started the mindless task of scrubbing a dish, putting it in the pail of clean water, and reaching for another.

  Her mind whipped faster than a twister, leaving destruction in its wake. All she wanted was a peaceful life, enough money in her pocket to be comfortable, and a place of her own. And no man to sully it up. At least for now. Was that too much to ask?

  Grandma bustled into the kitchen. “Is there something you haven’t told me?”

  Ruth cut a sideways glance at her. “Like what?”

  “You being engaged.” Grandma grabbed a clean flour sack to dry the dishes.

  “We’re not!” She dropped a stack of plates into the water. More suds soaked the front of her dress. Instead of cooling her off, the warm water added fuel to the flame. “He had no right.” Her shoulders slumped as she stared into the sink. “God must really be mad at me.”

  “Why would you think a thing like that?” Grandma stacked the dishes on the counter.

  “First, Ma and Pa. Now this.” Tears stung Ruth’s eyes. The sign of weakness infuriated her. She swiped her forearm across her face. Once, she hadn’t doubted God’s love for her. Now, she questioned Him at every turn. He’d taken away almost everything she held dear. That wasn’t a show of love. Not to her.

  “You weren’t raised to question God, Ruth Stallings.” Grandma frowned. “You aren’t the only one suffering loss. I have no husband or son.”

  Grandma was right. Ruth shouldn’t complain. Others had it as bad or worse. “I know, and I apologize.”

  “Miss Miriam?”

  Ruth turned. A short, wiry man twisted a worn hat in his hands.

  “Would you be up to a walk before lunch?”

  “Sure I would, Hank. But it’ll have to be a short one.” Grandma untied her apron and gave Ruth a wink. “See you later.”

  Goodness. Ruth clamped down on her lip. Even Grandma was smitten? Ruth shrugged. Grandma could pass for a woman ten years younger, and a widow for as long. Ruth couldn’t begrudge her a chance at happiness. Especially with everything she’d lost. Besides, the owner of the town’s mercantile would provide a decent living for a wife. Maybe romance and marriage wasn’t meant for Ruth, but that didn’t mean her family couldn’t be blessed.

  With a shrug, Ruth turned back to her chore and glanced out the window. A lawn of lush grass and clover stretched from the big house to the shed where John lived. Where were those girls? She couldn’t do this alone. The restaurant was a group effort. A way to keep their heads above water.

  Who was she kidding? Her shoulders slumped. Everything had been her idea. From the moment her parents were shot, to the second Ruth stole back the money the Bushwhackers took. Her idea. Every bit. Maybe she acted too big for her britches, and assumed the others were okay with her decisions. She sniffed and stacked the last dish, then turned to pare potatoes for the noon meal.
/>   “Ruth?”

  She jerked and stopped just shy of slicing her finger. Irritation slid through her body like a raging storm. Slowly, she turned. John leaned in the doorway, one corner of his mouth quirked.

  She returned to her task. “What do you want? Haven’t you done enough damage?” The knife hacked through the vegetables.

  “Damage?” John crossed the floor in three purposeful strides. “The men misinterpreted my words. You placed your hand upon my arm and smiled, remember? You think their belief that I’ve spoken for you is damage?” He banged his thigh with his fist. “Your tongue is sharper than a porcupine’s needles. Good luck to any man foolish enough to get too close.”

  Ruth stabbed the knife into the wooden butcher block. Who did he think he was? “I didn’t ask for your help.”

  “Yes, you did. When you complained about not getting any work done.”

  “That’s not the same.” She turned and grabbed a carrot. Tears pricked her eyelids. “Don’t you have a job to do?”

  “I’m doing it. Trying to keep peace in my town after four single women arrived.”

  She brandished the vegetable at him. “Don’t you blame us for the unruliness of this town!” By the time she finished her rant, her nose almost touched his chest. She tilted her head to glare into his face. He smelled of soap and man and something distinctly John Powell. A pleasant scent. She shook her head. No time to be distracted. Goodness, but he looked good, even with a frown.

  “We had peace here until you showed up.” John’s face turned a light shade of tomato red, then paled when his eyes seemed to focus on her mouth.