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

by Cynthia Hickey

“I’m telling Grandma. You know we haven’t had the opportunity to attend in weeks. Not with the traveling parson taking his time coming. Grandma’s excited about us all going.” Deborah stormed from the room, bare feet slapping the wooden floor.

  Wonderful. Ruth sat up and began counting to ten. She reached six before Grandma burst into the room. “What do you mean, you aren’t going? Do you realize how long it’s been? The traveling preacher is in town. The sheriff only leads services once a month. That means there’s church only twice a month! We’ve traveled that White River forever, taken time to set up this restaurant, and now we have a chance to thank the Lord for our safe arrival and livelihood. To bask in His presence. To sing songs of worship…”

  Ruth held up a hand to stop her. “Fine; I’ll go.”

  “That’s what I thought. When I let you resume head of this household when your pa died, I had no idea you’d forsake God. Maybe I ought to rethink my decision.” Grandma whirled and stomped downstairs.

  Ruth wished she’d had time to sew a dress with the new fabric they’d purchased. She sighed. Her brown calico would have to do. Maybe a blue ribbon in her hair to match her eyes? What was she doing? She didn’t want to impress anyone. Especially Sheriff Powell. And I can tell myself that until the cows come home.

  Dressed, Ruth flounced out of her room and down the hall. John and her family sat around the dining room table eating biscuits and sausage gravy. Her stomach rumbled at the buttery aroma of her Grandma’s flaky fist-sized biscuits and the spiciness of fresh ground pepper.

  “There’s our wayward child.” Grandma set a plate in front of an empty chair. “Best hurry. We don’t want to be late.”

  John’s eyes sparkled as he looked Ruth over. He lifted his mug in a toast and turned back to his breakfast. Her face heated. With the swirling range of emotions every time she laid eyes on John, seeing him across the table each morning was a bad idea. She focused on her breakfast, wolfing it down like a starving animal, then rose.

  “Day’s wasting. Let’s go. Might as well get this over with so we can get back to work.”

  Grandma frowned. “Where are your manners? We do not eat like pigs at a trough.”

  “Church isn’t that bad,” John said. “You sit, you sing, you listen. Easier than shooting a dead turkey off a fence post. Plus, you might actually get something out of the message.”

  She doubted it. What could be wonderful about listening to someone preach fire and brimstone, and how she was such a sinner? “Can we go, please?”

  John laughed. “At your service.” He rose and grabbed his hat from the empty chair beside him. “Guess we want to beat the crowd.” He offered an arm to Grandma, and one to Ruth. “Shall we?”

  With Deborah and Sarah trailing behind and a growing number of townsmen behind them, they made their way down Main Street to the white, clapboard church.

  A wooden steeple rose against the periwinkle sky and pointed to heaven. Several steps led to a small porch and double doors stood open in welcome. Ruth swallowed against the mountain-sized lump in her throat. She felt like a turkey running from a cook carrying a big knife, and the church was the oven.

  Lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders, Ruth allowed John to lead her inside. She pulled free of him and shuffled into the back row before he could force her up front.

  Heads turned when her foot caught the bottom of the bench. The noise sounded abnormally loud in the building, and Ruth cringed as heads turned.

  To her right, a woman jostled a squirming infant, while a toddler crawled after a ball on the floor. Several other women sent timid smiles Ruth’s way. It was good to see families and other women. Ruth had begun to think her family was the only skirt wearing people in town.

  She settled down and folded her hands in her lap. Within seconds, perspiration dotted her neckline and trickled down her back.

  John patted her shoulder. “Relax. God doesn’t bite.”

  “He might,” she muttered.

  What did John call God taking away her parents? Her home? That was God biting, if nothing else. She stared at her folded hands. Ha. She probably looked like the epitome of a prayerful woman. Bowed head, folded hands. If only people knew the truth. How it pained her to sit and pretend a faith she no longer had. Ruth took a deep, shuddering breath and raised her gaze to the front of the sanctuary. A wooden cross, polished to a high sheen, hung over the altar. She closed her eyes and waited for the storm.

  *

  John cast a glance out of the corner of his eye. Boy, howdy! Ruth squirmed more than a kid on Christmas morn. And he doubted it was from anticipation. Did she really expect God to strike her dead?

  She sat with hands clasped tight enough to turn the knuckles white. Her eyes stood out from a bleached face. John shook his head. He’d like to comfort her, but didn’t know a thing to say that might relieve her discomfort.

  As one, the congregation rose to worship. The words of “Rock of Ages” floated around the room. A mixture of baritones, basses, and tenors drowned out the females sopranos. Ruth stood rigid; her shoulder brushing John’s when he moved. The floral scent of her soap teased his senses and threatened to lure him away from the words of the hymn.

  If she’d turned away from her faith, or failed to have any in the first place, he’d need to transfer his attentions to someone else. He couldn’t marry a woman who didn’t love God.

  His gaze lit on her sister, Deborah. Too young. He wanted an equal. Not someone he’d have nothing in common with. Give the girl another couple of years. If his brother Luke were home, he’d be following the pretty blonde everywhere she went. John preferred his women dark and feisty. Like Ruth. Not light and always agreeable. He grinned and leaned forward to catch a glimpse of Sarah. Now, that one’s a pistol. He pitied any man who hooked up with her. Daniel wouldn’t be man enough to handle the adventurous girl.

  Hymn complete, they resumed their seats and settled back to hear the day’s message. The singing was good, but preaching always started John’s week on the right path. Whether it was when he read a passage from the Bible, or a preacher stood at the pulpit.

  The circuit preacher approached the pulpit and set his big, black Bible on top. He gazed on the crowd watching him. “There’s more of you than there was last month. That wouldn’t have anything to do with the lovely newcomers to town, would it?”

  Good-natured chuckles rose.

  “Seems y’all have had a few occurrences since the ladies arrived. Since I expected a full house today, I thought I’d talk on self-control and respect. Gentlemen,” the pastor narrowed his eyes. “These women are gifts to your town, and I hope you will continue to treat them as such.”

  Men shuffled in their seats. John grinned. Leave it to a preacher to put people in their place.

  “James 1:12 says, Blessed is the man that endureth temptation: for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to those that love him.”

  The pastor paused to let his words sink in. “Now, having these fair flowers among us is surely a test of our will. Temptation in the highest.”

  Ruth snorted and crossed her arms. John glanced at her. At least she’d stopped fidgeting. The woman acted like she had termites in her britches.

  “But, they are not, nor should they be, objects of our lust and desire. Gentlemen, court them in a respectful manner. One pleasing to our Lord.”

  “I’ve heard the honorable pastor has been following Deborah around town the last few days,” Ruth whispered. “Maybe he should practice what he preaches.”

  “I’m sure he’s following her in a respectful manner,” John said.

  Ruth shrugged. “Well, he hasn’t asked her to marry him; at least not yet.”

  Grandma shushed them, and John quietly chuckled. It’d been a long time since he’d been scolded in church. The Stallings’s definitely made life more fun. Maybe he’d concentrate on bringing Ruth into the fold, rather than looking elsewhere for a wife.

  He looked forwar
d to the challenge.

  Chapter 12

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” John rose from the pew and offered his arm to Ruth.

  “Well, lightning didn’t strike.” She stood and placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. His muscle tensed beneath his sleeve. “Are you joining us for Sunday dinner?”

  “I thought y’all weren’t serving on Sunday anymore.”

  “We aren’t. But since we’re in your house, it’s the least we can do. We still have to eat, and Grandma’s got a chicken in the pot.”

  She smiled up at him as they made their way out the door. The lines etched by the corners of his eyes deepened.

  “Not the most gracious invitation I’ve ever received, but I’m not one to turn down a meal. Especially if you or Miriam is cooking.”

  For a long time, Ruth hadn’t felt anything as pleasant as the way her hand felt tucked to John’s side. She shouldn’t encourage him, but surely being friends with the man wouldn’t cause any harm. Other than a few barely concealed comments, he didn’t act any more interested in matrimony than she was. Chances were, she only provided a distraction to him. A female to flirt with. Harmless enough as long as he didn’t try to kiss her again!

  They stepped into the muggy summer heat. She blinked against the noon sun, and wished she’d brought her bonnet. The Widow Blye waved from across the lawn. Ruth returned the gesture and glanced around for her sisters.

  Deborah, wearing some gauzy creation of a hat she’d created, strolled ahead of them with Grandma. Ruth grinned. Her sister always did have a flair for fashion. Ruth wasn’t sure why Deborah thought she needed something so fancy in a tucked away town like Painted Bluff. The cornflower blue hat perched on top of her corn silk hair did make a lovely picture. And the view wasn’t lost on the men in town. Several sent admiring glances at her. Ruth searched for Sarah through the throng leaving the church. She spied a brown calico dress with pumpkin-colored flowers. Sarah was giggling, hand pressed to her mouth to cover the laugh. Daniel ducked his head.

  “Don’t worry about Sarah,” John said. “They’ll see each other whether you want them to or not.”

  She frowned. “I’m realizing that. It’s just that she’s so young.”

  “My ma was married by Sarah’s age. Up here in the hills, people grow up fast.”

  Ruth nodded. “In Mississippi too. Though I’d like my sisters to learn to be independent first. Self-sufficient. They don’t need to rely on a man in order to have a good life.”

  John paused at the steps to the house and leaned against the porch railing. He frowned. “What do you have against men?”

  She stared at him for a moment before answering. “Except my pa, they all seem to have something else on their minds.”

  “Like what?” He frowned, his brows drawing together.

  Ruth caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She couldn’t think of a thing to say that wouldn’t make John angry.

  “The will to dominate.” She brushed past him, plopped into a rocker, and crossed her arms. “Surely, you can understand, in a way. You’ve had your heart broken. Getting hitched shouldn’t be a person’s focus in life.”

  John propped a foot on the top step and rested his elbows on his knee. His eyes darkened. “Maybe not, but should God so choose, I wouldn’t turn down the woman He’s got planned for me. You talk about trust, Ruth. Don’t you trust me?”

  “I don’t know you.” She rolled her eyes and gazed toward the bluff. “I see what you want me to see: a man who loves his town, and would do anything to protect those under his charge.” She returned her focus to him. “What about when you get angry? I’ve seen your eyes harden like ice; your fists clench. What happens when you’re pushed that last, extra inch?”

  “I can control my temper.”

  Maybe he could. Did she want to take a chance after what she’d been through? She’d seen enough violence during the war for two lifetimes. The bushwhackers who killed her parents and took her family’s money hadn’t shown a shred of decency. Instead, they wanted something she refused to give them. She couldn’t go back to the innocent Ruth of before.

  No, she’d live out her days as a spinster; caring for her family until they no longer needed her. Then, she’d find something else to occupy her time. Maybe run a restaurant until the day she died. There were worse occupations for a woman.

  A cloud of dust appeared on the road leading into town. Ruth squinted and tried to make out who was coming. The closer they got, the more it looked like a group of men dragging a stretcher. She stood and moved to the top step. “Someone’s coming.”

  *

  John straightened and turned. “Must be some of the men returning home from the war. I expected everyone back weeks ago, but I don’t recognize these men.” He glanced at Ruth. “Don’t think this conversation is over. I have plenty of questions.”

  She replied through the wad of cotton in her mouth. “There’s nothing else to know.”

  Oh, but there was. Somebody’d hurt this woman. He intended to find out who the scoundrel was and make him pay the price. “Stay on the porch and until I know their business.”

  Four grizzled men with mud-stained Confederate uniforms approached. One stepped forward. “John Powell! We’re looking for John Powell.”

  John moved into the road. “That’s me.”

  “Got your brother here.” The man motioned to the stretcher. “It’s been a haul getting him up the mountain, but we made it. Promised we’d bring him home before heading home ourselves.”

  John’s heart stopped, then resumed a gallop beneath his ribcage. Luke was home? John had almost given up hope.

  Ruth joined him. “Go. I’ll help Grandma fix something for these soldiers to eat.”

  He nodded and took wooden steps toward the travois. John’s legs threatened to give way. He barely recognized the man lying there. At least twenty pounds lighter than when he’d seen him last, he looked as if he’d aged at least that many years. John’s shoulders sagged as Luke’s chest rose and fell beneath the moth-eaten blanket covering him.

  “Luke?” He was almost afraid to touch his brother, afraid he’d break under the weight of John’s hand.

  Luke’s hazel eyes fluttered open. They were red-rimmed and misty. “John. I’ve come home.”

  John laid his head on his brother’s chest and cried. Thank you, God. At any other time, embarrassment would’ve filled him at breaking down in front of strangers. But not this time. For months, he’d thought Luke dead. Now, to see him still breathing, was enough to send John toppling to the ground.

  Gravel crunched behind him. “John?” Ruth placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get your brother in the house so Grandma can look at him. She’s got a fair skill at healing.”

  He nodded and grasped Ruth’s fingers. “Okay.” Wiping the sleeve of his shirt over his eyes, he struggled to his feet. “I knew he wasn’t dead. I knew it. We’re twins. Did I tell you? I would’ve known if he was dead.”

  “Yes, you would have.” She returned his squeeze. “We’ll move him to the main bedroom. Grandma can sleep with us girls until we find another place to stay.”

  “Luke won’t ask you to leave.”

  “No, I won’t.” Luke’s soft words filled the distance between them. “I’m looking forward to being cared for by an angel sent from heaven.”

  Ruth laughed. “There’s four of us, so you’ll definitely feel like you’re in heaven. Let’s see how you feel after being smothered for a few days.”

  The men who’d brought Luke to town lifted the stretcher and carried him into the house. John followed. “Miriam, my brother’s home!”

  “Ruth told me.” Miriam moved from the kitchen, drying her hands on a cotton towel. “Oh, my.” She tossed the towel at a gape-mouthed Deborah. “Let’s see what we’ve got. Ruth, fetch my bag. Lord, help us.” She squared her shoulders and headed upstairs. John followed with his heart in his throat.

  “I’ll get the girls to finish the cooking and be right
up,” Ruth called after them.

  “Gentle, now.” Miriam scowled at the men carrying Luke. “He’s not a sack of grain to be tossed around.”

  John paced. His heart threatened to beat free. He wanted nothing more than to give his brother a big dose of John’s health and vitality.

  “Yes, ma’am.” One of them muttered.

  Miriam beckoned John forward. “Stop before you wear a hole in the floor. You’re making me nervous. Help me get his shirt off.” She bent over Luke and smoothed his light brown hair out of his face. “Where are you hurt, honey?”

  “The army docs done looked me over. Stitched up a bayonet wound in my side, but I’m really hot. Can’t shake this fever.”

  “I looked for you for over a month, Luke. Where were you?”

  “Holed up in Missouri somewhere, I think. It’s a long walk home, brother.”

  “Let me take a look, son.” With John’s help, she peeled back his shirt. “Might have something to do with how dirty you are. John, tell Sarah and Deborah to heat some water and get me some clean cloths. We’ll get your brother fixed right up. What he needs is some meat on his bones.”

  John nodded, and peered over Miriam’s shoulder. The wound below Luke’s ribs was red and inflamed. Black stitches stretched tight across the swollen skin.

  “Grandma.” Ruth rushed in, carrying a tapestry bag. “I assumed you wanted goldenseal and elderberry, right? The elderberry tonic is in the bag. I’m cooking up the goldenseal right now, and sent Sarah out to pick poke salet. Do you need anything else?”

  “Just water and rags.” Grandma poked at the wound and Ruth sped away.

  Luke moaned. The sound wrung John’s heart. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen wounded men before, but this was his brother. His twin. The other half of himself.

  “John, I’m going to cause your brother some pain.” Grandma set her lips in a thin line. “I think it would be better if you left the room. Send Ruth to me when she’s finished with the poultice.”

  “I’ll fetch Ruth, but you can’t make me stay away.” He could do something. Hold Luke down, maybe.