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

by Cynthia Hickey

  “You are a persistent little thing, aren’t you?”

  Without pausing, Ruth shrugged. “There’s work to be done. Go away.”

  “Let’s have a picnic on the bluff.”

  “No.” She swept dust over his boots. “Don’t you two men ever clean in here? I don’t think it’s been touched since we left.”

  “Why would two bachelors spend their free time cleaning? Besides, I don’t actually live here.”

  “You eat most of your meals here, don’t you?”

  John could think of better things to do on a beautiful afternoon than household chores. A walk along the river. A ride on Buster. Sitting on the front porch reading a two-week-old newspaper. Spending time with a pretty gal. But cleaning? Nah, the woman was out of her mind. But he still couldn’t think of anything better than time with her.

  “It’s Sunday, Ruth. The Lord’s Day.” He took the broom from her hands. “Enjoy life a little. The dust will wait.” He pulled the handkerchief from her hair and tossed it on the table. “Let’s enjoy the day.”

  She cocked her head. “Who’s going to put together the picnic?”

  “I already asked the Widow. It’s waiting on the porch.”

  “You’re awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?” A smile teased at the corner of her lips.

  “A little bit.”

  She laughed. “Let me wash up, Mister Incorrigible. Don’t make a habit of bossing me around.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Once he had her alone, he intended to dig out every morsel of what happened at the bushwhacker camp. If Ruth and her family were in danger, he needed to know in order to protect them.

  A group of angry men was too much for even Ruth to handle alone. Not that the townsfolk wouldn’t rally to her aid, but John didn’t want violence if he could avoid it.

  “Okay. I think I got most of the grime off my face.” She grinned up at him.

  “Clean as a whistle.” Except for a streak beside her nose. He rubbed his finger there and removed the dirt. The gesture sent his heart into a tailspin.

  He crooked his elbow and led her to the front porch, where he grabbed the basket sitting there. “Is our usual spot all right?”

  Her eyes widened. “We have a spot?”

  “Sure we do. This will be what, our third or fourth time going there together?”

  Ruth’s face paled. “Gracious,” she muttered under her breath.

  The fact he’d surprised her made his heart dance. She’d become so comfortable with him, she didn’t take note of how much time they spent together. Well, he did. And he intended for there to be a lot more.

  Dead leaves crunched under their feet as they strolled across the lawn toward the bluff before lush clover and grass drowned the sound of their footsteps. John glanced at the cloudless sky. No rain in six weeks left everything as dry as tinder. They were lucky they hadn’t lost the entire town in the fire. He’d gone to the soldier’s camp after finding the body, only to find the ashes of their campsite cold.

  If the burned man belonged to their group, they didn’t seem to miss him much. John and Luke attributed the fire to a drunken man’s carelessness and thanked God nobody else lost their life.

  John spread a blanket in the thick grass beneath the towering oak they usually sat under. Once Ruth sat, John sprawled beside her and opened the basket. Should he bring up the topic of the bushwhackers now, or wait until she’d eaten? Subtlety wasn’t one of his strong points and he champed at the bit as much as Buster when the horse wanted to gallop.

  A hawk soared past, dipping below the cliff and out of sight. A mockingbird chattered from the branches, and a slight breeze off the river kept the humidity from being too overbearing. John studied Ruth’s profile as she stared into the distance, her sandwich clutched in her hand.

  “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “Yes. This has become home in the few months we’ve been here. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Not anymore.”

  “Not even Mississippi?”

  “There are too many bad memories there.”

  John took a deep breath. “The bushwhacker camp?”

  “What do you know about that?” Ruth dropped her sandwich. The ham and slice of cheese fell to the blanket.

  “Miriam told me.”

  “I don’t know what she said, but she’s mistaken.” Ruth carefully wrapped her lunch back in its waxed paper wrapping, and set it in the basket. Anything to avoid looking at John. One glance at her face, and he’d know she lied. Why did he keep asking questions? The last thing she wanted was to relive that nightmare?

  John took a bite, chewed. She fidgeted under his intense gaze, and picked at the crumbs in her lap. Why didn’t he say something? Obviously, he didn’t believe her. Maybe today was judgment day. The time to come clean about how they ended up in Painted Bluff. She didn’t know if she could.

  “Miriam told me after your folks were killed you took up your pa’s gun and went after the scoundrels that murdered them. You came back with a wad of cash, a pistol, and a haunted look.” He stared, unblinking. “So, don’t tell me nothing happened.”

  She took a deep breath and glared. “It’s none of your business.”

  His face hardened. “When a group of men come to my town looking for a woman that’s supposedly a murderer and a thief, it becomes my business.”

  Men were looking for her? Ruth’s blood ran cold, and her shoulders sagged. Would John arrest her if he found out what she’d done? “What do you mean?”

  John sat up, wadded his sandwich wrapper, and tossed it in the basket. “A group of ex-soldiers were camped outside of town a few nights ago. Said they were looking for a murderer and a thief, and that it would be the least likely suspect. A woman with the face of an angel. Then, the night of the fire, we find a charred body next to the burned church. Maybe the two incidents aren’t related, but my gut tells me they are.”

  “Is that why you invited me out here, John? To interrogate me?” Ruth’s throat threatened to seize. Perspiration trickled between her shoulder blades.

  “No, not completely. I do enjoy spending time with you.” He shook his head. “But, I also need to know what’s going on, so I can protect you and your family.”

  “Nothing’s going on.” She stood. Besides, she could protect her family. Just like before.

  He stood, too, every line in his body as straight as the pine trees around them. “Stop lying to me! I can’t help you if you aren’t truthful.”

  Ruth took a step back. A muscle ticked in John’s jaw. His eyes turned the color of a stormy sky. Why couldn’t she tell him she’d killed a man? As Sheriff, he most likely had to. He wouldn’t condemn her for an act of self-defense; yet something inside her held her back, made her afraid. The thought of reliving that night in a retelling, sent fingers of ice crawling down her back.

  “Leave me alone.” She whirled and dashed into the trees.

  Chapter 23

  Ruth led John to the corral, where Buster ripped dried grass from the ground with his yellowed teeth. She folded her arms and rested them on the fence rail. Might as well get it over with. John wouldn’t leave her alone until he knew every dirty little secret she tried to keep buried. Heart pounding, mouth as dry as the ground during a drought, Ruth waited until John joined her.

  “I’m a fairly good shot with Pa’s musket. So, the majority of the hunting was left to me while he and Ma tended the fields. We used to have a couple of freed slaves working for us, but they ran off during the war, so all the work fell to us. Sarah and Deborah were in charge of caring for the house.” She took a deep breath, and released it slowly.

  “We’d tried for weeks to get Ma to stay inside and let me and Pa handle the outside work. Anyway,” she shrugged. “I was hunting that day. I’d just bagged two rabbits when I heard the gunfire. Even though I rushed home as fast as I could, I was too late.”

  John laid a hand on hers. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  She yanked free.
“You wanted to hear this; you’ll hear it. Stop interrupting.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Ma and Pa lay dead in the corn field and the house was on fire. I didn’t know where my sisters or Grandma were. I ran into the burning house, only to discover it’d been ransacked. All our money was gone. Pa didn’t believe in banks, after the war. Said all the bankers were all greedy, no good sons of… well, I can’t tell you exactly what he said.” Tears ran down Ruth’s cheeks.

  “What was left of my family had hid in the root cellar. They’d managed to rescue a few items of clothing, some of the money, and a couple of Ma’s rings. Grandma had gone to dig roots, so thankfully, she wasn’t around to see her son and his wife gunned down, only their bodies afterward. Once she found my sisters, she remembered the old cellar at the edge of the woods and hid.

  “The worst case of anger came over me. It was like a poison that spread through my blood.” Ruth glanced at John’s marble profile. “I followed the bushwhackers. Wasn’t very far into the woods before one of them found me and hauled me to their camp. Anyway, the scoundrel wanted to take something I wasn’t willing to give. I grabbed my gun, gut-shot him, which was an accident,t by the way; took back our money, and here we are. Satisfied?”

  He didn’t look at her. Instead, John kept his attention focused on something in the distance. The only sign he’d heard her was the ticking of a muscle in his cheek. That, and the shimmer in his eyes. Finally, he swallowed hard enough she could see the lump move down his throat. “Tried to take?”

  “It’ll take more than a gun-toting drunk to get the better of me.”

  “Well,” he sighed hard enough to stir dust from the railing. “It’s understandable why you’re standoffish.” John turned his red-rimmed gaze on her. “But I’m not that man, Ruth. I’m not any of them. I’m me. John Powell, the man who loves you.”

  “I don’t think I have it in me to love you the way you deserve.” She turned away. “There’s too much hurt inside.”

  John turned her to face him. “I’m here when you want me to help you.” He planted a kiss on her forehead so tender, her knees threatened to give way. Then, he shuffled away, head hanging, and took a chunk of Ruth’s heart with him.

  Her tears increased, and a sob burst from her as she watched him go. Besides her family, no one cared enough about her troubles to shed a tear. The fact that a burly man like the sheriff could cry for her, tore at Ruth’s insides like a hand saw. She wrapped her arms around her waist and sagged to the ground.

  “Ruth?” Grandma bustled to her side, and knelt. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

  “Why can’t I let people love me?” She peered into her grandma’s face. “Why do I have to make things so hard?”

  Grandma took Ruth’s hands in hers. “Because you won’t let God have the reins. Once you do, life still won’t be perfect, but it’ll be a heck of a lot easier.” Using the fence as support, Grandma struggled to her feet. “Come on. Wash your face and help me finish up supper. There’ll be a line of men at the door soon.”

  “All right.” Ruth wiped her eyes on her sleeves. Even when a person’s heart was breaking, people needed to be fed. Chores needed to be done. Life went on, even when your soul wept.

  Grandma gave her a warm smile as Ruth donned her apron. “Grandma, how’d you get so wise?”

  “A whole lot of living, sweetheart. Something you’re missing. You’re so busy surviving, you aren’t living.”

  Ruth pondered her words as she chopped carrots for a stew. Grandma was right. Ruth’s responsibilities were lessening as Grandma made plans to marry, Deborah was ready to start teaching. That left wild child, Sarah.

  She glanced out the window to where John ambled by. Everything in her wanted to go to him, let him take her in his arms, and make the confusion go away. Why did she find that so difficult?

  The knife slipped, nicking her finger. She stuck the finger in her mouth. Even the slightest preoccupation caused pain. She glanced at her grandmother who removed a loaf of bread from the oven. Soon, Grandma would be taken care of. Another year or two, her sisters most likely would’ve found husbands. Then, Ruth could get a life of her own. Her gaze sought John through the window.

  *

  John plopped into the only straight-backed chair in his cabin. His stomach rumbled at the tantalizing smells drifting from the big house and through his window, but he held hunger at bay while he digested the nightmare Ruth had laid on him.

  For a moment, he’d wanted to hunt down the bushwhackers and open fire. He’d feared the man violated Ruth, and almost collapsed with relief upon finding she hadn’t. He rested his chin in his hands. Most likely, under the circumstances, he’d have done the same. But Ruth killed a man, and he was the sheriff of the town. He needed to call the Marshall and let Ruth plead her case. It would be somebody’s word against hers that it was self-defense.

  He had no wanted posters on her, no word other than the soldiers outside of town. But he didn’t doubt her story. The haunted look in her eyes told more than her words. How long would she be safe in Painted Bluff? He saw no need to exercise his job as sheriff by arresting her, but what if the bushwhackers returned? What kind of havoc would they bring with them? Lord, tell me what to do. How can I protect her?

  Voices and laughter carried from the dining room. Amazing how a few minutes of digging into someone’s past could take the pleasure out of the ordinary, everyday things. No wonder Ruth walked around with a chip on her shoulder. She waited for someone else to disappoint her. Hurt her. Well, it wouldn’t be him. He loved her more now than he did that morning, and he’d do everything in his power to keep her with him.

  He shoved away from the table and marched across the lawn and into the kitchen. His stomach felt full of lead, but he’d eat the wonderful supper prepared, and pretend everything was as fine as it had been before Ruth’s revelation.

  “Good evening, ladies.” He slid his hand along Ruth’s back as he passed. She flinched under his touch. The action squeezed his heart in a grip tight enough to threaten to cut off his breathing. He grabbed a clean plate from the sideboard. “Supper smells wonderful.”

  Ruth glanced at him with a puzzled frown. He grinned, locking gazes with her until her lips curved into a smile. “Good evening, John.” She ladled stew onto his dish and tossed on a couple slices of bread.

  John winked and joined Hank at the small table set aside for family. Since they’d announced their betrothal, the man rarely left Miriam’s side. He couldn’t imagine Ruth ever letting a man hover so.

  “Howdy, sheriff.” Hank waved a chunk of bread. “Got a new roof on the mercantile, and got in a new shipment of hats. You might ought a come take a look. Your’s is a bit bedraggled.”

  “My floppy hat is just fine.”

  Hank settled back in his chair. “If you’re wanting to attract a lady, you need to look your best. That includes more than a regular shave.”

  “Since when did you become an expert on what women like?”

  Hank grinned beneath his handle-bar moustache. “Since I’m about to get hitched.”

  John spooned the stew into his mouth. He didn’t see what difference a hat would make in gaining Ruth’s affection. He glanced at the frayed cuffs of his shirt. Maybe Hank had managed to get in some new chambray shirts, and he could switch off from his hot flannel. “How are you managing to get these new goods up the river? Ruth and the other ladies were lucky to catch a flat boat a few months back. A few families have come that way, but most make it over the mountain.”

  “Traffic’s increasing little by little. Some comes overland by mule. With the folks moving in to settle these mountains, we’ve got to compete with Rolling Brook. At least that’s what Miriam suggests. She’s a woman who knows what’s what, that’s for sure. A good head on her shoulders.”

  “Well, sure folks are moving back to the hills after the end of the war, but how often do they make it to town?” John used his bread to sop of the last of his stew. He was te
mpted to ask for seconds, but the way Ruth and her sisters scurried in and out of the kitchen, he changed his mind. He wasn’t hungry enough to get snapped at because they were busy.

  “So, fixing up the town’s working?” Luke seemed pleased. He folded his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair until Miriam rapped him on the head with a wooden spoon as she passed. He grinned and settled back down.

  John laughed. Too bad the fire set things back a bit.

  “Yep, and the church ought to be finished by the weekend, thanks to the generosity of your Ruth. If you want to start looking for a teacher before fall, we could build a schoolhouse next, or use the church. Makes no never mind to folks. They’re just excited about a school.”

  He liked the way his Ruth sounded. If he could only convince her to think the same. “I thought we’d wait another year to hire a teacher. Make sure we can afford one.”

  “We’ve got one,” Luke said. “Deborah Stallings. We need to set up a

  School Board to make everything official, and agree on a rate of pay, but that won’t be hard.”

  Hank tossed his napkin on his empty plate. “Well, you and your brother discuss that. The folks’ll follow y’all’s lead.”

  John’s gaze followed Ruth to the stove. The main one he wanted to follow him was a pretty little thing with hair the color of chestnuts, and the attitude of a bobcat. “Deborah will be eighteen in a few weeks. Maybe starting school in the fall isn’t a bad idea. Have a program of some sort.”

  “That’s a great idea!” Luke stood. “We’ll get together a planning committee in a month or two.” He nodded thanks to the cooks, then left.

  Hank clapped on his straw hat. “Well, I’m going to help my girl clean up, so I can steal her away for a walk before it gets too dark.”

  John nodded. “I’ll be in to look at that newfangled hat in the morning.” He waited until the kitchen was empty, save for him and Ruth. “Everything’s going to be fine, Ruth. I’ll see to it.”