Caleb led Bet to the barn door and mounted. The sleet was thickening. “Snow will be good,” Charles said. “Light the candle when you’re confused, but I think Bet will be able to get you to town. Godspeed.”
“And the best of luck to you,” Caleb said. “Even though I don’t believe in luck.”
“Pray all the way for yourself and your sister.” Charles slapped the horse’s rump, and they left. He closed the barn door and carried the lantern into the office in the vain hope Sam Peck had owned a human anatomy book.
He returned through now-falling snow to the house twenty minutes later. Jenny sat at the cleared table while Micah polished off the final piece of corn pone. “Did he get off okay?” she asked.
“Yep. He should make it without any problems now it’s snowing.”
“How will the buggy manage with the snow?” Jenny asked.
“They’ll figure it out.” He hung up his soaked slicker and emptied his pockets. “We use willow bark for livestock. It’s a pain reliever. I’ll give you some if you need it.”
“How much?” Jenny asked.
“I’ll have to think,” Charles said. “We usually give a whole twig to a cow.”
“That should be enough for me,” Jenny said. “I’m as big as Blossom now.”
Micah swallowed the last bite. “No, you’re not.”
“I was trying to joke,” she said.
Charles wasn’t in a laughing mood. “Any pains?”
“Some tightening across the front. Rachel described contractions to me, and that’s what this feels like. But maybe it’s just false pains.”
“Let’s hope so.” He stared at her belly straining against the housedress. He moved toward her with his hands outstretched. “Do you think the baby’s in the right position? Do you mind if I try to feel?”
Cows and horses delivered on their own without problems as long as the foal or calf was in the right position, feet first. Humans? He shuddered.
“I hope you won’t have to soap up your arm.” Jenny tried to make light of her comment, but he could see the panic in her eyes.
“I’m not reaching into you.”
“Let’s hope you don’t have to.” Jenny swallowed. “Go ahead.”
He laid his hands on both sides of her belly, feeling the ripples of contractions. He felt a push under his right hand and a shove under his left. Could this baby be breech? Then what would he do?
Sweat beaded Jenny’s face, and a worried Micah followed her every movement. This would not do. They needed to be confident.
Thus began the longest night of Charles’s life. All he knew was to keep her moving, just as a horse walks in labor. They pushed the table into the corner to clear a path, and Jenny paced the kitchen, across the entryway, and into the parlor. Once she tried the stairs, but the pangs grew in such intensity, she cried out and hurried down.
Through it all, Micah watched with large eyes, praying lips, and fear. Ma Duncan snored on her bed; Charles checked on her several times. He tried to distract Jenny with stories of his childhood, of the war, of his students.
She paced and breathed heavily.
When the clock in the parlor ticked past four, Charles peered out the window to the farmyard, now covered in a thin veil of white. The rain and wind had died. Micah slept with his cheek to the table, and Jenny walked against the pain.
“Do you want a boy or a girl?” he asked.
“Girl. I don’t want this baby to remind me of Tom.”
“Do you have a name picked?”
“Mary, for my mother. I sure wish she were here.”
Charles asked for her memories, and they spent an hour talking about her dead mother, father, and brothers. The family had been close, and Jenny wept more than once.
“You never answered my question.” Jenny leaned against the wall and tugged at her hair. “What made you come here?”
“I didn’t know you were Ben and Asa’s sister,” Charles said. “Colonel Hanks said we were doing a survey for Tom Duncan.”
Jenny closed her eyes. “Why did Tom want a survey?”
“The colonel said something about an IOU. I didn’t pay much attention; I was doing my job.”
“He probably wanted to sell Pa’s note to the colonel,” Jenny said, weariness dragging her words out.
“Possibly, but with Tom dead it didn’t matter.” Charles said.
“Colonel Hanks told me Pa paid off the lien on the property with our stud stallion. The colonel didn’t tear up the note because Pa wanted to buy back the stallion when he had the money. If he’d ever have the money. Are all farmers gamblers?”
Charles shook his head. “Farming isn’t gambling; it’s taking a calculated risk. You work hard to earn your way. Gambling’s just trying to get rich quick by taking money off fools.”
“You overcame your gambling problem. Why couldn’t Tom?” She sounded breathless.
Charles shook his head. “It took God’s help to do it. I’m not sure it’s completely gone, but I want to live my life right before God, and do right by you, Jenny.”
“I wish this baby had a father like you, a man who faced up to his problems, took responsibility for them, and wanted to change. Instead, she’ll have to live knowing her father was a gambler who thought only of himself.” Jenny’s face scrunched in pain.
Charles scanned the empty farmyard. Micah sighed in his sleep.
Charles swallowed. “The baby doesn’t have to have a father like Tom. You could marry me. I’ll be your baby’s father.”
She stood up straight and stared at him. “What are you proposing?”
“I know these beaus who’ve been around have made you offers. I’ve left you alone to figure out for yourself what you want.”
She frowned. “You mean you’ve been avoiding me on purpose?”
“Yes,” Charles said. “It was a risk, but I figured if you cared for me, it wouldn’t matter what the other men did.”
Jenny leaned against the wall before speaking. “But you made yourself indispensable. Everything you did made me love you. I can’t imagine living here without you.”
Charles took her hands. “Living here, or just living? I want to be with you always. I love you, Jenny, with or without your farm. Will you marry me?”
She smiled with all her heart and then gasped. “You’ve picked a curious time to ask.”
He mirrored her smile “Will you?”
“Yes. But we’ve got work to do before I can get married.”
Chapter 15
With Caleb leading the way on Bet, Colonel Hanks, Rachel, and the midwife drove a carriage into the farmyard not long after dawn. Charles ran down the stairs to greet them. His hand ached from holding Jenny’s through the bone-wrenching pain.
Mrs. Gray, the midwife, hurried to her patient.
“How is she?” Rachel asked as she unwrapped her scarf.
“I’m very glad to see you,” Charles said.
Rachel went upstairs, too.
Charles went out to the barn to clear his head and help with the buggy. Colonel Hanks slapped Caleb on the back. “Terrific job through difficult weather. Your father would have been proud.”
Caleb nearly fell over in his exhaustion. “Is the baby here yet?”
“No,” Charles said. “You’re my hero.”
Colonel Hanks laughed. “Let’s go inside where it’s warm.”
Mrs. Gray was making tea when they entered the kitchen.
“Is she okay?” Charles asked.
“Fine, fine. It will be awhile yet, but she is doing very well.” She poured the tea into cups. “We all need a little warming, I think.”
Colonel Hanks and Caleb reached for a cup.
“Is the baby breech?” Charles asked. “Will Jenny survive?”
“No, the baby is head down and feet up as it should be. I think she’ll do fine,” Mrs. Gray said. “Large-boned women like Jenny usually deliver without too much trouble.”
“How much longer?”
“May
be an hour, why?”
Charles turned to Colonel Hanks. “You’re a justice of the peace. Have you got your prayer book with you?”
The colonel laughed. “If you want what I suspect, I think I can manage without the book.”
Charles indicated Caleb. “Her next of kin has already given his permission.”
“Yes, sir!” Caleb shouted.
Micah stirred from the table. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing yet. Think you can do the honors before the baby arrives?” Charles asked Hanks.
“You’re not wasting any time, are you?” Colonel Hanks stamped the snow off his feet and called for Mrs. Gray.
Sunlight shone through the window when Mrs. Gray placed Mary into her mother’s triumphant arms. Jenny lay against the pillows and gazed into the little girl’s tiny red face.
“This has been a very busy morning.” She yawned. “The entire world is different today.”
“You’re a different person this morning, Mrs. Moss,” Charles said. “When can I hold my daughter?”
“Are you sure you want to? Loving a girl can be a risky proposition,” Jenny said. “You might lose your heart.”
Charles leaned down to gaze at the newborn. “I’ll take the chance, especially when she has a mother as pretty as you.”
Jenny turned on the pillow to look deep into his eyes. “Did I ever tell you I love you?”
Charles laughed. “I think it’s time, now, for me to kiss my bride.”
ANGEL IN DISGUISE
by Darlene Franklin
Dedication
And all that believed were together, and had all things common;
And sold their possessions and goods, and parted them to all men,
as every man had need.
ACTS 2:44–45 KJV
Chapter 1
San Antonio, Texas, June 1875
Rosie Carson sat in the circle of chairs gathered for the Young People’s Society of the New Testament Church of San Antonio. She loved the Lord and she loved the Bible, even though she found it a little confusing at times. But if she heard any more people read the exciting stories with such droning voices, she’d fall asleep.
By the time Rosie caught up with the teacher in the second chapter of Acts, he was droning on about “tongues of fire” resting on the disciples. She screwed her mouth, trying to imagine a tongue made out of fire. Where did it rest on the head? Did it come out of their mouths?
There was a mention of the Holy Ghost…Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. She’d like to hear more about that. The teacher continued to read as if he were reciting multiplication tables. His voice didn’t convey any of the excitement Rosie felt when she read the accounts of the early Christians.
Some of the witnesses said, “These men are full of new wine.” A picture formed in her mind of church members so excited about the Lord that they were accused of being drunk. She giggled at the image of people with fire sprouting out of their mouths, like circus entertainers, talking in languages half the congregation didn’t understand, staggering about the stage, hollering, “Praise Jesus!” She laughed out loud.
The leader stared at her, directing the attention of everyone in the group to her unfortunate outburst. “Miss Carson, would you care to tell us what you find so very amusing?”
Rosie gulped. Didn’t these people realize how blessed they were, that they had read the Bible so often that it rolled over them like wagon wheels running through the same ruts?
“I’d like to hear what Rosie thinks about the day the church was born.” Macy Braum, a pleasant contrast to her stuffed shirt of a brother, gave Rosie the courage to speak.
“It’s the place where it says people were mocking the disciples and all, saying they were drunk. Here God was doing something amazing and wonderful and all they saw was drunks.”
“Yeah, Braxton, maybe we should hold the next service at the saloon down the street,” a young man Rosie didn’t recognize said.
Laughter followed, although Rosie didn’t think it was such a bad idea. Didn’t Jesus eat with publicans and sinners and even ladies of the night? They were the people who knew they needed a Savior, not people who had grown up without ever wondering where their next meal was coming from.
“At least they took a risk in sharing their faith.” A deep voice from the back of the room said.
Turning, Rosie registered his blond good looks while feeling a bone-deep fear of the authority shouting from every inch of his frame.
Ranger Owen Cooper smiled inwardly at the excitement generated by the young lady’s comment. He almost quoted the verse from Ephesians, where Paul said, “Be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess; but be filled with the Spirit.” He would love to hear Miss Carson’s take on that verse. She might be the only one who noticed it said “in excess.”
Since his parents’ death, Owen hadn’t been home to San Antonio for more than a weekend for several years. His work as a Texas Ranger kept him running from Texarkana to El Paso year-round. On the rare occasions he had time to himself, he stayed near the headquarters in Austin. The life of a Ranger, with open sky and an outlaw’s trail to follow, appealed to him more than the closed-in feeling he had in town and in the congregation of the New Testament Church of San Antonio.
Miss Carson was a pleasant exception. The way the red in her cheeks matched the red leather Bible cover, brown curls bounced against her neck, and her expressive faith shouted her love for God’s Word—she couldn’t bore him if she tried.
The Bible study ended not long after that, leaving the sermon the apostle Peter preached at Pentecost for another lesson. How could a sermon that convicted over three thousand people when Peter preached it stir little more emotion than a recitation of the Apostles’ Creed in the nineteenth century?
After the “amen” of the closing prayer, Owen’s eyes sought out Rosie. She hung back from the crowd, taking a glass of lemonade before retiring to a quiet corner. Wanting to discuss her thoughts on the Bible study, he headed in her direction. Before he could make progress, Macy and two of her friends interrupted him.
“Ranger Cooper.” Nancy Wilkerson, as vapid a woman as Owen had ever met, breathed his name as if the continuation of the state of Texas depended on it. “We were ever so concerned to hear about your injury at the hands of that awful outlaw Wilson. We have been praying for your recovery.”
Owen looked for an escape but found none. The injury she mentioned, not to mention his upbringing on the treatment of ladies, kept him slow of movement. “Your prayers are appreciated. I hope to resume my duties soon.”
“Not too soon,” the third woman, whose name escaped Owen at the moment, simpered. “We are hoping you can stay in our midst for an extended period this time.”
“That depends on the doctor’s report.” And whether Owen could sway his opinion to let him return to duty as soon as possible. He glanced again at Miss Carson, who sat by herself, responding on the infrequent occasions when someone spoke to her.
Miss Wilkerson turned in the same direction as Owen’s gaze. In a stage whisper, she said, “You seem quite taken with our Miss Carson. But I must warn you, she isn’t someone you would want to associate with, not at all.”
Someone as experienced as Miss Wilkerson must know that kind of warning often served to send most men straight to Miss Carson’s side. He simply lifted his right eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Nancy.” Macy stopped her friend before she could say more. “Miss Carson is our sister in Christ. I especially invited her to come, and I won’t have you gossiping about her past. In fact, I will go over there right now and say hello. Do you want me to introduce you, Owen?”
Rosie had moved. She returned her glass to the refreshments table and walked out of the house.
“Too late. She just left.” He moved in the direction of the door, but another group of interested ladies, as his mother described them, blocked his path.
Owen sighed. If Miss Carson was a new Christian, he should have other opportunities to speak to her
, away from curious stares.
He found his next opportunity at church on Sunday. New Testament Church offered a Sunday school class for the adults as well as for children. Owen spied Miss Carson in the back row of the sanctuary, where the class was held. By virtue of moving quietly during the final prayer, he reached her before she could disappear.
“Yes?” Lively brown eyes peered at him from beneath a fringe of curls.
“Perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Owen Cooper.” He didn’t give his occupation or rank. “I find myself in San Antonio for a few weeks.” He didn’t like to mention the injury either, not wanting pity.
Recognition dawned in Rosie’s face. Of course, his name had been placed on the church’s prayer list. Miss Carson’s mind was cataloging him, name, rank, and family.
“You’re the Ranger.” Her eyes clouded. “You were injured, chasing that outlaw Wilson.”
“That’s me.” He wanted to get her mind off the subject that had drawn a curtain of some kind between them. “I confess I’ve spent several moments wondering about the reaction of the crowd to men who appeared drunk.”
A bit of humor returned to her expression. “I went ahead and read the rest of the chapter. That was quite a sermon Peter preached! Although I do have some questions about—”
Before Miss Carson had a chance to voice those questions, Miss Wilkerson came up behind them. “Excuse us, please, won’t you, Miss Carson?” Somehow she swept toward the doors, holding on to Owen’s arm. She leaned in, closer than he liked, and whispered, “I wanted to warn you. Miss Carson is a thief. She’s spent time in jail. She only started coming to church a month ago, after she came forward at a revival meeting.”
“Miss Carson is a thief.”
Nancy Wilkerson’s words stung Rosie like the bite of a whip. Pastor Martin said to hold her head high; she was a new creation. The old, thieving Rosie had passed way, and a brand-new, baby Christian had taken her place.
At the pastor’s urging, two weeks ago Rosie had shared her testimony in front of the church. Mostly she had done what she had to to get food and shelter for her family. But during that last robbery, the storekeeper had pulled a revolver. Rosie’s brother struck first; the storekeeper was injured, but Jimmy died. Because of the physical injuries, to both the criminal and the victim, the judge had decided to send a strong message. She’d spent two years in jail, only getting released two months ago. When the police officer who’d taken an interest in her suggested she attend the revival service, she learned about a loving God, and the Good News transformed her life.
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