All around him, Owen heard shuffling feet and muffled weeping. When the pastor offered a time of invitation, half of Rosie’s guests went forward. Men, women, children, entire families.
Afterward, the ladies of the church directed those not involved in prayer and counseling to the tables laden with bacon, egg salad, and hot cross buns. Owen didn’t know how anyone could eat. He had rarely seen God work in such an amazing way. What was it Jesus had told his disciples? He had food to eat that they knew not of, and they all thought he was talking about bread and water?
Mrs. Wilkerson took Mrs. Braum’s place behind the tables as, no surprise there, Mrs. Braum went to counsel with a couple of women down front. Rosie was there, with her mother. How pleased she must be.
Dragging his attention back to the food tables, Owen spotted Mrs. Strauss. He helped her find a seat then fetched a plate with a good helping of everything. “Mr. Cooper, this is too much!”
Mrs. Wilkerson gestured for Owen to approach, and Mrs. Strauss excused him. “You don’t need to stay with me, young man. Go ahead and talk to your friend.”
Something told Owen he would prefer Mrs. Strauss as a friend over Mrs. Wilkerson, but he wouldn’t say so. “I’ll try to come right back.”
As soon as Owen reached Mrs. Wilkerson, Nancy appeared. “I’ll take over, Mother, so you and Ranger Cooper have a few minutes to talk in peace.” She smiled an apology. “We weren’t expecting so many people, you see.”
Bless Mrs. Braum for her foresight. The Wilkersons might not have expected the crowd, but Mrs. Braum had, after the amazing response to yesterday’s party and storytelling.
Mrs. Wilkerson led Owen a few feet away. She didn’t even bother to lower her voice as she rasped at Owen, “What does Miss Carson think she’s doing, bringing all this riffraff to our church!”
“Jesus Himself said He came to seek and to save the lost.” Owen offered a mild reply.
Mrs. Wilkerson plowed over him as if he hadn’t spoken. “For all we know, one of them is the thief who robbed my house! And now we’ve welcomed him into our bosom!” She heaved the aforementioned body part in indignation.
Owen tore himself away, worry fighting with anger over the effect such a diatribe would have on hearts Jesus had brought near. Mrs. Strauss dropped her plate, adding another victim to her collection of broken china. A tall man, who’d appeared to hold himself back during the invitation by only great effort, called his children. Owen’s heart broke when he saw Freddy was one of the children. His father’s rigid features told Owen the story. It would take a lifetime of blue moons before any of them showed up at church again.
On the way home from church, Rosie floated along in the clouds where the pastor said Jesus would someday return. She’d bet her mother floated along with her. Not until they rounded the final corner did she realize a few of her guests were missing. Panicked, she turned to Owen. “There’s people missing. We shouldn’t leave them to walk back on their own.” Owen’s visible black mood dampened Rosie’s happiness. “What is it? What happened?”
“Not everyone has as big a heart as you do, Rosie.” His face sagged as he spoke. “Not everyone was happy when so many people showed up with us today.”
Rosie’s mouth dropped. The Bible talked about increasing the number of people who believed in Jesus each and every day. Three thousand in one day, she had read. She couldn’t imagine anyone who’d already met Jesus would not want everybody in the world to believe. “Why not?” she demanded.
Owen hesitated even longer this time. “Let’s not talk about it in front of the others.”
She wanted to stop in the middle of the road and demand an answer, now. Maybe he was right. If something bad had happened, she’d rather learn about it in the peace and quiet of her apartment and not in front of people who might reject Jesus because of something an unkind person said. Her steps sped up, and tears of joy now mixed with tears of sadness.
A laughing group climbed the stairs to the various homes in the apartment building. When Owen followed Rosie into the apartment, Mrs. Carson looked at the table, which she’d set with their best dishes in preparation for the noon meal. “Mr. Cooper, I hope you will join us for our meal today.” She fitted her actions to the invitation, adding a third plate on the table as quickly as she could. “Or are your parents expecting you home?”
“My parents are home with the Lord. I’ve been staying with the Martins.” Owen blushed, a little. “Mrs. Martin told me to accept an invitation if it was offered. I would be honored to share your food.” His voice dipping again, he said, “But I wish I had better news to contribute.”
Although still consumed with a desire to discover what happened, Rosie put a finger to her lips. “If it’s that bad, let’s wait until after we’ve taken our fill of Ma’s wonderful beans.” From the aroma in the kitchen, she could tell Ma had added molasses to the beans as well. She poured three cups of milk from a small jar she had kept cool with a bit of ice. Rosie studied the amount of batter left in the bowl, and glanced at Ma and at Owen. Ma nodded. She would use all of the batter.
Did Owen have any idea how big a feast day this was for the Carsons? The molasses made it extra fancy. Ma only used it on special occasions like Christmas or a birth. The last time they’d had any was—a lump formed in Rosie throat—the day of Jimmy’s funeral.
Owen’s presence flustered Rosie. She’d never had a gentleman caller. Ma piled his plate high with extra beans and a johnnycake, adding a spit of the precious butter waiting on a saucer in the middle of the table.
Unlike Pa, Owen didn’t dig in right away. He waited with hands folded in front of him while they finished serving their own plates. When both ladies had taken a seat, he asked, “Would you like me to return thanks for the food?”
Ma looked at Rosie, a question in her eyes. Rosie’s thoughts flew to the Wilkersons’ dinner table, where a reverent hush had reigned at the table and everyone folded their hands. Mr. Wilkerson droned on in a prayer that made even less sense, with all its thees and thous, than the Bible. She followed the Wilkersons’ example of bowing her head and folding her hands, but Owen’s prayer was a simple, heartfelt expression of thanks for the provision of food, for Jesus’ resurrection, and for the new people in the kingdom of God today. He mentioned Ma by name.
Ma waited a bit after he said “amen” before looking up. “That was right nice of you to mention me to God.”
Owen laughed. “God is thinking of you all the time, Mrs. Carson. He is always with you; the Bible says so.” Owen ate half his beans before pausing, looking at Rosie, begging her not to make him tell the bad news that was coming.
His prayer had restored the joy Rosie had felt in the morning. “Go ahead and tell us, Owen. We’re strong women. I doubt you can tell us anything that’s worse than what we’ve already lived through.”
His mouth twisted in a crooked smile, and he ate another bite of beans, together with a second johnnycake. Laying his fork on the plate, he sat back in the chair. “One of the women at the church approached me about the people who came with you. She didn’t like it, not at all. Mr. Hill overheard her remarks and left.” He stuffed in another spoonful of beans, as if fortifying himself to deliver bad news. “And that’s not the worst of it. A couple of days ago, someone took food from the Wilkersons’ pantry. Yesterday Freddy told me someone gave everyone in this building a special gift of food—the same things that were stolen.” He glanced at the hands he had folded in his lap then looked back up. “Rosie, I have to ask. Do you know anything about the robbery?”
Chapter 8
Today Owen wished he were somewhere out in the open countryside, with space for his horse to stretch his legs and gallop through big, empty spaces, while Owen’s mind filled with all kinds of thoughts. He did a lot of his problem solving that way.
Where did city dwellers go to do their thinking? Owen had tried walking down the street with his face turned to the ground. But he bumped into people, and complaints of “Look where you’re goi
ng!” followed him. He wasn’t much better off on horseback, since he had to watch for all oncoming traffic, whether people, wagons, or animals.
When he asked Pastor Martin where he might go for a few minutes of quiet, he suggested that Owen go to Mrs. Braum’s house. She wouldn’t object to Owen’s presence, and the parcel of land where her house sat was big enough to give him the illusion of space.
The problem with Mrs. Braum’s place was that he would find Rosie there. In her presence, he couldn’t think straight. Mrs. Wilkerson also would allow him to roam her grounds, but running into Nancy would be even worse than running into Rosie.
When the Wilkersons had been robbed, a part of Owen chuckled. They so deserved it. He sobered quickly enough when the thief struck again. A member of Mrs. Wilkerson’s bridge club described the same kind of robbery as the first. The thief only took things the owner had multiples of that could be of immediate benefit to people in need. The third strike differed a little. The victim had filled a closet with outgrown and out-of-date clothes she wanted to get rid of. The thief cleared out most of the extra clothing, leaving only a few fancy items, as well as taking a little bit of fresh food.
So far Owen hadn’t visited Rosie’s neighborhood since Easter Sunday. He feared seeing children clothed in things that should have been freely given from the heart of the previous owner. As the thefts continued, Owen hadn’t quite known how to proceed. In the robberies he had solved, the thieves had taken obvious valuables like cash and jewelry. Usually it was simply a matter of learning who might have prior knowledge about the items taken and where they were kept.
That line of reasoning led him nowhere in this case. No thieves he knew bothered with perishable items like sugar and flour. Anyone could guess that food would be kept in the pantry.
He also had never encountered a robbery where the items stolen couldn’t be returned. The food was consumed almost as quickly as it was dispersed. Freddy’s remark focused Owen’s attention on Rosie’s apartment building. When he asked her about it, she’d admitted to the wonderful gift of butter and cornmeal that had given them his Easter Sunday johnnycakes.
Owen decided to visit the second victim. The maid, a woman who had attended church with Rosie’s group on Easter, brought them tea and petits fours. If he didn’t return to duty soon, he would have extra weight he needed to work off before he was at his prime again. Thinking about that was easier than considering the questions sure to follow.
“Have you discovered anything new, Ranger Cooper?” His hostess’s blue eyes sparkled as she asked the question. Of all the members of Mrs. Wilkerson’s circle, she did the most to help the poor. Like most other victims of a crime, she felt violated and frightened in her own house. “I can hardly go to sleep at night, for fear of someone coming in and causing harm while I lay abed. I’m all alone, you know, ever since my husband passed away. And my son lives down Galveston way. He’s telling me I should move in with him, that’s how worried he is. But my home is here.” Her cheerful facade slipped. “Please tell me you know what is going on.”
Her son had been a proper snob when he was in school, and Owen doubted he was all that worried. But he felt her palpable fear and wondered, once again, what to do. He had talked with God about a dozen times already, but if God was answering, Owen hadn’t heard it.
“Take me through the day of the theft again.” He hoped, prayed, for some fact that could turn the direction of his suspicions in a different way.
She repeated her story. Owen kept his eyes on the floor, fixing the facts in his mind. As she mentioned each member of her staff, he brought their faces to mind. Nothing gave him pause until she mentioned her new maid, Iris.
After she finished her recital, he asked, “Iris. Who is she?”
Blue eyes blinked. “The new maid, as I said. The one who brought in the tray just now.”
The fear in Owen’s chest formed a ball. Both this robbery and the last one were connected through Rosie Carson.
The group that gathered to go to church the Sunday after Easter was half what it had been. Most of the children came back, though, and Rosie couldn’t stop smiling. The parents were more than glad to have the children away from home for a few hours.
Whatever the reason, Rosie was glad to have them. If these young people could hear and see and taste and feel the love of Christ, she couldn’t wait to find out what would happen.
Only one tiny cloud hovered on her horizon. Make that two. She felt good and right when she left the gifts with people who needed them. The first cloud came in the shape of the dismay and anger rich people felt about the robberies. Why they missed a few things here and there when they had so much, she couldn’t guess.
She hadn’t expected the anger in Mrs. Braum’s voice when Rosie had expressed the joy of the neighborhood about the gifts of extra food for Easter. “You should have seen their faces, Mrs. Braum. They were so happy. They ate on that food for a week. Not many of them go a week without being hungry.”
Mrs. Braum had harrumphed. “I am glad the children had food to eat. Truly, I am. But, Rosie, people can’t steal to get what they need. That’s just not right.”
Rosie couldn’t understand that attitude. The pastor had preached about Ruth the other week. He said they were commanded to leave the corners of the fields unharvested, so that poor people could follow along behind and gather what they needed. She’d thought of the clothes packed to give away and extra food sitting in the pantry like the leftover wheat. But when even Owen said it was wrong, she was in a quandary.
Also, she had read the whole book of Acts. All the stories excited her, at least until she got to the fifth chapter and read the horrible story about God striking Ananias and Sapphira dead when they didn’t give all the money they made to the church.
It didn’t seem wrong to hold something back. If they gave everything, what would they live on? The words Peter spoke to them bothered her. “Why hath Satan filled thine heart to lie to the Holy Ghost, and to keep back part of the price of the land?….why hast thou conceived this thing in thine heart? thou hast not lied unto men, but unto God.” He didn’t even give them a chance to repent.
Rosie didn’t mind the thought of going back to jail, although she didn’t think she deserved it, but getting God mad enough at her to make her die, that was something else.
She looked at the money purse where she kept all the coins she had picked up on the ground and saved from her salary and even a few she found lying loose in the pantry. It was a good amount, more than she had ever had at one time before. But she knew a child who needed an operation to make his leg straight. It would cost lots more money than she could make in a year.
No, Rosie, the angel in disguise, would have to strike one more time before she retired. Just this one time. She knew God approved. Didn’t God want to heal the sick?
He had even showed her the right place to get that kind of money.
Chapter 9
The Easter Angel seems to know exactly who needs what. She’s treating people’s personal property like a mercantile, where she can buy whatever she needs for nothing.” Owen tried to inject humor into his remarks, but he knew he fell short.
Rosie hesitated a step. “I’m glad you asked me to come with you when you go to visit Iris. She’ll be scared right out of her mind, and her father might tell her not to go back to work. And they need every penny she makes.”
Fear was not what he wanted Rosie to feel, unless she needed to. She confused him in a hundred different ways. He stopped in his tracks. A neutral spot, away from places that engendered suspicions and made him believe in the honesty of the woman he admired, might restore a sense of balance.
“Do you mind if I put off speaking with Iris?” At her confused expression, he said, “Don’t worry, I won’t question her unless you are there. But for tonight”—he relaxed his shoulders and allowed a smile to pull at his mouth—“let’s go somewhere different. Have you ever walked by the river? It’s quite pleasant.”
He
r hands dropped to her sides, and she fingered the material of her uniform. “Can I go there, looking like this?”
“You look fine.” He took both of her hands in his. “In fact, you look so fine, I’d be scared for you to go there alone. You’d have half the young men in San Antonio chasing you.”
“Oh you.” Red blossomed in her face as she pulled her hands away from his.
“You’re pretty when you blush.”
The color deepened at that comment. Owen couldn’t wait to show her the river, and he decided to splurge. Walking by Rosie’s side, he enjoyed the silent camaraderie until they reached a street where hansom cabs plied their trade.
“Is it far?” Rosie pointed to the darkening sky.
Owen spotted a cab headed in their direction. “It won’t be for us.” He lifted a hand to halt the cab.
“You’re renting a cab?” Once again Rosie’s hands strayed to her apron and tugged at it. “That’s an awful extravagance.”
“Don’t worry. I have the money.” He helped Rosie into the cab, where she raised the window curtain and stared at the passing street. “I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll match the cost of the cab and put it in the special offering box at the front of the church.”
She brought her hands together. “That’s a wonderful idea. I wish more people would do that….” Her voice trailed off. “But they don’t.”
“You’ve made me think about things in a different way. Since I met you, I don’t even think about buying a cup of coffee at the restaurant without setting aside money to give to people in need. Jesus said, ‘For ye have the poor always with you,’ but even with my job, I’ve ignored them. Blind to what was right in front of me.”
He was in danger of talking about the very things he had promised himself he wouldn’t discuss, at least for this night. But before he could stop, he felt he had to say at least one more thing. “Give people time. This is all a new way of thinking.” He spotted the water ahead of them and tapped the top of the cab to let the driver know to stop. “And here we are.”
Texas Brides Collection Page 30