Heart of Stone

by Jill Marie Landis

  “I’ll carry her.” Brand stepped forward.

  “No!” Laura hadn’t meant to sound so sharp, but she’d been shaken enough by simply waking up in his arms. “Please, Brand. Just go.”

  His expression immediately darkened with embarrassment. He stepped away.

  “I’ll help her get settled.” Amelia said. “You should get home.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  Both women nodded and then Amelia suggested, “Stop by Hank’s office and let him know what happened—”

  “No, please,” Laura protested.

  Brand gave her a look that spoke volumes. He wasn’t about to let the incident go unreported. He bid them good-bye, but not before promising to stop by tomorrow to see how Laura was feeling.

  Amelia escorted Laura upstairs and insisted she recline on the bed and keep the compress on her cheek. Once she was settled, Amelia sat on the edge of the bed beside her.

  “What happened in the saloon?” Keeping her shoes off the bed, Amelia crossed her ankles as they dangled above the floor.

  Laura sighed. “It was a nightmare. I went to the door to tell the bartender to let you know I was leaving. All of a sudden, four men walked in—I think it was four—and one of them dragged me along with him. He ordered a whiskey. I tried to get away. He wouldn’t let go so I rammed my knee—”

  “Oh! You didn’t!”

  Laura nodded. “I did. It worked, but he was so furious he hit me. The next thing I know, I wake up in Brand’s arms.”

  “Not such a bad place to be.”

  Laura refused to comment. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Brand had said downstairs.

  “That place is so far beneath you. It’s unthinkable.”

  That place, and others like it, was just where she belonged.

  “You should have seen it,” Amelia was saying. “Brand was on his way down the stairs and when he saw you go down—Why he was across the room like an avenging angel. Who knew the reverend could pack such a wallop?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Brand hauled off and hit the man who mauled you. Knocked him out with one blow. Then he turned his back on the rest of them, swept you up in his arms, and carried you out of there.”

  “Oh, no.” Laura moaned.

  “Oh, yes.” Amelia nodded. “It was something to see. I’ll never forget it.”

  “But…he’s a preacher. And I—” Laura stopped abruptly.

  “He’s human, Laura. He may lose a bit of sleep and spend time praying over it, but no one, not even God, could blame him for defending your honor.”

  “But it happened because of me and my stupidity.”

  “Brand won’t blame you.”

  God might forgive Brand, but she’d never forgive herself. If not for her, Brand would never have lost control.

  “I shouldn’t have been there,” she said.

  “What’s done is done,” Amelia said. “I’d like you to relax, at least until the dinner hour. Have you many guests?”

  “Only two.”

  “Good. Perhaps you should excuse yourself tonight.”

  “How bad is the bruise?”

  “Very colorful.” Amelia stood up. “I’ll have Hank deliver that tonic I mentioned while I’m making supper. Use it at least twice a day.”

  “I will.”

  Amelia headed for the door. “Send someone after me if you have a dizzy spell. Promise?”

  “I will.” Laura sighed again. “I’m sorry to have kept you so long. Thank you for everything.”

  Amelia paused with her hand on the door handle. “I’m your friend, Laura. That’s what friends are for.”

  The minute Amelia was out the door, Laura got up and walked to the mirror on her dressing table. Her hair was a mess. There was a lump on her cheek the size of a ripe plum and of the same color. Amelia was right. She would excuse herself from playing hostess at dinner. No amount of powder would cover the bruise.

  Any more than any amount of money or the guise of refinement could erase her past.

  EIGHT

  Early-evening shadows filled the corners of the empty church as Brand stepped inside. Only the sound of his own footsteps and his hushed breathing broke the silence as he sat down in the front pew. A peaceful calm enfolded him. Sitting in a room so often filled with prayer and communion of like minds was comforting in and of itself, as if blessings and petitions still whispered on the air.

  He was stunned by what he’d done earlier. He hadn’t planned to hit Laura’s attacker. He hadn’t plotted against the man with malice. He’d reacted instinctively, striking without thought to defend her honor. In the dark stillness, he asked God to forgive his loss of temper, his irrationality, his anger.

  In his heart he knew God would forgive him. Forgiving himself would take a bit longer. For a split second in the Silver Slipper he’d turned into the man he’d left behind, the Brand McCormick of his youth—a headstrong, impulsive rebel fighting against the strict rules of an overbearing father. He’d been a carouser, a ladies’ man with a devil-may-care attitude.

  But one day on the battlefield, when men were falling around him and he was certain he would be next, he’d heard a voice in his head say over and over, “From this day on you will serve God and mankind. You have been given another chance. Take it. Use it for good.”

  He was nearly blinded by regret for having wasted so much of his young life.

  “Papa?”

  He turned, found Sam standing beside the pew.

  “Hello, son.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Thinking. Praying.”

  “What for?”

  “I was asking God to forgive me.”

  “Did you do something bad?”

  “I lost my temper.” Until this moment, he hadn’t thought about the story spreading. In Glory, if one person heard something, most likely everyone else would know about it within a few hours. Hopefully Sam wouldn’t hear of his indiscretion.

  “Maybe you should put your nose against the wall and think about it,” Sam suggested.

  Out of the mouths of babes. Brand tried not to laugh. “Sitting here alone in the dark is sort of the same thing.”

  “You think He’ll do it?”

  “Who’ll do what?”

  “You think God will forgive you?”

  “I know He will.”

  “You promise not to do it again?”

  “I promised to try not to.”

  “You’re a man of your word, aren’t you?”

  “I hope so.” Brand could see Laura’s trust in Sam had made a lasting impression on his son.

  “Then don’t worry, Papa.” Sam gave Brand a pat on the shoulder. “Everything will be fine.”

  Brand took the boy’s hand and together they walked across the church grounds to the small frame house where Charity had the table set for dinner. Brand hoped, if his sister ever married, that her husband would have a strong constitution.

  After dinner, he tucked the children in for the night, then washed up, donned a fresh shirt, his collar, and a black jacket. He told Charity he had a call to make and left the house. He chose to walk to the Silver Slipper.

  This time, when he strolled through the swinging doors looking like a man of the cloth, the room fell silent. The bartender glanced over and planted both hands on the bar, waiting for Brand to approach.

  “You got some right hook for a preacher,” he said.

  “I came for my Bible and my hat.”

  The barkeep nodded and walked to the other end of the bar. When he came back he was carrying not only Brand’s Bible, but two hats. One was the frilly navy-blue bonnet that Laura had been wearing.

  “Sorry about your lady friend,” the bartender said. “Hope she’s all right.”

  Heat rose up in Brand.

  “She’s not my ‘lady friend.’”

  The image of Sam standing beside the church pew flashed into his mind and he remembered his promise. He was a man of his word. He wouldn�
��t let his temper get the best of him again.

  “Apology accepted,” he said. He cleared his throat. The novelty of his appearance had worn off. Most of the men in the room had gone back to drinking. A poker game was underway in the back corner by the stairs. Brand glanced at the staircase.

  “The undertaker came for Mazie just after you left.” The barkeep anticipated his question.

  “She deserved better. All the women who work here deserve better.” Brand’s hands tightened on the Bible.

  “Hey—” The man shrugged as he reached for a glass. “I’m just the bartender. Some gent up in Austin owns the place. Pray for ’em all you want, just don’t go trying to convert ’em. It’s bad for business.”

  “If any of them come to me for counseling, I won’t turn them away.”

  “I’ll just bet you won’t, Preacher.”

  Brand’s jaw tightened.

  “Are you a man of your word, Papa?”

  He turned around and walked away.

  It was a little after ten in the morning when Laura heard the doorbell ring. She left her library, closed the door behind her. There was a mirror in the hall tree near the front door, and she studied her reflection. Amelia had sent Hank over with smartweed vinegar tonic last night. So far, it had relieved the swelling, but no amount of face powder could hide the bruise. She practiced a smile, wincing at the pain, before she turned away from the mirror and opened the door.

  Brand was standing there with her bonnet in his hand.

  Her breath caught when she met his eyes and saw how deep was his concern. She could actually feel her heart contracting. She’d been an investment, a valuable commodity used and paid for, most of her life. No one had ever stood up for her. No one had ever protected her or made her feel precious in his eyes.

  Until now.

  “I had to see you,” he said. “How are you?”

  Laura glanced down the street. Thankfully, it was all but deserted. When she looked at Brand again, he was staring at the bruise. The muscle at the side of his jaw tensed. His eyes shadowed.

  “Yesterday you sent me home without even looking at me,” he said. “I lost my temper. I—”

  “I was too embarrassed to look at you. I shouldn’t have been there.”

  “No more embarrassed than I. I should never have struck that man. I was no better than he. My first concern should have been your safety.”

  “When Amelia told me what you did…” She couldn’t finish.

  “Let’s not speak of it again.” He handed her the hat and she saw the smudge on it where her head had hit the filthy floor. He reached for her free hand. “Come, sit with me.”

  He tugged her outside.

  She should have stopped him but couldn’t. His touch was like a lifeline to something good and true that she’d never known and never even dreamed she would find. Brand was the kind of man she’d only read about.

  She reminded herself he might be a hero, but she was not a heroine by any means. Leading him on was wrong, but being with him felt so right that it was easy to deceive herself into stealing a few more moments alone with him. Just a few more.

  He headed around the veranda to the far side where a wicker settee surrounded by potted plants and ferns faced a small side garden. It was her favorite view, a peaceful refuge that she rarely had time to enjoy. A bird bath was sheltered beneath a lacey oak.

  He sat on the settee, gave her hand a tug.

  “Brand—”

  “Please. Just sit. We don’t have to talk.”

  For once she didn’t try to pull away. She sat. He didn’t let go of her hand. Instead he tucked it between both of his.

  They fell into silence, watched a sparrow splash in the bath that Anna filled each morning with fresh water. The sparse grass in the yard was turning gold. Thick white clouds scudded by overhead, destined for places she would never see.

  As the minutes ticked by, Brand slowly relaxed.

  “Mazie will be buried this afternoon,” he said softly.

  “Where?” She suspected it wouldn’t be in the church graveyard.

  “Outside of town a ways.”

  Laura imagined the burial. Few if any mourners would stand among the lonely paupers’ gravesites on the open plain. She closed her eyes. The darkness behind her eyelids was terrifying in its bottomlessness, so she opened them and focused on the birdbath. Its water reflected the sky.

  “Amelia and I will be there,” Brand said, as if he’d read her thoughts. “She won’t be alone.”

  Amelia and Brand had been there for the girl at the end. They would see her on her final journey. Laura hoped he didn’t ask her to join them. She couldn’t stand beside the grave of a soiled dove without thinking of Megan. It would break her heart.

  But then she realized Brand would never ask that of her. He saw her as something she wasn’t, something pure and good and wholesome. Someone like the other women in his church.

  She looked down at their linked hands resting on his thigh and hated living a lie—he deserved so much more.

  Tell him, she thought. Tell him the truth, if that’s what it takes to get him to walk away forever.

  They both spoke at the same time.

  “Brand—”

  “Lau—” He sighed. “I’m much better at preaching than I am courting.”

  “Courting?”

  “See, you didn’t even know that’s what I’m attempting to do here.” He laughed and then shrugged. “I’m rusty at it, I’ll admit.” He smiled off into the distance.

  “I don’t—”

  “There’s something good between us, Laura. I felt it when I kissed you. It’s a feeling I’m not willing to ignore, even if you can. I’ll wait as long as it takes. It’s enough for me to enjoy hearing your voice and seeing you smile. When you’re ready to admit that we’re good for each other, I’ll be here.” His grip on her hand tightened. “I’m not going away.”

  You’ll be here until the truth extinguishes the light in your eyes, she thought.

  “Brand, there’s so much you don’t know—”

  “Yesterday when I saw that man hit you, all I saw was red. I wanted vengeance. All I could think about was keeping you safe and taking care of you.”

  She wanted to get up and walk away.

  “I’m not wealthy—” he began.

  “Brand, please, listen—”

  He touched his finger to her lips, silencing her.

  “I don’t have anything but my children and my faith, but if you let me into your life, I can promise you would always have the one thing I can give you, Laura—my heart.”

  Before he let go of her hand and stood up he said, “Please. Think about it.” He straightened his collar, tugged on his cuffs and smiled. “Unfortunately, I promised to meet with the board from eleven to twelve. I should be going.”

  The ribbons of her hat trailed from her hand as she walked with him to the front steps. She may have been through the worst life had to offer, but she’d never been a coward. She drew herself up and refused to let Brand walk away thinking they had any kind of future together.

  He paused at the top step and turned her way again, and she realized she ached to kiss him. It was another sign of just how far her control was slipping at the thought of this final farewell.

  She glanced out at the street, saw Mary Margaret Cutter on her way to the bank. Mary Margaret waved. It was a blunt reminder of where they were and who he was. All notion of kissing Brand fled.

  “I have a past,” Laura blurted. “One I’m not proud of. I’m not what you think I am, Brand. I’m not the woman for you. If the truth ever came out—”

  “We all have a past, Laura. There are things I’ve said and done that I would give anything to take back. No one is without sin, but people can change. They lead better lives. I don’t even want to know what you did that you think was so wrong.” He cupped her cheek with his palm. “I don’t care. What matters is that you’re not that woman anymore.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “
Besides, looking into your eyes, I doubt it could have been all that bad.” He let her go and stepped back.

  “Think about what I said,” he whispered.

  She closed her eyes and fought to collect herself. Could he really forgive that easily? Without even knowing what she’d done?

  “I’m simply not the woman for you, Brand. Not today, not ever. I’m sorry.”

  “I can’t and won’t believe it. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. There are two things I have in abundance: faith and hope. I have enough for both of us. For now, that’s enough.”

  His undaunted smile nearly broke her heart.

  She heard him whistle a jaunty tune as he cleared the steps. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he headed down Main Street.

  NINE

  Laura was sipping a cup of tea the next morning when Anna brought the Glory Gazette to her in her study. She thanked the maid and, when the door closed again, opened the newspaper. When she scanned the headlines her blood ran cold.

  “Prominent Widow Felled in Saloon.”

  “Preacher Defends Her Honor.”

  “Publisher’s Wife Witnesses Fray.”

  Laura gripped the paper and read on:

  Story by Hank Larson, Publisher and Editor in Chief.

  Editor’s Note: Touting the Gazette as nothing less than a fair and unbiased source of news, it is with dismay that we print this story, for not only was my own wife involved, but so was Reverend Brand McCormick, as well as Mrs. Laura Foster of Foster’s Boardinghouse, both esteemed friends.

  Two days ago, Mrs. Laura Foster was abducted outside of the Silver Slipper Saloon and dragged inside against her will. Mrs. Foster found herself in an untenable situation after volunteering to summon and drive Reverend McCormick to the site where he and Amelia Larson tended to an ailing young woman. When she stood up to her aggressor, Mrs. Foster was knocked unconscious. Reverend McCormick quickly came to her aid by subduing her attacker. The reverend was unhurt during the scuffle but the perpetrator was felled.

  Mrs. Larson and Reverend McCormick rushed Mrs. Foster to her place of residence where she immediately came to her senses. The attacker was last seen riding out of town with his associates. Veteran Confederate Army Lt. Jenkins, known to most folks around Glory only as “Rob,” declared he’d never seen anything like it.