Taking in a deep pull of air, she lifted herself off the floor.
The door opened with a creak. Mrs. Thatcher smiled when Ida Mae entered the kitchen. “I made you a cup of tea and there’s a leftover biscuit from breakfast. There’s honey in the pot. Help yourself.”
Ida Mae sat down, scraping the chair along the floor. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t pay that no never mind. You just relax. John told me about what’s been happening to you.” Mrs. Thatcher wiped her hands on a towel and sat down across the table from her with a bowl of peaches and a small knife. “Today I’m making preserves. Yesterday I canned three dozen jars of peaches. By the time I’m done with this I won’t want to see a peach again.”
Ida Mae remembered life on the farm as a constant cycle of canning and harvesting food for the winter. “Are you drying any of the peaches?”
“Yes. I have a bushel out back, drying as we speak. John loves them in his porridge. I’m praying we don’t get rain.”
Finishing up her biscuit, Ida Mae wiped her hands on the linen napkin, then replaced it in her lap.
“I’ll be happy to walk you over to John’s office. He suggested you wear a scarf over your bonnet.”
Fear wiggled around her neck muscles. Was her life really in danger? Lord, keep me safe.
❧
Olin sat in the saloon across the street from the sheriff’s office. He had a perfect view. Cyrus Morgan had entered and five minutes later another man entered. More than likely, the justice of the peace. They hadn’t been in there for more than five minutes when he spotted Rosey trying to peek into the jail. What is she doing?
Probably the same as me—watching, wondering, and waiting to see what final outcome the day will bring. Does she know? Is she a part of this? Truthfully, he hoped that Rosey was an innocent victim. If Cyrus had succeeded in this charade, Rosey might have been in grave danger, whether she was a part of it or not.
Two women approached the sheriff’s office. A slit of a smile lifted his lips. He’d know that woman anywhere. How could every ounce of her be permanently attached to his brain in a few short months? “Lord, protect her,” Olin mumbled into his sarsaparilla.
❧
Ida Mae kept her head bowed as she walked into Sheriff Thatcher’s office. The three men sat around the sheriff’s desk. “Yes, it was a fine day,” Cyrus crooned.
“May I help you, Miss?” Sheriff Thatcher called out to her.
Ida Mae lifted her head and removed her bonnet and scarf.
“Ida Mae,” Cyrus squeaked. He seemed to visibly pale in front of her.
“Elmer, is this the woman you married Cyrus to?”
“Can’t say I’ve seen her before.”
“Married me?” Ida Mae objected. “What are you talking about? I didn’t marry Cyrus. Rosey Turner did. What’s going on?” She looked at the sheriff, then turned to Cyrus. She placed her hands on her hips. “Cyrus?”
He pulled at his collar and squirmed in his chair.
“The gal I married Cyrus to has strawberry blond hair, kinda curly.”
That fit Rosey’s description. She narrowed her gaze on Cyrus once again.
Cyrus gathered his thoughts. “Ida Mae, please tell me you can remember our wedding day.”
“Cyrus, we’re not married, never have been and never will be. Where’s Rosey?”
“How should I know? Honey, please sit and tell me where you’ve been. What happened? Did you fall off your horse?”
Cyrus’s attempt to play the part of a doting husband failed miserably in Ida Mae’s assessment. “Stop lying, Cyrus. Whatever your purpose, it is over. I’ve been safe with the Orrs. The sheriff has known how to find me all along. We hoped whoever was behind all my misfortune would show his hand in my absence. And I must say, you’ve done that. But what I don’t understand is why. Why would you do this?” She wanted to scream, Why did you kill my parents? but it was too soon for such an accusation. The sheriff had more investigating to do. Everything she’d ever believed about Cyrus had changed forever.
“Is this your signature, Miss McAuley?”
The sheriff handed the document over to her. It felt foreign in her hands. She glanced down at the signature, then held the paper up to the light. Something didn’t look right. “It looks very similar to my signature, but it doesn’t flow the way I flow my letters together. Almost, but not quite.” She’d been fully expecting to see her signature after the discussion she and Olin had back at the cottage. “Cyrus, why are you doing this?”
The door slammed against the wall. Rosey stood there with her hands on her hips. “You told the sheriff you married Ida Mae? You lyin’. . . Father was right. I shouldn’t have married you.”
“Rosey, hush.”
“I will not hush!”
“That’s the woman,” the justice of the peace pointed out.
“Cyrus, you’re under arrest.”
Twenty-one
“Rumors and innuendos do not make it fact.” The sheriff’s words played through her mind over and over again. It had been three weeks since Cyrus was arrested, and still Ida Mae had more questions than answers.
Olin had moved his shop back into her father’s smithy. Their marriage was pending, awaiting the outcome of the trial. There should be no question, but Cyrus was still standing by his statement that he had married Ida Mae. Olin and Ida Mae’s relationship was blossoming even under the pressure. Ida Mae couldn’t wait until the circuit judge would ride into town and hear their case. But until the sheriff had more proof that Cyrus set the fire to Ida Mae’s parents’ house, nothing further could be done on that charge.
Ida Mae prayed everyone would know what really happened once and for all. It had been hard enough knowing her parents had died in an accident. To think of them having been murdered bothered her in a way she’d never experienced before. In spite of, or perhaps because of, everything that had happened, her faith had grown tremendously over the summer.
“Good evening, Ida Mae.” Olin stepped up beside her and gently squeezed her hand. She’d been waiting for him on the small front porch of the shop. She and Olin had set a couple of chairs out there so they could spend time with one another in public and yet have some privacy. “I missed ye.”
“How was your meeting?”
“Good. I got the job.”
“What job?” She knew full well which job. The one he couldn’t speak to her about.
Olin captured her in his arms and whispered in her ear. The gentle heat of his breath caused her to melt like butter on a hot biscuit. “I’ve been commissioned to design the plates for the first gold coins to be printed in Charlotte.”
“Really? That’s wonderful.” She hugged him tighter. She knew he was an artist and did the finest tinwork she’d ever seen. Even the jeweler chose to sell some of Olin’s products in his store. But to be granted such a secretive task. . . “How’d this happen?”
“Come sit down. Believe it or not, we have Cyrus and Percy to thank for this opportunity.”
“What?” How could that be—she cut her thoughts off. One thing she’d learned over the past few months is that God works wonders out of the ashes of grief.
Olin sat down on one of the sitting chairs. Ida Mae sat down beside him. “If Percy hadn’t complained to the sheriff about me, he wouldn’t have taken the time to speak with me. Then when the unusual events began to happen around you, the sheriff again found me to be a trustworthy man. He recommended me to Mr. Bechtler, who was looking for a craftsman to design his gold dollar.”
“Olin, I’m so proud of you.” She reached out and held his hand.
“Thank ye. It means the world to me that you’re pleased. My work with Mr. Bechtler should produce further sales of my tinware. Hopefully by next spring we can get married and I’ll be able to provide for you.”
“I received a letter today letting me know that my brothers will be coming to town in a few weeks. If they agree, I’ve decided to sell the land. I don’t think I can step back into tha
t house knowing what I know now about Cyrus.”
Olin got up and knelt in front of her. “Honey, I know this has been a hard decision. Do ye think we should go to the house, first and see if it’s still what ye want to do?”
“The house isn’t the same, not after the fire. I’ll miss the memories, but it’s practical to sell the house and farm. You and I don’t need it.”
Olin smiled. “I’ll see if Kyle will give me a hand building our house this winter so it will be ready for our wedding. Ye are still going to marry me?”
“Do you want to move into my parents’ house?” she asked pensively.
“Honey, it can wait. We can wait. Ye and I have had a bumpy road to our love. I believe the extra time before marriage will be a blessing to us, a chance to really learn about one another.”
But I want to marry you now. “Perhaps I should keep the house. We could marry sooner.”
“Ida Mae, I’d marry ye today if we were settled on this legal proclamation, but I see this as another time of refinement. The time of waiting for the Refiner’s gold to cool and harden, to become a permanent bar of precious metal. I can’t wait to be able to purchase gold rings to wear on our fingers.”
Lord, I love this man. He knows You so well. He teaches me daily to go deeper in my relationship with You. “Are you sure you want to wait?”
Olin chuckled and stood up. He stepped to the window and placed his hands on the sill. “Aye, I’m sure. The Lord has a design for our marriage. It’s our choice to take the time and build a solid foundation.”
And he couldn’t be more right, Lord. “If that’s what you want, I’m happy to go along with it. I love you, Olin, and I want to be your wife.”
Between the beat of her heart and her last word, Olin closed the distance between them and held her close. “I love ye, Ida Mae, and I would be honored to be your husband.”
Epilogue
August 1831
Nearly a year later
Ida Mae couldn’t believe her wedding day had finally arrived. Her mind flickered over the past two years. The judge found Cyrus to be a fraud, and eventually the sheriff found the proof that Cyrus was responsible for her parents’ deaths. It had been hard to believe that Cyrus’s original plan was simply to marry Ida Mae and gain control of the farm. He had found a few small nuggets of gold on the farm before the fire. According to the facts, Ida Mae’s father refused to force Ida Mae to marry Cyrus and told him the choice would be Ida Mae’s. In a rage, he killed her father, and when her mother came to see what the matter was, he killed her, too. The fire was to cover the fact that they had been murdered. When her brothers arrived last fall, they decided to sell the property to Kyle Orr. They waived the first year’s payment because the land was in such sad shape from all of Cyrus’s gold mining attempts. Cyrus was hanged for the murder of her parents.
Mr. Bechtler’s son, August, and nephew, Christopher, were opening their private mint and assay office. The miners were delighted. Olin’s design for the coin had been acceptable, and he and Kyle finally finished the house.
“Ida Mae, are you ready?” Minnie ran into the room off the foyer where the minister liked to keep brides waiting until the time of the service. “Oh my, you’re beautiful, Ida Mae. You did a real fine job on your dress.”
“Thank you.” She had opted for a fine silk she had bartered from Mrs. Farres six months ago.
“I still can’t believe you’re marryin’ Olin. He’s too perfect.”
Ida Mae guffawed.
“What?”
“You. The first time you heard about him, you—”
“Don’t you go fussin’ about what I said then. I was hoodwinked. Percy is a real. . .”
Ida Mae’s thoughts drifted back to the conversation she and Olin finally had about what happened on that fateful day when he had killed a man. Percy feared Olin would reveal that Percy himself had set up the fight in order to intimidate Gary Jones into releasing him from a gambling debt. It was Percy who had kept the rumors of Olin’s guilt alive for so long, trying to avoid the inevitable embarrassment, not to mention the gambling debt. Once the truth came out, Olin had persuaded Percy to make restitution to the widows’ fund at church. But the truth hadn’t changed the past. Olin had been wrong and had lost control of his temper, costing a man his life. Today Percy would be sitting in a pew with the rest of the family. Ida Mae didn’t anticipate them ever being close, but she didn’t foresee any further trouble, either.
“Anyway,” Minnie fussed, “I’m so glad you finally came to your senses and are marryin’ this man.”
Ida Mae smiled. If Minnie only knew how close she’d come a year ago. Then it would have been for all the wrong reasons. Today she stood in confidence of her love and Olin’s love for her.
Uncle Ty knocked on the door. “Are ya ready, Ida Mae? It’s time.” He had agreed to give her away on behalf of their family. Her brothers couldn’t attend, as it was harvest time.
“I’m ready.” Ida Mae stepped out of the room as the piano played.
❧
Olin stood at the front of the church, his palms sweating. He wiped them on his trousers once again. One of the first gold coins struck from the Bechtlers’ mint had been given to him as a wedding present. Olin knew they’d never spend it. It would be an honored and treasured gift, and he knew Ida Mae would feel the same.
A little over a year ago, he’d come to town sure of himself and confident it was time to come home. But just like the corduroy roads he had to mend along the great wagon road to get here from Pennsylvania, so was the relationship between him and Ida Mae. She was a beauty too lovely to be his. A gift from God he didn’t deserve. Refined gold and as pure as silver. Lord, help me remain worthy of her love.
The notes on the piano began to ring out. Olin turned toward the doors at the back of the church. In walked his nephew with pillow in hand. He prayed the thread his sister sewed the rings on with was strong enough to hold the rings and yet loose enough for him and Ida Mae to pull them off at the right time in the ceremony. Then the twins marched down in their precious flower girl outfits, tossing petals on the floor. Olin couldn’t wait to have children with Ida Mae.
Then she appeared. His mouth dried. His mind swam through the past sixteen months. It seemed like he’d always known her and yet, he really hadn’t. The gentle sway of her hips as she came closer made him stiffen his knees so they wouldn’t buckle.
She stood beside him. “Ye are beautiful,” he whispered.
“Ye ain’t so bad yourself,” she replied with a wink.
Olin smiled. Thank Ye, Lord.
About the Author
LYNN A. COLEMAN was raised on Martha’s Vineyard and now calls Florida home. She has three grown children and eight grandchildren. She is a minister’s wife who writes to the Lord’s glory. She served as advisor of the American Christian Romance Writers Inc. Lynn enjoys hearing from her readers. Visit her Web page at www.lynncoleman.com.
Dedication
To my son, Tim, and his wife, Farrah—the newest member of the family.
A note from the Author:
I love to hear from my readers! You may correspond with me by writing:
Lynn A. Coleman
Author Relations
PO Box 721
Uhrichsville, OH 44683
Corduroy Road To Love Page 16