Rescuing the
Preacher
(Christmas Rescue Series – Book One)
Cheryl Wright
Contents:
Copyright
Thanks
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
From the Author
About the Author
Rescuing the Preacher
(Christmas Rescue Series – Book One)
Copyright ©2019 by Cheryl Wright
Cover Artist: Black Widow Books
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book
Thanks
Thanks to my very dear friends (and authors), Margaret Tanner and Susan Horsnell for their enduring encouragement and friendship.
Thanks also to Alan, my husband of almost 45 years, who has been a relentless supporter of my writing for many years.
And last, but by no means least, thank you to all my wonderful readers who constantly encourage me to continue writing these stories. It is such a joy to me, knowing so many of you enjoy reading my stories. I love writing them as much as you love reading them.
Chapter One
Twin Falls, Idaho 1880
Rose Charleston was in despair. Her parents had deemed to marry her off to the town’s lawyer.
Yes, he was rich, and was considered to be a great catch. He was also very handsome, there was no doubt about that.
“So what is the problem?” her father had asked when he’d told her the news, as if being forced to marry a man almost double her age wasn’t an issue.
At twenty-six she was past her prime marrying age, but to be forced into marriage with a fifty-year-old? It didn’t bear thinking about.
Mother waved him away. He always made things worse anyway.
“Rose, dear,” Mother said gently. “This is an amazing opportunity. Half the women in town would beg to be in your position.” She pursed her lips and Rose knew there was no getting out of it. “Besides, your father has already sealed the deal. You will marry Jonas Hanson in two weeks.”
“Really, Mother? You made those arrangements without even consulting me?” Rose turned her face away. She was so angry right now, and didn’t want to even look at her mother.
“Be nice, Rose! Mr Hanson will be here in a few minutes for supper. Be on your best behavior.” Then she stormed out of the room.
Her head was spinning. She didn’t want to marry an old man. She wanted someone closer to her own age.
She sighed. At least he was respectable and well-dressed, and he was very likeable too. At least it seemed that way on the few occasions she’d seen him at church.
Some of her friends had been forced into marriage with smelly, nasty old men. She supposed she should be grateful for small mercies, but that didn’t mean she wanted to comply with her parent’s wishes.
She stared blankly out of her bedroom window. Mother was right, at least half her friends would swap places with her in a heart-beat. To marry the second richest man in town was a dream come true for most spinsters.
But not for Rose.
She wanted the man of her choosing to be her husband. She wanted a marriage built on love, not one of convenience.
She heard mutterings at the front door and her heart skipped a beat. Was this really happening?
“Rose! Come down here please.” Mother’s voice was loud and clear. The last thing she wanted was to face Jonas Hanson, but she had little choice in the matter.
Her forced wedding was forthcoming, and her future planned for her.
She reluctantly fixed her hair and splashed cold water on her face, endeavoring to remove some of the heat. Rose pushed her hands down her expensive gown to straighten out some of the wrinkles. Why she bothered she didn’t know. The last thing she wanted was for Jonas Hanson to find her attractive.
But of course it was already too late.
She slowly, tentatively, made her way down the stairs. He stared up at her, a grin on his face. His tailor-made suit was cut superbly, and his shoes shone. His black hair sat at the edge of his collar.
He was as handsome as she’d remembered from their distant acquaintance.
But she still didn’t want to marry him.
“Rose, my dear. You look positively lovely.” His hand outreached, he helped her down the last steps. As if she needed anyone’s help.
She sighed.
“I’m looking forward to our marriage. You are such a beauty. Why some young man hasn’t snapped you up before this, I’ll never know.”
She squinted at him. She could ask the same. If he was such a catch, why did he remain unmarried at fifty? Did other women know something she didn’t? Was he abusive behind doors? A deviant? Or something else entirely?
She flinched when he put his hand to the small of her back. He stared at her and frowned. “Is everything alright, Rose?”
She forced a false smile to her face. “Everything is perfectly fine, thank you Mr Hanson.”
He stiffened. “You must call me Jonas, since we are to marry very soon.”
She nodded. Rose needed to prepare herself for the inevitable.
“I will send the dressmaker around tomorrow to measure you for your wedding dress. You will have nothing but the best.” He lifted her hand and kissed it.
“What if I don’t want to marry you,” she asked softly. So softly her parents didn’t hear. She stared into his eyes and waited for his response.
His whole demeanor changed and his face stiffened. “You will marry me, Rose,” he said through gritted teeth. “It was arranged some time ago.”
And there it was – a snippet of his true character shone through.
She was shocked at the sudden change in him, but realized she probably shouldn’t be.
He nudged her roughly toward the table, then leaned in close to her ear. “Let’s have no more of this talk, and enjoy a cheerful night with your parents.” He grinned at her as though he’d made a joke. It was all for her parent’s sake, of course.
It was difficult, but she smiled at him. Inwardly she was screaming. She had to find a way out of this arranged marriage or she was doomed.
* * *
Dalton Springs, Montana, 1880
“Papa! Papa!”
Preacher Matthew Barnabas was tired.
After contracting pneumonia while still recovering from childbirth, his wife Alice struggled to survive, then finally succumbed.
His parishioners had been wonderful. The women of the town had been especially amazing. They’d taken turns caring for his two children for what seemed forever.
In reality it was probably three months. Perhaps a little more.
Their generosity was beyond all expectations, but he couldn’t allow it to continue. And now he was in a bind.
How did one man raise two young children and also tend to his parishioners?
“Papa!”
Grace was becoming impatient – he could hear it in her voice. For a three-year-old, she was certainly feisty. She took after her mother that way.
Dear Alice – how he missed her.
/> Her smile lit up a room the moment she stepped into it. And she was always willing to lend a helping hand, no matter what.
His heart was empty since she’d passed, his existence meaningless. They had been so much in love, and had she not died, Matthew was certain they would grow old together.
He shook his head. He couldn’t afford to think too much on what was done. Alice wouldn’t want him to continue mourning her death either. She’d want him to take care of their children, and move forward, he knew she would.
Matthew sighed. He would if only he knew how.
“Papa,” Grace said, hands on her hips. “Did you not hear me? I need my hair braided. I cannot do it myself.”
He reached for the brush but knew his braiding skills were far from perfect. His children deserved better, but right this minute, he wasn’t sure how to do that.
“Ow! Papa, that hurts!”
“I’m sorry, Grace,” he said, not meaning to hurt his small daughter. This was not something he was ever meant to do.
He had just finished fixing his daughter’s hair when five-month-old Clara began to wail. He supposed it was time to feed her.
Before Alice’s untimely death, his work day would be starting about now. He would be preparing for the early morning service, then later visit those parishioners who were shut-ins and unable to attend the church.
He’d since had to cancel morning services, and take the children with him for visitations. The majority of his parishioners didn’t mind. In fact, they said it was delightful having little ones visit them.
He supposed it brightened their otherwise dull day.
As for morning services, he hoped to one day restore them.
Clara wailed even louder, breaking into his thoughts. “I’m coming Clara,” he called, knowing the child’s diaper would be saturated. It always was when she awoke.
Now dry but hungry, he headed toward the kitchen with the baby in his arms. He looked down into her innocent little face. It was like looking into his dead wife’s face, and his heart hitched.
He swallowed hard. Matthew wasn’t sure how he could do this. He couldn’t envisage himself doing this over and over for the months to come, let alone the years he knew he needed to dedicate to raising his two girls.
It was something he needed to think on. One thing he did know – he couldn’t continue down this path. He was exhausted within minutes of waking up, and still had a full day ahead of him.
He couldn’t contemplate giving up his position as preacher. He loved doing God’s work. Besides, what would he do to support his young family? He’d been a preacher for as long as he could remember. At thirty-four, he was too old to learn something new.
Chapter Two
“You look bored, Rose.”
Rose sat in the parlor, with nothing else to do. The dressmaker had been and taken her measurements, and had shown her a number of gorgeous material samples.
She’d never seen such beautiful fabrics in her life. They outshone anything she’d ever had. And she’d always had the best available.
It was true she’d been spoiled throughout her short life, her parents being what was considered reasonably wealthy. Not as wealthy as Jonas Hanson of course, but they were certainly highly respected.
“Here,” Mother said, passing the newspaper to her. “Read this. At least it will give you something to do.”
What did she have to lose? She was not allowed to take a job, since that would look bad for her father – as though he’d forced her, which wouldn’t be true.
Nor was she allowed to do anything around the house – that’s what servants were for. Neither was she allowed to do volunteer work, because of course, that was beneath her.
She hated sitting around doing nothing. Hated it with a vengeance. She might as well read the newspaper. Perhaps she might learn something new.
She rolled her eyes.
Rose snatched up the paper and took it to the table. “Thank you, Mother,” she said quietly. “I am beyond bored today.”
That was partially true, mostly she was trying to find a way of getting out of her pending marriage.
Spreading the newspaper out on the table, she turned page after page, not finding anything of particular interest. “Did you know Pastor Green is retiring in a couple of months?” she asked her mother.
Mother looked up, rather uninterested. “Yes, I did my dear. It’s the reason your wedding was brought forward. We didn’t want a stranger marrying you.”
The irony in that statement wasn’t missed by Rose, but she nodded affably and continued to turn the pages.
“The church picnic is on in two weeks. Can we go, Mother?”
Mother glanced up at her, a frown on her face. “You’ll be on your honeymoon. But Father and I will probably attend.”
Honeymoon? It wasn’t even something Jonas had discussed with her. Would all decisions be taken out of her hands? Would she be nothing but a token wife to carry on his arm?
She felt her anger rise, and tried to damp it down. Rose was an independent thinking young woman. She hated to think that would be taken away from her.
She continued to troll the pages of the oversized newspaper, and finally she came to the advertisements.
Not that she expected anything would catch her eye. She wanted for nothing, except perhaps a man to love her for who she was. Not a husband who was forced on her.
Her eyes zoomed in on a tiny advertisement in a bold black box.
Help Needed. Housekeeping and child-minding required. Board and lodgings provided. Location Dalton Springs, Montana. Contact M. Barnabas.
Rose’s heart thudded. It wasn’t perfect by any means – she’d never kept house, nor had she had contact with children. But if it meant getting out of marriage to Jonas Hanson, then so be it.
There was a down-side, she realized. The wedding ceremony was in less than two weeks. It wasn’t enough time to post a letter and get a response. It would be far too late by that time.
Her eyes downcast, she knew she was defeated. Rose had no choice but to marry a man she barely knew and didn’t particularly like.
She memorized the details anyway, deciding to mull it over and hopefully come up with a solution. Rose closed the newspaper and returned it to her mother in the same condition she received it.
“I’m going to lay down for a spell,” she said quietly.
Mother’s head shot up. “Do you feel poorly, dear?”
Rose sighed. “Yes Mother, I do.” She turned tail and stormed up the stairs.
She kicked off her shoes and lay down on the bed. Sleep was elusive, but finally she succumbed. It seemed not long after, her eyes suddenly fluttered open, an idea forming in her mind.
A smiled crossed her lips, and Rose finally knew what she must do. If she didn’t plan it fully, she would be thwarted, and that was the last thing she wanted – or needed.
* * *
Rose slipped quietly out of the house in the early hours of the morning.
She filled her carpetbag with as much of her clothing as she could. She knew it was wrong, but raided Mother’s cookie jar and took the few notes placed there for a rainy day. To her knowledge, that day had never come.
Right now it was her version of a rainy day. It was dark and full of doom, and that money would be her ticket out of here. Literally.
Rose had no money of her own, and having to steal from her mother didn’t sit well with her.
She had decided to steal away in the middle of the night and catch the early train to Dalton Springs. She would be well gone before anyone even woke up.
The small amount in the cookie jar was enough to buy a ticket and perhaps feed her for the trip. She really had no idea what the cost of food would be. She’d never had to buy a thing in her life.
Her heart thudded, and she swallowed hard. Was she really going to do this?
Determined, she slipped quietly down the stairs and headed for the front doo
r. Rose stopped as she heard movement behind her.
“Miss Rose,” a quiet voice said. She was startled and her heart was pounding in her chest at being caught.
She slowly turned and the butler she’d known her entire life stood watching her keenly. He was in his night apparel and stood tall, as he always did.
Rose reached for the front door. “You didn’t see me,” she said quietly.
“See what?” he asked. He winked then closed the door quietly behind her.
It was pitch black outside. Rose had never been out at this time. There were a few street lamps burning, but none near her home.
The cold weather had already set in. Soon it would be far worse. She dragged her coat tighter around herself.
She heard footsteps behind her and turned, startled once more. Only this time she felt faint, she was so terrified.
“Miss Rose,” that same familiar voice called from behind her.
She sighed with relief. “Oh, it’s you, Martin. What are you doing here?” she said with her hands to her heart.
The butler stared at her. “You can’t walk the streets alone at this hour. I am here to escort you to the station. Be assured, I will not divulge your secret.”
His word was good, she knew. He was loyal for sure, but did that loyalty extend to her parents too?
As if he could read her thoughts he spoke again. “I’ll escort you but won’t go with you to buy the ticket. I don’t want to know where you are going – if I don’t know, I can’t tell.” He winked at her, and she knew he was right.
They hurried to the station – her train would leave in less than half an hour. Rose couldn’t afford to miss it. If she did, she wasn’t certain she’d have the courage to do this all again.
“Keep your carpetbag close, and don’t talk to any strangers, especially men.” He moved into to hug her. “Do you have any money?” He was concerned about her, bless him, and pulled out his wallet. “I have a few dollars to spare.”
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