Father lifted his eyebrows. “Joshua, marriage isn’t something you have to rush into. If you have doubts, you should take your time. Become more acquainted with Delia Bellaire—the real Delia Bellaire—and see if you’re compatible. Who knows? Either one of you might decide against matrimony.”
“You’re right.” Joshua let out a relieved sigh. “I’ve felt frustrated with how evasive she’s been about her life. Now that she’s confessed her secret, there’s no longer a reason to avoid deeper discussions.”
“Miss Bellaire is probably feeling uneasy, perhaps even hurt about your reaction to her revelation. I suggest you return and tell her what you’ve decided.”
“I haven’t decided anything.”
A smile stretched across his face. “You’ve decided not to decide, which is in itself a decision.”
As his father’s words lightened his pain and confusion, Joshua couldn’t help but laugh. “Again, you’re right. I’m blessed to have such a wise counselor. Thank you.”
“You would have arrived at the same conclusions.”
“Perhaps. But not so quickly, and I think time is of the essence. I don’t want the Bellaires to up and leave town.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll go visit Delia now. Hopefully, she’ll be willing to talk.”
When Joshua knocked again on the Livingston’s door, his stomach roiling, he expected to be met by Mrs. Graves rolling her eyes and looking disapproving. Instead, Caleb Livingston answered the door.
“Reverend Joshua, come in. The Bellaires and your son are taking a walk. I believe Micah challenged Andre to go a full mile. But they should be back in a few minutes.”
“Micah can be very persuasive.” He hoped Andre wouldn’t be done in by the exercise. But the man had been taking daily walks, and he figured Delia would turn her father around if she felt he was becoming weary.
Mr. Livingston gestured to an open door. “Why don’t you join me in my study?”
Joshua followed the banker down the hall and into a room off the entryway. The study reminded him of Abner Maynard’s with a big desk, comfortable leather chairs, a bookshelf with matching bound volumes, and stained glass windows. Caleb Livingston had some ledgers open on his desk, as if he’d been working. On a side table, a pipe stand made of antlers drilled into a wooden base propped up two pipes and sent the smell of stale tobacco into the air.
Mr. Livingston went to the stained glass window and cracked it open. “I apologize. I don’t usually indulge, but I did so last night.”
“I don’t believe tobacco is a sin, Mr. Livingston,” Joshua commented in a mild tone. “Although, many ministers do.”
“Not a sin, perhaps. But definitely a vice. Like a good liquor or glass of fine wine.” He flashed Joshua a smile. “It’s too early to offer you some of either. Although I suppose you’d turn me down anyway. Your father always does.” He waved to the leather chairs.
Just as Joshua took a seat, he heard the sound of the front door opening.
“Ah, they’re back already.”
Both men stood and moved into the hall.
Andre and Micah were in the entryway, hanging up their hats. Micah bounced toward them. “Mr. Bellaire went a whole mile. Now we’re going to have some lemonade to refresh ourselves,” he said in delight, obviously parroting Andre.
“Did you lose Miss Bellaire?” Joshua asked his son.
“No, Miss Delia is in the front yard, picking some flowers to bring inside.”
Micah added more details of their walk, with Andre chiming in. Then the boy invited Joshua and Caleb to join them for some lemonade.
“Someone obviously feels at home here,” Joshua said, hoping the banker wasn’t offended by his son playing host.
Caleb gave Micah an approving smile. “He’s been a good companion for Andre. I wish Ben would be as considerate.”
Andre made an understanding gesture. “Ben’s at the age where boys want to gang around together, not visit with old folks.”
“That’s true,” Caleb said, but his tone didn’t match his words.
“I think I’ll lie down.” Andre waved a hand toward the staircase. “Do you mind having the lemonade served in my room?”
“Not at all,” Caleb answered. “I believe Mrs. Graves has some already made.”
Andre moved to the stairs, Micah on his heels.
As eager as he was to see Delia, Joshua didn’t see a way to discretely dismiss himself from the men and boy without calling undue attention to the falling out he’d had with her.
On the landing, Micah stopped and leaned over the banister. “Are you coming, Father?”
With a resigned exhale, Joshua moved toward the staircase, hoping he’d find a way to have a private talk with Delia later.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Delia bent over the climbing roses growing on the iron fence, breathing in their sweet fragrance and selecting which ones she wanted for a bouquet. She didn’t have scissors with her and would have to go into the house to retrieve a pair, along with a basket to carry the flowers. But she wanted to linger for a few moments in peace, thinking about what had happened with Joshua. The strain of pretending to her father and Micah during their walk that all was well had taken a toll.
Her stomach was still knotted and a heavy stone had lodged under her ribs. Despite her misery, she had to admit her shoulders felt lighter, as if a heavy burden had rolled away. Joshua knows my secret. I no longer have to pretend. . .to avoid him.
The click of the gate opening made her look up with the hope Joshua had returned. Instead, she watched in shock as Marcel Dupuy sauntered into the yard, looking dapper in a summer suit.
He strolled over to stand before her, a triumphant smile on his face. “I have found you at last, my lovely Delia.”
Fear shot down her spine.
“How very nice to see you looking so well. I’m glad this western wilderness hasn’t affected your beauty. I would have been very displeased if your looks had suffered during your absence from our fair city.”
“What are you doing here?” Delia barely managed to choke out the words. Oh, dear Lord, if my father sees him, he’ll have a heart attack for sure. I have to make Marcel Dupuy leave. “You’re not welcome here.”
“I’m sorry to hear you say that.” His expression hardened. “I’ve come for what is mine.”
Fear rooted her feet to the ground. Dizziness swirled through her, although Delia forced herself to reply to his claim. “Then you’ve had a futile journey, for I am not yours. Father sent money to pay you back.”
He strode closer. “You most certainly are, my dear. Bought and paid for. Quite a bit, your mother charged me, which I refused to take back because I wanted you. I compensated Isadora even more for information of your whereabouts. Let’s hope you are worth the price.”
My mother has sold me again. Delia whirled to run into the house, but her skirts hampered her movement, and she stumbled.
Dupuy grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him.
“No!” With her free hand, she lashed out at him, her fingers clawed to rake across his face.
He deflected, catching her wrist and twisting both arms in front of her.
His grip felt as hard and imprisoning as manacles. She struggled to break free.
He leaned forward until his face was only inches away.
Revolted at this closeness, she could smell his fetid breath.
“My little tigress. I shall enjoy taming you, my lovely Delia. I suggest you come quietly, my dear. You don’t want me to reveal your secret, do you? Think what that would do to your father.” His smile was pure evil, and his eyes narrowed to a squint. “Your mother was so forthcoming with information about you.” Marcel pulled her toward him; his mouth puckered to kiss her.
Panic gave her strength, and Delia pushed against him and screamed.
“Shush.” He released o
ne wrist to stifle her mouth with his hand.
She bit his fingers and held on with her teeth.
“Aw,” he exclaimed in pain. He yanked his hand away and slapped her.
Her cheek stung, and tears clouded her eyes. She grew lightheaded. If I faint, I’ll be in his power. Fight! She heard the door open and the sound of footsteps.
“Unhand her!” Joshua ordered, rushing toward them.
Delia had never been so relieved, but, desperate to escape, she continued her resistance.
“She’s mine!” Marcel Dupuy snarled at him. “Stand off.”
“Do as he says before I go and get my gun,” Caleb said from behind Joshua, in a cold voice of authority.
Delia doubted anyone had ever spoken to Marcel Dupuy in the commanding way these two men had.
Marcel released her wrist, only to grab her by the waist and pull her to his side. “Now, now, gentlemen. There’s a misunderstanding here. I’m Marcel Dupuy, and I was just greeting my fiancée. But my abrupt appearance obviously startled her, and she cried out in surprise.”
“He’s not my fiancé,” Delia said, trying to elbow away from him.
His fingers dug deeper into her side.
Even through her corset, she could feel the pain and winced.
“Don’t hurt her!” His expression dark with anger, Joshua lunged forward. He drew back his arm and punched Marcel in the face.
The man released her and staggered back, holding his nose. “I’ll get you for that,” he threatened.
Joshua’s hot gaze bored into the villain. “This isn’t New Orleans,” he said in his pulpit voice. “You have no power here. Now, leave before we summon the sheriff to arrest you.”
“This town doesn’t take well to assaults on ladies,” Caleb said coldly. “We will string you up on our hanging tree.”
Marcel shot Delia a look full of hatred. “Delia Fortier is not a lady,” he growled. “She’s a nigger, and a bastard, at that.” He straightened his shoulders, his gaze darting from Joshua to Caleb. “And by your behavior, she’s obviously damaged goods. I don’t take any man’s leavings.”
Shame assailed her, and Delia shrank back, her heart pounding.
In a protective gesture, Joshua put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her toward him.
A stone sailed past them to thunk against Marcel Dupuy’s chest. He stumbled back, clutching his chest and letting out a stream of curses.
Delia looked behind Joshua and Caleb to see Micah standing there, his slingshot aimed at Dupuy.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out another stone, setting it in the sling. He raised his aim. “The next one hits your face,” the boy threatened, his expression determined.
Marcel Dupuy held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“You leave her be,” Joshua ordered, emphasizing the word. With his free hand, he shoved Dupuy. “Never return to Sweetwater Springs. Our sheriff will have your name and description. You set foot in our town, and you’ll end up in jail for assault and slander—” he paused “—on a lady.”
The man turned and fled out the gate.
Caleb took a long stride over to Delia. “Who was that man?”
“Marcel Dupuy, from New Orleans.” She swallowed her fright and continued. “My mother tried to sell me to him as his mistress. That’s why my father took me from there.”
Delia looked away from the condemnation in Caleb’s eyes, and the shock in Joshua’s. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said anything, but in her distraction, the words had slipped out. Suddenly, she couldn’t bring herself to care. A wave of weakness washed over her, and Delia’s knees threatened to buckle.
Joshua’s arm tightened around her. “Let’s get you into the house.” His voice sounded caring, not condemning.
Caleb grasped her other arm, and the two men half-walked, half-carried her inside.
Edith met them in the hall. “Whatever is going on? Miss Bellaire, are you all right?”
“No,” her brother told her in a grim tone.
“Delia!” Andre called from the landing. He hurried down the rest of the steps and came toward her, his expression anxious. “My dear child, are you unwell?”
“It’s Marcel Dupuy, Papa. He’s here. He tried to take me.” She reached out her arms to him, and both men released her.
“The scoundrel!” Andre paled. He caught her in an embrace. “Thank God you’re safe.” He kissed her forehead.
“Thank God and my gallant rescuers.” Delia tried to make her tone light, wanting to protect her father from the full knowledge of what had happened. “Papa, you must sit down. This is a shock for you.”
“Let’s all go into the parlor,” Mr. Livingston suggested. “Edith, please bring Miss Bellaire a glass of wine. In fact, bring some for all of us.”
“Good idea, brother.”
Delia sank onto the settee.
Andre took a seat at her side and drew her close.
Joshua crouched in front of Delia and took her hand. “Are you all right, Miss Bellaire?”
No. She wondered what he was thinking, but all Delia could see was concern in his eyes. She forced a smile. “In a few minutes, I’ll be fine.” She squeezed his hand and released it.
Joshua stood and stepped back. He gave Micah a reassuring smile and dropped a hand on his son’s shoulder.
Frantic about the repercussions of Dupuy’s visit, she turned to her father.
Andre still looked pale, his features drawn.
Delia’s stomach churned, waiting for what came next. She glanced up at Mr. Livingston to find him studying her. She could tell by the expression on his face that he was searching for signs of her Negro heritage. To avoid his penetrating gaze, she reached out a hand to Micah, who was hovering at his father’s side, a fearful expression on his face. “Come here, my darling boy.”
He ran to her and clasped her hand.
She motioned Micah down on the settee on her other side and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him next to her. Just holding the boy anchored her. “You’re my cavalier,” she told him.
Micah glanced up at her, a question in his eyes.
With tenderness, she kissed his forehead. “My knight in shining armor, my valiant warrior.”
The fear left his eyes, and he snuggled against her. “That was a bad man, Miss Delia.”
“Yes, he was, darling. But you and your father and Mr. Livingston chased him away.”
Delia glanced at her father, relieved to see color returning to his face. She prayed that when he heard of Marcel Dupuy’s accusation, the unwelcome news wouldn’t cause a setback in his recovery, or even worse, another attack.
Joshua let out a sharp breath and stood. “I’m not sure he’s gone. We need to ensure your safety. I’ll notify the sheriff and set her on the villain’s trail.”
Andre nodded. “That would ease my mind, Reverend Joshua.”
At the thought of Marcel making another attempt to kidnap her, a feeling of weakness swept over Delia. Dear Lord, how much more damage will that man cause?
Urgency spurring him, Joshua dipped his head in good-bye and left the house. His chest was still tight with the protective rage he’d felt when he’d heard Delia scream and saw her insulted. About to break into a run, regardless of ministerial dignity, he suddenly realized that he should be watchful as he passed the homes and buildings to make sure Dupuy wasn’t lurking nearby.
In a state of heightened awareness, he soon reached the sheriff’s office. The outer door of the whitewashed brick building was open, with an inner screened-in door to keep out the flies. “Sheriff Granger,” he called out before entering.
K.C. Granger sat at her desk, reading. She wasn’t wearing a hat and her brown braids were crossed on top of her head, lending her a more feminine look than he’d seen in her before.
Her g
aze narrowed. “What can I do for you, Reverend Joshua?”
With brief sentences, he sketched out the story.
The sheriff’s face darkened, and her gray eyes turned cold. “Did this Marcel Dupuy actually take Miss Bellaire?”
“No. He didn’t have time to.”
“Hit or in other ways physically harm her?”
“I don’t. . .she screamed and Mr. Livingston and I came running. Dupuy had grabbed her. That’s all I saw.” Joshua flexed his hand, feeling the pain in his knuckles. He couldn’t believe he’d hit a man and wasn’t the least bit contrite.
Her lips pressed together, and she shook her head. “Can’t hang him for frightening her, more’s the pity.” She opened a desk drawer and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, then stood, reaching for her black cowboy hat. Her jacket flipped open to expose her gunbelt. “We’ll head for the depot. He’s probably going to try for the next train. Might not know there won’t be one through until tomorrow. You can point the varmint out to me.”
He nodded agreement.
When she set the hat on her head, all trace of her femininity vanished, and she looked as tough as any lawman. “We need to lock him up until the next train, when we can ship him out.” She strode outside, her spurs jingling.
Joshua fell in behind her.
“Let’s first check Hardy’s to see if he’s stopped in for a drink.”
With long strides, they crossed the street and entered the green-painted building. Joshua had never been inside the saloon in his life. The smell of cigars and alcohol made him wrinkle his nose. Only one of the three round tables was occupied, and a glance up at the balcony showed none of the saloon girls were in sight.
The group of four men playing cards looked up. One smirked when he saw Joshua, his gaze on the clerical cravat, seemingly amused that a minister had ventured into the saloon. But the others merely looked surprised.
“Howdy, Sheriff,” an older man said, showing a gap-toothed grin. “Don’t look like you’re here to join in a hand.”
“You can keep your money today, Slim. I have bigger stakes.”
Glorious Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series) Page 28