Autumn's Angel

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “Clay?”

  His pulse quickened at the sound of his name, and he turned stage right. Dim light shrouded Luvena in the wing.

  “May I ask you something?”

  He cleared his throat. “Sure. I guess.”

  “Why must I go?” She took a couple of steps toward him.

  It seemed a fair question, but one that was suddenly without an answer.

  “Why must we go? You don’t dislike the children. I’ve seen you with them.”

  Ah. He remembered now. Children. Those children were the reason she had to leave.

  “You’re so good to them. I don’t believe it has anything to do with Grand Coeur not being a suitable place for them to grow up. Maybe it’s still a rough gold town, as you warned in your first letter, but Shannon and Matthew have done all right raising their children here. And you believe it will get better. That’s why you’re investing yourself in this opera house. Because you believe in this town’s future.”

  Reverend Adair had said almost the same things to him a week ago. Had the reverend and Luvena talked about him?

  She took another step closer. “There’s something you aren’t telling me. It . . . it’s something you’ve hidden in your heart. Maybe you haven’t even told God what it is.”

  His jaw clenched, and it took effort to relax it.

  “Please tell me the truth, Clay.”

  The truth. She’d traveled over twenty-six hundred miles by rail and by coach to get here. The least he owed her was the truth. Once she heard it, she’d be ready to leave.

  “Let’s go outside,” he said. “It’s stuffy in here.”

  Clay led the way in silence toward the back of the theater, past his office, and out the rear door. Twilight had fallen while he’d been inside, and the evening air had cooled. Music spilled from a saloon or bawdy house from somewhere down Main Street.

  He helped her sit on the back stoop, then sat beside her. He thought she might say something to encourage him. She didn’t.

  “I don’t remember much about my pa except for the size of his hands. They were really big. He had long fingers.” He raised his right arm and bent his wrist to show his hand. “Like mine. And when he made a fist, it was rock hard. Like mine.”

  The music from the saloon fell still.

  “He was an angry man, and he took most of that anger out on me. He broke my nose and my left arm when I was five. That’s when my ma told him to get out and never come back unless he learned to hold his temper. He left. I never saw him again. He died of pneumonia that same winter.”

  Silently, she reached out and took hold of the hand he’d shown her, her skin warm against his.

  He looked toward the sky. Stars had begun to appear in the darkening expanse. “I’m like my pa. I was an angry kid. I got into fights with my half brothers all the time. Especially with Jacob. It was like something shut off in my head when I got mad. I’d just start swinging until I couldn’t swing anymore.”

  “Oh, Clay.” The words came out on a breath.

  “The last time I saw him, I beat on him hard. I was twenty-two. He was only fifteen. I wanted to tell him I was sorry, but I didn’t. He was my brother and I loved him, but instead of saying I was sorry, I just left. I went off and joined the army.” He paused, then added, “War changes men.”

  Images flashed in his head. Faces of the soldiers he’d served with, fought with, laughed with, and cried with for four years. Some had died in his arms. Too many hadn’t lived to see the end.

  Softer now, he continued, “War changed me. I wanted to be done with fighting. I wanted to make amends with my brother. But my ma didn’t want me to come home. Jacob had died in the war, and she blamed me for his death. She was certain I’d start brawling with one of my younger brothers if I was there again.”

  He glanced toward Luvena. There was enough light left to see tears streaking her cheeks. His chest tightened.

  “She said I was just like my pa. She was probably right. I am like him.”

  “I don’t believe that’s true.”

  “You don’t know.”

  She stared at him for a long time. “It was more than the war that changed you, Clay Birch. It was faith in God.” Her voice softened. “‘Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.’ That’s what the Bible says about you.”

  Hope stirred in his chest. Hope and something more.

  “I never knew the man you were before, Clay, the one you’ve just described to me. I only know the man who sits beside me now. The one with dreams for the future. The one who wants to make a difference for good in a world that can be very bad and sometimes ugly.”

  “Luvena, what if you’re wrong? What if—”

  “No. I’m right about this. I’ve seen you angry. Remember? The day you met us in Boise City. I’ve seen you angry and frustrated and anxious and worried, but even in those times, I have also seen you kind and caring and thoughtful. I’ve seen how you are with Ethan and Elsie and Merry. Always patient and giving. I’ve watched you with the workmen in the theater. I’ve listened to you talk and laugh with your friends. Good friends. People who’ve known you much longer than I. They would know if you were still that old Clay. But you’re not.”

  “Miss Abbott—”

  “I prefer it when you call me by my Christian name.”

  He couldn’t help but oblige her. “Luvena.”

  “I have fallen in love with the man you are today, Clay Birch, and I don’t want to marry anyone else. Perhaps we aren’t what you wanted or expected, a wife with three children to be raised, but perhaps we’re what you need. Please don’t send us away.”

  He knew it then. He’d started giving his heart to Luvena Abbot from the moment she stepped off the stage in Boise, clad in a gray bonnet and gown, her hair as black as midnight, her wide eyes taking in her surroundings with both trepidation and courage. And not only to her. To those three children too. They were a family, and they were meant to be his family.

  Darkness had obscured all but her shadow from view by this time, but somehow his hands knew where to go. He cupped the sides of her head between his palms and turned her gently as he leaned forward. When their lips met, he realized in a flash that the poker game he’d won had given him far more than a broken-down hurdy-gurdy house. It had made him the richest man on earth.

  Riches he would treasure for the rest of his life . . . beginning right now as he drew Luvena closer and deepened his kiss.

  Epilogue

  8 October 1870

  Mr. Melvin Hitchcock

  Proprietor, Hitching Post Mail-Order Bride Catalogue

  Dear Mr. Hitchcock,

  A couple of weeks ago Luvena Abbott wrote to you, advising that someone in your employ tampered with the letters she and I exchanged prior to her arrival in Idaho Territory. At that time she requested an advertisement for a prospective husband be placed in your catalogue on her behalf. Please cancel that request. Miss Abbott and I were married this week.

  Sir, you should know how very angry I was when we discovered our letters had been altered, hiding the fact that she was the guardian for her nieces and nephew, among other details. The deception seemed a cruel joke since I had specifically stated I did not want a woman with children. And the fact that someone at the Hitching Post paid the fare for Mrs. Birch’s three wards was even more surprising.

  My wife’s niece reminded us that the good Lord wasn’t surprised about the changes in our letters. Merry said God knew and brought Luvena and the children to Grand Coeur as part of His plan. Seems that’s one way God works. A friend, Reverend Adair, showed me the story of Joseph in the Bible. Lots worse was done to him by his brothers than what happened to us, but in the end he said, “Ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good.”

  I don’t know if evil was th
e intent behind the altered letters, but God meant it for good. And so, although I don’t think your catalogue should make this a common practice, I’ve got to say thanks for the part you played in giving me this family I now know I was meant to have.

  Sincerely,

  Mr. Clay Birch

  Owner, Grand Coeur Opera House

  Grand Coeur, Idaho Territory

  Reading Group Guide

  1.Merry says that God wasn’t surprised by the altered letters. Are you able to trust God, even when circumstances seem so wrong? Can you see that when the enemy means to do evil, God can mean it for good? Share when that has been true in your life.

  2.Shannon says that love always involves sacrifice. Do you agree? Why or why not?

  3.Luvena reminds Clay that he is a new creation in Christ. What old things has God made new in your life?

  An Excerpt from Winter Wedding Bells

  Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

  Psalm 23:4 kjv

  Prologue

  November 1870

  David’s ad in The Hitching Post Mail-Order Bride Catalogue:

  Prosperous Wyoming widower with two sons needs a wife. I seek neither beauty nor wealth nor education. But must love children, accept ranch life, be willing to work hard.—David

  Megan’s response to David’s ad:

  Dear David,

  I helped raise my five younger brothers as my mother and father were ill and both died young. I know how to care for children. I am no great beauty, with no money to speak of, so I meet your needs in that way. I have only the barest schooling, but I read well and can cipher. I am a hardworking woman of thirty years. I keep house for others and would love my own home out of the city.

  Megan McBride

  David’s three-page response to Megan:

  (Pg 1)

  Dear Megan,

  I must tell you about myself before you consider meeting me, let alone marrying me. I am, as I said, a prosperous rancher. We will live in comfort in a new house, built snug and tight against Wyoming winters. I have two sons, so your reference to little brothers is encouraging.

  My sons are young yet, four and five. They are very lively and bright. There is no school within many miles of my ranch so what education they receive will be at home. You say you have only the barest schooling so I will handle that part of things to the extent I am able and, if you are willing, you can study with us. If you take to learning, perhaps you can stay ahead of Zachary and Benjamin with the goal of assuming responsibility for their education.

  (Pg 2)

  But here is the part that is hard to speak of, and yet impossible to avoid. I am very ill, Miss McBride. When I say I want a woman who loves children and accepts ranch life and is willing to work hard, it is because there is every chance that within a year of our marriage you will be widowed. If this is not acceptable to you, I understand. You would be one of nearly thirty women who have responded to my letter seeking a mail-order bride, but who never wrote back once they received these details. Something I understand.

  If we were to marry, I hope there would be respect between us, but I do not expect affection or any type of marital intimacy. That is not the kind of marriage that would be wise for either of us. I would want no additional children to be left fatherless. And I would have no wish to engage your affections only to be torn from your loving arms. You would be more nurse and mother than wife in this marriage.

  (Pg 3)

  I have ranch hands so you will not be expected to work outside. But I do want you to understand ranching so I would hope you will allow me to instruct you. There are few enough women in the area that a housekeeper is not possible. The work of running the household and caring for the boys will be hard. If my letter does not discourage you, I would like to meet you. I am in Chicago but wish to return to my mountain home before winter settles in.

  I am here with my sons to visit doctors. I have had pneumonia, which has led to declined health. I am just now feeling well enough to travel back to Wyoming and am hoping a likely wife will be found to accompany me.

  Please respond if you’d like to meet. If not, I understand and will continue my search.

  —David Laramie

  Melvin Hitchcock of the Hitching Post Mail-Order Bride Catalogue looked at the pathetic excuse for a letter that came through his hands and shook his head. All that nonsense about David dying within the next year . . . why, that smacked of a man playing God. Laramie should be ashamed of himself. No woman would ever agree to marry such a pessimist. If he wanted the woman to agree to marry him, the letter needed one small change—Hitchcock threw out page two. Then he sent it on to Megan McBride.

  Chapter One

  Megan McBride stood shivering outside the Tremont Hotel, buffeted by the cold November wind.

  The doorman had refused to let her in. He’d told her to go around back to the servants’ entrance. No amount of protest would convince the snooty man that she had any business—other than as a laborer—in their fancy hotel.

  But she couldn’t very well meet her new husband and his two young laddies if she was in the back of the hotel, now, could she? So here she stood waiting in the cold.

  A church bell tolled from nearby, and just then a fine coach drew her attention as it rolled to a stop. The bell’s tolling almost seemed like an announcement of the coach’s arrival. Like wedding bells. Two little ones scrambled down. The boys were so close in size she’d have thought them twins if David’s letter hadn’t said they were four and five. Behind them emerged a finely dressed man.

  He was a handsome man, and that was no blarney, but he looked gaunt for a fact. He’d spoken of pneumonia in his letter and one look convinced Megan he’d indeed been ill. His skin had an ashen color. A rancher, a man who spent most of his days outdoors, should be tanned even in November. Clothes hung on his tall frame as if he’d lost weight—a lot of it. His hair was well trimmed and his face clean shaven, but it looked to Megan as if all the tidying had been done lately. His face and neck looked scraped raw by a recent shave and haircut.

  Sure and it had to be David Laramie—the two lively youngsters being the best clue.

  Megan walked forward to meet them. The children, one was at best an inch taller than the other, laughed and shoved each other while the man’s searching eyes rested on her and stopped. She’d described herself fairly it seemed, because he nodded in greeting from across the distance of the busy sidewalk.

  “Miss McBride?” He removed his hat in a show of good manners and bad sense, since his head would now be cold.

  As she opened her mouth, the smaller of the boys shouted in anger, “That’s my hat!”

  The cry drew Megan’s attention in time to see the older boy reel back and fall beneath the wheels of their carriage just as it began to move.

  “It’s mine now!” The younger boy waved a woolen cap at his big brother and jeered.

  “Stop the horses!” Mr. Laramie moved toward the coach quickly as if to dive for the child. “Ben!”

  The carriage driver jerked the brake on his rig. “Whoa!”

  It had just started rolling. The carriage skidded as the driver fought the reins. One horse reared and jerked the carriage forward. “Whoa!”

  “Zachary, I’m gonna get you!” The older brother, almost under the wheels, ignored the danger and tried to dodge his father.

  But Mr. Laramie’s big hand caught the front of the boy’s shirt. He hauled him out from under the heavy carriage.

  Megan saw the littler boy, Zachary, run down the sidewalk, still laughing.

  He dashed around the back of the carriage and straight into the street. Carriages, wagons, carts, and riders flowed from both directions. Zachary turned toward the rushing traffic. The boy, four years old, cried out in fear,
tried to run back, but stumbled to his knees.

  A pair of dappled gray draft horses drawing a heavy stagecoach thundered toward him.

  The stage driver bellowed in horror as he sawed on the reins.

  Megan charged forward, tackled the boy, and wrapped her body around him to protect him from certain death, but her speed forced her away from the sidewalk and its safety. She rolled to the middle of the hectic street.

  An iron-shod hoof from one of the grays scraped her back. The blow knocked her out of the way of the stage but farther into the crush of traffic.

  Despite the pain, she leapt to her feet. One wild look both directions told her horses came from her left and her right. With no time to get back to the sidewalk, she grabbed the heavy leather harness of the passing horse, pulled herself onto its back, and dragged the lad up with her, sweeping him out of the way of the traffic. Her sore back and the boy’s weight kept her from reaching the top of its tall back. She knew nothing of mounting a horse anyway. By the time she had a bit of balance, with her belly draped over the animal, the driver had slowed his team to a halt.

  Furious yelling pounded at her. From the driver of the dappled gray horse and from all up and down the street as the traffic snarled.

  Hands caught Megan’s waist and pulled her from the horse’s back. The boy came along with her because she wouldn’t let him go. The world seemed to whirl a bit as she was lifted and rushed to the safety of the sidewalk.

  Breathlessly, she looked at the man who had her and saw David Laramie, the man she was supposed to marry if this meeting went well. And so far it surely hadn’t.

  Zachary was torn from her arms.

  “Mr. Laramie?” As she spoke, her left shoulder throbbed. She remembered the kick. A glancing blow, saints be praised.

  “Zachary, are you all right?” Mr. Laramie dropped to his knees and inspected the boy, who was dirty but unharmed.