“Hurt me?” He barked a laugh. “Why, you…” He paused and flexed his fingers. For a long moment, he stared at her. Then an expression almost cunning in nature flitted across his face. “You are mistaken, Morality. I am simply doing my duty.”
He squared his shoulders. “Do you forget that I represent the Heavenly Father?” He held out his hands, palms up. “These hands stand in His place. I, alone, know God’s will for your life, and it is my duty to see that you follow the path of the righteous. ‘Innate in the heart of a child is folly, judicious beating will rid him of it.’ ” Stepping toward her, he wrenched the walking stick from her hands.
Oh, Lord, help me. Reverend Uncle was right. But how could this be right? She hadn’t done anything wrong! Morality wanted to run. She needed to sit down. She needed to get out of the wagon. “Reverend Uncle, I’m sorry.”
“Words are not enough, Morality. You have made a grievous error. Our Lord must be gazing upon this scene and weeping.” Harrison twirled the walking stick in his hands and said, “ ‘Do not be chary of correcting a child, a stroke of the cane is not likely to kill him. A stroke of the cane and you save him from Sheol.’ ”
He lifted the stick. “I’ll drive the demons out of you, daughter. Then, together, we will work to right the wrongs you have committed and you will never wrong me again.”
As the cane whistled through the air, Morality held up her hands to ward off the blow. He struck below her outstretched arms, the whack landing hard on her ribs. She cried out. Enough. Go to the door. Unlock it and escape.
She lunged for the door as she heard her uncle grunt with the effort of another swing. Pain lashed the back of her knees as the impact knocked her to the floor. She smelled Harrison’s sweat and her own fear. A third blow. A fourth. Each time she moved, it struck.
So she quit trying to escape and focused all of her energies on keeping herself from feeling. Drawn inward, separating her mind from her body, she was only vaguely aware of the door bursting open and the snarling roar of rage.
Zach.
The blows stopped raining down upon her. She heard a fist on flesh, a sharp crack, the broken cane clattering to the floor beside her. She found herself lifted, cradled against her husband, folded in his arms.
The reverend looked on, a dark swelling on his face. Zach said, “I’ll deal with—”
Wrapped in a cocoon of strength and safety, Morality let go and drifted into unconsciousness.
THE URGE to kill, primitive and fierce, pounded hot in Zach’s veins. Only the intense need to protect overcame its influence. Leaving Harrison cowering in a corner, he cuddled his wife close and rushed from the wagon. He called to Patrick, “Hurry on to the doctor’s. Tell him we’re on our way.”
Zach didn’t want to run and risk Morality further injury. No telling how badly she was hurt. He had seen a man caned before in Louisiana. It had taken him three days to die. A lump hung in his throat as he stared down into her swollen and discolored face. She looked as if she’d been dragged through a rocky field.
He walked quickly away from the waterfront, growling at anyone who got in his way. He had no time for curiosity-seekers. That doctor had best be in his office and not off romancing Eulalie Peabody or helping to birth a baby. He breathed a grateful sigh when he drew close enough to see Patrick and Doc Trilby standing in the office doorway.
“What in the world happened?” the doctor asked, gesturing for Zach to lay her on the examination table. Trilby frowned as he gently lifted her hair off her face, then loosed a troubled snort at the damage revealed. “You oughta be shot for this, boy. A man might have the right to slap his woman around some, but this is nothing short of a beating.”
“You think I’d do this?” Zach snapped, furious that anyone would think he’d treat Morality this way. He might be a bastard, but he damn well wasn’t a monster. “Just take care of her, all right?”
Zach couldn’t stay and watch. He marched to the outer room and paced the floor, ignoring both Patrick Callahan’s frightened face and the trio of curious noses pressed against the glass. Damn town. There were at least five men standing within hearing distance of that wagon. She must have hollered; they must have heard her. Sons of bitches just let it go. I’ll make sure I sell each one of ’em an armload of stock.
The crowd at the window scattered before a wind of gray hair and calico. Eulalie Peabody sailed through the front door. “Burkett, what’s this I hear about you beating up Miss Morality?”
Zach whirled on the widow. “Dammit, I didn’t do it! It was that snake of an uncle of hers.”
“Reverend Harrison? Why, I don’t believe it!”
Zach sneered. “You’d believe it of me, though, right? Let me tell you, Mrs. Peabody, I wouldn’t treat a dog that way, much less a woman. Harrison did it.” Zach laughed bitterly. “And they call me a bastard.”
Patrick nodded his head vigorously. “Mr. Zach didn’t do it, Mrs. Peabody. I saw it. Mr. Zach’s innocent.”
Eulalie was obviously taken aback by the accusation against the reverend. She shook her head and murmured beneath her breath as she took a seat to wait along with Patrick and Zach. No sooner had she sat than Doc Trilby poked his head out. “Eulalie, I thought I heard your voice. I need either you or the girl’s husband to help get her out of her dress. I need a closer look at those ribs.”
Zach nodded toward Eulalie, then took a seat in the chair. Within a minute he was up again, pacing the small front room. “Damn,” he muttered softly. “Damn that son of a bitch.” He wanted to go back and finish off the reverend. He needed to stay and find out about Morality. Zach was torn and frustrated. And more than a little afraid.
It seemed like forever before the doctor came out, wiping his hands on a towel. “Well, we were lucky with the ribs. I don’t think they’re broken, only bruised. She’ll be mighty sore for a few days.”
Zach swallowed hard. “What about her face? Did he break her nose or anything?”
“Well…” the doctor began, frowning gravely. “I think once the swelling recedes she’ll be all right. As for now…” He paused. “Her eyes are swollen shut. She’s pretty upset, Burkett. She woke up while I was checking her ribs and—”
Zach started for the back room as soon as he heard that Morality was awake. “Angel?” he said, hesitating in the doorway.
Morality turned her head toward him.
Oh, God, no. Zach’s hands clenched at his sides. He felt a pang of anguish different from anything he’d known before. Ah, Morality, this never should have happened. Not to anyone. Especially not to you.
“Zach?”
“It’s me, angel,” he replied, walking toward her.
Grief tugged at her voice as she said, “Oh, Zach, it’s happened all over again. I can’t see!”
He took her hand and said in a reassuring tone, “You’ll be all right once the swelling goes down, angel. The doctor said—”
“No! You don’t understand!” She yanked her hand away and pushed at him. “He’s taken away my miracle! I did something bad and he’s punished me. He thinks he’s saving me, I know it. But, oh God, I don’t want to be blind again.”
Zach couldn’t speak. He leaned over and, ever so gently, kissed Morality’s swollen eyes. A cold fury clawed through him, freezing all but one thought from his mind. It was time for the reverend to be punished. Zach closed his own eyes, deciding exactly how he would do it.
STEPHEN CARSTAIRS had thought to begin making discreet inquiries as soon as the riverboat landed in Cottonwood Creek. As it turned out, he and Rosalee heard the shocking news and the scandalous rumors about Morality Brown Burkett while standing in the lobby of the Creekside Inn as they waited to check into a room.
Rosalee nearly collapsed upon overhearing the news of her daughter’s blindness.
Stephen questioned the boy who carried their bags to their second-story room, then tipped him handsomely for a more detailed version of the tale. While he spoke, the boy’s curious gaze slid repeatedly toward Rosal
ee; who dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. As soon as the story was done and the door shut behind the youngster, Stephen turned and took his wife in his arms.
“Now, Rosie,” he said softly. “You know that Harris neither created a miracle nor did away with one. I’m certain this doctor must be right and her eyes are simply swollen shut.”
“She must be so afraid, Stephen,” Rosalee said against his shoulder. “Why couldn’t we have arrived but one day earlier!”
“Ssh, honey. We’re here now. That type of thinking will only bring you grief.”
She clutched his lapels and stared up at him. Her voice was fierce as she said, “I want him to pay for what he’s done. I want him to hurt just as badly as he’s hurt my Lilah.”
Stephen pressed a gentle kiss against her cheek. “I promise you, Rosie, that by the time I’ve finished with Harris, he’ll wish he’d never been born.” He shifted his gaze to the window where sunshine beamed upon the rippled glass. Over the rooftops he could make out the row of steamboat smokestacks along the riverfront. According to the boy, the sternwheel at the end was the newly rechristened Miracle. “Why don’t you rest a bit before supper, sweetheart? There is something I need to do.”
ZACH BENT over his bed and tucked the blanket around his slumbering wife. Carefully, he smoothed a fiery curl away from her swollen eyes. The rage that had simmered inside him all afternoon threatened to explode as he saw the tears seep from beneath swollen lids. Damn, she cried even in her sleep.
Turning away from the bed, he addressed the woman seated by the fire, her knitting in her lap. “Thank you for coming, Mrs. Peabody. The trip home from town wasn’t an easy one; I know Morality was comforted by the presence of another woman.”
“I’m happy to help. But Zachary, I don’t believe I approve of your leaving. I daresay it’ll be you she wants when she awakens.” The widow offered him a disapproving glare.
Zach gave a grim shake of his head. “She’s bound to sleep at least a couple hours, and I’ll be back by then with news that’ll make her feel a whole lot better.”
Eulalie Peabody sniffed, but returned to her handiwork. She didn’t look at him as she said, “You take care, young man. I refuse to meet your wife with any bad news come morning.”
“I’ll be here with good news. You can knit that right into your blanket, ma’am.” With that, he left the cabin.
Upon reaching town, he went directly to his office where Patrick awaited him with word of his quarry. “He’s been talking around town, telling folks you’re responsible because you tried to corrupt Morality. Says the Lord told him to beat the devil out of her. He says Morality will see the Truth.”
Zach’s lip curled. “He tries so hard to communicate with God, maybe he oughta try it in person. God can ask him about all that money he stole from the flock of fools. Where is he now, do you know?”
“At the boat.”
“What boat?”
Patrick shook his head in wonder. “It’s a crazy thing, Mr. Zach. While y’all were gone Mrs. Marston up and went plumb crazy over Reverend Harrison. She gave him a boat. A whole riverboat. He’s calling it the Miracle, and he plans to take the revival to the rivers instead of the roads. She must have given him money too, because he’s refurbishing the thing and he’s hired a crew, too.” The boy was silent for a minute before adding, “He thinks me and Morality are goin’ with him. Anyway, he headed that way half an hour ago. I don’t believe he’s left.”
A religious showboat. Not a half-bad idea. Harrison must have been feeding Louise Marston more than morning-glory miracle bread to get a prize like that. Or could it be that his mother’s diary somehow figured into the equation? What information was in that book anyway? “Don’t worry, Patrick. You’re not going anywhere with any riverboat reverend. Thanks for keeping an eye on things while I got Morality settled. I’m obliged to you.”
Patrick took on a look far older than his years. He gazed at the pair of Colt revolvers Zach wore on his hips and said, “Don’t let him get away with hurting Morality, Mr. Zach.”
Zach smiled.
THE MIRACLE was the last boat lined up in the turning basin. Zach made no attempt to sneak aboard; he didn’t care if everyone in Cottonwood Creek saw him going after Harrison. At the moment, he didn’t give a damn what anybody thought or how it might affect the plan.
Had he bothered to think about it, that in itself would have aggravated the hell out of him.
Anticipation ripped through him as he crossed the gangplank. With every step he allowed pictures of Morality, beaten and afraid, to stoke the fires of his temper.
Harrison was speaking with someone in the main salon. Zach paused outside the doorway and peered inside. The well-dressed stranger spoke with an Eastern accent, and he was asking Harrison a question about his plans for the Miracle.
“It will be the first of its kind, Mr. Carstairs,” Harrison said expansively. “I fairly tremble at the idea of the number of souls along the rivers of this great land who are desperate to hear the message I preach.”
“It is an ambitious plan. Especially for one man. Surely you have assistants to help?” Carstairs asked, tapping his cane on the wooden floor.
“I am in the process of hiring a crew. That is another reason I am so grateful for your most generous donation. When did you say I might receive the bank draft?”
Another mark. Zach shook his head in disgust. People are such fools when it comes to religion. What the hell, this fellow looked as if he could afford it.
“I would like to meet other members of your church, Reverend Harrison. Especially the Miracle Girl.” Carstairs twirled his walking stick in his hand. “From the moment my wife read about her in the newspapers, she has wanted nothing more than to meet someone so blessed.”
The mention of Morality propelled Zach inside. “Blessed? Hell, I don’t rightly know that you could call her blessed right now. My wife’s eyes are swelled up bigger than this man’s vanity and blacker than his heart.”
Harrison whirled around. “Burkett!”
Zach smiled coldly and rested his hand on the butt of his gun. “My apologies for the interruption, Mr. Carstairs, was it? The reverend and I have business that can’t wait.”
Harrison’s eyes had an angry gleam that belied his smile.
“Mr. Burkett, I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you would be with your wife.”
Keeping his gaze locked on the reverend’s, Zach spoke to the Easterner, saying, “I heard you mention my wife, Morality—some folks call her the Miracle Girl. Well, it might be a while before she’s up to speaking with anyone. She almost got killed getting saved this morning, didn’t she, J.P.?”
“Burkett!”
Zach grinned coldly as Harrison turned to Carstairs, his smile a hair short of genuine.
“It appears as though a family disagreement has intruded upon our conversation. Perhaps I should speak with Mr. Burkett. My apologies, Mr. Carstairs. Perhaps we could finish this discussion later?”
Carstairs tapped his walking stick a bit harder than before. ‘Very well,” he said, walking toward the door. As Zach stepped aside to let him pass, Carstairs paused. His eyes held a very honest look of concern as he inquired, “Your wife? I trust she will recover?”
Zach arched a brow as he nodded. That was certainly a strange exchange.
As soon as Carstairs exited the salon, Harrison snapped, “If you’ve come here with mischief in mind, you’d best think twice. Carstairs knows you’re here. Others probably so, too. The town is on the verge of lynching you as it is.”
“Mischief. Nah, I wouldn’t use the term mischief.” His fingers brushed his gun. “Murder’s more my style.”
Harrison blanched. “You wouldn’t live to see the dawn.”
“Might just be worth it to rid the world of you.”
The reverend’s laugh was evil. “But who, then, would care for your wife? I hear she’s blinded again. Such a pity.”
Zach called him a vile n
ame then said, “Let’s go, Harrison. You are coming with me. When Morality wakes up, you are going to do a bit of explaining.”
“Explaining? About what?”
“Oh, let’s start off with the truth about your healings, shall we? You’ll tell her how you use the morning-glory seeds. I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Do you use the seeds in the elixir too, or do you limit it to the bread?”
Harrison’s bushy brows lifted in surprise. “You know about that? The girl doesn’t know, does she?”
“I’ve told Morality.”
“She didn’t believe you, I’m certain of that. I told her I healed all those people and she accepts what I say.” Harrison chuckled and folded his arms. “Why, if I said I could walk on water, that girl would fetch my shoes. When I told her she’d risked her soul by hitching up with you, she took it as gospel.”
Zach wanted to hit him. He wanted to shove the reverend’s nose through the back of his head. He couldn’t though, at least not yet. Morality needed to hear what her dear Reverend Uncle had to say. So he settled for walking up to the son of a bitch and grabbing his jacket and shirt just below the neck. His voice low and deadly, he said, “I’m taking you home, preacher man, and you are going to tell my wife that there was nothing to the talk of taking away her miracle.”
Harrison’s face was mottled, but his eyes glowed with an unholy glee. “Ah-hah,” he choked out. “That bothered her, did it? I’m not surprised. Experience, you know.”
Zach got an ugly feeling in his gut. “You did it, didn’t you, Harrison? You’re the reason she went blind.” It was all Zach could do not to kill him then and there. “Tell me.”
Harrison didn’t reply, and Zach tightened his grip and gave the preacher a shake. “Tell me!”
“All right! All right! I hit her head and she didn’t wake up for a couple of days. She didn’t remember what happened, and I wasn’t about to tell.”
Zach envisioned snapping the preacher’s neck. He shoved the man away, demanding, “Where did the miracle business come from?”
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