The preacher calmly brushed his lapels. He sounded eager to tell his story. Proud. “An explosion. Dumb girl was working with gun cotton. Volatile stuff. Blew her ten feet from her chair and I thought for sure it killed her. Someone said it was a miracle she lived through it, and when she woke up seeing, the Miracle Girl was born.”
Zach shook his head slowly. “God, I’m gonna love killing you.”
Harrison smirked. “You can’t kill me. Morality would hate you for it. In fact, she’ll hate you for interfering today once she gets her wits back. Don’t forget, she loves me.”
At that, Zach lost control. His first punch landed below Harrison’s left eye. His second broke the man’s nose. Blood squirted like juice from an orange, spattering Zach’s hand and shirt as Harrison roared with pain and rage.
He held his hands to his face and tried to back away. Zach didn’t speak. He put all he had to say behind his fists and calmly, efficiently beat Reverend J. P. Harrison until he fell to the floor.
“You are scum, Harrison. Buzzard bait. You’re not worth the powder it’d take to blow you to hell.” Zach kicked him in the ribs. “That one’s for all the folks you’ve drugged in the name of the Lord.” He kicked him in the face. “That one’s for me.”
Zach swung his leg hard and kicked him in the testicles. “That one’s for my wife.”
He spat on the gasping, whimpering lump of inhumanity rolling on the floor. “You were right about one thing, Reverend, I’m not going to kill you tonight. Morality is too fragile right now to handle it. However, if you want to keep breathing, don’t ever come anywhere near me or mine— and that includes Patrick Callahan. In fact, clear out of Texas altogether. Otherwise, I’ll rid the ground of your shadow before you can say Sam Houston.”
Zach left the salon and the riverboat without looking back.
Aboard the Miracle, three pairs of eyes, each unaware of the others, watched him go.
ZACH STOOD at the edge of the bayou, breathing hard and as angry as he’d ever been at himself. Beating up Harrison had been a damn foolish thing to do. Now he couldn’t cart the preacher’s butt back to the cabin, and Morality would fret over this miracle business until the swelling went down and she could see again.
He wouldn’t even consider the possibility that her sight might not return.
With a conscious effort, he allowed the peacefulness of the scene to drift over him and he calmed. Maybe it hadn’t been such a dumb thing to do after all. Heaven knows, Harrison deserved it, and maybe it was better for him not to speak to Morality. No telling what he might have said, even with a knife at his back as Zach had intended. The son of a bitch was mad, demented. Evil.
Zach rubbed his satisfyingly sore knuckles. Morality wasn’t strong enough right now to hear about her miracle. She could live without hearing what Zach had wanted her uncle to say, but he wasn’t so sure she could live with the truth. She’d be better off learning about her miracle once her sight returned.
Dusk descended like a widow’s veil over the bayou as Zach shoved his hands in his pockets and began to walk. The dying breeze carried the perfume of burning cedar, and he instinctively followed the pleasing scent.
He didn’t want to return to the cabin. The memory of how she’d looked lying in his bed flashed across his mind, and he muttered a curse. While his head told him he wasn’t responsible for her injuries, the gnawing in his gut told him something different. If it hadn’t been for him…
Zach scowled as the sick feeling poked at the back of his throat. Remorse. That’s what this was. Having experienced the emotion so seldom in his life, it took a few moments to put a name to it.
Well, hell. He kicked at a tuft of grass and sent it flying in a clod of dirt. It was stupid for him to feel this way. If not for him, she’d be married to Harrison by now. She’d be better off blind.
Sure, Burkett, easy for you to say. He wasn’t the one who’d spent years living in darkness. He wasn’t the one lying in bed, broken and beaten and bruised.
“I should have finished it with Harrison.”
A mockingbird taunted him from the branch of redbud. Zach nodded, agreeing. He couldn’t kill Harrison, not yet anyway. Not until he was certain Morality wouldn’t fall apart at the news.
Nor could he go home, and that’s what he really wanted. Funny how after all the years away, he’d so quickly come to think of that tiny little cabin as home. He wanted to be there, now. With Morality.
At the same time, he couldn’t stand to be there. It hurt too damn much.
The events of the day had stirred a restlessness inside him that demanded to be soothed. Zach knew of only a few ways to do that. Sex was out of the question, and he’d already indulged in a fight. That had only made things worse.
He’d just have to do something rotten to the Marstons.
After a moment of thought, Zach’s mouth curved in a smile. He knew just the thing. A little window-breaking. Maybe even a tiny bit of stealing. That would be just for fun. The real objective of the exercise, other than making him feel better, would be to leave something behind.
Zach waited until dark to return to town, then he took back streets to his office, entering the building from the alley. Once inside he unlocked his desk drawer and withdrew a stack of papers. Invoices, letters, stock certificates, and bank drafts. Each appeared authentic. All were forged. Together they provided damning evidence of an illegal connection between Congressman E. J. Marston and Mr. Archibald Grimes Tanner of the Texas Southern Railroad.
Zach whistled beneath his breath as he made his way by stealth to the offices of Marston Shipping. Being bad always helped to lift his spirits.
PATRICK CALLAHAN didn’t know what to do. He’d followed Mr. Zach from the riverboat, but then lost him in the forest. He’d gone out to the cabin, hoping to catch up with him there, but all he’d found was Eulalie Peabody snoring in the rocking chair and Morality sleeping fitfully in her bed.
Patrick had the nagging notion he’d best find Mr. Zach and make sure everything was all right. Morality’s husband had looked mad enough to chew splinters when he left the riverboat.
Plus, his shirt had been splattered with blood.
From the saloon behind him came the sounds of drunken laughter and the discordant song of a badly tuned piano. Patrick shuffled his feet nervously as he gazed at the Miracle. When he couldn’t find Mr. Zach, he’d decided to check up on Reverend Harrison. He’d already looked for him at the Marstons’, and the preacher wasn’t at the wagon, either. That left the boat, but Patrick didn’t particularly want to go down there. Something about it simply didn’t feel right, and he’d avoided going there as long as he could.
Maybe he should stay out of it. He could go back and sit with Morality. Mrs. Peabody wasn’t much help, sleeping as she was. Morality could holler at the top of her lungs and she wouldn’t be heard above the snores.
That’s what he’d do. Patrick nodded decisively and turned to go. But an unseen hand seemed to grasp at his collar and pull him backward. “Confound and tarnation,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder at the Miracle. One look. That’s all. He’d take one look inside the salon, and if Mr. Zach or Reverend Harrison weren’t there, he’d head back to the cabin and stay the night on the floor beside Morality’s bed.
Planks creaked beneath his feet as he boarded the Miracle. Lanterns from the riverboat off the starboard side and a sliver of moon provided a minimum of illumination, so Patrick grabbed a deck light and fished in his pocket for a match. The rasp of the tip across the railing, the hiss of the flaring flame, and the acrid bite of sulfur seemed to turn an ordinary act into something sinister. Patrick once again considered forgetting the entire idea.
But his feet carried him up the companionway to the Texas deck. The Miracle was silent, but for the normal scrapes and groans of any wooden vessel. At the door of the salon, he paused. He licked his dry lips, then stepped inside. “Reverend Harrison? Mr. Zach?”
Patrick breathed a sigh of relief when he saw t
he shadowed figure of the preacher seated behind his desk. “Reverend Harrison, I figured you’d have gone home by now. How come you’re sitting in the dark?”
Holding the lantern out, he noticed the bruises first. “Good gosh a’mighty.” Stepping closer, he held out the lantern and his eyes rounded in shock. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
The reverend’s stare was fixed; his eyes wide and glassy. A dribble of blood streaked his forehead below the round hole above his right eye.
Patrick backed away, unable to tear his gaze from the dead man. Fear gripped his innards and his knees went weak. Not because of the body. When the Comanche hit his pa’s farm he’d seen the bodies of his own family in much worse shape than this. No, the fear that clamped a hold on him had to do with Morality.
She was gonna die. Simply lay down and die. First the blindness. Now this.
Reverend Harrison had been like her father, and judging by what he’d seen tonight, her husband, Zach Burkett, had killed him.
MORALITY SLEPT fitfully through the evening, awaking almost hourly to the Westminster chime of the mantel clock and the throb of her pain. A few minutes past ten she decided to ask Zach if there wasn’t another place he could keep his clock.
She managed to miss the chime at eleven, but she was awake and aching for the bonging of midnight. Even Mrs. Peabody must have been disturbed by the prolonged toll, because she snorted mid-snore and shifted in her chair.
Morality wondered where Zach was sleeping. He probably thought to spare her discomfort, but she’d rather be wrapped in his arms, even if it did pain her ribs a bit. She was frightened. Zach seemed positive she’d be able to see once the swelling around her eyes diminished. Dr. Trilby had said he thought it likely. But what if it didn’t happen? What if Reverend Uncle truly had taken away her miracle?
Zach wouldn’t want her anymore. She’d be of no use to him. A burden. A salty tear stung the cut across her temple and Morality began to pray.
She was still awake shortly after twelve-thirty when the cabin door scraped open. Instinctively she tried to open her eyes, and the old-remembered fear snaked through her. She couldn’t identify who had entered her home. “Who’s there?”
Zach’s reassuring whisper carried across the darkness. “It’s me, angel. Just came to see how you were doing.”
She heard him step across the room, then the mattress sagged as he sat. He spoke in a low murmur. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“You didn’t. I was already awake. Where have you been? You’re not sleeping outside, are you?”
“Uh, well, with you being injured and Mrs. Peabody here, I figured it’d be best. Anyway, there’s plenty of hay in the barn. Now, what are you doing awake? Are you in pain?”
“A little.” Morality reached for his hand and took comfort in the gentle squeeze he gave her. “Zach, I’m afraid.”
“I know, angel. I’m sorry for it. But just give it a little time and everything will be fine. I promise.”
In the darkness, she smiled. “Stay with me. Please?”
“You sure? I don’t want to hurt you any.”
“It hurts when you’re not here.”
He kissed the back of her hand. “All right. Let me get my boots off.”
Morality heard a pair of thumps and a rustle of cloth. “Maybe you shouldn’t undress, Zach. Don’t forget Mrs. Peabody.”
He snorted a laugh. “How could anyone forget her? I haven’t heard that sort of sawing since I visited the logging camps in California. I’m only taking off my shirt. That shouldn’t offend the widow too much.”
He lay beside her and Morality snuggled as close as her injuries would allow. “I never thought you would offend her,” she said sleepily, more comfortable than she’d been all night. “It’s just that earlier she was telling me she suffered palpitations of the heart. A good look at you might just kill her.”
She felt his silent chuckle. “Thanks for the warning. I’d hate like hell to have her death on my conscience.” The humor drained from his voice as he added, “I’m full up as it is.”
MORALITY AWOKE the next morning to the brush of gentle lips across her own and the tease of breakfast in the air. “G’mornin’, sleepyhead. I thought you might want to eat before everything gets cold.”
Before she thought about it, Morality opened her eyes and smiled at her husband’s gentle blue-eyed gaze. “Mmm. I smell ham.”
“Morality?” His voice sharpened and his eyes narrowed intently.
It all came back to her. Reverend Uncle. The beating.
Her blindness. She lifted her hand and rubbed her thumb across his cheek. “You have flour on your face.”
“I don’t give a—” His eyes widened, then filled with a joyous light. “You can see?”
“Oh, Zach,” Morality sighed. “It’s going to be a heavenly day.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE SHERIFF ARRIVED BEFORE noon.
Zach had carried the rocking chair out front, and Morality sat absorbing the sweet sounds and scents and touches of an East Texas spring morning. A trio of mockingbird hatchlings chirped for their mama from their nest in a holly tree. The mild breeze brushed her face, bringing with it the occasional whiff of wild onion, while sunshine seemed to penetrate her skin and bring its healing warmth to yesterday’s aches and pains.
Most wonderful of all were the sights of the morning. Everything was so beautiful. Beyond the garden stretched a sea of prairie verbena, crested on occasion by a white swath of oxeye daisy and showy primrose. She saw the flash of a jay’s wing against the paler blue of the sky; she smiled at the graceful flap of a butterfly’s wings as it lighted on the rip of her soft leather shoe.
Morality rested her head against the rocker’s back and looked to her left where her gaze met the fairest sight of all. A sheen of perspiration glistened on the bare and bunching muscles of her husband’s back as he chopped wood for the fire. She smiled tenderly, marveling at how the same pair of arms could display such strength, and yet such gentleness.
After Eulalie had returned to town, Zach had helped Morality bathe and dress. He had tended her as if she were fragile glass, making the effort as painless as possible. Although her body was stiff and her muscles sore, in some ways Morality felt better than she had in years.
She was home. She had a purpose in life and love in her heart. This difficulty between her and Reverend Uncle would be settled as soon as she had the opportunity to speak with him. She told herself not to hold yesterday’s events against him. Reverend Uncle had always been a fervent disciplinarian, and although he’d never before injured her to such a degree, yesterday’s bruises were not the first she’d received by his hand. Too, she’d known he might react strongly to her elopement. He had wanted to marry her, after all.
“Unlike Zach,” she murmured. He hadn’t wanted to marry her, just to use her—or so he believed. Morality knew better. Look at how he’d defended her. Look at how gently he’d cared for her. The Lord was alive in Zach Burkett’s heart, if only he’d recognize it.
But then, wasn’t helping to cure his blindness her job?
Morality was drifting off to sleep when she heard the stomp of horses running hard and fast from the direction of town. Zach, having carried an armload of wood inside, shrugged into a shirt as he walked out of the cabin and moved to stand by her side. “Who is it?” she asked, trying to make out the riders’ faces.
His voice was as flat and hard as West Texas. “Marstons. Both of ’em. The sheriff. I don’t know the other two.”
Morality pushed painfully to her feet, and without meeting his gaze, asked softly, “What did you do?”
His limbs stiffened. “Nothing they could have caught me at. You could at least—” He caught himself, then said in a gentler voice, “Why don’t you go inside, honey?”
Ashamed of her initial reaction, Morality shook her head. A nameless fear began to niggle at her heart, and as the riders drew nearer, she stepped closer to Zach.
“Morality, g
o inside.”
She shook her head, and by then it was too late. Joshua Marston was first off his horse, anger burning hotly in eyes identical to Zach’s. He stood beside his horse, chest heaving, as he deliberately drew his gun.
Zach stepped in front of Morality and braced his hands on his hips. “I’d tell you welcome if you were, Daddy. Why don’t you come back another time when you can’t stay as long?”
“You’d best keep a civil tongue, Burkett,” the sheriff said. “You’re in enough trouble as it is.”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Morality asked, peeking around Zach’s shoulders. Her gaze flicked between Zach’s furious father, the sheriff, and Congressman E. J. Marston, who watched the proceedings with a mean look in his eyes.
The sheriff shuffled his feet, glanced over at Joshua Marston, then faced Zach. “Do you deny paying a call on Reverend Harrison aboard the Miracle yesterday evening?”
“Is that what this is about?” Zach drawled, apparently without concern. “He’s thinking to whine about a few pops to the face after he beat the living hell out of my wife?”
Congressman Marston laughed. “Pops to the face? What an interesting choice of words.”
One of the unidentified men said, “I’ve got my rope. Why don’t we just get it over with here and now?”
Morality could feel the tenseness in her husband’s stance, and the temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees. “Sheriff,” he said evenly. “I know you’re likely just doing your job, but I’ll be damned if I let you arrest me for defending my wife.”
“You’ll be damned, all right.” Joshua Marston took a step closer. The cords in his neck stretched taut with the force of his ire. “Anybody who murders a preacher is bound for hell, I’d say.”
Morality went still as a stone. The sheriff tossed Joshua a glare, then faced Morality and Zach, his brow dipped in a grimace. “Step away from the woman, Burkett.”
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