Courting Faith

by Kay Stuart

  “I will Mother,” Faith called wondering if her mother had heard. The backdoor banged shut and her mother was gone.

  Faith carried Lucy and led Pete by the hand into the kitchen. She pulled two chairs up close to the stove and sat the children down on them. “Don’t touch,” she advised motioning towards the stove. Her teeth were chattering against one another as she opened the door to the firebox and fed in wood.

  Lucy hunched her shoulders as she shook with cold. The child’s brown hair was soaking wet and dripping water. Her skin looked blue. Pete pulled his crocheted coverlet over his head and bent his knees and rested the soles of his feet against the chair seat. The poor boy shook violently.

  “The room will be warm in a minute,” Faith said reaching for a saucepan. “Hot chocolate will help us get warm.” She clamped her teeth together to stop them from chattering together. Her hands shook as she poured milk into the saucepan then spooned cocoa from a metal container. She stirred the cocoa as the milk heated.

  Faith stood Lucy on her chair so the heat from the stove would dry her nightgown. She offered Lucy another drink of warm milk before turning the child around so the back of her gown would dry.

  Pete peeked out from his coverlet.

  “You need to standup so your nightshirt will dry,” Faith said. “See Lucy is almost dry already.”

  Pete clung to his coverlet and shook his head no. He hid his face trembling.

  “Pete,” Faith whispered softly wondering if the boy’s problem was not the cold but fear. She rubbed one hand over his thin shoulders and felt him shaking beneath her touch. “It is alright to cry.”

  “I want daddy,” Pete said. His voice was muffled by the coverlet.

  “I know you do,” Faith replied. She rubbed one hand over Pete’s back. The boy shrugged off her hand. “You must dry your nightshirt,” Faith said firmly. “You don’t want to get sick. Lucy needs you to look after her.” Pete pushed the coverlet off his head and looked up at Faith. The sadness in his eyes broke Faith’s heart. She leaned down and kissed the top of Pete’s brown hair. “Let’s get you dry,” she said helping Pete to stand on the chair seat. His legs were skinny below the hem of his nightshirt. “Drink your milk,” Faith cajoled knowing the warm milk would help Pete to sleep. Morning was soon enough to face the problems ahead.

  Pete lay on the parlor sofa with one arm protectively around his little sister and silently watched as Faith covered them with a warm crocheted coverlet.

  “Go to sleep,” Faith whispered placing one hand over Pete’s head. She brushed locks of hair off his forehead and pulled the coverlet up over his shoulders. Lucy was sleeping peacefully beside him.

  Sitting in a wing backed chair, Faith bowed her head and said a prayer of thanksgiving that Lucy’s and Pete’s lives were spared. That Royce had not been injured when he had rushed into the burning house to save children he had never met. Her heart swelled with the thought of Royce’s bravery. Yet, she felt chilled at the same time. Life was fragile as she had heard her mother say on many occasions.

  Faith opened her eyes and saw her father standing over her. The room was flooded with light. The darkness was gone and another day had begun.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” Reverend Gaines said in his vague way of speaking.

  “I did not realize I had fallen asleep,” Faith replied sitting up and glancing to see if Pete and Lucy were still sleeping. “Has the fire caused much damage,” she asked, her mind going back to seeing pillars of flames shooting into the sky as one house after another caught fire.

  “It started raining heavily around five o’clock,” Reverend Gaines answered. “Otherwise more homes would have burnt. As it is a dozen or so were destroyed and about another dozen were damaged. Thankfully the rest of the town was spared. God’s destructive forces,” he concluded.

  Faith knew and understood her father’s meaning. Though she often wondered about a loving God using destruction to reveal himself to mortals. She accepted with a calm heart. God is in control. “Were there many injuries,” she asked.

  “Mr. Runyan is at Doctor Thomas’ home. He still doesn’t remember what happened. Shock, Doctor calls it. The man is befuddled but should come around in a day or two. Poor Mrs. Runyan of course was the only fatality. The rest are minor burns and scraps. Still, Doctor Thomas has his hands full. Mary and Mrs. Dial are helping him care for the wounded. Mr. Runyan’s sister will be by later today to pick up the children. She will keep them until Mr. Runyan is able to take care of his children.”

  Faith stood and stretched the kinks out of her stiff body. She knew at anytime now people would be showing up at the door with gifts of clothing and food. Father needed breakfast. Her mind went automatically over the things to do as she leaned over Lucy and touched the child’s hair. So young to be motherless, she thought giving a deep sigh before going into the kitchen.

  “Hello,” Royce called from the backdoor.

  Faith lifted the skillet off the stove before hurrying to open the door. She threw her arms around Royce’s neck and kissed him fervently. “As you can see I was worried,” she said looking into Royce’s green eyes. Men should not have such beautiful eyes. It was a waste.

  “I love you,” Royce whispered against Faith’s lips. His heart stopped beating then stampeded. There, he had said the words. Amazed at how hard it had been. He had never before told a woman he loved her.

  “I love you too,” Faith replied. “Singed hair, smelling of charred wood and all.”

  Royce’s laugh was deep throated. “As bad as all that,” he asked. He took a deep breath and smelled bacon. “Breakfast,” he asked looking hopefully across the room at the skillet now resting on the counter top next to the stove.

  “Come in,” Faith replied stepping back. “I do believe you came for breakfast and not to assure me you aren’t hurt,” she pouted up at Royce. “The washroom is over there. See if you can discover Mr. Hargadon the schoolteacher under all that grime,” she ordered.

  “I do look a mess,” Royce conceded. “But still in one piece,” he added softly. He was bone weary and disheartened. During the long night hours the men of Junction City had battled fires only to loose one house after another. Fourth Street was in shambles. Houses along both Fifth Street and Third Street were damaged while others were miraculously spared.

  Reverend Gaines was seated at the kitchen table when Royce returned. He could do nothing about the smell of smoke on his clothes. He had bathed his red rimmed eyes in water to soothe their stinging. His poor hair was fried and sticking out at all angles. He looked rough and felt worse.

  Reverend Gaines looked up in surprise his slice of toast half way to his mouth. “Good morning Sir,” Royce greeted. “I came by to check on the children and your daughter invited me to breakfast.”

  “The children are sleeping,” Faith said as she indicated one of the chairs pushed under the table. “Do sit down.” She placed a plate of eggs and bacon on the table in front of Royce before pouring his coffee. “Lucy and Pete have an Aunt. She will come by for them later today.”

  Reverend Gaines gave Faith a suspicious glance. His daughter had flatly refused to marry Jim Cook was Mr. Hargadon the reason. He did not warm to the idea of his beautiful daughter married to a poor schoolteacher.

  “Don’t scowl Father,” Faith said placing one hand over top of her father’s hand resting on top of the table.

  “I was not scowling,” Reverend Gaines retorted. He heaved a deep sigh knowing the battle was lost before he knew it had begun. If Faith wanted to marry Mr. Hargadon there was little he could do about the matter. After all, she had her mother’s fortitude and wondered again how he had come to propose marriage to Mary. Before meeting his wife he had decided on a scholarly existence. Now, he found himself the father of five daughters and not sure how it had all come about.

  Faith picked up her fork. Before she could take her first bite of breakfast someone knocked on the front door. She rose and excused herself. The parade of generous well
wishers had started. She did not fault the women of Junction City. As a Minister’s daughter she knew that people’s kindness was a gift from God. Only, it was hard to remain cheerful in face of all the challenges ahead. Opening the front door she smiled at dear Mrs. Adkins.

  “It is not much,” the woman apologized. “The dear wee ones,” the elderly woman shook her white head over the tragedy. “How are they?”

  “They are sleeping,” Faith replied.

  “If you will be so kind as to help me,” Mrs. Adkins said. “Arthritis, you know is the plague of getting old.” She smiled sadly. “It was not so bad when Chester was alive. He did so much to help around the house. He never complained about hanging out damp clothes or washing up dishes after a meal. I do miss him.”

  Making soothing sounds Faith followed Mrs. Adkins out to her buggy. A box of baked goods was on the seat where Mrs. Adkins’ neighbor had placed it. “Thank you,” Faith replied.

  “Baked goods of course,” Mrs. Adkins said. “I always bake on Fridays.”

  “Your kindness is appreciated,” Faith replied. “Mr. Runyan’s sister will be taking the children. I will let her know you were asking after Lucy and Pete and your thoughtfulness.”

  Mrs. Adkins wiped tears from her eyes and sniffed loudly. “Poor Mrs. Runyan,” she whispered. “Have you seen the streets,” she asked in the next breath. “Simply deplorable. They do say death comes in threes. I wonder who will be the next victim. It is said the new schoolteacher was shot. His students found him on the floor after Miss Ferguson unlocked the school. Such violence. There never used to be so much violence. It makes one afraid to sleep at night. I hear Mr. Hargadon is alright. Only a wound it is said.” she looked hopefully at Faith. With Lydia and Elizabeth in school Mrs. Adkins was sure Faith would know the truth of the matter.

  “Mr. Hargadon is alright,” Faith replied. “It was him that rescued the Runyan children from their home just as the fire broke out.”

  “I had heard as much but you never know the truth of such tales. Especially after the man being shot,” Mrs. Adkins stated. “He is nice looking. Mr. Hargadon I mean. I am sure some young woman will make a match very soon.” She gave Faith a speculative look. There was no shortage of gossip around town.

  Faith smiled hoping tell-tell color did not darken her face. She felt hot. “Thank you again,” Faith said before leaving Mrs. Adkins.

  Lucy was sitting on Royce’s lap when Faith walked into the kitchen. Pete was standing beside his chair and leaning his head against Royce’s arm. Helping Pete onto her chair Faith said, “You can have my breakfast.” She returned to the stove and set the skillet back over the burner before cutting off strips of bacon to fry.

  “Who was at the door,” Reverend Gaines asked.

  “Mrs. Adkins, she brought a box of baked goods,” Faith was not through speaking before another knock sounded on the front door.

  “I will get it,” Reverend Gaines said. “You stay and look after the children.” He fled from the room.

  “I don’t think your father approves of me,” Royce declared.

  “Father is a dear but finds he is inadequate when it comes to dealing with children,” Faith said. “Most men do,” she added. Lucy was making herself at home on Royce’s lap, a slice of sticky toast in one hand as she clung to Royce’s shirt with the other. “You have made a conquest,” Faith said trying not to laugh.

  “Young women find me appealing,” Royce replied wondering what he was doing in the Gaines’ kitchen. It felt right being with Faith with a couple of children around them. He had never considered himself a family man.

  “Drink you coffee,” Faith said, color rising in her cheeks.

  Royce knew he should not tease Faith but color high on her cheeks only enhanced her beauty. “I must be going,” he said sitting Lucy on his vacant chair. “I am sure you have lots to do as well.”

  “Will I see you later,” Faith asked then wished she had bitten her tongue instead of speaking the words. Royce touched her chin with his thumb and forefinger. His green eyes caressing her face as he leaned towards her. In time remembering the children Royce smiled wistfully. Faith’s heart nearly exploded in her chest. What would it be like to have Royce kiss her every morning and have him lie beside her every night. Faith blinked rapidly trying hard to dispel her thoughts. She should not be thinking such outrageous things!

  Royce left without answering Faith’s query. He needed time to think. Things between him and Faith were moving too fast or was it not moving fast enough. He loved her and was sure she loved him. Marshal Tinsley did not encourage his Marshals to marry. Insisting the job was better suited for someone unattached. Loners who did not mind long hours spent in the saddle or cold nights on the trail. A man, whose focus was on his job and not on a wife and children.

  On the east side of Junction City smoke was still rising into the air when Royce walked towards the Secondary School. His shoulder throbbed. His body ached and wondered if his fever was returning. He had been soaked to the skin while battling last night’s many raging fires. He was weary to his bones.

  Outside of the Newspaper Office the bulletin board posted the latest headlines. MAIL STAGE ROBBED AGAIN! Royce stopped and read the headline. “Getting to be a regular habit,” Mclean called from inside the Newspaper Office. “The robbers must be looking for something,” he added.

  “Must be,” Royce replied. “Know of any valuables being shipped,” he asked then smiling finished, “I know. Newspapers are two cents each.”

  Mclean laughed, for once not his usual grumpy self. “Have a copy on the house,” he said. “Hear you rescued the Runyan children last night,” he continued.

  “Anyone would have done the same,” Royce replied.

  The newspaperman shook his head no. “There were plenty of men hanging around the fire last night. I can say this because I was one of them. Someone surely noticed Mr. Runyan was . . .,” here he paused. “Not himself,” he finished. “Yet no one ran into the house to look for his wife and children.”

  “There was a lot going on,” Royce declared. “Getting back to these Mail robberies is there any information pointing to a reason,” he asked. Royce knew one very condemning piece of information. His latest letter was on the Mail Stage.

  “There was a fatality,” Mclean said. “After the last robbery a shotgun guard was added to the route. The holdup men weren’t expecting armed resistance,” Mclean explained. “Before being wounded the guard killed one of the robbers. The rest got away with the mail sack.”

  “Was the man identified,” Royce asked. He held his breath while he waited for Mclean to reveal the name.

  “John Layfield,” Mclean said.

  “Our John Layfield,” Royce asked for clarification.

  “The same. His father went to Lodgeburg to pick up the body,” Mclean replied. “Why Layfield was involved in the Mail Robbery is beyond me. He seemed to be a nice enough young man. Did not carouse with the usual riff-raff if you know what I mean.” Mr. Mclean took a copy of the telegraph wire he had received from Lodgeburg and handed it to Royce. “Arnold keeps me informed on any goings on in Lodgeburg,” he explained. “I do the same for him.”

  “Your own chain of correspondence,” Royce said. He had come across this kind of network among Newspapermen before.

  “A lot of Junction City has family members in nearby towns,” Mclean said. “They appreciate the occasional announcement of births and deaths. Local gossip, you know.”

  Royce’s mind was still on the news John Layfield was dead. He had followed Layfield and Ferguson Wednesday night and had turned back so he could identify the fourth man seen with them.

  If Royce was certain of Sheriff Walden he could arrest Ferguson and his gang. As it was, he was caught between a rock and a hard place. Not sure who to trust and no way of getting a message to headquarters. Had George Dean been in the same fix when he met up with death.

  Royce thanked Mclean for the newspaper and walked home. He unlocked the schoolhouse an
d went upstairs to change out of his damp clothing before stretching out on his bed. He was beyond weary. His shoulder throbbed. He reached a hand back to rub his wound and his hand came away bloody. Doctor Thomas was busy bandaging burns and cuts. He would wait awhile before going to have the doctor redo his bandage. For now all Royce wanted was a few hours sleep.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Church Bell ringing woke Royce from a sound sleep. He laid in bed his mind going back over the events of the past hours. The soaking he had taken while helping to put out multiple house fires. The rain had chilled him to the bone. The flames had been red hot and the smell of smoke everywhere. Had the fires reignited and another alarm was being sounded.

  Royce swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. He shook his head when the room started spinning then wished he had resisted the impulse. Taking deep calming breaths, Royce held his head in both hands. Not sure his head was not going to fall off and roll around the floor. Jabbing pain was behind his eyes. Sweat popped out on his forehead. He sat silently waiting for the room to settle back in place. When it did, Royce walked to the end of the room. Gripping the windowsill to steady himself, he looked out over the schoolyard towards town. Thin lines of gray smoke rose above the trees on Fourth Street. He saw no one hurrying along the road. The town was at peace.

  Miss Ferguson walked across the schoolyard and crossed the road heading towards town. She wore a black cape over her dark dress. The hood was pulled over her head to keep out the cold winds. She carried a book in one hand.

  The Church Bell rang again.

  The sky overhead was light blue with pale streaks of gold. The sun was in the eastern sky. Royce studied the sun for a few moments before realizing it must be Sunday morning. He had slept the clock around. The Church Bell was calling the faithful to worship.

  The coldness of the room penetrated into his consciousness. The fire in the cook stove had gone out hours before. Shivering, Royce knelt before the stove and fed in kindling. He blew hot breath over his fingers to warm them before striking a match. Smoke curled around the kindling before the dry woodchips ignited. Blue flames licked up the woodchips leaving behind white ash. He fed several chunks of wood into the stove and closed the metal door. Padding barefooted across the floor Royce crawled into bed and huddled under the covers to wait for the room to warm.