One tear of pure joy slid down Bess’s cheek, and she made no effort to wipe it away. These tears needed to fall.
He chuckled softly. “Of course, I will need to resume my position of ministry at least briefly in a couple of weeks when Grace and Rufus exchange their vows. It wouldn’t do for the young preacher to officiate his own wedding.”
Bess laughed, too, imagining such an undertaking. “No, I suppose not.”
“Will you still be here for their wedding? I know how much you mean to both Grace and Rufus. They would miss your presence, but they’d understand if you were unable to attend.”
Bess shook her head. “I wouldn’t miss seeing those two young people join their lives. Besides, I don’t anticipate hearing back from the mission board until mid-June at the earliest. Please tell Grace to call on me for whatever help she needs in preparing for the ceremony.”
“Since she doesn’t have a mother or even her aunt to help her, I know she will appreciate your help.” Philemon stepped aside, and his hands slipped free of hers. “I will leave you to your gardening now. I feel a”—he yawned—“nap coming on.”
She flapped her hands at him. “Sit down. I’ll call Rufus down from his room and have him hitch the team. He can give you a ride to your house.”
“That isn’t necessary. I can walk. It’s only three blocks.”
She gave him a gentle push, and to her relief he sat again. Hands on her hips, she frowned at him. “Now stay put until I get Rufus. He won’t mind driving you. He enjoys spending time with you. I’m sure it’s beneficial to him to have someone like you serving as an example since he never knew his father.”
“He knew his father.” Philemon’s brow pinched. “He lost his parents within the past four years. First his mother and then his father.”
Now Bess frowned. “But he told me his father died before he was born, and that his mother died giving birth to him.”
“Are you sure he was speaking of himself ?”
Bess released a short huff. “Of course I’m sure. He said his grandmother, a woman named Iva, raised him.”
He scratched his chin. “Hmm…Perhaps Grace and I misunderstood.”
“Well, you can ask him about it when he drives you home. Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
Theo
He’d been careless, and now he was forced into a corner. Theo gripped the reins so tight he felt the leather tracings through his gloves. He didn’t want to tell a bald-faced lie. Especially not to people who mattered to him. And Granny Iva had taught him better. Lying felt just like spitting in her face. But if he told the truth now—if he boldly said, “I’m not really Rufus Dille”—he’d lose his respected position in town. He’d lose Grace. He’d lose…everything.
“Well, you see, I…” He glanced at Reverend Cristler, who sat attentive and quiet on the other side of the jostling wagon seat. “I lost my real parents, an’ I lived with Granny Iva until she died, an’ then I went to my new parents.” There. That was truth. He just couldn’t say that his “new parents” were a cousin and her husband who never really claimed him as their own. If he kept quiet, the Cristlers would think the new parents were the Dilles. Letting them think it wouldn’t be lying. Not really. His conscience pricked worse than a bee’s sting, but he made himself ignore it.
“So the Dilles adopted you?”
Theo inwardly groaned. He drew the wagon to a stop near the Cristlers’ back stoop and climbed down. He offered his hand to the older man and helped him to the ground. Then he walked with him across patches of grass and dirt to the stoop. Once there, he smiled. “Get some rest. I don’t expect to see you in church tomorrow. Aunt Bess says you should stay in another week, an’ I reckon she knows what’s best.”
Reverend Cristler frowned. “Rufus, you didn’t answer my question. Did the Dilles adopt you?”
Theo drew a short breath and held it for a few seconds, hoping his racing pulse would calm. It didn’t. He blew out the breath. “No, sir, they didn’t.” He licked his lips and braved a question of his own. “Does it matter?”
Philemon Cristler placed his hand on Rufus’s shoulder. “Of course it doesn’t matter, son.”
Son…Theo’s chest ached.
“Where you came from and who you were doesn’t matter nearly as much as who you’ve become.”
He’d become Rufus Dille. As least on the outside. Why didn’t it seem like enough? “Thank you, sir. I promise to do my best as your church’s preacher and your niece’s husband.”
“I know you will. Would you like to come in and say hello to Grace while you’re here? She’ll return to the post office on Monday, but she’s home today.”
Theo gave an eager nod. Reverend Cristler led him inside, and they found Grace removing a pan of cookies from the oven. Sugar cookies, if Theo’s nose was correct. She turned with the tray in hand, and he knew the moment she spotted him because her face lit brighter than the morning sun.
“Rufus!”
The welcoming expression on her sweet face and the delighted exclamation should have thrilled him. Instead, it stabbed him through and through. Because she wasn’t really welcoming him. She was welcoming the person she thought he was.
“I was going to take a basket of cookies to the boardinghouse today to thank everyone for letting Mrs. Kirby take such good care of Uncle Philemon.” Grace placed the tray on the worktable and hurried back to the stove. “But I have enough for us to have some now with coffee.” She lifted the pot and aimed her beautiful smile at him. “Would you like a morning treat?”
She looked so innocent, so trusting. She was so unselfish, so giving. He’d grown to love her. He wanted her to be his wife. But…Dear God in heaven, can I really go through with it?
The prayer took him by surprise. When had he started turning his thoughts into prayers? Maybe all his Bible reading was changing him. If only reading the Bible could really turn him into Rufus Dille. Then he could marry Grace and keep preaching and maybe—maybe—the weight of guilt would someday fall away.
She tilted her head slightly, confusion marring her smile. “Rufus, are you all right?”
He wasn’t. But he couldn’t tell her why. He couldn’t hurt her by not being the person she deserved to love. He forced a short laugh. “I’m fine. Just h-happy to see you. Can’t hardly believe Reverend Cristler’s well an’ we don’t have to keep a door between us anymore.”
She giggled, the sound light and carefree. “Sit down, both of you. I’ll pour coffee and put some of these cookies on a plate. We’ll enjoy a little snack.”
Theo couldn’t sit at that table. Not the way his insides were churning. He grabbed the handle on the back door and held tight. “I’d like to, Grace, but Aunt Bess needs my help puttin’ seeds in the garden.” She hadn’t asked for his help, but she’d take it when he offered. “So I better get on back.”
“Oh.”
Remorse struck. He’d disappointed her. He released the door handle and moved close enough to touch her upper arm with his fingers. “I’ll see you in church tomorrow mornin’, an’ after service how about you an’ me take a little drive? Aunt Bess’ll let me borrow her wagon. That is”—he glanced at her uncle—“if it’s all right with Reverend Cristler.”
The older man shrugged. “It’s fine with me as long as you take a chaperone.”
Theo thought fast. “We can tote Mr. Swain or Mrs. Ewing along with us so the town won’t talk.”
Her smile returned. “That sounds nice.”
He couldn’t resist smiling back. How’d he get so lucky to have a woman like her choose to be his bride? “I’ll come for you when I’ve finished dinner with Aunt Bess.”
“Good.” She dipped her head and peeked at him out of the corner of her eye, suddenly shy. “We’ll talk about the wedding, get all our plans set. I’m so happy, Rufus.”
He bid them good-bye and hurried to the waiting wagon. During the short drive to the boardinghouse, her final statement—“I’m so ha
ppy, Rufus”—echoed through his mind, riddling him with guilt. She’d be marrying the person she thought he was.
Near the Kansas-Missouri border
Earl
By riding under sunshine and moonlight, easily done when a fellow charted his course by the river, Earl reached the northeastern border of Kansas on Sunday morning. His horse limped the final mile. He’d pushed the animal too hard, not let it rest enough, and he took no pleasure in the creature’s discomfort. But he couldn’t risk that Weasel character sending a messenger ahead of him. The men he sought were thieves and likely killers. If they knew he was coming, they’d be prepared to attack. He needed to take them by surprise. Soon as he’d found the ones who’d stole the Bible from Theophil, he’d let his horse rest for a day or two.
He topped a rise and stopped, squinting against the dawn’s deep shadows. A shack-like house, a small three-sided barn built into the hill, and a couple of other little outbuildings—likely an outhouse and a toolshed—formed a gray cluster along the edge of the river. Just as the ferrymen had said, a wood bridge stretched from one side of the flowing water to the other. A tremor rattled through Earl’s frame. This was it. It had to be it.
The sun was pushing its way through a long stretch of clouds. Everything looked rosy and calm, but Earl wasn’t calm. And if the people living in the shack were the same ones the ferrymen had told him about, the same ones who’d sold other folks’ belongings to Weasel, their calm was about to be shattered. He’d built up a lot of anger during his last two days of travel, and he wouldn’t mind a bit letting it explode if his chance to give Theophil his due’d been took from him.
He slipped down from the saddle and tied the reins to some scraggly brush at the top of the rise. He gave the horse’s neck a pat. “You stay here, boy. Safer for you.” He eased the frayed rope holding his pa’s breechloader over his head. He’d loaded it with powder and a patched lead ball before setting out from Lexington, so it was ready. Now he had to be ready. He’d only get one shot. For the first time since he set out, he wished his brothers were with him. Claight had the truest aim, and Wilton was crazy enough to leap into the middle of any fracas. But Earl was on his own.
Holding the rifle at waist level, its barrel pointed ahead and his finger on the trigger, he inched his way down the rise to the back side of the house. The place was dark, no sign of life anywhere. Not even in the barn. Maybe the men were gone. But as he neared the house, he heard the telltale rumble of a snore. He paused and cocked his head, listening close. Only one. But that didn’t mean anything. Some folks didn’t snore.
Pulse thundering, nerves on edge, Earl made his way to the front door of the house. He made a fist, knocked twice, then leaped back and aimed the rifle at the door.
The snore stopped with a loud snort. Rustling sounds followed. “Whatcha want?” The man sounded plenty raspy. He’d been sleeping sound.
“Wanna cross your bridge. How much?”
“Who’s wantin’ to cross?”
“Me an’ my horse.”
“Ain’t open yet. Too dangerous unless the sun’s high. Rest up in the barn. I’ll getcha when it’s late enough to cross.”
His whole body began to tremble. Everything was unfolding like the two ferrymen had warned. He held tight to his musket and called, “Wanna cross now.”
“Toldja it ain’t safe. Lemme sleep, mister. You can cross after I’ve ate my breakfast.”
What should he do now? Go to the barn and wait for somebody to come whack him on the head? Break down the door and accost whoever was inside? That’d be foolhardy if a whole gang of thieves waited in the house. He strained to pick up evidence of a second person inside. But everything went quiet. No scuffling. No snoring. No whispers. He’d have to trust that the one who’d been hollering at him was alone.
Gritting his teeth, he angled the musket barrel skyward, led with his shoulder, and plowed into the door. It burst open, throwing him into the room, and he stumbled directly into a table and chairs. Pieces of furniture clattered against the floor, and Earl almost fell on top of them. He caught his balance and aimed the gun’s barrel at a frantic movement in the far corner of the room.
A man scrambled out from under a ratty blanket and leaped out of bed. He stood on bare feet, wearing nothing but holey long johns, and gaped at Earl with his hands held high. “I don’t got nothin’ much worth takin’, but help yourself, mister.”
He gave up too easy. Was there another person drawing a bead on him? Earl risked a glance around, but he didn’t spot anybody. He fixed his gaze on the scruffy-looking man quivering in his saggy, mouse-eaten underwear.
“I ain’t here to take nothin’ from you. But you’re gonna give me somethin’.”
“What? Whatcha want?”
The man’s pale face and nervous shifting should have made Earl feel powerful. Instead, an odd sense of pity pinched him. He pushed the sissy feeling aside and forced himself to stay tough. “I want the truth. I bought a Bible off a man named Weasel in Lexington. Weasel said he got it from a man who lives on the river by the Kansas border. Did you sell a Bible to Weasel?” He jammed the point of the barrel at the man and scowled. “Don’t you lie to me or I’ll blow a hole in your middle big enough for a hog to pass through.”
“A B-B-Bible didja say?” His twitching intensified, letting Earl know he recalled a Bible. “I…I coulda. Sell lots o’ stuff to ol’ Weasel.”
“Where’d you get that Bible you sold?”
The man shrugged, the motion jerky. “Folks passin’ through, they…uh…they sometimes leave things behind.”
“Liar.” Earl growled the word. He advanced on the quivering man. “The fella who owned the Bible wouldn’t leave it behind. Wouldn’t give it away. Wouldn’t sell it, neither. So if you ended up with it, only thing I can figure is you took it from him. An’ since he wouldn’t give it up easy, you must’ve made sure he couldn’t fight back.”
The fellow’s eyes were so wide Earl could count the little red lines sprouting around his pupils. “I didn’t hurt him, mister. Honest, I didn’t. I admit, I done some bad things in my life, an’ I’ll straight up tell you I took that fella’s horses an’ wagon an’ ever’thing that was in it, but he was a clergyman. Saw the suits an’ such in his bag. I wouldn’t never hurt no clergyman.”
Clergyman? Theophil was no preacher. And where would he get a wagon? Maybe they weren’t talking about the same person. “Have you stole more’n one Bible?”
He rubbed his dry lips together and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Usually go through everything, keep what I want an’ send what’s left to Weasel. Only recall the one Bible. Took it not long ago…mebbe three, four weeks?” He started to blubber. “I’m sorry, mister. Don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.”
Earl’s pity changed to disgust. “For Pete’s sake, man, get ahold o’ yourself.” ’Course, how brave could this fella be if he sneaked up on sleeping men and clunked them on the head when they were unaware and helpless? He wouldn’t kill him even though he deserved killing. But neither would he leave him where he could do harm to anybody else.
He grabbed the man by the arm and flung him into the only chair left standing on all four legs. He leaned in, putting the tip of the barrel under the man’s chin. “If you didn’t kill that clergyman, where is he?”
He went cross-eyed, staring at the gun barrel, and sniffled. “If I recollect correctly, he was wantin’ to cross an’ go on to Fairland.”
“Fairland? Is that in Kansas?”
“Uh-huh. Said he needed to be there by Sunday. Figured it was ’cause he hadda preach.”
Earl straightened. He didn’t take his gaze off the sniveling fellow in the chair, but his thoughts meandered some. Theophil’d worked at the livery in Cooperville before he and his brothers got sent up. Ma and Pa said he kept working there the whole time him, Claight, and Wilton were gone. So him needing to get somewhere to preach didn’t make much sense. But it had to have been Theophil who’d co
me through. The Bible proved it.
He bumped the man with the rifle. “How far is it to Fairland?”
“From the other side o’ the river? ’Bout four miles due west.”
A half-day’s journey on a horse that wasn’t limping. “You got any horses here?”
“Just the one.”
“Got a saddle for it?”
“Yes.” Hope glimmered in the man’s bloodshot eyes. “Go ahead an’ take the horse. Take the saddle, too.”
Earl shook his head. “Nope. I ain’t gonna set myself up as a horse thief. Besides, you’re gonna need it.” He nudged him out of the chair. “Get dressed. You an’ me are gonna take a ride.”
“W-where?”
“Never mind. Just do as I say unless you want me to plug you full of lead.”
The man scampered to obey. Soon as he was dressed, Earl would tie his hands and feet, throw him over his saddle, which he’d likely took from some other poor soul who’d been unlucky enough to want to cross the bridge, and take him to Independence. Just three miles back to Independence. He could walk there and be back by nightfall. He’d leave his horse in the lean-to, let it rest up. Then, after he’d turned this sorry excuse of a man over to the law, he’d head on to Fairland.
Independence, Missouri
Earl
Earl gripped the steel bars and glared at the deputy standing smugly on the hallway side of the cell. “You’ve got no cause to stick me in here. I didn’t do nothin’ except bring you the fella who’s been robbin’ an’ maybe killin’ travelers.”
“Fuss an’ fume all you want to, Boyd, but you ain’t comin’ out o’ there until the sheriff gets back an’ can check out your story. Ain’t my fault your name shows up on a list o’ tried an’ convicted felons.”
Earl smacked the bars. His palms stung, but he didn’t care. “I paid for my crime. The governor himself let me out! I got pardon papers to prove it.”
“Where?”
“In my saddlebag.”
“Where’s that?”
He stifled a groan. He’d left his saddlebag and saddle in the lean-to with his horse three miles west. “Back at the bridge I told you about.”
Grace and the Preacher Page 27