Truly Yours Historical Collection December 2014

by Susan Page Davis, Paige Winship Dooly, Connie Stevens

  The morning dawned bright and clear. The blue sky made a sharp contrast with the whitened ground. A few clouds scudded past, but nothing looked like more storms. Megan hurried with the feeding and once more climbed the fence, balancing precariously as she looked around. Nothing moved as far as she could see. She climbed back down, gathered a sled full of wood, and returned to the house. Pasting a smile on her face, she did her best to act as if nothing was wrong so she wouldn’t worry Seana.

  “Good morning.” Megan’s hands shook as she carried the bowl of porridge to Mr. Coulter. She couldn’t meet his eyes. During his sickness, she spent hours praying for him and watching him. She’d never met a man so handsome and fascinating. She almost wished he were sick again so she could wipe his brow and watch again the play of emotions crossing his face as he slept and dreamed.

  “Morning.” The word came out a scratchy whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Good morning.”

  Megan set the tray on the table in the room. “Would you like me to help you sit up some? It might make eating a little easier.”

  “Thank you.” He eased up, and she plumped an extra pillow behind his back to prop him up. She’d never been so close to such an attractive man. Her heart pounded like it did when Matt used to chase her across the fields.

  “Would you like me to feed you, Mr. Coulter?”

  “Jesse.”

  Startled, she glanced up. His twinkling brown gaze held her captive for a moment. She looked down at the tray in her hands, her cheeks hot with embarrassment. “What?”

  “My name is Jesse. Mr. Coulter sounds so formal.” He started to cough, although the sound wasn’t quite as alarming as it had been yesterday. By the time he stopped, his face had paled and he seemed tired.

  “I’ll feed myself. Thank you.”

  Placing the tray on his lap, Megan stepped back. “If you need anything else. . . Well, I guess you won’t be able to call me. I’ll come in to check on you or send Seana. She’s almost done with her breakfast.” She hurried from the room before she wore the man out with her chatter. Not in years had she said so much to a man. What had come over her?

  “Mr. Coulter, would you like some more coffee?”

  Megan stilled, listening for the answer to her sister’s question. A low rumble told her he’d said something, but she couldn’t make out the words.

  “Meggie would be mad if I did that. Momma says I always have to call adults by their proper name.” Seana lowered her voice to a loud whisper. Megan knew Seana didn’t think she would hear. “I think Jesse is a wonderful name, though.”

  Soft, deep laughter sent a shaft of warmth through Megan. Although she didn’t wish Mr. Coulter the inconvenience of being injured and sick, she was glad the Lord led him here. Seana needed the distraction of caring for him so she wouldn’t worry about her parents and brother. In fact, she admitted, the diversion helped her, too.

  The morning sped past. Megan could feel a knot of worry in her stomach. She needed to ask Mr. Coulter—Jesse—if she could use his horse this afternoon, but the thought of approaching the man with such a request terrified her. What if he said no? Would she have the courage to go against his wishes? The building concern for her family told her she must do something.

  A knock sounded on the door as Megan popped some biscuits into the oven for their lunch. She’d just been building her courage to approach Mr. Coulter and stared at the door as if she hadn’t heard the sound right. Seana skipped out of her parents’ bedroom, where she’d been regaling their patient with a myriad of stories.

  “Meggie, we have company. Maybe it’s Momma and Papa.” She ran to open the door, her braids bouncing. Dread crept up Megan’s spine, knowing her parents would never knock on the door. They would just come in.

  Cold air whooshed into the house as Seana threw open the door. Two people, bundled against the cold, stood waiting.

  “Mrs. Porter, Reverend, please come in.” Megan’s heart pounded loud enough to be heard in town. Her knees wobbled. The Porters came in, stomping the snow from their boots. Megan stared at them as Seana backed toward her, eyes wide, her doll clutched tight to her breast.

  “Please, sit down.” Megan’s voice shook. “Let me get you some coffee. You’ve had a long ride in the cold.” Her hands trembled as she retrieved some cups from the shelves. Fear clutched at her throat with hard fingers. Tears pushed at the back of her eyes.

  “Megan, Dear, sit down.” Mrs. Porter took the cups from Megan and guided her to a chair. With one arm, she drew Seana to her side, while her other hand rested on Megan’s shoulder.

  Reverend Porter cleared his throat. “There isn’t any easy way to say this. This was a mighty bad storm, the worst I ever recall. The sheriff found your parents and brother late yesterday.” He lifted his chin and twisted his neck as if his collar had tightened. “Your family started home before the storm. We think they tried to make it back to town and got off the road in the heavy snow. I’m sorry, but they froze to death.”

  The world turned dark. Megan couldn’t get her breath. She heard Seana scream something, and then her sister was crying, her thin arms wrapped around Megan’s neck. Mrs. Porter made clucking noises as if that would help them with their loss. All Megan could think was that her fears had come true, and God hadn’t answered her prayers. What would they do now?

  As if sensing her uncertainty, Reverend Porter cleared his throat. “I know this is a difficult time, but I wanted to let you know as soon as possible. We told the sheriff we’d break the news to you and let you know that we’ll be bringing the bodies out here in a few days, after we make some pine boxes.” He cleared his throat again. “We figured you’d want to bury them here at your farm.”

  Megan did her best to stifle her sobs. The tears continued to flow unheeded down her cheeks. Seana still had her face buried in Megan’s neck.

  Five

  The next two days were a blur. Megan occupied the time caring for Mr. Coulter. Seana moved about in stunned silence. Reverend and Mrs. Porter showed up again with Augustus Sparks—the banker—and the sheriff. The men carefully unloaded three pine boxes from the back of a wagon and placed them at the back of the barn.

  Megan watched them, tight-lipped. The last indignity. The ground is too frozen for them to be buried.

  When that task was finished, the men entered the house, stomping their snowy boots. Mrs. Porter fussed around, pouring hot coffee, murmuring useless sympathy.

  Dully, Megan wondered why they had enlisted the banker to help, but he put a quick end to her speculation. Waving away the cup Mrs. Porter proffered, he stepped toward Megan. His double chin jiggled as he moved. Dark eyes narrowed as he gave Megan a lecherous grin. “Miss Riley, your father had a loan with my bank. The note is due this June. With all that’s happened, I don’t know how you’ll ever be able to pay it off.”

  Megan felt as if her world dropped away. Knowing that her parents were dead—and that their bodies rested in the barn—was bad enough. Having this repulsive man tell her more bad news was too much.

  “Now, Megan, Mr. Sparks does have a solution to your dilemma.” Reverend Porter spoke in the same sonorous tones he used in church. “Mr. Sparks has generously agreed to marry you and take care of the note himself.”

  Mr. Sparks’s grin widened.

  Megan felt reality swirling away. “I. . .I can’t marry you.” Her tongue felt like a huge cotton boll. “I won’t.” The tremor in her voice lacked the conviction she was hoping to convey.

  “Now, Dear.” Mrs. Porter patted her shoulder. “I know this has all been a nasty shock, but you can’t possibly expect us to leave you in such terrible straits. Mr. Sparks is making a very generous offer. He’s willing to take on a new wife. He’ll care for your sister, too.”

  The banker peeled the gloves off his sausagelike fingers and began to unbutton his coat. “I don’t believe you have any other choice, young lady. You can’t stay out here in the middle of nowhere with no man around to care for you. I’m sure you
and your sister will enjoy the amenities that come from living in town.”

  “He’s right.” Reverend Porter gestured for his wife to serve the coffee, as though this were his own house and Megan’s situation would be readily solved. “Yankton has a lot of young ladies your age. Your sister will be able to attend school. Augustus here has just about the best house in town. Now we can perform the ceremony here, or we can wait until we get back to town. Which will it be?”

  Megan could feel all of their gazes boring into her. She couldn’t seem to get her breath. How could they expect something like this to happen right now? Even her parents hadn’t cared for the banker. They only dealt with him out of necessity. They would never approve of such a union.

  Giving Seana a squeeze, she urged her to stand. “Seana, please go to your room for a little while. I’ll be along shortly.”

  Seana opened her mouth as if she wanted to argue. Glancing around at the others in the room, she nodded and scuffed her feet as she left. With her sister out of sight, Megan stood and faced the men. Locking her knees, she hoped they wouldn’t see the tremors quaking through her. She’d been taught never to speak up to adults; but if they were considering marrying her off like some animal going to the highest bidder, she would have her say first.

  “I don’t know how you can expect me to do this. I’ve barely learned my parents and brother are dead, and you immediately want me to get married as if I can forget something that important. What about a period of mourning? Mr. Sparks, I’m sure you intend this as a kind offer, but I will not marry you now or ever. My sister and I will stay here on the farm and care for the land. I’ve helped my parents for years now.”

  “But my dear, how can you possibly plant the fields?” Mrs. Porter handed coffee to the men and turned to face Megan. “You won’t be able to support yourself.”

  “And there’s the loan to pay off. June is only six months away.” Mr. Sparks spoke as if he were already rubbing his hands together.

  “We will manage.” Megan spoke more firmly than she felt. “Our hogs have done well this year. We have several young ones. Yankton already knows that my mother and I make the best sausages and hams.” Her voice cracked at the mention of her mother. “Seana and I can make things and bring them to town to sell them. Perhaps since Mr. Sparks is in such a generous mood, he’ll be willing to extend our loan. After all, these are unusual circumstances.” She didn’t add that she wouldn’t be able to make any more meat to sell until next fall, when the young piglets would be big enough. Her father had already done the butchering for this winter.

  “I’m afraid that will be impossible.” Mr. Sparks attempted a forlorn look, but his gaze still made Megan want to turn and run.

  “What happens if some unsavory character comes along?” The sheriff leaned forward. “You won’t have anyone out here to protect you. This is a mighty far piece from town.”

  “My father taught me how to shoot a gun, Sheriff. I’m perfectly capable of protecting my sister and myself.” Megan wanted to stamp her foot. “I will not marry Mr. Sparks no matter how kind his offer is. You will have to accept that.”

  “My dear.” Mrs. Porter patted her shoulder again, causing Megan to grit her teeth at the woman’s conciliatory tone. “There’s been talk in town. We know about what happened to you back East. I’m sure you’ve noticed none of the young men have come to call on you. With your past, Mr. Sparks is perhaps your only chance at marriage.”

  “That’s true.” The reverend frowned, his disapproving tone echoing off the walls. “I believe you have no choice here. The sheriff and Mr. Sparks had the foresight to have the wedding right here and now. This will save you some embarrassment. I know there’ll be talk because of your reputation and all; but as people become used to you, they’ll forget.”

  “I want you to leave now.” Megan spoke through clenched teeth. “I have nothing in my past to be ashamed of, other than the lies people spread about me.” She began to shake. “You can take your generous offer of marriage and get out of here and leave my sister and me to our grief.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t do that.” Reverend Porter extracted a book from a deep coat pocket. “My wife and I consider this our Christian duty to see that you’re taken care of properly. Now, if you will join Mr. Sparks here. The sheriff and my wife can be the witnesses.”

  They weren’t listening. Megan couldn’t believe this was happening. She was going to end up married to this repulsive man, and no one would hear what she was trying to say. Frantic thoughts tumbled through her mind. What would her mother do? Her father? She knew how the Porters learned of the travesty that happened to her before they moved here, but what about the others in town?

  The four adults moved to surround Megan. She could smell the wet cloth from the outdoor clothing they still wore. She understood their hurry if they wanted to get back to town before nightfall. The air grew close. She wished she could faint or do something drastic to delay the inevitable. Reverend Porter opened his book and cleared his throat.

  “I believe the lady said she didn’t want to get married.”

  Everyone’s gaze swung to the door of her parents’ bedroom. Jesse leaned against the frame, a quilt wrapped around his broad shoulders, his bare feet protruding beneath. Megan’s face flamed as she realized how this would look to these townsfolk. Their eyes widened, and she knew they weren’t seeing Mr. Coulter as someone recovering from a sickness, but as a drifter taking advantage of a young woman. Even his face, covered with several days’ growth of stubble, gave him a lawless look—one she found very appealing, although she had no right to think such thoughts.

  “What is going on here?” Reverend Porter’s face had turned beet red. “Who is this man?”

  Megan opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. She knew the truth wouldn’t be believable. Hadn’t she told the truth before they moved here and none of the townspeople believed her? Even her parents didn’t seem to understand the wrong done to her.

  “Jesse Coulter.” Jesse nodded his head, but didn’t offer to cross the room to shake hands. Megan almost groaned. She knew he didn’t have the strength to walk across the room, but none of the others knew that. They would assume he was being insolent, as many drifters were.

  The reverend’s hard gaze bore into Megan. “I didn’t want to believe what we’d been told. I know how gossip can hurt a person, but this is proof that your reputation has been sullied. Did you have this man waiting and rush him in as soon as your parents left for town?” His words hit Megan like a gale, almost knocking her from her feet.

  ❧

  Jesse leaned against the door frame and watched Megan’s face turn white. His angel. How could they do this to her? What had she ever done? In the few days he’d been under her care, he’d never met such a thoughtful, hardworking, God-fearing woman before. She defined godly compassion, yet these people were accusing her of being a horrible person. He couldn’t allow that.

  When he’d first heard the conversation through the partially opened bedroom door, he grieved with her when he learned of the death of her family. She hadn’t said a word about it to him the last two days, though he’d been too sick with the fever to have known, anyway. But disbelief pushed away the hurt as he listened to Megan being railroaded into marrying some man she didn’t want. He knew he had to do something to help her out. His clothes weren’t available, so he covered himself with the quilt, thinking he would be presentable enough. He hadn’t thought about how this would look. He only wanted to protect Megan. Now he’d made things worse.

  He tried to make his muscles move. Before getting sick, he could have thrown these men from the house with no trouble. Because of the pneumonia, he’d barely made it to the doorway. He hadn’t even said anything for a minute because he couldn’t get his breath, and the room was spinning so bad he thought he might faint, throw up, or both.

  “This is not what you’re thinking.” Megan’s fingers were twined together tight enough to look painful. “Mr. Coulter is
sick.”

  “I don’t want to hear any of your excuses.” Reverend Porter’s brows drew together, giving him the look of a storm cloud about to burst.

  The overweight banker stared at Jesse with a venomous gaze. The sheriff unbuttoned his greatcoat to reveal a holstered pistol strapped to his side. His huge mustache accentuated his frown. Mrs. Porter stood frozen beside Megan, her hand covering her mouth, looking as if she wanted to cry.

  “Reverend, I would think you should recall Matthew 7:1.” Jesse stood his ground as the angry minister glared at him. “ ‘Judge not, that ye be not judged.’ ” Silence stretched taut in the room.

  “I’d like to know who you are and where you came from.” The sheriff strode over to confront Jesse.

  “My name is Jesse Coulter. I’m from outside the Chicago area. I was passing through on my way to the gold mines in the Black Hills when I got caught in the blizzard.” He looked past the sheriff to where Megan stood pale, but strong. “If it hadn’t been for the young lady you’re accusing, I’d have been dead. She saved my life.”

  “The blizzard ended days ago. Why are you still here?” The sheriff leaned forward. “I agree with the reverend. This doesn’t look very proper.”

  “I caught pneumonia.” Jesse shrugged. “I’ve been too sick to leave.” Weakness pulled at him. He longed to crawl back to that bed and sleep for a week. How much longer could he stand here before he fell flat?

  “He’s right. This is the first time he’s been able to get up since he’s been here.”

  Megan took a step toward him, but Mrs. Porter caught her arm, pulling her back. “You mean you took care of this man for several days? You’re not married.”

  Megan whirled on the minister’s wife. “Mrs. Porter, the man was dying. What would Jesus do in such circumstances? Leave him to freeze to death? Let him die of pneumonia?”

  “This just wasn’t proper.” Mrs. Porter glanced at her husband. “What will the townspeople think? After all, they’ve all heard the rumors of that incident with the young man where you used to live.”