Anonymous Bride

by McDonough, Vickie;

  With short brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses, he looked more like a bank teller than a minister of the gospel. He crossed his hands over his light blue chambray shirt and stared at Luke. For a moment he refrained from speaking, and Luke sat still, resisting the urge to wiggle like a schoolboy in trouble. Was the man praying?

  Luke cleared his throat. His nerves had settled during the hour and a half that he’d chopped wood and eaten breakfast, but they were on the rise again. He jiggled his foot and stared out the window. Why had he felt such a need to speak with the pastor?

  “So ... something on your mind today?”

  Luke nodded, relieved to be starting yet unsure where to begin. The pastor wasn’t a native of the town and probably didn’t know about Luke’s previous relationship with Rachel.

  “You nervous about picking a bride?”

  “Uh ... no, well yes. But that’s not the main reason I needed to talk to you.”

  “All right. Just take your time. I’m in no hurry.”

  Luke ran his fingers through his hair. Sucking in a steadying breath, he stared at the preacher. “I ... uh ... guess you could say I’m having trouble forgiving someone for a past offense.”

  “Ah, I see. And have you prayed about it?”

  Luke’s hand clamped onto the arm of the settee. “More than you can imagine.”

  “Is it something that’s happened recently or a while back?”

  “A long time ago—more than a decade, actually.”

  The pastor’s brows lifted. “That’s a while to carry an offense. Must have been a big one.”

  Luke pursed his lips and stared out the window, remembering Rachel’s words. She’d looked at him, the whites of her eyes and her nose red from tears, and that alone had nearly done him in. I’ve married James Hamilton.

  A gunshot point blank couldn’t have hurt any worse. He’d been working for a year to make enough money for a down payment on a little house and to support Rachel. She’d been the love of his life, the only girl he’d ever had eyes for. But she dumped him to marry the richest man in town.

  “Luke,” the pastor’s soft voice drew him out of the past. “I know you’re a Christian, but how long have you been one?”

  He shook his head. “Not long. Less than a year.”

  “I can tell you that forgiving isn’t an easy thing, even for a man who’s been a believer for most of his life.” He leaned forward, head down for a moment. “If you’ve read your Bible, you know that it says in Mark, ‘But if ye do not forgive, neither will your Father which is in heaven forgive your trespasses.’”

  Luke faced the pastor. “I know that, but it doesn’t tell me how to forgive. Just that I need to.”

  “I can tell by your expression how you’ve struggled with this. Forgiveness is a choice, Luke. We must choose to forgive and turn loose of our hurts. Nobody can do that for us.”

  “But how do you do that?” Luke leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

  “You have to make a conscious effort to do it. Say ‘I choose to forgive you,’ and then let go of the hurt. Give it to the Lord to carry.”

  Luke looked down at the pastor’s boots. “I don’t know if I can do that. I’ve carried this hurt for so long.”

  “And look what’s it’s done to you.”

  He glanced up. “What’s that?”

  “It has you all torn up inside. Jesus died to set us free from our sin. He wants us to live a victorious life, not one weighed down by sin and an unforgiving spirit. If you believe Christ died for you and have given your heart to Him, He’ll help you with your struggles. But that doesn’t mean He doesn’t expect us to do our part.”

  “So I’m just supposed to turn loose of my pain, just like I turn my horse loose in a pasture?”

  Pastor Taylor nodded. “Pretty much. You let it go and make the choice to forgive. When negative thoughts come back to pester you, mentally you have to chase them away and not dwell on them.” He turned and grabbed his Bible off the desk and thumbed through some pages. “In James, the scriptures say, ‘Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Draw nigh to God, and He will draw nigh to you.’”

  He glanced back at Luke. “Once you’ve forgiven, continue to resist Satan and don’t allow thoughts of bitterness or hurt to creep back in.”

  Luke considered all that the pastor said. He could see his problem had been continuing to dwell on the situation with Rachel when he should have given it over to God. He just had to choose to forgive her and then refuse to think about the offense again. Could he do that?

  What choice did he have? If he wanted God’s forgiveness—and he did more than anything—then he had to forgive Rachel.

  “I understand now. I may have forgiven in the past, but I kept thinking of how much I was hurt—and that made me angry.”

  The pastor nodded. “You kept taking the offense off God’s shoulder and putting it back on yours. Give your burden to him, and then forget about it. Don’t let the enemy talk you into shouldering it again.”

  Luke smiled. “You make everything sound so easy.”

  A melancholy look draped the pastor’s face, making Luke wonder what he struggled with. Pastor Taylor shook his head. “It’s not easy, but God gives us the grace to do it. And remember, refusing to forgive hurts you more than the people you’re upset with.”

  Luke nodded, and for the first time, he felt he had the power to conquer his pain.

  “Would you like me to pray with you?”

  “Yep, I would.”

  Ten minutes later, Luke walked out of the pastor’s house feeling freer than he had in years. He still wanted to get alone with God, but he knew now that he could forgive Rachel and let go of the past.

  ***

  Carly followed the other brides upstairs. She’d miss Mrs. Hamilton’s cooking when she left here—that was for certain. Her stomach ached from chicken and dumplings, green beans, applesauce, and rolls that the boardinghouse owner had made for supper. And then there was the peach pie. Mmm ...

  At the top of the stairs, Miss Bennett stopped suddenly and pivoted, crossing her arms over her chest. Miss O’Neil almost ran into her but sidestepped in time to move past her.

  “I’m telling you both now that I’ll be marrying the marshal, so you’d better decide what you’re going to do.” Miss Bennett lifted her chin to emphasize her point.

  Carly walked up the two stairs to the landing, not wanting to give the snooty woman the benefit of looking down on her. “Just what makes you think you’ll win?”

  “I can cook and sew better than the both of you put together, that’s why.”

  “Aye, ’tis true. I can’t cook a’tall.” Miss O’Neil backed toward her bedroom door. “But you can’t know who the marshal will choose.”

  “That’s right. I noticed he didn’t pick your shirt.” Carly glared at the blond, wondering why she was siding with the Irish girl. “Maybe the marshal don’t even like blonds.”

  “Well, we shall see. I’m just giving y’all fair warning. I do not intend to lose this competition.” Miss Bennett’s countenance changed swiftly, and it looked as if a wave of uncertainty washed over her face. “I simply can’t lose.” She spun around, skirts swishing, enveloping Carly and Miss O’Neil in the scent of lilacs. She hurried into her room and slammed the door.

  Miss O’Neil jumped. The paleness of her face matched the white wall trim. Her green eyes looked as big as the buttons on Bertha Boyd’s dresses. Carly felt an uncharacteristic desire to comfort the girl. Though they were both competitors for the same prize, she felt an odd kinship to the other brides in spite of Miss Bennett’s outburst. “Don’t pay her no mind. We got ever’ bit as good a chance at winnin’ as her.”

  Miss O’Neil nodded, but the look of concern didn’t leave her eyes. “Good evening.”

  The bedroom door shut quietly, and Carly continued down the wide hall to her room. Mrs. Hamilton had done a nice job decorating the boardinghouse, giving the place a homey
feel. A hurricane lamp sat on top of a lacy tablecloth, bathing the dim hall in a soft light. The scents of the delicious meal still lingered, even upstairs, reminding her she’d eaten too much. This was the nicest home she’d ever been in. If only she never had to leave this place.

  She reached for her door and paused, knowing her thoughts were foolish. This was a temporary stop. But she’d grown to like the little town and its people. If only she could somehow find a job, maybe she could stay here awhile. Grinning at the thought, she stepped into the room, and a whiff of something odd hit her in the face. Smoke?

  Her gaze dashed around the room for the source. The door slammed shut behind her, and she whirled around, her heart jumping into her throat.

  “Howdy, sis. You’re a hard gal to track down.”

  She glared at her brother. How in the world had he found her? She tried to look relaxed though she felt anything but that. “What are you doing here, Ty?”

  He sucked in a puff of his cigarette and then leaned casually against the wall and blew smoke rings. “Lookin’ for my sister. I am responsible for ya.”

  “Not anymore. You left me for dead after that stage robbery.”

  He shrugged. “What was I s’posed to do if you were dead? Didn’t see no reason to get caught tryin’ to fetch your body.”

  She huffed out an angry sigh. “I can see how much I mean to you. I ain’t even worth a decent burial.”

  Tyson gave her the charming grin that made many a naive woman swoon, but it was wasted on her. “Now, what’cha gettin’ your petticoats in a twist for? You ain’t dead.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’ll thank you not to mention my unmentionables. And what if I had been lyin’ in that stage, bleeding and in need of a doctor? You didn’t bother to check.”

  He pushed away from the wall with a menacing glare and flicked the cigarette onto the carpet. “You ain’t dead, so just hush up all this chatter before someone hears.” A twisted grin pulled at his mouth. “And don’t you look purty all gussied up like some schoolmarm.”

  Carly stomped on the cigarette butt before it could burn the carpeting that covered the center of the floor. She picked up the stub, stalked to the window, and flicked the butt outside. Marshal Davis stood on the street beside the bank, talking to two women. If only she could get his attention—but then what? She may not like her brother, but she didn’t want him shot, and if the marshal jailed him, Ty would for sure rat on her. On the other hand, her brother was a keen shooter, and if the marshal got mortally wounded, it would ruin all her plans. How was she going to get rid of Ty before he spoiled everything?

  “The marshal has a wanted poster with your likeness on it.” She crossed her arms and pivoted back to face him. “You cain’t stay here, you know.”

  He strode past her and flopped on her bed, making it creak under his weight. He didn’t bother to remove his dirty boots from the quilt that Mrs. Hamilton had probably spent months making. “I can do anything I want.”

  Carly bit the inside of her cheek, battling both anger and desperation. “You’re not concerned about the poster?”

  He shrugged. “Those drawings ain’t too good.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “Pretty slick move of yours, pretending to be that other gal on that stage.”

  Carly tensed. If Ty knew she was impersonating Ellie Blackstone, who else did? “How do you know about that?”

  “Read the story in the Joplin newspaper. It said Ellie Blackstone had survived and was traveling on to Lookout, Texas, to be a mail-order bride, but another unknown woman was near death. I ’membered that name from when I put you on the stage, so I snuck in the doctor’s office one night to get you.” A smirk tugged at his lips. “Imagine my surprise when it weren’t you but that other gal. I put two and two together, and here I am.”

  Carly’s heart jumped like a horse clearing a creek. How had the paper known where she was going? She didn’t remember telling the lawman anything but her name. Then she realized what her brother had said and felt the skin on her face tighten. “Ellie Blackstone is alive?”

  Ty shrugged. “Don’t know. She was wounded bad. I imagine she’s dead by now.”

  Sinking down on the vanity stool, she considered what it would mean to her if the woman wasn’t dead. She could show up here any day.

  “I don’t know what your game is here, but I noticed this little town has a nice-sized bank—and only one lawman. We could make off with a haul.”

  So Ty had been scoping out the town. That didn’t surprise her. He might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she couldn’t fault his thorough planning before a robbery. “I’m not helpin’ you rob that bank.”

  He sat up and stared at her, brows lifted. “Don’t sass me. You know I don’t like it.”

  Carly’s gaze drifted toward the door. She could probably get there before him, but then what? Ty wasn’t beyond hurting anyone to get what he wanted—and that included her. He might act the caring brother, but he only had one goal: to take what he wanted. She couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to Mrs. Hamilton. The woman had been kind, and Carly had begun to actually like her.

  “Don’t even think about crossing me, Carly. I don’t like hurtin’ ya, but I will if ’n ya force me to.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to form a plan.

  “Tell me what your scam is. I want in on it.”

  “My plan hasn’t exactly succeeded.” Otherwise she would have been long gone, and he’d never have found her.

  Ty grinned and leaned back against her pillow with his hands behind his head. “That’s because I’m the brains of the Payton gang. You need me.”

  “We’re not a gang. At least I’m no longer part of it.”

  Ty pursed his lips and stared at the ceiling as if something was on his mind.

  Carly walked over to the bed and leaned on the bedpost. “Did something happen to Emmett and Floyd?”

  Ty sat up cross-legged on the bed. “Emmett got himself killed in that stage robbery, and Floyd found out his ma was dying and went home.”

  “You let him go?” Carly found that hard to believe, knowing all that Floyd knew about her brother’s shenanigans.

  Ty shrugged. “I thought about shooting ’im for leavin’ me, but he’s the only man I trust. I reckon once his ma dies he’ll come back. What else could he do? He ain’t done an honest day’s work his whole life.”

  “Well, he’ll never think to look for you down here in Texas.”

  “Neither will them lawmen what’s after me.” He chuckled. “Gotta hand it to you, I never expected you was smart enough to take care of yourself.”

  Carly scowled at him. No, she could cook and do his gang’s wash and even help in a robbery, but she wasn’t smart enough to fend for herself. She’d forgotten how much she disliked being with her brother. How he continually belittled her as if she were nothing more than a maggot.

  She strode to the window again and saw Jack outside, throwing a stick for that ugly yellow dog to fetch. If she could just get her attention—

  “Whatever you’re thinkin’, don’t. I’ve seen all the pretty gals what live here and that lady and her kid. I’d hate for any of ’em to get hurt because ya did something stupid.”

  “What is it you want?”

  “I want to know what you had planned when ya came here.”

  Carly sighed. What did it matter now? Her plan had failed. “I came here pretending to be Ellie Blackstone. She told me on the stage she was comin’ here to marry the town marshal. I thought if I took her place, I might weasel up close to the marshal and find out about payroll shipments.”

  A glimmer sparked in Ty’s blue eyes. “And?”

  She shrugged. “And nothin’. I even searched his office once when he was gone. Nothing. No payroll shipment information of any kind.”

  “That sounds a bit odd with him being the only protection in this town.”

  “Either he doesn’t know about any, or there aren�
��t any in this area, or...” She wasn’t sure if she wanted to share this thought.

  “Or what?” He slid off the bed and crossed the room, standing off to the side of the window.

  She shrugged. “It’s just a guess, but maybe he keeps them in his pocket or at his house.”

  “Hmm. Could be.” Ty leaned against the wall and crossed his boot over his ankle. “Reckon it wouldn’t be any trouble to search his house. Where’s it at?”

  Carly pinched her mouth shut. Hadn’t she told him enough? If Ty didn’t find the information in the house, he might shoot Luke to get it—and she didn’t want that to happen. Sometime, somehow, she’d started liking the people of Lookout. She knew Luke was suspicious of her, but he was so kind to Jack and that dumb dog. She never should have let her defenses down, because now her brother could use them against her.

  Ty suddenly grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Where’s the marshal’s house?”

  She glanced out the window, hoping someone had seen him. Ty must have realized the same thing, because he let go and stepped back, but his hand slid to his gun handle, letting her know he meant business.

  “It’s next door. That little house just west of the boardinghouse.”

  “I’ll scout it out tomorrow.” Ty pulled his gun and waved it in Carly’s face. “You just keep quiet about me. If word gets out I’m here, someone’s gonna get hurt. Maybe that cute little kid.”

  Carly glanced out the window again, and her heart jolted. Jack was staring up at her.

  CHAPTER 27

  Jack threw the stick and stared up at Miss Blackstone’s window again. She was sure she’d seen someone in the room—a man to be exact.

  But having a man in a woman’s room was against her ma’s rules.