by Regina Scott
Of course, she might not be alone after all, he reminded himself. Her husband might be buying supplies at one of the tent stores that had sprouted like weeds after a good rain. Or perhaps he was dealing with livestock or, like his brothers, was not a believer.
“Yessir, she sure is a pretty gal,” Keith murmured, as if afraid Elijah wouldn’t see that for himself.
Elijah wondered what Mrs. Gilbert must think of her husband noticing other ladies, but when Elijah darted a glance at her, Cassie was still smiling.
“We thought we should point her out to ya, Reverend,” she said with a wink. “It isn’t good for a man to be alone. You ought to go meet her, after the service.”
Elijah sighed. At least they hadn’t spoken loud enough for any of the other worshippers to hear. “The Lord calls some of us to singleness,” he said. “I am one of them.”
Neither of the Gilberts looked convinced, but he was thankful when they didn’t press him on the point. He hadn’t told anyone in the tent city about his lost fiancée, nor did he intend to. And in any case, there was no time to converse further.
He stepped to the makeshift pulpit someone had fashioned out of a long crate with a rectangular board nailed across the top to form a flat surface on which to lay his Bible.
“Good morning, congregation,” he said, “and welcome, those of you who are new, to Boomer Town Chapel. I’m Elijah Thornton, and I’m glad you’re here. I hope you gain encouragement from being among believers.” He paused and looked around at the various members of his little flock, trying not to let his gaze stray to the back again. “I’d like to open our worship with a word of prayer.”
He prayed that the Lord would bless them on this Monday. Three weeks from this day, they would race into the newly opened territory, each in hopes of claiming a homestead. He asked God to supply all their needs, physical and spiritual, to keep them free of greed and to remember to put others ahead of themselves—a tall order, he admitted, when they would soon be competing with one another for the best plots of land.
After his “Amen” had been echoed by those sitting on the benches, he raised his head and said, “While Mr. Gilbert leads us in ‘Beneath the Cross of Jesus,’ I’m going to ask his good wife to pass the collection sack. Now, no one here is wealthy, or I imagine you wouldn’t be with us seeking free land from the United States government.”
There was a chorus of answering chuckles from several of the flock, and even another “Amen” or two.
“So I don’t want anyone to feel obligated to put anything in,” Elijah continued. “But if you can spare a few pennies or a couple of bits, it will enable us to carry on the work of helping the sick and the needy among us.”
It always humbled him to see how many dropped some coin or other into the drawstring sack as it passed from hand to hand down one row and up another. Apparently lack of wealth was no barrier to generous hearts.
Cassie Gilbert returned with the sack and sat down.
“Those of you who have been attending daily know that I save my sermons for Sundays,” he announced. “Instead, on weekdays, we’ve been praying for each other, knowing that wherever two or more are gathered in His name, the Lord is there, listening and wanting to satisfy our needs, and that the job of the church body is to build each other up.”
“Amen,” said the deacon.
“Are there any prayer requests? Let’s hear them, and then we’ll take our petitions to the heavenly throne, knowing He will answer us according to His will.”
A tall, rawboned man with the droopy face of an old hound unfolded himself from the bench, his hat in his hands. “Reverend, I’d be obliged iffen you’d pray for my wife. She’s feelin’ poorly. The trip here was mighty hard on her.”
“We’ll do that, Asa,” Elijah promised. “I’ll come visit, too.”
“Thank ya, Reverend. She’d like that.”
A woman midway back stood then, her face creased with worry. “My son Billy slipped away over the line this morning. Left us a note sayin’ he was going to stake us a claim while the pickin’ was good. I’m so worried the federals are gonna catch ’im and kick ’im out for bein’ a ‘Too-Sooner,’ and penalize the whole family for what he done.”
Like everyone, Elijah knew the law dealt seriously with the “Too-Sooners,” or just “Sooners” as they were called—those who sneaked over the line and thought to hide out on their claims till the opening shot, then hold their lands against all comers. Unlike the “Boomers,” who were those living in the tent cities, waiting obediently for noon on April 22.
“Let’s pray that Billy comes to his senses and returns of his own accord,” Elijah agreed. There were other requests following the first two—anxieties about whether they would be equal to the task of wresting a living out of the prairie, concern over ailing livestock, squabbles among kin. He listened to each one, wondering if the pretty stranger in the back row might make a prayer request, but she did not. A glance showed her still sitting on the back bench, her face tense, her eyes watchful. What was she worried about? Please, Lord, comfort her.
At last, when there were no more requests, he bowed his head and began to pray aloud over each one. Sometimes when he was done praying on a matter, others voiced their own prayers, expanding on his requests or merely repeating them, but today no one did. “And now,” he concluded, “we’ll just be silent for a moment, knowing that there are often needs too sensitive to say aloud, needs that You want to meet, Father…” Perhaps the female newcomer’s requirements were of that nature.
“Father, in closing, I pray that You will keep us as one body united in purpose, with the goal of building a community united by faith. Bless these people until we meet again.”
It was his custom to shake hands with those who had come, so while everyone was getting to their feet, he moved to the back, hoping to meet the worried-looking woman and find out what was troubling her.
*
Alice had hoped to leave the tent without meeting the preacher. His eyes—what color were they? Brown? No, something lighter; hazel, she decided—simply saw too much. They seemed to pierce through her carefully guarded exterior to her uneasy heart inside. But the garrulous sisters who’d sat next to her had started chattering to her the moment the reverend stopped praying, delaying Alice’s escape.
She’d wanted an atmosphere of worship in which to make her appeal to God, so when she’d spotted the sign in front of the tent announcing services every day, it seemed to be a sign from Heaven. But it went against her resolve to stand and proclaim her prayer request boldly—and didn’t everyone here have the same request anyway? So while Elijah Thornton prayed aloud, Alice prayed silently. Please, Lord, let me win a good plot of land, so it won’t matter if the bank takes our farm in New York, so I won’t be forced to marry Maxwell Peterson to keep my mother from destitution…
There was no polite way to evade shaking the preacher’s hand, she saw that now—short of ducking under the rolled-up tent flaps on the side. The stair-step boys who’d sat in front of her lost no time in doing that, despite a call to halt from their mother. But a well-bred lady would not do such a thing, so Alice resigned herself to the encounter. She would keep it short and be polite but not reveal too much about herself. A person has a right to keep her worries between herself and the Lord, doesn’t she?
The sisters had spotted someone they knew across the tent and had dashed over to greet them, so Alice was spared a further inquisition by the talkative twosome while she stood with the lined-up worshippers filing toward the preacher. Carrie and Cordelia’s departure left Alice directly behind the parents of the boys, and while she awaited her chance to likewise escape, she had an opportunity to study the couple.
The husband radiated irritation. “If you can’t keep the boys in line, Desdemona, maybe I’ll have to start doing it—with my belt,” he muttered to the fretful-looking woman next to him.
The woman was already pale, Alice saw, when the woman turned her face to look up at her husband,
but she went a shade more so at the man’s rumbling threat. “Now, Horace, that’s a long time for young boys to sit still,” she said with a timorous reasonability, but the man was not to be placated.
“It’s the belt, if it happens again,” he hissed.
Alice stiffened behind them. She should say something, Alice knew, but making a scene to protest the man’s harsh threat would only bring her the very notice she was trying to avoid. Her view was not likely to be supported either and would probably result in LeMaster taking reprisal against his wife.
Desdemona’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “But I thought you said we weren’t—” She suddenly clamped her jaw shut and smoothed her features though as Reverend Thornton held out a hand to her husband.
Alice wondered what the woman had been about to ask.
“Good morning, sir,” Elijah Thornton said to Horace LeMaster. “And is this your wife? Thanks for coming to the service. I hope you’ll come back—”
LeMaster ignored the outstretched hand and the hint that he should introduce his wife. “We won’t be comin’ back,” he said, his voice raised, his chin jutting forward at a pugnacious angle. “I just wanted to see if you were as big a hypocrite as the Chaucers said you were.”
Everywhere in the tent, heads turned, and conversation ground to a halt. As Alice watched, Elijah Thornton’s face flushed.
“You—you knew the Chaucers?” he asked, his voice suddenly hoarse.
“I know the Chaucers,” LeMaster corrected him. “They’re right here in the territory, waitin’ to claim homesteads same as you. But unlike you, they didn’t come here from a plantation. They didn’t profit from the war, as you did, because they didn’t turn traitor to the South. The war and the taxes levied against them by their Union conquerors and traitors, like yourself, left them destitute, and they lost their plantation. And you call yourself a Christian? Worse yet, a Christian minister? No, Thornton, we won’t be back.” Taking hold of his wife’s elbow, he steered her around Thornton and out of the tent.
Being from the North, Alice didn’t believe a Union sympathizer from the South was a bad man, but might Thornton be a hypocrite in other ways?
“Wait, sir! Please, can’t we discuss this?” Thornton called after LeMaster, taking a few steps.
The man merely increased his pace.
Copyright © 2014 by Harlequin Books S.A.
ISBN-13: 9781460329450
THE HUSBAND CAMPAIGN
Copyright © 2014 by Regina Lundgren
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
Claiming Their Future
For the Thornton brothers, the Oklahoma Land Rush is the perfect opportunity to finally put down some roots. A new start, a new community—what more could preacher Elijah Thornton need? Not a wife—not after the pain of losing his fiancée. But something draws him to the pretty nurse whose eyes are clouded by trouble.
Only by claiming her own homestead can Alice Hawthorne avoid an unwanted marriage. Even Oklahoma may not be far enough away from New York to escape her past. Yet with courage—and the handsome reverend’s support—can she forge a loving future?
Bridegroom Brothers: True love awaits three siblings in the Oklahoma Land Rush
“I’d be perfectly willing to have those who need care to come to my tent,” Alice went on, “but some of them might not feel up to it, or might have trouble finding me. What do you suggest?”
“Why don’t we team up, Miss Alice? I’ve been visiting those I hear about who are ill, or needing prayer, mostly in the evenings—unless they need me immediately, of course. Or if no one has made a request, I just walk around and talk to folks who are sitting by their tents or wagons. Why don’t we go together?”
“Like making rounds in the hospital,” she said, remembering the times she’d gone around to the wards with the physicians, noting their orders for the patients.
“Exactly. I could pray with them while you treat them.”
Her heart felt light as she smiled up at Elijah. She felt strong and full of purpose. Let’s go together, he’d said. Was it wrong that the words made her think of feelings she’d resolved to abandon in favor of independence?
*
Bridegroom Brothers: True love awaits three siblings in the Oklahoma Land Rush
The Preacher’s Bride Claim—Laurie Kingery,
April 2014
The Horseman’s Frontier Family—Karen Kirst,
May 2014
The Lawman’s Oklahoma Sweetheart—Allie Pleiter,
June 2014
Books by Laurie Kingery
Love Inspired Historical
Hill Country Christmas
The Outlaw’s Lady
*Mail Order Cowboy
*The Doctor Takes a Wife
*The Sheriff’s Sweetheart
*The Rancher’s Courtship
*The Preacher’s Bride
*Hill Country Cattleman
The Preacher’s Bride Claim
*Brides of Simpson Creek
LAURIE KINGERY
makes her home in central Ohio, where she is a “Texan-in-exile.” Formerly writing as Laurie Grant for the Harlequin Historical line and other publishers, she is the author of eighteen previous books and the 1994 winner of a Readers’ Choice Award in the Short Historical category. She has also been nominated for Best First Medieval and Career Achievement in Western Historical Romance by RT Book Reviews. When not writing her historicals, she loves to travel, read, participate on Facebook and Shoutlife and write her blog at www.lauriekingery.com.
THE PREACHER’S BRIDE CLAIM
Laurie Kingery
And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.
—John 8:32
In memory of those lost in the tornadoes that struck Moore and other communities in central Oklahoma in May 2013
And as always, to Tom
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dear Reader
Discussion Questions
Excerpt
Chapter One
April 1, 1889—Boomer Town, Oklahoma Territory
Alice Hawthorne sat down
quietly on an empty bench in the back of the tent church. She’d waited until the little congregation was absorbed in singing “Shall We Gather at the River?” so she could steal in unnoticed. There was a family of six on the long bench ahead of her, but none of them paid any attention to her arrival—except for the shortest of the four stair-step boys. He looked over his shoulder at her, his face full of freckles, a cowlick at the back of his shaggy thatch of hair. When he noticed Alice was watching, he gave her a cheerful, gap-toothed grin. Despite the anxiety constricting her heart like a coiled snake, it was such a comical sight that she couldn’t help but smile back.
“You turn around this instant, Otis Beauregard LeMaster,” his mother hissed at him, without looking to see what or who had distracted her youngest. The boy obediently did so, and Alice was once again alone.
That suited Alice just fine. She hoped to continue to be overlooked among the inhabitants of the tent city as much as possible until the day of the Land Rush, after she had claimed her own 160-acre homestead. Her own and her mother’s, she reminded herself.
It was the first of April. Just twenty-one days until the Unassigned Lands—the lands not claimed by one of the many Indian tribes that now called the Oklahoma Territory home—were opened for settlement by the Indian Appropriations Act signed by President Cleveland. His successor, Benjamin Harrison, had designated noon on April 22 as the moment the settlers could rush in, plant their stakes at the claims of their choice and become real homesteaders.