Rocky Mountain Redemption

by Lisa J. Flickinger

  “Don’t bother looking like a victim.” Daniel tossed his head to remove the lock of hair that had pulled from the leather thong at the nape of his neck. “If you’d complied, the whole thing would have gone easier. You might even have enjoyed it.” He smirked and slowly slid on his leather gloves.

  Isabelle tightened her arms to still their trembling. How could Daniel be so calm? “What will my father think of his golden boy now”—the words caught in her throat and then spilled out—“now that you’ve done this?” A sob wrenched from her chest. “He will never forgive you.”

  Daniel leaned forward and gripped Isabelle’s chin, pushing her head against the seat back. “He won’t have anything to forgive me for, because you won’t tell him.”

  As Daniel’s foul breath assaulted Isabelle’s nostrils, she twisted her head to break his grip. He laughed before digging his gloved fingers further into the flesh on either side of her jaw. “Let me go,” she pleaded.

  “I will,” he hissed, “but not before we have an understanding. You will not breathe a word of what went on in this carriage to anyone.”

  If Daniel thought Isabelle would keep his dirty secret, he was mistaken. Even if she tried, her parents would know something had happened the minute they saw her. “Let me go.” She pushed at Daniel’s chest.

  He pressed closer. “Pardon, I didn’t hear you.”

  The pain was shifting to her lower back as her stomach rolled and threatened to spill its contents. “Let me go,” she ground out again.

  “Do I have your word?” Daniel’s bleak eyes, shot with red streaks, bore into hers.

  “Why wouldn’t I tell my parents? They deserve to know what kind of a man you are and what you’ve done.”

  “Are you certain? How would you explain your presence in the carriage without the delightful Kittie as a chaperone?”

  Shame burned its way across Isabelle’s chest. Why had she let Daniel convince her to get into the carriage?

  “Perhaps we could discuss the time you chose to meet me along the river for a picnic—alone.”

  It was true. Isabelle had betrayed her parents’ trust by letting them believe she was with Kittie and her brothers.

  “Or they might be interested to hear about our luncheon at the Diller last week.”

  Isabelle had excused herself from making calls with Mother by claiming she had a headache only to sneak out and meet Daniel downtown.

  “Stop.” Finally twisting from Daniel’s grip, Isabelle buried her face in her hands. She was a liar. She’d deceived her parents for weeks. Why would they believe anything she told them?

  “You’ve been teasing me for months.”

  It wasn’t true. The attention Daniel had given Isabelle had made her feel special, but she never imagined he would take the liberty to—

  “All those coy looks from under your lashes, the stolen kisses in the gazebo on the back lawn, I knew what they really meant. We’ll be married before the summer’s end. There’s no need to tell anyone. My sweet.”

  The endearment sounded more like a curse and curdled the contents of Isabelle’s stomach. She would never marry a monster like Daniel. Isabelle dove for the carriage door.

  Daniel leaped off the bench and grabbed a fistful of her hair. Her head snapped back. Her boots scraped on the carriage floor, and pain sliced across her scalp as he pulled her into his lap. Her skin crawled at the contact.

  Wrapping his arms around her waist, he spat into her ear. “We’ll arrive at the Allen’s in a few minutes. As I said, make yourself presentable.”

  * * *

  She opened her eyes, forced herself to take in her surroundings. Not the carriage. Miss Sophie’s parlor. She was safe. “I don’t think you’ll understand, but trust me, what Daniel did was unforgivable.” Nor did Isabelle want to tell Miss Sophie about the shame that scorched its way through the knowledge of Isabelle’s part in the incident.

  “Nothing is unforgivable, Isabelle. I may not understand, but I think you should tell me regardless. Then we can figure out what to do when Daniel and your father arrive.”

  Why not? It wasn’t as if it mattered. As Preach had said, she was not an innocent, a woman who would never make a fitting wife for a pastor.

  Miss Sophie sat quietly as Isabelle recounted Daniel’s arrival in Seattle and his subsequent wooing. Her face paled at the telling of his attack in the carriage the night of the May Ball.

  “My dear, I’m sorry.” Tears dripped from Miss Sophie’s eyes as she patted Isabelle’s arm. “It must have been so difficult for you.”

  Isabelle’s chest warmed at the understanding in Miss Sophie’s voice, even if Isabelle didn’t deserve it. She dropped her head. “I shouldn’t have encouraged his attention.”

  “Dearest, whether you encouraged him or not, Daniel should never have—”

  “But I met him alone without a chaperone several times. I lied to my parents. I had been teasing him for months.”

  Miss Sophie dropped her voice to a whisper. “So you think it’s your fault Daniel raped you?”

  Isabelle gasped. “Raped me? That’s a vicious word, Miss Sophie. I wouldn’t consider what Daniel did to me rape.”

  “Because you invited his attack?”

  “I did not invite his attack!" Miss Sophie was mistaken. “I would do anything to take the evening back.” How many times had Isabelle reimagined the May Dance when she did not ascend the steps into the carriage with Daniel?

  “Then why do you think you’re responsible for Daniel’s behavior?”

  “I shouldn’t have gone without Kittie. I knew it was against my parents’ wishes.”

  “That’s true, but why are you responsible for what Daniel did?”

  “I don’t think he meant to do it. He had too much to drink before he arrived.”

  “So that night, the carriage went directly to the Allen’s home?”

  “No.” She shook her head, remembering. “When we left, we drove toward the lake.”

  “Why do you think that was?”

  The Allens lived only a ten-minute drive from Isabelle’s home. Why had Daniel and Isabelle headed in the opposite direction? “You think Daniel planned to seduce me?”

  “Rape, dear.” Miss Sophie clutched Isabelle’s forearm. “Daniel raped you.”

  Raped? Was that why Isabelle’s heart had never stopped hurting? Why she hadn’t been able to sleep the night through since it had happened? The tremors, the headaches, the nausea, they weren’t, as the doctor implied, because she was hysterical?

  Isabelle pressed her palms to her eyes and leaned forward. Daniel’s attack wasn’t her fault. Had it really never been her fault?

  Miss Sophie rubbed Isabelle’s back as the tears coursed down her palms and spilled onto her lap.

  “As I said, nothing is unforgivable, Isabelle. I suspect, my dear, the situation with Daniel will provide plenty of opportunity to offer forgiveness. The same forgiveness Jesus extends to each one of us.”

  Chapter 16

  Preach ran the stairs to Miss Sophie’s front door two at a time. The sooner he cleared up the misunderstanding in Isabelle’s thinking, the better. Josephine had waylaid him at the church, showing him the gewgaws she and the other ladies had made during the afternoon. After he’d asked about Isabelle for the third time, her cheeks had colored, and she’d admitted Isabelle and Miss Sophie had left a half hour earlier.

  The glow of a lantern peeked through the front drapes. Miss Sophie was home. Hopefully Isabelle was here, too. He rapped on the door. A few moments later, heels clicked across the floor, and the door cracked open.

  “Preach,” Miss Sophie said, “I wasn’t expecting you. What brings you to town during the week?”

  “Is Isa—”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you if you moved Reuben’s tool chest. I couldn’t find it in the shed yesterday when I needed a hammer to hang a picture.”

  “No, I left it on the table where it was.”

  “Are you sure? I haven’t seen it si
nce you used it.”

  So the thief or thieves had moved on from the camp to defenseless widows. How low would they stoop? Preach would ask around in town. Maybe somebody will have noticed something unusual. “I’m sure, but I can take a look if you like. Miss Sophie, is Isabelle—I mean Miss Franklin—here? I need to talk to her. Josephine said the two of you left the church together.”

  “We did, and she is.” Miss Sophie looked over her shoulder. “However, Isabelle is indisposed right now. I’m sorry, if you could come back later, that would be better.” The door opening narrowed.

  Preach extended his palm to keep the door from closing. “Is something wrong? Where’s Isabelle?”

  “She’s here. She’s simply not of a mind to speak—”

  “Miss Sophie, please. It’s important that I talk to her. I’ve caused an awful misunderstanding. Would you ask her if I might—?”

  “If you might what?” Isabelle’s voice rasped.

  Was she ill?

  Miss Sophie turned from the crack in the door. “Isabelle, I don’t think you’re in any condition to speak with Preach.”

  “Unfortunately, I have nothing to hide from him.”

  Miss Sophie let the door fall open, and Preach stepped inside. Isabelle stood by the dining table. Bloodshot eyes and blotched cheeks, she’d been crying again. Was he the cause of it? If it would do any good, he would lay a whoopin’ on his own self.

  Isabelle made no attempt to smile as she stared at him through wet lashes. “What misunderstanding did you wish to speak to me about, Mr. Bailey? Please make it quick, though. I can assure you, I am not up to listening to another sermon.”

  Snoop had been right. Isabelle felt chastised by Sunday’s message. If only Preach could wrap his arms around her tiny frame and hold her. He would kiss every tear as it rolled down her cheek. He banished the intrusion to his thoughts. As much as it might be necessary, remaining just friends with Isabelle was proving harder than he thought it would be.

  Isabelle’s shoulders jerked as a long steam whistle split the air. Two short blasts followed.

  Her gaze sought Miss Sophie’s, her eyes wide.

  “It’s not the train whistle,” Sophie said.

  Preach reached for the door knob. “Someone’s hurt. The whistle’s from our camp. I’m sorry, but I can’t talk now. I have to get back.”

  If he hadn’t left to speak with Isabelle, he would have been at the camp to help. As it was, he was six miles away. Any injury in the bush meant a man was miles from the nearest doctor. It could mean his life.

  “I’ll come with you.” Isabelle sprinted to the door and tugged a shawl from a hook on the wall.

  “You should stay here, I’ll be working the horse into a lather as it is.”

  “Isabelle, you should stay with me,” Miss Sophie said.

  Isabelle curved her hand around Preach’s forearm. The nerves tingled as warmth spread up his arm and across his chest.

  “Please let me go with you. Maybe I can help.”

  Preach couldn’t resist. He wrapped his hand over Isabelle’s narrow fingers and pressed them. More warm tingles slid up his bicep. “It’ll be rough going. Are you sure?”

  Isabelle lifted her chin, chocolate eyes peered into his. “I want to help if I can.”

  Forty-five minutes of interspersed gallop, fast trot, and Preach running beside the mare, brought Isabelle and him near the camp yard. There’d been no sign of anyone on the trip in, nor had the steam whistle blown again. As they rounded the last corner, Preach’s stomach jolted at the scene.

  Ten or more men milled near a wagon parked alongside the skidway where piled logs towered over their heads. A ragged length of canvas covered a still form stretched out in the back of the wagon.

  That’s why the alarm hadn’t sounded more than once. There’d been no need. “I’ll drop you at the cook shack,” he said to Isabelle over his shoulder.

  “Go to the men. They’ll need you. I’ll figure out how to stable the horse.”

  Preach scanned the group. Snoop was among them—not that he wished the man dead.

  Ernie reached out and gripped Will’s shoulder. Will’s chin dropped to his chest before his back shuddered twice. Was it Horace under the canvas?

  “Are you sure?” Preach asked Isabelle.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Preach pulled the reigns and halted the horse. A couple of the men looked over as he descended before urging Isabelle on with the mare. Lord, give me the words these men need to hear.

  As Preach neared the group, the others stepped aside to allow him next to the wagon. Preach lifted the corner of the tarpaulin. With his mouth open as though he were going to tell a joke, Horace stared up at the cloudless sky. Preach turned to Will. “I’m sorry, son.”

  Will swiped at an eye with his fist. “It’s my fault, Preach. I killed my own pa.” A sob wracked Will’s chest, and Ernie put his arm around Will’s shoulders.

  “What happened?”

  “It wasn’t his fault.” Snoop tipped his jaw and crossed his arms. “Anybody knows logging the woods has always been dangerous.”

  For half a cent, Preach would lay Snoop out on the ground again for repeating his words from earlier so glibly, but this wasn’t the place, nor the time. Of course Preach had known it wasn’t Will’s fault. He’d taught the boy himself. Both Will and his pa were careful, more careful than most.

  Preach shot Snoop a warning to keep quiet before dropping his voice to a gruff whisper. “What happened, Will?”

  “The tree was leaning north, and pa figured we should drop her to the east…”

  Ernie snugged his arm around Will’s shoulders urging him to continue.

  Will looked up, a trail of tears shining on both cheeks. “I was wedging it like he said when it cracked up the stump. It twisted and broke away so fast, he didn’t see it coming.” A howl escaped Will’s throat. “The thing must have thrown him fifteen feet.” Will buried his face in the crook of his elbow as his head shook in silent cries.

  The whole lot of them knew injury or death was a possibility every time they stepped out of the bunkhouse. Last year they’d lost old man Mackenzie when a log had crushed him. Losing a man didn’t seem to get any easier, though. Will would miss his pa something terrible. Lord what do I say?

  Preach cupped the back of Will’s head, and the boy fell against his chest, shoulder’s heaving. Several of the men looked away. “He was a good man, your pa.”

  Will’s shoulder’s shook before he stepped back and sought Preach’s gaze. “I should have known better, Preach. It was a matter of pride dropping that tree where we wanted. It was leaning too far.”

  “The trees hold their secrets. You know that. Nothing you could have done. Your pa’s in a better place, now.” Preach’s stomach knotted at the lie.

  Will brushed at his cheeks as Snoop snorted.

  Every one of them knew Horace had no use for religion of any kind. Preach had tried to share his faith with the man on several trips into the bush. Each time, Horace had countered with a joke about pastors and their failings. Alluding to heaven was just something you were supposed to say an occasions like this one—true or not. “Snoop, save your opinions.”

  “You ought to be more honest, being a pastor and all. There’s no way Horace is in heaven, if it even exists.”

  For the love of—

  Ernie stepped forward and pressed his palm against Snoop’s chest. “The boy’s hurting, Snoop. Leave it alone.”

  Snoop’s gaze darted from one man to another. One by one, they looked away or dropped their gazes to the ground. Snoop blinked several times before stepping back.

  “I believe my pa is in heaven.”

  Preach lowered his voice. “We don’t have to discuss it now, son. Your pa’s body is not even cold.”

  “It’s true, Preach,” Will said. “He’s been reading that New Testament you gave him.”

  Preach had given a New Testament to every man in the bunkhouse. But not once had he seen
Horace reading the scriptures. Preach had assumed Horace had either thrown the book away or was using the pages to roll the cigarettes he liked to smoke around the fire in the evenings.

  “He’s been reading it to me at lunch breaks. Told me he was starting to appreciate Jesus. He and his friends weren’t living in a bunkhouse, but the quarters were close. Jesus always had patience, even when the others were acting like fools.”

  Only Horace would have seen Jesus and the disciples that way. “I’m glad to hear he was reading, Will.”

  Straightening his shoulders, Will stepped away from Preach. “I want you to take pa’s funeral.”

  “You’ve got a couple of days to think about it. You should wait and hear what your ma wants.”

  “I know it’s what pa would want, and ma would agree. She and the family will make their way to Stony Creek.”

  Lord, I love these men and consider them part of my flock, as rough as they are, but I don’t have a clue about how to perform a funeral. “It would be my privilege, Will.”

  Joe gave everyone the rest of the day off, and the men hunkered down in the bunkhouse with a couple of bottles to tell stories about Horace and more than likely repeat some of his choicest jokes. Preach had offered to take Horace to the undertaker in town.

  The sun dropped over the crest of Cougar Ridge Mountain long before Preach returned to camp and stabled the horse. Two strange thoroughbreds munched hay in one of the stalls. Someone had company.

  Preach’s boots crunched on the spruce cones scattered on the path leading to the cook shack as he lifted his hat and swiped across his brow. The day had been hours longer than it should have been.

  Preach would miss Horace. The man was good at his job, but he also helped cool the men’s tempers with his humor when fights broke out in the bunkhouse. They’d all miss him.