Brides of Iowa

Leave Me Never
©2011 by Connie Stevens

Revealing Fire
©2011 by Connie Stevens

Scars of Mercy
©2011 by Connie Stevens

Print ISBN 978-1-62836-235-0

eBook Editions:

Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63409-909-7

Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-63409-910-3

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, OH 44683,
www.barbourbooks.com

Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

Printed in the United States of America.

Leave Me Never

Revealing Fire

Scars of Mercy

Leave Me
N
EVER

L
ooking into Mama’s face had always been like looking into a mirror, but not anymore. The skin on Mama’s face hung over her cheekbones, creating gaunt hollows where beauty once resided. Tessa wiped her tears with the hem of her apron. For the first time in months, the lines between her mother’s brows smoothed out. Her struggle was over.

“Mama.” Tessa’s own whisper echoed within the wagon canvas. “Oh Mama, please don’t leave me here. Take me with you.” Brokenness more cruel than anything she’d ever known invaded her heart with an onslaught so brutal she couldn’t remember how to breathe. She straightened out her mother’s fingers and laced them together in a posture of prayer, hoping against hope those fingers would squeeze hers once more. They didn’t.

With leaden legs, Tessa slid to the end of the tailgate and lowered herself to the ground. Dawn had broken, but the morning mist still lingered over the unfamiliar town. Papa hadn’t returned to their rickety wagon all night. Why wasn’t he here? No doubt he drank himself blind again.

God, I need help. I don’t know what to do
.

She forced her eyes to scan her surroundings—for what, she wasn’t sure. The edge of town where Papa left the wagon yesterday didn’t offer much of a vantage point. A giant elm tree and thick underbrush offered meager privacy from the nearest building, the livery. Horses dozed in the corral, uninterested in her plight. The rest of the town seemed set apart, as though a line had been drawn in the dirt that she and her family weren’t permitted to cross.

Farther down the street, a patchwork of brick and board buildings lined up like mourners in a funeral procession. An occasional sign, hitching rail, or picket fence broke the monotony of weathered storefronts, but the silent buildings offered no hint of the people residing within. Was there anybody in this town who could help her do what needed to be done?

Under different circumstances, she might consider this a pretty little town. She moved forward and crossed the space between the wagon and the corral, stopping at the watering trough in front of the livery. Her reflection in the still water startled her. A stranger—weary and disheveled—looked back at her. She dipped her cupped hands into the trough and lifted cool water to her face. With wet fingers she smoothed her hair. The cramped muscles in her back protested as she straightened to look down the street. Papa was nowhere to be seen.

Tessa’s feet balked. Part of her heart was back in the wagon, stilled and unbreathing. Her constant source of unfailing love was now silent. Gentle, uncomplaining Carly Langford, her precious mama, would never call her “honey girl” again.

As she stood anchored in place by her grief, the gradual sights, smells, and sounds of a town awakening from slumber stretched their arms and yawned a greeting to the sun. Frying bacon and fresh-perked coffee wafted on the air. Then a rooster crowed. Strange sounds seeped into her awareness, and she realized it was birds chirping to each other in the trees. Eventually shopkeepers opened their doors to welcome the start of a new day. The comforting music of a town where everything was as it should be.

How could such cheerfulness exist? What was the matter with these people? Tessa wanted to scream for everyone to stop. Didn’t they care that her mama just died?

“Miss?”

Tessa turned.

A tall, dark-haired young man stood behind her. His image wavered through her tears. “Miss, are you all right? Can I call somebody for you?”

She blinked back the tears and drew in the deepest breath she could manage. “A preacher. I need a preacher.”

The stranger took her by the elbow and guided her to the board sidewalk. “Why don’t you sit down here, miss? I’ll go find the preacher and bring him. Can I get you anything?”

Tessa shook her head. The movement felt numbed and disconnected. As soon as she sat, the stranger strode away down the street. A slight breeze lifted the wisps of hair that lay along her cheek. “Oh God, I wanted to go with Mama. Why couldn’t You take me, too?”

The rooster crowed again. A pair of little boys ran down the boardwalk, their laughter trailing strangely in their wake.

The wide doors of the livery opened, first one then the other. A wiry, whiskered man in a leather apron propped a rock in front of each door. He returned inside but reappeared a few moments later, dragging Papa by the arm. “Get on outta here. This ain’t no hotel for drunks.”

Papa stumbled over his feet, hitting the dust with a thud. His half-empty whiskey bottle broke on impact. Curses spewed from him as he got to his knees, contaminating the air with vile oaths. He squinted in her direction. “Tessa! Tessa, that you?”

Tessa squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could block out the sound of her father’s voice. Where was he when Mama needed him? “Yes, Papa, I’m here.”

Papa staggered to his feet and kicked the remaining shards of broken glass. “What’re you doin’ just sittin’ there, girl? Get me some breakfast.”

A dull throb at the base of her skull caused Papa’s demands to ring in her ears. “There is no breakfast, Papa. Nothing but the corn dodgers left from yesterday.”

Storm clouds built behind her father’s eyes. “Whadja say to me?” His voice slurred, and his watery, bloodshot eyes narrowed into slits. “You miserable little brat. How dare ya talk that way to your papa!”

He drew his hand back and slapped her across the face, sending her sprawling into the dirt. The metallic taste of blood touched her tongue, but she didn’t care. Nothing Papa did mattered now. Her heart was numb.

Papa lurched over to where she lay in the dirt. He grabbed her arm and yanked her up then backhanded her again, knocking her backward against the livery door.

“Hey! Stop that!” The unfamiliar voice seeped through her daze. “What’s the matter with you, mister?” The same stranger who told her he’d get the preacher stood before her. “Miss? Are you all right?”

She blinked and realized two men held Papa up by his arms and that another older man stood beside the dark-haired stranger.

“Are you all right, miss?” The older gentleman with thin, silver hair echoed the younger man as he bent to peer at her.

What difference did it make? “Yes, I’m all right.”

“I’m Pastor Witherspoon. Gideon here says you need a preacher.”

Gideon? Tessa slid her gaze to the tall young man. His dark scowl was fixed on Papa, but when he turned to look at Tessa, his eyes immediately softened into something foreign. Is that what sympathy looked like?

“Do you know that man?” His voice was low and even. The young man’s finger pointed at Papa, who stood with splayed legs, swaying as though the breeze would blow him over.

“He’s my father.”

“Where is your mother, child?” Pastor Witherspoon touched Tessa’s hand.

In order to answer the preacher, she would have to give voice to words she didn’t want to speak. Loathsome, ugly words. But the preacher awaited her answer.

“Mama … Mama’s in the wagon. She’s …” Tessa couldn’t allow the word to cross her lips, as though holding it back would erase the reality. If she didn’t speak it, it simply wasn’t so.

The man called Gideon strode across the yard in front of the livery to where the wagon sat partially concealed by low-hanging branches from the elm and drew aside the flap. He stepped up and leaned inside the canvas then exited slowly. “She’s dead, Preacher.”

“Dead!” Papa roared. “I told you!” He pointed his finger at Tessa. “This is your doin’. It’s your fault. If it weren’t for you, I’d still have a wife. You killed her, sure as I’m standin’ here. Your mother’s death is on your head, you no-good, miserable—”

“That’s enough!” The dark-haired man drew back a fist.

Before he could throw the punch, the preacher grabbed his arm. “Gideon!” Pastor Witherspoon turned him away from Papa. “This young lady needs our help now, and her mother needs a Christian burial. Let’s get busy and do what needs doing.”

Gideon nodded, cast another withering glance at Tessa’s father, and motioned to the livery man in the leather apron. “Cully, can you take him back behind the barn and let him sleep it off?”

“I ain’t sleepin’ now. I got things to do.” The familiar belligerence of Papa’s tone stung Tessa’s ears. She knew better than to believe these men could change his mind.

Pastor Witherspoon stepped forward. “Sir, your wife’s funeral is going to take place in just a little while. Why don’t you go clean up and get some coffee, and when we’re ready for the burial, you can—”

“I don’t have time for no buryin’.” He threw a glare at Tessa and pointed his chin at her. “
She
can do that. I got business.” He shrugged off the men on either side of him. “Leave me alone. I got things to do.”

He stalked down the street, leaving the small group staring after him.

All except Gideon. He looked at Tessa with such sympathy and compassion that she nearly lost control of what little resolve she had left.

She looked away and stiffened her spine. Papa would be drunk the rest of the day. It was up to her to see to it her mother was treated with the respect and caring she deserved. “Pastor, can you help me bury my mother?”

The elderly preacher took her hand and patted it. “Of course, child.”

Gideon stepped forward. “I’ll take care of it, Pastor. If you can look after Miss …”

“Langford,” Tessa supplied. “Tessa Langford. My father is Doyle Langford, and Mama … Mama’s name is Carly.”

The preacher turned to Tessa. “Come with me, child. Mrs. Dunnigan at the boardinghouse will give you something to eat and a place to freshen up.”

Tessa hesitated. “I have no money. I can’t even pay for a decent burial for my mother.”

Pastor Witherspoon waved his hand and nudged her ahead of him like the declaration of her poverty wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before.