Bending over, he brushed a kiss on her cheek.
“Aye,” Caitrin said, breathless. “I do believe I’m back.”
“And cookies in the shape of rabbits,” Rosie continued. “We could sprinkle sugar on top.”
“I never have been crazy about rabbits,” Seth mused. “If they get into your garden, that’s the end of the lettuce, the beans, the carrots—you name it.”
“I’m talking about rabbit
cookies
,” Rosie protested. “It’s for the spring celebration. Each child could eat a cookie after the hunt for the colored eggs.”
“Green eggs,” Seth repeated, his voice less than buoyant.
“Somehow that doesn’t sound too appetizing to me.”
“Just the shells would be green, silly. Hard-boiled eggs with colored shells. Have you been listening to me at all, Seth Hunter?”
“Well—” he scratched the back of his neck—“I got sidetracked back when you started talking about those confounded rabbits.”
Caitrin could hardly believe she was actually going to the prayer meeting with Jack Cornwall. Rosie had said she’d been all but tongue-tied when she started to speak to Seth about the notion of chaperoning. As it turned out, Seth already had made up his mind to see if he could get the Cornwalls over to the meeting. He thought a time of united prayer with the rest of the townsfolk might heal some of the trouble.
When Seth permitted Chipper to spend the evening with his Gram at the Cornwalls’ camp down on Bluestem Creek, Caitrin all but smelled victory. God had somehow begun to heal some of the terrible rifts among the people in the little town. It was a miracle! Lucy was feeling well enough again to bake cinnamon buns. Sheena had not lost her baby after all, and she genuinely appreciated Lucy’s offer of help. Chipper finally had been allowed to spend time with his beloved grandmother. And Seth had agreed to this outing with Jack. Caitrin’s heart fairly sang.
“Tonight I’m going to ask Seth for permission to build a soddy,”
Jack told Caitrin in a low voice as they followed the Hunters. “I’ll put it up next to the smithy. That way I’ll be near Lucy in case she needs me.”
“I think he’ll agree to it.”
“Mama’s not keen on the idea. Ever since the trouble with Mrs. O’Toole, she won’t even set foot outside our camp.”
“I noticed she hadn’t been up to the mercantile.”
“She blames herself for the near loss of that baby, but she’s turned her anger outward. Says everyone in Hope is dead set against us. Lucy bears the brunt of her temper, but I take my fair share, too. Mama’s still talking to me about leaving.”
“But you’ve just put up the forge.”
“She doesn’t feel welcome here. She reckons folks treat her worse than an old stray dog.”
Caitrin could see the prayer meeting area clearly now. A wagon had been pulled over near the creek, and lanterns were hung on strings stretched from one tree to another. People were already gathering in the shadows. She knew her conversation with Jack would have to end in moments, and she could hardly bear it. This was the first time they’d been able to talk freely, man to woman, and with hardly a spark of tension between them.
“I don’t like to think of you going away,” she said. “I’ve been praying for the troubles here to end, but my thoughts keep turning to that dreadful Bill Hermann and his quest to take you back to the trial in Missouri.”
Jack shook his head. “I won’t go.”
“How can you avoid it if he brings a subpoena?”
“There’s nothing to pin on me.” He slowed his steps. “Listen, Caitrin, don’t tell folks about Bill Hermann and the Easton lynching, okay? That’s my business.”
“All right, Jack. Whatever you say.”
They had stopped walking, and he was looking at her with those depthless gray eyes. She could hardly breathe as she gazed up at the man. The breeze toyed with the ends of his black string tie and feathered his thick hair. Lantern light gilded his high cheekbones.
Moonlight silvered the bridge of his nose. Standing so close she could feel the heat of the forge still radiating from his skin, Caitrin prayed she would have the grace to behave like a lady this night.
The strongest urge poured through her veins to grab Jack’s hand and race across the prairie grass until they came to a place that was completely free of strife. Completely silent. Completely alone.
And there she would speak to him her every thought, listen to the music of his deep voice, and dance with him unattended by any but the cleansing wind and the presence of God himself.
“Do you want me to build a soddy here, Caitrin?” he asked, lifting a hand to her hair. “I’m asking you again. Do you want me to stay in Hope?”
She pressed her lips against his sleeve. “Aye,” she said. “I do.”
“I’ve always spoken what’s on my mind, Caitrin. You’ve known that from the start.”
“’Tis one reason I care for you as I do.”
“Well, here’s what I’ve been thinking. If I can get that soddy built, and if Lucy keeps on feeling good, and if the O’Tooles can come around to accepting us, and if Seth—”
“Are you two coming?” Rosie called. Turned sideways against the light, her silhouette clearly revealed the swell of the child within her. “Caitie, will you please explain to Seth about this spring party we’re going to put on? He hasn’t heard a word I’ve said past green eggs and rabbits. Oh, look at the crowd around the wagon! Is Rolf going to do all the preaching? I hope he’s been practicing on some new subjects. I’ve about had my fill of
veeds
.”
“Sure, he was speaking the word of the Lord that Sunday, Rosie.”
Caitrin walked beside Jack toward the wagon. “’Twas a message we all needed to hear.”
“The weeds have grown up mighty high in town,” Jack said.
“Let’s hope they don’t try to choke us tonight.”
“We’ll be all right.” The tension in Seth’s voice belied his words. “You said Sheena’s aware of this arrangement, didn’t you, Miss Murphy?”
Caitrin nodded. “I’ve told my sister, but I’m not sure Jimmy knows.”
“The Lord wants us to place ourselves in his trustworthy hands and rely on him for whatever lies ahead,” Jack said. “The purpose of this meeting is to pray for rain, and I suspect Jimmy will honor that.”
“Look, the O’Tooles are coming across the bridge, Caitie,” Rosie said. “Is Sheena fit enough to walk?”
“A bit.” Caitrin slipped her hand through the crook of Jack’s arm again. “Jimmy’s helping her. I don’t think he’s seen us.”
The two couples spread a quilt near the brightly lit wagon. The crowd began to quiet, individuals taking their places on blankets and wooden chairs as Rolf Rustemeyer climbed up onto a platform erected on the wagon’s bed. For a moment the big blond German didn’t speak, instead holding up a Bible before the congregation.
“This is Word of Gott!” he cried out suddenly.
The crowd gasped.
“Gott says where two or three manners comen togedder in his name,” Rolf continued, “there he is among them! Now, how many comen togedder tonight? Fifteen? Twenty?
Ja
, Gott is here tonight vit us!”
Jack gave a grunt as he sat down. “I reckon we might ought to hire ol’ Rustemeyer for the preacher’s job.”
Seth and Rosie joined them as they settled on the quilt. “Rolf is a farmer,” Rosie said. “He’ll never be a preacher, but he certainly loves the Lord.”
“Now is springtime,” Rolf went on. “Gott gif us goot dirt, goot seed, goot plow, goot mule.”
“And lots of
veeds
,” Rosie murmured.
Caitrin tried to suppress a giggle. Relaxing a little, she realized this might turn out all right after all. Though she could see the O’Toole family seating themselves not far from their own party, they had given no evidence of the hostility everyone feared.
“Now need only one thing from Gott,” Rolf said. “Vater!”
“Vater,”
Rosie whispered and nudged Caitrin, who bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. She felt like a schoolgirl, silly and lighthearted for the first time in many months. Here she was with a handsome beau, a precious friend, and a wonderful town in which to live. God was indeed here among them, and rather than giggling at dear Rolf, who was doing his best, she ought to start singing the Lord’s praises.
Rolf held the Bible high. “Time to pray for rain. Gott listen to us pray. Everybody pray for vater to come.”
“That reminds me,” Rosie whispered, turning to Jack. “There was a fellow in the mercantile this morning asking if I could sell him a new water canteen. He said he’d been on the road for months and was headed back to Missouri without laying eyes on what he’d been after. When he told me he’d been looking all over Kansas for
you
, I could hardly believe it! I said, glory be, Jack Cornwall works right across the street in the town smithy. You should have seen his face.”
The muscle in Jack’s arm went as rigid as steel. “Did you get the man’s name?”
“Herman somebody,” Rosie said. Then she frowned. “No, that wasn’t quite it.”
“Bill Hermann,” Jack said.
“That’s it! But instead of stopping by the smithy, he took off right away on his horse, headed for Topeka. Bill Hermann is an old friend of yours, isn’t he?”
Jack swallowed. “You might say that,” he said. “Or you might not.”
J
ACK felt his blood boil up inside his chest. So Bill Hermann had found him. No doubt the snake was now on his way to Topeka to fetch the law. By now he probably held papers of some kind, a warrant or a subpoena ordering Jack Cornwall back to Missouri to testify in the trial of his former gang members accused in the Easton lynching. The only way he could testify was to swear he was at the cabin the night of the murder—and implicate himself in the crime.
“Are you all right, Jack?” Caitrin asked.
He studied the fiery tumble of her hair and the sincere concern in her green eyes. “I’m not leaving,” he said. “I told you I’d stay here, and I’m a man of my word.”
“Can Bill Hermann make you go?”
“
Nothing
can make me go.”
Jack felt like a wild dog on a chain. The links in the chain that bridled him—his newfound walk in Christ, his desire to make a peaceful life, his growing bond with Caitrin, his responsibility to Lucy and his mother—were strained to the limit. Could such a chain hold against the forces that pulled at him?
Jack clenched a fist. He’d like nothing better than to knock Bill Hermann’s teeth right out the back side of his head. And as for the other members of the bunch, well, they could rot in prison for all he cared. All their idealistic talk about keeping the peace, bringing vigilante justice, and restoring the glory of the South hadn’t done any of them a lick of good. In fact, they had all walked on the wrong side of the law about as often as their Yankee enemies.
It had been the most futile, empty time in Jack’s life, and he was thankful it had ended without too much bloodshed and loss of life. Now he had given all he had to Christ, turned his back on the past, and was doing his best to be pure and blameless. He was done with the men he’d once called friends. They’d better not try to drag him back into their midst. He knew it was right to turn the other cheek, but he found living peaceably the hardest thing about being a Christian. If his old pals tried to pull him into their troubles, he had a bad feeling he’d jump right into the middle of them and make them remember why they’d valued his fists and gun.
“Now, manners and ladies,” Rolf was saying, “who vill start the praying? Somebody comen up here onto vagon and pray,
ja?
”
The crowd murmured, and someone called out, “You pray, Rustemeyer. This meetin’ was your idea.”
“Okay, I am starting, but I not practice this part so much,” Rolf said. He bowed his shaggy blond head. “Dear Gott, for goot land and goot peoples here, I say tank you. I say alleluia. For Jesus Christ love us and gif his life on cross for us, I say tank you. My heart is full to top vit happy for all you gif us, dear Gott. But one thing needed only, and that is rain. Please send rain here to Kansas so crops can grow. In name of Jesus, I pray this. Amen.”
When Jack lifted his head, he saw that Seth was already climbing onto the wagon. “Dear God,” the gentle farmer prayed, “you’ve given us so much, it seems a little prideful of us to come begging for more. I want to praise your name for the gift of my family. Little Chipper and the new baby we’re expecting are precious to me. And Rosie …” Seth was silent a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was strained with emotion. “Lord, I thank you for my wife. Thank you for Rosie.”
Jack swallowed and took Caitrin’s hand. In the past, he hadn’t given marriage much consideration, but the beautiful Irishwoman sure managed to slip into his thoughts about two hundred times a day. Jack knew he didn’t have the right to a happy home, as many times as he and the bunch had stepped in and messed up the peace of others. But if the good Lord ever saw fit to forgive him enough to let him marry, Jack would do everything in his power to honor and respect his wife.
“Lord,” Seth went on once he’d composed himself, “I sure don’t like to think about anything bad happening to Rosie and our young’uns. So right here and now, I’m stepping up to ask you for rain.
We need it bad, and we’re counting on you to send it. Amen.”
Seth moved to the side of the stage as Jimmy O’Toole stepped up onto the wagon. Jack had never thought of Jimmy as a religious man. The Irishman had resisted any plan to build the new church on his land, and he often was absent from the worship services held each Sunday morning in the mercantile. His green eyes sparkled as he took his place at the front of the stage. When he began to speak, his voice was filled with passion.
“I’ve not come up here to pray for rain,” he said, “because I think rain has more to do with clouds and wind than with the Almighty. If he wants rain to fall, sure, there’s naught we can do to stop it. And if there’s goin’ to be a drought, well then, all the prayin’ in the world won’t change that. But there is a matter we can change, and that’s the presence of troublemakers among us.”
“Jimmy,” Seth called in a clearly audible whisper, “we’re here to pray.”
“I’ll not stand about prayin’ when my own wife and family are in danger from the Cornish ne’er-do-wells who’ve invaded our peace.”