The Parson's Christmas Gift (16 page)

J
ourney peered through the frosted glass at the swirling snow from the rocking chair where she sat.

“I don’t know that he’ll get back today,” Miss Rose said.

“Who?” She let the curtain slide from her hand.

“Zane. It could be more like late Saturday night, I’d expect, what with the storm and all.”

“I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t…]He never said when he’d be back or even that he’d be going. You don’t suppose he’s caught out in this?” She focused on the tiny stitches of the suit she was sewing.

Miss Rose rocked, head back, the rest of her buried in quilts. “No, he’d miss it, or at least the worst of it, if he left when he planned. But it could slow him down some.”

Journey watched Miss Rose close her eyes. Another nap. She had been so tired lately that Journey thought Doc Ferris should stop in and check on her.

The creak of the rocker stopped, leaving only the tick of the mantel clock and the crackle of the fire inside the snug house. Journey looked up from her work to see Miss Rose sleeping and eased off her own chair, walking to the window to draw the curtain aside.

The sun rested behind the saddle of mountains in the west. The cold, flat disk radiated light from the fresh snow through the day but provided little warmth. Something moved and caught her eye.

“Rider coming,” she whispered, glancing at Miss Rose, who hadn’t stirred.

Pulling her cloak from the hook, Journey slipped outside. The wind had calmed through the day but seemed to be picking up with the setting sun.

She peered into the dimness. The rider blended in with the shadowed mountains, almost invisible. But still, she watched. It could be Zane. She shivered, trying to shake the uneasiness.

The figure rode close to the window, and she drew back as horse and rider emerged into the faint light. “Hank.”

He swept his hat off. The balance of light from the house and the remaining rays of the sun mixed to give him an eerie glow. His eyes glittered black and tiny.
Snake
.

“Hello, my dear. I wanted to drop by and let you know I’ve returned. Please forgive the lateness of the hour.” His accent lacked smoothness, as if he were very tired.

“Where were you?” she whispered, her heart pounding.

Hank shook his head. “Oh, but, Maura, you’re my wife even yet. It’s good to hear your concern.”

“It’s Journey. And please answer the question.”

He chuckled but it ended in a cough. “My, my, I admire this new spunk you’ve acquired here in Montana,
Journey.
I’ve been looking after our interests in Virginia City.”

“
We
have no interests there.”
Keep your voice steady,
she thought. “
We
have no interests anywhere.”

“Oh, but we do. Roy has come to help us with all the details of the little investment we’re going to make available to the fine people of Walten,” he said.

Any fight she’d gathered evaporated from her.

Hank didn’t seem to notice, but surely he felt it. “Roy found me lying on the floor after you’d belted me with that flatiron the night you left. He’d come to warn me our fine sheriff was about to appear at our door with a warrant for my arrest.”

She hoped Hank could not make out her expressions in the darkness. She knew he’d been up to no good when she was with him in Georgia.

“The sheriff would have caught me good,” he continued. “Then Roy concocted the plan to get out and set fire to the place. He testified as witness to your part in my murder and in the blaze that harmed all those dear neighbors.” He paused to clear his throat.

“You should have stuck around for the trial. The community was quite irate. Quite ironic, isn’t it? If you hadn’t tried to kill me, you would have been rid of me anyway. Rather amusing, don’t you agree?”

Could it be that she had found her way out when true escape had lain so close at hand? Stupid, stupid woman! But then, she’d had little choice at the time. Kill or be killed. If she’d been better at it, she wouldn’t be in this predicament now.

Hank paused. He’d always been a master at effect. She waited, drawing her arms around herself under the cape.

“Roy and I were able to make our way out before the whole place burned to the ground. Pity about the place. We had some good times there, Maura.”

“If you consider beating me a good time,” she said, her voice quiet and blending with the night.

“Can’t you just once remember something good?” His voice flared. “I loved you, Maura. I still do, you know. I miss your fire. It’s only that you made me so—”

“As I recall, it was the whiskey that made you so…”

He smiled, faint light glistening from his teeth. “Either way, the fact is now we’re together for as long as I say. Turn me in, and you’ll be tried for attempted murder, at the very least. There’s the little matter of the arson, too. Not to mention the fact that a good sum of money went missing. You’ll be sent back to Georgia, where we’ll still be married.”

“Turn me in. I don’t care anymore. I’m tired of living in your grasp.”

“Perhaps I will.” He swiped a hand over his mustache. “Perhaps you’ll have no reason to stay regardless. I think you’ll find your new beau not quite so attentive as before.”

The coldness around her was nothing compared with the chill that shot through her. She cleared her tight throat. “What have you done?”

“Don’t count on the help of your young Pastor Thompson any time in the near future.”

Her heart dropped.

“Hank, if you—”

He cut her off with a laugh. “I don’t think you’re in any position to finish that thought. I’ll be in touch.”

Journey called to him as he turned to go. “Hank, you didn’t…” She couldn’t say it, but she knew he’d done as much before.

“Let’s not raise a fuss, Maura. It would be a shame to disturb the delightful Miss Rose.” He turned, an envelope offered by his shadowed hand. “I almost forgot. Telegram from Virginia City, dear. Addressed to Mrs. Rose Bishop. From her darling nephew, I’d suppose. I picked it up in town.” He clucked his tongue. “I do hope it’s nothing serious.”

Her eyes felt wet and frozen, like her breath. She clasped the envelope to her. By the time she drew her gaze from it, Hank was gone.

J
ourney swept through the warm room. Miss Rose slept, her face turned toward the fire’s heat. Journey moved up the stairway, straining over the creaking fourth step.

A sliver of moon shone through her bedroom window. She grabbed her satchel and tugged the latches open, coins jangling inside the pockets. Precious few. Still not enough for a horse of any kind, and how far could she get on foot?

She threw in her navy dress and jerked the straps tight. Miss Rose’s horses would get her anywhere she needed to go. The thought ripped through her head before she could quell it. She padded back down the stairway, her mind racing. Take the horses, ride off and never look back. And the money Miss Rose kept in her rosewood box on the mantel would go a long way in helping her get lost once again. She could…

The sight of Miss Rose asleep on the rocker stopped her. Miss Rose would want to help, would understand. And once she settled again, she’d pay everything back.

Walking over to the fireplace, she pulled the money from the box. She couldn’t stop to count it but knew from the thickness it would take her far.

Stuffing the wad of bills into her coat pocket, she passed Miss Rose’s chair and out the door, easing it closed behind her. The bitter wind kicked in her face and made it hard to breathe as she ran across the yard to the barn.

Puffs of air clouded her view. Hank would never let her go if she didn’t do it this way. He’d already hurt Zane; he—

Zane. How far had Hank gone to get what he wanted? He had never displayed too many limitations before. Gambling, stealing, pursuing the magnificent plan—whatever struck him at any given time as the best way to make the most money in the least time with the least amount of effort. And yet, how many months behind on the rent had they been when she left Georgia?

Zane had to be fine. Surely Hank had only meant to frighten her. She patted the money in her pocket. Maybe she could give Hank the money he craved, and he would leave everyone alone. Could it be so simple?

“What will she do when she finds out Zane’s hurt and I’m to blame?” she muttered. Her fingers froze, her harsh breath echoing in the quiet of the barn.

She grasped Homer’s dark mane, pulled her fingers into it and rested her forehead against his neck. “What will we do if he’s worse than hurt?”

The image of Zane lying cold and in pain somewhere along the empty trail crushed her heart. She’d look for him and find Reed. Reed could help. But would he help a woman who had tricked his aunt, taken advantage of her hospitality and fallen in love with his friend only to endanger his life?

Wait. She didn’t love Zane. She didn’t. He invaded places in her life he had no business being. She told him to stay out of her way and stay out of her life. He hadn’t listened to her. And now he paid the price.

“Journey?”

The sound drifted through the thick barn walls. Miss Rose must be awake, and calling her. Would the darkness hide her if she sneaked out the side door? What if Miss Rose tried to find her?

She wiped a tear with the back of her hand and walked outside. She’d stay, just a little longer, until they had word from Zane. It would give her time to think things through, to lay tracks that Hank couldn’t follow.

Nothing mattered beyond that. No one would care what happened to her once they knew about her past. A past that Hank knew all about: being raised in a cathouse with no father to speak of. Selling herself into Hank’s service at fifteen. Had it really been worth the trade to avoid the life her mother had led up until the week before she died? When she turned seventeen and Hank married her, she thought her chance at a respectable future had finally arrived. But that was all lost now.

“Journey? Are you out there?” Miss Rose called again, her voice wavering in the wind. Her shadowed form stood in the open doorway of the house.

“Yes, Miss Rose. I’m coming.”

Journey drew the bills from her pocket and, with a glance back at the house, slid them into the edge of the carrot bin inside the barn door.

She walked across the yard. The wind whispered through the porch eaves as she stamped snow from her boots and shook it from her skirt hem. She hung her coat on a peg, her gaze catching the box on the mantel. The heat of shame burned her face.

Miss Rose sank into her rocker, wiggling closer to the fire. “Whatever were you doing out there, Journey? You’ll catch your death of cold out on a night like this.”

She swiped a stray curl from her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. “A messenger delivered a telegram for you, Miss Rose.” Her voice felt trapped in her throat.

The woman coughed and leaned back in her chair, sending it to motion as she closed her eyes. “Read it to me.”

Her voice sounded calm, but the blue-veined fingers tightened over the arms of the chair. Journey’s hand trembled as she opened the seal and scanned the brief message.

“Zane delayed STOP Be home early next week STOP Don’t worry STOP Delay gold mine STOP Reed,” she read. “Oh, Miss Rose!”

“Don’t fret now, child.”

How could she be so calm? Journey blinked a hot tear away. “But if Zane were truly fine, he’d send his own telegram. What if—”

“The only thing we can do now is to pray. Will you do that with me?” Miss Rose stared at her, no longer rocking.

Journey sank into the closest chair and forced the thin paper into the envelope with shaking hands. “But God won’t listen to me. He’s never listened to me. He’ll answer your prayers. You do it.”

“Zane needs us both. Please.” Her voice was gentle but raspy, and a soft smile graced her face. “What can it hurt to try? God never stops listening. Never.”

She nodded. If it made Miss Rose feel better, she’d try it. She felt her hands engulfed in the too-warm grasp of the other woman and watched as she bowed her head. The smile never broke as Miss Rose talked to the Lord as if He was sitting next to her.

Journey bowed her head and remembered to close her eyes. Her thoughts didn’t form a prayer, exactly, but she wished with all her heart that God would listen to Miss Rose’s prayers, given on behalf of a man who certainly deserved His mercy.

Z
ane held his arm stiffly at his side. He didn’t need the doctor from Virginia City to tell him how fortunate he’d been. A broken arm. Ribs bruised, wrapped tight but not busted. His headache had hung on through the better part of Sunday, but he’d been kicked by horses and hurt worse. He smiled, knowing Doc Ferris would not favor his decision to head back to Walten. Or Miss Rose, he supposed. But it felt as if he’d been away for a month, instead of a week.

Had Journey missed him? He thought of the poster and the telegram from Georgia folded carefully in his pocket. Everything came down to questions only she could answer.

The modest steeple of the church rose over the final ridge and above the other buildings that made up the little town of Walten. His town, his church. He longed to be there but had other stops to make first.

Pulling up to the post in front of Sam and Abby’s store, he slid from the horse and dusted snow from his coat with one hand.

“Zane!” Abby flew from the porch, grabbing his good arm in both hands. “Are you just getting back? We’ve been wondering about you. When Reed sent the telegram, we thought…]Well, he didn’t tell much. What happened to your arm? To your face?”

He lifted a hand to the bruise at his eye. He thought it looked remarkably better when he’d shaved the morning before leaving Virginia City. “Never mind that now. You’d better get in from the cold. Is Sam around?”

“Around back. Go on, and I’ll make coffee.”

Moving around to the storage shed, he found Sam stacking crates of supplies. “Hello!” he said, not wanting to startle his friend.

Sam didn’t turn. “Grab a crate and join the party.”

“Not today, I’m afraid.” He smiled and lifted his broken arm a little when Sam faced him.

“What happened?”

“Have you heard anything about investing in a gold claim in Walten? From that Baines fellow Journey knows?”

Sam sat on a crate, pushing his hat back and slipping his gloves off. He kicked another crate over and motioned for Zane to sit.

“Some. Most folks around here don’t have the money for that kind of thing, though. There’s talk Mr. Baines will take land as collateral if people are willing to sign over, but I haven’t heard of anyone who’s taken him up on that offer. I’d imagine some will.”

Sam sighed and scratched his jaw. “He seems awful sure there’s enough gold to make us all rich as trolls. Some folks are worried about what could happen to the town if word gets out before we have a plan in place. Baines has everyone shook up with tales of ‘crime and avarice’ to follow.”

“A lot of these people lived through those early days in Virginia City. They know he’s right on that count.” Zane passed on the seat, not willing to subject his stiff side to getting up from it later.

“How busted up are you?” Sam asked.

“Bruised ribs, broken arm. Had a little run-in with a wall or two one night. Baines wanted my stamp of approval on this deal. I told him I’d want to check things out for myself first.” He leaned against the doorway of the shanty. “I’m thinking he took exception to my doubts. And he wants me to stay away from Journey.”

“He’s been out of town himself.”

“How long?”

Sam rubbed his neck. “He left same day as you, maybe the day before. I guess he was back in town sometime Saturday. He ended up delivering Reed’s telegram. I heard he headed back to Virginia City, though. I’m surprised you didn’t see him on the trail.”

“He and I wouldn’t ride the same path.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if he left right away, he’d have made it back in time to—”

“You think he’s the one who beat you?”

“I found out enough to know that if we were sitting on a gold mine, Hank wouldn’t be looking to cut the town in for the profits.”

“So how can I help?” Sam asked.

“Right now I have pieces, but nothing fits together yet. Keep your ears open, see what folks are saying and tell them to hold off until we can get a town meeting together. I’ll let you know when I find out anything for certain.”

Zane cocked his head toward the main building. “Abby promised coffee, and I could sure use some.”

“Right. But the minute you need me, I’m there.”

“Thanks, Sam.” He shifted, then winced as the pain grabbed his side. “Could have used your help in that alleyway,” he said with a grin.

An hour later, warmed inside out by the coffee, Zane rode out to Miss Rose’s. Abby’s fresh bread with preserves hadn’t hurt his outlook, either.

He slowed his pace as he drew near the ranch. As much as he wanted Journey to answer his questions, he didn’t relish the confrontation.

“Dear Lord, show me how to talk to her. She’s scared, and I reckon she has every reason to be. Show her, Jesus, that she has no reason to fear me. She hasn’t exactly been happy with my help to this point. But, Father, I have the town to think of, too. I think—God, I’m asking you to work this out because I know You can and I know I can’t. You’ve said that when we seek Your will, we’ll find it. Help us all. In Jesus’ name I ask. Amen.”

He scanned the rolling mounds of snow, knowing the whiff of smoke rising from over the next hill belonged to Miss Rose’s chimney. He nudged his horse onward.

It’s good she has Journey this winter, especially since she’s been down with that cold,
he thought. How would she feel when she discovered her boarder was mixed up with Baines?

Zane made his way into the frozen yard. The wind had swept a path between the house and the barn. The sky, wide and gray, promised another dose of snow. Maybe they’d have a fresh coat for Christmas, if this weather held. He went into the barn and tied Malachi to a post.

“Here, boy,” he said, reaching into the carrot bin. His fingers swept over soft paper, and he pulled it out. Instead of the knobby carrot, he held a stack of bills.

Hundreds of possibilities swarmed, but only one lodged in his mind. He tucked the bills into his sling and stroked the horse’s face. “We could get kicked out mighty quick, if Journey has anything to say about it. But she has a lot of explaining to do herself.”

The door slid open, and he turned to see her slip through it. “Journey,” he said, hoping not to startle her.

“Zane.” He couldn’t decipher the tone in her voice. She sounded almost relieved, but maybe the surprise of finding him in the barn brought the lilt to her voice.

She stood still for a moment. Then, drawing a deep breath, she said, “Oh, Zane, I’m so glad you’re here.”

He stepped forward, grasping her arm with his good hand. “What is it?”

“Miss Rose—she’s sick, been sick, but today, I have to get Doc Ferris.” She pulled herself away, stumbling toward the stalls.

The importance of any questions he had paled. “I’ll go. You go back to Miss Rose, make her comfortable. I’ll fetch him.”

She sagged with relief and drew closer as he slid his hand up to caress her cheek. It felt damp and soft.

He almost lost his balance as she leaned toward him, resting her cheek against his chest. He brought his free arm around her and patted her shoulder, almost out of instinct. He soaked in her warmth, rubbing his fingers in small circles at her shoulder. A dam inside him cracked, and a wave of protectiveness surged through.

She shuddered in his arms, as if trying to compose herself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I’ve made such a mess of things. I never meant to—”

“We’ll talk about that later. I’ll go for Doc.” He felt her draw away. He pulled himself into the saddle with one arm.

She opened the door for him to ride out. Light filtered down, casting a glow over her face. She looked younger with her freckles more pronounced against her pale skin. Her brown eyes were wide, frightened.

“It’s only to town and back. I’ll be here with Doc before you know it. Then we can talk, all right?”

She nodded, looking up at him with wet trails marring her cheeks. “She’s so hot. I’m afraid for her.”

“It’ll be all right.” He hoped his words assured her. With a squeeze of his legs and a duck of his head, the horse took off across the cold terrain.

Zane prayed.