Adie stepped by him and turned down the lamp. “If you don’t mind, it’s too bright for my eyes.”
Josh did mind, but for all the wrong reasons. Darkness and light were alike to the Lord but not to Josh. He didn’t want to be alone with her in the shadows. The dark kept secrets. It hid the truth and led down a dangerous road. He considered postponing their talk, but Adie looked like a bird caught in a net, as if she wanted to escape but had nowhere to go.
He sat on the armchair. “You have a beautiful little boy.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s none of my business,” he said gently. “But you seem troubled whenever I mention Emily.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“When I say her name, you look pained.”
“I do?”
“Every time. I’m wondering why.”
Chapter Eight
How much did Josh know? Was he toying with her? Maggie’s brother would have done such a thing, but Josh wouldn’t. From the day he’d arrived, he’d treated her with respect, even kindness. He also wore a black coat and carried a Bible, signs that he couldn’t be trusted. Looking at him now, Adie felt more confused than ever. His mouth had settled into a gentle curve, and his eyes held only compassion. No wonder Caroline had baked six pies and three cakes. Josh was a handsome man. Even more frightening, he inspired trust.
So had Timothy Long.
So had Reverend Honeycutt.
Adie prepared herself for a fight. She’d do anything to keep her promise to Maggie Butler. She had to protect Stephen at all costs, even Josh’s peace of mind. She homed her gaze to his too-blue eyes. “Emily’s story upsets me. I can’t imagine.”
Except like Emily, she’d been deceived by a minister and forced to leave the town she’d called home. She knew exactly how Josh’s sister had felt. She’d lied again.
Judging by the look in his eyes, Josh knew it, too.
She folded her hands in her lap. “I guess I can imagine it, but I haven’t exactly been in that position.” With her cheeks flaming, she jerked her eyes away from his. She’d done it again—said too much and raised questions.
“Adie?”
She said nothing.
“Please,” he said gently. “Look at me.”
She couldn’t, not with lies still sour on her tongue. She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t escape the sense of Josh’s gaze. She heard the slight rustle of his coat, then felt the warmth of his fingers on her chin, urging her to look up. When she finally gave in, she found herself staring into his eyes and feeling a kinship she’d never known. Not with her father…Not with anyone.
He held her gaze but lowered his hand. The warmth of him lingered like the scent of bread. He looked as unsteady as she felt. “I want to tell you about the night Emily left.”
Her heart cried no, but she nodded yes. She hurt for this man. She also feared him. Of the two, the hurting weighed more than the fear, at least for now. “I’m listening.”
He sat back in the chair. “Talking about Emily hurts worse than giving up laudanum.”
“Then it hurts a lot.”
His face went rigid. “The story begins three years before Emily left. I’m not bragging when I say I had everything—the biggest church in Boston, respect from my peers. I felt God’s hand on my life in a way I can’t describe.”
“In a good way?” She couldn’t imagine.
“The best.”
“What happened?”
“I got prideful. Greedy, too. If fifty people came to hear me preach, I wanted a hundred. I worked to make it happen. I told myself I was doing God’s work, but somehow I lost my way. I prayed but didn’t listen for answers. I told God what I thought and assumed He’d agree.”
Adie couldn’t imagine anyone talking to God. Old Man Long had bellowed about sin and salvation in the same tone he used to call the pigs. Josh’s faith fascinated her. So did the hard line of his jaw and the hint of whiskers. She saw a man with feelings, hopes and failures, a man who also wore a preacher’s collar.
He gave a half smile. “My downfall started with a bellyache.”
“The ulcer?”
“A small one, but I refused to slow down. I didn’t eat right. Didn’t get enough rest. When the pain became intolerable, I went to a doctor. Not to our family physician, but to a man who didn’t know me. I didn’t want anyone in the church to know I had a weakness.” Josh looked her in the eye. “Secrets are dangerous. They’re a sign that something’s amiss with a person’s soul. I know, because I’ve kept my own.”
Her insides started to quake.
“I don’t know what your secret is, but I suspect it has to do with Stephen and how he came into this world.”
She struggled to breathe evenly. “What do you mean?”
“Emily left home because I shamed her. I cared more about my reputation than I did about her.” He raked his hand through his hair, leaving furrows. “She left because I told her to stay with cousins in Providence. I wanted her to give her baby away.”
Maggie…Emily…The stories matched again in perfect, undeniable detail.
“I didn’t ask her about the father,” Josh continued. “For all I know, she’d been attacked and was afraid to tell me. Or maybe she was in love. I hope so. The thought of violence—” He sealed his lips. “I’d rather think she was in love and fell to the oldest temptation in the world.”
Adie didn’t know Maggie’s whole story, but she knew her friend had loved the father of her child. He’d died and she’d been grieving when they’d met. She wanted to offer Josh that comfort, but she couldn’t do it without opening the trunk. She didn’t want to hear another word about Emily, but she felt compelled to reach out to Josh. “How old is your sister?”
“Twenty-four.”
Maggie had been twenty-three when they’d met. Her birthday would have been in April.
“Emily had suitors,” Josh added. “But she never said yes to marriage. Before our mother died, she made sure Emily met suitable men. She encouraged her to find a husband, but I didn’t. I had the benefits of a hostess without the complications of a wife.”
“Maybe she didn’t want to marry.”
“I doubt that.”
“Why?”
“Emily loved children.”
So had Maggie. The two women had sometimes talked of marriage. Adie felt intimidated by it, but Maggie had no such reluctance. In spite of her grief for Stephen’s father, she’d told Adie that she didn’t regret falling in love, only the mistakes that followed. If she’d lived, she’d have married and had more children.
Adie looked for another consolation for Josh. “Maybe she went to the baby’s father.”
“Or else she’s alone somewhere.”
“You don’t know that.”
His eyes burned into hers. “What about you, Adie? Were you alone when Stephen was born?”
Blood drained from her face. “No.”
“Losing my sister changed me.” He leaned forward in the chair. “I failed Emily. I won’t fail you and Stephen.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“I think you do,” he said. “Someone trampled your garden. I see you counting pennies.”
“Thank you, but I can manage on my own.”
She pushed to her feet. Josh stood, too. When she turned, he pinned her in place with his eyes. “I don’t know who hurt you, Adie. But I know God loves you. Whatever it is that upsets you when I say Emily’s name, put it down.”
She wanted to run from the room. She settled for looking down at his boots. She saw creases in the leather, a sign of the miles he’d traveled for Emily.
He shifted his weight. “No matter what happened, you don’t have to carry that shame.”
The shame of an out-of-wedlock child was small compared to the guilt she felt now. She felt certain Maggie and Emily were the same woman. If her fears proved true, he’d take Stephen back to Boston.
He laced his hands behind his back. “I’m s
haring this story for one reason.”
Her throat hurt. “What is it?”
“I was a hypocrite and a fool. I’ve been addicted to laudanum, told lies and had thoughts so hateful they still shame me. In spite of my failings, Christ died for me. He paid the price for all of us.”
He shifted his weight again. “I don’t know who fathered your son, Adie. I don’t know what happened to you. But I know this…No one has the right to throw stones at a woman who’s made a mistake.”
Realization stole Adie’s breath. Josh had no idea that she hadn’t given birth. Her secret was safe, but that security came at the cost of her integrity. By staying silent, she was lying. Josh had told the truth about secrets. Knowledge of Maggie’s diary weighed like a millstone. She couldn’t bear his compassion. She didn’t deserve it. Fighting panic, she broke from his gaze and headed for the door.
“Adie, wait.” He cut in front of her. “I did it again. I hurt you. That’s not my intent. I—”
“Stop! Don’t say anything else.”
She looked up and saw the shadow of his day-old beard. His black hair wisped over his ears and his jaw jutted with determination. He didn’t look a thing like Maggie…except for the shape of his eyes and the slant of his nose, the line of his brow and the curve of his mouth. Adie’s heart cried no, but her common sense said yes. She stepped around Josh and raced up the stairs. She heard his boots in the hallway, but they halted at the first step. As she fled into her room, the words of the Psalm played through her mind.
Wither shall I go from Thy spirit?
And wither shall I flee from Thy presence?
Josh hadn’t come up the stairs, but she felt as if he were hearing her thoughts. With nowhere to hide, she checked Stephen. Instead of calming her, the sight of the sleeping baby made her tremble. Soon she’d have to pay the mortgage. If she had to sell one of Maggie’s brooches, Josh would see it in the jewelry shop and he’d know. She also feared that Bessie would tell him about Stephen’s adoption. Looking back, she realized why the older woman had thrown them together. She suspected the truth and wanted Adie to be honest. If Bessie suspected the connection, so did Caroline.
Feeling trapped, Adie stared at the open window. “Talk to me, Maggie.”
Adie waited for a flash of memory, a sense of what Maggie would say about Josh now. None came, but Adie didn’t need her friend to guide her. She knew right from wrong. She also loved her son enough to die for him and she’d made a deathbed promise to the boy’s natural mother. Did that promise give Adie the right—the obligation—to hide the journal? Did a secret do harm when it protected an innocent baby? Or was she protecting herself?
She touched her son’s cheek. No one could love him as much as she did. Not an uncle or cousins. Nothing mattered more than love…Not money. Not blood. Someday Stephen would ask questions. When that day came, she’d answer them truthfully. Until then, she’d hide the facts of his birth.
The decision calmed her but only until she looked out the window. A month ago someone had hurled a rock into her room. Three days ago a man had stomped her tomato plants. She felt as unsafe as she had with the Long family. Adie didn’t know whom she feared more—Josh with his good intentions or Franklin Dean, who wanted her out of Swan’s Nest.
Either way, she had everything to lose and nothing to gain from opening the trunk. Some truths, she decided, were best left buried.
At precisely midnight, Frank left Miss Elsa’s Social Club through the back door. As instructed, Horace met him with the carriage. Frank smelled liquor on his driver’s breath and frowned. He didn’t care how Horace passed the evening, but the man had to be discreet. If liquor loosened his tongue, he’d become un-trustworthy, a fearful possibility considering the secrets he kept.
Frank didn’t need the details, but he had to be sure Horace hadn’t taken to blabbing at Brick’s Saloon.
He made his voice jovial. “Where have you been, my friend? In good company, I hope.”
“At Brick’s Saloon, sir.”
“I smell whiskey.”
Horace chuckled. “I downed a shot or two, but I think you’ll be pleased with what I gleaned.”
“Regarding Miss Clarke?”
“In a way, sir.” Horace turned on Broadway where Frank lived in a new mansion. Made of stone with turrets on the corners, it resembled a castle. Other homes on the street had the same look, but none of them matched his house in size.
“Tell me what you learned,” he said to Horace.
“It’s about the reverend.”
“Joshua Blue?”
“He’s starting a church, sir.”
Frank wrinkled his brow. “Whatever for? Denver has more churches than it needs.”
As an elder for Colfax Avenue Church, the biggest church in Denver, Frank kept track of attendance and collection records. Another church would take a slice of the pie.
Horace chuckled. “It’s not your kind of church.”
“Oh?”
“The reverend’s holding services in the saloon. He told the barkeep to spread the word.”
“I see.”
Aside from objecting to another church, Frank didn’t want Joshua Blue lingering at Swan’s Nest. The reverend had done more than protect Pearl at Franklin’s last visit. He’d declared war. The banker could play that game, too. Horace knew better than to mention Adie’s garden, but Frank had heard talk at the café where the blonde named Mary waited tables. Swan’s Nest had been vandalized. Adie Clarke had cleaned up the mess and replanted.
What would it take to drive her away? If Miss Clarke left town, Pearl would have to move back to the parsonage. Her father could marry them in a private ceremony. Frank would have possession of his son and of Pearl. He wouldn’t need to visit Miss Elsa’s Social Club. As always, tonight’s visit left him feeling cheated. It was Pearl’s fault. If she’d only cooperate, he’d be a good husband. But Pearl wouldn’t listen. Not with Adie Clarke filling her mind with lies about respect and love and female independence.
As Horace steered the carriage to the back of the house, Frank looked at the windows, all dark except for his bedroom where a maid had lit a lamp. He couldn’t live this way. He needed Pearl.
Horace climbed down from the high seat. Frank got out by himself and faced his driver. “It’s time to do more.” He didn’t need to explain what he meant.
“Any ideas, sir?”
“A fire, perhaps.”
Horace raised his brows. “The whole house?”
A fire had hidden benefits. As soon as Franklin took possession of Swan’s Nest, he intended to tear it down and build a row of houses he’d sell to entrepreneurs flooding into Denver. If Swan’s Nest burned to the ground, the demolition job would be simpler. On the other hand, he didn’t want to endanger Pearl.
“Use your judgment,” he said. “But Miss Oliver mustn’t be harmed.”
“What about the others?”
Frank shrugged.
When Horace grinned, moonlight showed his yellow teeth. “You won’t know a thing until it happens.”
“You’re a smart man, Horace.”
“That’s what you pay me for.”
Frank took the hint. Arson cost more than stomping tomatoes. He slipped a five-dollar gold piece into Horace’s hand. “Remember. No harm to Miss Oliver.”
“Yes, sir.”
As the driver led the horse to the stable, Frank had another thought and turned. “One more thing, Horace.”
“Sir?”
“When was the last time you went to church?”
Horace snorted.
“It wouldn’t hurt you to attend services this Sunday.” Frank gave a sly smile. “I hear Reverend Blue is preaching at Brick’s Saloon.”
The driver smiled back. “That he is, sir. In fact, I think I’ll attend.”
“Good idea.”
As Horace led the horse away, Frank heard the hollow clop of hooves on the dirt path. He entered his house, then headed up the stairs to his empty bedroom, wher
e he blew out the candle and dreamed of Pearl.
Chapter Nine
On Sunday morning Josh strode into Brick’s Saloon, saw seven people and rejoiced at the size of the crowd. Brick had arranged the chairs into a square. The barkeep and the girl from Miss Elsa’s sat in the second row. Caroline and Bessie had come, but Mary had woken up with a fever. Behind Brick sat three men. Two of them were cowpokes. The third man, a stocky fellow, wore a frock coat and had set a black bowler on the chair next to him. Josh greeted him with a nod. He smiled back, revealing yellow teeth.
Adie’s presence would have made him even happier, but he hadn’t expected to see her. She’d avoided him since the Bible study and he was worried. For now, though, he had seven souls in his care.
Josh stepped to the counter that Brick had polished. The barkeep had also tacked a sheet over the racy painting above the bottles, a gesture Josh appreciated. As he set down his Bible, he prayed for God to keep him humble.
“Good morning,” he said in a hearty voice.
The ladies answered. The men didn’t. In some ways, churches were all alike. No one had sat in the front row. No one ever did, not even in Boston.
Josh felt at home. “Anyone here ever make a mistake?”
The cowboys both grimaced. Josh had never been drunk, but knew a headache when he saw one. Brick looked chagrined, and the girl from Miss Elsa’s clutched a hankie. Bessie and Caroline both nodded in support. Josh glanced at the man with the yellow teeth and saw a sneer. Preaching to outlaws had made Josh wise. He judged no man by his appearance, but neither did he turn his back on strangers. He looked straight at the man in the frock coat.
“I’ve made mistakes,” Josh continued. “I make them every day. A year ago I made one so bad it cost me everything. What I’m here to say, friends, is that there’s hope. If God can take a man like me—a man who, figuratively speaking, murdered his sister with his anger—then He can touch you right where you’re sitting today.”
The girl from the brothel had tears in her eyes. Brick and the cowboys merely blinked, but Josh rarely saw emotion in the faces of hardened men. Bessie sat with her usual calm, but Caroline, her eyes shimmering with admiration, worried him. She looked like a woman in love and not just with the Lord. As for the man with the yellow teeth, he looked amused.
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