by Merry Farmer
He stared at her—so long and hard that she wasn’t sure if he was going to burst out in a fit of self-loathing or cry. In the end, he did neither. He smiled and brushed a loose strand of her hair—a snow-white strand of hair—out of her face.
“I love you, Holly Pickering,” he said, his words heavy with emotion.
“I love you too, George.”
“I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t forgive myself without you.”
“That doesn’t sound crazy at all.” She smiled, threading her fingers up through his hair. “I forgive you, and as your wife, I demand that you forgive yourself.”
He laughed, his arms circling around her to hold her close. Her knees brushed up against the wall as she sat astride his legs. “If you say I have to forgive myself, then with God’s help and yours, I promise I will.” He leaned forward and kissed her lightly, then pulled back, face serious. “I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive myself completely overnight, though.”
She smiled, her heart feeling as though it would expand beyond her ribcage, beyond the sleeping compartment, and beyond any wall they could ever build between the two of them. In fact, she felt that wall crumbling to rubble. “As long as you keep trying, and as long as I have breath in my body, I don’t care how long it takes. I’m yours now, and you are mine.”
He smiled, kissing her freely when she pressed into him. With a contented sigh, she shifted to a more comfortable position, resting her head against his shoulder.
“I just know everything is going to turn out all right now,” she said as the steady rocking of the train began to lull her to sleep. “We’ve got God on our side, love on our side, and nothing is going to stop us now.”
Chapter 15
By the next morning, Holly was warm and relaxed and happier than she’d ever been. The train chugged on, keeping her drowsy long after she should have woken up and started her day. It was hard to do anything more than lie snuggled against George’s side, her hand on his chest measuring the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Everything felt new and golden and warmer as dawn’s light poured through the train’s window. Not a wall in sight.
She closed her eyes and wasn’t sure if she dozed on for another ten minutes or an hour, but at last she finally dragged herself to full wakefulness as George stirred and sat up.
“Any idea where we are?” he asked, voice groggy, moving slowly.
Holly pushed herself to sit as well. Her clothes were rumpled. She rubbed a hand over her face, then her hair. It must look like a rat’s nest. But she couldn’t bring herself to care. Squinting, she raised the window shade all the way and squinted out into the brightness.
Her brow flew up. They’d come out of the mountains and now traveled through scrubby lowlands. Lower mountains and hills continued to stand out against the horizon, but they had passed into an entirely different sort of landscape. This landscape was filled with signs of civilization—clusters of dwellings and the promise of an even larger town in the distance.
George shifted to sit next to Holly, peering out the window with her. “It looks like California.”
She tore her eyes away from the scenery to raise her brow at him. “Have you been here before?”
He nodded. “My family’s shipping company has an office in San Francisco. When I first came out west, I took a ship there, then the train to Denver. This looks like the land I passed through on my way to Colorado.”
Holly peered out the window again. “I wonder how many stops the train made in the night.”
“Probably not many,” George said. “There’s not much between Salt Lake City and California but mountains, ranches, and farms.”
They spent a few more minutes staring out the window, trying to get their bearings, before hunger got the better of them. The train had a dining car, but before they could even think of venturing out to find food, they straightened their rumpled clothes as best they could and returned the compartment to its arrangement of two seats facing each other. The operation to put things back in order ended up involving as much giggling as their efforts the night before, and more.
When they finally had the compartment and themselves presentable enough for the public, they slipped out into the rest of the train. It was as crowded as the ticket seller in Salt Lake City had said it would be. Holly held George’s hand as they made their way through the sleeping car, and then through a long car filled with people crammed into seats, looking as uncomfortable and bored as could be. Holly kept her eyes peeled for Robbins, ready to turn and run at a moment’s notice.
They made it to the dining car without seeing him, though. The passengers were just as numerous there, which gave Holly a tiny shred of security in case they did spot Robbins, but the lines for breakfast were long. As they waited, inching their way forward, she grew more and more anxious that Robbins would see them.
“We should go look for him,” she said at last, when they were only one customer away from the refreshment counter. “I can’t stand waiting for him to find us.”
“What would we do if we found him, though?” George asked in a low voice, standing closer to her.
She peeked up at him. “What are we planning to do when we do find him?”
He blinked, and a lop-sided smile lit his face. “I have no idea. I didn’t think that far ahead.”
Holly laughed at the notion, realizing they were even crazier than she’d thought they were. She couldn’t say anything, though, as it was their turn in line. George stepped forward and bought them each a cup of coffee and a sweet roll. It wasn’t much, and they were required to eat it in the dining car instead of taking it back to their compartment, but it stopped Holly’s stomach from growling so loud they would hear it back in Haskell. It was also the most pleasant, happy meal she’d ever had.
“When this is all over,” George said, reaching across the tiny table to take her hand, “we’ll go back to Haskell and start from the beginning.”
She smiled and squeezed his hand. “We will.” She leaned closer, feeling mischievous, and added, “So what will our new life look like?”
George hunched forward as though he was about to share a secret plan with her. “First of all, I’m not sleeping on the couch anymore.”
Holly giggled, peeking around to make sure no one else was listening in.
“Second, as soon as the weather improves, I’m going to push Howard to have Rupert and his company get started on the manse.”
“Of course.” She smiled, heart warming with the idea of a home—a home with George.
“We’re going to need the space, after all,” he went on.
“Definitely.” She played along. “Children need a lot of space to grow up in.”
He reached to take her other hand, holding both of hers between them. “They most certainly do. And they need understanding, loving parents who won’t force them to be something that they’re not just to keep up appearances.”
Whether he was talking about her parents or his or both, Holly didn’t know and didn’t care. “We’ll do things differently,” she said, so happy she was almost in tears. “We’ll put the past thoroughly behind us and look only to the future.”
“We will,” he echoed.
She was certain he would have said more, but the train’s whistle screeched, and its brakes squealed. A conductor came walking through the dining car calling out, “This stop, San Jose. San Jose, this stop. Next stop, San Francisco.”
Holly and George both sat straighter. “We must have traveled farther than I thought overnight,” George said.
“We’re so close,” Holly agreed.
George stood, pulling her up with him and looking around. “I doubt Robbins will get off at this stop. That is, if he hasn’t seen us.” He started for the doorway leading back to the sleeping car. “We’ll have to be ready to get off in San Francisco and search for him.”
From that point, it seemed to take forever to get to San Francisco. Every nerve in Holly’s body was taut as the train made its f
inal approach through the city and into the terminal. San Francisco was the end of the line, so everyone left on the train—a good number of people—began to shift and move and crowd toward the exits as they approached.
“It will be easier if we get off before Robbins does,” George said as they inched their way to the sleeping car door.
“Agreed,” Holly said.
Because they didn’t have luggage, they were able to wedge their way to the front of the car while most everyone else was gathering up their things and taking trunks off of shelves. The train whistle blew and the brakes shrieked, and with one final jolt and puff, the train came to a stop.
“San Francisco,” the conductor called. “Last stop, San Francisco.”
Holly’s heart beat in her throat as he made his way around the waiting passengers to open the door. Her feet itched to rush down to the platform, but she had to wait until the conductor talked to the porter and a block was put in place to help people step down. As soon as they gave the go-ahead, though, she and George were the first people to leave the train.
“We need to get far enough away so that we can look for Robbins along the length of the entire track,” George said as he took her hand and marched toward a relatively clear spot several yards down the platform. “We—”
“George.” She stopped him and clutched his hand with both of hers. “Look.”
Farther down the platform was a cluster of half a dozen policemen in blue uniforms. They looked as though they were just finishing up some sort of consultation, then they turned and fanned out along the length of the train.
“Oh, no,” Holly breathed, panic rising quickly in her.
“Oh, no?” To her surprise, George sounded confident, almost delighted. He took off, heading for the nearest police officer.
At first, the officer looked right past him in his effort to scan the train. It wasn’t until George stopped him with, “Excuse me, officer,” that he even noticed George approaching. “Can I ask if you’re looking for someone? A thief by the name of Robbins, coming from Haskell, Wyoming?”
The officer’s eyes widened, and he took a sharper look at George and Holly. In an instant, it was clear the answer to George’s question was yes.
“Are you Rev. George Pickering?” the officer asked.
“Yes.” George’s answer was as much a sigh of relief as anything else.
The officer turned and waved at a man in a plain suit, then gestured for George and Holly to follow him. They wove their way through disembarking passengers and station workers to reach the man.
“Detective Preston, this is Rev. George Pickering and his wife, I assume?” The officer nodded respectfully to Holly.
“Yes.” Holly nodded in return.
“Rev. Pickering.” Det. Preston stepped forward to shake George’s hand, but the gesture was short. “Your friend, Trey Knighton, telegraphed us just this morning apprising us of the situation.”
“Did he?” George blinked in surprise, a grin coming to his face.
Det. Preston nodded. “He also forwarded us a telegram from Allan Pinkerton. You had asked him to do some research into one Alexander Robbins?”
“Yes.” George brightened even more. “Did he find out anything?”
Det. Preston huffed a laugh. “Did he ever. It seems Robbins is a wanted felon in three states and two territories.”
“So he’s not really a minister?” Holly asked.
“He did attend the seminaries you sent to Pinkerton,” Det. Preston told her and George. “And he was ordained. But it seems he chose money over God after preaching for a few years. Sounds like the two of you stopped him from swindling your town the way he has at least a dozen others.”
Holly’s mouth dropped open, but she didn’t have time for so much as a reply to that statement. A shout rose up from the last passenger car of their train. She and George whipped around in time to see two of the uniformed officers dragging Robbins off the train. Robbins was kicking and thrashing in an attempt to break free.
“They got him,” the officer who had introduced George and Holly to Det. Preston said.
All four of them burst into motion, rushing toward the scene of the conflict. Passengers and station workers alike were jumping out of the way, giving the officers plenty of space to do their job while forming a ring as they watched. Det. Preston burst through the ring first, followed by the officer, then George and Holly.
As soon as Robbins spotted George and Holly, he froze. “You,” he bellowed.
“I couldn’t let you get away with it,” George told the man, keeping his distance while facing him dead-on. “Haskell is my flock, and a good shepherd will go to any lengths to protect his flock.”
“They gave me their donations of their own free will,” Robbins argued, still trying to break free of the officers who held him. “You’re arresting me under false pretenses.”
“Maybe my parishioners donated to you freely, but Lex Kline didn’t give you the contents of his till, and Russell Smith didn’t donate that suit you’re wearing,” George fired back.
Det. Preston ignored Robbins’s struggles, walking right up to him. “And I seriously doubt that the other towns that have filed grievances against you gave you the thousands of dollars they did out of the kindness of their heart either.”
“You can’t prove anything,” Robbins insisted, but a wild light had come to his eyes.
“Actually, we can.” Det. Preston grinned. “Rev. Pickering here had the foresight to send an inquiry to Allan Pinkerton, who did a little digging into your background. We have enough evidence to place you under arrest.”
“But you can’t.” The fight went out of Robbins.
“You’ll be shipped back to Chicago as soon as possible to stand trial.”
“No!” Robbins barked. He bared his teeth and glared at George. “You’ll pay for this,” he vowed. “Both of you.”
“I seriously doubt it.” Det. Preston smiled. He nodded to the officers holding Robbins. They pushed him into motion. One word from Det. Preston, and the rest of the officers fell in around them as an escort. Last, he turned to George and Holly. “I’m sure a lot of people will be very happy to hear about your tenacity in tracking Robbins down.”
“We did what we had to do for the safety and well-being of our congregation,” George said. He took Holly’s hand, turning to nod and smile at her.
“I’ll need you to come down to the station with me to answer a few questions and make an official statement, but after that, you’re free to enjoy your trip to San Francisco.”
Holly’s brow flew up. George laughed. “This wasn’t exactly a planned vacation.”
“We have no idea what we’re doing,” Holly confessed. The sudden joy that filled her was so potent that she erupted into giggles.
George’s mirth shifted to wide-eyed concern. “We have an entire congregation back home waiting to celebrate Christmas with a service and pageant in two days.”
“Tomorrow, you mean,” Det. Preston corrected him.
Holly and George both blinked at the man.
“It’s Christmas Eve today.”
It was. In the wildness of their adventure, Holly had lost track of days. The pageant was in less than twenty-four hours. “What are we going to do?” she asked.
George laughed. “I guess we’re going to double our antics by racing to make it home before the pageant Christmas morning.”
Holly beamed. “I’m ready for another adventure if you are.”
He smiled from ear to ear as he took both of her hands in his. “I have a feeling that no matter what we try to do, our lives will be filled with unexpected twists and turns, both exciting and terrifying.
She laughed. “That’s what life is all about, after all. And it’s about time we handled those thrilling and terrifying moments together.”
“Absolutely.”
Then, without a care for the dozens of people rushing around them, he swept her into his arms and kissed her. It was the kiss she’
d been waiting for her whole life, the kiss that said she’d finally found her home with George, and that he loved her as much as she loved him. No one could have given her a better Christmas present.
Det. Preston chuckled, nudged George’s arm to break up their kiss, and said, “Come on. We’ll make things at the station quick so that you can hop on a train heading east. With any luck, you’ll get home in time.”
Epilogue
Haskell’s church was packed to the rafters on Christmas morning. Trey Knighton stood fidgeting near the back door, fretting over whether there would be enough room for the actors in the pageant to move around, whether the choir would be able to direct itself—or worse, survive Vivian Bonneville’s take-over coup. He’d moved on to wondering whether the decorations would spontaneously fall off the walls or the roof would suddenly decide to cave in.
He was a man used to responsibility, but when Howard had come to him early that morning, informing him that George and Holly still hadn’t come back from San Francisco and appointing him the new pageant director, he’d shook in his boots. Catching bloodthirsty criminals, he could handle. Organizing religious theatrics was entirely new territory.
“Any time you want to begin,” Howard whispered next to him.
Trey searched through the church to make sure everyone was in place. He rubbed the back of his neck. His stomach churned. “George might still get here,” he mumbled. “Wasn’t that the train whistle I heard a few minutes ago?”
“We’ve been waiting for ten minutes for this pageant to start,” Rex Bonneville grumbled from his seat in the first pew, as if he and everyone else could hear Trey’s conversation with Howard. A few members of the congregation muttered in agreement with him.
“What are we waiting for anyhow?” Charlie Garrett asked much more innocently.
Trey winced. It was so much simpler to face black and white situations, preferably with his revolver drawn. This was terrifying. The train had just arrived, but he had no idea if George and Holly were aboard. There was no time to check. The people in the packed pews in front of him wriggled and writhed. They probably all wanted to be home, eating their Christmas feasts with their families and opening presents. All he had to look forward to was an impersonal supper at the hotel with everyone else who had no one. But that didn’t mean he didn’t care about the people of his town.
