by Danni Roan
“It is,” Brandon nodded as meals arrived. “Perhaps we can have a picnic after church on Sunday,” he offered. “I could ask Olive to pack a lunch.”
“I’d be happy to cook something,” Beth offered. For some reason she felt nervous and awkward but excited at the same time.
“Miss Beechen,” Brandon blurted as they picked up their forks. “I know it is very sudden but I need to know, would you consider marriage? I mean you came here as a mail-order bride, and we seem to get on so well together. I like you tremendously and thought perhaps we might come to an agreement.” Brandon blinked at Beth across the table breathlessly. The words had tumbled out of him like cascades over boulders, and he didn’t know what else to do.
“I think I would,” Beth said leaning in so only he could hear. “You’ve been such a friend to me, and, well, I care for you. I know we haven’t known each other long, but it seems like we’ve been friends for ever.”
“I feel the same way,” the preacher said, taking her hand gently in his. “Do we have an agreement?” he whispered. “I’ll talk to the mayor and the board to see about getting a place built. I have a bit of money of my own to get it started.”
Beth felt her heart swell and tears threatened. “I didn’t imagine my life would go this direction when I answered Olive’s letter all those months ago,” she sniffed. “I’m the happiest most hopeful woman in the world right now.”
The newly pledged couple spoke quietly through the rest of their meal speaking of hopes, joys, and plans as love grew, like a rose bud only beginning to unfurl in their hearts.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave,” Brandon said sadly as they finished their coffee and corn bread. “I made a promise and have no intention of breaking it. Perhaps you can visit with the Hamptons until Jacks returns.”
“I’d like that,” Beth agreed, squeezing his hand as he held hers. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she finished with a sigh as he rose, leaving her alone at the table.
Beth sat at the table for several minutes thinking over the conversation and thanking God for the fact that Brandon Tippert had been the man who had opened the coach door the day she arrived.
She couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like if some cowboy or farmer had opened that door and told her he was her intended. Would she have been excited or terrified?
“You look happy,” Olive said, slipping into the chair across from Beth. “I take it that you and Brandon have come to an agreement.”
Beth nodded happily. “We have. Mr. Tippert will talk to the council at the next meeting about building a home. Her green eyes danced with delight at the thought of a home of her own.
Olive reached across the table and patted Beth’s hand. “I told you things would come together,” she smiled.
Chapter 20
It was fully dark by the time Jacks helped Beth up into the wagon, and he scanned the town carefully before climbing up next to her. Things were fairly quiet except around the saloon, and he didn’t think there would be any problems as they started home.
“You warm enough Miss Beechen?” Jacks asked as a soft breeze kicked up the dust along the dark street. “I can get something from Olive if you’d like.”
“I’m warm enough,” Beth assured as she wrapped her shawl around her tightly. “I’m just ready to go home.”
Jacks grinned climbing into the wagon and turning the horse toward home. The moon was bright above, and the soft breeze carried the scent of wild flowers and fresh grass springing into bloom.
Turning the wagon along the street and keeping wide of the saloon where bright cheerful music tinkled into the street, the old foreman kept a keen ear tuned to the sounds of the town and any potential trouble.
An angry shout, the clatter of chairs and the resounding snap of a small caliber pistol shattered the air making the horse shy and jump.
Jacks tugged at the lines steadying the horse, handing the reins over to Beth without a word as he charged toward the saloon even as Sheriff Spencer Gaines came racing down the boardwalk from his home.
***
“What’s going on here?” Spencer Gaines skidded to a stop next to Jacks as he stepped through the batwing doors into the smoky room. So far, the town of Needful had suffered little violence, though a good deal of drunken destruction and Spencer’s heart raced with fear of the inevitable.
“Preacher?” Jacks gaped staring at the tall thin man by the piano, a single shot derringer smoking in his hand.
“Spence, Jacks,” Brandon said, slipping the tiny gun back into his sleeve holster. “I didn’t want to make a fuss, but I’m afraid Darwin was trying to get himself killed and I had to think fast.”
Spencer looked at Jacks one dark brow rising slowly in shock. “I didn’t expect you to be carrying a gun, Preacher, let alone a sleeve gun.”
“Let’s just say it’s a hold-over from another life,” Brandon smiled, walking toward a table where three men stared down at Darwin who lay sprawled on the floor.
“Is he killed?” one gambler asked. “He doesn’t look dead.”
“I didn’t shoot him,” Brandon spoke. “I shot passed him, and I always hit what I aim for. He’s passed out from shock and too much liquor,” the preacher finished.
Spencer and Jacks walked around the table grabbing the drunken man by the arms and hoisting him upright. “I’ll want a statement from all of you men,” the Sheriff said. “You might as well come along with me now, Preacher,” he added significantly. “The rest of you men turn up at the office in the morning.”
The three cowboys nodded donning their hats as they all turned back to face the preacher.
“Come on, Preacher,” Spencer added. “You’re the one that did the shooting, and I’ll need to know the whole story.”
***
Beth stood at the doorway staring into the saloon as horror gripped her soul. Had Spencer just said that Brandon had shot the man they were dragging from the room?
“I’ll come along,” Brandon spoke, his words filling Beth with a cold dread, as he turned for the door, plopping his smart bowler hat on his mop of curls, a moment before his eyes met hers.
“Beth?” Brandon whispered as she turned on her heel and raced for the wagon, climbing in and slapping the reins at the horse, charging away from home.
“Preacher, you’d best wait,” Spencer said.
“She’ll be alright,” Jacks said. “That old horse will take her home. I’m careful that way nowadays after what happened to our Peri.”
“But,” Brandon started. “What if she thinks…” he looked at the limp form of Darwin drooping between Spencer and Jacks.
“There’s no point talking to her right now when she’s upset and confused,” Spencer said sagely. “Give her a little time to calm down.”
Brandon nodded, his heart dropping into his shoes. “I had to shoot,” his voice was a mere breathe. “I had to shoot before someone else did.”
Chapter 21
Beth let the horse slow as they approached the Double B ranch, and dashed at the tears in her eyes, eyes that had seen the man she had hinged her hopes on holding the gun that had killed another person.
How could a preacher, a man of the cloth, kill another man? He was dedicated to God. Shaking her head as the horse came to a stop between the house and the barn, Beth jumped from the wagon and raced to the house.
She should have known better than to believe in a man who claimed to be redeemed but still felt the need to spend his Saturday night in a saloon. It was just like her father all over again. His love of gambling had outweighed his love for family, costing him everything in the end.
“Beth,” Prim jumped to her feet as the girl who now lived with them pounded up the stairs in tears. “Anderson,” Prim said turning to her husband in fear.
“Give her a minute sweetheart,” Anderson said patting the seat next to him, “We’ll find out what happened soon enough.”
Prim returned to the dark haired man’s warm embrace
, resting her head on his shoulder. “I hope nothing terrible happened.”
“Have a little faith,” Anderson drawled, his rich English accent a gentle caress. “Life is not always easy, but it has a way of moving us to where we need to be anyway,” he finished placing a kiss on her hair.
“Up,” Mrs. Perkins called from her rocking chair, “Up.”
Anderson released Prim and walked to his mother-in-law taking her hands and helping her up before letting her lead him to the stairs where he walked her to the landing above.
“Go, go,” she spoke, her words stilted but clear enough, as she waved him away and shuffled toward Beth’s room.
“God, I hope you know what you are doing,” Anderson said, looking toward the dark window at the end of the hall. “You didn’t bring that girl to Needful for nothing.”
***
Mercy Perkins shuffled to the room where the young woman who now lived at the Bowlings home resided. She could feel the pain and sorrow in the young woman from the moment they had met.
Turning the handle on the door, Mercy stepped into the room and walked to the bed where Beth lay weeping into her pillow. Sitting carefully on the edge of the bed she placed a hand on the girl’s back and began to hum God will Deliver Me. It was still too difficult to speak well, and she hoped that her presence might prove a comfort to the distraught young woman.
Mercy sat there for what seemed ages as the dark of the night filled the room as if pushing all light from the world.
With a sniff Beth sat up wipe her eyes with an agitated hand. “I’m so sorry, Mother Perkins,” Beth finally spoke. “I didn’t mean to make a scene.”
Mercy patted the young woman’s shoulder growing silent as she waited. People were prone to talk to her thinking she didn’t fully understand them, which until recently had been partially true.
“It’s Brandon. I mean Mr. Tippert,” Beth sniffed. “He just shot and killed a man in the saloon with a sleeve pistol, like my pa used to carry.”
Mercy waited patiently, knowing this wasn’t finished. Beth had told them a little about her past and that she had left her hometown when her mother had passed. She had mentioned that her father had been killed a few years earlier but hadn’t gone into detail.
“My pa was a gambler,” Beth said, her green eyes seeking Mercy’s in the darkness. “He was good at it, and he didn’t do so much as I got older, but he never could break the hold it had on him and was finally shot by a man who accused him of cheating. It broke my mother’s heart.”
Mercy stood turning to the small table next to the bed and finding a match to strike and light the lamp. As the flicker of flame flared pushing the darkness from the room, she smiled sadly at Beth.
“My husband die,” she said, struggling with the words. “When I go-t kick. He go back.”
Beth scowled at the older woman trying to grasp the meaning of her words but something was missing.
“Moonshine,” Mother Perkins said, and understanding flared in Beth’s mind like the lamp a moment ago.
“I’m so sorry,” Beth said taking Mercy’s hand. “I didn’t know. I understood he had passed.”
“Shot,” Mercy said her eyes glowing with tears. “Good man, bad time…”
Beth nodded understanding. “That’s why I don’t think I can marry Brandon,” she whispered. “He’ll just go back to his saloon days, playing, gambling, drinking. I don’t know.” Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks and Mercy shook her hand getting her attention once more.
“No you choice,” she strained. “Up to God. Not faith in man, faith in God.”
Beth felt a cold chill wash over her as if she had plunged into a cold cleansing pool.
“You think if Brandon is who God has chosen for me then I should believe?”
Mercy nodded her head as the light picked out the strands of silver in her dark brown hair. “God is goo-od.”
Beth shook her head struggling with the words. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember that in this world,” she choked. “There is so much sorrow, so much loss, and such uncertainty.”
“Faith,” Mercy said. “Faith, child.”
Beth sagged on the bed as all the trouble, sorrow, and fear seemed to wash over her again then was dispelled by a great sense of peace that she had ever experienced.
Impulsively Beth threw her arms around Mercy Perkins, embracing her in her heart as a second mother, a woman she knew she could turn to in times of need. She had suffered great loss herself over the years, and even now continued to push hard to be the best she could be. Where did the strength to carry on in what seemed insurmountable sorrows come from?
“My strength comes from the Lord,” Mercy said, her voice a reverent whisper filling Beth’s heart.
Chapter 22
“Preacher, would you mind explaining exactly what happened tonight?” Spencer asked, running a hand over his weary face. He had been enjoying a quiet night with his family, helping Chad with his homework when the sound of a pistol shot had dragged him from his cozy house.
Brandon glanced out of the window, wanting to grab a horse from the hitching post outside and race after Beth.
“Darwin was drunk,” Brandon spoke, distracted by thoughts of Beth. “He started talking crazy and was one word away of accusing a cowboy of cheating. He wasn’t though, and I knew when Darwin got to his feet, I had to keep him from making a deadly mistake.”
“So you shot him?” Jacks asked staring at the preacher as if he were a complete stranger.
“No!” Brandon said turning to face the two men. “I shot the cards from his hand,” the preacher growled. “I don’t shoot people, and I always hit exactly what I aim for. Darwin jumped, tripped over his fallen chair, and hit the floor with a thud. The other cowboys were too shocked to do anything, and then you two showed up. Can I go now? I need to talk to Beth.”
Spencer shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid not,” the one time trail boss intoned. “I’ll need reports from everyone involved, and then I’ll need to speak to Darwin when he wakes up. Jacks, would you run along and fetch Daliah for me. She’s the closest thing we have to a doctor in Needful, and I’d like her to check Darwin for injury.”
“Sure will, Sheriff,” Jacks said, heading out the door, with a hard look for the young preacher.
“Preacher, have a seat, and we’ll talk a spell.” Spencer nodded to the seat across from him, his blue eyes serious.
Brandon took the seat across from Spencer reluctantly, but understood that the man was only doing his job. He would speak to Beth in the morning when this mess was all sorted out. Surely she would understand that he could never harm a fellow man unless they threatened others.
“I’ve never known of a preacher to carry a sleeve gun,” the sheriff raised a brow, waiting for Brandon to respond.
“It’s an old holdover from wasted years,” Brandon admitted. “I’m in the habit of it, and there are no laws against it. I’ve even used it to shoot a rabbit or two in times of need,” he added with a wry smile.
Spencer looked across his battered desk at the preacher. A tall thin man with a mop of unruly brown curls and dark eyes, he was nondescript at best. His face was serious, but when he smiled or made a joke it lit up with glee.
“If I were to go through this stack of wanted posters, I wouldn’t find you in them would I?”
Brandon chuckled, rolling his shoulders to relieve some of the tension building there. “No, Spence, you wouldn’t. A few years ago I was a traveling musician, so to speak. I spent my days wandering from dance hall to saloon, playing the piano for drinks and tips. I enjoyed the excitement.”
“So you didn’t start out as a preacher?” Spence nodded.
“No, my father wanted me to join the family business back home, but I had other notions that took me into some of the seedier aspects of life. It was a lark, a bit of fun. I didn’t ever gamble seriously or drink heavy, but I watched those who did, and it made me laugh. I felt I was so much better than they were with their foolish a
ddictions and vices.”
“What happened?”
Brandon slumped in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he met the sheriff’s eyes. “There was a girl,” he started. “We weren’t romantically connected or anything, but she worked as a dancer in one of the dance halls. She was a good kid on hard times. When the place burnt down, she died, and though I tried to save her, I was knocked out, suffering for days from the smoke I breathed.”
“That sounds pretty bad.”
Brandon nodded. “When I was recovering, I met a fellow called George Jones. He was a preacher himself who seemed to gravitate to those who lived in the lower realms, so to speak. He talked to me, showing me that God was the answer for all of us, and that if we only believed, He would bring us to the place we were meant to be. No one had ever talked to me that way before. I had grown up destined to take over my father’s business, with no real understanding of the grace of God. It hit me in the heart.” Brandon paused thumping his chest with a closed fist. “It grabbed hold of me in a way nothing ever could, and instead of mocking or laughing at the men mired in sin, I found compassion.”
“I’m glad you made the change,” Spencer said, rising as the door opened. “I think Darwin is probably alive because of you today, and I’m thankful for that.”
“Spencer, what’s going on?” Daliah asked, stepping into the office with her bag in hand. “Jacks said there was a shooting.”
Spencer walked around his desk reaching for his wife’s hand. “No one’s been shot, Honey,” he smiled. “But I think Darwin is waking up and might need some attention.”
Daliah looked up at Brandon, her blue eyes curious, but she didn’t ask any questions. “Take me too him,” she said as a low moan emanated from the cells at the back of the jail.
Brandon lurked in the entry between the two small cells as Spencer led his wife inside to tend Darwin who was sitting groggily on his cot.
“What happened?” the other man asked dropping his head in his hands as the room spun.
