The Preacher's Bride Claim

by Laurie Kingery

  He stood and gave her a punctilious bow, pretending not to see how he’d startled her. “Good morning, Miss Hawthorne,” he said in his perfect Bavarian-accented English. “A pleasure to see you again. Let me brew you some coffee, yes? I will wake Mr. Peterson and tell him you have arisen.”

  “Oh, no, that’s not necessary. I was just—” she began, already knowing she would not be walking down to see Elijah now.

  “But those are his instructions, Miss Hawthorne.” He was perfectly polite but inexorable.

  “No, don’t do that. I—I wouldn’t want you to disturb him since he went to bed so late,” she said and faked a huge yawn. “I—I’m actually still rather tired myself. I think I’ll go back in and doze a little longer.”

  Horst bowed again. “Very good, Miss Hawthorne.”

  Letting the tent flap fall behind her, she lay down on the cot, fully clothed. Holding the sheet up to her face to stifle the sound, she wept.

  * * *

  Odd that Alice hadn’t come to chapel, Elijah thought, but perhaps she hadn’t slept well that night and decided to sleep in that morning. Perhaps he could give Winona and Dakota their English lesson a little early, leaving him time to ask Alice if she’d like to go riding out on the prairie with him this afternoon. They hadn’t taken the horses for a gallop since he’d been ill, and though it was still sunny, a cool wind had blown away the summerlike heat. Perhaps out there among the tall grass and rolling countryside, they’d have enough privacy that he could ask Alice if he could court her.

  But she wasn’t there when he went to her tent at two o’clock, either, and she had left him no note. A prickle of unease slid down his spine, but nothing was disturbed in the tent, as far as he could tell.

  There was a new tent, huge and fancy-looking, behind Alice’s, that hadn’t been there before, almost like something a medieval king would hold court in. He didn’t care. More and more people were coming into Boomer Town each day, and perhaps those whose tents had been behind hers had shifted elsewhere.

  He left her a note on the top of the crate by her cot, saying he’d been here to see if she wanted to go riding. They could still go this evening, he supposed. It might even be nicer when they could watch the sun setting behind the hills to the west.

  Probably she’d left because she’d learned of someone needing her nursing. He hadn’t thought to look for her medical bag when he’d been inside her tent. Yes, that had to be it. She’d find his note and come over to their campsite, and all would be well. He’d just take a stroll around town and see if he could run across her.

  But he didn’t spot her familiar figure in the flower-sprigged calico dresses she favored, nor had anyone he inquired of seen her. Returning to their tent, he asked his brothers if she’d come while he had been out walking around, only to have both of them shake their heads.

  “You have any reason to be worried, Lije?” Gideon asked.

  Elijah shook his head and told him how he’d found everything in order at her campsite—but that he hadn’t found her tending some homesteader around Boomer Town, either.

  “Maybe she’s just gone out for a walk past town,” Clint offered. “Sometimes ladies get a notion to go gather wildflowers, don’t they? Or maybe, being as it’s Alice we’re talking about, healing herbs or some such.”

  “I don’t think she’d go out there on foot, alone.” Elijah shook his head. “Not after what happened to Mrs. Murphy, right here in town.” During his walk, he’d seen Cheyenne, Alice’s Appaloosa, in the corral with the rest of their horses, so he knew she hadn’t gone on a solitary ride.

  Gideon looked thoughtful. “Come to think of it, Lije, I saw some woman riding out this morning ’round about the time you’d have been finishing up at your chapel. She was a ways away, going down that side road that leads out of Boomer Town, yonder,” he said, pointing in that direction, “and I caught a glimpse of dark red hair as she went past.”

  Elijah leaned forward.

  “But it couldn’t’ve been her,” Gideon said. “This woman was riding sidesaddle in a fancy riding habit, not a split skirt like Alice wears when she rides, and she was sitting on this high-stepping liver-colored chestnut with a bobbed mane. There was some Eastern dude riding beside her.”

  “Doesn’t sound like Alice, then,” Clint said.

  “No,” Elijah murmured, but he wouldn’t feel at peace until he saw her. He shifted his gaze to the entrance of the tent, as if he could will her presence.

  “Think we oughta speak to the Security Patrol and ask if they’ve seen her around town?” Clint said.

  “No.” They hadn’t been of any help before. “I think I’ll just go down to her tent and wait for her,” he said and headed outside.

  “Invite her to join us for supper at Mrs. Murphy’s, why don’t you?” Clint called after him. “I saw Mrs. M earlier, and she said she’s making that tasty ginger cake for dessert.”

  Elijah had walked past four campsites, spurred on by an apprehension he couldn’t put a name to, when he spotted Alice, sitting outside in the shade of her tent. She was looking in the other direction. But before relief could seize him and cause him to call out a greeting, he saw that she wasn’t alone.

  A big, richly dressed gent with light brown closely cropped hair, mustache and beard sat in a camp chair beside her—too close beside her—dressed in a hacking jacket, jodhpurs and high two-toned leather boots—the sort of gentleman’s riding apparel he hadn’t seen since they’d left the East. He had a folded newspaper in one hand and was idly flicking a riding crop at his boots with the other. Hovering nearby, between Alice’s tent and the new, large one behind her, stood a middle-aged man dressed in a servant’s livery.

  Elijah stopped stock-still in the narrow roadway, staring. There had to be an explanation. Perhaps he was a brother or some cousin from New York. She’d never spoken of such—in fact he’d believed she was alone in the world but for her mother—yet it had to be the case.

  Almost as if she sensed his presence, Alice looked in his direction then and went still, like a fawn who’d spotted a wolf. Her eyes widened, then went blank. The man had looked up, too, and slowly, almost negligently, leaned closer to her so that they were touching from shoulder to elbow, his almost-colorless pale eyes narrowing into slits as he studied Elijah.

  Elijah came to stand by the path that led to her tent. “Miss Alice, I see you have a visitor,” he commented, straining to sound normal. Who is this man, Alice? he wanted to demand. Why is he sitting so close to you?

  She’d gone pale as paper. “Yes...h-hello, Reverend Thornton,” she said. “Yes, Maxwell’s just come from New York. It—it was...quite a surprise.” Her voice was unnatural and strange, as if she couldn’t quite get her breath.

  The man she’d called Maxwell stood then, leaving the folded newspaper in his chair, and came forward now, his arm extended. “Maxwell Peterson, Reverend. I’m Alice’s fiancé. I couldn’t let my little sweetheart make the Land Rush without me, could I?” He gave a jovial bark of laughter.

  Elijah thought he had to have heard him wrong. He stared at Alice. “Your fiancé?” His own voice sounded strange to him, too. He made no move to shake the man’s proffered hand, and finally, the other man lowered his outstretched arm to his side. Far from being embarrassed, though, Maxwell Peterson beamed with satisfaction.

  Alice looked everywhere but at Elijah or Peterson.

  Elijah saw Peterson turn his gaze on Alice. The man’s jaw had hardened, and a vein throbbed in his temple.

  “Darling, aren’t you going to tell him?” Peterson asked. “No matter, I will. You see, Reverend, she and I...well, we had a silly quarrel before she left New York about her coming here to Oklahoma, but Alice was determined to prove to me that this place is where she wants us to raise our family—far from the hustle and bustle of New York City.” He chuckled. “My foolish, willful sw
eetheart. So of course I had to follow her and tell her I’d seen the light, didn’t I?”

  “I...I see,” Elijah said, choking with the effort to sound normal and unmoved. “Well...Miss Alice, I just came to ask if we’d be doing our rounds around the town tonight as usual?” he asked, as if he hadn’t been planning to invite her to go riding.

  “Alice...” the other man said, clearly prompting her.

  She looked up then, and Elijah saw none of the lively sparkle in those sky-blue eyes that had always been there. They were expressionless.

  “I—I’m afraid not, Reverend. Now that Maxwell’s here, I’m afraid I just won’t have the time any longer....”

  “There’s so much to talk about before the wedding,” Peterson explained in a companionable, man-to-man sort of way. “We’re to be married right after we claim our homesteads, Reverend. Alice, darling,” he added, as if a thought had just struck him, “we hadn’t talked about it, but would you like Reverend Thornton to do the honors? Of course, I’d planned to have Prescott brought out by train—that’s our man of the cloth back in New York, you see, Reverend.” He grinned. “But really, Alice, if you’ve become friendly with the parson here...”

  “We can talk about it later, Maxwell,” Alice murmured, her voice brittle as leaves in November.

  “I understand,” Elijah managed to say, which was the first lie he’d uttered in a long, long time. He didn’t understand at all. He had to get away from here. “Well, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around Boomer Town, Miss Alice. Nice to meet you, Mr. Peterson.” And that was the second lie.

  * * *

  Elijah didn’t remember walking back to his tent. Somehow he was just there, and Clint was bending over him, worry written plain on his face.

  “Elijah, are you sick again? What’s wrong?”

  “Yeah, you’re pale as a whitewashed fence,” Gideon agreed. “You’re not having one of those relapses Alice was so worried about, are you? Did you find Alice?”

  “I’m not sick.” Only sick at heart. “Yes, I found her.” Staring straight ahead of him because he couldn’t bear to see their reaction, he told them what he had found when he had returned to Alice’s campsite.

  Both men shook their heads when he was through.

  “I wouldn’t have figured her for a woman like that,” Clint said.

  “Me neither. Not at all,” Gideon muttered.

  “That makes three of us.”

  Silence hung in the air. He wished they’d stop staring at him as if he was a stick of dynamite about to explode.

  Finally Gideon said, “I think I’ll go over to Mrs. Murphy’s and see if she’ll make up some plates of whatever she’s serving for supper and send them with me.”

  “Good idea. I’ll go with you, Gideon,” Clint said, a little too quickly. “Help you carry things. We’ll be right back, Lije.”

  Just like that, Elijah was by himself. He was thankful that his brothers were savvy enough to see that he needed to be alone with his misery.

  How could he have let himself lose sight of his calling so far as to fall in love with Alice Hawthorne, a woman he’d met just two weeks before, a woman he’d never really known at all, apparently? From the devoted way she’d nursed the sick and tended the wounded, he’d convinced himself Alice could be content with the simple life as a preacher’s wife, but evidently, it had all been an act. Just something to pass the time until she saw if she could bring her rich beau to heel. She’d certainly fooled him.

  What if he’d married her, and then Peterson had shown up? After looking into those lifeless eyes of hers, he had no doubt Alice would have left him without a qualm.

  He remembered the day of Marybelle’s funeral. Mercifully he hadn’t had to conduct the service; another preacher in the same town had done it. He’d walked away from her grave that day and vowed never to fall in love again and open himself up to such hurt. Serving the Lord and His church would be enough for him. Well, heartbreak was the least of what he deserved for forgetting a promise to God.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Horst, the Chateaubriand was superb. You’re a master at Béarnaise sauce,” Maxwell praised, and the little Bavarian man beamed.

  How Horst had obtained the prime cuts of beef in the middle of Oklahoma, much less made Béarnaise sauce, Alice didn’t know, but she had no appetite.

  “Alice, dear, you’re just picking at your food,” Maxwell chided. “Even if you aren’t going to have to race with the rabble this coming Monday, you’re going to need your strength as we start our wedded life together.”

  Remarks such as that made her feel as if he was playing with her like a cat played with a mouse. Didn’t he notice that she’d expressed no enthusiasm whatsoever at the prospect of marrying him? Or did nothing matter but what he wanted?

  Elijah, why was I such a fool?

  There could not be two more different men than Elijah Thornton and Maxwell Peterson, she mused. One, kind and selfless, honorable, serving the Lord; the other only out for himself. If she married Maxwell, he’d treat her as just another possession—a prized possession, maybe, but a possession nonetheless.

  “Alice...” Maxwell prompted, and she realized she hadn’t answered him.

  “I’m not that hungry, Maxwell.” She motioned for Horst to take her plate away. Maxwell had played cat-with-a-mouse with Elijah, too, when he’d suggested Elijah officiate at their wedding. That had been so cruel of him. The pain in Elijah’s eyes would haunt her dreams.

  “Perhaps you would like dessert, raspberries and blackberries with fresh cream, Miss Hawthorne?” Horst asked, seemingly oblivious to the tension inside the pavilion, as Maxwell persisted in calling it.

  “All right.”

  “Yes, it’s the beginning of a whole new life for us, come Monday,” Maxwell said with satisfaction.

  Alice wasn’t convinced Maxwell and she were going to be allowed to waltz across the borderline at dawn on the day of the Land Rush, no matter how much money he had or who owed him favors. The army officers so far had been incorruptible, from all reports. Even if they were susceptible to a bribe, they wouldn’t want to face the outcry that would arise if they were seen granting early entry to homesteaders.

  Maxwell would find out one way or the other sooner or later, Alice supposed. She wouldn’t be surprised if his high-handed manner got him placed under arrest until the run was over. That might be a way for her to evade him—if he didn’t somehow manage to pull her into trouble with him. But maybe she could throw herself on the mercy of the army and rely on them to save her from Maxwell....

  She was desperate to find a way to speak with Elijah alone—if only to apologize for Maxwell’s cruel taunt, if nothing else. Even if she didn’t dare confess her true feelings for him, she couldn’t leave him with the thought that she approved of what Maxwell had said.

  “Darling, you’re very quiet,” Maxwell murmured silkily. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were unhappy.”

  Something in the cold watchfulness of his eyes roused her from her daydreams of escaping him.

  “I’m just tired, Maxwell.” She tried to smile. “That was a long ride we went for, wasn’t it? It was so warm...”

  “Well, you chose this hot place,” he muttered, his face sulky. “It’s only April, and it’s already hot as blue blazes. We could have stayed in New York, where we could summer at the shore or in the Adirondacks, but, no...”

  “I’m sorry, Maxwell. I’ll be more chipper tomorrow, I promise.” But how on earth would she get through tomorrow and the next day and the next—and the rest of her life?

  He laid a hand on her wrist. “That’s my good girl. I wouldn’t want to have to tell your mother you’ve become melancholy.”

  There it was, the threat implicit in the velvet words. “Good night, Maxwell. I think I just need a littl
e sleep.”

  “I suppose you’ve just learned to keep country hours,” he mocked. “Up with the sun, early to bed. That won’t do in the future when we’re the social leaders of Oklahoma, you know.” He turned to his servant. “Horst, walk Miss Hawthorne to her tent, and stay outside it for a while in case she needs anything.”

  Alice only just managed not to scream at Maxwell—or to beg for Horst’s help after they left the tent. Horst was Maxwell’s creature, through and through, and like the army, incorruptible.

  * * *

  “Brother, you look like something the cat drug in after dragging it through a bramble patch,” Gideon commented the next morning when Elijah sat up and threw his legs over the side of his cot.

  “You’re awfully ready with the colorful comparisons these days,” Elijah growled, rubbing his jaw wearily. “Maybe you should be a writer rather than a rancher.”

  Gideon rolled his eyes, grinning. “Not hardly. But seriously, Lije, did you get any sleep? I heard you tossing and turning half the night.”

  Clint chimed in with his agreement.

  “Some. Sorry if I disturbed you both.” He’d wrestled with what he should do about Alice until the wee hours, and he was still undecided. But one thing was clear. He had to speak to her again and give her the chance to tell him if what Peterson was saying was true—that they’d been sweethearts who’d had a quarrel but had mended their differences. The Alice Hawthorne who’d faced him yesterday had been so different from the Alice he’d known these past two weeks that he could almost believe she’d been drugged—or threatened.

  Yesterday, when he’d come upon them, Alice hadn’t glowed with happiness, as a woman reunited with her love should be. Could this rich New Yorker have some dark hold over her?

  If he went to see her early—as soon as he could dress and down some coffee—might he be able to speak to her alone? Or would he find them together, in circumstances that would proclaim her a different sort of woman altogether than what he’d thought she was?