The Preacher's Bride Claim

by Laurie Kingery

Either way, his stubborn heart compelled him to make the effort. He had to know, to intervene if she was with Maxwell Peterson against her will.

  Lord, help me learn the truth.

  Then the scriptural promise echoed in his heart. And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.

  * * *

  Elijah found Alice sitting on a camp chair in front of her tent, sipping from a cup of tea. Peterson was nowhere in sight, but the short, dark-haired servant who’d been hovering yesterday stood between her tent and the New Yorker’s absurdly fancy one, present if she wished anything but unobtrusive. And ready to summon his master if Alice tried to go anywhere alone, he surmised.

  She was dressed—not in the simple, pretty calico dresses he’d always seen her in, but in a fussy creation with an overskirt caught back on the sides with ribbons and an abundance of lace trim and flounces. There were ribbon bows on her shoulders, too. Was this how Peterson liked her to dress? The Alice he knew would have shunned this dress as pretty but impractical in this setting.

  As had happened yesterday, she didn’t see Elijah at first, for she was staring into her cup, her eyes unfocused, her slender shoulders slumped as if they held the weight of the world.

  “Miss Alice, may I speak to you?” he said softly.

  Her head jerked up. “Elijah,” she whispered, and then he saw her dart a glance over her shoulder at the servant behind her.

  Sure enough, the servant was already turning on his heel and heading into the big tent. Elijah would have to talk fast, he knew.

  When Alice turned back to him, her face was stricken, and her blue eyes had the look of a hunted creature.

  “Alice, you don’t look happy,” he said quickly. “Tell me the truth. Is this—is he—what you want? Just say the word, and I’ll help you, no matter what he tries to do.”

  “Elijah, I— You can’t be here,” she said in an urgent, hushed voice. “Go away, before—”

  He bent low, so he could speak as softly as she had. “Before what, Alice? Is he intimidating you in some way? Hurting you? I won’t let him. Alice—”

  She closed her eyes as the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching behind her reached both their ears.

  Elijah already knew what he would see when he looked up—Maxwell Peterson bustling toward them, straightening his vest.

  “Ah, Reverend Thornton, good morning to you. Is there something I can help you with? A donation for your good works, perhaps?”

  Elijah straightened. “No,” he said evenly. “I—I wanted to ask Miss Hawthorne to invite you to our daily prayer service in the chapel,” he said, thinking fast. “She’s been a regular attendee, and I thought perhaps she’d like to introduce you to the friends she’s made there. Since you’re here, I just want to say you’d be very welcome. We meet at ten o’clock. Miss Hawthorne can show you the way.”

  Peterson would be welcome if he wanted to attend, Elijah resolved. He could resign himself to Alice’s being with the fellow if he thought she was happy with a godly man, even if he wasn’t the sort of man he thought Alice should have picked. But he doubted Maxwell had darkened the door of a church in years, if ever.

  A glance at Alice revealed her face had become the same unreadable mask it had been yesterday, and his heart sank.

  Peterson’s face hardened. “Prayer service?” he echoed, in the same tone one might use to refer to a grown woman making mud pies. “I think not.”

  His supercilious tone had Elijah stiffening, and struggling not to clench his fists and plant one of them squarely in the New Yorker’s face. Lord, help me control myself, for Alice’s sake.

  “Parson, you’ve no need to concern yourself with my fiancée anymore,” Peterson went on. “I appreciate you and your congregation befriending her when she arrived alone in this place, but I’m here now, and I’ll look after her from this point on. Miss Hawthorne is a naturally friendly person—friendly to a fault, in fact—and not one to put on airs, but you have to realize the kind of folk that need the crutch of prayer meetings are not the sort of society she’s become accustomed to. I’m going to have to ask you not to bother her again.” Even while his tone stayed courteous but condescending, his eyes glared at Elijah.

  “It’s not my intention to offend you, Mr. Maxwell,” Elijah said, keeping his eyes on the New Yorker, “or impose myself where I’m not wanted, but I’m afraid I need to hear it from Miss Hawthorne herself. She’s been such a vital part of our congregation, you see.” He turned his gaze to Alice. “Miss Hawthorne?”

  Please, Alice, his soul cried within him. Let me help you. He waited for endless seconds, willing her to find the courage, despite the way Peterson’s intense gaze burned a hole in her back.

  She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Reverend, but it’s as Maxwell says. I—I’ll be spending my time with him from now on. Please understand—and give my best regards to the congregation. They were indeed very kind to me.”

  Elijah thought for a moment he spotted a split-second pleading look and the gleam of tears in her eyes when she’d said, “Please understand,” but it might have been a trick of the light.

  “I’ll do that,” Elijah managed to say. “Good day, Miss Hawthorne, Mr. Peterson.” But he couldn’t will his feet to move from the spot, not yet.

  Peterson shifted his gaze to Alice, with the air of a man who’d put a troublesome task behind him. “Darling, if we’re to make that meeting with the colonel I’ve set up, you’ll have to hurry and change into your riding habit. Horst, please see that the horses are saddled.”

  The Bavarian bowed. “Jawohl, mein Herr. Right away.”

  Elijah found the strength to walk away then. There was nothing else he could do. But even as his heart broke for what might have been, he couldn’t help wondering what Peterson had meant by “a meeting with the colonel.” What was the man up to?

  * * *

  Alice watched him go, wishing the ground might open up beneath her and swallow her. She would have rather died than send Elijah away with a hurtful lie as she had. But she’d done what she had to do, knowing she might well be saving Elijah’s life.

  She was under no illusions as to why Maxwell was taking her with him when he went to see the army officer. He knew he didn’t dare leave her here alone that long, even with Horst to guard her. Maxwell held the Bavarian’s allegiance, but Horst was only a little taller than Alice herself and slightly built. He could tie her up and gag her, but she would scream bloody murder before she let that happen. And while Maxwell was gone, if anyone demanded to see her, it would declare his assertions to Elijah this morning nothing but lies.

  There had to be a way to escape the destiny Maxwell had in mind for her, a way that would not endanger any of the people she loved. Lord, show me the way.

  * * *

  “Elijah, Winona asked you a question,” Lars prompted Thursday afternoon during the daily session in which he helped the preacher teach English to Winona and Dakota.

  Elijah realized he’d been inattentive again, his mind wandering off on rabbit trails when he should be encouraging Winona. The Cheyenne woman had made amazing progress in the short time they had been working with her, as had her nephew.

  If only he could stop thinking of how he could help Alice. Elijah had seen the pain in her eyes yesterday morning when he’d gone to see her, before that blank indifference had descended over her lovely features.

  Stop it. Pull yourself together and pay attention to what you’re doing now. Winona and Dakota deserve better than this.

  “I’m sorry, Winona. I didn’t mean to be woolgathering. What was your question?”

  Winona looked around her in confusion. “I see no sheep,” she said slowly. “What means this ‘woolgathering’?”

  “Me, I see no sheep, too,” Dakota chimed in, his brow furrowed.

  Her question made
Elijah chuckle in spite of the sadness that sucked at his soul. “It’s a saying that means being distracted,” he explained. “Lars said you had a question?”

  Dakota had lost interest in the conversation. He had brought the kitten from the Gilberts’ campsite with him and now was dangling a strip of rawhide along the floor, giggling as the kitten chased it.

  “Yes—this word in the Bible verse, ‘For God so loved the world, He gave His only begotten Son.’ What is begotten?”

  “It means God is the father of Jesus,” Elijah said.

  She considered that. “The Great Spirit had a Son?”

  Elijah nodded. “Do you know the rest of the verse?”

  “That whoever believes in Him has life that lasts forever.”

  “Very good, Winona.” It wasn’t word-perfect, but she’d gotten to the heart of the matter. Had this truth reached her heart?

  “A believer in Jesus will never die?” Now she looked completely skeptical. “But even the Black Robe who visit our village long ago died. He was old.”

  “We will die when it is our time, Winona. But our souls—that central part of us that is our spirits—will go to live with God in Heaven forever.”

  She thought about that. “How you know?”

  Even with her limited English, Winona managed to ask some complex theological questions.

  “I have faith, Winona. I believe.” He spread his palm over his heart. “I believe inside me it is true.”

  She laid a hand over her own heart. “I do not have this ‘believe’ inside me. But I listen and think about it.”

  “That’s very good, Winona. Your English is improving very rapidly.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, Reverend Elijah,” she said in her careful way. “I make long talk soon, yes?”

  “I’m sure of it.” It felt good to lay aside his sadness for a time and concentrate on someone else’s needs. “Now, Dakota,” he said, determined to draw the boy back into the lesson, “what can you tell me about the cat—in English?” He pointed at the kitten, which had just pounced on the rawhide strip.

  Dakota looked puzzled and looked to Lars, who translated Elijah’s question.

  “The...kitty...play—plays—and jumps. The kitty...gray stripes—has gray stripes,” he said, then grinned. “It is good, my words, yes, Preechah ’Lijah?”

  “Yes. I think we’ve done enough for today,” Elijah said, knowing that the boy, if not Winona, was getting restless. “Will both of you practice your letters? We will work on them tomorrow.”

  “We will do this,” Winona said and rose gracefully, motioning to the boy. Then she looked back at Lars.

  “I will see you both later, Winona,” he said. “Maybe I can help you work on your letters.”

  Lars waited until Winona and Dakota were gone, then turned to Elijah.

  “There is great heaviness on your mind, ja?”

  “Yes.” There was no arguing with those perceptive blue eyes. Elijah prayed the Dane would leave it at that, but he knew there wasn’t really a chance of that happening.

  “Miss Alice has not come to chapel for—” Lars counted on his fingers “—three days. And I have seen her with a strange man in city clothes riding out of Boomer Town.”

  “Did my brothers put you up to this?” Elijah asked, fighting irritation. Gideon and Clint had been tiptoeing around him as if he was a porcupine rolled up the wrong way. Had they shared their worries with Lars?

  “Ikke. No. You don’t truly believe your brothers talk about your private matters?” Lars’s tone was gently disapproving. “But I have eyes, Elijah. I can see you are sad, and I see this man unknown to me with Miss Alice, and I—what is that saying?—I put two and two together. Who is this man, Elijah? Why does Miss Alice not come to chapel?”

  Elijah sighed. He wondered about the wisdom of sharing his concerns about Alice and her supposed fiancé, but perhaps it was best to tell the truth. If Lars had seen Alice with Peterson, chances were others had, too. The truth might be better than the rumors that could start.

  “It’s like this, Lars...” he began, and the story came pouring out.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lars was thoughtful after Elijah finished his recital of what had happened with Alice.

  “Do you think if I sent my sister to speak to her, this Peterson fellow would allow it?” Lars suggested. “Surely no man could refuse my sweet, innocent sister the chance to speak with her friend?”

  It meant a lot to Elijah that Lars thought Katrine would be willing to risk the rudeness that the New Yorker might offer her.

  “I don’t think Peterson would risk letting Katrine speak to her alone,” he said.

  “Then what should we do, Elijah? Call a meeting of the church to pray for her?”

  Elijah rubbed his chin. “I don’t know, Lars. It’s risky,” he said. “If this got back to Alice and she wants to be with Maxwell Peterson for whatever reason, she might be offended. And we’ve had a lot of new folks come in the last few days, folks I haven’t had a chance to get to know very well yet.”

  And that’s your own fault, he accused himself. You’ve been mooning about Alice and not tending to your calling, the shepherding of souls. No more! He’d make some pastoral visits this very afternoon and try to get better acquainted with some of the more recent attenders.

  Or was it pride speaking? Was he merely unwilling to show his weakness, his humanness, to his entire church, when they looked to him for guidance? Pride goeth before a fall...

  Lord, show me what to do.

  Lars was studying him, waiting for him to come up with an alternate suggestion.

  “What about if we had a prayer meeting later tonight at the Gilberts’, after Dakota has gone to sleep?” Elijah said. “You, me, Katrine, Keith and Cassie Gilbert? Winona can attend if she wants, of course—it might be well for her to see how Christians rely on prayer to solve a problem,” he said.

  “Ja, that is a very good idea,” Lars said, brightening. “I will let them know.”

  Elijah only wished that he could count on Gideon and Clint to be part of that number. He knew they wished him well, of course. But if his brothers didn’t believe that the Lord cared about His people, why would they think that group prayer would accomplish anything?

  * * *

  Alice watched Maxwell warily as Horst prepared another gourmet meal. He’d been in a foul mood ever since they’d left the office of Colonel Amboys.

  She hadn’t told Maxwell about her other expedition to speak to an army officer, and in any case, there was no reason for her to think that they would be speaking to the same officers she and Elijah had spoken to when they were inquiring about Dakota’s father.

  But they were directed to the same guard station to the same Major Bliss who had forwarded Elijah and her to Colonel Amboys, and sure enough, he referred Maxwell to Colonel Amboys again. Bliss looked hard at Alice before giving them directions, but Alice wasn’t sure if he recognized her or not. In fancier clothing, she knew she looked vastly different.

  Colonel Amboys definitely did remember her, however, and that fact was helping to fuel Maxwell’s temper now. Maxwell had introduced himself, and was about to present Alice when the colonel interrupted him.

  “Miss Hawthorne and I have met,” he said. “Nice to see you again, ma’am.”

  Maxwell’s eyebrows had risen nearly to his hairline. “Oh? And how did you happen to meet my fiancée?” he asked.

  Colonel Amboys narrowed his gaze at Maxwell, clearly disliking the other man’s high-handed tone. “Miss Hawthorne and Reverend Thornton were making inquiries about a certain officer in the army, on behalf of his son,” the colonel said stiffly. “Now if you would state your business, Mr. Peterson?”

  Just as Alice thought, the colonel had indeed scorned Maxwell’s suggestion tha
t any officer of the U.S. Army had promised Maxwell early entry into the Unassigned Territories, even when Maxwell waved a letter purporting to be from the officer who’d made the promise.

  “I’ll take that,” Colonel Amboys said, neatly snatching the letter by one corner. “Army headquarters will be interested to learn that one of our officers feels free to grant such...favors.”

  But Maxwell hadn’t smelled defeat yet. “Colonel, we’re reasonable men,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a roll of bills. “I never meant that you wouldn’t benefit from helping me and my lady,” he said, with a meaningful glance toward Alice.

  Colonel Amboys’s face went purple. “You’d try to bribe an officer in the United States Army? Listen, you self-important windbag! The only reason I’m not clapping you in irons is the presence of Miss Hawthorne—though I also deplore her unfortunate choice of friends, in this instance,” he added, aiming a sour glance at Alice herself. “Now get out of here and take your chances with the rest at noon on the twenty-second if you want—though I think Oklahoma would be better off if you never lived there.”

  Now, hours later, Maxwell hadn’t gotten over his humiliation in front of her, and that made him dangerous, Alice thought. It was probably in her best interest to say as little as possible until Maxwell’s temper cooled.

  He’d been this way since they were growing up together in the same farming community in upstate New York. He had tried to court her, but she had always kept him at arm’s length, liking neither his possessive attitude nor the rudeness and disdain with which he treated others.

  “The gall of the fellow, to suggest I should have to run with the rabble, as if I were one of them,” Maxwell muttered now.

  Alice didn’t know what to say to that, but Horst, hovering nearby as always, did. “If I might take the liberty to point something out, mein Herr? Your horses are vastly superior to any the rabble are likely to have. You will leave them all in the dust.”

  “True,” Maxwell said, grudgingly mollified. Horst set their meals in front of them then, and Alice hoped that, with his hunger satisfied, Maxwell would mellow. And he might have, if he had not drunk so deeply of the wine. She had refused it, as always.