The Preacher's Bride Claim

by Laurie Kingery

  “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you lied when you left me in New York, Alice,” Maxwell said suddenly. “You told me that you were just going home to settle your affairs, and then you vanished. I finally had to track you down in Oklahoma.”

  “But, Maxwell, if I’d told you where I was going it would have spoiled the surprise, remember?” she said, hoping to appease him with his own words.

  “Well, you shouldn’t have worried me like that,” he groused. “We could have planned it together—or better yet, I might’ve talked you out of such a hare-brained scheme.”

  “It’ll be all right after next Monday, you’ll see,” she said. “As Horst said, you have the best horses. We’re bound to get excellent homesteads.” Dear Heavens, am I in for a lifetime of this pacifying?

  For a moment, she thought her words had satisfied him, but in a lightning change of subject, he snarled, “So before I came, you’d been out gallivanting with that Bible-thumping parson, according to that pompous fool of a colonel.”

  Lord, give me the right words to calm him. Don’t let me somehow say something that endangers Elijah.

  “The preacher and I were making an official inquiry,” she said with a calmness she didn’t feel, “on behalf of a boy named Dakota, who had shown up here looking for his father, a captain in the army. We were trying to assist—”

  “‘Dakota?’ What kind of outlandish name is that for a boy?”

  “Dakota’s half Cheyenne,” she explained, knowing that would only make things worse.

  “So you were out traipsing around on behalf of some half-breed kid, some captain’s by-blow with a squaw? How cozy.”

  In spite of her resolve to soothe him rather than exacerbate the situation, Alice felt her own anger kindling at his unfair insinuations and his cruel words about Dakota.

  “We weren’t traipsing, and Dakota is a nice boy who doesn’t deserve to be called such names—”

  She never saw the slap coming.

  “I won’t have my future wife compromising her reputation by going off alone with any man, reverend or not!” he roared, as she cringed on her chair.

  All at once Horst was there, interposing himself smoothly between them, facing Maxwell as if he was the same size as his employer and had done this before.

  “Go to your tent, Miss Hawthorne,” he said without turning around. “I will handle this. He won’t even remember it in the morning.”

  “Yes, I will!” Maxwell shouted, his face infused with blood, his eyes red as a stampeding bull’s. “Don’t think I can’t send word to New York and make your mother pay the price!”

  Alice fled.

  * * *

  “Lord, help us to remember that where two or three are gathered in Your name, there are You in the midst of them,” Keith Gilbert prayed to begin their meeting. “You have said also that if we agree here on earth on something within Your will, it will happen.”

  “Amen,” Elijah murmured.

  They were gathered in a circle around the Gilberts’ campfire—Keith, Lars and Elijah sitting on hay bales; Cassie and Winona on camp chairs. Dakota had gone to sleep an hour ago in the wagon.

  “Reverend, Lars told us you had a weighty matter bothering you, and you needed prayer, but he said you would explain,” his deacon prompted.

  As concisely as possible, Elijah explained about Maxwell Peterson, and how the man had caused Alice to stop coming to the chapel or making calls on the sick with him.

  “Now, if this man is her choice and Alice truly wants to absent herself from us, I can accept that,” Elijah concluded several minutes later. “But she didn’t look happy, and I can’t help feeling like this man has some hold over her somehow, and it’s not right that she be forced into a situation against her will.”

  “That’s awful. That sweet girl,” Cassie murmured. “I agree. Something isn’t right here, Reverend. We have to think of a way to help her.”

  “But how can we do this, if this man will not allow anyone to speak to her?” Katrine asked. “Such things should not happen in this free country, America.”

  “The reverend’s heart is wounded, too,” Winona said. “You care much for Alice Hawthorne, yes? I see it in your eyes, Reverend Elijah.”

  Elijah blinked. He had made no mention of how Alice’s apparent rejection had hurt him personally. Was it so obvious that even a relative newcomer from another culture could see it? Looking around the circle, he saw heads nodding in agreement at the Cheyenne woman’s words. They all knew it.

  “I’d begun to believe that Alice might come to care for me as I do for her,” Elijah said carefully. “But I’ve gone back to believing that the Lord means for me to be single to serve Him. And how I feel isn’t important, anyway. I just want to make sure Alice isn’t being compelled to do something she doesn’t want to do.”

  No one looked convinced at his assertion about his own lack of a stake in this, especially not the women.

  “Reverend, why don’t you bring it up for prayer at chapel tomorrow?”

  As he had with Lars, Elijah told them why he hesitated to do that, because of the possible repercussions.

  Keith rubbed a hand over his balding head. “Seems to me you could ask for prayer for a situation, saying that the Lord knows all about it, but it’s a private matter that you don’t feel free to divulge—something like that.”

  Elijah stared at his deacon. That could work. God knew what they needed before they asked for it in any case, and he could gain the prayers of everyone without revealing details that weren’t his to reveal.

  “All right, I’ll do that,” he said. “Thanks, Deacon.”

  “Tomorrow bein’ Friday, it’s the last regular prayer meeting, you know, before the big day,” Cassie observed. “There’ll be just one more service on Sunday, and the next day will be the Land Rush.”

  It was a startling thought.

  “So the time is short,” Keith said. “But we can spend the next few days praying and trusting God for a solution.”

  * * *

  Alice lay on her cot, staring into the darkness. Her cheek still stung, and when she had looked in her hand mirror, she could see the red imprint of it. By tomorrow’s light there might very well be a bruise there.

  She had seen abused women before at Bellevue. They had crept into the dispensary where the poor were treated, casting furtive glances behind them, their faces full of shame and decorated with black eyes, split-open cheeks and worse. Some had whispered about liquored-up spouses, out-of-work husbands taking out their frustrations on their wives, men insisting their women knew where the last coins were hidden so they could go gambling. Some women even insisted the beatings were their own fault for arguing.

  Was she about to become one of those women? Horst had saved her tonight, but he couldn’t be with them at all times, and Maxwell was his employer. He couldn’t intervene in every situation.

  No, she couldn’t live like this. She had to run!

  But she could hear Maxwell’s last words before she’d run from the tent, mocking her desire to escape. Don’t think I can’t send word to New York and make your mother pay the price.

  She could see no way out of the situation, no solution but to stay with Maxwell and marry him after the Land Rush. She would remain until she heard of her mother’s death, and then she would find a way to disappear so completely that he’d never find her.

  Chapter Twenty

  The response to Elijah’s request for prayer for “a matter known to the Lord” was everything he could have hoped for. Every one of his long-term attendees came up to assure him that they’d be praying and most of the newer ones, too.

  “You’ve been praying for us and our dreams, Reverend,” Cordelia Ferguson said, pumping his hand fervently. “The least we can do is pray for you.”

  “Well
, it’s not for me exactly,” Elijah told her carefully, “but thank you. I know your prayers will be heard.”

  He couldn’t help but hear her sister, Carrie’s, overloud whisper as the two siblings walked away, though. “I think it’s a matter of the heart, don’t you? Think it has something to do with Miss Alice no longer coming to chapel?”

  He winced inwardly and fretted over his transparency all the way to his campsite. There he found his brothers checking saddle cinches for signs of wear, part of their preparations for Monday. It could be fatal to have a cinch break as one of them was galloping along in the midst of other racing horses and careering wagons. He’d be thrown down into the path of the stampede.

  “Find any problems?” Elijah asked Gideon when he saw his brother set aside his saddle.

  “No, it should get you there all right,” Gideon said. “Your bay’s legs and hooves are fine, too, no problems.”

  “Appreciate you checking.”

  Clint looked up from the saddle he was looking over. “Lars was just here. He thought we ought to know what all of you have been praying for.”

  Even if we’re not exactly praying men ourselves was the unspoken finish to that sentence.

  “We just wanted you to know we’re behind you all the way, brother,” Clint added. “If you can think of anything we can do to help Alice, we’ll do it.”

  “We sure will,” Gideon put in. “Though I think the simplest solution would be to go over to that Eastern dude’s tent, knock the stuffing out of him and tie his ears into a bowknot.”

  “Don’t worry, Lije, we know you wouldn’t want us doing that,” Clint assured him.

  Elijah couldn’t help but smile at the image, however. “That’s just the trouble,” he said. “I want to do exactly that myself and let you two mop up what’s left.” He was quiet for a moment. “All I need from Alice is the slightest hint that this man isn’t what she wants. Any little sign would be enough...”

  He decided he’d ride out onto the prairie tomorrow, when there was nothing going on at the chapel, and pray until he couldn’t pray anymore. Jesus had always retreated into a solitary place when He’d needed to seek His Father, hadn’t He?

  * * *

  Maxwell had been on his best behavior in the past two days since he’d slapped her. He couldn’t have been more attentive or more thoughtful. Last night he’d presented her with an engagement ring, an ornate ruby set in a gold band. Alice could barely repress a shudder when he’d slipped it over her finger. To her the stone looked too much like blood.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he enthused, beaming at her.

  “Thank you, Maxwell,” she said automatically, glad that he didn’t notice she was gazing anywhere but at the jewel.

  “If you think that’s something, just wait till you see your wedding ring I had commissioned to go with it,” he boasted. “Solid gold, wide, engraved on the inside.”

  With what? she wanted to ask. Property of Maxwell Peterson?

  She was too well aware, after treating the injuries of scores of abused women, that such sweet behavior didn’t presage a permanent change of character. The monster inside Maxwell was still lurking, to return again someday soon.

  “So what would you like to do today, my sweet? Shall we go for a ride? Horst found a fellow willing to rent out his surrey and pair—that would be different. Better protection for that lovely peaches-and-cream complexion of yours, eh?”

  “I believe it’s too hot,” she murmured. She’d happened to look out of Maxwell’s tent just in time to see Elijah riding past, clearly headed for the prairie. The last thing she wanted to happen was to run into him out there. Then she thought of something she did want to do. Did she dare ask? Was he still contrite enough after hitting her?

  “Maxwell, there’s something I would like to do tomorrow, however,” she said.

  “Oh? What’s that, my dear? You have but to name it,” he proclaimed in his grand manner.

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday, and it’s the last service at the chapel. I’d really love to go and see my friends one last time. I’m sure it’s not likely I’ll ever see them again after the Land Rush on Monday. Come with me, Maxwell,” she added, and saw the expansive, genial expression fade.

  “No. Anything but that.”

  She knew he didn’t mean “anything” literally. In fact, he wasn’t liable to agree to anything now.

  “All right,” she said, as if it didn’t matter. “I think I’ll go lie down for a bit. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

  She knew Horst would be stationed outside her tent “in case she needed anything”—or tried to walk away.

  * * *

  It had been a full day, beginning with the final Sunday chapel service, in which there had been much laughter and not a few tears. Despite Elijah’s inner turmoil about Alice, he’d kept the sermon light, encouraging and brief, and had ended it with an invitation for anyone who wished to help him and his brothers found a new town and a new church to head for the south bank of the Cimarron near a boulder that jutted out of the river. Whether they ultimately settled there or elsewhere, he thanked the entire congregation for their support and fellowship.

  In his benediction, Elijah blessed them, praying for safety on the morrow during the Land Rush, and prosperity and happiness to all those who would become new homesteaders in the former Unassigned Territories.

  After the service, the men of the congregation—joined by Gideon and Clint—took down the big tent that had served as the walls and roof for this body of faithful Christians and folded it up. It would be packed away on the Thornton brothers’ wagon, to serve as the temporary new church until one could be built. While the men worked, the women readied a potluck lunch, and the children played.

  Before the meal, they gathered in a circle over the bare patch of earth that had been the floor of their chapel and joined hands while Elijah said grace.

  Elijah had just said “Amen” when Cordelia Ferguson spoke up. “Reverend, you didn’t mention it in the service, but did you get an answer yet to that matter we prayed about?”

  “Not yet, Sister Cordelia,” he had to admit. “I spent several hours yesterday sitting amid the tall grass of the prairie, praying about that very same matter and listening for the Lord’s voice. I don’t have an answer yet, but I will tell you He sent His peace flooding over my heart.”

  “That’s good, Reverend,” her sister, Carrie, piped up, “but I don’t s’pose it would hurt any to pray about it once more, while we’re all still in a prayer circle.”

  Gratitude and other churning emotions made his throat feel thick and his eyes sting with unshed tears. “I think that would be fine, Sister Carrie. Why don’t you start the prayer? And anyone who feels led can join in.” He didn’t trust his voice not to break.

  When would the Lord answer his pleas regarding Alice? he wondered as Carrie began to pray. As he’d said, he had felt the Lord’s peace yesterday, yes, but was it a peace that came in spite of painful circumstances or the peace that heralded the promise of an answer? Answers always came, he knew, but sometimes the answer was “No” and sometimes “Not yet.”

  Lord, please give me patience while I wait on Your perfect timing.

  While folks picnicked, they talked of the homes they planned to build. Some would erect temporary “soddies”—small dwellings built out of blocks of sod cut from the prairie—to be lived in until a more permanent frame or log cabin could be built; others would continue to live in tents and start building their houses right away. Those who planned to farm rather than dwell in the new town and start businesses had the added need to quickly plow up the sod on part of their 160 acres and start crops. They were getting a late start, so they had to plant crops that would grow quickly and provide food for themselves and their livestock through the first winter.

  Elijah knew the new ch
urch would be started only when its members had built their own dwellings, so services were likely to be held under the tent for quite a while. Fortunately, however, Oklahoma had later and usually milder winters than many of those who had come to settle it were used to.

  Those with big families had a distinct advantage in building their homes and “sodding off” their land to plant crops, but those who weren’t married or were just starting their families promised to pitch in and help each other. Farming veterans freely offered to advise those who were new at it. Cane and sorghum were the crops to plant, they said, as well as a kitchen garden to feed the family, of course.

  “You’re planning to farm and raise livestock, too, aren’t you, Lars?” Elijah asked the big Dane, who was sitting next to him. “Near us, if it’s possible?”

  “Ja, of course. And someday I hope to have a wife and children to help. Meanwhile, I am glad my sister is with me for now.”

  “And Katrine? What are her plans?” Elijah inquired. He couldn’t picture the beautiful Katrine living with her brother and his family forever.

  Lars shrugged. “She has not said. But of course I would wish for her that she finds a good man and has a blessed, happy life with him and the children they will have. But my sister’s husband must be a godly man, ja? It is something we both value.”

  Elijah nodded. “Yes, the Bible does indicate Christians should marry those of their faith.”

  Was there a veiled message in Lars’s words? Elijah had thought Katrine might suit Clint at one time, but if Clint never returned to faith, it sounded as if there’d be no blessing from Katrine’s brother for such a match. What Clint did was up to him. Elijah knew he could only serve as an example.

  And where would Alice settle? The question bubbled up in his head like a wellspring. Or would the pushy New Yorker who’d come to claim her talk her into going back East?

  He didn’t have long to ponder before someone posed another question.