A Willing Spirit, A Ghostly Romance

by Cynthia Sterling

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Reverend Deering designated the second Sunday in August as the date to consecrate the new chapel. "We'll hold a joint service, with our congregation and the Indians from the reservation," he announced from the pulpit the last Sunday in July. "I expect to see all of you there."

  "I don't see how we're expected to worship in the presence of half-naked savages," Mrs. Tucker complained to Tessa and the other women as they visited after services.

  "It is rather difficult to concentrate sometimes with all those handsome bodies on display.” Margery winked at Tessa from behind her fan.

  Mamie Tucker flushed deep red. "I certainly don't intend to look!"

  "No?” Margery hid her smile. "What a shame."

  Mrs. Drake frowned at Margery. "Did you hear we're expected to feed all these Indians? I have no idea what they eat -- and no interest in finding out."

  "Bake some of your delicious cookies," Tessa said. "No one would fail to enjoy them."

  "Why are you wasting your time planning a menu?" Trudy asked irritably. "The real concern here is our safety. What's to keep the redskins from murdering us all?"

  "My husband and a detail from Fort Belknap will be there to preserve order," Margery assured her.

  "I can assure you, my Jackie will be armed," Trudy said. "We won't stand for any trouble from those savages."

  "It sounds to me as if the Indians have a lot more to worry about from us," Tessa snapped.

  "Yes, well, not everyone is so friendly with Indians as you are, dear."

  Tessa didn't miss the snide tone in Trudy's voice. She started to fire back an angry answer, but Margery took her arm. "We have to be going.” Margery waved to the other women. "See you next Sunday."

  "Thanks for stopping me from shooting myself in the foot," Tessa said as she took her place beside Margery in the Army ambulance. Margery was giving her a ride back to the ranch.

  "I told you, you just have to learn to ignore people like that."

  "I guess I haven't had enough practice."

  Margery worked the ostrich fan back and forth in front of her face. "How's Micah?"

  Tessa smiled. "Back at work. Except for the missing hair and a scar, you'd never suspect he'd been hurt."

  "I'm glad.” She turned toward Tessa. "Did you really think Gabe Emerson or one of the others had pushed him?"

  Tessa hesitated. She couldn't very well tell Margery that Mr. Emerson was not her first suspect. "I didn't know what to think," she said finally.

  "At least Micah knows how you feel about him now."

  She looked away. "I. . . I never really told him."

  Margery patted her hand. "I imagine when he first opened his eyes and saw you there, watching over him, he knew. It's been two weeks since your cast came off and he's still here, isn't he?"

  She shrugged. She couldn't risk putting more meaning into Micah's presence here than was warranted. After all, since their conversation in the bedroom the other morning, he'd kept his distance. If he really wanted her as much as he said, wouldn't he try harder to win her? "I expect after the chapel consecration, he'll go."

  Margery sighed and looked away. "I plan to leave then, too."

  The words stunned her. She stared at her friend. "Why?"

  "Not with Micah.” Margery hastened to reassure her. "I don't want you thinking that. No, I'm going back east."

  Tessa felt like crying. "Things aren't as bad as all that, are they?"

  Margery folded her fan in her lap. "Maybe it would be better for Alan and me to live apart for a while."

  The words pained Tessa. If she had to lose Micah, did she have to lose Margery as well? "I wish you wouldn't go."

  "I wish I didn't have to. But Alan seems determined to maintain this. . . this distance between us."

  Tessa took her hand and the two friends rode in silence. She wondered how love, which was meant as a good thing, could end up causing so much pain.

  #

  "Now, gentleman, if you'll move the pulpit a little to the left, please. That's it. No, no, those pews go on the right. The other side is for the Indians. Mr. Fox tells me they'll prefer to sit on the floor."

  From the vantage point of the rafters, Will watched Reverend Deering giving orders to the crew moving furnishings into the new chapel. With the roof little more than tar paper sheathing, and half of the windows lacking glass, the preacher had decided to go ahead and hold his dedication service. Now he was running around like a hen trying to herd ducklings. Even God would have a hard time harnessing his attention, much less Will's poor imitation.

  He sighed. He didn't have much heart for the old game anymore. Ever since the morning Tessa had told him off, he just felt. . . tired. As if he'd like nothing better than a weeks-long nap.

  You've got a job to do, man, he reminded himself. Best get with it. He floated to the floor and drifted up behind the preacher. "Deering, I'd like a word with you," he whispered in his ear.

  "I'm busy at the moment. If you could just wai --.” The preacher turned and gaped at the empty space behind him. "Who is it?" he demanded, hugging his arms to himself as if to ward off a chill.

  "Perhaps now would be a good time to go somewhere private," Will continued in a low voice.

  Wide-eyed, Deering jerked his head in a nod. "Yes, Lord," he rasped. He searched the sanctuary. Throughout the building, workers hammered siding or shifted pews. "Perhaps. . . outside?"

  "Just someplace where we can get away from all this racket."

  Deering hurried outside, to a cluster of scrub oak some distance from the chapel. Once there, he dropped to his knees. "Are you there, Lord?" he asked.

  Will ignored the question. "I have a favor to ask," he said.

  Deering's eyes widened. "Anything, Lord."

  "I want you to have Tessa translate your message into sign for the Indians tomorrow."

  "But I thought I'd get Micah Fox to do that, Lord. He knows Comanche and --"

  "Use Tessa instead."

  Deering blanched. "Yes, Lord."

  "And I want you to pay extra attention to Tessa tomorrow. She's a very pretty woman, sweet and devoted. The kind of woman a man would be proud to claim as his wife.” Will swallowed past the knot in his throat. Maybe he hadn't done right by Tessa in the past few weeks, but he'd make up for it now. Deering would make her a good husband. He was an honorable man who would look after her and give her standing in the community, something Will had not been able to do for her.

  Deering looked puzzled, but nodded. "All right, Lord. Whatever you say."

  Will frowned. Had he made himself clear enough? Maybe he'd better try again. He opened his mouth to elaborate, but another voice interrupted.

  "Reverend Deering?"

  Will looked up and saw Micah Fox headed toward them. He swore to himself. He'd have to leave now. He still felt bad about the flowerpot incident -- not for Fox's sake, but for Tessa's, and the bad opinion it had given her of him. He wouldn't give her an opportunity to see that side of him again. "Remember what I told you," he whispered to Deering, then floated away, in search of a warm place to take a nap.

  #

  By nine-thirty Sunday morning, Tessa was wishing she'd never been foolish enough to allow Reverend Deering to build his chapel on her land. At least twenty buggies had stopped by the house to ask directions to the chapel, and she'd burned two batches of cookies while she was talking to them. Every man she'd seen this morning had been bristling with weapons and she had waking nightmares of a gun battle breaking out in the middle of Reverend Deering's message. Margery was leaving on the afternoon stage, Micah was nowhere to be found, and her hair absolutely refused to curl properly.

  A knock on her door sounded through the house. "Not again!” She gingerly unwrapped her hair from the curling iron and surveyed the frizzed ringlet. The knocking continued. "Just a minute!” she shouted, shoving the iron back into its holder on the stove and heading for the door. Why wasn't Micah seeing to all these lost people?

  "Mrs. Bri
ght, good morning.” Reverend Deering swept off his hat, then added. "Uh . . . you're looking very lovely this morning."

  Tessa looked down at the stained apron she'd tied on to protect her Sunday dress, and put a hand to her half-curled hair. Obviously the poor man was too distracted by concerns for the morning's service to know what he was saying. "Thank you, Reverend. What can I do for you?"

  "Ah. Well, I need you to translate my sermon this morning. For the Indians."

  "But I thought you were going to have Micah do that."

  Deering flushed and fidgeted with the hat in his hand. "Yes, well, there's been a change in plans. You'll just, uh, stand up at the front, off to one side, and translate what I say into sign."

  She shook her head. "Oh no. I really don't know the language that well. Micah knows Comanche. You'd better ask him."

  "No. It really needs to be you.” He nodded firmly and put his hat back on his head. "Don't be nervous. I'm sure you can handle it."

  She was still fumbling for words to explain to him all the reasons she couldn't do this when he turned and walked away. "Reverend Deering!" she called after him.

  "See you at the chapel," he said as he mounted the bay and rode off.

  Frowning, she returned to the kitchen. The poor man was downright addled. As soon as she was able, she'd find Micah and explain the situation to him. He'd make things work out.

  #

  Micah shoved the last of his belongings into the bedroll and tied it tightly. There'd be no turning back this time. He counted out ten gold coins and arranged them in a neat stack on the bunk. That was a good price for the roan mare; Tessa wouldn't be able to say he'd taken advantage. The horse would allow him to be far away before she discovered he'd left. As soon as the service ended and he could slip away, he'd ride out. He hadn't wanted it to end this way, but he could see it was for the best.

  As he emerged from the barn, he heard his name, and looked up to see Tessa hurrying toward him. His throat felt tight at the sight of her. She wore one of her new dresses and she'd fixed her hair up differently, but if she'd appeared to him in rags and pigtails he knew he would have felt the same. Tessa would always be beautiful to him. She had captured a part of his heart he'd never be able to reclaim.

  "Micah, you've got to help me," she said, sounding desperate.

  "What is it?” He forced himself to concentrate on here and now, surface things that didn't have to involve his tortured emotions.

  "Reverend Deering insists that I be the one to translate his sermon for the Indians.” She twisted her hands. "I don't know nearly enough sign language to do that."

  Leave it to the preacher to throw a new wrench in the works. "Did he say why he changed his mind?"

  She shook her head. "He just insisted I do it instead. You've got to talk some sense into him."

  He looked doubtful. "The preacher isn't likely to listen to anyone this morning."

  "What am I going to do? I can't make a fool of myself in front of all those people. Not to mention it won't do the Indians much good if they don't have any idea what Reverend Deering is saying."

  He wanted to gather her close and soothe her fraying nerves, to assure her he would take care of everything. But he was leaving. He couldn't let her think he was someone to rely on. "What if I sit beside you, and tell you what to do?" he suggested. "If we both sit on the floor, directly in front of the Indians, we won't be very noticeable to the congregation."

  She nodded. "All right. Anything. I can't believe he's changing his mind at the last minute. What has gotten into the man?” She laughed. "I showed up at the door in a dirty apron with my hair half done and he actually told me I was looking lovely! I think the stress is getting to him."

  You always look lovely to me, Micah thought, but he dared not say so. "I'll bring the wagon around now if you're ready to ride over to the chapel."

  "I'm ready as I'll ever be, I suppose.” She gave him a grateful look. "I feel better now that you're with me."

  The words stung like a whip. Coward, a voice in his head whispered. He should tell her he was leaving, but he didn't want to see the hurt in her eyes when she found out.

  Or worse, what if she was relieved to be rid of him?

  They rode to the chapel in silence, Micah grateful for a reprieve from the effort of making conversation when all he really wanted was to hold her close, without speaking.

  The area around the chapel teemed with horses and wagons and people. A detail of soldiers from Fort Belknap, in dress blues and bristling with polished sabers, occupied the south approach to the hill. Major Alan Finch was at their head, mounted on a sorrel gelding, casting a worried eye on the band of Indians on the opposite side of the chapel.

  Sun Bear and his people had come in force, lured more by curiosity and the promise of food and gifts, Micah was sure, than any real interest in the white man's religion. The Indians wore their finest beaded buckskin and buffalo robes. Sun Bear was resplendent in a bead and bone vest over his buckskin tunic. Eagle Feather stood by his side, Tessa's camisole and petticoat proudly displayed on top of an intricately beaded deerskin tunic and leggings. The old chief raised a hand to salute Micah and Tessa as they rode past, and Eagle Feather smiled in greeting.

  Trudy Babcock was holding court in the shade with a group of town women. She cast a disdainful look at Tessa as she and Micah rode past. Tessa pretended not to notice. Micah admired her determination not to acknowledge Trudy's hateful attitude. "There's Margery," she called, waving to her friend, who stood under a blue parasol near the chapel door. Margery didn't return the greeting, however, her attention riveted on something else.

  Micah followed the path of her gaze and saw Alan Finch, his face resolutely turned from his wife. "I wish we could do something to bring them back together," Tessa said. "I can't believe he'd fall out of love with her so easily. When I saw him that first day he was positively besotted."

  Micah shook his head. "I don't see how there's anything anyone can do," he said. "It's a private matter."

  "If you saw a friend about to walk off a cliff, wouldn't you stop them?" she countered. "I can't just sit here and watch them both make this huge mistake."

  He shook his head. "Better to stay out of it."

  His words made no impression. She continued to stare after her friends, brow furrowed in thought. "If only I could think of something."

  He parked the wagon in a row of other vehicles and helped her down. For one precious moment, she was suspended in his arms, her hands on his shoulders, the fullness of her breasts brushing his sleeves. The urge to pull her close and cover her lips with his own was as strong as the urge to breathe, and when he set her down and released her, he could feel the pain tearing at him.

  Reverend Deering mounted the steps of the chapel and rang a hand bell, the signal for everyone to begin filing in. Indians and whites entered through separate doors. Deering directed Sun Bear and his people to one side of the sanctuary, where they arranged themselves on blankets and buffalo robes, while the people of Pony Springs filled pews on the opposite side.

  Micah and Tessa made their way to the front. Once there, he belatedly remembered Tessa had nothing to protect her skirts from the floor. He removed his jacket and spread it for her. The smile she offered in thanks would have made a man want to bring her the moon. Fighting a mounting sadness, he settled himself beside her.

  The service began smoothly enough. Tessa translated the prayer without difficultly, her hands and arms tracing the signs with eloquent grace. He heard the murmur of voices among the Indians as those in front passed the words back to those at the rear. The quiet reverence of the moment infected them all and even the usually boisterous children and young braves were quiet and attentive.

  The congregation rose to sing Love Divine, All Loves Excelling. The Indians shuffled to their feet also, but after an abortive attempt to translate the words, Tessa gave up. The Indians didn't seem to mind. Some kept time to the music with their feet. Others contented themselv
es with looking across the room at their white neighbors, most of whom were trying to pretend they didn't see the Indians, while watching them out of the corner of their eyes. Micah saw more than one white woman studying the Indian men in their breechclouts and beaded vests, though Mamie Tucker blushed the shade of ripe strawberries and looked as if at any moment she might faint.

  Everyone settled into their seats again and Reverend Deering approached the pulpit to begin his sermon. Micah sensed trouble right away. Indian sign didn't have words for vague theological concepts. When Deering spoke of God's grace, Tessa looked at him blankly.

  Micah leaned closer to her. "Try the sign for gift," he whispered.

  She shook her head. "I don't know that one."

  "How about generosity?"

  She thought a moment, then made a series of gestures whose literal translation was 'big hearted great mystery.'

  In the end, the phrase translated to "A most generous gift from the Great Spirit."

  The rest of the message proceeded in similar fashion. Micah moved closer as he and Tessa conferred on each phrase. He put one hand behind her back to brace himself, and she settled naturally into the curve of his body. The soft scent of her hair filled his nostrils, and the delicate shell of her ear tempted him to trace it with his tongue. He looked away, only to have his eyes rest on the swell of her breasts showing through the delicate lace at the top of her dress. His fingers twitched as he thought of tracing that line of plump flesh.

  He rolled his eyes heavenward. Of all the places to be having such lascivious thoughts!

  "Micah, what is the word I'm looking for now?” Tessa prodded him. "How in the world do I translate parable?"

  "Try story," he suggested, dropping his gaze to the delicate flesh at the back of her neck. He shifted his leg to hide his growing arousal. Was this the punishment he got for trying to do the right thing?

  #

  Tessa could hardly think, she was so aware of Micah beside her. The heat of him warmed her back, and every time she traced a sign across her body, her sleeve brushed his chest. She drew a deep breath and forced her mind back to the task at hand. It was obvious the Indians didn't understand half of what Reverend Deering was saying, though the gist of his sermon was about brotherly love, and that was the message she'd settled on conveying. If only he would stop talking! She had to get out of here, and away from Micah, before she did something drastic, and probably sinful!

  "You just told them if their neighbor gives them a horse, they should take two," Micah whispered in her ear.

  "I did?” She stared at her hands, as if they were not part of her body. Then she looked out at the Indians. Some of them were laughing, translating her comment down the line.

  She rolled her eyes. "That's not exactly what I meant."

  "It's all right. They enjoy a good joke."

  Somehow, she got through the rest of the service. When it was over, she excused herself quickly, and ran outside for some fresh air. She retreated to the area by the buggies, where she could be alone for a moment, to gather her thoughts.

  But she had not been standing there long when she saw Alan Finch emerge from a grove of trees, adjusting his cavalry saber at his side. Apparently, he'd been answering a 'call of nature.' Tessa started toward him. Here was her chance to talk to him alone, to convince him to patch up his differences with Margery.

  "Major Finch! Might I speak with you a moment?"

  He turned toward her. "Hello, Mrs. Bright. Is something wrong?"

  She fell into step beside him, walking back towards the chapel. "I was just remembering the day we met, when you went to meet Margery at the stage station. You were so happy to see her."

  A pained look came into his eyes. "Yes, I was."

  Tessa touched his arm, forcing him to look at her. "Then how can you let her go now?"

  He looked away. "Mrs. Bright, this is really none of your concern."

  "It is my concern. Margery is my best friend. How can you still be angry with her? She admitted she was wrong to run away that day."

  "You couldn't possibly understand."

  She crossed her arms under her breasts and faced him. "I might. I'd like to try."

  He stared at the toes of his polished boots. After a tense moment, he spoke, the words coming slowly, as if dredged from deep inside. "That day, when I thought she was in danger, I went numb. I couldn't think. I couldn't act. I was unfit for command. The thought of any harm coming to her --” He turned his gaze to her, burning into her. "It's too dangerous out here. Too many things could happen. I knew I had to make her leave."

  Tessa stared at him in disbelief. "That's absurd! You've gone all this time letting her think you've stopped loving her."

  "My wife is a very stubborn woman. She would never go just because I asked, or because I ordered it. When she's safely back east, I'll write and tell her the truth.” He looked away. "It's best this way."

  "Why are men so arrogant!” The angry words exploded from her. "How can you presume to know what's best for a woman, when you haven't bothered to ask what she's thinking, what she's feeling? This isn't the only place on earth that's dangerous. What if she's off in some eastern city and needs you?"

  "Then I shall do my best to go to her, of course," he said stiffly. He touched a hand to his forage cap. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must return to my duties."

  She stared after him, knotting her hands at her sides in frustration. He wouldn't listen to reason. He thought he was protecting Margery, when all he was doing was breaking her heart. Suddenly, an idea came to her like a word whispered from an angel, or a devil depending on the theology you subscribed to.

  She hurried through the crowd, searching for Micah. She had a plan to teach the good major a lesson, and maybe bring him and Margery together again in the process.