He read on concerning the “sunny side of Pike’s Peak,” and rubbed his head, still damp from a good scrubbing. Maybe he should have tried the newspaper office before the livery.
Milner’s account spoke of business houses doing an enviable trade, a town population near eight hundred, and one hundred and fifty finished buildings—twenty of them stone.
Caleb snorted at mention of a three-story hotel. He hadn’t seen any work on such an establishment. Maybe Milner knew something he didn’t. Though he had certainly heard enough of what the editor called the “fall of the hammer, the click of the trowel, and the blast of the stone quarry.”
It all looked good in the newspaper, but seven hundred people sure didn’t fit in those hundred and fifty finished buildings. Milner didn’t mention the tents clustered along the river.
Caleb set the paper aside and lay back on his bedroll. Gold seekers weren’t the only disheartened souls who had sought out this far Kansas Territory. And if Milner was right and the place continued to grow, Cañon City might soon be as big as Denver City or Santa Fe.
He reached for his Bible and let it fall open. Jeremiah again, the weeping prophet, and Mollie Sullivan’s picture. He studied the image. Pretty, yes. Beguiling, certainly. A woman after his heart? Not at all. She never had been, he realized now.
He took his Bible to Henry’s forge, where the fire lay dying in a cooling bank. With no malice or ill thoughts, he laid Mollie’s picture against a fading coal. “Bless her, Lord. And may she and her husband serve you.”
The copper-edged image curled and shriveled to ash as he watched, and he sensed a small flame purging a place deep in his soul. Then he found the twenty-ninth chapter of Jeremiah, dimly illuminated by the fire’s thin glow. But he didn’t need the light, for the words had taken up residence in his memory.
“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you an expected end.”
The promised peace settled upon him like a warm cloak. Outside the wind beat against the livery, and the building groaned in the onslaught. He wrapped his arms across his chest and held the book within them. Finally, after months of running, here in a barn, he could rest in God’s expected end. Not what he, Caleb, had expected, but what the Lord had planned.
With a deep sense of surrender, Caleb returned to the box stall, snuffed out the lamp, and crawled beneath his canvas tarp, Annie’s quilts, and the enduring grace of a loving God.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A blue china sky greeted Annie Sunday morning, the air as crisp and cold as deep well water. White drifts leaned against the Main Street buildings, and the roadway was a frozen, mudless track. In Omaha, a storm like yesterday’s would have her sister and their aunt soaking dirty skirt hems after church for sure. Not to mention their fine cloth shoes.
She snugged her scarf closer and waited on the boardwalk for her father.
Only the Lord’s Day could still the perpetual hammering of the city’s rising. Though the community stretched and fussed with growing pains, life was simpler in this bare-bones mountain supply town. The simplicity of hard work left her feeling lighter, with fewer cares and worries, knowing she didn’t have to compete with Edna’s fashionable clothing or cringe beneath Aunt Harriet’s glaring judgment of unruly hair.
Annie knew she fell short of her aunt’s expectations, particularly where men were concerned. Not that Cañon City was teaming with eligible bachelors worth even a second glance. Most were lonely miners who drank too much, dusty cowboys in need of a bath, or entrepreneurs who knew a good investment when they saw one.
Or a gentle horse handler who continued to occupy her thoughts. She took a forceful breath to clear her mind. So sharp was the air, it nearly cut through her lungs.
“Ready, Annie girl?”
Her father shut the mercantile door and offered his arm. Grateful for the short walk to the church house, she curved her fingers inside his elbow. Buggies and buckboards lined the street beyond the church, and a few horses stood loosely tied to the livery’s hitching rail across the way, a location upon which her eyes so easily settled.
The big front doors were parted just enough for a peek into the shadowy stable. At the thought of Caleb wrapped beneath her quilts, she banished the vision with a quick prayer that he’d been warm and safe through the storm.
Annie hiked her skirt to mount the church steps. Hannah Baker was not at her usual post at the door with her soon-to-be husband, Pastor Hartman. Surely a brisk winter storm had not been too much for the rancher’s daughter, always cheerful as a meadowlark, greeting everyone with her melodic voice and bright smile.
Annie hurried inside. Hannah sat slump-shouldered halfway to the front, wilting beneath a woolen scarf and dabbing at her cheeks, cloistered by her family. Annie and her father took the bench behind Hannah, and she cringed at the young woman’s whispered explanation.
“My dear Robert remains in the pulpit and I remain with my family.”
By the time Pastor Hartman finished his closing announcements that morning, everyone knew why Hannah couldn’t stop crying.
The couple’s pending marriage the week after Christmas had been postponed indefinitely. Hartman’s brother, Reverend Justice Hartman of Denver, had broken his leg in a buggy accident earlier in the month and word had just arrived that he dare not make the trip south to perform the ceremony.
In fact, he’d sent for Robert to officiate over Christmas festivities in Denver.
What arrogance. Annie sucked in her cheek to keep her thoughts to herself in Hannah’s presence. How dare the elder brother presume upon his sibling and this fledgling community. Just because Justice Hartman’s congregation had a fine brick building with a bell tower didn’t mean he could drag Cañon City’s beloved pastor from his flock.
But clearly, blood was indeed thicker than water—even at Christmas. No wedding before the new year. And unless someone stepped forward, no Christmas Eve services for the town’s small congregation of merchants and miners and ranchers. The pastor’s tone made it clear that he had bowed to his brother’s wishes and would be leaving that very afternoon.
Annie nearly cried herself as she filed out with others after the service. This was not the Christmas she’d hoped for. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure what she’d hoped for in the first place. There would be no traditional trimmings she’d grown up with, no Edna or Harriet, no festivities at all—other than what she cobbled together at the mercantile. And now, no Christmas Eve service with carol singing and warm wishes from friends and …
Oh, it just wasn’t fair.
Her foot ached to stomp, and she held it to the wooden step and leaned her weight into it. She hadn’t even had the small pleasure of speaking with Caleb.
Was he worried over Nell?
Annie’s father spoke quietly in Pastor Hartman’s ear, and both men stared at the livery.
Of course.
She snugged her cloak tighter and looked around for Martha. The seamstress stood commiserating with Hannah, and guilt’s cold fingers clutched Annie’s conscience for thinking only of herself and her own disappointment.
She approached with an outstretched hand. “I’m so sorry Hannah.” A squeeze of the young woman’s arm brought fresh tears. “I’m sure things will work out. He’ll be back as soon as he can. You know he will.”
If it didn’t snow three feet between Christmas and January like every freighter said it always did.
Turning to Martha, Annie lowered her voice. “Please tell Daddy I’ll be along directly. I’m going to stop at the livery and check on Nell.”
Martha’s sorrowful eyes transformed. “You tell that young Caleb that we expect him for Sunday dinner. I’ve already set a place for him at the table.”
Annie planted a kiss on Martha’s cheek, squeezed Hannah’s soggy handkerchief-wrapped fingers one more time, and hurried across the road.
The perfume of hay and horse flesh wafted from the stable as she squeezed between t
he doors. Had Christ’s birthplace smelled like this? She’d never considered the possibility since every holiday season in her aunt’s home summoned the scents of baking and spices and candles and greenery. But here, in the shadowy stalls and open livery rafters, she felt somehow closer to the essence of the first gentle Christmas.
Well, maybe not so gentle.
Caleb’s low voice sounded from Nell’s stall and sent shivers up Annie’s arms. She moved closer, watching him work his way behind the mare, his deep tone as comforting as a mother’s lullaby. Annie held a hand to her mouth, afraid for even the quietest word to disturb the moment.
Caleb had rolled up his shirtsleeves, and his muscled forearms bore evidence of hard work. Annie knew the strength in those arms, but his hands smoothed along Nell’s swelling body as gently as a whisper. She knew that touch as well, and it stirred something deep within her.
The memory of his rescue flooded in and she shivered, drawing his attention outside the stall.
“It won’t be long,” he said softly, not changing the meter or volume from his earlier murmurs. “Could be any day now.”
Apparently satisfied with his charge’s condition, he ducked beneath Nell’s neck and slowly slipped through the stall door. Standing close in the alleyway, he rolled down his sleeves and searched Annie’s face in the most disarming way.
She loosened her scarf, grateful to be in shadow. “You might want to pray that she foals soon, because I think you’re about to be asked to fill in for Pastor Hartman at the Christmas Eve service.”
Caleb’s expression sobered. “What makes you say that?”
“The pastor’s brother in Denver was injured and won’t be coming down to perform the wedding. Instead, he’s asked Pastor Harman to come to Denver and take over duties there for Christmas. Not only will there not be a wedding here, there won’t be a Christmas Eve service either.”
Annie’s sense of injustice had twisted the scarf she fingered into a knot.
Caleb stared at her.
Clearly, he hadn’t made the connection.
“I believe Daddy told the pastor of your previous calling.”
Caleb buttoned his cuffs and reached for his hat. A sharp downward pull hid his eyes, and Annie took a step closer seeking their depths. “You’ll do it if they ask you, won’t you?”
His embattled expression gave her pause and she drew back. He stopped her with a hand at her waist and closed the distance between them.
Annie’s pulse danced at her temple and in her throat. How dark his eyes, as if he warred against some inner torment. She clutched the ends of her scarf in one hand and laid the other against his chest. His heartbeat ran as hard as her own. “Do you doubt that you can do it?”
With his free hand, he touched her hair, then smoothed the back of his fingers against her cheek.
“You are beautiful, Annie Whitaker. Beautiful in spirit and in form.”
She commanded her breath to come evenly, steadily. It wouldn’t do to swoon in his arms right there in the livery. Lowering her gaze, she studied the texture of his new waistcoat, at a loss for words the first time in her life.
Caleb lifted her hand from his chest and pressed her fingers against his lips before putting a safer distance between them. “I can do it if He calls me.”
Annie’s hopes hitched. “Pastor Hartman?”
He smiled at her confusion. “If God calls me, He’ll enable me.”
“But didn’t He already call you?” Regret followed immediately upon her remark, for sadness washed over his face. Without thinking, she reached to smooth it away.
He caught her hand. “Will you be there?”
“Yes.” Would breath ever come again without her heart racing like a runaway horse?
His smile returned, and he squeezed her hand and released it. “If God wants me to stand in His pulpit again, He’ll make it clear to me and present the opportunity Himself.”
Stunned by his humility and flushed with emotion, Annie coiled her scarf around her suddenly empty hands and moved toward the door, seeking the clarity of cold air. “Martha is expecting you for dinner. She’s already set a place for you at the table.”
His features softened, and he lifted his duster from a nail on the wall. “Then we’d best be going, hadn’t we?”
~
Caleb took one last look at his charges, then closed the livery doors against the cold. He offered his arm to Annie, and she rewarded him by tucking her small hand into the crook of his elbow. Without hesitation.
A week and a half until Christmas Eve, with a Sunday service before that. Annie’s news had simply confirmed his recent commitment. He’d already told the Lord He’d go where he was called.
Clattering hooves drew his attention to a cloaked rider approaching with hat pulled low. Annie’s fingers tightened on his arm.
“Caleb.” Robert Hartman reined up beside them. “Annie.” He touched his hat and his gray mount blew its smoky breath and stomped impatiently, invigorated by the cold and anticipating a run.
“Pastor Hartman.” Caleb offered his hand. “We’ll miss you at Christmas, but our prayers go with you for a safe trip to Denver.”
“Thank you.” Hartman yanked unnecessarily on the reins, sending the horse dancing backward.
Caleb stepped forward and took the headstall, mumbling low.
“Annie’s father tells me you’re a preacher,” Hartman said.
“Yes, sir. Spent a year or so at a small church in Missouri, then came west.” With the flat of his hand he rubbed the horse’s face while reading Hartman’s expression. No need to go into reasons and regrets.
“Wish I’d known sooner. We could have visited, compared notes. But as you know, I’m on my way to my brother’s and need someone to hold the Christmas Eve service that people are counting on. Not to mention next Sunday, and maybe more after that, depending. Are you willing?”
The gray startled forward at Hartman’s clumsy kick, and the man jerked back on the reins again.
“Easy,” Caleb murmured. Hartman’s eagerness to leave transmitted to the horse. Caleb stepped aside. “I’d be happy to. Thank you for your trust.”
The gray reared slightly and tossed its head. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, and will send a letter to Hannah telling her when to expect my return.”
Hartman looked at Annie. “Thank your father for me. I feel better knowing someone will be here in my absence.”
He nodded to Caleb. “I’ll be praying for you.”
“And I for you.” Caleb’s concern for Hartman’s safety rose as the gray tiptoed on the frozen roadway. “Let up on the reins and watch your heels and he’ll be easier to handle.”
Hartman grinned. “Thank you. I might say the same about our unique congregants. Merry Christmas.”
Winning the struggle, the gray wheeled and charged east out of town. Caleb snugged Annie’s arm close against him, confident that he already knew the text for his Christmas message.
As they passed the magistrate’s office, Annie tensed.
“It’s all right.” He covered her gloved hand with his own. “Cooper’s locked in a cell at the back of the building. Saw it myself.”
His little fighter wasn’t as calm as she tried to appear, and the look she gave him drew every ounce of protectiveness up through his veins. He wanted to keep her safe, warm, close.
God help him.
Two blocks west and they stepped off the boardwalk and turned north toward Martha’s home. The dry snow squeaked beneath Caleb’s boots, and powdery crystals swirled in a light crosswind. Annie tucked her scarf against her chin.
Martha’s walkway had been swept clear, and smoke curled from the chimney. Caleb stomped his feet and opened the door for Annie, and his mouth watered at the aroma that welcomed them. The small cabin swelled with good will and good food.
He’d gladly live in a cabin like this if Annie shared it with him.
He took her cloak from her stiff shoulders, wishing he could wrap her in his arms
until she relaxed against him. “Don’t think about tomorrow,” he said quietly. “Just enjoy this time, here, now.”
Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. A good thing to remember.
Tomorrow would indeed have enough worries of its own.
~
Monday morning, the hall above the Fremont Saloon overflowed with people for Cooper’s hearing. Word got around fast.
Caleb stood against the back wall, a position that gave him a clear view of Cooper, Magistrate Warren, and Annie seated with her father toward the front.
The saloon owner wasn’t as cocky as he’d been the day Caleb dragged him to the jail. He was probably sober—a frightening condition for a man given to liquor and license.
Caleb wished there was some other way to go about justice that didn’t require Annie’s public testimony, but she held her head high and spoke clearly and unemotionally.
Cooper squirmed in his seat, and the truth was apparent, if the murmurs and nods rippling through the crowd were any indication. Warren must have been right. It seemed that Cooper was overdue for his comeuppance.
After a brief discussion, the court members told Cooper that if he sold his property and left town immediately, they’d let him go. Otherwise, he’d serve time in jail and be required to pay a heavy fine. Caleb felt they were letting the man off too easy, but one look at Annie reminded him that Cooper’s absence was what she really wanted.
A keen sense of protectiveness surged through his blood again. Whatever it took.
The gavel sounded and Cooper was led away to turn over the deed to his hotel and saloon and ride out of town.
It was done. Now Caleb could spend a few days preparing for his next public challenge. His return to the pulpit.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Caleb started a fire in the woodstove, lit the lamps, and set out extra tapers for the evening service. Then he swept the front steps and carried in the heap of pine boughs Karl Turk had earlier dropped by from his cuttings. Several branches still bore cones, and their sweet pitch filled the clapboard building with a familiar Christmas promise.
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