by Linda Ford
Chastity's Angel
Wild Rose Country
Linda Ford
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Sneak peek of Cowboy Bodyguard
Chapter 1
Everything seemed to happen at once that pleasant summer afternoon of 1907 at Brownlee's Boardinghouse in the thriving town of Willow Creek, Alberta, Canada.
Chastity LaBlanc stood in the kitchen, her nimble fingers rolling out dough, fitting it into the pie dishes, and laying aside perfect circles for the top crust. She breathed in the heady scent of the last lilacs of the season and listened to the cheery call of the robin in the backyard. Occasionally she glanced out the open window to drink in the brightness of the cornflower blue sky and the fullness of green in the row of poplar trees marching down the side of the yard.
As her hands worked, Chastity's thoughts flitted from one subject to another with no more concern than a butterfly tasting of the bounty of flowers in a summer meadow.
For a moment she thought of supper. The roast was in the oven; she had plenty of time to peel vegetables and finish the pies. A smile tugged at her lips as she anticipated the boarders' eager reaction to hot rhubarb pie. Then she remembered a conversation she'd had earlier with Emma, the hired girl, about mending the sheets from Mrs. Banner's room. From there her thoughts had drifted to planning tea, then to Michael and how he—
Just then the back doorbell clanged. It would be her grocery order.
At the same time she heard a crash from the dining room, where she had left her mother polishing the silver teapot.
"Come in!" she called to the back door and in the next breath to the dining room, "Mother?" And before she could gasp in more air, she cried out, "Emma!" She only hoped that Emma, out in the garden pulling rhubarb, would hear her.
The back door squeaked, but Chastity didn't even glance at the delivery boy. Her throat constricting, she dashed for the dining room.
Her mother lay in a heap on top of the statue that ordinarily stood beside her chair. The teapot quivered against the table leg.
"Mother, what happened?"
Her mother groaned and tried to disentangle herself from the statue and chair legs.
"Wait, Mother—I'll help." She bent down to the stricken woman.
Footsteps thudded in the doorway, and, without turning, the young woman called over her shoulder to the delivery boy, "Could you give me a hand, please?"
The boy stepped to her side. It flashed through her mind that the hands were awfully large for the boy Mr. Silverhorn usually sent, but glad for strong arms to lift her mother, she gave it no more thought.
Still on her knees, she ran her hands along her mother's legs.
"I'm all right, Cherie."
Chastity looked into her mother's face and, seeing her pallor, found no reassurance in the words.
"What happened?" Chastity narrowed her eyes. She'd left her mother strict instructions to call if she needed anything, but the polish and rag were on the table, too far to reach without leaving the chair. "What were you up to?"
Her mother sighed. "I only wanted to put the teapot on the sideboard." She leaned back. "My leg went out from under me."
Emma skidded through the doorway. "What on earth's going on? The door's wide open, and the groceries are spilled all over the table." She gulped. "Miz LaBlanc, what happened? You look as if you've seen a ghost." Before anyone could respond, Emma answered her own question. "Ah, I think you've been naughty again."
Chastity stood to her feet. "Emma, run and get Doc Johnson, please."
The mother waved her hand. "No, no, that isn't necessary." She moaned. "Chastity, please get one of those tablets he left."
Chastity hesitated. As much as the sight of her mother in pain frightened her, a tremor of anger passed through her. How could Mother so blithely ignore the doctor's warnings to let her hip heal before trying to use it?
The woman shifted and flinched.
Chastity turned and hurried down the hall toward their private suite. The pill bottle stood on her mother's bedside table. She shook a tablet into her palm and hurried back, pausing in the kitchen long enough to fill a glass with water. "Here, take this."
"Merci, my dear." The woman tipped her head back and swallowed, closing her eyes and resting her head on the back of the burgundy wing chair.
Slowly she opened her eyes, focusing them on something to the right of her daughter.
Chastity turned to follow the direction of her mother's gaze and saw the delivery boy standing a few feet away. She swallowed a gasp. This was no boy. He had a thick mop of blond hair dipping over one eye. Dark blue eyes returned her stare. Chastity's cheeks grew hot, but she couldn't stop staring.
"Why, it's Adam, isn't it?" Her mother's voice shattered her trance, and Chastity pulled her gaze away. "Adam Silverhorn."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"So you finally decided to return."
"Yes, Ma'am." He grinned at her.
"About time, I'd say."
"Yes, Ma'am." He chuckled. "I kind of thought so myself."
Chastity studied him openly. The last time she'd seen him, he was a scrawny youth with a habit of plunging into trouble. Then he had up and disappeared, following the gold rush to the Klondike, or so the story went. She tried to think if she had heard where he'd been since then.
"So where have you been all this time?' her mother prodded.
Again Adam chuckled. "How long do you have?"
"Why don't you take tea with us and tell me?"
Chastity jumped to attention. She had forgotten tea.
Behind her, Emma groaned. "The dearies will be here expecting everything to be ready." She hastened to the door. "I'll put the kettle on."
"I'd better hurry," Chastity muttered and, turning to leave, stubbed her toe on the statue. She leaned over to set it upright.
"Let me." Adam bent over at the same time. Their faces were so close she could see the glittering streaks in his irises.
She let him straighten the heavy statue. Suddenly she began to laugh. Adam regarded her with raised eyebrows. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother's startled expression.
"Did I miss something?" Adam asked, looking at her.
Chastity pointed at the statue. "It's Mother's protecting angel." Made of rough white pottery, the statue was an angel with wings folded at his back, a sword resting on the ground at his feet. She grinned. "Perhaps he was sleeping," she said to her mother.
"Away with you. You couldn't blame an angel for an old woman's foolishness."
Adam smiled at the woman. "Now, Miz LaBlanc, you don't look a day older than when I last saw you ten years ago."
Mother narrowed her eyes. "And I'm thinking you've developed a silver tongue to go with that last name of yours."
Chastity headed toward the kitchen, scooping the teapot off the floor as she left.
Emma, busy placing china teacups on the big tray, turned as Chastity hurried into the kitchen. "So that's Adam Silverhorn." She pressed her palm against her chest. "Be still, my racing heart." Fixing her eyes on Chastity, she demanded, "Why didn't you tell me he was so dreamy looking?"
Instead of answering right away, Chastity washed the teapot and warmed it with hot water. "Put some cookies on the flowered china serving plate." She scooped a handful of tea leaves into the warmed pot and filled it with boiling water. "I remember him with a nose that seemed too large for his face and arms too long
for his sleeves." Her cheeks warmed again as she thought how she had stared unmercifully at the poor man. "He seems to have outgrown all that." She nodded. "I expect he'll set your poor young heart all aflutter."
Emma sniffed. "Oh, you old grandma. I declare. I don't know how you manage without your cane." Her voice wheezed and wobbled. Then she glared at Chastity. "I am eighteen, you know. You make six years sound like a lifetime."
Chastity sighed as she arranged the serving tray. "It feels like it sometimes."
Beyond the far door, hinges creaked, and a shuffling sound started down the hall.
"Hurry. Take in the serving tray." Chastity grabbed the teapot and followed Emma's heels to the sitting room. They set up tea on the small table reserved for this ritual. "You look after things while I get Mother." She hurried across the hall to the dining room, pausing in the doorway to take in the scene.
Adam had pulled a chair close to her mother's side and, leaning back, spoke to the older woman.
"It was like nothing you could imagine. In fact, if I didn't have the photos and drawings to prove it, many people would call me a liar."
His voice was low and lazy yet filled with a melody that told Chastity whatever he was talking about gave him pleasure and excitement.
Mother turned and saw her daughter. "It's teatime, Adam. Do join us. You can tell me more." She nodded toward Chastity. "Get my cane, will you, Dear? I think I left it in the hall."
Chastity retrieved it from outside the door. "I can't imagine what Doc Johnson is going to say when you have to explain you decided you could get along without this."
Her mother leaned forward, one hand on top of her cane. "Never you mind, young lady. I'm not going to cry over spilt milk. What's done is done. I'll just be more careful from now on." She reached a hand for Adam's arm. "If you'd be so good as to assist me to the other room—"
"My pleasure."
Chastity grinned. Her mother had a way of bringing out the best and the kindest in people.
Following them to the sitting room, she glanced around. Mrs. Banner had eased into the armless padded chair where she always sat and peered over her glasses as the trio entered the room. Her head bobbed up and down as she watched the procession.
"Marie." She focused on Mother, then tilted her nose to study Adam. "Who is this young man?"
Mother lowered herself into the rocking chair across from Mrs. Banner, murmuring her thanks to Adam, and waving him to the chair at her side.
"Ida," she leaned toward the older woman and raised her voice, "you remember Adam. Adam Silverhorn."
Mrs. Banner drew back in the chair. "Pshaw. Why would I want corn? This is teatime," she said with a huff.
"No, no." Mother's voice grew louder. "Not corn. Silverhorn."
Mrs. Banner pulled her handkerchief through her fingers. "I don't care if it is summer corn. All I want are tea and cookies." She looked down her nose at the other woman. "Now who is this young man?"
Chastity turned away, hiding a smile. Sometimes there was simply no way of getting through to Mrs. B, but Mother never seemed ruffled from trying.
"Adam. Adam from the store."
Mrs. B bobbed her head, several gray hairs straying around her face. "Why didn't you say so? Now where's that girl with the tea?"
Emma set the cup at her elbow.
Even though Chastity knew exactly what Mrs. B would want, she played out the ritual, carrying the creamer and sugar bowl to the regal lady. "Would you like milk or sugar?"
"I do believe I'll have a little of each. A rounded spoonful of sugar and a splash of milk, if you please."
Chastity knew without looking that Emma would be silently mouthing the words, and she lowered her head to avoid the girl's knowing wink.
"Adam, would you like tea?"
His eyes flashed with bright spears of silver. For a moment his look seemed to isolate the two of them.
Emma shoved the plate of cookies under his elbow. "Cookies, Adam?"
Chastity turned away, setting the creamer and sugar bowl on the tea table.
The clock on the mantle bonged three times. Chastity straightened, listening, and met Emma's eyes. Upstairs a door closed with a muted thud, and footsteps could be heard crossing the length of the hall and descending the stairs.
Emma waggled her eyebrows. "You could set your clock by him."
A stiffly upright man stepped through the door, his gait measured and precise.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Elias," Mother murmured. "Tea is ready."
"Good afternoon."
His nod included them all. He took the cup Emma offered and sat ramrod straight on a hard wooden chair, the light from the window glistening on his head.
Chastity sat on the overstuffed green sofa and glanced around. This was her home—the only home she had ever known and certainly a home like no other. But despite its unusual nature, she had been surrounded by love here. Every aspect of her life had been overshadowed by the knowledge of God's love. She turned and met her mother's gaze and smiled.
This ritual was almost as old as she was. Afternoon tea—punctually at two fifty-five. Over the years some of the regulars had gone, while others had come to take their place—some for a short time; others, like Mr. Elias, for longer periods. Mrs. B had been there longer than Chastity or even her mother.
They each had their special chair—not by right of ownership but by silent consent. Teacups were arranged in their own fashion—her mother's on the stool at her knee; Mrs. B's at her elbow on the skirted round table; Mr. Elias's balanced in one hand.
The room itself was as unchangeable as the tea ritual. The same burgundy drapes were fastened back with the same faded wine-colored rope. Despite her subtle attempts, Chastity had been unsuccessful in changing a single feature. Every knickknack was quickly returned to its original position as soon as she left the room, each chair shoved back to its precise placement. Even the angel picture hanging over the fireplace had remained unchanged since before her birth. She looked up at it. A kind-faced angel robed in a white gown caught the fingertips on the out-flung hand of a child stepping on rocks as she made her way across a swiftly flowing river.
Indeed, the only thing different was Adam's presence, and every eye sought him.
"Mr. Elias," Mother said, her voice soft and gentle, "this is Adam, Ed Silverhorn's son."
Mr. Elias nodded his head in acknowledgment. "Pleased to meet you."
"He was telling me about his trip to the Klondike." She tilted her head to Adam. "And where else did you say?"
Adam stood and shook Mr. Elias's hand, returning to his seat before he answered. "I spent three years in the Klondike and two more in Alaska. From there I explored down the coastline and among the Gulf Islands. After that I spent some time in the interior of B.C." He shrugged. "Then I decided I was heading in the right direction and came home."
Chastity let her breath out in a little whistle. "All that in ten years!" She shook her head. She had been no further than the edge of town. "Did you find gold?"
He chuckled. "No. Found something better, though."
She squinted at him. "Better than gold?"
"Yes," he said, nodding. "I found life."
She studied him. Life was what you made of it. Life was here and now. It was found in making wise choices and adjusting. It was in being content where God put you. There was no need to chase off to the ends of the world to find life and live it, and his suggestion of it made her want to argue.
Adam spoke before she could do more than open her mouth. "I can see you're wondering what I mean." He leaned back and smiled up at the ceiling as if seeing something wonderful and elusive. "I got to see firsthand the events that are making history. I recorded them. And for the most part I lived them." He suddenly lowered his head and fixed her with a sharp look. "That's what I mean."
She pulled her gaze away, studying the brown liquid in her cup. "Some of us live life in the minuscule, seeing it and experiencing it and enjoying it through the tiny details of ever
y day." She straightened, and her gaze locked with his. "The beauty of the sunset, the sweetness of the lilac blossoms, the sound of the birds singing. We learn to take what God has given us and appreciate it."
Emma sighed. "But how exciting to be able to see so many new and wonderful things. It thrills me. Tell me, Mr. Silverhorn—what was the most wonderful thing you saw?"
"Please call me Adam." His expression grew serious. "I guess I would have to agree with Chastity. It's the wonders of nature that are the most profound."
His blue eyes forbade Chastity to turn away when she would have dismissed his pronouncement. "When I saw the sun glistening off the great glaciers of the Yukon and realized the challenge the snow-covered mountains would be to the puny men trying to scale them—" He half laughed. "Well, I was so awestruck I could barely breathe."
Chastity tried to pull her gaze away. She tried to blink. But she was caught by his intensity.
Emma let out a whoosh of air. "It sounds wonderful."
"Adam," Mother said, "you mentioned photos and drawings."
He turned toward her, and Chastity sank back against the cushions.
"Yes, I have quite a collection. I tried to record everything I saw."
Mother continued. "Perhaps we can see some of your recordings."
"Of course." He relaxed. "I plan to display some of them at my shop, but I have hundreds more than I can display. I'd be glad to bring some for you to see." His glance included Chastity.
She pressed her finger to her lips. Adam Silverhorn might have grown from a gangly youth to a handsome well- built man; he might have seen life, as he put it. But she wasn't about to let him turn her life upside down with talk of faraway places and exciting events. She knew the boundaries of her life, and right now they were the four walls of Brownlee's Boardinghouse. And with that she was content. There was only one thing she wished she could change—
"A shop?" her mother asked.
"I'm planning to turn the side room Father uses for storage into a photography shop. That way I can help in the store and continue with my own business as well."
