Woman of Courage (Four Full length Historical Christian Romances in One Volume): Woman of Courage Series

by Cynthia Hickey

  He’s not about to kiss me, is he? Ruth backed up, brandishing the carrot like a sword. Her gaze locked with his. Time stood still. Noise from lingering customers in the other room faded. She swallowed past the boulder in her throat. “You need to leave.”

  “Gladly.” He spun on a booted heel and stomped out the door.

  Ruth leaned against the counter. What was it about the sheriff that raised her hackles? When he stepped into the room, her world spun out of control. She couldn’t be attracted to him. Just couldn’t. That thought didn’t sit with her idea of independence, at all. She shook her head. No, there was no place in her life for a man. Not even one as handsome as Sheriff John.

  *

  Idiot! Talk about a close call. Every time John got near Ruth his common sense evaporated. He almost kissed her. That’d be a step from which he couldn’t return. After Marsha ran off with that gambler, he swore off women, especially pretty ones with secrets. He’d swear in court that Ruth Stallings hid a secret behind those emerald eyes and mass of mahogany hair. To touch her would leave a mark as noticeable as a branding iron. Besides, they’d only met three days ago. He was off his rocker!

  Something more than Miriam’s tale of tragedy brought her to town. He hoped trouble didn’t follow them.

  Miriam Stallings strolled up the road with Hank. Maybe she could provide the source of information John needed. Like why the women left their home in the first place. He joined her. “Walk with me, Mrs. Stallings? Do you mind, Hank? There’s something I need to ask her.”

  Hank tipped the brim of his hat at Miriam. “Much obliged, ma’am. She’s all yours, sheriff.” He nodded and headed back the way they’d come.

  Miriam grinned. “My second stroll with a gentleman today. Please, call me Grandma, or better yet, Miriam.”

  “Okay, uh, Grandma. Uh, Miriam.” John didn’t know whether to offer his arm or not, so he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

  A few steps farther, Grandma stopped and faced him. “Out with it.”

  “Huh?”

  “You didn’t ask me to walk because you want to court me, not that I wouldn’t be flattered. Something’s on your mind.” She lowered herself onto a fallen log and patted the rough bark beside her. “Let’s sit a spell.”

  John eased down next to her. “I’d like to know the real reason y’all stopped in Painted Bluff.”

  “End of the line, son. Simple as that.” Grandma smoothed her skirt.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Grandma sighed. “Well, it’s partly true. I told you about those men killing my son and his wife. They also stole the money hidden beneath the floorboards before they burnt down the house.” She blinked rapidly. “The fools didn’t camp but a mile down the road. Ruth was out hunting, so she had her daddy’s gun with her. She went and stole back what was ours. Or what was left of it. She won’t tell me anything else, but she came back with a Derringer pistol, our money, and a hard shell around her. We figured this place was far enough away for us to be safe from the aftermaths of the war. And for Ruth, for all of us, to heal from my son’s murder, and whatever happened in the bushwhacker camp.”

  She patted his arm. “Don’t take her attitude serious, sheriff. The fact that she talks to you at all means she likes you. Ruth’s heart is as soft as a baby’s cheek.”

  He huffed. Ruth had a strange way of showing she liked someone, but the conversation with Miriam explained a lot.

  John stared toward the other side of the river. From the top of the bluff, jade-colored leaves rose against an azure sky. He didn’t get any pleasure out of being right. Not this time.

  “The rest of you seem to be doing all right.”

  Miriam sighed. “On the outside, maybe. There ain’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss the family members that have passed. My husband, my son and daughter-in-law. We all handle our grief in different ways.” She pleated her skirt between her fingers. “I’m old enough to know that life continues despite the tragedies we must endure. Sarah chooses rebellion to deal with her heartache. Deborah hides her pain behind a sweet smile. Ruth, well, she’s built a crusty shell around her heart.”

  He rose. “Thank you.” It explained why Ruth had more thorns than a prickly bush, and the staunch desire to do everything on her own. “Let me walk you home.”

  Grandma patted his arm. “No need. I’ll hurry along and help Ruth with the lunch crowd. If you see those other granddaughters of mine, send’em on home. Looks like a storm, and I’d rather they weren’t out in this weather.”

  John nodded. He’d most likely find the girls in town, eager-faced boys around them. He’d planned on lunch, but after his conversation with Grandma, decided against food. Ruth needed time for her nerves to settle, and he needed time to arrange his thoughts. She absolutely did not need to know about his conversation with Miriam.

  For the first time in a long while, John realized someone’s bad attitude often hid a larger problem. He owed the Stallings women compassion and understanding.

  He stared at the river below. God, what was he doing? Ruth occupied more of his thoughts then John knew was wise. He was grown man. Taking his thoughts captive should be easy. Instead, they veered off in directions he’d rather not go.

  Overhead, gray clouds swirled and covered the sky. A thickness filled the air, making it difficult to breathe. The trees swayed in a frenzied dance as wind whipped their branches. The sky took on a green tinge. John clapped a hand to his head to keep his hat in place. Hail bounced off the ground. Icy pebbles stung his skin.

  Disaster rushed toward the town with the speed of a runaway horse and buggy.

  He had to get to the house. Fast.

  Chapter 5

  “Twister!” someone shouted.

  Ruth spun and stared out the window. The sky blackened. Plates fell from her hand. Stew splashed her ankles, sending prickly spots of heat to her skin. A twisting, turning freight train, dark in its ferocity, rushed toward them. Goose pimples broke out on her arms.

  Chairs scraped back, and booted feet thundered across the wooden floorboards as men made a mad dash for the door, dragging along her hysterical sisters in their wake. Deborah whipped around. “Grandma?”

  “Ruth!” John fought his way through the throng, then barreled into her. He shoved her under the heavy, wooden table. Yanking the tablecloth off the table, he scattered dishes and utensils, and spread the checkered fabric over them.

  She slapped at his hands and scrambled to get free. “I need to find my family.” They had to stay together.

  “There’s no time.” He wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her close, then bent his body over hers.

  “No!” She punched at his arms. “Please, let me go. They’re out there.”

  “Ruth, stop.” His hold tightened, threatening to cut off her breath. “We have to wait it out. You’ll be no use to anyone if you’re dead.”

  What about her sisters and Grandma? How could Ruth go on without them? She’d rather take her chances outside, than hide in fear while they might be injured, or worse.

  John made soft shushing noises in her ear and held tight. She huddled into him, for once letting someone stronger than her take charge.

  Wind pushed rain and hail through the open windows. More dishes crashed to the floor. Ruth focused on the shattered pieces of a plate the wind pushed under their covering. How could God send a storm to wipe away everything she’d worked for? One thing after another. He took it all away. Her heart lodged in her throat and beat with the furiousness of the storm.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. She clapped her hands over her ears to drown out the rumble and opened her mouth to scream.

  The table rattled over them and she heard chairs skid across the room. She removed her hands from her head and grasped the table leg. The demons of hell had found her, and were determined to bring the house down. Where was her family? Her sobs shook with the strength of the wind outside.

  John’s murmurs tickled the hair by her ear as h
e prayed. Instead of reassuring Ruth, the knowledge evoked a spark of terror. Prayer usually came at a time when people gave up hope. If John thought they needed to call on God to save them, he must think they wouldn’t survive. Ruth’s throat seized. She hadn’t prayed in months. It hadn’t worked then, and it wouldn’t now.

  The house groaned. A crash sounded above them. Ruth resumed her shrieking and cowered into the shelter of John.

  “Shhh. It’ll be okay.” He cradled her head to his chest.

  She gripped his shirt with both hands and buried her face. When would it stop? The horrible growling, the restlessness in her soul? The moment of weakness so intense it left her shaking.

  As if in answer, the wind slowed to a whistle, then a whisper. The rain ebbed to a drizzle, then nothing as the sun’s rays cut through the broken window.

  Ruth scooted from John and let the cloth fall to the floor. Her face flamed. Danger over, she couldn’t succumb to the pleasure of being held in his strong arms. Avoiding his eyes, she crawled from beneath their sanctuary. She smoothed her hair back into its bun. She’d never fallen apart in front of anyone before and vowed never to do so again. Life was cruel and she needed to be strong.

  Tree branches, leaves, and dirt filled the room. Chairs lay on their sides. The table sat two feet from its original position. A few more minutes, and it would’ve no longer covered them. John stood beside her and placed an arm around her shoulders.

  “Could be worse, I suppose,” he said. “At least the house is still standing.”

  Ruth glanced up. A crack ran through the dining room ceiling. She shuddered that it could’ve fallen on their heads and buried them alive. She took a deep breath past the wad of cotton in her throat. “I’m sorry about your home, but I need to find my grandmother and my sisters.”

  John rammed his shoulder against the door to dislodge the rocking chairs shoved against it. Ruth stepped outside first and blinked against the sun’s glare.

  An oak tree pierced the roof. Branches, furniture, and other debris littered the yard. She glanced toward John’s cabin. Untouched. It wasn’t a surprise to her that the tornado only hit where she lived.

  “My first day in business, and the place is in ruins.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she wiped them away. “Every endeavor I embark on turns to nothing. Keeping my family’s farm, seeing that my sisters experience a career, all dust through my fingers.”

  “Ruth!” Deborah waved from the road where she and Sarah ran, covered in mud, with the lunch crowd surrounding them.

  Ruth dashed into her sisters’ arms. “I was so worried. Where were you? Where’s Grandma?” With their hair mussed and windblown, mud staining their dresses beyond repair, Ruth had never seen a more welcoming sight.

  Deborah shook her head. “A few of the men shoved me and Sarah into a ditch. We haven’t seen Grandma.” Tears cut tracks in the dirt on her face. “We thought we’d lost you and Grandma, same as Ma and Pa. I couldn’t bear another loss like that one.”

  Ruth pulled her sisters close. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Me either,” Grandma said.

  Ruth choked back a sob as her grandmother exited the house. “Where were you?”

  “Same room as you.” Grandma smoothed her hair. “I shoved this old body in a corner, cowered, and prayed. There was so much furniture piled around me, I was pretty sheltered, but I’ll sport a few bruises come morning. There was no way I could outrun the tornado, so I stayed put. Could hear you caterwauling over the storm. Put a cougar to shame.” She smiled at John. “I didn’t have a big, handsome man to take care of me, but I had the Almighty Lord.”

  Ruth’s face heated as she remembered John’s arms around her. “I wasn’t that bad.”

  John laughed. “You screamed pretty loud in there.” He stuck a finger in his ear. “Almost burst my eardrum.”

  She planted fists on her hips. “That’s enough, John Powell. I’ve never been through a tornado before. I thought the house was coming down around me.”

  “Almost did.”

  *

  “Is everyone all right? Nobody unaccounted for?” John cast a glance over the crowd.

  “Not that we know of,” one of the men stated. “A few downed trees and the Murphy’s barn is gone. God looked out for us, but we haven’t checked the homes farther down the river.”

  “Yes, God looked out for us.” John surveyed the damage, then turned his attention to Ruth’s stricken face. “You aren’t out of business. Only the second floor looks damaged, and only above the dining area. You can still serve meals, and y’all can sleep in the living room. Everything will be as good as new in no time.” He waved his arm toward the crowd. “This group will get the house set to rights. Tomorrow, we’ll fix the hole in the roof.”

  What happened to his resolve to stay away from Ruth? Her crying in his arms seemed to have changed all that. Now, he wanted to protect her, whether she allowed him to or not. A hard worker like her was worth ten of his former fiancé. How would she respond if she knew he contemplated--no wanted--a courtship with her?

  Remembering the comment she’d almost made before being interrupted by the twister, he pulled her aside. “God doesn’t hate you, Ruth.”

  “Excuse me?” She whirled to glare at him and pointed to the destruction. “There’s the proof. One day, Mister Powell. He gave me one day. An unfair exchange considering all that He’s already taken.”

  He didn’t know what to say. How could he get through to someone with such a wounded heart? “Well, at least you acknowledge His existence.” Idiot! Even he ought to be able to come up with something more encouraging to say.

  She rubbed her temple. “Thank you for your concern, but I need to get to work. If you can organize a cleanup crew, I’ll see what I can get together for a meal. This one will be no charge.”

  She turned. Her skirt swayed around her hips as she trudged to the kitchen. Dirty, wrinkled, with a tear-stained face, Ruth still made a pretty picture there amid the storm’s aftermath. If he was an artist, he’d sketch her just like that. A picture that showed her strength and her vulnerability. He jerked his attention back to the job at hand. No sense in getting distracted.

  Getting the men in order to fix the house was something John could definitely do. And it would take his mind off how much he wanted to help Ruth in other ways. Then she wouldn’t have to work herself to death. Less than a week in town, and the woman got under his skin like a chigger, causing an itch that wouldn’t go away.

  Within minutes, a crew chopped at the oak suspended through the roof. Another went to set the outhouse right side up. The rest helped Deborah and Sarah clear the yard of debris. John marched into the house to see what else needed to be done.

  After checking upstairs and noting only major damage to the main bedroom, thus the crack in the dining room ceiling, John headed to the kitchen. Grandma swept leaves and mud out of the house, while Ruth busied herself making sandwiches.

  She glanced up. “It’ll be a simple meal. I apologize.”

  He shrugged. “The men won’t care. Only damage is upstairs to the main room, and some windows. I’ll get those fixed, and the crack too. The stairs are still sound.” He leaned to peer into her face. “Surely you can see God’s hand in this, Ruth. It could’ve been much worse. We didn’t lose a single life today.”

  “If God cared,” she plopped bread on top of sliced ham, “He wouldn’t have sent the twister in the first place. And you don’t know lives weren’t lost. You won’t know for certain until you check the folks in the outlying areas. We noticed a lot of shanties on our trip up the river.”

  “God didn’t take away your parents. Evil men did. You weren’t singled out. I read the papers. I know the atrocities eclipsing our country. I fought in that horrible war. You’ve lost kinfolk? Well, so have I.” He spun her to face him. “You don’t need to shoulder the burden yourself. You aren’t fully responsible for your sisters and your grandmother. Share the load, Ruth. And the men will see to those in th
e bottom lands once they’ve taken care of those in town.”

  “I’d rather not.” She yanked free. “My family’s all I have. Thank you for your concern, Mister Powell, but I don’t know you well enough to have this conversation.”

  Grandma stopped sweeping. “Give her time, John.”

  “Time isn’t what I need!” Ruth banged her hands against the counter. High spots of color burned bright on her cheeks. She set her jaw, then stormed out the back door.

  Grandma shook her head. “That girl hurts more than I knew. Something happened in the bushwhacker’s camp. I guarantee it. Something that eats at her soul.”

  Chapter 6

  Ruth tossed her apron on the fencepost and grabbed a floppy hat someone left behind. The afternoon sun beat down with the heat of a wood burning stove. She shoved the hat on her head and glanced at the clouds building to the west. They promised more rain before the day was over. This mountain exhibited the strangest weather she’d ever seen.

  She set off for Main Street at a brisk pace. If the others wanted to wait to check those poor souls on the town’s outskirts, then she’d go alone. They didn’t need her to help clean up.

  She stopped at the livery stable to borrow a horse and waited impatiently while the man secured the saddle. She tossed a couple of coins to the animal’s owner, told him thanks, then launched herself onto the dappled gray’s back and headed south.

  Each clop of the horse’s hooves took her deeper into devastation. Fallen trees and debris littered the mountainside. The citizens shouldn’t spend time at her place when worse damage waited to be taken care of. Icy fingers of nervousness crawled up her spine. The town didn’t seem to fare too badly, but she feared what the isolated homes along the river would look like.

  Her travels up river showed the freed slaves and poor whites lived mostly in tents and shacks. Nothing that would’ve stood up to the storm’s strong winds. Hopefully, the twister skirted around the shanty area.