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

by Cynthia Hickey

  John closed his eyes and added his own prayer, Lord, let Ruth and the others not have washed away. He grabbed his hat from the rocker. “Let’s go. I’m not waiting any longer.” Ruth might be the most ornery woman he’d ever met, but she also possessed something he admired; spunk and a backbone of pure grit. Not many women would’ve stopped what they were doing to help the poor folks in the river bottom. He hoped her soft heart hadn’t led her to making a fatal mistake.

  Astride Buster, John headed down the road at a fast trot. He wasn’t sure how they’d get the supplies to the shanty town, but with the rain stopped and the sun shining, they’d figure something out. Five men rode with him. Saddlebags bulged with food.

  John doffed his hat to Grandma. “We’ll bring her back.”

  Her face white as flour, she nodded. “I have faith you will. I’ll be praying double-time for all y’all to return safe.”

  The soggy ground muffled the sound of the horses’ hooves. Water dripped from heavy leaves and filled the forest with music. Ordinarily, John loved the woods after a storm, but today, his heart lodged in his throat as he dwelled on what might’ve happened to Ruth and the others.

  Why couldn’t the people have built their camp farther away from the river? He’d insist they rebuild and follow his strict suggestions. There’d be no more risk to people’s lives because certain “someones” wanted to make things a little easier. He’d help the sane ones clear a spot away from the river. There were kindhearted people in town. They’d have all the help they needed.

  He paused at the top of the trail. The heavy rain had washed away most of the path and left gouges in the once packed ground. “It’s going to be hard getting down, men. Take it slow and easy. Anyone too nervous, or who thinks their mount can’t handle the trip, turn back now.”

  Patting Buster’s neck, John urged him forward. Buster’s hind legs slid a few inches before he regained his footing. John let the horse have his head.

  When the group reached the bottom, pride filled John’s heart. Not one man lost or hurt. Yep, the mountain bred them tough. “The camp’s just around that bend up yonder.”

  “What do you think we’ll see?” Hank asked, shaking droplets from his hat. “I don’t want to have to go back and tell that sweet Miriam that her granddaughter floated off somewhere.”

  “They’ll be fine.” John urged Buster forward. They had to be.

  The river hadn’t fully receded by the time they reached the camp. Not even close. Moses and a handful of others stood at the edge of the water, while women covered their faces and wailed. John scanned the crowd. Ruth wasn’t among them. Pinpricks of fear stabbed at his skin. “Where’s Ruth?”

  Moses pointed across the whirling water toward the trees. “She’s up there with my child and my sister’s little girl. They’s about to be dunked into that ole’ river. I tried to get to them, but I can’t swim. I’m scared of the water.”

  John’s blood rushed from his face as he slid from Buster’s back. He squinted.

  Ruth waved at them from the branches of an oak tree that looked about ready to snap. The branch she clung to hung two feet from the water’s surface. The river must’ve loosened the roots of Ruth’s sanctuary. The tree threatened to topple at any moment. John cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hold on!”

  Ruth copied his movements. “I’m not going anywhere! But don’t take too much time. I’m not a strong swimmer.”

  John turned to his men. “Tie the ropes together. We’ll anchor to a tree, and I’ll head in after her.”

  “I’ll be going in with you,” Moses said, his eyes wide. “You can’t bring back a woman and two babies by yourself.” His jaw jutted. “If ya tie me to something solid, I reckon I can make it across.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” John clapped him on the shoulder. “But, I’ll be glad for your help. We’ll loop the ropes around and each tie an end around our waists. The others can help pull us back once we’ve got Ruth and the little ones.”

  “Yes, sir.” Moses’ eyes widened. “I didn’t exaggerate. I can’t swim a lick.”

  “You won’t need to.” John stepped into the water. Chilly tentacles wrapped around his legs and stole his breath. His bum leg cramped, seized in the river’s frigid grasp.

  He fought the current, forcing himself to breathe in and out until he stood beneath the oak and stared up into Ruth’s stricken face. “Hand me down the children.”

  She slid a muddy and stained apron from around her neck and handed it down to him. “Careful.”

  John passed the infant to Moses, then turned as Ruth slid a toddler girl from her back to him. Moses headed back with both children. John held out his arms for Ruth. “Your turn. Come on. Grab hold of my neck like that little one held on to you.”

  She stiffened. “I can not allow you to carry me, Sheriff Powell. It wouldn’t be proper. I’ll latch on to the rope, same as you.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time you called me John?” His teeth chattered. “Now is not the time for modesty. You’re wet and cold-to-the-bone. We need to get you home.” He wiggled his fingers. “This water is mighty icy, Ruth, and it’s paining my bum leg something fearful. I don’t relish standing in it for much longer.”

  She pressed her lips together and swung down. Her legs flailed until he grabbed hold of them and wrapped them around his waist. Ruth held on to his shoulders. Her shivers radiated through his shirt.

  “How is everyone else?” Her breath tickled the side of his neck. “Did you bring the supplies?”

  He chuckled. He should’ve guessed her mind would be on the welfare of others before herself. “We brought everything you asked for.”

  “Thank you.” She laid her cheek against his back. “I hoped you’d come. I have to admit to being scared. A bit.”

  “Wouldn’t have thought—” His booted foot slipped. They plunged into the river’s receding rapids.

  John held his breath and took a firmer grip on Ruth’s legs. Her arms tightened around his neck, cutting off his windpipe. His eyes opened. They’d been thrust into a greenish brown nightmare. Branches floated past them, only to be sucked back the way they’d come. If he didn’t regain his footing, they might drown before being pulled to safety. He thrust his head above water and took a gulp of air before resubmerging again.

  The waters closed over them. His mouth filled with the mildewy taste of the muddy river.

  The rope tightened. John fought to crest the water while maintaining his grip on Ruth. When they broke the surface, they both coughed and spewed murky water. Exhausted, John allowed the men to reel them in like a prize fish. He deposited Ruth on the ground, then lay on his back and stared into Moses’ smiling face. “Mr. Washington, please promise me you’ll rebuild your homes farther from the river.”

  Moses offered a hand to help him up. “That’s a sure thing, sheriff.” He hauled John to his feet, then turned to Ruth. “I’m obliged, ma’am. You risked yourself to keep my son from harm. Any time you need my help, or the help of any of us,” he waved an arm toward the crowd of onlookers, “all you got to do is holler.”

  “Thank you.” She allowed him to help her to her feet, and she faced John. “I want to go home now.”

  “That’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say since you stepped foot in Painted Bluff.”

  She grinned. “Tomorrow, I want you to drive me back here. I’m bringing these people some cash to get them on their feet.”

  John rolled his eyes, and sighed. “Okay. Glad to know you won’t be coming without me, Ruth Stallings.” He wouldn’t let her out of his sight for a long time, if ever.

  Chapter 8

  “If I get one more proposal of marriage, I’m going to shoot someone.” Ruth dropped an armload of dirty dishes into the sudsy water. “Why do these men think that all a woman wants is to be married? Besides, I thought they believed I belong to the sheriff.”

  Grandma laughed. “John’s little misunderstanding isn’t holding water anymore, huh?”


  “One customer actually asked me if I’d consider letting him steal me away from the sheriff.” Ruth loaded her arms with food-filled plates. “He must’ve been older than Pa.”

  The twister hadn’t slowed down business a bit. The door still opened and closed faster than Grandma and Ruth could cook, and as word spread of how good their cooking was, families came through occasionally. A change Ruth found welcome. Now if only Deborah and Sarah weren’t more interested in stopping to chat and simper at every sap who lifted a love-struck face their way, they might actually get some work done.

  Seemed like more eligible men arrived in town every day. Younger men returning home from the war. It was a virtual picnic of men bent on getting married. At least they all liked to eat, so the extra income was welcome.

  Ruth sighed. She wanted a good life for her sisters. Deborah was only seventeen; Sarah, a year younger. Too young to wed and start a family. She needed to teach them self-reliance, without being too heavy-handed and driving them away.

  She pushed through the door and almost upended the victuals on Deborah, who leaned against the wall chatting with Daniel. “Get to serving or cleaning. Daniel, sit down or leave. You’ve kept my sister from her work long enough.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but I’m actually looking for Sarah.”

  “She’s working too.” Ruth cringed at her tone.

  Seemed all she did anymore was bark orders and stumble exhausted into bed each night. There had to be more to life than sweating to make a dollar and dodging eager suitors. Things like joy and happiness; love and peace. A mockingbird serenaded from outside. Ruth stepped to the open window.

  Sunshine streamed through the window. Dust particles, highlighted like tiny diamonds drifted through the air. A slight breeze carried the sweet scent of honeysuckle. She took a deep breath, passed out the plates, and then squared her shoulders. “Gentlemen. From now on, it’s breakfast and supper only. Three meals a day for all of you is too much for us to handle.” She held up a palm to ward off their protests. “I’m sorry, knowing how much you enjoy our cooking, but if we’re to keep doing this, we’ve got to have some rest.

  She turned to her sisters. “Deborah. Sarah. Pick up the slack, please. I’m taking the afternoon off.” That was something else she’d have to implement—a day off for each of them in addition to Sunday. Maybe she ought to hire help. That would take a lot of the load off them. Ruth untied her apron and rushed outside before she changed her mind or felt guilty for her decision.

  She took a deep breath, inhaling jasmine, honeysuckle, and the aroma of moist dirt, then strolled down the road, not trying to hide the grin spreading across her face. Let people think she’d lost her mind by walking out of the restaurant. She should’ve done this several days ago. She stopped at the edge of the bluff. Beneath an oak that seemed to stretch to heaven, she sat with her legs stretched in front of her.

  Her gaze roamed across the river to a sea of emerald trees. The river flowed below her, and filled the air with the rush of water. Hard to believe that very river had seemed intent on claiming her just days before.

  Sun rays caressed her shoulders. Spreading her arms wide, she plopped back on the marshy grass and closed her eyes. Relaxation would definitely become a priority from now on. Maybe she could take her sisters on an overnight trip up the mountain and get away from the daily drudgery. If she maintained the work pace she’d kept for the last few days, she’d be old before her time.

  She laid her arm over her face. A nap sounded nice. So did the rustle of the leaves, overhead and the caw of a raven. The moist scent of river water blew past her. Amazing the things a person noticed with their sense of hearing and smell. Different scents, sharper sounds.

  A twig cracked and a shadow blocked out the sun. Ruth’s eyes snapped open and she found herself thrust into her nightmare from months ago. Now, as then, a stranger bent over and reached for her. Lewdness twisted his features. Whiskey fumes wafted over her. This could not be happening to her again.

  “Aren’t you a purty thang! I ain’t never seen you close up before.” A man in grimy overalls towered over her, his body odor swamping nature’s perfume. Ruth sat up, scooted against the tree, and tried not to gag.

  She shoved her hand in her empty pocket. No gun. That’s what happened when a girl got too comfortable with her surroundings.

  The man smiled, revealing tobacco-stained teeth. His brown spit barely missed her skirt hem. “Yore the lady that opened up that fancy restaurant, I heard tell.”

  Using the tree as leverage, Ruth pushed to her feet, the bark rough on her spine. Maybe she could break off a branch to use as protection. “I’d hardly call it fancy.”

  He loomed closer. “I could take you away from that. Then you’d only have to cook for me.” Placing his palm flat against the tree trunk, he leaned into her face.

  Ruth ducked beneath his smelly arm. “No, thank you.”

  He grabbed her wrist. “You ain’t friendly.” His brows drew together. “We need to remedy that, and I’m just the man to teach you.”

  She yanked free. Her blood ran cold and her limbs trembled. She forced her voice to remain steady. “I don’t think so. Why don’t you go home and sleep it off?”

  His face darkened. “I don’t like back-talking women.”

  “And I don’t care for…” Maybe the softer approach would work best. She forced a smile to her lips. “My apologies. You woke me from a nap. I’m not myself.”

  He leered and reached for her. “Then give me a kiss in payment for your rudeness.”

  Ruth’s heart stampeded as he grabbed her and crushed her to his chest.

  *

  “Leave her be, Hiram.” John dismounted from his horse. He clenched his teeth at the sight of Ruth in the man’s arms. A rank odor of whiskey and tobacco assaulted his nostrils.

  “I just want a kiss, Sheriff. Ain’t no law against that. This gal is being plain stubborn. I even asked in a polite way.”

  Ruth stiffened and pulled free then ducked behind John. Her nails bit through his flannel shirt and into his biceps.

  “Kissing might not be against the law, but being drunk in public is. Not to mention assault.” John rested his hand on the butt of his pistol. “This can be hard or easy, Hiram. Your choice.”

  Hiram laughed. He flapped his upper limbs and almost lost his balance. “Ain’t no public. Was just me and the little lady. We were getting to know each other better.”

  John huffed through his nose. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to spend the night in jail. You know the law.” When did enforcing the law in Painted Bluff get complicated? A few bar fights, disputes over boundary lines. Nothing serious. And now … He glanced over his shoulder at Ruth’s white face. Her stricken look tugged at his heart. He could pinpoint the exact moment she started to become more than a woman renting his brother’s house. No help for it now, but things sure did get interesting.

  “Come on, Hiram.”

  Hiram doubled his fists and held them up. “Make me.”

  “You don’t want to do this.”

  “You don’t know what I want.” He took a swing at John’s face.

  John ducked. “Sorry, old timer.” He stepped forward and landed a solid upper cut to Hiram’s jaw. The man fell like a cut tree. With a grunt, John threw the man over his shoulder, his leg threatening to buckle under him, then belly-flopped Hiram over the horse. “He didn’t mean you any harm, Ruth.”

  She lifted her chin. “Then why are you carting him off?”

  “Still got to maintain the peace. He’s not the only one. Another man tried to steal a kiss from Deborah. She took offense and rapped him on the skull with the broom handle. He’s resting it off too.”

  “Sounds to me like the solution would be to close down the saloon.”

  “Maybe so, but it ain’t my place. Take it up with my brother when he gets back.” John looped the reins over his hand. “See you at supper.” He marched off leading his horse, and left Ruth with her mouth unhinged. Must b
e a rare thing for Ruth Stallings to be at a loss for words. He whistled, “Amazing Grace” and made his way to town.

  The rock building that once served as a make-shift stable for a down-and-out farmer to house his cow, now served as the jail. With a maximum capacity of two, it was full tonight. He shoved the still-dazed Hiram inside with the kiss-stealing bandit, Buford, and slammed the wooden door. “I’ll send supper in a bit.”

  Buford gripped the bars on the single window. “I ain’t staying in this place with a drunk.”

  “That’s calling the kettle black, Buford.”

  “Hiram snores, Sheriff. I won’t be able to sleep a lick.”

  John touched the brim of his hat. “See y’all later.”

  He headed straight to Ruth’s restaurant and marched into the kitchen. She glanced up as she pulled a pie from the stove. “Sheriff.”

  “I said to call me John.” He crossed his arms, then nodded to Grandma. “Could Ruth and I have a moment, please?”

  “Sure thing.” Grandma dried her hands on a flour sack and scooted into the dining room.

  Ruth set the pie on the windowsill to cool. “I’d like to thank you for stopping Hiram.”

  “What were you doing in the woods alone?” Did the woman have no sense?

  “I thought this was a safe town. And I wasn’t exactly in the woods. The bluff isn’t that far, and the view from there relaxes me.”

  “Single women, especially pretty ones, are a temptation that some of these men can’t resist. Especially when the men are liquored up.”

  She raised her chin. “So, I suppose I need you to escort me wherever I go?”

  “Or one of your sisters. Or your grandmother. Yes.”

  “No.” She flung a cloth over her shoulder and plunged her hands into the washbasin. “I will not be a prisoner in this house. I’m entitled to an afternoon off once in a while. The men will have to understand that—”

  John shut her up the only way he knew how. He grabbed her and kissed her. Warm water from her hands ran down his shirt front. Lightning shot to his gut. His nerves tingled with the force of an electric storm. He pulled her closer and deepened the kiss.