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

by Cynthia Hickey

  “Nothing but beauty.”

  She laughed; the throwing back her head, mouth wide open, the sound ringing over-the-river-kind of laugh. His heart soared with the joy of it, and he joined her. Tears spilled from her eyes.

  “You are the dearest man, John Powell.” Ruth wiped her streaming eyes on her sleeve.

  “How’s this for dear?” He gave into his desire, and drew her close. Her eyes widened as he lowered his head. Her lips tasted of salt, and the lemonade they’d shared. She stiffened, then relaxed, returning his kiss with the passion he knew lay beneath the hard shell she’d erected.

  Chapter 21

  Ruth lay in bed, her fingers resting on her lips. She imagined she could still feel John’s kiss. She didn’t have a single regret about attending the picnic. Not anymore. Despite John’s probing questions and soul-searching gazes, she’d enjoyed her time with him.

  The moon cast its rays through the window and lent an air of romanticism to the night. Ruth stretched and lightly touched her sister’s shoulder, grateful for the company on a night full of wondering. What would it feel like to wake up next to John instead of Deborah?

  Maybe Ruth should tell him what happened in the bushwhacker camp. Lay her cards on the table and see how he handled the news. Grandma would tell her she didn’t give him enough credit. If a man loved a woman enough, he’d overlook almost anything. Ruth let her hands fall to the mattress. Deborah rolled over and groaned.

  An odor drifted through the open window. Ruth sniffed and lay still. Smoke? A familiar crackling noise grew in intensity. She crawled from bed and rushed to the window. Flames shot up from the church, and the mercantile next door. Ruth whirled.

  “Deborah!” She yanked the sheet from her sleeping sister. “Get up. Fire!”

  “What?” Deborah bolted to a sitting position.

  “Fire. Next door!” She dashed to Sarah’s small bed in a corner of the room and shook her. “Get up. Hurry!” She dashed out and to the small room by the kitchen. “Grandma!”

  Grandma rushed from the room, her shawl draped around her shoulders. “I smelled it. Grab some blankets and the bucket. I’ll get the metal tub and meet you by the well. Don’t dawdle.”

  Followed by her sisters, Ruth grabbed the last of the blankets from the closet and sprinted outside. A cloud of smoke filled the air and burned her throat. Flames danced over their heads, searing the world with their vicious appetite. She choked back a sob. They had to save the restaurant.

  Ruth filled the tub. “Soak the blankets and splash the house. Keep everything as wet as possible. Most of all, yourselves.” They had to prevent the fire from spreading. They had to!

  Men rushed past them, yelling and struggling to carry buckets that splashed water over soot-covered pants. They headed to the mercantile and formed a line to pass the buckets hand over hand.

  Ruth swiped at her smarting eyes. Everything she’d worked for was at risk. Again. Why couldn’t God show her some mercy?

  Embers landed on the shingled roof of Ruth’s Place. Within seconds, a spark, smoke, then tiny flames grew, eager to devour the dry wood.

  “Help!” She grabbed a passing man’s arm. “My house. The restaurant. Please.”

  He shrugged her off. “We’ll be here next. Gotta try and save the church.”

  There’d be nothing left by then. Ruth grabbed a blanket and started to climb the rose trellis on the side of house. Thorns pricked her fingers, making them slippery with blood. The soggy yardage of wool she carried pulled her back and further soaked her nightgown. Her hands slipped. A cry escape her as she dangled a few feet above the ground. She couldn’t do it. She wasn’t strong enough.

  Moses and several other men from the river bottom raced toward her. She closed her eyes in relief. The town would have help.

  “Let me.” John took her burden from her and climbed to the roof. “Keep the blankets coming!” He beat at the flames while Ruth dashed to get something else to fight the battle with.

  “Let me, Miss Ruth.” Moses tried to steer her away.

  “Thank you. This is my home.” Ruth’s words caught on a sob. Like the home she’d shared with her parents, this one would perish in a heap of charred timbers and ash.

  Deborah thrust the bucket into Moses’s arms. “Take this.” She glanced upward. Soot streaked her face. “We’re losing the fight. Get John down.”

  Ruth gazed toward the roof. Like a warrior battling a mystical beast, John stood, highlighted against tongues of flame taller than he. “John!” The roof could go any moment, taking him into the depths of a fiery grave. Her heart seized in her throat. “John, please come down!”

  He glanced at her and jumped. He tucked into a roll when he hit the ground, and landed at her feet. “I’m sorry, Ruth. It’s a goner.” With the groan of a dying animal, the house closed in on itself. Ruth sagged against the well pump.

  All for nothing. First her parents, then the tornado, now the fire. All her fight wasted; gone with a spark. John leaped to his feet and caught her as she swooned.

  *

  “Ruth!” John swept her into his arms and carried her across the street where he laid her in a patch of grass.

  “Oh, Lord, have mercy! She’s dead.” Grandma fell to her knees.

  “Only fainted.” John smoothed her wet hair out of her face. Come on, Angel, open your eyes. He leaned close and felt her breath feather his cheek.

  “Everything is gone,” Ruth mumbled.

  “Not everything.” John helped her to a sitting position. “Your family’s safe. No one was hurt, and thanks to Moses and his people, the fires are being put out before they spread to this side of the street.”

  She put a hand to her head. “Thank goodness I put our money in the bank. The bank!” She whirled, and John had to catch her again as her knees buckled.

  “Still standing. You need to sit. You’re light headed.”

  “Drink this.” Grandma shoved a mug of water into Ruth’s hands. “You gave me a scare, girl. When I saw you crumble, I thought you’d gone to meet Jesus.” She turned and surveyed the crowd. “Looks like my wedding is postponed.”

  “Why’s that?” John leaned against a tree and cradled Ruth beneath his arm. Her eyes closed and she rested her head on his shoulder. The movement felt as natural as rain. Like God designed that spot on his body just for her. “The preacher will still be here. He’s moving into the old Moore place, permanently.”

  “I want to be married in a church, sheriff.” She plopped beside them. Her flannel gown pillowed around her. Within minutes, Sarah and Deborah dropped beside her.

  “Besides,” Deborah plucked at her soggy nightclothes. “She can’t be married in her gown. All of our clothes are gone.”

  John shrugged. If he wanted to get married, nothing would stop him. Even if it meant standing before the town in his longjohns. “Then we’ll start to rebuild tomorrow.”

  Ruth stirred. “I’ll need a tent. Ruth’s Place will reopen as long as I’ve got breathe in my body.” She coughed. “Which I do, barely.”

  “I’d make you some tea, but it went up in smoke.” Grandma cackled. “Glad to see you still have the fighting spirit, Ruth. Guess I can have Hank take me into Rolling Brook to get supplies and material for clothes. The mercantile still has its walls, but I’m sure everything is covered with soot and smoke. We got enough money?”

  “We have plenty.” Ruth straightened. “The way I figure, we can open in a few days.”

  John shook his head. “Why don’t y’all let me and Luke take care of you for a while? You can reopen in his house, just like before.”

  “No, we’re independent. That won’t do.” Using the tree as support, Ruth got to her feet.

  John joined her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Why do you have to be so stubborn? It would only be temporary.”

  “I won’t be beholden, John.” Her eyes sparked beneath the light of the moon. He wanted nothing more than to kiss some sense into her.

  “First thing will be
to find you ladies some dry clothes.” Before he forgot he was a gentleman. “I’m sure the Widow has some to lend.” He grabbed Ruth’s hand. “Come on.”

  He glared at a couple of men who stopped to gawk as he led the Stallings’ women up the street. The full moon most likely cast them all in visions of transparent loveliness. They couldn’t get to the Widow’s house fast enough.

  The Widow Blye yanked open her door. “You poor dears! Come on in.” She glanced over their shoulders. “Y’all get outta here! Scoundrels, every one of you. Don’t have the sense God gave a goose.” She slammed the door on the crowd of lookers, and turned to the girls with a smile. “Well, this brings back memories, doesn’t it? Except y’all were a bit drier then. Go on, John; I’ll take care of them.”

  He nodded and rushed outside to take a deep breath of smoke-filled air. Once the threat of danger to Ruth passed, it’d been all he could do not to take in the sight of her in a thin, cotton nightdress with her hair tumbling around her shoulders. He glanced toward the still-standing saloon, and almost wished he were a drinking man.

  Luke stumbled down the sidewalk, a hand pressed to his side. “The women all right?”

  “Overdid it tonight, didn’t you?” John glanced toward the Widow’s house. “They’re fine.”

  “That’s good.” Luke leaned against the outside wall of the saloon. “Town only lost the church, half the mercantile, and Ruth’s Place. Not bad. Wanna take a look to see where the fire started?”

  “Might as well.” John followed Luke to the back of where the church once stood.

  The charred remains of a man lay on the ground, a shattered whiskey bottle in one hand. John squatted next to the body. “Smoking and drinking, ya think?”

  “That was my guess,” Luke said. “Figure it’s one of them men you spoke to the other night.”

  John straightened. “They’re still here?”

  “Yep. Said they weren’t leaving until they found the person they come looking for.” Luke leaned closer. “They’re looking for a woman that stole some money and killed one of the men’s brother.”

  John’s blood ran cold as he remembered the story Miriam told him of Ruth’s time in the bushwhacker camp. “We need to get Ruth out of here.”

  “Why?” Luke frowned. “What haven’t you told me?”

  “Something happened to Ruth back in Mississippi. I’m starting to think it might have something to do with these strangers.”

  “Where do you want to send her?”

  “Maybe we can send them down a false trail. Back to Mississippi.”

  “It’s a plan.” Luke slung an arm around John’s shoulders. “Now, help me back home. My side’s killing me.”

  John didn’t have a clue how he’d keep Ruth out of the strangers’ sights, or how to send the group of men on their way, but come morning, he’d have a better idea of what to do.

  Even if he had to lie.

  Chapter 22

  Ruth stood on the porch of Widow Blye’s and smoothed the skirt of the hand-me-down dress that hung on her thin frame. The hem barely skimmed the top of her boots. At least it was dry and fairly modest. Her face flamed as she remembered last night’s attire. She placed cool hands on her burning cheeks. She’d been too tired and in shock to care then.

  Today, mortification flooded through her. She’d never swooned in her life, much less shown too much of what the Lord intended a woman keep hidden.

  A line of men, armed with tools and boards, streamed past and called out greetings. Ruth waved as they continued on their way to the burned church. She hitched up her skirt and descended the steps. Most likely, they needed things only money could buy. And if Grandma wanted a church to get married in, then Ruth would help the only way she could.

  After a quick trip to the bank, Ruth approached Luke’s home with a hundred dollars in her pocket. She could’ve offered more, but they’d need a new stove and dishes for the restaurant, not to mention food and clothing. She sighed. All the expenses would take a large chunk of her savings.

  “Good morning, Ruth.” John strolled around the corner of the house, snapping his suspenders into place.

  “Good morning. I’m here to see Luke.”

  His eyes darkened and his shoulders squared. “Luke!”

  Luke stepped onto the porch, his face lit with a huge grin. “Miss Ruth. It’s a pleasure.” He waved toward a rocking chair. “May I offer you a seat?”

  “Thank you.” She glanced between the brothers, then chose a chair a few feet from Luke. “I’ll only be a minute.” She dug the money from her pocket. “I’ve come to offer this to help get the church rebuilt quicker.”

  John laughed. “That’s right. Miriam won’t marry unless there’s a roof over her head.”

  Ruth smiled. “She’s funny that way.”

  “The woman knows what she wants.” John leaned against the railing and speared her with his eyes. “Unlike some I know. And it really isn’t necessary to offer money to rebuild the church. The people of this town will consider it worth doing.”

  “I want to help. I live here too.” Ruth opened her mouth to say more, then clamped her lips shut. “Besides, there’s my house to be rebuilt too. I’ll need a place to stay until then.”

  What was wrong the man? He’d given her the chilly shoulder since she stated she wanted to see Luke. She narrowed her eyes. He couldn’t be jealous, could he? The thought made her want to giggle. She wouldn’t understand men before the day she died; if then. “Did y’all say someone would be going to town today?”

  John nodded. “We’ve got a group of men. If you have a list, I can get it to them. Don’t worry about your stove. It’s fine, other than needing a good cleaning.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Ruth leaped to her feet. “If you’ve got paper, I’ll make a list right now.”

  “I’ve some in my desk.” Luke left and returned a moment later with paper and a pencil stub.

  Ruth listed food items, muslin, and calico, and added a large amount of tin dishes and pots and pans. “I have no idea how much this will cost.”

  Luke waved her words away. “Don’t worry. They’ll send back a bill and we’ll settle up later. We do things easy around here. The kitchen hasn’t been used much since you left.”

  “We’ll set up a tent across from my … house.” A lump formed in Ruth’s throat.

  “Ridiculous.” Luke looked so much like John when he frowned, Ruth almost laughed. “You’ll move back in here.”

  John crossed his arms and watched, with a small smile on his face.

  “No, really, I couldn’t.” She fiddled with the trim around her collar. She wanted to distance herself from John, not move back under the same roof, practically.

  “Miss Ruth, I insist. I’m rolling around in this big old house by myself.” He stood next to his brother and also crossed his arms. They looked like two almost identical bookends.

  Gracious! How could she fight them both? “I … really … it’d be imposing …” Oh, she didn’t want to lose her independence.

  “It’s settled.” Luke turned to John. “Grab a couple of men to build long tables and chairs. We’ll be all set in a couple of days. I’ll ask the Widow to clean the upstairs bedrooms.”

  “We can clean our own rooms, thank you very much.” Ruth swept past them and stopped at the end of the walk. “I appreciate this, gentlemen, but there’s really no need.”

  “You can’t pitch a tent on that vacant land without a permit, right Luke?” John wiggled his eyebrows.

  “Uh, that’s right.” His teeth flashed.

  Ruth stiffened. “Fine. If that’s how you two bull-headed men want to play, we’ll take over your house, but you, Mister Luke, will sleep in the shed with your brother.” With a flick of her skirt, she stomped down the path, their laughter following.

  Pig-headed men. She continued her march down Main Street and up the porch into the Widow’s house. Grandma kneaded dough at the simple counter. “Where’s your sisters?”

  �
�I don’t know.” Ruth slumped at the table. “Guess we’re moving back into the Mayor’s house. For now.”

  “That’s good.”

  “It is?” Ruth frowned.

  “Isn’t it?” Grandma plopped the dough into a pan. “You can get started back to work right away.”

  “But what about making it on our own? Without the help of a man?”

  “Sometimes, you need to accept the help offered, sweetie.” Grandma patted her shoulder, leaving a white handprint of flour against the brown calico. “You don’t have to fight every second of every day.”

  Ruth propped her chin in her hand. “Maybe not, but fending for myself, making my own money, it all feels like success to me.”

  “Just be careful that you aren’t focusing on the wrong god, Ruth.” Grandma slid the bread into the oven. “Seems to me work and money are quickly becoming the things you worship.”

  “But we struggled for so many months after Ma and Pa’s deaths. Before then, truth be told.” Tears welled in Ruth’s eyes. “How can you not want a secure future?”

  “Nothing is guaranteed. Not even your next breath.” Grandma wiped her hands on a towel. “You need to thank the Good Lord for every day that’s given you, and enjoy it once in a while.” She held up a hand as Ruth opened her mouth. “I’m done preaching at you. I’ve had my say.” With a tender smile, she headed out the back door.

  Is that really how she saw Ruth? As someone focused only on work and money? What about caring for her family? Hadn’t she proved that was her main objective in life? The tears that threatened, spilled down her cheeks.

  Money wasn’t her god. She gave Luke one hundred dollars. Not to mention the money she donated to those in the river bottoms. Sure, she wanted to work hard, build up a nestegg, and replace what she gave away. What was wrong with that?

  Ruth sniffed and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her dress. No time to waste on crying. She had work to do readying Luke’s house to become a restaurant again.

  *

  John leaned against the doorframe and watched as Ruth attacked Luke’s kitchen like a cyclone. Dust flew, landing in the hair that escaped the kerchief she used corral the mahogany strands. Perspiration left trails in the dirt on her cheeks. He grinned. She was cute as a newborn calf.