Most of the church people didn’t know what to do with her. At best, they pitied her. At worst, they shunned her.
The first person who had seen the new Rosie, the woman who was hungry for God, and who considered her worth listening to, stood on the other side of the door. God, You’re up to some strange tricks if You think a Texas Ranger and a convicted thief can ever be friends.
Chapter 2
I don’t understand why you have to go out again tonight, Rosie gal. You just got in from your job.” Ma’s quavering voice almost broke Rosie’s resolution. Old before her time, bent, thin, and hungry looking, Ma depended on her daughter more than she let on.
“I’m going to a meeting of the Ladies’ Aid Society at church. Seems to me like they’re the ones who are supposed to help folks like us. I figure they must not know much about us, or they’d be doing more.” Rosie added the winning card. “After they heard my testimony, they wanted to hear more.”
“I just hope those church folk don’t disappoint you too bad.”
“I know, Ma.” Rosie filled her mother’s bowl with more beef broth. “You need to eat some more and regain your strength.”
A few minutes later, Rosie left. Her mother’s warning stayed in her head as she chased down streets that some people avoided. If only Ma didn’t keep repeating the same warning. It made her suspicious of folks’ intent. A few were spiteful, but most of them were nice enough. That would all change tonight, she hoped. Once they saw what the need was, why, they’d do the right thing.
As Rosie approached the homes in the King Wilhelm’s district, her feet slowed. Even with Jimmy, she had never come to this part of town. Adobe homes that looked like they belonged to Old Mexico sat side by side with fashionable houses on parcels big enough for two or three apartment buildings, like the one Rosie lived in with her Ma. Whatever the style, they all spoke “money.” Imagine her, plain old Rosie Carson, being invited to a place like this.
At the last street crossing, she started across the road without checking for traffic. The neighing of a horse, the shadow of a horse rearing over her head, warned her of danger, and she jumped back.
Bringing his horse under control, the rider of the horse dismounted and called her name. “Miss Carson?”
Ranger Owen Cooper, again.
Rosie Carson’s presence didn’t surprise Owen. Pastor Martin had advised him of her attendance when the Aid Society invited him to speak tonight. “That way, they figure they’ll hear from two different sides of the same question. From a lawman and from, well, a lawbreaker. They want to help, but they don’t quite know how or what’s best.”
Seeing her on this street, wearing what was probably her Sunday-best dress, she looked as out of place as a whale swimming in the San Antonio River. “I’m sorry for the way my horse nearly trampled you there.” He held tight on the gelding’s reins, and the horse snorted in resentment, as if to say, “I know when to stand still.”
“That’s all right.” Rosie shook her skirts, stirring some dust from the ground. “It’s my fault. I didn’t look proper.” She stopped, staring at the biggest house on the street. “That’s it, isn’t it? The Wilkerson mansion?”
Owen nodded, not commenting. The ostentatious nature of the house said it all. “Did Pastor Martin warn you that they invited me tonight as well?”
She shook her head.
He shrugged. “I’m sorry, but they asked me at the last minute. I confess, I’d hoped to meet you again when we might avoid interruption”—he tugged on the horse’s reins and offered Rosie his arm—“I hadn’t expected my horse to make it happen.”
Rosie threw back her head and laughed, a carefree sound that represented what Owen had come to recognize as her usual good humor. “I heard Pastor Martin speak about a donkey that talked. And that man, Bal-something or other, answered! If that don’t beat all.” She looked suspiciously at the horse as he bared his teeth and pawed the ground. “You’re not fixing to talk, are you?”
Owen laughed. “Let’s get out of the way of traffic and head that way.” He stayed on Rosie’s left side, protecting her as another carriage rumbled past, Mrs. Terrell Braum aboard. She lived in a slightly smaller house a couple of streets away. Ever since he, Macy, and Terrell had been in school together, the laughter of children rang through its halls and on its lawns. His former Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Braum, took the children in her charge to her heart and into her home. The memories brought a smile to his face.
Rosie’s head swiveled from side to side, those bright eyes registering everything. How a woman with such an expressive face ever made a successful career as a thief baffled him. She’d stand out in any crowd. “A penny for your thoughts.”
Pink jumped to her cheeks. “I was wondering how many families lived in houses like this. Big places like this call for big families, seems to me, but I haven’t seen any children outside. It’s too pretty a day to spend inside, don’cha think?”
Owen stuffed his hands in his pockets and considered. “The couple who live in that house there”—he nodded to his left—“lost their two sons in the War between the States, and their daughter went and married a Yankee and moved away. Up ahead, they have children, three girls and two boys. But the children are inside doing schoolwork or some such.”
He agreed with Rosie. At that age he’d spent every minute outside that he could. If he wasn’t at play, he was helping around the livery that his father owned. Until this last visit tonight, the only family who had invited him to one of these homes was the Braums. Of course, the incident that made him a local hero and in demand in every debutante’s home had changed all that.
Not a one of them had ever laughed at the thought of Christians sounding drunk on the day of Pentecost.
A stick landed at Rosie’s feet, and a dog ran up to fetch it. He picked up the stick and lifted his paws as though to place them on her knees. The brunette bent over and ruffled the fur on his head. “Aren’t you a good doggie.” A young boy ran across the lawn, followed by a lumbering nanny. “Rover!”
The dog’s tiny tail twitched, and he ran in circles, inviting Rosie to join in the play. He yipped in Owen’s direction but stayed away from the horse’s hooves.
“Here, Rover!” The boy had almost reached them, his little legs pumping as fast as they could go.
Rosie tugged the stick out from the dog’s mouth and threw it overhand close to the boy’s feet. The dog raced after it. “Thanks, miss!” the boy yelled before he fell on the ground, turning over and over with his pet.
“Andrew, shame on you, you’ll get your clothes all dirty.” The nanny bundled him away, the dog trotting along behind.
Rosie stepped back, sighing. “I’d like to have a dog someday.” A wistful note crept into her voice.
Owen had grown up with animals of all kinds—even a snake one memorable winter, until his mother had managed to “lose” it after a few months. Later she assured him she had let the animal go in the wild, where it would be happier. Owen had walked the streets where Rosie probably lived. The only dogs he had seen were lean, mangy things, ready to bite for a share of his food. His heart went out to the young girl that Rosie Carson had been, wanting things he had taken for granted. “That dog seemed to like you.”
She shrugged. “It was my job to keep the dogs quiet when we went into a home. Some of them were pretty scary, but most of them were sweethearts, like that fella there.” She looked across the lawn, keeping her gaze away from Owen. “Somebody’s told you about my past, haven’t they?”
“Only that you spent time in prison.” He told himself professional curiosity drove his interest in the details, not an attraction to a vibrant Christian who had a rough start in life. He didn’t ask any questions. She had a right to put that behind her.
They passed two more homes without comment. “I’ll be sharing more of my testimony tonight. Why I started thieving in the first place. God saved me from all of that, praise Jesus. I wouldn’t talk about it now, except I hope that the ladi
es will want to help once they learn how hard some children have it.”
Owen doubted both whether the women would want to help and whether financial help would make a difference. Not every thief was poor, and not every poor person became a thief. One of the worst thieves he had ever chased, Gentleman Joe Brown, had grown up with a proverbial silver spoon in his mouth.
Before Owen could formulate a response, the shadow of a carriage passed over them, and the vehicle stopped beside them. Macy sat next to her mother on the backseat, behind the driver. “Ranger Cooper! Miss Carson! You must be headed to the meeting of the Ladies’ Aid Society. Ranger Cooper, I see you have your horse. But would Miss Carson like a ride?”
Rosie threw a confused look at the mansion that lay only two blocks away, but nodded her acceptance when she looked at Macy’s determined expression. The two Braum women scooted over, and Owen helped Rosie into the carriage. He tipped his hat at the three ladies. “I’ll see you again in a few minutes.”
Rosie didn’t see the carriage driver until he came around to help her step down. She’d seen him at church, sitting in the back row, head thrown back, his face wreathed with smiles while he sang praise songs to the Lord. “You’re looking fine, Miss Carson. I’m praying for God to put the words in your mouth today.” He winked at her and set her on the ground.
“Thank you.” She followed the Braums into a parlor bigger than Rosie’s entire apartment, chairs crowding every available space. The room was about half full. As they entered, the front doorbell chimed as more arrived.
If Rosie thought the Sunday congregation looked like a forest full of colorful birds whose voices rang in song to their Creator, this gathering of ladies looked like a garden filled with exotic flowers. She had never seen such finery before, not all in one place. For half a second she wanted one of those dresses. Then she dismissed the thought as unworthy. She was God’s daughter, dressed as fine as any sparrow of the air, and that’s all that mattered. Why, she bet that the family next door to her and Ma could feed their family for a month for what one of those dresses cost. That was why she was here today, wasn’t it? To let them know of the need? If she had a fancy dress, they would question the truth of what she said.
Three chairs had been set at the front, facing the room. When Mrs. Braum led her forward, Rosie realized she had been given the seat of honor. The thought of all those people looking at her…God will give you the words to say. Rosie took the words to heart. The door chimed, and the butler opened it to Owen’s tall frame. He looked every bit the gentleman in his frock coat, but somehow Rosie guessed he’d feel more comfortable in Levi’s, a comfortable shirt, and a gun belt.
Mrs. Braum led him forward. “Miss Carson, you have made Ranger Cooper’s acquaintance.”
They both nodded. Owen held the back of Rosie’s chair for her to sit down then took the third chair for himself, leaving the middle one open.
A maid brought Rosie and Owen cups on a tray. “Do you care for coffee or tea?”
“Coffee,” they replied as one.
The maid stirred cream and sugar into Rosie’s cup, and it tasted like nectar. However, Rosie refused the offer of cookies. She didn’t want crumbs sprinkled on her dress. Owen accepted two and bit into one with relish.
When the maid left, Owen leaned forward. “I eat when I’m nervous. You must have a stronger constitution than I do.”
“I doubt that.” Heat crept along Rosie’s cheeks at the compliment. Anyone who was a Texas Ranger could do almost anything. “Is there a third speaker tonight?” She touched the chair sitting between them.
“That’s probably for our hostess, Mrs. Wilkerson. She’s the president of the society,” Owen whispered back.
If Nancy was like her mother, she wouldn’t think kindly of Rosie. A smidgen of doubt entered her heart for the first time.
Chapter 3
Rosie thought speaking to the ladies tonight would be easier than when she’d addressed the entire church, with fewer people in a nice, homey room instead of a giant sanctuary. The experience had turned out to be harder.
For one thing, she wouldn’t describe the big room as homey. For another, the furniture showed no evidence of use; no children could have climbed on it. She searched the audience for a friendly face, passing over those who looked bored or critical, at last finding a group of younger women who appeared interested and supportive. She rushed through her words, arguing the need to help poor people with food and housing and doctor bills and hiring them to work. She ended with what she considered her trump card: a Bible verse from the second chapter of Acts. She opened her Bible to verse forty-two, reading with the same degree of excitement as the words engendered in her. “Why, when I read verse forty-five, I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. It says right there, they ‘sold their possessions and goods, and parted them to all men, as every man had need.’” She read it slowly, savoring every word.
A few women shook their heads, but she continued, her voice growing more agitated with her ideas. “It wouldn’t even take that much money, just a place and people willing to help. Think about how many people like me you’ll keep from going the wrong way if you share what you already have.”
Polite applause greeted her remarks as she sat down. Next Mrs. Wilkerson turned to Owen. “Ranger Cooper, in your work, you deal with the criminal element. Do you believe education and aid are the answer to the growing problems we have in our city?”
Puzzled, Rosie stared at Owen as he stood. He spared her a quick apologetic glance before he cleared his throat and began to speak. “I’m sure education and aid will help some people. But like the Bible says, we’re born sinners, and we choose to sin. All of us. Now, some of us do things like gossip and envy and harbor bitterness against one another.”
Without peeking, Rosie felt the sting his words caused the women in the room.
“Others, though, take to robbing and fighting and killing.” His eyes sought out Rosie, begging her to understand. “So, no, I don’t think education alone will make a difference. Aside from new life in Christ, thieves will continue to be thieves and murderers will kill again.”
Enthusiastic applause followed that comment. He hurried on without waiting for the applause to settle down. “But I’ll tell you that thieves aren’t always poor, and rich people aren’t the only people who gossip.”
That comment brought a smile to Rosie’s lips, but no one else seemed to find it funny, so she covered her mouth with her hand.
“Thank you both for sharing on this important topic.” Mrs. Wilkerson smiled. “I will meet with the board to discuss what God would have us do regarding the growing problem.” She relaxed. “And now I believe Mrs. Braum has a letter from her cousins, laboring for the Lord in the heart of Africa.”
Was that all, no more discussion? They seemed more concerned about the poor people over in Africa than those two miles away from the church. Maids circled among them, offering refreshments to any who wanted. Rosie almost grabbed cookies for the children in her apartment building, but she hadn’t come prepared to carry anything home.
Conversation buzzed around Rosie and Owen, but most ignored the two guest speakers. Owen studied her quizzically. “I hope I didn’t disappoint you by what I said.” He quirked his right eyebrow, as if he was truly interested in her answer.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Rangers mostly work out in the country, don’t they? On farms and ranches and such, like up in Mason County, but that’s pretty much range wars, from what I read.” The account of the tragedies taking place just to their north had rent her heart. “Were you involved in any of that?”
He shook his head. “And you’re right, we don’t do too much in the cities. We chase after outlaws that have built a reputation, like Wilson, the man I was chasing when I was injured. But it’s not a country or a city problem. Nor poor nor rich. It’s a heart without God.”
“But the temptations for the poor…”
“ ‘There hath no temptation taken you but such as is comm
on to man…ye have the poor always with you.’ That’s what the Good Book says.”
Rosie shut her mouth. She couldn’t argue with Bible quotes. Not with someone who had learned the truth at his mother’s knee. She knew her face must be bright red.
His blue eyes remained eerily calm. “Would it help you to know I didn’t grow up rich? Not poor, either. But my brother is living among the robber’s caves up in Indian Territory. We were both raised by the same parents. We don’t tell many people, and not many folks at church know the whole truth. But there it is. My brother is a robber and a murderer several times over. And then there’s me, putting my life on the line to put men like him in jail.”
Rosie thought of her brother, but this wasn’t the place to mention him. Would it be rude if she left? In any case, she had to leave before the night grew too dark. “Where did they put my coat?”
Owen looked at Rosie and made a snap decision. “Let me accompany you home. I’ll get our coats.”
“But your horse…” Even as she protested, she accepted his arm as she stood.
“I’ll get him later.” His broad shoulders made working their way through the crowded room easier.
The valet disappeared to get their overcoats while Mrs. Braum came to say good-bye. “Leaving so soon?”
Owen nodded. “Miss Carson needs to get home to her mother. And I offered to accompany her.”
Texas Brides Collection Page 27
