Hannah's Beau

by Renee Ryan

  “You have my word.”

  A look of exasperation crossed the other woman’s face. “Honestly, she’s worse than the children.”

  “And just as lovable.”

  Their stares connected, a ripple of feminine understanding passing between them.

  Katherine let out a soft laugh. “She is at that. It’s why I’m so hard on her.” She took another steadying breath. “Actually, I came in search of you. Supper is nearly over. Laney sent me to tell you she’d like to discuss the indoor games you mentioned earlier.”

  Hannah nodded. “I’d be delighted.”

  As she followed Katherine back inside the house, Hannah realized the moments she’d spent with Mavis were the first in days she hadn’t worried about her sister. In fact, she hadn’t thought of Rachel once.

  Hannah didn’t know whether to be glad for it or incredibly sad, but either way Mavis Tierney had been a colorful diversion.

  Chapter Eight

  The scent of death cloaked the tiny room like a thick, heavy blanket. The raw odor gripped Beau’s throat and squeezed it shut. A soft moan of misery drifted out of Jane Goodwin as she lay limp on her bed.

  Dejected, Beau crossed to the back corner of the room and gave the young doctor who had arrived hours before plenty of space to work.

  The time has come, Beau thought in frustrated agony.

  At the realization that he hadn’t been able to save this lost lamb, a strong sense of helplessness pulled sweat onto his brow. Lowering chin to chest, he prayed that the Lord would give him the right words to bring reassurance to the dying woman.

  An eerie silence fell over the room, broken only by Jane’s ragged breathing and the doctor’s soft murmurs of comfort. Out of respect for Jane, Beau cleared his face of any expression.

  But it hurt deep in his soul to watch the poor woman struggle for air. Her breathing was different tonight, more labored. For about an hour now, she would suck in a breath, pause, and then wheeze out hard before pausing again. Just as Beau would give up hope for her next breath, the pattern would begin all over again.

  The death rattle.

  He’d heard it before, and his own breathing rasped in his lungs.

  “Is she in as much pain as it appears?” he asked.

  Working with efficient hands, Shane Bartlett lifted Jane’s wrist and checked her pulse again. “No more than expected.”

  Beau offered up a prayer of thanksgiving for the competent young doctor. Shane was the only physician in town who would dare to step into a brothel—in an official capacity, that was.

  Straightening, the other man clicked his black bag shut and let out a slow stream of air. His brown hair stuck out at the ends, looking as though he’d run his hands through it far too many times and now the thick mane was on permanent revolt.

  “Doctor?”

  Shane turned sad, tired eyes to Beau. The empty, resigned expression said it all.

  Jane Goodwin’s journey here on earth had come to an end. All that remained was her final curtain call.

  Breaking eye contact, Beau lowered his head. Heavenly Father, I pray You bring Miss Jane some peace in her final moments. Most of all, I pray for her salvation.

  Opening his eyes, Beau connected his gaze with the doctor’s once more. “Is there anything I can do? Any thoughts on how I can make her more comfortable?”

  Shane shook his head. “You’ve done all you can.” He reached down and dragged his thumb across Jane’s furrowed brow. “I’m sorry, Reverend. There are some things we humans can’t control. It’s simply her time.”

  “I understand.” And yet, Beau’s heart clenched at the news. For a moment, he stared at the pale, limp figure lying on the bed. The lines of fatigue around her eyes and the odd angle of her mouth were clear indicators of how ill she truly was.

  Jane moaned, twisting and kicking until she’d wrenched one arm free of the covers.

  “Beau?” Her frail hand lifted a mere inch off the bed.

  Beau rushed to her side, knelt down and wrapped his fingers gently around hers. “I’m right here.”

  She rattled through several more breaths before her eyes blinked open and focused on him. He was surprised at how clear her gaze looked, clearer than he’d seen in weeks.

  A relieved sigh lurched through him.

  “My daughter, Megan, is she…” Her words trailed off, turning into a soft moaning in between quick pants. Apparently, her body couldn’t keep up with her will.

  Beau looked at Shane for direction. The other man nodded for him to proceed.

  “Megan is happy and safe at Charity House.” Beau lifted her hand and gently squeezed. “She will always have a home there.”

  A smile spread across Jane’s lips, and she struggled to lift her head. Her gasping increased until Shane moved in behind her to support her shoulders. Thanks to his assistance, her breathing eased a bit.

  “Lie back, Miss Jane,” Shane urged. “You must reserve your energy.”

  Once he had her settled again, Shane nodded at Beau to continue.

  “I gave Marc the envelope,” Beau said. “You truly have nothing to worry about.”

  She shut her eyes and relaxed back against the pillow. “Tha…Thank you.”

  Her breathing grew strangely calm then, as though she’d been waiting to hear about her daughter before she could finally give up the unbearable fight.

  It was time.

  But the most important work was yet to be done. Oh, Lord, God, please open her heart to You.

  “Miss Jane, you have a Savior ready to welcome you home,” Beau began. “A place where you will receive a new body, where you will be free of pain.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Beau noticed Mattie slipping into the room and shutting the door quickly behind her. The moment her gaze dropped to Jane, her lips parted in shock. She staggered back, flattened against the wall behind her and stared wide-eyed at Beau.

  But Beau had more pressing matters to attend to.

  Giving Mattie a quick nod of acknowledgment, he opened his Bible and began to read from Matthew 11. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden light.”

  A lump formed in his throat, and his voice shook.

  Beau lowered his head and continued to pray softly over Jane. Her eyes fluttered shut and her breathing calmed, the gasps of air coming shorter and more softly. The violence slowly slipped out of her, replaced by a sense of tranquillity.

  With very little struggle now, she took a shallow breath. Paused. Took another breath. Paused again, continuing the pattern until there were simply no more breaths left.

  A surreal silence spread through the room.

  Beau shut his eyes in a moment of devastating grief. A muscle locked in his jaw while a lone tear escaped from his right eye.

  “Is she…?” Mattie whispered.

  “Yes,” Shane said.

  Beau looked over at the madam. Tears ran unbridled down her cheeks. Never had he seen such a vulnerable look of anguish on the woman’s face.

  Catching his gaze on her, Mattie hardened her expression and quickly escaped from the room without a word or a glance behind her.

  Another moment passed before Shane moved forward and lifted Jane’s flaccid wrist. He felt around and then moved his fingers to her neck. “She is at peace at last.”

  Beau nodded, sucked in a lungful of the room’s hot, putrid air and blew out a sad sigh. Miss Jane had been young by most standards, not yet forty. Such a waste of a promising life.

  “I’ll leave you now and start making arrangements for removing her body,” Shane said.

  Unable to tear his gaze from the now-peaceful face of his mother’s former friend, Beau simply nodded. “Thank you, Shane.”

  The other man gripped Beau’s shoulder then dropped his hand. “You did your best.”

  “I’m not sure it was
enough.”

  “Only God knows a person’s heart, but she and I spoke on the matter of her salvation before you arrived.” Shane angled his head to stare at Jane. “She made her peace with her Savior.”

  Beau knew he should feel relief at the doctor’s words. But lying before him—in the slack repose of death—was the personification of the uglier side of the acting profession.

  A burning throb of anger knotted in his chest, stiffening the muscles throughout his body.

  While Shane gathered his things and left the room, Beau gently pulled the blanket up to Jane’s chin.

  Silent and brooding, he stared at her without really seeing her anymore.

  How many women died in equal desolation and solitude every day? How many lived in condemnation, without experiencing Christ’s love in their lives? How many lived without family or friends to care for them when times turned hard?

  Far too many was the only answer that came to him.

  If only he could stop the vicious cycle.

  But the task was too large for one man. Overwhelmed with the magnitude of such a burden, Beau lifted his gaze toward heaven. I can’t do it, Lord.

  A memory from the last time he sat at Jane’s bedside lurched forward in his mind, and Beau recalled what the still, small voice had said to him. “One at a time, Beau.”

  Beau thought of Miss Southerland then, and his confusion instantly cleared into a single purpose. Yes, Lord, one at a time.

  He would start with her.

  Fighting sleep a little while longer, Hannah sat at the dining room table with Laney. Laney had an inkwell on her right, a pen in her hand and a sheet of paper spread before her.

  They were alone in their task.

  With everyone else either in bed or back in their own home, the house had a nice, relaxed silence about it. As tired as she was, Hannah felt a strong sense of peace wash over her. Charity House was no mere institution. It was a home that had welcomed Hannah as though she’d belonged here all her life.

  She had visited many orphanages, but had never been inside one so filled with love and compassion. And to think most of the children were born under unholy circumstances. In her mind, that made Charity House that much more special.

  Hannah’s unclear idea of a future ministry had taken form in this tiny world within the harsher world surrounding it. She was both humbled and inspired by all the possibilities before her.

  Feeling lighthearted and energized, Hannah turned to her new friend and smiled. “We have our two spies, the king and Joshua. Now we need to pick our Rahab. It should be one of the older girls.” Hannah tapped her fingers on the table. “Any suggestions?”

  “Megan.” Laney’s eyes turned sad, haunted even, but very, very determined. “It has to be Megan.”

  “Jane Goodwin’s daughter?”

  “With Jane dying soon, it will do Megan some good, or at least take her mind off her mother’s illness.”

  Hannah felt the jolt of understanding all the way down to the soles of her feet. Her own mother had died around this same time of year. The memory shifted, materialized and then cleared just as quickly, leaving a sharp pain of loss whipping through her.

  Hannah shuddered.

  Death was an inevitable part of life. But for a young girl to lose her mother—well, that was something no child of any age should have to experience, especially not alone.

  Unlike Hannah, Megan was not alone. And Hannah would do her part to help the girl through this tragedy.

  “Yes,” Hannah said once she had her own emotions under control. “Megan will be perfect in the role of Rahab.”

  Smiling, Laney rubbed a finger over her temple and bobbed her head up and down. “I love the idea of putting on a play from the Bible. You said you do this all over the country?”

  “If I’m in a city long enough. I’ve found it’s an effective way to teach the children about the Bible.” She lifted a shoulder. “We could read the story to them, give them a short lesson and then ask them questions. But when they physically participate in the telling of the story, they remember it better.”

  Setting her elbow on the table, Laney rested her chin in her cupped palm and let her gaze drift over Hannah’s shoulder. “I can’t believe we never thought of this before. The story of Rahab is the perfect choice.”

  Normally, Hannah wouldn’t start with such a powerful story, one filled with intrigue and an unconventional heroine. But if there was ever a group of children that needed to learn about God’s glory and how He often chose flawed individuals to carry out His plan it was the Charity House orphans.

  “I’m looking forward to putting it all together,” Hannah said.

  “What will the others do, the ones who aren’t given a part in the play?”

  Hannah gave Laney a heartening smile. This had always been a concern, but Hannah had long since found a way to include all the children. “Everyone will participate. Either in a small role or behind the scenes making the sets or getting together the costumes.”

  Clearly unwilling to let the matter go without concrete assurances, Laney lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow. “And the ones who want the parts that other children have?”

  “Understudies.” Hannah raised a hand before Laney could interrupt. The orphanage had a large number of children in residence. There was only one way to ensure every child that wanted to be in the play got a chance. “We’ll make sure some of the adults can’t make the first production, whereby we’ll have to put on a second show with the understudies in their roles.”

  Laney leaned back in her chair, her eyes brimming with satisfaction. “You’ve thought of everything.”

  Uncomfortable under the praise, Hannah repositioned herself in her chair. “Well, these things never go without a hitch, but we’ll do our best to minimize the worst of them.”

  Laney slapped her palms on the table and pushed out of her chair. “That’s good enough for me.” She stretched her arms over her head. “I’ll leave the particulars to you. I’m going in search of my husband.”

  The obvious affection Hannah saw in Laney’s eyes made Hannah’s heart lurch against her ribs. “Sleep well.”

  “I always do.” She reached across the table and squeezed Hannah’s hand. “Do you have everything you need for tonight?”

  Hannah nodded, tears pricking at the backs of her eyes. “You’ve been very kind. I owe you.”

  “Don’t think I won’t collect.”

  “I hope you will.”

  Laughing, Laney waved a hand over her head and left the room.

  As she watched the other woman leave, a sense of belonging crept through Hannah. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced since her mother died twelve years ago. How was it she had a twin sister, a woman that should have been her best friend, her confidant and ally, and yet she felt closer to Laney Dupree after a half-day’s acquaintance?

  Guilt tapped a painful melody across her nerves.

  Hannah had spent a lifetime failing her sister in one capacity or another, especially when there was a man involved. First had been the boy they’d fought over as children—a fight that had ultimately resulted in Rachel’s hearing loss. Then there had been the married schoolteacher who had been Rachel’s secret tryst and the reason for Hannah’s banishment. Their father had never questioned Rachel’s claim that Hannah had been the one dallying with Mr. Beamer. He’d thrown Hannah out of his home without hesitation.

  Now, Tyler stood between the sisters.

  Why hadn’t Hannah seen the pattern before?

  Well, no matter—she was through letting a man come between them. Whether Rachel agreed at first or not, Hannah was going to push all men aside and forge a true bond with her only sister.

  A passing flirtation with a man would carry no more weight. It was time to put family loyalty and the love of sisters ahead of a man.

  And now that Hannah had made up her mind, Tyler O’Toole didn’t stand a chance.

  Chapter Nine

  Early the next morning, Beau s
trode across the grounds of the Arapahoe County Courthouse with a clipped, impatient pace. Marshal Scott had requested an urgent meeting at his office before the start of the day. Beau could only hope the lawman had good news.

  Cold, dark clouds drifted overhead, casting a gray, depressing light over the morning sky. The manicured lawn and geometric angles of the sidewalks did nothing to soften the imposing architecture of the three-story courthouse. Made from solid stone and marble, the building brought to mind stability. The obvious statement being that no matter how corrupt any one individual became, the courthouse itself would remain steadfast and true.

  Still locked inside his grief over Jane, Beau was too weighed down with sadness to notice the rest of his surroundings as he strode across the grounds.

  As he continued toward the front steps, his mind shifted to Jane’s daughter. Megan would have to be told about her mother. It would not be an easy conversation.

  Oh, Lord, You promise to be with us always, to the very end of the age. I pray you are with Megan today and always.

  A roll of thunder rippled loud and menacing in the near distance. Beau darted up the marble steps and shoved inside the building. At the same moment the heavy brass door shuddered closed, another clap of thunder shook the air.

  Beau circled his gaze around the wood-paneled lobby. Men and women of all ages milled about. With a resolute frown pulling his eyebrows lower, he searched the sea of faces and wondered how he would find Marshal Scott. Thankfully, his search was short-lived. On the other side of the cavernous room, Beau caught sight of Trey in deep conversation with a younger man. Both were dressed in solid black with a tin star pinned to their chests.

  Picking up speed, Beau crossed in their direction. “Marshal Scott,” he called out.

  Trey lifted his head. “Ah, Reverend O’Toole, we were just discussing your…case.” He gestured to the other man. “This is my deputy, Logan Mitchell.”

  Beau nodded at the other man. Blond, lanky and with an open, honest expression in his eyes, Deputy Mitchell looked more like an inexperienced ranch hand than a lawman. But Beau had heard the rumors. A year ago, the young deputy had saved Trey’s life during a gunfight in Mattie’s brothel, of all places.