Prairie Romance Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  She stared at the floor where he’d fallen. Her lungs shrank.

  “Miss Rivers, may I help you?”

  She looked up at Ethan Burke and scooted around the spot on the floor that was scrubbed cleaner than the rest. “I’m—” She croaked and cleared her throat. “I’m looking for Alonzo Chavez. I have his mending completed.” Would he give her the information? She didn’t know who else to ask. And Mr. Chavez hadn’t told her how to get his shirts back to him.

  The bank manager eyed her from the corner. Did he think she, too, was here to rob him?

  “He’s not in town today. I can give them to him the next time he’s in.”

  She handed him the package. Was the air thinner in here? She imagined Pa pointing a gun at Ethan and the bank manager.

  He took out his billfold and handed her three dollars. “To pay for the mending.”

  “What? No. That’s too much.” Her shrunken lungs now refused to take in air.

  “Take it. I’ll settle up with Alonzo.”

  Her hand reached out and took the money; then her feet expedited her escape. Once outside, she dragged in a gulp of air as though she’d been submerged underwater and had just come up.

  “I am here for you through everything.”

  She breathed more easily. “Yes, Lord. Thank You.” She looked at the money in her hand. With this she would be able to finish paying off Mr. Adams and have some left over to put toward a stagecoach ticket out of town. She hurried off to the barbershop and bathhouse. “Mr. Adams, here is the rest of what I owe you.”

  He squinted his bulging brown eyes at the money. “You just gave me all you said you had. Where did you get more?”

  “I was just over at the bank—“

  “And they just gave you money?”

  “No.” Was he insinuating she stole it? “Mr. Burke paid me for some mending I did. If you don’t believe me, you can ask him yourself.”

  He took the money. “I might just do that.”

  California had to be better than this. She didn’t want all that Pa had done in trying to get there to be for naught.

  She returned to the church and hammered out the song, letting the words soak into her soul. “I am here for you through everything.” At least the Lord always loved and accepted her.

  Chapter 6

  Laurel tiptoed into the bedroom to retrieve Mrs. Howard’s lunch tray. The cup rattled slightly against the plate as she picked it up.

  Mrs. Howard rolled over. “I thought you would have been up before now.”

  “I was dusting the mantel as you asked.” And I was hoping you would be asleep.

  “I need you to mop the kitchen.”

  “I did that two days ago.”

  “Well, it needs it again. I used to mop it every day.”

  Laurel bit back a retort. “I’ll mop it before I go to the church to practice.”

  “I also need you to beat the living room rug.”

  She had done that three days ago … at Mrs. Howard’s request. Dare she remind the woman?

  “The house has to be clean for the new baby. And I’m in no condition to do it.”

  “Can I beat the rug tomorrow? I haven’t had a chance to practice any hymns yet.”

  “Fine.” Mrs. Howard waved a hand in her direction. “Go practice. You ignore what I tell you anyway. Don’t be long.”

  Ignore? She knew she should hold her tongue, but she just couldn’t. She was too tired from the woman’s demands. “I have done everything you have asked of me.”

  Mrs. Howard narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t played one hymn I have recommended.”

  How did she know that? “The hymns you chose were too difficult for me.”

  “I can play them.” Mrs. Howard’s mouth turned up in a joyless smile.

  Laurel finally got it. Mrs. Howard was trying to make the hymns difficult for her. “If you would choose simpler hymns—“

  “It’s not so easy replacing me, is it?” “What?”

  “Don’t be coy with me.” Mrs. Howard adjusted the covers over her swollen belly. “I know what you are up to.”

  “Exactly what is it you think I’m up to?”

  “Taking my place.”

  “I’m not trying to take your place.” Why would she want to?

  “I’ve seen the way you look at Mr. Howard. He’ll always love me. He’ll never love you.”

  She never looked at Minister Howard in a way. “Mrs. Howard, I am not trying to steal your husband.”

  “But if I die giving life to this child—“

  “Don’t even think that way.”

  “You would be right here to take over. You would have a ready-made family.”

  “I don’t want your family,” she shot back. “As soon as I have enough money, I’m heading to California. I don’t want to stay in a town where everyone hates me.”

  “Can you blame them?”

  No.

  “You are only here by the grace of Mr. Howard.”

  “I know that. But I only want to help you.”

  “Humph. Leave Tommy with me.”

  “You need your rest.”

  “I’ll not have him calling you Mama before you leave this house.”

  Laurel scurried out of the room as she fought back tears. She had to keep in mind Mrs. Howard’s physical and emotional conditions. And her mental one, as well. Still, the words stung. Minister Howard had said it would get worse, but she never imagined such atrocious accusations.

  Laurel sat on the top step of the front porch in the cool evening air. The Howards were all in bed. This was her time of quiet. She let the hymn drift through her. She’d found another line of lyrics today. “I am here for you through everything; In the wind and rain, I am here.”

  She carried the words in her heart wherever she went, whatever she was doing. The song was her secret. Not even the composer knew what it meant to her. What a treasure it was to her.

  She wanted to write a thank-you note, let the composer know how much he had helped her. She ran inside to get pencil and paper and sat back in the moonlight, bright enough to write by. She tapped the pencil on her lips.

  Dear Hymn Author No, that sounded too austere. Dear Sir—too formal. She felt as though she knew this person’s heart, and the author could be a woman. Dear Person—too general. To Whom It May Concern—too cold.

  She would skip the salutation, just get to the heart of the matter.

  I cant begin to tell you what your hymn has meant to me these past weeks. My life has been fraught with trouble, and your hymn has brought healing to my wounded heart and battered spirit. Thank you for sharing your heart withme even if it was unintentional. I feel as though I know you through your music. Besides God, it has been the one respite in my current difficult circumstances.

  She stopped. Sincerely, Miss Rivers? She wanted to give a warmer regard than “Sincerely,” but she’d never met this person. And if she signed her name, the person could take offense because of who she was.

  Thank you from the bottom of my heart, she wrote, then folded the letter twice.

  Laurel stepped out of the mercantile with her shopping basket full. Across the street, Ethan held out a brown paper package to Mr. Chavez. This must be the first chance in four days for Ethan to return Mr. Chavez’s shirts. The package seemed a bit larger than she remembered. Mr. Chavez kept his hands in his pockets and shook his head, but eventually he took the package.

  “Excuse me, miss,” a man said, trying to get past her into the mercantile.

  “Pardon me.” She moved. How rude of her to be watching them unaware. She hurried on her way.

  Once inside the church, she could breathe more easily. She hated going into town. She felt as though people were watching her, scrutinizing her. But Sundays were worse. Even though the whispers had stopped, she knew the citizens of Hollow Springs would never embrace her as one of their own. She had to move on. She wanted to move on.

  She set the thank-you note on the piano with the sheet of musi
c, but what if he or she got upset she had been playing the song and took it away? She needed this music right now in her life. She slipped the note back into her pocket. She would leave it when the song had been completed and she had it committed to memory.

  A third line of lyrics had been added to the sheet. The sheet with the ink smudge. “Through good and bad, call on me.” Such a sweet reminder. Thank You, Lord. She committed the line to memory and quickly ran through the selections for Sunday. Mrs. Howard was more and more nervous about being alone lately. When she finished and returned to the house, she went straight upstairs to Mrs. Howard. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

  “The curtains in the kitchen need to be washed, and the ones in the front room. Beat all of the rugs and clean out the fireplace; don’t just sweep it, but give it a good scrubbing. And scrub the kitchen floor—make sure you get all the corners.”

  She wanted to tell her that the kitchen floor didn’t need scrubbing again today and that she had gotten the corners. But she held her tongue. The woman must be miserably scared of losing this baby.

  Later, on her hands and knees in the fireplace with a scrub brush in hand, Laurel sighed at the knock on the door. The last thing she wanted to do was wash out the fireplace, but she shouldn’t complain; it could be worse.

  She struggled to her feet and dried her hands on her way to the door. She widened her eyes at the visitor. “Mr. Chavez.”

  He thrust a brown paper package at her. “They both need hemming and one a torn seam and a button gone.” He started to walk away.

  “Mr. Chavez?”

  He turned around but continued walking backward with his hands out from his sides. “Por favor.”

  He almost seemed desperate in his plea.

  And he walked away.

  She finished scrubbing the fireplace and fixed supper. Everyone had gone to bed by the time she could get back to the package Mr. Chavez had dropped off. It appeared to be the same one she’d seen Ethan with earlier. She opened it and found two pair of dress slacks. She’d never seen Mr. Chavez in britches like these. She held them up. A little short for Mr. Chavez, too.

  Her hands fisted around the fabric. These weren’t Mr. Chavez’s clothes, and she guessed the shirts weren’t, either. Why was Ethan Burke giving his clothes to someone else for her to mend? Was her guilt not enough? Did he pity her that much? Poor orphan girl of the bank robber. She has no family or home. She would rather have the town’s hatred than Ethan’s pity.

  What had she read this morning in Romans 12? She went quietly upstairs, retrieved her mother’s worn Bible, and set it on the table in the circle of candlelight. She ran her finger down the page to verses 20 and 21: “Therefore if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink: for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head. Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.” Did Ethan think her his enemy? Was he trying to heap coals of guilt on her head? Too late; she’d heaped them on herself. Was he trying to overcome Pa’s evil with good deeds toward her?

  Or did he think her evil? Either way, there wasn’t much hope of forgiveness from him. She would leave town as soon as Mrs. Howard had her baby, even if she had to walk. If she didn’t feel the minister’s desperation, she’d leave now.

  She sat up by candlelight in the kitchen until she’d repaired the pants and pressed them. Right after breakfast in the morning, she would return them.

  Laurel had left the house later than she’d intended. The sun was already straight overhead and hot. She walked into the bank, purposely trying to keep what had happened there from her mind. Ethan was not at his window.

  “May I help you?” the bank manager asked.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Burke.”

  “He’s gone out to lunch. He’ll be back soon.”

  “Thank you.” She stepped back outside to think. Maybe he ate his lunch at the hotel restaurant. Or had he gone home? Since she didn’t know where he lived, she decided to check the hotel.

  “Mr. Gonzales, has Mr. Burke come in for lunch?”

  “I’m sorry, no.”

  She went back outside and looked up the street in both directions. Alonzo Chavez leaned on the awning post outside the mercantile with his long legs stretched out across the opening to the steps. Rosita Menendez was telling him something in Spanish, evidently about his rudeness in blocking her path. He had a cocky grin on his face.

  “Mr. Chavez. Miss Menendez.”

  Mr. Chavez stiffened and stood up straight as a board. “Hola—I mean hello.” His jaw was set, and his gaze flickered from her face to the package she clutched to her chest. Miss Menendez looped her hands around his arm.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Burke. Do you know where I might find him?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “He was posting a letter.”

  “Thank you.” As she turned to leave, Rosita Menendez gave her a sweet smile, but Mr. Chavez still looked uneasy. Did he think she was going to let his sweetheart know she was mending for him? Even if these were his clothes, she was smarter than that.

  Ethan stepped out of the small clapboard post office. His brother, Charles, would get the letter soon, and Ethan hoped he would reply quickly. Laurel was striding toward him. “Miss Rivers.”

  “Mr. Burke.” She handed him the package. “These are repaired.”

  He pulled his brows together. “Shall I give them to Alonzo?”

  “Mr. Burke, I saw you give him this package yesterday. These are no more Mr. Chavez’s britches than they are mine. They are far too short. No offense.”

  “No offense taken. Let me pay you.” He hadn’t thought about how easy it would be for her to discern the difference.

  She held up her hand. “You overpaid me for the shirts. We’ll call it even.”

  He was only trying to help.

  She lowered her lashes and said something too soft to make out.

  “What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

  When she looked back up, tears rimmed her green eyes. “I can’t do this anymore. I need to wash you from my heart.” She turned to leave.

  “Laurel, please wait.”

  “I have to go. I left Tommy with Mrs. Howard. She gets more and more agitated each day.” She hurried away from him as though he’d hurt her.

  He wanted to call her back, but it was obvious she didn’t want anything to do with him. He looked down at the package. Lord, how am I to help her if she won’t accept my help? Maybe he shouldn’t have done it in secret. Would she also be mad at him for paying the hotel and mercantile bills? He only wanted to help. He would do anything for her.

  Chapter 7

  Ethan counted the money in his drawer and turned in the cash and receipts to Mr. Yearwood.

  Mr. Yearwood took them. “You all healed up?”

  He automatically touched his wound. “My arm still aches and is stiff, but I don’t have to worry about ripping it open again.” And he’d left his sling at home. He didn’t like the way Laurel always glared at it. Was it a reminder to her of what he’d done to her pa? If he could help her get past the tragedy, then maybe she could forgive him. He wasn’t looking for her sympathy.

  “I sent word to the bank’s investors about your bravery. Maybe they will give you a small reward for your heroics.”

  “I wish you hadn’t done that. I’m no hero.”

  Mr. Yearwood clamped his hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “It’s never easy when you are forced to kill a man. Mr. Rivers was out of control. Think of the lives you saved. I believe he would have killed someone had you not reacted so quickly.”

  He knew that. But why couldn’t someone else have grabbed the gun from the drawer? Anyone else. Then he could have been the one at Laurel’s side to comfort her instead of avoiding her. “If you don’t need me any longer, I’m going to leave.”

  “Go. Have a good weekend.”

  Outside, Alonzo was leaning against the storefront.

  He went over to Alonzo and inclined his he
ad down the street. “Starlight Hotel Restaurant?”

  Alonzo nodded and pushed away from the building. “Your señorita, she looked for you.”

  He wished Laurel were his. “Unfortunately, she found me.” Not that it would have made any difference if she hadn’t found him. She would still hate him.

  Alonzo held the door to the hotel open. “You almost put me in big problems with Rosita.”

  “How? I haven’t seen her all day.”

  “Señorita Rivers, she brought me the mending, and Rosita, she was there.”

  Oops. “I’ll talk to Rosita.”

  The hostess showed them to a table. “We have a great pot roast tonight with potatoes and carrots.”

  They both agreed, but he didn’t feel much like eating.

  Alonzo continued. “No need. Your señorita asked for you; she not give me package.”

  “I’m glad it all worked out.” He’d ruined enough lives. He didn’t need to add to the damage.

  “This time. I not do it again.”

  “No need. She knows they were my clothes.” He shook his head. “She hates me more now than ever.”

  “And you love her more, mucho mas than before.”

  He sighed. “I can’t control my heart.”

  A waitress came with coffee for them both.

  “Mi amigo, I very afraid for you.”

  “Why?”

  “You fall too hard with love.”

  Love was the most painful thing he had ever experienced, more painful than a bullet. And he’d do it again for a chance to love Laurel and to have her love him back. “Just as she lost her father, I lost her that day in the bank.”

  “You not know that. Speak to her. Say everything to her.”

  He stirred his coffee. “What’s there to tell her? She already knows everything.”

  “Say you are very sorry and you love her. She know that, yes?”

  He set the spoon down and took a drink. Too bitter. Hadn’t he added sugar? He did so and stirred again. “Why would she listen to me?”

  “Maybe she love you also.”

  He laughed at that. The chances of Laurel loving him were nonexistent.