James gave the horse a nudge and they passed on by, but not before Molly saw Charlie Daggett disappear through one of the open doors. And seeing it disturbed her. Only not in the same way it would have before she'd been through their experience on the mountain. Earlier, he was just a drunkard. Now he was a man who drank too much but who had also valued her life above his own.
"I could take you to the boardinghouse, Mrs. Whitcomb, but if you're agreeable, I'd rather take you to my sister's for the night. Her ranch is only a short distance from here, and you'd be more comfortable there. She'll have some clothes and woman things you could borrow, I'm sure. I think you'll like Rachel too:' His voice took on a smile. "The two of you should get along real well:"
Knowing he was right on the borrowing of some "woman things," Molly welcomed the lighter turn in conversation. She glanced back at him. "Is your sister a very stylish woman, Sheriff? Is that why you think we'll get along?"
Shadows of night hid his eyes beneath the brim of his hat, but his mouth tipped the faintest bit on one side. "My sister certainly is stylish ... or she used to be, anyway." His smile fell away. "But my thoughts were running more along the line that both of you are widows, Mrs. Whitcomb. I think you and Rachel will have an understanding of the heart right off."
Her face heating, Molly faced forward again. "I see;' she whispered, wishing she could take back her foolish statement. This man's thoughts ran deeper than she'd credited him for, and he obviously cared deeply about his sister. "I'm sorry for your sister's loss. When did her husband pass on?"
"Thomas was killed twenty-one months, two weeks, and four days ago. I only know because Rachel reminded me this morning."
Heartsick regret settled inside Molly, not only for James's sister and her loss, but for her earlier callousness and insensitivity. She'd told him her own husband had passed on "about three months ago:" She felt every bit like the imposter she was.
Something told her that posing as a "recent widow" was going to prove more difficult to carry off than she'd anticipated. Yet which would the people of Timber Ridge prefer in their new schoolteacher-a pregnant widow ... or a woman pregnant without benefit of marriage?
Knowing the answer to that question-not only for the town council, but for Sheriff James McPherson-Molly twisted the wedding band on her left hand, telling herself again that she'd made the only choice available to her. "I'd appreciate staying with your sister, Sheriff McPherson. Thank you."
They rode on a while longer, crossing a ridge that overlooked the town. Molly saw the faint glow of the streetlamps dotting the main roads. It was beautiful, especially cradled between the mountains, and she could see why James had made this his home.
Minutes later, the darkened cabin came into view. It didn't look like anyone was awake, or even home, and she questioned the wisdom of riding this distance from town, in the dark, with a man she'd just met. Yet as soon as the thought came, everything she'd witnessed about James McPherson swiftly dismissed her doubts. From what she'd seen earlier, she would stake her life on his honesty and principles.
He wasn't the kind to ever knowingly do something wrong.
James helped her down from the horse, and moonlight lit their path. Molly wasn't certain of the time-she only knew she was more tired than she could ever remember being and that the lunch she'd eaten was long gone.
She followed him up the porch stairs. "I hope my arrival won't be an imposition for your sister:'
"Rachel will welcome you like family, Mrs. Whitcomb. Which, in a sense, is what you are now. Out here, anyway."
"I'm not sure I follow you:"
He paused, his hand on the latch. "One thing about living out here that's different from back east is that people have to depend on each other. You get to know folks real quick that way."
Under normal circumstances, Molly would have found that idea charming instead of intimidating. "I guess that makes Timber Ridge a close-knit community, and makes your job as sheriff a little easier. With everybody knowing each other."
"It does. But Timber Ridge is growing-faster than a lot of folks would like-and we've already lost some of that close-knit feel. Still, the people of this town are honest and decent, for the most part. We don't have many secrets among us:" He lifted the latch, the silver light of night revealing his smile. "Or if we do, we don't keep them long:"
Molly managed a nervous laugh and preceded him through the entryway.
"James, is that you?" a decidedly feminine voice called.
"Yep, sis, it's me. I've brought some company for the night:"
A woman stepped into the hallway, her silhouette backlit by an oil lamp on a table behind her. Though Molly couldn't see the woman's face, she would've sworn she sensed her smiling.
"I've got our new schoolteacher with me. She arrived earlier than planned:" He shot Molly a look that said so much. "We sort of met on the way up the mountain, near Devil's Gulch:"
Devil's Gulch. Recalling the ravine, Molly considered that an apt name. Rachel drew closer and surprised Molly by grasping her hands.
"Miss Whitcomb, please forgive me for being so forward, but I can't tell you how much we've anticipated your arrival." She beamed, the Southern lilt of her voice as soft as her smile was bright. `And to have you in our home! All the parents and children in Timber Ridge are talking about you:'
Uneasy beneath the attention and the prospect of being town news, Molly briefly bowed her head. "That's most generous of you, but I assure you I'm not worthy of such-"
"I'm not being generous at all. It's the truth! We're so honored that you would give up teaching college to come and teach our children. And here of ... of all places" Rachel's voice broke, and she laughed. "I'm sorry. But this is such a pivotal time in our community, and in my fam ily. Having a school, and a real teacher now. . " She squeezed Molly's hands, shaking her head.
Overcome with emotion herself, but for different reasons, Molly found it difficult to speak, and she was grateful when James leaned over and gave his sister a hug.
"Rachel, I should've given you forewarning that I was bringing our new teacher home. That way you could've made her feel a little more welcome:'
Smiling, Rachel swatted his arm. "Oh ... stop it:"
Molly looked between James and Rachel, wishing-not for the first time-that she hadn't been an only child. "Thank you for your kind welcome, Mrs.-" She realized she didn't know Rachel's last name.
"Boyd. Rachel Boyd;' she said.
"Mrs. Boyd;' Molly repeated. "You're very kind, and I appreciate your allowing me to stay in your home this evening."
"You're welcome to stay here as long as you like, Miss Whitcomb:" Rachel glanced beyond her. "Do you have your luggage with you?"
"No, she doesn't" James removed his hat. "There's a bit of a story there, but first .."
Sensing what he was about to say, Molly looked away.
"As it turns out, Rachel;' he said, his voice soft, "you and Mrs. Whitcomb have more in common than just your Southern heritage:"
Frowning, Rachel looked from her brother to Molly again, her question clear.
"Mrs. Whitcomb lost her husband three months ago;' he whispered.
Compassion filled Rachel's eyes, and Molly's mind scrambled. She was determined not to lie any more than she had to. But if they started asking questions about her husband-
"I'm so sorry...." Rachel's arms came around her. "It does become more bearable, with time. I promise:"
Molly gave herself to the embrace, feeling both comforted-and not, at the same time. "Thank you;' she whispered, closing her eyes so as not to have to see James. `And I'm sorry about your husband:'
Rachel nodded, then finally drew back. "Well-" She wiped her eyes, smiling. "Come with me, both of you. I've kept dinner warming on the stove, and there's plenty for two" She led the way to the kitchen and Molly followed.
James pulled out a chair for her, and when Rachel deposited a plate of roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans, and butter-slathered corn bread before h
er, Molly felt as if she were six years old again, back at Grandma Willet's table. She inhaled the aromas, grateful to feel none of the nausea that had plagued her for the past several weeks. "Everything smells delicious:"
"Rachel's a great cook:" James draped a napkin across one leg.
Waving aside their compliments, Rachel joined them at the table. "The boys and I ate earlier. I've got two sons, Mrs. Whitcomb. You'll meet them tomorrow. Mitchell's nine, and-"
The scamper of footsteps filled the hallway, and two boys rushed around the corner, running headlong for James.
"Uncle James!"theyyelled, and launched themselves onto his lap, their momentum threatening to send him and his chair toppling backward.
"Hey, boys!" James kept his balance and tousled a red mop of hair with each hand, laughing with them.
"Did you arrest any bad guys today, Uncle James?" the younger boy asked, his hair a brighter red than his older brother's.
James smiled, sneaking a tickle to each boy's tummy. "Not yet. But-" He looked in Molly's direction. "I did bring home your new teacher. "
The boys stilled and turned their big blue eyes to her.
Molly actually felt herself blush. "Hello, boys:"
Rachel's younger son scrunched up his face. "You don't look like a teacher."
"Kurt!" Rachel corrected, then softened it with a smile. "Mitchell, Kurt ... may I present Mrs. Whitcomb. And these, Mrs. Whitcomb"she gestured, pride overshadowing her former embarrassment-"are my sons-Mitchell, who's nine, and Kurt, who's seven. They're very much looking forward to attending school:'
If first impressions could be trusted, Molly guessed from Mitchell's observant nature that he would make an excellent student. However, the glint in the younger boy's eyes promised quite another challenge. "It's nice to meet you both, and I look forward to having you in class:"
Rachel stood. "Okay, boys, back to bed. Let's go:" She gathered them to her like a mother hen gathered her chicks. She glanced over her shoulder. "I'll be right back. You two go ahead and start eating:"
The kitchen quieted immediately. Molly reached for her fork just as James reached out his hand. Realizing his intention, her face heated again. What must this man think of her?
"Shall we pray?" he asked softly.
"Yes, please;' she whispered, and bowed her head.
His hand was warm and his grip gentle. And his touch had far more of an effect on her than it should have. Several seconds passed before Molly realized she wasn't even listening to his prayer.
She refocused her attention as he offered thanks for the food, for safety earlier during the day, and for her arrival in Timber Ridge. She placated the guilt the prayerful posture inspired by pledging to do all the good she could. She would truly make a difference in the children's lives; she would work harder than she'd ever worked in her life. And she would prove herself worthy of-
Feeling someone's stare, and hearing the silence, she slowly lifted her head.
"Amen ... again:' James smiled at her and gave her hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. "Unless you'd like to add something:"
She hadn't blushed so much in years. "No, I think you covered everything:" She reached for her fork and tucked her napkin in her lap.
"Mrs. Whitcomb:"
She peered up.
"I was sincere when I gave thanks just now for God bringing you here. But I wouldn't be completely forthcoming if I didn't tell you that, while I don't personally have a problem with a widow being our teacher, there are some on the town council who will:' His expression turned somber. "The mayor, for one. He's an influential man in this town, and ... you haven't officially signed the contract yet:'
Molly felt her jaw slip open. She'd come all this way for nothing? "But ... I have the town council's offer. In the telegram. It's in my-" She gave a humorless laugh. "In my satchel. At the bottom of the ravine:"
"I'm not saying that this job isn't yours, Mrs. Whitcomb. All I'm saying is that you need to be prepared, in case there's some opposition:"
"Opposition;' she whispered, nodding. That was something to which she was accustomed. Still hungry, she found the food on her plate less appealing.
Rachel returned, and while they ate dinner James gave an account of how he'd found the stage flipped on its side, "hugging" the edge of the cliff, as he put it. Molly listened, only commenting occasionally, eating more than she thought she would and watching the brother and sister interact. The conversation stirred within her a longing for home, for her father, and for the life she'd thrown away so carelessly.
When it came time for bed, Rachel went to get her a nightgown. And after Molly made a visit to the privy outside, James showed her to a bedroom down the hallway. He set the oil lamp on a side table, and warm orange light haloed the modest room. The bed looked so inviting that Molly was tempted to crawl into it right then, until she realized that she was in his room.
"Sheriff McPherson, I can't take your bed. I can sleep on the couch in the-"
"Nonsense:" He withdrew a shirt and pair of pants from a wardrobe. "I insist on it." And his smile said he would brook no argument. "I'm surprised you're still standing after all you've been through. I hope you get a good night's rest:"
"Thank you, Sheriff."
He hesitated at the door. "One last thing ..
She read disquiet in his expression and shook her head. "If it's more `opposition; can we please wait and save it for morning? I'm not sure I can handle any more today." She smiled but was sincere in her request.
That same crooked grin tipped his mouth. "Actually, I was just wondering if you might consider moving back to a first-name basis. If ... you'd be okay with that."
His unassuming manner was so refreshing. Yet keeping a certain distance between them would be best. For them both. But seeing the disappointment on his face ...
"If you'd rather not, Mrs. Whitcomb, I-"
"Thank you for lending me your room, James. I appreciate it very much:"
His smile slid back into place, and he stepped to one side to let Rachel through the doorway. "Well, all right, then. Good night to you both;' he said softly.
Molly smiled, more certain than ever of his integrity.
"Good night, James." Rachel shook the nightgown and held it out. "You can borrow this for as long as you like. I have another. And if there's anything else you need, I'm just down the hall:" She walked to the door and turned. "We're so glad you're here, Mrs. Whitcomb. You're an answer to so many prayers:"
The compliment, well meant by Rachel, Molly knew, had the exact opposite effect. "Thank you. But, please, call me Molly."
"If you'll do likewise:" With a soft smile, Rachel closed the door.
Molly changed into the nightgown, shivering by the time she was through. It was July but felt more like fall back home. She turned down the covers to find the indention from James's body still there in the feather mattress. She blew out the candle and carefully fit her body into the curve he'd left behind, and imagined being held. By him. Only not in the way she might have imagined if she'd met him months ago. She just wanted to feel safe again. Hidden and protected, guarded from the world. From choices she'd made. James McPherson seemed like the type of man capable of doing that-of protecting a woman, of making her feel safe.
She scrunched the covers closer beneath her chin. Why did that thought bring such melancholy?
She sought sleep, but each time she closed her eyes, the ravine rushed up to meet her. She turned onto her opposite side, sinking into the fluff of the feather mattress, and hugged the pillow tighter. It had a faint scent of bay rum and spice, and Molly breathed deep, finding the smell a comfort. She'd been so tired and grateful for the bed, she hadn't even asked him where he would sleep.
What would have happened if he hadn't come across them on that Cliff... ?
She pulled the blanket closer beneath her chin and relived what it had felt like after he'd rescued them. She'd seen her life differently, and that difference-that sweet renewed appreciation-still pulsed s
teadily inside her. But somewhere above that gentle thrum, a bittersweet dissonance renewed the fear she'd felt when she'd stared down into Devil's Gulch, knowing she was about to die.
She hadn't yet made peace with what she'd done, or with the unwanted child in her womb. But even more, she hadn't made her peace with God.
But how did she go about doing that when she was choosing to live a lie? When she had no intention of telling the truth. Not when it would cost her the sum of everything she had left. No matter how little that was.
6
ames paused in the hallway outside his bedroom door, listening for any sound that might indicate Molly was awake. He started to knock, then thought better of it. Best let her get some sleep after the long trip across country, not to mention yesterday's incident. She would need the rest.
School was set to start in a couple of weeks, and as Mayor Davenport made clear in the last town council meeting, the new teacher would be expected to visit every student and their parents in their homes before classes commenced. Not to mention accomplish a host of other tasks the council had assigned. But if anybody could handle it, he guessed Molly Whitcomb could.
Discovering she was a widow had been surprising. The correspondence had referred to her as Dr. Whitcomb, not Miss or Mrs. He'd just assumed she'd never been married, and he knew from the board's discussion that the other members had too. Mayor Davenport's reaction to the news promised to be nothing short of volatile.
Knowing Davenport, a former attorney, James was certain the man would likely push to advertise for a new teacher. But with school scheduled to begin so soon and Molly's outstanding qualifications, Davenport's success at doing that would be slim. And, as Molly had said, she did have grounds for defending her position. Because she was-for all practical purposes- unmarried.
He ran a hand through his hair, none too eager to referee this new development between council members. It had been hard enough to reach an agreement on a suitable candidate in the first place. Especially when Mayor Davenport's spinster sister from Denver had also applied for the position. James headed back to the kitchen.
Tamera Alexander - [Timber Ridge Reflections 02] Page 5
