Preacher's Wife (Sweet Town Clean Historical Western Romance Book 5)

by Sarah Christian

  She sighed. "I can't blame you. It's hard to find honest work for freedmen right now. Back in Georgia, though not slaves, my family and friends are enslaved just the same. Enslaved in poverty and debt that keeps them subservient. What I can't abide is how you didn't tell me. If anyone would understand the position you were in, it's me." She shook her head and put a hand to her eyes briefly before continuing. "But what does your story have to do with the other man who's here with Hiram Bell?"

  "I was working in Minnesota. I had been working on the railroad and quickly advanced to foreman, bringing a better wage and more money I could send home to my family. The church I went to was quite large and very popular. There were many social activities and soon I was being invited to associate with the families of bankers and businessmen. I began courting the daughter of a prominent factory owner."

  "She was white."

  "Yes. Somehow her brother Beau Jennings found out that I'm a personne de couleur. He beat me badly and though I managed to escape, I lost my job and my standing in the church and community."

  "Is this Mr. Jennings the fellow with Bell?"

  "Yes. I overheard them talking and they seemed quite friendly."

  "But Matt, why would Jennings follow you all this way? He beat you. You left. End of story. Why hold a grudge? Unless… were you improper with his sister?" She squinted her eyes at him, and her lips tightened in disapproval.

  "Never. You have my word on that."

  "Your word is something I can count on? Ha!"

  Matt knew he deserved that. he'd lied by omission about his race but there was more and when she heard the rest, she might be one of the first to run him out of town. "While I was recovering from the beating, I saw an advertisement for a preacher needed in Sweet Town. The previous minister had died of fever and a committee had been formed to recruit a new pastor. I came out and applied and they hired me."

  She had been leaning forward over the course of his dialog but now drew back and let out a big whoosh of air. "You lied."

  Looking toward the altar, he nodded. "Not outright but I implied I had a lot of experience. In Louisiana our family had membership in a church and I attended the church in Minnesota."

  "If they had known you're black, would they have hired you?" Jonah stirred and woke from his nap. He sensed the strain between the two adults and began to whimper.

  "No, they probably wouldn't have. But I never said I was white. And I never said I had been a preacher at those other churches. I think I've done well here."

  Beulah stood and began bouncing the baby to calm and distract him. "You have the option of being able to live as a white man if you choose. I'll never have that option, if I even wanted it. I'll always be a dark-skinned woman and those two things mean I'll never be safe on my own." The baby began patting her blouse and absent mindedly she unfastened the first few buttons and put him to her breast. "You have done well here, as have I, but it seems as though that's coming to an end for the both of us. Hiram Bell is after me and Beau Jennings must be here to expose you."

  He looked away before he caught a glimpse of anything private. "I'll do everything I can to keep you and Jonah safe."

  "How can you do that, Matt? You aren't challenging and vanquishing the dangers around you. You're just hiding amongst them. So far, most of the people here in town have watched out for me, but I don't know if they'll still stand by me once Bell starts telling his stories."

  Matt nodded. "After seeing how some of the people reacted to Jonah when Emma was caring for him, I don't think Sweet Town is the right place for either of us."

  Scooping out a generous dollop of pomade from a small, blue glass jar, Matt worked it into his hair, and then combed it back to gather his curls into a queue. Beulah had forgotten Jonah's blanket in the kitchen and though she didn't mean to spy, when she came around the corner and saw Matt before the hall mirror, she couldn't help herself. Barely breathing, she allowed herself to feast her eyes on him. In light of what he'd told her yesterday about his family and his past, she could see glimpses of their shared heritage. Or maybe it was wishful thinking, she told herself. Yesterday he was a white man and there was no hope for any kind of future for the two of them, but today, now that she knew their blood came from the same motherland, she could give her attraction free reign.

  She stepped further into the shadows of the doorway and watched while he adjusted his collar. Of course, unless he openly declared his family history, there was still no hope for them to have a relationship beyond servant and employer. He was still passing as white.

  Jonah squealed from the other room and Matt turned his head. Beulah quickly continued moving toward the kitchen so that he wouldn't know she'd been staring at him.

  "Are you about ready to go?" he asked her.

  "I just have to grab the baby's blanket. I left it in the kitchen."

  He nodded and set his hat carefully on his head.

  "You know I haven't missed a single day of church since I've been here in Sweet Town."

  "It's always been a pleasure to look down from the pulpit and see your face." He smiled at her as he slid his arms into his jacket sleeves.

  "Well, I'm just thinking I don't have the courage to go today. If Bell is there I don't know what he'll do when he sees me." She wrung her hands together once before she caught herself and stopped. There was no point in showing her agitation.

  Matt stepped in front of her and tilted his head to the side so that he could see her face from under the brim of his hat. "If you want to hide out here in the parsonage, I think you'll be safe enough. The church is right next door and there will be plenty of people around. Just lock the doors after me and stay inside." He picked up his Bible and a sheath of papers, the notes for his sermon, from the hall table. "I'll see you in a couple of hours, then."

  Beulah locked the door as soon as he stepped through it, and noticed that he didn't move off the porch until he heard the snick of the deadbolt. She was sure, though, that he didn't know she continued watching him through a slit between the front curtains. He cut a fine figure. Tall, lean, and straight shouldered, he walked with just the slightest bounce to his steps, making her think he was happy or that a weight had been lifted off him. Perhaps telling her the truth about himself had been a huge relief.

  As he neared the church early arrivals greeted him with smiles and handshakes. She couldn't hear what was being said but she was sure, knowing how caring most of the people in town were, that they were asking after his injuries and wishing him well. And she was equally sure that Matt was playing it down and telling them he was fine.

  She had just finished washing the dishes and had slid a dutch oven full of beef and vegetables into the oven when she remembered something. Bridget was going to announce the opening of the laundry today before Matt's sermon during the fellowship part of the service. Although her friend often acted quite bossy and sassy, she still deserved Beulah's support while standing in front of nearly all of Sweet Town. Especially since there were a few, like Mrs. Bjugstad, who were intolerant of other nationalities and races. Bridget, as an Irish woman, starting her own business and a laundry at that, was a prime target for their bigotry.

  Quickly Beulah picked up a sleeping Jonah from the sofa where he'd been napping. She tossed her shawl over her shoulders and went out the kitchen door, preferring to enter the sanctuary by the side door, rather than the front, where everyone would notice her arrival.

  The door barely made a sound as she carefully twisted the knob and pushed it open. Bridget was standing at the pulpit, with Matt to her side. From where Beulah was standing she could look left toward the pews where the parishioners sat, and right toward the front where her friend was speaking.

  "Tomorrow O'Cuinn's Laundry will open its doors and will begin providing the services of laundry, ironing and mending for all of Sweet Town and the surrounding area." Beulah knew Bridget was nervous because her Irish accent always got thicker, and her vowels more rounded when she was rattled.

 
"Will you do the washin' for prospectors, too?" called out a particularly scraggly fellow from the third row. His clothes were stained with the dust of his mine and mud from panning for gold.

  Bridget smiled at him. "Our services are for everyone in the area, including miners."

  A murmur of voices rippled across the congregation. Beulah could see the banker and his wife whispering to each other. Bridget's husband, Lorcan was smiling at her, his pride evident and shining from his face.

  Beulah wondered what it would be like to have a husband like that, who did so much to help his wife, taking such absolute joy in how strong she was and accepting her as his intellectual equal. That brought to mind Matt and as she thought of him, her eyes were drawn to where he stood giving Bridget a hand down from the raised area in front of the pews. He was so kind and good, it made his deception all the worse. How could she ever consider him her equal when he couldn't even be honest about who he was? Not only could he not court her under those circumstances, but she couldn't imagine trusting a man who lived a lie and wouldn't face her trials and struggles with her. And though she knew all that with her mind, her heart and body were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

  Beulah scanned across the people gathered there. She had met most most of them coming and going from the mercantile where she had been staying for the past few months. She'd even had a few flirtatious exchanges from prospectors, lonely for a wife. Though societal rules were lax in the Dakota Territory, it was still not completely acceptable for a white man to have a black wife. The truth, though, was that Beulah didn't want to have to fight for social acceptance, or walk the line between two worlds. She had no interest in having a white husband, but more so, she had no interest in having an uneducated one.

  Several men were standing behind the pews, at the front doors, their hats in hand. She supposed they had come in late or expected to have to leave early. One she recognized as a rancher from north of town. Another was the blacksmith, Hunter Franklin. Usually he sat with his aunt, Ida, but he must have come too late to sit next to her. When Beulah saw the third man, her heart thundered in her chest and a buzzing began in her ears.

  As Bridget O'Cuinn retook her seat beside her husband, Matthieu looked out over the congregation. Beulah's captivating brown eyes weren't out there watching him in return and relief and disappointment swirled within him. Most likely she had chosen to remain in the parsonage, where it was safe and the man who'd harmed her and nearly killed Jonah couldn't find them. He prayed it was so, at least.

  Toward the front of the room were all people he was familiar with. The Prices, the O'Cuinns, Hunter Franklin's spinster aunt Ida. Emma Leonetti sat between her mother and Lucy Price, her husband currently gone. He saw the Bjugstads who, despite their self-righteous judgment of others in town, never failed to make a Sunday service or put something into the collection plate. Therese Nováková and her father were there, though he knew Mr. Novákov spoke very little English. His wife must still be feeling poorly to have not made it, Matt noted. Beyond those he knew well were the newer folks to come to Sweet Town. Some would stay and become part of the community, others would move on. There was little telling which would be which ahead of time.

  Many of the townspeople had supported Beulah and Jonah, while others had not. Many had shown charity to those less fortune, but he knew also that many had not. There was great goodness in the town, but it was filled with flawed people all the same. He felt the weight of it in that moment, the responsibility not just to do well for himself but also to help lead others into the light.

  "Today I would speak to you of our spiritual family. If God is our father, then we are all brothers and sisters," he began. It was a familiar metaphor and he could see the recognition on the faces of his flock. "Rich and poor, young and old, man and woman, our Heavenly Father made us all equal. We are all offered His love, guidance and salvation. If a good father would not favor one child above all others, how much more equal and great must God's love be for all of us?"

  A few people in the pews looked pleased or engaged, but most had the dutiful, somewhat vacant expression he'd become familiar with since arriving in Sweet Town. He rarely offered anything challenging in his sermons, only comforting refrains that no one would ever argue with. And so people listened, but did they ever hear? His fingers drummed against the side of the lectern, muscles tense as though he were about to start a fight rather than speak. Perhaps he was.

  "Our Father has no concern for how we look or what language we speak, but we do. We nod our heads when we speak of the brotherhood of man, but when your brother is a Chinese railroad worker who has been used near to death for his labor and then cast aside when he becomes too weak, do you offer him your supper?"

  As one, half a dozen people straightened in their pews. A quiet murmur passed through the crowd.

  "When your sister is an Oglala Lakota woman whose family was murdered or forced onto a reservation so you could take the gold in the land they hold sacred, do you share your home with her?"

  The discomfort in the room was palpable. He could see some shoulders hunching, a few heads bowing in humility. Far more were agitated and the soft murmur of voices grew louder as people openly spoke to their neighbors. It would not, Matt feared, be his most popular sermon.

  Still, he forced himself to go on, even though it felt like a rock had settled in the pit of his stomach. "When your brothers and sisters were put in chains and stolen from Africa, worked for generations to enrich and build this great nation, and now that they have their hard won freedom they still struggle and benefit not from all that their labor created, do you open your arms to them?"

  Mr. Bjugstad rose to his feet, round face flushed with outrage. "How dare you," he hissed. "Who do you think you are, trying to shame us good people like this? We all have our own burdens. We can't be responsible for everyone."

  "Am I my brother's keeper, asked Cain of God," Matt replied with a wry smile. "We're all happy to point out the sins that we don't commit ourselves. It's easy to point to the gamblers and the prostitutes, but far harder to look at ourselves and see our own failings."

  "Caring for my own family before Indians or Chinese is no failing." There was a fine trembling to Mr. Bjugstad.

  Matt looked from the banker to his wife and then around them, noting the number of people who looked to be in a similar state. Angry, yes, but fearful as well. And hurt. Simply trying to survive was hard enough much of the time and made it difficult to see how others struggled even harder.

  He bowed his head slightly. "We are full of failings, Mr. Bjugstad, because that's what it means to be human. I myself sought a better life by turning my back on my family, by denying who I was and taking on the advantages offered to men like you, while making no effort to pass those advantages on to others."

  Mr. Bjugstad's nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing. "Men like me?"

  "White men. My father was born into slavery and I can't imagine I'd be standing here if you'd known that when I came to town, now would I?"

  And then the banker wasn't the only one on his feet, the room erupting with questions, accusations, and demands. Even determining how many people were angry at him or not was difficult to tell in the chaos. Thank God Beulah's not here to be caught in it, Matt thought.

  The chatter of the congregation's voices, added to the rumble of their movements, getting to their feet, or shifting on the pews. Beulah's surprise that Matt made his declaration so public didn't dampen her surge of pride in him.

  Some of the people who just moments before had been bored, now looked confused. Lucy leaned toward her husband and whispered something and he nodded. Bridget, on the other side of the aisle, pursed her lips thoughtfully and tapped them with one finger. Hunter had become alert at the back of the room and was standing straight looking at his friend, the pastor.

  Bell still stood to the left of the front doors, leaning casually against the wall, outwardly every inch the Southern gentleman. A small smirk graced his clean-shaven
face. Beulah knew how deceiving his appearance was. The unspeakable cruelties that he inflicted upon her, ending with the abandonment of Jonah, proved he was a very dangerous man. He still hadn't noticed her standing by the side door and the pandemonium Matt's confession caused was delaying any sort of recognition but she knew that either Bell would soon see her, or he would leave.

  Jonah was wide awake and craning his neck to see what all the fuss was about. His mother kept turning her body to shield him from Bell, just in case the man looked their way.

  Kit and Lucy Price hadn't risen to their feet. One reason might have been that Lucy was due to have a baby soon, or that Kit, as sheriff, didn't want to provoke more concern by standing. In any case, Beulah leaned over slightly, hoping to not be seen, and reached the Prices in just a few steps. She knelt at Kit's side and quickly explained the situation.

  Kit did stand then, and decisively strode toward the doors, and Hiram Bell. Beulah watched for a moment but Lucy tugged at her dress and motioned for her to sit in the spot Kit had vacated.

  There were times when Beulah could pretend that one perfect moment was her entire life. All the injustices, the helplessness of her youth, losing her father, being taken captive and carted across the country against her will, were irrelevant. All that mattered was the blue of a summer sky filled with drifting fluffy clouds, or the musical notes of birdsong outside a window early in the morning, or the smell of her baby's skin. This was not one of those times. In that moment, Beulah felt the pressure of her vulnerability to the whims of the world, like a lost leaf twirling in a tornado. She could make her own choices, but they still left her waiting for the sheriff to arrest her captor, waiting for Matt to decide who he wanted to be, waiting for Bridget to pay her wages, waiting for her life to be her own.

  Next to her, Lucy reached out and grasped her hand. It was only then that Beulah realized she was breathing far too fast and becoming light-headed. She turned to the sheriff's wife and smiled her thanks, blinking fast to ward off any tears. Deep breaths, consciously relaxing her hold on Jonah, and looking around, all helped her come back from the edge of panic.