by Barbara Goss
The Final Vow
Barbara Goss
Scripture quotations in this volume are from the King James Version of the Bible.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this book is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without express written permission from the author.
Copyright © 2015 Barbara Goss
All Rights Reserved
Kindle Edition
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
1
Sister Mary Clare stared out the window of the fast moving train, hypnotized by the tedious scenery flying by. She and three sisters from the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Boston traveled to a Texas Mission. The church sought to establish Christianity in the lawless West. Having heard stories of Indians, and men shooting on the streets… to be sent there, gave Sister Mary Clare the shivers. As a young novice, she’d been anxious to learn— but not in the West. She’d hoped for an orphanage or somewhere in the slums of Boston where she could teach. Never the West.
Sister Christina sat beside her. “You look troubled, dear.”
“I didn’t want to be sent to Texas. I’ve heard horrible stories of Indians and bandits.” She pointed out the window. “And look at this land, nothing but dirt and weeds.”
“Why, then, did you want to become a nun?”
“I’m beginning to wonder… I just wanted to help people— orphans or the poor.”
Sister Christina patting her hand. “You will be helping others. What better place to find heathens than in Texas?”
“Maybe this isn’t the right life for me after all,” she said.
“Of course it is. Just calm your fears and trust in God, dear. Once we get settled at the mission, all your fears will have been for naught. I’ll be right back. Sister Margaret Agnes is signaling for me to help with lunch.”
Sister Mary Clare stared out of the window again. She wondered if Indians still ran loose scalping people. She jumped as someone nudged her.
Sister Theresa held out sandwiches. “Your lunch.”
“Thank you,” she took a sandwich, which felt stale.
“Sister Agnes and I would like to have afternoon devotions. Please join us in the rear of the car.”
“Yes, Certainly,” Sister Mary Clare answered. As she rose to join them, the train started to screech and skid on the tracks. “Goodness,” she said, and fell back into her seat, and the sandwich became crushed, soiling her habit. When the train came to an abrupt stop, all three sisters fell to the floor in a heap. Sister Mary Clare rose to help them up.
“Probably just a cow on the tracks,” Sister Theresa said as she brushed dirt from her habit.
Gunshots rang out, and all four sisters hit the floor again.
Sister Mary Clare became so frightened that she couldn't even pray, as she heard the other three sisters doing.
Two men with bandanas covering the bottom half of their faces tore into their car waving pistols. They ordered passengers to throw their valuables into a hat. Men and women tossed in watches, money and rings. When they came to the crouched nuns, they passed them by for more affluent passengers further in the car. More gunshots were heard outside the train; again, the sisters ducked.
One bandit cursed, and the other grabbed Sister Mary Clare and exited the train using her as a shield. She passed out.
When the cool air hit her face, she awakened, and found herself lying across a saddle face down with dust flying up her nose. The bandit rode and fired his gun at the same time, while the smell of gunpowder filled the air. She wished she could pass out again so she wouldn’t have to be awake for whatever her fate would be, not to mention how sore her stomach felt lying over the horn of the saddle.
As the horse raced, she heard several clicks and a curse; she thought the bandit’s gun must have run out of ammunition as she also felt movement that perhaps signified he was reloading. When a shot sounded from behind them, she heard a thud and then felt a breeze. She sneaked a peek; the bandit had disappeared. Oh dear! And with the horse still running!
Now alone, lying face down on a horse racing like the wind, she grabbed onto the horse’s mane in a panic. She decided, perhaps, it was now time to pray.
Another shot rang out from behind her. She prayed she wasn’t the target. She then heard a man’s voice calling, “Whoa! Whoa!” to the horse and pulling on the reins—or so it felt for she still just faced the dusty ground.
Strong hands grabbed her by her waist and righted her onto the ground. When she swayed he caught her.
“Are you all right, Sister?” asked kindly voice with a matching face.
“I – I guess so,” she answered, looking all around. Then she looked at the face of her rescuer. Or at least she hoped he was a rescuer and not one of “them.”
“I got the one who used you as a hostage. The lily-livered, yellow-bellied… er… bandit, held you as a shield when he jumped from the train and onto his horse, but I got him,” he pointed to the dead body a few hundred feet away. “I’ll take you back to the train,” he offered.
“Where is the other bandit?” she asked, scanning the area.
“Jed’s on his trail, he’ll get him.”
Sister Mary Clare then asked, “Are you the law?”
“No, sister, my friend Jed and I are just local ranchers. We just happened to be nearby when we heard the ruckus.”
“What now?” She felt so helpless. She suddenly wished herself back to the convent in Boston.
“Do you ride?” he asked.
She looked at the gigantic black horse. “No! I’ve never ridden a horse!”
“Well, you can ride with me, and I’ll pull the bandit’s horse. No sense leaving it here.”
“I need to get back to the other sisters on the train," she told him, “but there is no chance that I’m getting on that horse.”
“It’s too far to walk,” he said, trying to remain calm.
“Just point me in the right direction, I’ll walk.” She took a deep breath and stood tall. He pointed. She started walking, her dirty and torn habit blowing in the wind.
The rancher followed at a slower pace.
She trudged along. Every so often a growth snagged her habit, and she had to pull it free. Now, not only dusty, her habit was torn beyond repair, her feet hurt, and her wimple became too warm. Perspiration rolled down her face. She wondered how much farther the train could be? Something squirmed from behind a rugged bush, and Sister Mary Clare screamed and jumped back.
The rancher trotted slowly to where she stood. “A problem?” he asked calmly. “It’s just a lizard.” He jumped down from his horse and shooed the lizard away.
He mounted his horse and then held out his hand for her. With little choice, she placed her hand into his, and he yanked her up and set her in front of him on the saddle with her legs hanging over the side.
“Oh dear!” she cried. “This is scary!” She grabbed
hold of the man’s arms.
“Trust me,” he assured her. “I’ve been riding since I learned to walk.” He turned the horse around and galloped to where the train had been.
Sister Mary Clare held on to the man so tightly her knuckles turned white. Petrified, she hoped the train wasn’t far. When he finally reined in at the tracks, the train had disappeared.
The rancher muttered a mild curse.
Sister Clare scolded, “There is no need for blasphemy.”
“Excuse me, Sister.”
“Where’s the train?” she cried.
“That’s why I cursed. Believe it or not, I seldom swear. The situation just got the best of me, and I apologize.”
“Oh! Now what?”
The rancher scratched his head. “I could ride like the wind and catch the train, but what would we do then? I could hardly stop it with you riding along. Are you sure you won’t try riding the other horse?”
Sister Mary Clare looked at the brown beast. “No way!”
The rancher looked around and said, “I have absolutely no idea what to do next. Where were you and the other nuns headed?”
“A mission somewhere in Texas.”
“Somewhere?”
She nodded.
“I’ll take you to Hays, and perhaps you can get a stage coach or another train,” he offered.
Once again, he turned the horse around and headed for Hays. “Can’t we walk?” she yelled over the noise of the horse and wind.
He sighed. “We’re almost there.”
The Sister prayed.
Finally, he reined in and helped her down from the horse. Sister Mary Clare, glad to be on the ground again, looked around the primitive town. “This is a city?”
“It is. Hays City, Kansas. I’ll take you to the train station, and you can buy a ticket to Texas.”
She looked up at him and said, “I don’t have any money.”
He rolled his eyes. “Let’s go to Lucy’s Restaurant and get something to wash all this dust down with, and then we’ll discuss this. But first, we have to stop by the sheriff’s office and report the crime, the man I shot and the one Jed is chasing.”
Once sitting face-to-face at a table in Lucy’s, Sister Mary Clare could study her rescuer. He appeared quite young with a muscular body and big hazel eyes. She supposed he might be considered handsome, although she’d had no experience judging men’s looks.
“The name’s Collins… Jesse Collins.” He held out his dusty hand. “My real name is Josiah, but everyone calls me Jesse.”
Her hand being just as dusty, she accepted it. “I’m Sister Mary Clare.”
“That’s a mouthful,” he said, signaling the waitress. “Coffee or tea?” he asked.
“Tea,” she responded, glad for the refreshment, for she felt parched.
Jesse ordered. “So your name is Sister Mary Clare. Can I just call you Clare?”
At first, she felt offended; then considered her situation. “I suppose out here in no man’s land, it doesn’t make much difference.”
“What was your name before you became a nun? Just Clare or Mary?”
“Actually, neither. My birth name was Laura MacDonald, but Sister Mary Clare has been my name since I entered the convent a year ago. The name still feels odd, though.” She hadn’t even had the opportunity to pick her name, it had been chosen for her. It could have been worse; she supposed.
“I thought all nuns were old and crotchety.”
Sister Mary Clare blushed. She sat speechless, and didn’t know quite how to take this blunt cowboy. He had a charming smile, the kind that reached his eyes. So, she simply smiled.
Jesse sipped his coffee and studied the woman. She didn’t seem old enough to be a nun. A pretty face peeked out of the strange head contraption, and he wondered about the hair color underneath. Her complexion appeared smooth and fair, and she had the bluest eyes—of course none of that mattered except, what the devil was he going to do with her?
“Well, Laura,” he began, “how can I help you? I’d pay for your train ride to Texas, if you knew where in Texas the mission is located.”
“Well, I don’t. I was too upset at being sent that I didn’t pay attention to where in Texas the mission was located.”
“OK, then…” he tapped his fingers on the table. “Let me think.”
“I don’t dare go back to Boston. They’d be angry I didn’t try harder to get to the mission after they spent so much money on my train ticket, and that I didn’t pay enough attention to the exact destination.” As a novice, she still felt intimidated by Mother Superior. Even when things happened beyond her control, Mother Superior invariably found a way to twist things so that it unfailingly became her actions at fault.
“I don’t know of any mission around here, but I live about two miles away. I could take you home until we decide what to do with you.”
“Home?” she asked. “I’m not sure that would be appropriate.”
“I live with my mother and sister.”
“Oh. I guess that would be a good idea then.”
“Good. When you finish your tea, we’ll leave.”
“Will I have to ride on your horse again?”
“I’m afraid so, Laura.”
“I’m not sure you should be calling me ‘Laura,’ although it does bring back memories of my childhood.”
“Why not?”
“It’s no longer my name.”
“I like it. There is no way I’m going to ‘Sister Mary Clare’ you all the way to my ranch. I’m Jesse and you’re Laura. When you get back to your mission, you can be sister whatever you want.”
Laura grimaced. “What about your friend who is still out chasing the other bandit?”
“He’ll find his way home. His spread is near mine.”
“Spread?” she asked.
“Ranch.”
As they approached the horse, Jesse asked, “Laura, would you prefer riding in front of me or behind me?”
“What is the difference?” She asked.
“Basically, you’d hold onto me rather than me holding onto you.”
Laura blushed, which Jesse found enchanting.
“I think I’d prefer to ride behind you, so I can’t see where I’m going or how fast. I’ll simply hold on for dear life with my eyes closed, and pray the ride isn’t a long one.”
In a short time, but none too soon for Laura, they turned off the main road onto a well-worn pathway leading to a two-story log cabin with a large rustic front porch. Jesse jumped down and helped Laura off the horse. She felt like kissing the ground, but wore enough dust this day already.
“Come along,” Jesse coaxed by touching the small of her back and pushing gently. He led her up three steps and onto the porch. The house appeared pleasing to the eye, and Laura could smell fresh-baked bread as she walked through the front door and into a warm country kitchen.
A handsome woman, with salt and peppered hair, worn in a bun at the nape of her neck and wearing an apron, spun around with a ready smile. Then she saw Laura, and the smile turned into a stare of surprise.
“Look what I found, Ma,” Jesse announced.
“Indeed.” The woman seemed to recover from her surprise. Drying worn hands on her apron she advanced with a welcoming smile.
“Ma, this is Laura… well actually, she is Sister Mary Clara…
“Clare!” Laura corrected.
“Excuse me. Sister Mary Clare, but her birth name is Laura, so that’s what I call her.”
His mother offered her hand to Laura. “I’m sure there is a story to go with this,” she directed at Jesse. She turned back to Laura and said with a warm smile, “Welcome.”
“Jesse?” a female voice called from somewhere in the house.
“In the kitchen, Cassie.” Jesse introduced Laura to his sister Cassandra, or Cassie, an attractive woman dressed in pants, flannel shirt, and boots. She wore her blonde hair in braids.
His mother addressed Laura, “We just happen to have a spar
e room since my oldest son, Albert, married and moved to Texas.”
“Texas?” Laura asked excitedly. “That’s where I’m supposed to be!”
“If you don’t mind a masculine room, it’s yours for as long as you can stay,” his mother replied. “Oh, and my name is Margaret, but everyone calls me Meg. Once you get settled, we’d love to hear all about you.”
“Thank you, Meg,” Laura said.
Jesse led her through what must be the living room and up a flight of highly polished wooden stairs. He pointed to a room at the very top of the landing, “This is Bert’s old room.” Jesse swung the door open. “Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll have Cassie bring you some water, towels and whatever else a woman needs.” He quietly shut the door, leaving her alone.
Laura spun around— A room all her own! She walked around and touched everything lightly. A mahogany dresser with a crocheted doily on top, a dresser with a scratched mirror, and a four-poster double bed complete with a faded quilt—it felt so comfortable. She walked to the window. It overlooked the top of the front porch, but beyond that she could see for miles, mostly cattle grazing and more dust and shrubs.
A light knock on the door startled Laura. She spun around to see Cassie enter with a large china bowl in one hand, a china pitcher in the other, and white towels slung over her shoulder.
“I thought you might like to wash,” she offered.
“Thank you,” Laura said, looking forward to a good wash-up. She’d hoped for a bath, but she’d take what she could get. “I haven’t any other clothes as my bag is still on a train headed to somewhere in Texas.” She pointed to the ripped and soiled habit.
Cassie set the bowl and pitcher on the dresser. “I can lend you some clothes,” she said, then covered her mouth with a blush. “Not the kind you wear, though.” She grimaced.
Laura thought it would absolutely make no difference out here in the wilderness what she wore. Mother Superior or the other sisters would never know, and God would understand the unusual predicament.
