by Angel’s End
“Are you going to be all right with him?” Jim asked as he came back into the kitchen.
“I don’t know why not,” Leah said.
“He’s a big guy,” Jim said. “Bigger and younger than what I expected.” Jim, along with Bettina, Gus, Jake and Margy, had been on the search committee for the new minister. The search had taken the better part of a year. “I guess it’s a good thing that he’s not a weakling. He seems younger than thirty-seven too.”
“That probably comes from clean living,” Gretchen teased. Jim had celebrated his thirty-fifth birthday early in September. His dark hair had a few strands of gray at the temples and the skin around his eyes showed wrinkles, whether he smiled or not.
Leah shrugged. “We all look younger when we’re sleeping.”
“I’ve got to see him for myself,” Gretchen said.
“I’m surprised you haven’t already.” Jim rolled his eyes and Gretchen went down the hall with Leah behind her and Dodger padding after them.
Pastor Key’s head made quick jerking motions on the pillow and his mouth moved with unspoken words. “He does look young,” Gretchen said as she looked down at him. “I wouldn’t say a day over thirty at the most.”
Leah studied his face while Gretchen spoke.
“And he is good-looking in his own way.”
Gretchen touched his forehead. “He is burning up with fever.”
Leah automatically picked up the cloth from where it had fallen to the side, dipped it in the bowl of melting snow, wrung it out and placed it on his forehead. She scooped up some of the remaining snow and put it in his mouth, once more holding a finger beneath his chin to keep it closed.
A fleeting smile moved across his lips. “I thirst…” He sighed.
“Sounds like he knows his scripture,” Gretchen said. “I’ll ask Nonnie about his fever.”
“Thanks,” Leah replied. “I’m afraid I don’t know what else to do for him.”
Banks stood at the door looking in. He wore his coat and held a bag with his things. Leah knelt and took him in her arms. “I will see you tomorrow,” she assured him. “Have a good time.”
“I will.”
“I’ll check on you later,” Jim said.
“I’ll send Dodger down if I get into trouble,” Leah replied. “Thanks for taking Banks.”
“Try to get some rest,” Gretchen added.
If only I could. Stillness filled her ears with their departure. With Banks gone, it felt as if all the light and life had left the house. Leah stood at the kitchen window and watched the three of them stagger through the snow. Jim carried Banks and Gretchen hung on to the tail of Jim’s coat as he led the way, trudging through the same path he’d cut on the way to her house. The sound of tiny ice pellets hitting the roof suddenly filled the air. Once again, Nonnie is right. A log popped in the stove. The cuckoo clock ticked away. Dodger lay down with a huff on the hall rug and put his head on his crossed paws.
Leah checked the pot on the stove. Chicken and dumplings. It smelled heavenly, not only because Gretchen was a good cook, but mostly because Leah didn’t have to prepare it herself. She opened the stove door and stuck a few more chunks of wood inside. She moved the pot over to the side so it would not bubble over. She wrapped the bread Gretchen delivered in a towel and put it on the shelf over the stove, along with the strudel. Both would stay warm until she was ready to eat. At the moment she was too tired to even think about it.
“Hmmm,” Leah sighed. She wiggled her rump closer to the solidness pressed up against her. Just the pressure against her back made the ache dissipate. The arm around her waist, holding her close, felt so safe and warm, especially with the sound of the ice hitting the roof. The scent of warm bread and chicken and dumplings filled the air. The only thing that needed doing was the fire. Nate would take care of it. He’d make sure she was warm.
Nate…Leah opened her eyes. Strange clothes hung on the hooks next to the window. She was in Banks’s room, but the arm wrapped around her did not belong to her son, and it certainly didn’t belong to Nate.
“Stay with me angel,” a voice whispered in her ear.
Her eyes widened with shock. “Oh my goodness.” Slowly, and most carefully, she eased out from beneath the arm. Her escape was not graceful in the least. She ended up on the floor on her rump and scooted away by propelling herself with her arms and legs until her back was against the wall. She felt the icy cold from outside come through the wall and chill her back through the woolen fabric of her dress and the cotton chemise beneath. Somehow, in her sleep, her hair had come loose. She found the pins hanging in the tangles and quickly twisted the long strands back in place. Her hands shook with cold and nerves. She placed them on her cheeks to cool the telltale flush that heated them. She saw her shawl, still on the bed, caught beneath Pastor Key’s shoulder. She vaguely remembered being tired and deciding the best place to rest and still keep an eye on the pastor was on top of the covers next to him. Amazing what a sleep-deprived brain could construe was a good idea!
Leah heard the click of Dodger’s nails on the wood floor. He came to the doorway and gave a questioning wag of his tail.
Pastor Key rolled onto his back, taking her shawl with him, and flung his arm over his face. Leah leaned forward, grabbed her shawl and pulled it slowly until it was free. She held it before her like a shield until her heartbeat slowed to a normal pace. It was damp with sweat. She tiptoed to the bed and quickly touched his forehead. It was moist but cool. His fever had, miraculously, broken and he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Thank you Lord.
“If I had known that sleeping in the same bed with him was all it would take to break his fever I would have done it sooner.” She spoke quietly to Dodger, who carefully watched her every move. “I think the best course is to pretend like this never happened.” Leah straightened her skirts and gathered the clothes hanging on the peg. She’d forgotten about them in her worry over Pastor Key’s wound. The blood needed soaking from his shirt and she wanted him back into pants as soon as possible. She’d wash them out and have Jim put them on him tomorrow morning.
His boots stood in the corner with a pair of socks hanging out of them. Wasn’t it strange that Pastor Key wore the same type of boots as Jake and his cowhands? You would think that someone from Ohio would have regular shoes. They were well worn too. Curious. But she already knew from his physique that he wasn’t what a person would consider a typical pastor.
Dodger whined. Leah scooped up the socks and let Dodger out. The world had changed while she slept. Night was quickly approaching and the storm had yet to abate. Ice covered everything. Icicles hung from every eave. Dodger slid down the drift on his stomach with his legs splayed in four different directions. He managed to find his feet and shook himself indignantly before cautiously lifting his leg against the clothesline post.
“I really should have dug out the washtub,” Leah said mournfully. Dodger scrambled back up the drift, sliding back down twice before he got close enough for Leah to haul him in. “Guess I’m stuck with the chamber pot.”
Dodger shook the ice from his coat and followed Leah to the kitchen. She dropped the pastor’s clothing on the table and built up the fire in the stove. She went to the parlor to add more to the fireplace, which was almost out.
A quick look out the parlor window showed the streets to be deserted. Everything was covered with ice. Lights glowed in Dusty’s upstairs window and down the street at the saloon. She’d expected Jake to stop by during the day. He could have, when she slept, but Dodger would have barked and knowing Jake he would have been comfortable enough to come inside to check on her whether she answered the door or not.
“More than likely he’s punishing me for telling him to go last night.” He did get moody at times. He and Ward could have drunk the night away and slept all day. Ward was known to be a bad influence, a reputation he enjoyed way too much.
The drifting wasn’t as bad on the front of the house as the back. Leah was able to scoop up se
veral bucketfuls of snow and filled all her pots. She ate a quick and filling meal while the water heated. Then she went to work on Pastor Key’s clothes.
She put his shirt and his long johns in the sink to soak. It should be a simple task to mend the bullet holes.
“I wonder if he has any other clothing.”
Dodger yawned from the rug. Clearly he could not care less about the preacher’s wardrobe.
“I’ll ask Jim if he had anything with his rig.”
Leah went through his pants pockets. She found a few coins that she dropped in a crock and a wide blue ribbon. It was wrinkled and dirty, as if Pastor Key had found it on the ground and then stuffed it in his pocket. Leah extended it between her hands. It was long enough to tie back hair. What a strange thing for a minister to keep. Was it any stranger than having him show up shot? Leah put the ribbon in a wooden bowl she kept on the table and put the pants aside to wash.
She held up the frock coat. It needed a good brushing. The collar looked like it was charred. Had he dropped it in a fire? That would need some work, but maybe with some of the black velvet she had in her quilt fabric she could repair it. She turned it over to search for the bullet hole but there wasn’t one. So he’d been shot when he had his coat off, then put it back on before he got on his horse? Leah dropped the frock coat and grabbed the big coat from the hook. It was heavy. She searched the pockets, and found the letter Ward had read and a Bible. She put both aside and turned the coat over to see if there was a bullet hole in the back of it. There wasn’t.
“What happened to you?” Leah placed the letter inside the Bible and went to the preacher’s room.
The room was dark except for the dim glow of the lantern hanging over the table. Leah put his Bible on the bedside table, turned up the wick on the lamp, and studied her patient.
He was definitely resting easier now. His chest rose and fell with long, steady breaths. He lay on his back with one strong arm thrown over his head, revealing the curve of the muscle. The sheets and blankets were pushed down to right below his chest. His skin was dry, and the fever gone.
His mouth was slightly open, showing the tips of his teeth. He needed a shave and a haircut. His hair was wild.
Leah picked up the bowl of water she’d used to cool him with. “Sleep well Pastor Key.” She turned down the lamp.
“Amen…” He sighed as she left the room.
SIX
There was a dog staring at him. Cade opened his eyes and found himself eyeball to eyeball with a black and white dog. The light was dim, a shade of bluish gray that told him it was either morning or evening, he had no way to tell. The dog sniffed him, and then got downright personal by licking his cheek before voicing a gentle “wuff” as a greeting.
“Pleased to meet you.” His voice was hoarse and cracked and his throat dry. “I think.” He held his hand out beneath the dog’s nose and it sniffed him again, and then opened its mouth in a friendly grin with its tongue lolling out. Cade rubbed its ears. “Where am I?”
He rolled over on his back, weak from the small bit of exertion. He could make out a wood plank ceiling above him. His entire body hurt like hell, especially his gut. He put a hand over his wound. Yes, he’d been shot. Shot by Fitch and his bastards because he had helped the girl and her husband escape.
“I should be dead.” Cade closed his eyes. Was he grateful to be alive? That all depended on where he was. If this was prison, or worse, Fitch’s place, then no, he wasn’t. It could just be another one of God’s jokes. Yes, I saved your life but what I’ve got in store for you now is worse than death. God did seem to enjoy playing with his life.
What happened after he got shot? His memory was fuzzy, lost somewhere among strange dreams that seemed as if they belonged to someone else. Cade felt like he’d been asleep for a year. Wished he had. Wished he could wake up to find the last ten years nothing but a horrible nightmare.
Cade opened his eyes again and stared at the wooden planks of the ceiling. He was in a small room, in a comfortable bed, with a dog. A lantern hung from a peg off to one side. It was turned down low. Morning then. He rubbed the dog’s head again. There wouldn’t be a dog in prison or at Fitch’s. Most dogs, or at least the smart ones, stayed far away from Fitch. Maybe he’d been taken to a doctor. Which meant they probably didn’t know who he was. How could they? He’d had nothing on him that said his name, or where he was from. That he was running from dangerous outlaws…
Cade still had no answers. All he knew for certain was he was warm, he was dry, and he was alive. He was also naked and the pegs on the wall didn’t hold anything that looked like it would fit him. Where were his clothes?
Cade closed his eyes again. He sent his mind back to the last thing he remembered. There was an angel…Images flashed through his mind. Were they real or dreams? He heard footsteps. Cade kept his eyes closed and willed his body to relax, and his breathing to stay even.
“Dodger,” a voice whispered. “Come here.” He felt the strapping under the mattress shift as the dog jumped from the bed then the soft snick of toenails on the wood floor. Was it her? The angel? Was she real? A door opened and a blast of cold air moved through the room. It smelled fresh and clean.
Snow? Bits and pieces of memories came to him. Flashes of faces moved quickly by, gone before he could center on them. Footsteps sounded once more, coming closer. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t know where he was or whom he was with. He kept his eyes closed as the footsteps came closer and finally stopped by the bed. They were light. They had to be the woman’s. Who is she?
Her touch was light and quick. Just the barest hint of her fingertips on his forehead, and the scent of roses as they pushed the hair back. It took every bit of his willpower to stay still beneath it. He wanted more. Beyond the roses, he smelled fresh bread. It filled him with a sense of peace. Roses and bread. What a combination.
“Sleep is the best medicine now,” she said. “I imagine you’ll be hungry when you wake up.”
He was. Starving. His stomach nearly growled in response. He felt her move, heard the gentle swish of her skirts and the soft sound of her feet on the hardwood floor.
“Sleep well Pastor Key.”
Cade opened his eyes. It all came back to him. Fitch, the escape, being shot, stumbling around in the forest after his horse died, finding the camp, Davis showing up and the ensuing gun battle. Pastor Key’s dead because of me…The man who helped him. The man who thought he’d been put in Cade’s path by God to help him. Timothy Key. Another one of God’s practical jokes, on both him and Timothy Key. And this woman thought he was the pastor.
“I’ve got to get out of here.”
He looked around the room once more. There was no sign of his clothes. The only thing that looked remotely familiar was the book on the bedside table. Cade attempted to reach for it and realized how weak he really was. It didn’t matter. He could see it now. It was Timothy’s Bible. An envelope stuck out of it.
“I have my letter of introduction right there.” Timothy pointed to the pocket of the large overcoat. “A recommendation from Bishop Henderson himself.” He’d taken Timothy’s overcoat and his Bible. Whoever had found him, assumed he was Timothy Key.
Isn’t that what you wanted? It had been his hope that whoever else was trailing him would find the bodies and assume that the burned one was his. That he and Davis had killed each other. That they would think he was dead and would leave him alone. It had never been his intention to assume Timothy’s identity.
Wasn’t it? He’d taken his coat. Because it was warm. Because Fitch and his gang knew he didn’t have a coat like that.
“I took his Bible.” Why? Fitch knew he didn’t have a Bible. But more than that, he wanted to protect it. He didn’t want any of Fitch’s gang laughing over it. Kicking it around. Throwing it in the fire. They would have. You used to be one of them…But he wasn’t now. He’d drawn the line. There were some things he simply would not do. Murdering the husband of a woman Fitch wanted, then delivering t
he woman to Fitch so he could take their land was the something he could not do. Not under any circumstances.
Did he draw the line at impersonating a minister? That depended upon whether or not it would save his life. And how long it would take him to get out of this place, wherever he was.
Cade decided he was too tired to think about it now. He closed his eyes and fell back asleep.
The scent of roses awakened him. Cade blinked his eyes against the light until a face came into focus.
“Welcome back,” a woman said. “I’m Leah Findley.”
She was the angel in his dreams. The lamplight glowed around her head, highlighting her light brown hair with copper and gold. She wore it pulled back, but a few curls had pulled loose and danced around her shoulders. Her face was lovely, with a pert nose, a wide mouth with perfect teeth, and large green eyes surrounded by dark lush lashes. She smiled and turned to pick up a cup from the table. When she handed it to him he noticed there were gold flecks within the green of her eyes.
“It’s water,” she said. “You must be parched after your fever.”
He was. Cade drank thirstily, draining every drop. He wiped his hand across his mouth to spread the moisture over his chapped lips. “Where am I?”
“Right where you’re supposed to be. In Angel’s End.”
I was called to minister to the people of Angel’s End…Timothy’s words. Feed my sheep. His last words to Cade before he died. And here he was in the one place he shouldn’t be. He needed time. Time to figure this out. Memory loss might be a convenient side effect of his wound and fever. When in doubt, play dumb. It had served him well in the past.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You don’t know?” She returned the cup to the table and sat down in the chair.
Cade rubbed his jaw. He needed a shave, and a bath would be downright wonderful. He quickly looked at Leah’s profile while she turned away. He wouldn’t mind if Leah gave him a bath. Not at all. You’re supposed to be a minister. They don’t go around asking women to give them baths. Cade tried to recall what Timothy had told him.
