Divided Heart

by Sheryl Marcoux

  Everyone had settled back in church, except for her. With Nate having joined them, she was thoroughly unsettled.

  “‘And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains—’”

  At the moment, moving mountains specifically referred to removing Nate, who was sitting in her line of sight, albeit not on purpose. He’d simply sat by his mother’s side after escorting her to her pew, seating her, and helping straighten her shawl. Watching him treat his mother so tenderly irritated Hattie, because Nate was such a gentleman.

  “‘Charity suffereth long, and is kind…’”

  Hattie’s gaze kept shifting from Nate’s perfect head of wavy blond hair to the Reverend’s cowlick just beyond. Why was that one sprig of hair all she saw when she looked at him?

  “‘…Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things…’”

  Beareth. Believeth. Hopeth. Endureth. Those words summarized a sermon that seemed to last for days with Nate being so near and demanding every ounce of perseverance. She found herself paying more attention to him than she was to the Reverend, until her mind started to drift, and to the most ungodly of places.

  “Get me a whiskey, Hattie.”

  “Hey, Hattie, come on over here.”

  The place was packed, but she knew which men to play. She shouted to the bartender, “Fetch these men a drink.” Then she slung her arm over one old coot’s shoulder and put her mouth to his ear. He smelled as if he’d wrestled with a skunk.

  She breathed into the man’s ear, “Tell you what, Clyde.” She had no idea what his real name was, nor did she care. She just called him Clyde because they were all the same. Groping, burping, dirty men with a little bit of money that Boss wanted. “Let’s you and me make a bet.”

  “What you got to offer me?” he said with a look that raked her from the lowcut neckline of her red dress to her rouge-painted lips.

  “Hey fellers,” Hattie called out. “I want to place a bet with Clyde here. Think I got something he wants?”

  Her question was answered by whoops and hollers.

  “How about one big, sloppy kiss?” she said to Clyde.

  His eyes lit up.

  “I’ll set you up for—” she was going to say four, but figured she could rustle him for six more drinks. “A half-dozen shots. If you belt all of them down by the time I count to twenty, I’ll kiss you like you ain’t never been kissed before.”

  It was a chance for him to prove his manhood, and he pounded his money down. She fetched the whiskies and placed them in front of him. “Ready, Clyde?” she called out.

  “I’m ready,” he called back with gall, as though he’d already won.

  “He’s ready, boys,” she announced, and more whooping and hollering followed. When she started to count, the men joined in. Clyde was so drunk before he started, that in three drinks, he was flat out on the floor.

  She’d played this game many a time and never lost a one. She always made sure the odds were in her favor, because there was only one man she saved her kisses for. Nate sat at his usual table, watching her, nothing else. Why couldn’t he get even a little jealous over her?

  “‘But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away…’”

  When Hattie’s mind came back to church, she discovered that not only was she looking at Nate, but that he was looking at her.

  Angry that he’d caught her looking, she pulled her gaze away and set it on the cowlick. Rather, the Reverend. She forced herself to smile.

  ~*~

  Nate shook his head with regret. There was a time Hattie used to smile at him that way, and he wished she still did.

  Her, Cadwell, church, they all added up to an uncomfortable place to be. Especially since he surmised Cadwell had put Nate there to keep an eye on him.

  “‘For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.’” Even the sermon had a double meaning—because Cadwell was preaching it.

  Nate’s mother started cooling herself with a mother-of-pearl hand fan.

  “Are you all right, Mother?” Nate whispered. She looked pale. She’d been through a lot, and he regretted staying away so long and making her go through the worst alone.

  “I’m just warm,” she said.

  “Let me help you off with your shawl.” As Nate lifted it off her shoulders, he spotted old acquaintances now married to mail-order brides they’d sent for from England before he’d gone away.

  Lillian was one of them. Though she was pretty, she was no Hattie. Lillian was simply an opportunity to humiliate Zachariah, who’d sent for her but was too scared to claim her. So Nate claimed her with the intention of raising her hopes that she would marry him. Nate’s plan was to throw her back at Zachariah so he could see her getting an eyeful of the man she would really marry. Scars and all.

  But Lillian failed to play her part. She never fell for Nate. Things escalated out of control, and she turned out to be the battleground for a full-score revenge that had evolved into her life for Sally’s. Sally. The memory of his late sister was a dangerous place for his mind to visit. A place he didn’t want to get lost in. He pulled himself out.

  Lillian, now in the fullness of motherhood, came back into view. She must have seen beyond the scars because she looked happy by Zachariah’s side. Next to her was the second prettiest little girl Nate had ever seen.

  No girl could be as pretty as the one who’d once shined even in a burlap dress. He caught himself smiling at that memory of Hattie. Then he caught Hattie glaring at him and realized his gaze had been cast in Lillian’s direction.

  Hattie averted her gaze, reminding Nate of his arrogance and how circumstances had backfired a hundredfold because he’d lost what he’d wanted most. Her.

  Revenge. It was an ugly thing to think about in church. But then again, having a member of the Krugar Gang for a preacher invalidated the sanctity of the service.

  16

  “Nate, it’s good to see you back in town,” Doctor Hinkle said after service. “It’s been a long time.”

  While his mother visited with a group of women, old acquaintances came over to shake Nate’s hand.

  It was a sunny day on the church grounds, the sky was clearer than the ones he’d become accustomed to back East. Boston skies were always cloudy.

  “Are you here to stay?” Doctor Hinkle asked.

  “Just long enough to take care of some business.” As he eyed Cadwell, Nate’s answer had a dual meaning. If ever there was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, it was standing there acting like a pious clown. Cadwell had Hattie fooled. He had the whole town fooled. If Nate hadn’t stumbled upon him practicing with his gun, he’d have likely had Nate fooled as well.

  “I’m sorry to hear your mother is losing her home,” Doctor Hinkle’s wife, Prudence, said. “It’s a good thing you came back to help her.”

  Nate followed her glare to where Tilly, the banker, stood.

  Knowing everyone else’s business in a small town wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Especially when someone could offer a solution.

  “I have an elderly patient who will be moving in with family shortly,” Doctor Hinkle said. “Her cabin will be up for sale. It might suit your mother well.”

  Nate had tried to convince his mother to move to Massachusetts, but she’d refused to leave Ramsden. Meanwhile, he had yet to see the money Tilly had promised. Still, Nate would ensure his mother was cared for, even if he had to dig into his own pockets. “Any idea how much they’d want for it?”

  “I don’t think it’d be too much,” Doctor Hinkle said. “It’s a small place, but nice enough.”

  Something captured Prudence’s attention. “I could never see those two together.”

  Doctor Hinkle shook his head. “I think they can’t either, which is likely why they still aren’t married aft
er all this time. I always thought it would be you and Hattie, Nate.”

  Cadwell was playing his game again, clumsily helping Hattie onto her wagon. When he climbed up beside her, Nate abruptly excused himself and ran over.

  “Don’t go with him,” he said to Hattie. The warning that Cadwell was part of a murdering gang caught in Nate’s throat.

  Cadwell’s unworried smile reminded Nate that he was the outsider and the Reverend the trusted citizen.

  “Look here, Nate,” Hattie said. “I’ve gone on with my life. Now get on with yours.”

  Though Cadwell very well knew the answer, he feigned bewilderment. “Are you and he…?” With his hair slicked down and parted in the middle—and a cowlick standing straight up—he looked to be ten times the fool he wasn’t.

  Hattie glared Nate down as she answered Cadwell. “We were, but not anymore.”

  “Then I reckon you have no business bothering these two.”

  The hair rose on the back of Nate’s neck as Zachariah came up from behind him.

  The comfortable grin on Cadwell’s face confirmed that if there would be any trouble, it would be Nate going to the jailhouse.

  Nate reluctantly backed away from Hattie’s wagon—and Zachariah standing as their protector. Protector indeed. Had Zachariah at least found out what that Southern gentleman wanted with Hattie?

  This wasn’t the time or place to find out.

  ~*~

  In Hattie’s desperate attempt to get her mind off Nate she’d invited the Reverend over for Sunday dinner. Maybe a cozy meal together would lead to a conversation where they could learn something about one another that would spark some interest.

  Nellie wasn’t getting any younger; the ride was slow and bumpy and the wagon wheels creaked. The Reverend insisted on taking the horse’s reins, and Hattie relented and then regretted it, because putting anything in the man’s hands turned something harmless into a hazard. She hoped the Reverend wouldn’t cause the old mare to break into a run and race the rest of her life out of her. Gingerly. Please treat the old gal gingerly.

  “Tell me about your history with Nate,” the Reverend said.

  “We liked one another once.”

  “He still seems fond of you.”

  That was odd. The Reverend was giving her that “something’s not quite right” feeling about him again. She’d known the Reverend to be slow to catch on most of the time. So why had he latched on to her and Nate’s feelings for one another all of a sudden?

  “It takes two, and I’m not interested. Don’t worry about Nate. He’ll be gone as soon as his business with his mother is done.” That last sentence came out with a silent groan from her heart.

  “Are you sure you’re not his primary business here?” The Reverend’s gaze met Hattie’s for a moment.

  His cowlick suddenly didn’t look as silly. In fact, at that moment, she might have mistaken him for downright astute. That moment, however, was cut short. Nellie had come to a standstill. Was the old gal finally giving out? Hattie was about to leap out of the wagon to check on the mare, when she noticed something. “You’re leaning on the break handle, Reverend.” She tried not to be irritated at the fright he’d given her.

  “Oh…I…”

  Astute? The Reverend was still the most oblivious man she’d ever met.

  Sitting across from the Reverend at the dining table was like having Sunday dinner with a cowlick. The Reverend felt all wrong for her, and her mind kept slipping to how she wished she were looking into blue eyes in a handsome face framed by light, wavy hair, and talking about love that made her feel all warm inside. Instead, they were talking about her cooking.

  “I’ve had your chicken pies at Kate’s,” he said. “Your chicken and dumplings are even more delicious.” He sat as stiff and upright as his cowlick while he ate.

  Her gaze slid to the glasses slipping down his nose. “I just wish chicken grew in the ground like potatoes and were just as passive to prepare,” she muttered. How she wished he were Nate. The only thing Hattie learned about the Reverend was to never let him help with the dishes.

  The man was so clumsy it was a wonder he managed to stay alive. He must have had a dozen guardian angels scurrying around him, moving this in his way to catch whatever fell, and that out of his way to prevent a calamity. It was one near disaster after another. The man couldn’t move without almost creating a mishap. Those angels must have been grateful for the peace when he finally fell asleep at the end of the day. She could picture the lot of them sitting around his bed, shoulders slumped, feathers haggard, and dead tired—which was how she felt after she’d finally dropped him off at the parsonage.

  When she headed back home, her heart pounded as slowly as Nellie’s gait as she tried to get her mind off Nate.

  17

  Monday morning Nate had two things on his agenda. The first was to go see Tilly and look into the money due his mother.

  “I’m still working on it.” Tilly fidgeted. “These things take time.”

  Apparently, Tilly had already spent the money he’d “neglected” to put on the books.

  Nate knew how to hurry him along. “So I assume you’ll extend the time my mother has before she has to leave the ranch?”

  Tilly’s narrow jaw dropped. “But we agreed on one month. I have a buyer.”

  “We also agreed on the money,” Nate said. “So I suggest you take less time getting it, so she can take less time moving out.”

  Now to tend to the second thing on his agenda.

  Finding out what that Southern gentleman wanted with Hattie wouldn’t come as easily, especially since Zachariah was the one he’d have to ask. Nate stepped out onto the walk.

  Hattie stopped her wagon in front of Kate’s and started bringing pies into the eatery.

  Maybe if he helped her it would patch things up between them. He picked two pies out of the wagon.

  She came out and stopped short at the sight of him.

  “Hello, Hattie.”

  She snatched the pies from him. “Good-bye, Nate.” She turned her back and stormed toward the eatery.

  “It seems every conversation I try to have with you ends up with you, in essence, telling me to go back to wherever I came from.”

  “And you’re just figuring that out now?” She asked over her shoulder.

  Zachariah crossed the street. “I’ll help you in a minute, Hattie.”

  “Thank you, Zachariah.” She disappeared inside the eatery.

  Knowing the business Zachariah would first want to take care of was getting rid of him, Nate took the opportunity to ask a question. “Did a man come to see you about Hattie?”

  Zachariah eyed him. “You sent him?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “So you figure whatever he wants with her is your business.”

  Nate’s faced heated. Zachariah had headed him off.

  “Hattie is my business,” Nate said. “You act as though I’m a threat to her. I would never hurt a hair on her head.”

  Zachariah crossed his arms in response, or lack thereof.

  “And meanwhile,” Nate responded. “You’re leaving her at the mercy of an outlaw who’s as dangerous as they come—and he’s right under your nose.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to be talking about the Reverend again now, would you?” He eyed Nate with a guarded expression.

  Zachariah was mistrustful of the wrong person.

  “That man’s as much of a reverend as I am. His name is Jacob Cadwell, and he’s the best gunman I’ve ever seen. He’s lying to Hattie. He’s lying to everyone here. That butter-finger bumbling of his is all an act—and you’re a blind fool not to see through it.”

  “So, what exactly is he lying about?” Zachariah’s voice, flat with indifference, suggested it was Nate who needed to be set straight.

  Nate stepped toward Zachariah. The man, a head taller, looked even bigger this close. Determined to make Zachariah listen for Hattie’s sake, Nate stood his ground. “What he’s been hid
ing from you for the past seven years, Sheriff,” he mocked, “is that he’s a part of the Krugar Gang. In case you don’t know about them, they’re a band of cold-blooded murderers. If you contact the authorities in Kansas City—”

  “I’ve got a picture of the gang I’ve been staring at for a year hanging in my office, so I know well enough who they are.” Zachariah added with a growl in his voice as he looked down at Nate, “And I know who they are not.”

  “The Reverend isn’t on that poster; he’s on an older one, and he’s got one of those in the parsonage. He hid it in the—”

  “So you did break in.”

  Zachariah had missed the whole point, fraying Nate’s patience with him. “Since you were too thick-headed to even look into what I told you about the Reverend and his shooting skills, I needed some kind of evidence—”

  “If you go near the Reverend again,” Zachariah growled, “I will lock you up.”

  “Lock me up? If you were doing your job, I wouldn’t have to do it for you.”

  “I am doing my job.”

  Nate’s patience had frayed down to the last string, but fortunately this was a string of sensibility. Even if Zachariah didn’t know about Nate’s attempt to kill Lillian, he knew that Nate had tried to marry her out from under him. “I admit I haven’t exactly been a saint in the past, but I’m not the one you need to worry about now. The man you take to be a saint is the one you need to worry about. I’ll show you.” Nate urged, “I’ll take you to where he practices his shooting so you can see−”

  “You’re not hearing me.” Zachariah raised his voice. “What I want to see is you staying away from the Reverend.”

  Nate, in turn, raised his voice. “No, Zachariah, you’re not hearing me. The man is dangerous. I’m trying to protect Hattie.”

  “I’ll protect Hattie.” And Zachariah’s glare made it clear that Nate was the one Zachariah was protecting her from.

  The badge that had once made old Sheriff Breck open-minded had made Sheriff Zachariah Keane obstinate. Nate clenched his jaw against reminding Zachariah he’d once been nothing but a hired hand on his family’s ranch. His jaw clenched harder with a reminder to himself that Zachariah had won Nate’s father’s favor and his sister’s fancy—and now the whole town’s approval by being their sheriff.