A spark ignited in Jason’s eyes as they glittered with a fierce jealousy, brimming on hatred. “You best stay in your church and out of the lives of men like me. I don’t take kindly to meddlers, Bible-thumping or not, understand?”
“You understand that if you lay a hand on Marissa again, it will be more than meddling that you will be taking kindly to. Good morning, Mr. Garth.” He sent one last meaningful glare before deliberately turning his back and walking away.
Turning from wrath was much easier to do in Virginia.
Chapter 11
MARISSA SLEPT UNTIL ten in the morning, when Rebecca awakened her to see Dr. Gillings. The brown-suited, respectable-looking physician nodded to her as he came into the room and set his medical bag on a chair that had been pushed beside the bed.
“Miss Pierce, Mrs. Arthur tells me that you’ve had a frightful night. I would like to see the extent of your injuries, if you have no objections.”
Marissa sat up in bed, grimacing when she used her legs to push up. “I’d forgotten that I twisted my ankle, but it didn’t fail to remind me.”
Dr. Gillings pulled the sheet down and began inspecting her left limb, poking and prodding like everyone else had done.
“Is it broken, Doctor?” Rebecca asked.
“No. It’s mainly swollen from bearing weight. Tell me, Miss Pierce, how long were you on this leg after you injured it?”
“I don’t remember. I just had to keep running because I was being pursued.”
“Hmm.” He compared her swollen left ankle to her right. “I will give you a nettle poultice to ease the inflammation. Keep the leg elevated and stay off of it for a few days.” He avoided her as she attempted to make eye contact.
“You know what happened, don’t you? You know about Jason Garth.” She raised her head in question to Rebecca.
“Mrs. Arthur didn’t tell me.” The doctor scribbled some notes on a small pad. “I treated my first patient today for a broken nose. That’s all I’ll say about it.”
Rebecca gaped at Dr. Gillings. Marissa cleared her throat. Apparently Rowe didn’t share with the Arthurs all the details of how he came to her rescue. If he was reluctant to carry the Colt for protection, how guilty he must have felt for inflicting an injury upon Jason for her sake.
Dr. Gillings examined the rest of her, checking her bandaged cuts and scrapes to see if they were properly dressed. She told him about her stomach where she had been kicked. He felt along her sore abdomen and declared that none of her internal organs were damaged.
“The bruising will heal on its own. You’ll have to sleep on your side or back for the time being.” Dr. Gillings completed the rest of his examination in several minutes. “Whoever bandaged your feet did a very commendable job. The person very likely prevented you from getting an infection from those splinters.”
Her heart swirled when she thought of Rowe tenderly washing her feet after he removed the splinters. “He cleaned the cuts on my arms and face too.”
“This man has some experience with medicine. You were fortunate to cross his path, Miss.”
Yes, I was, she echoed in her mind. Marissa caught herself. What exactly did she mean by that?
Dr. Gillings left her some bottles of rubbing alcohol and salve for her bruises. He gave further instructions to Rebecca on how to care for her, including brewing a tea of ginger root for inflammation and pain relief. Before leaving the room, he promised to visit again within three days to check her progress.
“Well, young lady, how about some breakfast?” Rebecca suggested, after seeing the doctor out. “Zachary brought some fresh-cured bacon and a basket of eggs in this morning. The bread’s still warm in the oven.”
“That sounds good, Mrs. Arthur. I would much enjoy it. Oh!”
Rebecca dashed forward. “Are you alright?”
“Yes.” Marissa propped herself higher in bed. It dawned on her that all her clothes, linens, and other belongings were still at the saloon. She was supposed to have them out this morning. Now what could she do? “It just occurred to me that everything I own is still with Jason.”
“Well, you most certainly are not going back there. I’ll speak to Zachary about it.”
“No, Jason will hurl him out. Tell him to find Timothy, the livery stable hand. He’ll send his cousin to get my valises for me.” If Jason hasn’t already tossed them from the top floor window.
The older woman nodded. “I’ll tell Zachary to do that. For now, rest while I get your food ready.”
Zachary must have caught Timothy before any customers arrived at the stables, for Marissa’s trunk and valises were delivered to the Arthur residence that afternoon. She observed from the bedside as he lifted the lid of the trunk. His countenance soured.
“What is it?”
He lifted one of her dresses, the green-laced one that she had last worn to church. The delicate lace was ripped from the collar. The embroidered bodice was slashed in the middle. Another gown, a maroon-colored frock that brought out her coloring to great effect, was slit all the way down from the work of a knife. Dress after dress followed the same pattern. Petticoats and stockings were destroyed in similar, horrifying fashion. Soon the trunk lay bare of its tattered contents.
Zachary shook his head in utter distaste. “I’ve never seen a man so vindictive.”
Marissa swallowed her hurt and anger. She spent years acquiring the few gowns to her name. Being a tall woman, most things had to be sewn to her proportions. That was a timely and costly endeavor, even when she made her own clothing. Now she possessed only a dirty nightgown to her name and oversized men’s breeches on loan.
Zachary reached deep into the bottom of the trunk and pulled out a stack of torn pages. Once gilded, the edges were now brown and burnt. They crumbled like ash from his hand to fall back into the trunk. “A devil, that man is.” He picked up the mutilated cover of Marissa’s heirloom Bible.
Marissa held the tears threatening to fall from the loss of her only remembrance of the family she once had. She didn’t know much about her grandmother’s God anymore, or if she should even pray to Him. How could He allow trouble after trouble to fall on her?
“We’ll get you some clothes, Mari. Don’t worry.” Zachary’s reassuring voice broke into her dark thoughts.
Marissa simply nodded.
Rowe discovered that word got around quickly in Assurance. That Sunday after his scuffle with Jason he noticed an upsurge in church attendance. Men and women he had never seen before took up space in the pews, studying him as he delivered the morning sermon. As they didn’t open their Bibles or take notes, he surmised that their presence had more to do with his latest involvement in the affairs of Jason’s Saloon rather than an interest in Paul’s letter to the Ephesians.
His ears burned as he heard murmurings in the congregation when he came to the verse about not grieving the Holy Spirit. They thought him a hypocrite for reading it. Rowe wondered what his colleagues back home would have thought. Here he was, a university-educated man, brought up to be a gentleman, resorting to fisticuffs with a coarse barman. How his peers would grimace if they knew he did it all for a saloon girl. The implications alone were enough to revoke his ministerial license.
As Rowe closed with the benediction, his eyes met those of a portly man seated in the first pew. The man wore a silver star pinned on the front of his shirt and an amused smile plastered on his face. Rowe guessed who he might be.
The service ended. Before Rowe could get down from the pulpit, the portly man was out of his seat and lumbering towards the steps. His voice matched the size of his barrel chest. “Reverend Winford, I don’t believe we’ve had ourselves a proper introduction. My name’s Julian McGee. I’m the sheriff.” Between sentences he grabbed Rowe’s hand and pumped it up and down. “I hear you’re taking the law enforcement burden off my shoulders.”
People chuckled in passing. Rowe wanted to sink into the background of a Last Supper painting that hung outside the hall of the sanctuary. “Sherif
f McGee, I hope you don’t think—”
“Easy, Preacher. I ain’t here to arrest you. I just wanted to come and see how you do in church. I already know how you do outside of it.”
“Sheriff, you need to know that my actions were in defense of an employee of Mr. Garth’s.” Rowe remembered Marissa’s wishes about not informing the sheriff, so he kept her name to himself, although he was certain everyone in Assurance knew who it was that Jason pursued.
“From what I hear tell, Mr. Garth and the employee were on your land. A man’s got to defend his property. No charge for that.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Sheriff McGee laughed. A thin sheen of sweat shone on his wide forehead. “I know what you meant. You were protecting one of those gals, but I can’t do anything about Garth’s carrying on unless I catch him in the act.”
“What if the girl comes forth?”
“She’d need a witness, one that saw her get beat. Who’s to say someone else didn’t do it and she blamed it on her employer? Can’t say I trust any word coming out of Jason or his employees.”
“I see.” Rowe’s strategy was shot before it got off the ground.
Sheriff McGee thumped him on the back before leaving. “You took care of him, though. Don’t think about it anymore.”
Rowe did think about it. That week he inquired about Marissa’s health twice, once after church on Sunday when the Arthurs shook his hand and then during the noon hour Tuesday, just before he made rounds to visit one of the town’s shut-in elderly. He went to Zachary’s store for a report on her progress.
“Dr. Gillings says she should be up and walking in a few days. Rebecca’s having a time keeping her in bed.” Zachary chuckled.
“Will you let her know that I stopped by the store?” He wondered if the question sounded too eager, but Zachary gave him no indication that it did.
“I’ll be sure to tell her. You still looking to purchase a pair of work boots? I can order those McKays in a twelve and a half, stout.”
“Do I need to pay for them now?” Rowe took his mind off Marissa to factor in the cost of shoes, since he had already spent a good part of his earnings that month on the materials for a new fence.
“You can pay me when they come in. If I can’t trust a preacher man, who can I trust?” The shoemaker went back to stitching the toe of a child’s soft leather ankle boot.
In the days that followed, Marissa’s injuries began to mend. Her ankle returned to normal size, and she could put weight on it. The superficial cuts and scrapes had scabbed over. Marissa felt better on the inside too, now that she was away from Jason and the saloon.
Rebecca hovered over her constantly, dressing her bandages every morning and giving her cups of ginger tea on a regular schedule. She wanted desperately to move around but dutifully held still while Rebecca applied pungent-smelling salve to her fading bruises.
“You are so kind to me, Mrs. Arthur, but truly, I can walk.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” the older woman scolded, pulling the covers up to Marissa’s chin after applying the salve. Marissa gave up on reminding her that it was August and that she didn’t have the chills. “When Dr. Gillings finds your ankle to be satisfactory, then you can walk. Until that moment you will remain in bed.”
Marissa sat up and fluffed her pillows. “The good doctor could have left me with a pair of crutches. Lazing about after a few days becomes…tedious.”
Rebecca put the salve and medicines away. “You won’t find many people to side with you on that.”
“No, but those shortbread cookies you make really do help.”
Rebecca laughed. “I remember they were your favorite when you were little. I can see that hasn’t changed.”
“Except that I can eat more of them now.”
They were silent for a time. Rebecca straightened the room while Marissa idly studied her empty trunk resting in a corner. The tattered clothes had been removed, and the brittle pages of her grandmother’s Bible were collected and thrown away. The reality of where she was and why she was there consumed her thoughts.
She wondered if Jason was looking for her, or if someone had told him of her whereabouts. He might be searching the town. The safety of the Arthurs was her primary concern. They were honest, good-hearted people who didn’t need to bear the brunt of Jason’s spitefulness.
Perhaps he went to Rowe and demanded the preacher to tell him where she was. Rowe wouldn’t do any such thing, of course. The man had shown her such strength and caring. And when he touched her cheek, a wealth of emotions that she thought she didn’t possess came charging to the surface.
“Marissa, did you hear me?”
She looked toward the sound of Rebecca’s voice. The woman stood impatiently at the window, hand on her hip. “I’m sorry. My mind drifted away.”
“I agree. I’ve asked you twice whether you wanted more light in the room so you can read.”
“Um, yes. Thank you, Mrs. Arthur.”
Sunlight drifted in as Rebecca drew the curtains. Marissa perused the stack of classics that Zachary gave her to read. “Mrs. Arthur, have you received word from Rowe?”
“Who?”
“I mean the reverend.” Marissa swiftly opened the cover of the first novel so Rebecca couldn’t see her embarrassment for the slip in formality. “I had fallen asleep before I could express my gratitude for him escorting me here.”
“He is aware of your gratitude, I’m sure. If not, you’ll have a chance to thank him when you heal.”
So she would see him again in a very short time. The thought made her heart pound inexplicably.
Rebecca came and sat beside her. “Marissa, I’ve been meaning to ask you something very important.”
She braced herself, expecting that Rebecca had noticed her preoccupation with the reverend.
Rebecca folded her hands neatly in her lap. “You carried your grandmother’s Bible with you for all these years. Did you read it often?”
Marissa gave an inner sigh of relief. At least this question was an easier one to address. “From time to time, but not very much.”
The woman didn’t give her the scorn she expected. “Do you know about Jesus Christ?”
“I know He’s the Son of God and that He died on the cross.”
“But do you know why He died, and for whom He died?”
Marissa drew her brows in confusion. What kind of question was she being asked, if the answer seemed so clear? “He died for everyone.”
Rebecca nodded. “Yes, but He died to pay for our sins, so that we could have eternal life with Him in heaven. With Him we can have a life of peace and abundance here on earth as well.”
Marissa turned her head as the familiar hurt and bitterness crept back into her heart and made her hands ache. “That kind of life wasn’t meant for me.”
“Why would you say that, when you were brought up in the faith? I remember your grandmother teaching you scriptures.”
“I’ve forgotten many of them. It’s done me little good.”
“How so?”
“Where was God when my grandparents died? Where was Jesus when my father dragged my mother and me all around Missouri, gambling away our food and supplies? He left us like flea-bitten mutts when the money ran out. Where was anyone when I was left alone?” She tossed back the bedcovers angrily. “Even Jason does well for himself, but look at me.”
“The wicked will never prosper,” Rebecca said firmly. “Don’t compare yourself to that man.”
“I have nothing to compare with. I’ve lost my money in an unfair contract. I am unemployed. No one will hire a saloon girl. I’ve been beaten, and all of my possessions have been destroyed.” Marissa swallowed the catch in her throat. “Even God has ridden Himself of me.”
“That is not true, Marissa. God says, ‘I will not leave you as orphans. I will come to you.’” Rebecca took her by the hands, squeezing urgently. “You must believe that.”
A part of her wanted to believe that
there was still hope. The pain welling inside of her painted everything sad and bleak. She had begun praying again recently, so why did it have no effect? Things had actually gotten worse. “But I was an orphan. After all I’ve been through, no one in this town wants anything to do with me.”
“I do. Zachary does. We’ve always loved you like the daughter we never had. More than that, God loves you. I beg you, Marissa, seek Him out.”
Marissa thought of the times she spent praying with her mother, asking for God to bring them out of poverty, to provide them with decent work. All that praying did was callous her knees. God didn’t love her. If He did, He would not have allowed her to pass for little more than a common strumpet. “If you don’t mind, Mrs. Arthur, I’m tired of seeking charity where it can’t be found. It’s time that I took a stand for myself and make my own way.”
Marissa half-expected Rebecca to put forth another argument or plea, but she merely closed her eyes for a moment and opened them again to peer out the bedroom window. Without another word, she departed from the room.
Marissa raised her head to see what was outside but found nothing except a rooster, scouring the dirt for dropped food.
Chapter 12
ON WEDNESDAY ROWE was busy at his church study writing a sermon when a burly-chested man burst into his study shortly after one o’clock.
“Reverend Winford, I’ve got to see you.”
Rowe arose to greet him. “Is it an emergency, Mister—?”
“Keith McCauley, and no sir, it ain’t an emergency. But I got a really big matter I need you for.” The man panted from running. Sweat marks stained the front of his shirt. “I need you to unite me in matrimony today.”
There was no fooling in the man’s wide, earnest eyes. Rowe pushed the sermon aside. “Mr. McCauley, I’ll be more than willing to conduct your marriage ceremony, but I need time to prepare.”
“I have my papers.” Keith pulled folded documents from his pocket, smoothing the crumpled edges as best he could. “The marriage license. Just got it today in Claywalk, my girl and I did. She don’t want the justice of the peace marryin’ us there. She says she wants the rev’ren in Assurance to do it, ’cos that’s where she’s from.”
The Preacher's Wife Page 10
