by Adell Harvey
“Sounds like a plan,” Peter replied. “Elsie can be a stubborn one, but I hope and pray this all works out. Seems to me you two are right for each other.”
“Even though Andy’s a Mormon?” Trip asked.
“Mormon, Schmorman. He may have been raised a Mormon, but he is now a true brother in Christ, and that’s good enough for me!” Peter answered.
“You knew about Andy’s past?” Trip asked.
“Of course! You don’t think I’d encourage a romance between my baby sister and just anybody, do you? Andy told me his story shortly after we hired him, and I did some checking up on him. If I have anything to do with it, Andy will soon be my brother-in-law.”
Exhausted by her grief over the murder of her friends and her emotional rage at Andy, Elsie slowed her steps. An icy chill settled in her bones as she vacillated between anger and reason. She knew her rage at Andy was irrational, yet how could she possibly be in love with a Mormon, especially after what his father had done to her friends?
Sitting on a bench near El Santuario de Guadalupe church, she watched as cassock-clad priests placed farolitos along the walkway and prepared a crèche for display in the courtyard. A light snow fell, dusting everything with a soft mantle of white. Glad she had grabbed her cloak off its peg in her haste to leave the merc, Elsie pulled it closer around her, snuggling into its warmth.
She sat there for hours, longing for sanctuary from her tortured thoughts. The mellow, flickering light of the farolitos glowing against the adobe church in the gathering winter twilight lent a hushed, reverence to the scene. The aura of peace settling over the Plaza stood in sharp contrast to the turmoil raging in her soul. God, please help me! Elsie prayed. I know you are the God of all peace, but why then is my soul so troubled?
Memories of earlier Christmases washed over her, bringing on a terrible siege of homesickness. How she missed Mama and Papa. How she would love to run to them with her problems and questions. Her parents had been so much in love, so in tune with each other. She knew they would be able to help her. If only they were alive!
Elsie had always thought that she would share that same deep love and devotion with her own husband some day. But how could she share that kind of intimacy with a Mormon who might want multiple wives? She remembered all the things she had heard about the false religion.
Fighting off the sting of more tears, she looked away from the peaceful crèche. She felt almost disappointed with the babe in the manger. You’re supposed to be the Prince of Peace, she thought. So where is my peace? I believed in you, prayed to you, and trusted you. And where has it gotten me?
A tiny stirring in her heart brought her up short. “Enough of this self pity!” she said aloud, realizing her thoughts were wandering into dangerous territory. Without her faith, what would she have left? “Forgive me, Lord,” she whispered. “But I feel so alone right now, so lost.”
For some reason, her thoughts returned to Papa. How kind and attentive he had been. Always worrying about his little girl. Kissing away her scrapes and bruises. Listening intently to her problems. Working so hard for his family. Teaching them, loving them, caring for all of them. Out of the darkness, she thought she heard Papa’s deep, soothing voice, “Can’t you see that Andy is so much like me. He cares for you just like I did.”
Startled, Elsie jumped up from the bench and looked around, half expecting to see Papa standing nearby. Only then did she realize the Plaza was packed with joyful crowds coming to the church to celebrate the first day of the Christmas season, the traditional Fiesta de la Virgen de Guadalupe, the invitation to prepare for the coming of the Christ child. In her emotional state since Trip had shared his bad news this morning, she had forgotten that today was December 12.
The pealing of the church bells, ringing gaily in the frosty night, coupled with the piles of red roses placed on the crèche and the happy crowds swarming around the shrine gave ample testimony that this was, indeed, the night to give homage to the virgin mother. Elsie grinned, forgetting her troubles in the majesty of the Christmas season. For quite some time now, she had eagerly looked forward to attending the fiesta, as the locals had done for the past three centuries. Yet at this moment, she wasn’t sure she was in the right state of mind.
Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard Isaac calling her name through the crowd. “Miss Elsie, Miss Elsie!”
She ran to him, glad to see a familiar face.
“We done thought you was lost,” Isaac said, reverting to his slave voice in his worry.
She quietly corrected him. “You don’t ever need to use that ruse again, Isaac. We’re safe here!”
He lowered his eyes. “I know, but sometimes I forget when there’s so many folks around.” He straightened to his full height as he took her arm and steered her through the crowd. “We were all so worried about you. You’ve been gone for hours. I was afraid something bad had happened to you when you didn’t show up for dinner.”
Elsie apologized for the worry she had caused. “I had so much to think about and to pray about. I’m so upset; I don’t really know what to do.”
“Why don’t we just go home and let the dust settle,” Isaac suggested. “God will surely show you the way.” He put his arm around her protectively. “You’ve had a mighty rough day. Remember that Bible verse your pa taught us? ‘Weeping endures for a night, but joy comes in the morning!’”
Chapter 20
“IT’S ’BOUT time you showed up,” Peter admonished as Elsie rushed in to take her seat at the dining table. “We were about to give up waiting for you.”
She slid into her chair and looked at the festive table. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I stopped at the Guadalupe church to see the festivities. Is that what we’re celebrating tonight?”
The table was laden with so many festive dishes, she couldn’t believe only family was there. For a feast like this, surely they were expecting many guests. Lolani had bowls of meatballs over Spanish rice, green chilies stuffed with cheese, enchiladas, frijoles, carne adovada – it appeared she had emptied the entire pantry.
Elsie glanced at Lolani, who looked radiant as Peter lifted his glass of atole toward her. “To the prettiest bride in Santa Fe,” he toasted. “And to her lucky husband, Trip Ainsley. Or on this auspicious occasion, maybe we should call him by his real name, Alistair Abner Ainsley, the Third.”
Lolani blushed furiously and explained to Elsie, “We go to padre and marry this afternoon!”
Elsie jumped from her chair to give Lolani a big hug. “Oh, I’m so happy for you! But you shouldn’t have spent your wedding day cooking for us. Had we known, we would have prepared a feast for you!” Glancing at the dirty dishes piling up around the table, she added, “Since this is your wedding day, there’s no way you’re going to clean up after us. You and Trip go on out and enjoy yourselves tonight. The boys and I will clear up.”
Trip had the grace to look embarrassed. “I just decided this afternoon,” he admitted. “I came home and carted her off to the padre. Figured my father wouldn’t be traveling this way anytime soon, and what my father doesn’t know won’t hurt me.”
Elsie tried to hide her disgust. On this, his wedding day, with his bride so obviously excited and happy, all Trip could think of was himself. She was so glad Andy wasn’t like that! He seemed to always be thinking of others, especially of her, and of wanting her happiness above all else.
She sat back down, suddenly realizing what, or who, was missing from the celebration. “And where’s Andy?” she asked. “Isn’t he coming in to eat?” A momentary panic gripped her, sending her senses reeling. Surely, she hadn’t chased him off? For these precious weeks, she had basked in the warmth of his love and attention, confident she had found her true love and life companion. She had allowed herself to dream of a future with Andy, the children they would have, of a lifetime of working beside each other at the merc and of growing old together.
She regretted her angry outburst this afternoon, her accusations, her irrationa
l ranting and stomping. Hadn’t he explained that he was not responsible for the massacre of her friends? That he had tried to stop it? And that he was no longer a Mormon? But would he go back to that way of life? Was Andy truly a new creation in Jesus Christ?
Isaac interrupted her troubled thoughts. “I hope it was okay with you, Elsie, but I offered to take over Andy’s duties at the store so he could help Peter with the wrangling chores while Ned is laid up. Andy’s eating out in the bunkhouse with the other wranglers.”
Elsie shook her head, her curls gleaming in the gaslight from the ornate chandelier. “Ned? What’s wrong with Ned?”
Peter filled her in on the details of Ned’s accident, and then he uncharacteristically scolded her. “And after your little tantrum today, Andy thought it would be best if he stayed out of your way. He was going to leave, but I insisted he stay here – at least until Ned recovers.” He looked her directly in the eye and added, “We almost lost one of the best workers we’ve ever had on the ranch. And if you don’t quit acting like a spoiled child and give him a chance to explain himself, you could lose the best man you’ll ever find willing to marry you!”
Elsie had the grace to blush. She looked down at her hands, primly folded in her lap. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “But I was so shocked at what happened to my friends. Then to learn that Andy was there…”
Peter softened his tone. “We’re all truly sorry for your friends. I can’t even imagine such evil…” His voice drifted off, as he seemed to be at a loss for words.
“You sound so much like Papa,” Elsie ventured. “I wish he was here to advise me. I miss him so much!”
Peter rose and put his arm around her. “If I sound like Papa, maybe I can stand in for him and give you some fatherly advice. I’m sure he would tell you to at least listen to what Andy has to say and then follow your heart.”
Isaac had already begun stacking the dirty dishes, so she and Peter picked up bowls and glasses and headed for the kitchen. Just then, the door burst open. Andy stood before them, his eyes flashing like a man with a mission. “Elsie Condit, you are going to listen to me!” he demanded, reaching for her arm.
She jerked back as if she’d been singed by a hot coal. No matter how angry she was with him, his touch still stirred unfathomable sensations – a gentle burning where his fingers touched, tingles in her toes, shivers, and goose bumps. Her body reacted to him in so many ways, traitorous to what her mind wanted her to do.
Peter and Isaac moved toward the door, ready to give the couple the privacy they needed. Andy stopped them. “No, don’t go,” he insisted. “I want you all to hear what I have to say.” Motioning toward the dining room, he told them to take a seat. “This could take awhile, so you may as well get comfortable.”
Never having seen Andy with such a take-charge attitude, Elsie obeyed with the others, sitting at the far end of the table to keep enough space between them so he couldn’t touch her again and send her senses reeling.
“All day I’ve been in a quandary, trying to figure out what I should do,” he began. “Then I decided to simply sit and let God’s Word speak to me. A verse seemed to jump off the page from the Apostle Paul in I Corinthians. ‘Watch ye, stand fast in the faith, quit you like men, be strong,’” he quoted. “As I sat there in the quiet bunkhouse, God seemed to be prompting me to stand fast. To be a man and to be strong. I realized running away was not the answer.”
Andy leaned his arms on the back of a dining chair. “I realized I’ve been running all my life. When my mother and sister died. When Anne Marie and Ingrid needed me. When I witnessed my first blood atonement. When I hid from the militia. And when men I had looked up to slaughtered innocent families for no reason.
“Since I was little, my father and the other Mormon leaders drilled into me to ‘do my duty.’ But when that duty conflicted with my conscience, it threw my whole being into upheaval. I didn’t know what was right or wrong. Was it my duty to obey my conscience and disobey the church leaders? Or to simply obey them, no questions asked? The easiest thing was just to run from it. Does that make me a coward? That’s what Pa called me.” Andy hung his head as sobs shook his shoulders.
Isaac reached over and patted Andy’s arm. “None of us can imagine what you’ve been through, my brother. But we do know God has had his hand on your life. He has brought you here.”
Andy wiped the tears streaming down his cheeks and looked directly into Elsie’s eyes across the room. “One thing I know for sure is that God wants me to be strong and act like a man, so I’m demanding that you come out for a ride with me this evening and listen to what I have to say. If, after that, you still don’t want to have anything to do with me, then so be it.”
Despite Elsie’s efforts to stifle them, a wave of giggles overtook her. Seeing Andy so uncharacteristically assertive struck her funny bone, and she couldn’t stop laughing.
“You think this is funny?” Andy pulled her cloak off the peg and strode toward her. “We’re going for a buggy ride and not coming back until we settle this thing. I believe we’re meant to be together, and I refuse to run away again! I’m tired of being a fugitive, and I can only say that it stops now!”
Elsie giggled again. This time, her laughter was contagious. Flashing the dimple deep in his tanned cheek, Andy grinned as he gently wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and picked her up.
Snuggling into his arms as he headed for the door, Elsie murmured happily, “You can’t run away from me. I’ll never let you be a fugitive from my love.”
The End
Get a sneak peek at
Adell Harvey & Mari Serebrov’s
anticipated sequel...
Thirteen-year-old Mary Rasmussen will do almost anything to avoid becoming a plural bride. Marrying a doddering old man, joining his harem of sister wives, and taking care of their dozens of kids is definitely not her idea of a happy life.
Charles Rasmussen, however, sees his beautiful, spirited young daughter as his ticket to advancement in the Kingdom of God. If he makes an alliance to give her in marriage to one of the church authorities, it will win him re-entrance into the inner circle of Deseret, a position of power that slipped away while he was proselytizing in Denmark for the past ten years.
Their mutually exclusive goals clash with increasing intensity as Mary succeeds in avoiding one marriage after another. However, when the Prophet himself begins to envision the voluptuous young virgin in his marriage bed, Mary begins to plot her escape in an exciting and daring attempt to freedom.
Coming in 2017
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www.KamelPress.com/Runaway
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Chapter 1
Summer 1867
Parowan, Utah Territory
“THREE HUNDRED forty-eight… three hundred forty-nine… three hundred fifty,” Eliza chanted as she twirled the two ropes.
Mary’s heart skipped a beat, but her feet kept their rhythm, touching the ground the second after the two ropes cleared it. She was almost there. Just a few more jumps and she would set a new Double Dutch record for the school! To add to her soon-to-be victory, Mary flashed a big smile at Louisa, who was at the other end of the ropes, and turned her body in mid-air.
“Mary, you’re bleeding!” Louisa shrieked, dropping her end of the ropes.
The ropes caught Mary’s legs, causing her to sprawl on the ground. Louisa and Eliza rushed over to her. Mary was spitting mad.
“Durn!” Mary exploded, using the closest thing to a curse word that wouldn’t get her mouth washed out with soap. “How could you do that to me?” she yelled at Louisa. “I almost had a new record!”
“But you’re bleeding,” Louisa said in her usual soft-spoken manner.
“I am now!” Mary examined her scraped knees and palms.
“Louisa’s right,” Eliza whispered. “Look at your shoes.”
Mary glanced down at her scuffed leather boots handed down, like most of her things, from her brothers or mother. They were
splattered with blood, as was the ground around her. She started to stand up.
“It’s all over the back of your skirt, too.” Louisa looked worried as she helped Mary up. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know. I think I’d better go home. Ma will know what to do.” Mary tried to keep the concern out of her voice, as she felt a stream of blood trickling down her leg. Was she dying?
She shook her head. Everyone knew she was strong and not afraid of anything. Why, she had even beat up the biggest boy in school when he bullied one of the little kids. She wasn’t going to show fear now – not even in the face of death.
“I’ve got to get my things. Stay close behind me so no one can see my skirt,” she quietly ordered. Her friends nodded in agreement and fell in behind her as she hurried toward the schoolhouse.
Mary went straight to the cloak room and grabbed the Mexican poncho Andy had sent her. She tied it around her waist, hoping to hide the ugly stains on her skirt. “I’ve got to go home,” she called to the teacher, Brother Moore, and then ran out the door, with Eliza and Louisa close behind.
“Do you need us to come with you?” Eliza asked.
“No. I’ll be all right. If anyone asks what happened, just tell them I tripped and hurt my leg. Not a word about anything else.” Mary looked at her friends solemnly. “Promise?”
“Promise,” the girls said in unison.
As Mary turned away, Louisa reached for her hand. “Please don’t die. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
Mary tried to look brave. “I’ll be all right.”
Wanting to avoid the curious stares of nosey townsfolk, Mary cut through a few fields until she was clear of Parowan and all the work being done on the new rock church. Then she cut over to the rough road leading to her cabin. She absently kicked a stone, watching it stir up dust as it tumbled down the dirt road in front of her. All sorts of worries wandered through her mind. Was she really dying? And if she wasn’t, then why was she bleeding?
