Second Chance Bride

by Jane Myers Perrine

  For a moment he clasped his hands, closed his eyes and attempted to pray, but he and God had never been all that close. His God was a moral being, not one John could go to in sorrow. In fact, he and God were barely on speaking terms. How could he confess or feel close to a distant God? He’d never been the type of man who told God about his problems and expected God to listen or solve them.

  And yet she had.

  Reaching out his hand, he picked up the ring and clenched it until the crown cut into his finger.

  “I’d like to see Mr. Sullivan, please,” a man’s voice came from the front hall.

  Who would come by so late? Before he could move, the study door was thrown open and the sheriff entered.

  “Sullivan,” he said, and settled in a chair in front of the desk as if he’d been invited.

  “Sheriff.” John nodded politely. “How are you and your wife?”

  “Very well.”

  But the smile that usually covered the sheriff’s face when he thought of his new wife didn’t appear. “I came to talk to you about something. Actually, two things. First, I hear someone has shown interest in that parcel of land over northwest.”

  “Yes, I’ve been in and out of Austin because a lien was placed on it and questions have been raised about its ownership. How did you know that, Sheriff?”

  He answered that query with another question. “Do you know a rancher up in Weaver City named Roy Martin?”

  “Only by name. He’s the man who’s challenging my right to the title.”

  “Seems there’s a man named Willie Preston in town, a man who works for Martin. Preston’s come to Trail’s End a couple of times for his boss. Don’t know much more than that, but thought I should drop by and mention it.”

  “I don’t know a Willie Preston, either.” He glanced up at the sheriff, wondering. “Again, how do you know this?”

  “Preston knew Matilda—or rather, Annie—in Weaver City. He recognized her in town and attempted to blackmail her. Said if she gave him five hundred dollars, he wouldn’t tell you who she was.” The sheriff nodded. “Guess you know the rest of that story.”

  The fact that Annie—he must think of her that way from now on—had come forward herself made no difference. She was who she was, and he didn’t want to talk about her. “I still don’t understand. Why is Preston here?”

  “Might be that Martin sent him down to see if he could do a little mischief, figure out a way to get that piece of land cheap. Don’t know. I’m going to talk to the man tomorrow.”

  “You think my land is safe?”

  “Don’t know.” He sat in silence for a moment before he looked into John’s eyes and said, in a soft voice with an edge of anger, “I hear you tossed her out.”

  “Men like Roy Martin and his man Preston are what a sheriff should deal with.” John stood. “But this woman? She’s none of your business, Bennett.”

  “Yes, she is. You see, she’s a friend of mine and a friend of my wife, and that makes it my business. They’re both over at my place, crying. A man can take only so much of that.”

  John leaned his palms on the desk and glared at the other man. “Your wife shouldn’t be around that woman.”

  “I guess you mean Annie when you call her ‘that woman.’ Well, Sullivan, if you wouldn’t mind sitting down, I’d like to tell you something about her.” When John continued to stand, the sheriff said, “Have it your way. I’m going to tell you no matter what.”

  As the sheriff talked, John had to sit down to listen. The details of her life horrified him.

  “Just seven years old,” the sheriff said. “Younger than your daughter, beaten every day, sleeping outside and working to support her drunken father.”

  John’s stomach churned. He stood and went to the open window to take a deep breath and gain control of himself. “She didn’t need to become a prostitute.”

  “Not many choices for an illiterate fourteen-year-old out here that don’t include a man.”

  John turned. “Illiterate?”

  “Amazing, isn’t she? She couldn’t read or write when she got here. She taught herself and worked hard to stay ahead of the students.”

  “Sheriff, I appreciate your coming by, but—”

  “Lucia told me that your daughter is upset and crying.” The sheriff stood. “Think about what you’re doing, Sullivan. Your daughter already lost one mother. Now she’s lost another because you can’t accept the love of a good woman.” He turned toward the door. “Doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “What you said sickens me, Sheriff, but what kind of man could forgive and accept that woman’s lies and her past?”

  The sheriff looked back at him. “Only a good Christian could, John.”

  He watched the sheriff leave and soon heard the front door shut behind him. For a moment, he considered what Bennett had said about Annie. It didn’t change the fact that he’d had fallen in love with a prostitute. He’d been deceived and he couldn’t forgive that. Guess he wasn’t that much of a Christian. The idea of forgiveness had never sat well with him.

  When Annie heard Amanda in the kitchen the next morning, relief filled her. Now she could stop pretending to be asleep.

  She’d barely been able to sleep, all night, she’d looked out the window. She’d sat on the edge of the bed, thinking and praying. She knew God had heard, and felt the comfort of His presence holding her in love. Whatever happened, she wouldn’t face it alone.

  She rolled out of the tiny bed, washed up and straightened her clothing before she went out to the kitchen. In the early light, she checked her watch. Only six-thirty.

  “Breakfast?” Amanda asked, then she gasped when she saw Annie. “Didn’t you get any sleep?”

  “A bit. Do I look that bad?” Annie tried to smile. “I’ll sleep later, after I see Willie Preston. I’m not hungry, but thank you.” She looked at her friend. “You’re really becoming a homemaker, aren’t you? Cooking and cleaning house?”

  Amanda nodded, refusing to be distracted. “Coffee?”

  Annie shook her head and walked to the window. Dark clouds roiled across the sky and the wind blew so hard the trees bent before its strength. “Do you think it will rain?”

  “Probably not.” The sheriff entered the room and sat at the table. “Looks like perfect conditions for dry lightning. Hope we don’t get any.”

  After Amanda made a few attempts at conversation, they all finished breakfast in silence. Then the sheriff took a gulp of coffee and pulled Amanda to him.

  “Goodbye.” He kissed her, then turned toward the door. “Annie, don’t you forget we’re your friends.”

  Annie watched him ride out, holding onto his hat as the wind tried to tear it from his fingers. Once he’d left, she turned to Amanda. “I’m going out now.”

  “You can’t.” Amanda dipped a plate in the dishpan and picked up a towel. “The weather is terrible.” She gestured toward the window. “You can’t go out there.”

  “I have to meet Willie Preston. I want to know why he came to Trail’s End, and I have to stand up to him.” She hugged her friend. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be back as soon as I talk to him.”

  “But you’re almost ninety minutes early.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Annie repeated.

  When she opened the door, the blast of wind hit her, almost pushing her back into the house. Leaning forward, she forced her way through the gusts that tore at her hair and clothing. Above her, dark storm clouds scuttled across the sky.

  With the struggle against the searing, dusky blast, the walk took over an hour, nearly three times longer than usual. Upon her arrival, she looked around the plain but saw only the blowing grass that looked like a dry ocean.

  Almost nine o’clock. He would be here soon.

  After a few minutes of being buffeted by the wind, she sought shelter under a live oak, sitting against the rough bark of its trunk. Time passed, but there was still no sign of Preston. With an exhausted sigh, she rested her head on the tree trunk
and closed her eyes, just for a moment.

  Annie awoke with a start. How long had she slept? She blinked and covered her eyes as dust blew into her face. The clouds churned, dark and ugly, but no rain fell from them. In the distance she saw a flash of lightning.

  Dry lightning, the plague of a parched prairie.

  It took a moment for her to wake up enough to become aware of her surroundings. She leaned forward and took a deep breath. Thick smoke filled her lungs. Annie took a deeper breath. Yes, smoke. A roar reverberated across the meadow. She leaped to her feet and looked around her.

  The fire must have started from a stroke of dry lightning while she slept. Or perhaps Willie Preston had started it. Not that it mattered.

  From the east she saw smoke and flames, blown by the storm and headed directly toward her and the Sullivan ranch. With no thought for her own safety, she began to run. She had to get there before the fire did. She had to warn them.

  As she sprinted across the rapidly closing space, she realized how quickly the wind raced and swirled across the plain. Flames leapt and spun and sowed more fires all over the prairie. The new conflagrations were fed by the maelstrom and moving much faster than Annie could. In no time, the blaze surrounded her, a huge roaring circle closing in.

  To the south, she saw an opening. Could she reach it before it closed?

  Hot air scorched her lungs and she gasped for air in short pants as she ran. She pushed herself, coming nearer and nearer to the quickly disappearing space.

  Intent on reaching the gap, she almost didn’t hear the distant call for help. Stopping, she turned west. When she’d run twenty yards and could see the top of the ranch house, she heard people yelling on the other side of the blaze, their words indistinguishable but their panic unmistakable.

  After a few more feet, she saw the reason. Elizabeth stood perhaps fifty feet from her, and a glowing, crackling wall of fire separated the child from the house.

  With a burst of speed, she dashed toward her and shouted, “Elizabeth!”

  “Miss Cunningham!” Elizabeth ran toward Annie and launched herself into her teacher’s arms. “My father said you were gone,” she sobbed.

  “I’m here now.” Annie clenched the child to her chest. “We have to get out of here.” She put the child down and tore off part of her own skirt. “Put this over your nose and breathe through it.” She placed another piece over her own mouth and nose, picked Elizabeth up and ran toward the narrowing passage on the south end of the blaze. “Hold on tight.”

  “I was just playing next to the stock tank. I didn’t notice the fire until I couldn’t get out.”

  “I’m here. You’ll be fine.” But Annie knew she couldn’t run fast enough holding Elizabeth, even as tiny as she was.

  “I’m going to put you down now,” Annie said, and pointed. “See that opening down there? We’re going to run to it together. Hold my hand. I know you can run really fast.”

  Elizabeth clung more tightly to Annie’s neck. “No, don’t put me down,” she sobbed. “I’m scared. Don’t leave me.”

  Annie looked up in time to see the gap to the south close as two fires met in an astounding blaze. She had to find a way to save the terrified child. “Let’s go back to where you were.”

  “But there’s fire, Miss Cunningham. Father and Duffy tried to save me, but they couldn’t get through.”

  “I’ll think of something.” Dear Lord, please help me think of something.

  As they ran toward the stock tank, Annie studied the fire. Six-feet high and collapsing in on them. She looked around her. She could put Elizabeth in the tank until the blaze passed but thought there wasn’t nearly enough water to cover her, and the child would be so frightened alone.

  “Look, Miss Cunningham! The fire’s almost as high as the roof!” Elizabeth began to sob.

  “Elizabeth!” someone called from the other side of the fire.

  “I’m here with her!” Annie shouted.

  Of course being together only meant that she and Elizabeth would both die in the blaze if she didn’t think of something. If the flames didn’t kill them, the smoke would.

  “Elizabeth, get in the water.” She took her to the stock tank. Obediently, the child followed her direction. “Throw me a blanket!” she shouted to the group on the other side.

  She waited for the blanket as the flames raced closer. It finally arrived, tied in a ball and soaring over the fire.

  “What now, Miss Cunningham?” Elizabeth was coughing so much Annie could barely understand her words.

  “Stand up and wring your skirt to get as much of the water out as you can. I’m going to dip the blanket in there.”

  “Won’t the water make me safer?”

  “Yes, but I’m going to wrap you in the blanket and throw you over the flame. You’ll be too heavy with too much water in your clothing.”

  “Throw me?” Tears mixed with soot on Elizabeth’s face.

  Annie knelt beside the child. “Pretend you’re the alle-over ball. I’m going to toss you over the flame and into your father’s arms.”

  A smile glimmered. “Pretend I’m the alle-over ball? I can do that.”

  Annie nodded and grabbed the wet blanket, wrung it out and wrapped Elizabeth in it. She closed the blanket tightly, took the four corners and tied them together, then shouted as she approached the narrowest section of flames. “I’m going to toss Elizabeth to you! Get ready! You’ll have to catch her!”

  Elizabeth was a lot heavier than the ball they used for alle-over but Annie hoped she’d be able to do it. It was her only idea, her only option. If this didn’t work, if she tossed the child into the flames, it meant death. But if she could gather all her strength to make this throw, at least the child would survive.

  “Hold still, Elizabeth.” She stood sideways, held the knot on the blanket tightly with both hands. Using every bit of muscle she could muster, she swung the blanket back, then forward and let it go at the highest arc.

  “Here she comes!” she shouted as the blanket cleared the flames. Within a second she heard a cheer. “We got her!”

  “Thank You, God,” she whispered.

  The flame crackled, close and hot. She had only a few more seconds to breathe. Hurrying to the tank, she stood in it to dampen her skirt and then ripped her wet petticoat off and wound it around her hands and covered her head. Could she make it through? If she didn’t try, death was certain.

  “Annie!” she heard John cry.

  “I’m coming.” Taking a breath through the wet cotton, she located a place in the flame that looked narrow and began to run through the fire, her sodden skirt ensnaring her legs.

  Flames licked at her, catching her sleeves on fire and swirling around her body. It felt as if the heat were melting her bones and flesh. Finally, she couldn’t move any farther, couldn’t stand up any longer. As she began to sink into the inferno, hands caught her and pulled her out while someone poured water on her.

  She didn’t remember anything after that for a long time.

  When she awoke in a dark room, Lucia was kneeling on the floor beside her, praying. Annie’s lips were parched and her throat and lungs hurt when she attempted to speak.

  “Water,” she croaked.

  “Oh, Miss Cunningham, you woke up!” Lucia held the glass out and slowly trickled the liquid down Annie’s throat and on her dry lips.

  Waves of pain swept over Annie’s body. Her arms were wrapped in something, as were her feet and legs. Her hands were slathered with balm.

  “How long?” she whispered, after painfully swallowing the water.

  “Two days. The doctor gave you medicine for the pain, to help you sleep.”

  “The fire?” she whispered.

  “It rained. Only minutes after you came through the blaze, the clouds opened and it rained and put the fire out.”

  Rain. That was good. She fell asleep again.

  The fifth day after the fire, she awakened to see John and Elizabeth by her side. Elizabeth leaned ov
er, careful not to touch Annie. “I’m fine, Miss Cunningham. Only a few burns. Thank you.”

  Annie tried to smile.

  “Thank you for saving my daughter,” John said.

  Were there tears on his cheek? Probably tears of joy for his daughter. Then she noticed his hands, both heavily bandaged.

  “That was you?” she asked. “You pulled me through the fire?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.” Of course. He was a good man. He’d have helped anyone caught in the fire. She closed her eyes and fell back to sleep.

  The next day, Annie examined her injuries as Amanda changed the wrappings.

  “I trimmed a little of your hair that was burned, but the petticoat protected your head and hands well.” She moved down to unwind the bandages on Annie’s legs. “The doctor said we can leave these off today. Your legs weren’t burned too badly and the shoes protected your feet. But your ankles.” She shook her head.

  Then Amanda leaned back. “The worst burns are on your arms and your lungs.”

  Annie bit her lip as Amanda attempted to remove the wrappings slowly and gently. “I’ll have scars.”

  Amanda nodded.

  “Will I be able to write?” She looked at her hands, which were puffy and blackened.

  “The doctor believes you’ll heal completely, except for the scars.” Amanda attempted to blink back tears. “You were so brave. You saved Elizabeth.”

  “When can I leave here?”

  “John says you may stay for as long as you wish.”

  “How long does the doctor say?” she whispered, having trouble catching her breath.

  “No one knows. You have to heal.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes again, remembering the hands that had reached out to save her.

  A week later, Annie stood at the window. The rain had lasted two days, she’d been told. She could see the scarred section of the prairie where the fire had raged, but the rest was thick and green. Pink flox and orange-red standing cypress poked their heads up through the luxurious grass. Here and there she saw the fragile purple petals of the wine cup.