Heart of Stone (12 page)

L
aura was sipping a cup of tea the next morning when Anna brought the
Glory Gazette
to her in her study. She thanked the maid and, when the door closed again, opened the newspaper. When she scanned the headlines her blood ran cold.

“Prominent Widow Felled in Saloon.”

“Preacher Defends Her Honor.”

“Publisher’s Wife Witnesses Fray.”

Laura gripped the paper and read on:

Story by Hank Larson, Publisher and Editor in Chief.

Editor’s Note: Touting the
Gazette
as nothing less than a fair and unbiased source of news, it is with dismay that we print this story, for not only was my own wife involved, but so was Reverend Brand McCormick, as well as Mrs. Laura Foster of Foster’s Boardinghouse, both esteemed friends.

Two days ago, Mrs. Laura Foster was abducted outside of the Silver Slipper Saloon and dragged inside against her will. Mrs. Foster found herself in an untenable situation after volunteering to summon and drive Reverend McCormick to the site where he and Amelia Larson tended to an
ailing young woman. When she stood up to her aggressor, Mrs. Foster was knocked unconscious. Reverend McCormick quickly came to her aid by subduing her attacker. The reverend was unhurt during the scuffle but the perpetrator was felled.

Mrs. Larson and Reverend McCormick rushed Mrs. Foster to her place of residence where she immediately came to her senses. The attacker was last seen riding out of town with his associates. Veteran Confederate Army Lt. Jenkins, known to most folks around Glory only as “Rob,” declared he’d never seen anything like it.

“If push come to shove and I ever needed a man at my back, that preacher fella’d be the one I called,” Rob told this reporter the day after the altercation.

Mrs. Foster is said to be recovering. Reverend McCormick had no comment.

The unnamed, ailing young woman formerly residing at the Silver Slipper passed away and was buried yesterday in Boots Up graveyard south of town.

Laura let the newspaper fall into her lap.

“Prominent Widow Felled.”

So much for privacy and anonymity. She didn’t have to rely on gossip. Hank had taken care of spreading the story.

She lifted the paper and reread the story twice. Hank made it sound as if she’d been dragged off the street into the saloon. She didn’t know whether to thank him or give him a piece of her mind. What would Brand’s congregation think of what he’d done? It was true, Hank’s story made a hero of Brand, but he was still a minister. To think that he’d hit someone, lost his temper because of her—

She folded the paper and left it in her study. Her guests certainly didn’t need to see it.

After asking Richard to hitch up the horse and buggy, she went upstairs for her hat and reticule. There was still a slight morning chill in the air, and she grabbed a shawl before she made her way back downstairs and headed over to Amelia’s to ask for advice.

She found her friend in the apothecary shop that took up half of the front room of her home. Amelia was measuring a liquid into bottles and capping them with corks when Laura knocked and then let herself in.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Amelia told her. “I was looking for a reason to stop working.”

“Why don’t I help?” Laura asked, eyeing all the empty bottles. “You’ll be finished in half the time.”

“That would be wonderful.”

“What is this?” Laura set her reticule on the top of the display case and then took off her shawl.

“Rheumatism liniment. With cold weather coming on, people will be needing it for aches and pains.” Amelia reached for Laura’s chin, turned her face so that she could inspect her bruise. “Is the tonic I sent helping?”

“A bit. It’s soothing, at least.”

Amelia placed the funnel atop a small bottle. Laura carefully tipped the pan and poured the liniment. They spent a moment in silence, filling and corking bottles.

“I have a feeling I know why you’re here,” Amelia said finally. “I
told
Hank not to print that story.”

“I guessed he wouldn’t want folks thinking he was censoring the news and holding back the story because you were there.”

“Exactly what he told me.” Amelia set a full bottle aside and picked up the last one. The bottles were various sizes and colors; folks all over town saved their empties for her remedies.

“That’s not why I’m here,” Laura said. “I came to tell you that I’ve tried to discourage Brand’s attention. He called on me yesterday to return my hat and see how I was faring. I told him I’m the
wrong woman for him. I told him we didn’t suit. That I wasn’t who and what he thinks I am—”

“Don’t you care for him at all?” Amelia held out the bottle.

Laura poured in the remaining tonic. “Of course I do. As a friend. He’s a good man. The best. But trust me, I’m the wrong woman for him. I can only do him harm.”

“You’re one of the finest people I know, Laura. What you did for us when Hank was wounded, the way you spared no expense to host our wedding just so I’d have a wonderful memory…”

“None of that makes me good enough for the Reverend Brand McCormick.”

“Everyone in town thinks you two are well suited for each other.”

“What do you mean
everyone
?” Laura paused, shocked.

“Ever since the choir performance, folks have been wondering when and where you’ll show up on Brand’s arm again. Even before the paper hit the street, word was out about how he defended your honor.”

“My honor wouldn’t fill a child’s thimble,” Laura whispered.

Just then Hank walked through the door and headed straight for Amelia.

“I’m the luckiest man in Glory,” he said as he kissed her on the cheek and gave her a squeeze. “To have not one but two beautiful women in my house.”

Amelia gave him a playful shove. “Don’t make me spill this,” she warned.

He kissed his wife again before he turned to Laura. The evidence of their love was more than apparent and left Laura filled with an aching emptiness.

“I hope you’re not upset with me over the feature story,” Hank said to Laura.

“What’s done is done.” It was impossible to be mad at him. She was more upset at herself for walking into the saloon. What happened was her own fault.

He went over to an armchair near the front door and sat down.

“The day after the incident, rumors were flying. I thought I’d put a stop to them by getting out the truth.”

“Thank you for trying,” Laura said.

“There’s talk of Brand being honored after church on Sunday morning. I’m sure whatever the Auxiliary cooks up will involve lots of fried chicken and fixins. We’d be happy to pick you up, Laura. Around nine. That should get us there in time to get a good seat.”

“Pick me up?”

“For Sunday service and the supper afterward.”

“I’m much better at preaching than I am courting.”

She glanced over at Amelia. Her friend was busy corking bottles. Hank expected an answer.

“I won’t be going this week.” The last thing she needed was to make more of a spectacle of herself. She picked up her reticule and threaded it over her wrist.

Hank didn’t press her, but watched her closely. Laura looked up to Hank as a writer more than anything else. If she’d only been a man and her life circumstances different, she might have tried her hand at writing herself.

As it was, she could only live a fictionalized version of her own life.

“I hope you’ll change your mind,” Amelia said offhandedly. She bent down to line up the bottles of liniment inside the glass-fronted case. When she straightened, she looked directly at Laura. Her expression did little to hide her true feelings. “If you do and want to ride with us, just let me know. I can’t imagine you’d miss an occasion where Brand is being honored for displaying courage on your behalf.”

Laura bid them farewell, determined not to let on that Amelia’s words had left her shaken. If she didn’t go to the service, she’d be negating what Brand had done. If she did, she would not only bear the burden of being an imposter, but she’d run the risk of giving
Brand false hope. Not to mention stoking rumors that there was something more than friendship between them.

Who knew, she thought, that being respectable took so much time and effort? Such a toll on one’s peace of mind?

B
rand paced the wide veranda fronting Foster’s Boardinghouse as he waited for Laura to return. He pulled his watch out of his pocket and pressed the knob that popped the lid. It was almost noon. Anna had said Laura would be back in time to preside over the midday meal.

He lifted his hat, shoved his hand through his hair, and took up pacing again. He was due home an hour ago. Charity was waiting for the bundle of things he’d picked up at Harrison’s Mercantile. If Laura wasn’t back soon—

Just then he saw her buggy coming up the street. She drove straight through to the back, toward the carriage house. He picked up his dry goods and headed around the veranda to meet her just as she was coming up the back steps.

“Brand.” She couldn’t hide her surprise. In fact, she looked downright startled to see him.

He took a deep breath. Tried to smile. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“So I see,” she said. “I was at the Larsons’.” Her brow knit into a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you in love with someone in New Orleans?”

Her hand went to her throat. “What are you talking about?”

“Harrison Barker told me that you have been corresponding with a man in New Orleans for some time now.” He thought he’d feel better once it was out, but he didn’t and wouldn’t until he knew the truth. “Is that why you claim you’re the wrong woman for me? Because there’s someone else? If that’s it, you could have just said so.”

“I do correspond with someone in New Orleans. But that’s none of Harrison’s business, or yours, for that matter. His job is to
collect the mail when it’s dropped off, not go through it and spread gossip. I’ll be having a word with him tomorrow.”

“I’ve a right to know if you’re in love with someone else.”

Her chin went up and he knew immediately he’d made a huge mistake.

“What gives you that right?”

He set his bundle down on a nearby stool.

“I’ve spent more time confused and in prayer these past few days than I have since I found my calling.”

He could see his honesty set her back. She took a minute to collect herself. Took a deep breath. His admission left her shaken.

“I told you I was the wrong woman for you. I don’t know how else to say it.”

“Then it is true. There is someone else.”

“No. There is not. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Reverend, I’m needed inside.”

Brand watched her walk away no more content than when he’d first arrived.

T
he rest of the week crawled by at a snail’s pace for Laura.

She kept to herself in the house, watched and hoped her bruise would fade quickly. She thought of calling on Amelia, but she was afraid her friend expected her to give in and attend Sunday service.

Days were growing shorter as fall shadows lengthened. She lit the lamps, brewed pots of tea, and spent time closeted by herself in her library. Yet of all the books in her collection, nothing held her interest.

She found herself staring into space more often than not, picturing Brand’s face as she’d seen him last. The day after their argument, she’d penned a note to Harrison Barker and given him a piece of her mind. She told him her correspondence was none of his business and she’d thank him to keep from reporting any gossip that concerned her. The next day she’d received a note of apology and a lovely tin of sassafras tea.

On Saturday night she had a houseful of guests, but she couldn’t summon her usual conversational wit and banter. All she could think of was Brand and the Sunday supper to be held in his honor after the service.

Would he care if she wasn’t there? Would the congregation think it rude if she snubbed the way he stood up for her? Not only
had she disappointed Amelia and Hank by turning down their invitation, but was she trampling on Brand’s heart again?

She told herself that’s what he got for wearing his heart on his sleeve. All that ever came of believing in love was heartache.

On Sunday morning, Rodrigo hitched up the buggy to take a young couple boarding with them to church. Laura stood in front of the bay window in her room and watched them leave.

The clock downstairs chimed the half hour. She walked to her dressing table and found she couldn’t face herself in the mirror. Instead she went to the huge armoire that held her dresses—silks, satins, worsted, gabardines—and chose the most demure gown she owned. It was dove gray with black stripes and piping. She hadn’t worn it since she first moved to town playing the grieving widow. She slipped it on and rang for Anna. The maid was there in minutes to help her button up the back of the dress.

“You look sad, señora.” Anna stepped back, looked her over from head to toe. “Are you all right?”

“I’m going out for a walk. I’ll be back in a little while.”

“You want Ricardo to go with you?”

Since the incident at the Silver Slipper, the Hernandezes had been coddling her. Laura tried to smile reassuringly.

“I’ll be fine after a little fresh air. Don’t worry. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.” Laura pinned a small, boxy hat atop her upswept curls. “Thank you for your help.”

Anna left her and Laura finished putting the final touches on her ensemble. The clock downstairs struck nine as she picked up her gloves and umbrella and headed downstairs.

The minute she left the house, she had known where she was headed, though she didn’t fully admit it to herself until she was standing outside the church.

Glory’s only church was nothing like the grand St. Louis Cathedral on Jackson Square in New Orleans. (Though she’d never been inside the cathedral, she had certainly traveled down the promenade on Rue de Chartres, beneath the triple spires towering
over the square.) The simple white clapboard building in front of her might have been mistaken for a school if not for its high bell tower and steeple. Inside, the church was miniscule.

The doors were open in welcome. Choir music drifted out.

She paused to the right of the stairs until the singing stopped. A minute later, she heard Brand’s voice, confident and strong as he spoke to his congregation, welcoming them. She took a deep breath, marched up the stairs, and peeked in.

The church was packed. As Brand read from the Bible, she stepped through the door and edged along the back wall until she reached the side aisle. Her heart began to pound when she realized there was nowhere to sit. She had no idea how long Brand would continue reading. Any minute now he might look up and see her.

As she hovered near the back, Laura noticed Mary Margaret Cutter sitting at the end of the second to the last pew. Mary Margaret glanced over her shoulder and smiled. She waved Laura over and nudged her husband, Timothy. The elder couple slid down the pew and Laura sat down and tried to make herself disappear.

She kept her eyes downcast, hoping Brand wouldn’t spot her. He had finished his reading when she finally looked up, but he hadn’t noticed her. Sunlight filtered in from the tall stained-glass window on the wall behind him. The rays reflected the many shards of color in an intricate mosaic of the Good Shepherd and his flock. As Laura stared up at the window, a gentle feeling of peace flowed through her.

The feeling was short lived. Brand spoke of his loss of temper that week in his sermon. She’d called upon all her courage just to walk in the door, yet Brand was able to stand before his friends, neighbors, and all those who turned to him for solace and advice and humble himself before them.

“Today you are congratulating me for standing up to a bully. A man who hit a defenseless woman. But the Bible tells us a wise man keeps himself under control.”

He paused to scan the gathering. Laura knew the moment his
gaze found hers, for the slightest of smiles touched his lips. Mary Margaret noticed too. She nudged Laura with her elbow and when Laura turned, Mary Margaret winked. A few others noticed that Brand’s focus had shifted. Heads began to swivel. Laura looked neither right nor left, but directly at Brand. In that moment, he was her lifeline. She could only hope she did not pull him down with her.

“Someone close to me was hurt and I lost control, which is no excuse. I’m a man of God and should always set an example, but in that instant, I wasn’t thinking. Anger and fear took over and I struck out. At first I despaired of my actions. But what must we remember when we slip and fall? That everyone who believes in Him receives forgiveness in His name.”

Brand made it sound so very simple: believe and your sins will be forgiven. Surely that wasn’t all there was to it, especially when the will to believe in anything but survival had been taken away from her so long ago.

As she sat there listening, curious and attentive, the hollow sound of heavy footfalls rang out against the floorboards of the center aisle. Like everyone seated around her, Laura’s gaze was drawn to a tall young man standing in back. Framed in the doorway, his face was shadowed by his wide-brimmed black hat. His shoulders were broad, his stance somewhat familiar. He wore dark pants, a dark-blue shirt beneath a leather vest. A holster rode his hips.

He didn’t move as he stared at Brand.

“Welcome. We’re happy to have you here,” Brand said.

The man took a step farther into the room. When he failed to remove his hat or make any gesture, Laura’s heartbeat spiked. Was this man somehow connected to the men in the bar? Was he here for retribution? She held her breath.

The stranger walked up the center aisle and stopped a third of the way down. Behind him, a couple seated near the side door got up and hurried out. There was some shuffling and hushed, nervous whispers. A few more people slipped out of the church.

Laura was too stunned to move, as were most of the others. The newcomer was far younger than Laura first thought. No more than eighteen or nineteen.

His dark eyes never left Brand’s.

“I just heard you say that God forgives us our sins, Preacher.” His voice carried across the room without shouting.

Brand watched him closely. If he was afraid, he showed no fear. “I did—”

“You think He’ll forgive you for everything just as long as you believe? Is that right?”

“That’s what the Bible says.”

“Convenient.” The word was barely audible but everyone heard it.

“If you’ll have a seat, I’d be happy to talk with you later—”

“Happy? That’s funny, seein’ as how you don’t even know who I am.”

Brand moved away from the lectern and started toward the aisle. Before he took another step, the young man called out, “God might forgive you, but can you forgive yourself for what you did to my mother? Can you forgive yourself for walking out on her and leaving her in shame? Answer that, Preacher.”

Brand’s steps faltered. His eyes never left the young intruder. He whispered something only those in the front rows might have heard. Laura strained forward, grabbed the back of the pew in front of her.

The young stranger whipped off his hat. He was handsome in an exotic way.

“Look a bit harder and you’ll see her in me. You might even see a little of yourself, Preacher. You don’t know me, but I can see that you remember her—the woman you abandoned before I was born. The woman you deserted because she was Cherokee.”

Brand’s face drained of color.

A collective gasp filled the room. No one moved. Seconds ticked by.

Suddenly from the front pew, Janie’s voice, high and thin, cut through the tense silence.

“Papa? What’s wrong?”

Laura couldn’t see Brand’s children in the front row, but she could just imagine their fear and confusion. Charity was seated on the altar with the adult choir. Like everyone else, her gaze was riveted on the young man in the center aisle. Unlike the others, she looked as if she were seeing a ghost.

Before she realized she’d moved, Laura was on her feet, making her way to the front. Blind to everyone else in the church, she hurried to the end of the front pew where Janie and Sam were watching their father with wide, frightened eyes.

“Janie, Sam, come with me.” Laura held out her hands and the little girl grabbed one and held on tight.

“What about Papa?” Sam wouldn’t budge.

Thankfully, Amelia, steady and calm, suddenly appeared at Laura’s side.

“Go with Laura, Sam,” Amelia whispered as she scooted into the pew. She took hold of Sam’s hand and drew him toward the aisle. “You, too, Janie. Stay with Laura.”

“Tell Brand I’ve take them to my house,” Laura whispered. Amelia nodded.

As Laura quickly whisked the children out the side door, she glanced back. Her breath caught. Brand was moving off the altar, walking toward the armed stranger.

“What was that man saying to Papa?” Janie wanted to know. “Why is he so mad?”

“He needs help,” Laura told them, trying to smile. “Your papa will talk to him. Everything will be just fine.”

Her mind raced, her thoughts focused on Brand as she walked down the street between his children, holding their hands.

“That man said Papa abamanned his mother. What’s abamanned?” Janie wanted to know.

“Abandoned.
That’s when you leave someone behind,” Laura explained.

She glanced over her shoulder. She picked up her pace. She could see the handful of people who had fled the church still milling around outside.

“Is he gonna abanmond us? Where are we going?” Janie planted her feet and refused to budge. “Where are you taking us, anyway? Why can’t we stay with Papa?”

Laura sighed in frustration. “I’m taking you home with me. Remember Peaches? She’ll be on the porch, most likely. You can pet her.”

“Don’t be such a baby. Papa won’t leave us for long.” Sam looked up at Laura. “You got anything good to eat?”

“Lots,” Laura said.

“With sugar?”

“Plenty of sugar,” she promised. Rodrigo always had an array of fresh baked goods on hand.

“See, Janie? It’ll be okay.” Sam let go of Laura’s hand and skipped down the street.

“Don’t get too far ahead,” Laura called out.

Janie stuck out her bottom lip, but she started walking again.

Laura tried to ignore the feel of Janie’s little hand in hers as well as the blind trust in Janie’s eyes. She warned herself to guard her heart and tried to convince herself there were no feelings involved. She had merely acted on impulse to remove Janie and Sam from an untenable situation, that was all. Rushing to their aid certainly didn’t mean she
cared
for them—or their father—anymore than she cared for anyone.

L
ook a bit harder and you’ll see her in me.”

Brand did see
her
in the young man’s eyes. Sarah Langley, the woman he had loved so long ago. She had been his first true love, though he’d been too young and foolish to see it then. He’d wooed
and won many young women in the wild years of his youth—but unlike the others, he had fallen in love with Sarah.

As he stared at the young man standing in the aisle—Sarah’s son,
his
son—Brand was aware of movement to his right. He’d heard Janie’s voice, but was afraid to take his gaze off the young man with the gun.

A young man whose eyes resembled Sarah’s, except they were cold and unforgiving.

A few minutes ago, Brand had noticed Laura sitting in the back of the church. His heart had soared. Now she and everyone else in the church was at risk.

Not only was there a slight commotion to his right, but Brand noticed that Hank Larson had silently slipped around to the back of the church. Hank was in the center aisle, gun drawn, inching his way toward the young man claiming to be Brand and Sarah Langley’s son.

Brand raised his hand—just barely, but enough to halt Hank in his tracks. The sheriff hovered at the far end of the aisle, unseen by Langley.

Brand walked off the altar and started slowly toward the youth. He spoke calmly, and in truth, he wasn’t afraid. Whatever happened, his faith was in the Lord.

“Why don’t we step outside? I’d be happy to talk to you, son.”

“Don’t call me that.”

The young man appeared at a loss, as if he hadn’t thought past the initial confrontation. His gaze shot around the room, his face paled as if he were aware suddenly of where he was and how many people were watching.

When Brand reached his side he lowered his voice. “What’s your name?”

“Jesse. Jesse Langley.”

“Come with me, Jesse. Please.”

Brand reached for Jesse’s arm and began to walk him toward the side door. Once they were outside, Brand heard Hank addressing
the crowd left in the church. Those who had already slipped out earlier had backed off to a safe distance to see what would happen. Brand ignored them and walked Jesse around the corner.