Revealed (6 page)

He hesitated. Maybe there was a different way to go about this. ‘‘Could you tell me if you have a forwarding address for a Mr. Jonathan McCutchens? He had a place here up ’til a few months ago.’’ Although Matthew would hardly call the two-room shack where his brother and that . . .
woman
. . . had lived a real dwelling.

The clerk was already reaching for a long slender box. ‘‘Let me see . . .’’

Matthew waited as she thumbed through the pieces of paper. Johnny had always been the more impulsive one. Some people might have labeled him foolhardy, but Matthew actually admired Johnny’s sense of fearlessness and had come to believe that sometimes his brother, though good-intentioned, simply didn’t think things through well enough before acting. Most of the time it ended up working for him somehow.

Growing up in the wake of Johnny’s missteps, Matthew had determined to live more cautiously, not to make the same mistakes, and he’d managed to carefully maneuver the pitfalls that Johnny had fallen prey to. Namely, with women. Even as a young man, Matthew realized that God had given him an extra measure of restraint. And for that, he was grateful. Not that he didn’t struggle with natural desires. He did.

There were many times when the thought of taking a wife, of sharing that union with her, would consume nearly every waking thought. The desire within him was strong, yet he knew God intended for that desire to be met in marriage. And he’d determined long ago to wait—despite the struggle and despite Johnny’s merciless ridicule about it when they were younger.

Besides, it wasn’t like he had anything to offer a woman right now. Especially one who appeared as good and kind and deserving as the young lady staring back at him from behind the counter.

She shrugged her slender shoulders. Her smile dimmed, but not her sparkle. ‘‘I’m sorry, but if you’ll check back with me tomorrow . . . maybe something will have come. . . .’’

‘‘Thanks just the same, ma’am,’’ Matthew said, suddenly eager to leave. ‘‘I appreciate your help.’’ He tipped his hat and didn’t look her in the eye again.

He stepped outside to the boardwalk only to see Hudson’s Haberdashery across the street—the shop where Kathryn Jennings had once worked. He turned and strode in the opposite direction. As he rounded the corner, the scent of baking bread and roasting meat taunted his appetite, and hunger gnawed his belly—just as the failure of recent months gnawed his bruised pride.

Pulling the piece of paper from his pocket, he moved off to a side alley to read it again. The name on the advertisement seemed familiar to him for some reason, but he couldn’t quite place it. He’d always believed in signs, and though it had been a while since he’d felt that inner prompting, surely this was God paving a new path for him, giving him a second chance.

Matthew removed his hat, frowning at the road dust now coating it. He tunneled callused fingers through his hair. It was too long for his own taste, and a month’s growth of beard gave him an untamed look he doubted would be of much assurance to the person who had placed this ad. Counting the last few coins in his pocket, he watched his list of options narrow with a pang of clarity.

Two hours later, in his last change of clean clothes, he stepped from the barbershop. He ran a hand over his smooth jawline and inhaled the scent of bay rum. Shaven, shorn, and bathed, Matthew made his way back across town to the address listed on the advertisement. With no money left to satisfy his hunger, he stopped by Fountain Creek and drank deeply of the cool waters until the pangs in his belly eased.

His luck was about to change. He could feel it. After all, how difficult could it be to escort one widow woman to the Idaho Territory?

CHAPTER | FOUR

T
HE PLAYFUL INTIMACY OF
the scene made Annabelle feel as though she should get up from the breakfast table and leave, yet she couldn’t. It was like a compelling story she couldn’t put down. She watched Patrick, then Hannah, to see what would happen next.

‘‘But it’ll only take a few minutes, Hannah, and I’d really like your thoughts.’’ Bracing his long arms on either side of his wife from behind, Patrick tossed Annabelle a smile as he cornered Hannah against the washtub in the kitchen. He leaned close. ‘‘Please, it’s a difficult subject to broach and it’ll only take a few minutes.’’

Hannah swished her fingers in the soapy water and flicked it over her shoulder into his face. ‘‘I’m busy with the dishes, Patrick. I can’t listen to it right now. Maybe later.’’

He nuzzled her neck. ‘‘Come on . . . my sermons are so much better with your input. As a woman, you have insights I don’t have.’’

Annabelle watched, mesmerized. Hannah didn’t stiffen at Patrick’s touch, nor was there the least sense of her having to endure his hands on her body. Quite the opposite was true. Even Hannah’s protests seemed like an invitation.

Hannah’s mild objections finally dissolved into giggles as she turned to face him. Her arms encircled his waist as he pulled her close. ‘‘And what’s the
difficult
topic for this week, Pastor Carlson? How to live with a pesky preacher?’’

Apparently thinking he’d won the standoff, Patrick reached for the stack of papers on the kitchen table. But when he did, Hannah scooted out of reach.

With the table as a safe barrier between them, she winked at Annabelle. ‘‘I pose my question again, Pastor Carlson.’’ Her voice turned playfully formal. ‘‘What’s the topic that I, being of the female persuasion, have such incredible insight into?’’

Patrick gave her a wicked grin. ‘‘The deceptive nature of sin.’’

Hannah’s jaw dropped open in teasing shock just before her laughter erupted.

Annabelle couldn’t help but join them both, giggling. She marveled at their ease with each other and the way Hannah looked at Patrick. The love between them was almost tangible, and the intensity of it caught Annabelle off guard.

Her throat tightened in response, her smile faded. Would she ever look on a man the way that Hannah looked at Patrick, or so strongly desire a man to touch her like that? To caress her like Patrick surely did Hannah when they were alone? And why hadn’t she felt that with Jonathan? Just pondering the thought felt traitorous to his memory, and Annabelle bowed her head in response.

Then she noticed the silence in the room and slowly looked up.

Hannah’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears. ‘‘Oh, Annabelle, we’re sorry.’’ Her voice wavered.

Sick regret lined Patrick’s expression. He came to kneel beside her. ‘‘Please forgive us for joking like that. On my honor, I never intended to hurt you—neither of us did. Women are no more prone to sin than men are. I was only teasing Hannah because she wouldn’t listen to my—’’

Annabelle raised her hand, realizing the misunderstanding. ‘‘No.’’ She shook her head. ‘‘That’s not it at all. Nothing either of you said hurt me.’’ She managed a smile at Patrick, then included Hannah. ‘‘It’s just that . . . what the two of you have . . .’’ She swallowed, hoping to loosen the knot in her throat. ‘‘I’ve never . . . I’ve never known that before.’’ Annabelle hesitated, not wishing to dishonor Jonathan’s memory in any way. ‘‘Jonathan and I . . . It simply wasn’t like that between us.’’ She took a quick breath. ‘‘I feel selfish even
thinking
these things much less speaking them aloud, but . . . I guess I’m wondering if I’ll ever . . .’’

Hannah came and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘‘Annabelle, it’s not selfish at all to want to be loved. And of course you’ll experience this. You would have had this with Jonathan. I’m sure of it. The love between you two just didn’t have time to grow— that’s all.’’

Patrick quickly agreed, but Annabelle couldn’t help but wonder. What she and Jonathan had lacked in their marriage went far deeper than the simple passage of time or a husband and wife becoming more familiar with each other.

With deepening clarity the same truth that gripped her heart the night Jonathan passed away suddenly tightened into an awful fist. Physically tensing, she realized, without any doubt, that the fault of what had been lacking in their relationship—though Jonathan had never once cast blame—lay with
her,
rather than with them as a couple, as she’d once thought. Would the life she had once lived render her forever incapable of truly loving a man that way? Or of allowing herself to be loved?

Or could what Jonathan had said be true.
‘‘A person can’t love
someone else . . .
until
they’ve learned to love themselves first.’’
Fragile hope stirred inside her at that one key word. Jonathan had known she wasn’t capable of loving him like that even before she had. And still, he’d married her. But didn’t a pupil need a teacher in order to learn?

A dull ache started in her stomach, constricting to a spasm that had become more familiar in recent days. She stood, a hand cradling her waistline. ‘‘Patrick, I’d be happy to listen to your sermon . . . later, if you want me to.’’ Her body flushed hot, then cold. An unsettling sensation quivered her stomach. She moved toward the back door, shooting Hannah a look. ‘‘But first I need to take a quick walk out back.’’

Hannah nodded, understanding softening her gaze.

A knock sounded from the front porch.

Their collective attention flickered in that direction. Hannah gently pushed a dishcloth into Annabelle’s hand, motioning for her to go on. ‘‘I’ll get that, and one of us will be out to check on you in a bit.’’

Annabelle let the screen door slam behind her, but above its clatter she heard the insistent, repeated knocking coming from the front door. Whoever was waiting on the other side . . . patience certainly wasn’t one of their virtues.

A while later, aided by the fence post at the furthermost edge of the Carlsons’ garden, Annabelle stood slowly, thankful the nausea had passed. She held a hand to her forehead a moment longer until the dizziness lessened, then blew out a breath. Inspired by spring rains, wild flowers flourished in the field behind the Carlsons’ home, and Annabelle feasted her senses, turning her face into the warm breeze.

If the past week was any indication, her pregnancy was going to be a rocky one. But she would never wish away this baby, this lasting thread tying her to Jonathan. If the baby was a boy, he would carry on Jonathan’s family name. Annabelle placed her hand over the smooth front of her skirt. Whether boy or girl, with God’s help, the child would be taught Jonathan’s faith. She would make certain of that.

She couldn’t imagine adding to her present nausea the constant jostling and bumping of a wagon over the nearly one-thousandmile trip to Idaho. Yet she waited every day for an answer to the ad Patrick had penned for a hired guide to accompany her. If someone didn’t answer soon—

‘‘Mind if I join you, ma’am?’’

Lost in another world, Annabelle startled at the deep voice behind her. She turned and couldn’t keep from smiling at the comical expression masking Patrick’s face.

‘‘I’d be much obliged, ma’am, if you’d let me keep company awhile with you. Seein’ as my horse done died on me and I walked the last twenty miles barefoot.’’

Her smile widened to a grin. Patrick’s imitation of a languid cowboy, made complete by the tipping of his invisible hat, coaxed a laugh from her—and a confused squint.

He grinned and shrugged his shoulders as if to say he didn’t know why he was doing it either, then glanced back to the house. His look turned sheepish. ‘‘Mrs. Cranchet just stopped by for a visit.’’

‘‘Ah . . .’’ Annabelle nodded, remembering the elderly widow who often dropped by unannounced with ‘‘divine inspiration’’ for Patrick’s sermons. She’d overheard the woman on two occasions while in the Carlsons’ home, and from what Annabelle gathered, the topics were never things that Mrs. Cranchet struggled with herself. Mainly they came in the form of veiled gossip.
‘‘Fred Grandby
was seen going into the saloon last Friday, so you might want to teach
on the evils of liquor,’’
or
‘‘Martha Triddle has been sporting too many
new dresses of late, highly fashionable ones at that, so a lesson on
vanity would be most timely, Pastor Carlson.’’

Annabelle worked to lend sincerity to her tone, while trying to hide her smile. ‘‘But Patrick, I thought Mrs. Cranchet normally came to see
you
.’’

A faint blush accompanied his wince, and Patrick shrugged again. ‘‘The honest truth?’’ He arched a single brow.

‘‘That’s the best kind.’’

‘‘I’m just not up to listening to her sermon suggestions today.

Not with tomorrow’s sermon still at loose ends.’’

Annabelle noted the papers in his hand. ‘‘I see. So Hannah bailed you out again, huh?’’

He nodded. ‘‘I’m married to a saint. The most wonderful woman a man could have.’’

‘‘That she is, my friend. And she did pretty well for herself too.’’

Patrick smiled a wordless thanks. ‘‘You feeling better?’’

‘‘Much. For now, at least.’’ They chatted for a moment, and then Annabelle took the opportunity to ask him about the advertisement.

‘‘Still haven’t heard anything, but I’m sure we’ll get a response soon.’’

If only she shared his certainty. ‘‘It’s the end of May. If I can’t hire a guide in the next few days and leave soon, it’ll be nearly impossible to catch up with Brennan’s group. Besides, I hear we need to allow enough time to get there and get settled before the first snowfall.’’ The option of traveling alone with a man she didn’t even know for the entire trip to Idaho Territory was out of the question in her mind. She knew, better than most women, the basic nature of a man. What was more, she knew Jonathan would have been against it.

‘‘I checked around town yesterday.’’ Patrick ran a hand along the rough pine fence railing. ‘‘There’s not another group scheduled to leave from Denver for the Idaho Territory ’til next spring.’’

Upon hearing that, Annabelle’s determination to make this journey took deeper root. After all, she had promised Jonathan, and this had been his last wish for her and their child.

A stinging reminder of the reason she needed to leave Willow Springs rose in her memory, further deepening her resolve. The cool looks she’d drawn from people in town the other day, followed by their not-so-hidden whispers, hurt far more without the invisible protective wall she’d spent years building. For an instant, she’d been tempted to tell the people what hypocrites they were, especially two of the men she remembered entertaining at the brothel. But in the end, she couldn’t do it.