The Scoundrel's Bride (14 page)

All because that wicked Zach Burkett had filled her mind with worries last night.

She’d retired to bed haunted by his accusations and grasping for reasons behind his vicious, unfounded charges. As she’d tossed and turned, she could think of nothing he had to gain by making such preposterous claims. So why had he bothered? The question plagued her mercilessly.

Then, in the darkest hours of the night, a possible answer had occurred to her, and she’d abandoned all idea of sleep.

Maybe Zach Burkett was telling the truth.

It was a crazy thought, considering what she knew of the man, but something in his manner made her wonder. He’d appeared truly concerned. Perhaps he did worry about the possible effects of an opiate on unsuspecting recipients. It was possible that he wished to ensure their safety.

But where Zach Burkett went wrong was in his assumption of Reverend Uncle’s guilt. The man she knew and loved as a father would never do something so vile. But it was possible that something harmful had been added to the elixir.

She, herself, might have put it there.

It worried her half to death.

Morality knew her uncle’s miracles were real. She was proof of that. But she couldn’t deny that upon occasion, the miracles simply didn’t take. Be it rheumatism or the ague, pain of the belly or of the heart, sometimes the problem returned. A few times the penitent or someone in his family had followed the revival wagon to its next destination, begging for a second chance or complaining of her uncle’s methods.

Reverend Uncle believed the problem lay in a weakness of faith. He claimed that those whose miracles disappeared didn’t have the strength of soul required to sustain a religious wonder.

Morality had always fretted over that explanation, because she feared her own weakness might eventually cause the return of her blindness.

Now, because of that awful Zach Burkett, she wondered if her uncle might be mistaken. Perhaps those miracles weren’t miracles at all. Perhaps they were the temporary result of something she had, in her ignorance, added to the elixir.

It was a terrible worry that swirled in her mind like the liquid did in the kettle. Her elixir recipe contained such basic items as sugar, spices, and salt. But occasionally, she’d add an extra ingredient to the brew—like wild mint or an herb she’d discover in the forest.

What if one of those additional elements contained dangerous properties? What if something she added to her elixir acted like an opiate?

Had she harmed innocent people through her own ignorance? Could she have actually killed someone?

Whipping her spoon around the kettle, she was so engrossed in her worries that she didn’t notice her uncle’s approach.

“Morality?”

She started, jerking her stir stick. Water sloshed over the sides of her pot. “Yes, Reverend Uncle?”

“I wish to speak with you. Please join me inside my wagon.”

Liquid hissed as it dripped onto the hot coals. “But Reverend Uncle, I need to finish—”

“Now, Morality.”

“Yes, sir.” She pulled her spoon from the pot and set it aside. Grabbing a rag, she wiped her hands and followed her uncle.

The rich aroma of coffee greeted her inside the wagon, and she gazed longingly at the steaming mug that sat on the preacher’s small round worktable. Morality didn’t function well on little sleep, and she would have welcomed the stimulation a cup of strong coffee had to offer.

The idea brought her thoughts right back to the elixir and drenched her in guilt.

Reverend Uncle gestured for her to take a seat on the cushioned cot. Instead of taking his usual chair, to her surprise, he sat beside her.

“My dear, a problem of great magnitude has come to my attention, and I have decided the time has arrived to settle the matter.”

A deep sense of foreboding filled Morality. She scooted sideways, away from her uncle, and braced herself before asking, “Is this about the elixir?”

“The elixir?” he repeated, his brows dipping into a frown. “No, it’s not. Why would I—” He broke off, dismissing the question with a wave of his hand. “That is of no consequence. The matter I wish to discuss has nothing to do with elixir, my dear.”

Morality breathed a sigh of relief.

“It has to do with marriage.”

She sucked the sigh back down her throat. “Marriage?”

He nodded solemnly, and his voice rang with sincerity. “Morality, I fear for your soul.” He took her hand in his and continued. “The older you become the more you remind me of your sinful, immoral mother. It is my duty as your guardian and God’s messenger to do all within my power to protect you.”

He gave her hand a squeeze. “I have prayed about this long and hard, and the Lord has given me an answer. It is time for you to marry.”

Morality’s eyes went wide. She’d all but forgotten what Patrick had overheard in the wake of her clash with Zach Burkett. How could it have slipped her mind? She needed well-considered arguments, right here and right now!

Her heart began to pound and her knees felt weak. Her time for finding her own husband had just run out. Unless…She shook her head and said, “I don’t understand. Reverend Simpkins was—”

“The wrong man for you,” Harrison finished. “You require a strong man of God who understands the weakness bred into you at birth, Morality. You must have a man who will stand tall against the devil inside you. A man who will respect the debt you owe for your miracle. Your husband will walk the pilgrim’s road at your side, sharing his own gifts and preaching God’s word to those in need.” He reached across with his free hand and patted her knee. “I know just the man you need.”

Not Reverend Simpkins. It was just as she had feared. Morality’s hope lay dashed upon the wagon’s wooden floor. Who, then? Obviously not a man of her own choosing. Her mouth tumbleweed dry, she cleared her throat and offered the first objection that came to mind. “But Reverend Uncle, I don’t know a man such as the one you described. I can’t think of anyone I know who meets such exacting requirements. And surely you can’t mean for me to marry a man I have never met.”

She smiled tentatively and did her best to prevent it from wobbling. “After all, there is no reason to rush into something that will change our lives, right?”

He shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Your life has already changed, my dear. The past year has been a constant battle to protect you from bachelor scoundrels with indecent designs.”

Reverend Simpkins a bachelor scoundrel? She hardly thought so. Morality took care with her words. “Reverend Uncle, I’ve received three offers of marriage. I wouldn’t exactly term a proposal an indecent design.”

His eyes went as cold as a West Texas norther. “Are you arguing with me, child?”

“No, sir. Of course not.” Emotions churned inside of her, souring her stomach. But faced with what was probably the most important issue of her future, she couldn’t afford to let the matter drop. “It’s just…well… I had some dreams, Reverend Uncle.”

“Dreams?” He shifted closer to her. “What sort of dreams?”

Morality licked her lips and said, “Love. I’d hoped to love the man I marry.”

He released her hand and draped his arm around her shoulders. Morality stiffened as a shudder raced up her spine. Reverend Uncle seldom touched her, and he’d never before laid such a…familiar hand on her.

She wanted to jump up and flee the wagon.

But he was Reverend Uncle, so she remained in her seat.

Smiling benevolently, Harrison replied, “Well, then, we have no problem whatsoever. You already love the man you will wed.”

She swallowed hard. “I do?” He nodded.

Her mind raced to come up with a name, drawing blank. “Who is he, Reverend Uncle?”

His smiled displayed a mouthful of yellowed teeth. “I is I, Morality.
I
have decided to marry you.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

MORALITY BLINKED, THEN PULLED at her ear, certain the problem lay in her hearing. He couldn’t have said what she’d thought he’d said. Then, when he muttered something she couldn’t quite make out, she was certain her hearing had failed.

Until he leaned over and kissed her on the lips.

Morality slipped right off the cot, her bottom thudding against the wood slat floor.
Oh, my
. She lifted her hand to her mouth and surreptitiously wiped away the kiss. She couldn’t believe this! Reverend Uncle had raised her from childhood.

Harrison scowled as he reached down to help her up. “You do love me, don’t you, Morality?”

Morality gazed at him stupidly. “Of course I love you, Reverend Uncle, but…” He was her family. The only father she’d ever known. She couldn’t marry Reverend Uncle, the idea seemed almost…incestuous.

“We’ll marry here in Cottonwood Creek at the beginning of the final revival meeting. We’ll put a notice in the
Clarion
inviting everyone in town to come and share our joy. The crowd is bound to be the largest we have ever had. And Morality?” He smiled benevolently. “You may purchase cloth for a new dress.”

A tent-revival wedding? To Reverend Uncle? Morality’s stomach knotted like old corset lace. “Reverend Uncle, I don’t know what to say.”

“No need to thank me, child. It’s what the Lord wishes for us.” His gaze trailed over her body, pausing at the vee in her bodice where she’d undone the hooks. Morality shuddered once again.

In a raspy voice, her uncle continued. “The Lord has great plans for me, Morality. You and the children we will create together are a part of it. We’ll travel west to San Francisco and east to New York City! We’ll carry His message to the peoples of this great land and…”

Morality heard little of what he said after the mention of children.
Children. Oh, dear God
. A wedding with Reverend Uncle. Children with Reverend Uncle.

The marriage bed with Reverend Uncle.

Please, Lord. I can’t do this
!

Eventually a knock on the door interrupted his vainglorious tales. Mayor Thomas requested Reverend Harrison’s presence for noon dinner at the Creekside Inn. After instructing Morality to finish bottling the elixir, he took his leave.

She’d never been so glad to be quit of someone in her entire life.

Morality’s shoulders slumped beneath the weight of her troubles as she crossed the lot to her kettle. She added wood to the fire and inhaled the simmering liquid’s pungent aroma, uncertain if the tears stinging her eyes resulted from external stimulus or internal provocation.

She tried to imagine being married to Reverend Uncle. She remembered her aunt and tried to picture herself tying on that woman’s apron. She envisioned year after year of unending revivals, of repeating the story of her miracle a million times. She’d grow gray, and wrinkled, and nothing would change from what it was today.

Except where she made her bed.

Was this truly what the Lord required of her? Was this to be the price of regaining her sight? “I’d rather be blind,” she muttered, grabbing up her spoon.

Shame coursed through her. She was wicked and sinful to think such a thought. Hadn’t Reverend Uncle opened his home and his heart to her? Hadn’t he fed her and clothed her and taught her the ways of righteousness for the past thirteen years?

Morality sighed. Life was so confusing. Why must she have these hopes and dreams beyond her reach? Big wishes like a home that didn’t roll on wheels. Small wants like dresses in colors other than brown or gray. Her uncle had promised to show her New York and San Francisco. She’d rather stay right here in Texas if it meant she could raise her own tomatoes and pick ripe peaches from her own fruit tree.

Morality had dreamed about her husband, too. He’d be tall and strong and handsome. He’d be young—younger than Reverend Uncle, anyway. He’d treat her kindly, he’d never lie to her or hit her, and he’d allow her to speak her thoughts with impunity.

And her husband would love her.

Dipping her spoon into the kettle, Morality shook her head at her own foolishness. Dreams were well and good, but reality was what she must deal with. At the moment, the reality looming before her was either wicked disobedience or marriage to her uncle.

From the corner of her eye she saw a flash of red, and she looked up to see a cardinal glide to a perch atop the tent’s center pole. Oh, to have a pair of wings of her own. She’d soar right out of here, away from all her worries. She’d load up her wishes and—

Morality froze, sensing she was no longer alone. Tension hummed in the air. Straightening her spine, she pushed a damp curl away from her face and turned.

Zach Burkett leaned against her uncle’s wagon, his arms crossed. While she watched, he lifted a hand and pushed his hat back, revealing brilliant blue eyes that observed her with a fierce intensity.

Subtly, the heat surrounding Morality altered until she wondered if one of the coals beneath the kettle had leapt into the pit of her stomach. Flustered, she whipped her spoon around the pot until liquid sloshed over the sides.

The sizzle. It was the fire, wasn’t it?

Her voice betrayed a slight quaver as she shook her head and said, “Go away, Mr. Burkett. I do not wish to speak with you.”

He pushed away from the wagon and started toward her. With each sauntering stride he appeared taller, bigger, and almost threatening. “Go away,
Zach
,” he stressed. “I hate the pretense of formality.” Halting beside her, he leaned forward and sniffed. “What mischief are you cooking today?”

She looked up at him. “Mischief?” she repeated vaguely, her gaze locked on the single curl of raven hair that fell carelessly down his forehead.

“Cinnamon, that’s it.” His lips lifted in a crooked smile. “Do you know this fragrance clings to you, angel? It haunts me.

“Holy water,” she breathed, her knees wobbling. Strengthening her voice, she continued. “Elixir. I’m mixing the elixir my uncle uses at his prayer meetings.”

Zach’s smile faded and his eyes darkened with resentment. He jerked his head toward her basket of ingredients. “You have some morning-glory magic in there, Miracle Girl?”

She opened her mouth to protest, then abruptly snapped it shut. How could she denounce his charge when it might just be the truth? Morality turned back to her brew. “Please leave me be. I’m having a particularly trying day. Haven’t you bothered me enough?”