Leather and Lace

Chapter 10

Morgan stayed in Houston with the preacher for nearly a month. For once, he wasn’t planning how to kill Jenkins. No longer tormented by a voracious need to find the outlaw, he helped out at the small church and reflected upon the past four years. Doing things for others made him happy, and he caught himself laughing, really laughing. This had to be real peace.

With a freedom in his soul not evident in years, Morgan realized his hate-fueled vendetta never would have been satisfied by killing Jenkins. The loathing for the outlaw had given him a reason to get up every morning. If Jenkins had been killed, Morgan would no longer have had a reason to live. His demons never would have let him go. The preacher helped him face the truth about himself and seek forgiveness. What happened four years ago was not his fault, but he could help Casey escape the same fate. The pain of regret left him determined to be a different man. He’d treated his family and God shamefully. Surely the future held more than the past.

Now he understood how Casey must feel—her longing for a free life gave her strength. He no longer concerned himself to why they’d met or even why the attraction. Its frail beginnings felt warm and almost forbidden. The thought shook him to his toes. Perhaps his need to help her stemmed from the same desire to live for tomorrow and discard the filth from yesterday. If so, that was enough.

I’ve become a philosopher. Must have been the coming-to-Jesus meeting with the preacher. Morgan prayed the insight would also give him wisdom.

He set his sights on finding Casey, but first he needed reconciliation with his family. After a week, he posted a letter to his mother that he’d be home soon and had much to tell her. Then he sent another one to Doc in Vernal, being careful not to mention names. He wrote:

Wire me if you know of our lady’s whereabouts. I need to find her before anyone else does. Remember our parting conversation? God finally has my attention. The past is behind me. I’m in Houston for a few more weeks, then will move on to see my mother near Kahlerville.

A week later, Morgan received a telegram from Doc.

Not heard from our lady. Rumors aren’t good. Please find her.

*****

Late one July morning, amid dripping sweat that soaked the back of her shirt and flooded her mind with discouragement, Casey met a boy riding a mule near the outskirts of a rural town. He greeted her with a wide grin and a face dotted with peach-colored freckles. Hair the color of straw fell across his forehead and around huge ears. Bare feet emerged like wings from the sides of the swaybacked animal.

“Fine mule you have there.” She forced a smile.

“Thank you, sir.” He raked back the hair from his face and patted the animal’s neck. “Your horse is real fine.”

Her smile proved genuine. “His name is Stampede. Likes to run.”

“My pa would like him. He loves good horseflesh.”

“Can you tell me the name of the town up ahead?”

“Kahlerville.”

“Does your town have a preacher?”

“We sure do.” He sat taller on the mule.

“Does he live there, or is he the traveling kind?” A spurt of something livened her spirit. Maybe it was the innocence of the boy.

“Oh, Reverend Rainer and his wife live right beside the church. In a parsonage. That’s what ya call the house where a preacher lives.”

“You don’t say. I didn’t know that. Does he preach a good sermon?”

With a tug to his outstretched ear, the boy contemplated her question. “Well, I don’t always listen real good like I should, but my pa says Reverend Rainer is better than most. A lot of folks come on Sundays and Wednesday night prayer meetings, if that helps.”

“Is your sheriff law abiding?”

The boy nodded. “We don’t have any outlaws, and if we did, my pa says we’d string ’em up.”

Casey smiled. “Sounds like a fine town.”

“My pa calls it sleepy ’cause nothing ever happens, but that suits my ma.”

“Thank you. I may pay your town a visit.”

The boy disappeared, and Casey wondered if Kahlerville could be her town. But a tough sheriff might recognize her. Or would he? If his reputation scared away those who broke the law, then the likelihood of an outlaw settling in Kahlerville seemed small, making it a potentially safe place to live.

She was so tired of running and being called “sir.” Life seemed no easier than riding with Jenkins, except this way she had a chance to live better. She followed the same road lined with huge oaks into town and rode down through the center of activity. One side of the street held a barber-undertaker, a boardinghouse, and a general store that had the sign POST OFFICE. A bit of melancholy met her at the thought of Hank and Maude. A small building clearly marked LAW OFFICE caught her attention. The opposite side of the street marked the sheriff’s office and a two-story bank building. She laughed. Clever banker.

She shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare and spotted a newspaper and telegraph office, the newest of the buildings. Several feet outside of town, beyond a cluster of pine trees, stood a two-story saloon. She’d never had a liking for whiskey. She’d tried it twice, and both times, she’d gotten sick. Two ladies sunned themselves from a second-story window and waved as she rode by. The red and purple trimmed building obviously housed entertainment for citizens of the sleepy town.

Casey looked beyond the edge of town and viewed a livery and blacksmith. A growing town, not too large. For a moment she wondered if Morgan’s hometown looked anything like this, but he’d indicated that he lived west from where she roamed.

She rode on past the business establishments to where the road wound to the right and then curved sharply back to the left. Off to the left in a grove of pine trees nestled a small church and a neatly kept two-story frame home. Both appeared to have received a recent coat of whitewash. Everything in this part of Texas looked green and pretty. Between the house and the church, a tall man labored over a picket fence. The pounding of his hammer echoed through the morning air like a woodpecker bent on making its place in the world. The man stopped long enough to pull a nail from his pocket. So intent were his efforts that he apparently didn’t notice the lone rider.

The sound of children’s laughter captured her attention, and she turned to see a schoolhouse set back even farther from the main road on the right. Ah, noontime. In her curiosity with Kahlerville, she’d ignored the rumbling in her stomach, and she seldom took time for anything but water in the mornings. The entire picturesque scene flooded her with a sense of peace and safety. Maybe she didn’t belong here at all, but she wanted a place to call home.

Tying her horse to a hitching post in the churchyard, she observed that the man had discovered her. He waved at her with a little less fervor than the two ladies at the saloon. Finding a burst of courage, she seized the opportunity to greet him while walking his way.

“Morning, sir. I’m looking for Reverend Rainer.”

“That’s me. What can I do for you?”

He looked about sixty years old with silver hair and soft gray eyes that radiated warmth. Perspiration beaded his face, and she noticed several lines etched across his forehead, revealing a man consumed with care.

Casey removed her hat so as not to leave any doubt of her gender. “My name is Shawne Flanagan,” she said. “I met a young boy outside of town who directed me to you. I’ve just ridden in and hoped you could help me.”

“Certainly.” He wiped his sweat-beaded face on the arm of his blue shirt. “Would you like to come inside?”

“Oh, no, sir. I’m much too dirty.” Casey moistened her lips and wished she’d changed into her dress, but then she wouldn’t look proper sitting atop a horse. If the reverend judged her based on clothing and cleanliness, she’d already failed. At least she’d removed her gun belt and stored her Colt in the saddlebag. “Please excuse the way I look. I’ve been traveling for a long time, and this clothing is more practical.” All the while, she searched his gray eyes for disapproval.

“Nonsense. You look fine to me. I’m ready for a cool drink of water. How about you?”

She followed him to a covered well and silently watched as he lowered then raised a bucket. The rope creaked and groaned, but soon the bucket surfaced, full of clear, cool water. The two shared a dipper, and Casey relaxed slightly with the preacher’s easy talk of the weather.

“Are you certain you wouldn’t like to come inside?” he said.

She shook her head. “I’m comfortable right here, and I don’t want to take you away from your chores.”

He chuckled. “Young lady, I’d much rather talk any day than mend fence.”

They laughed together, and Casey realized the time had come to speak her mind. “Sir, as I said before, I just rode into town, and I’m wondering if you could recommend a place to stay and any available work.”

Reverend Rainer appeared to contemplate her request. His gaze focused on the dirt road back into town. “Let me think. Work isn’t plentiful for a young woman. The boardinghouse is run by some good folks. What kind of work have you done?”

“I’ve done cooking. Truthfully, I’d do about anything respectable.” Why didn’t I bathe before coming here?

He paused for a moment. “Have you done any nursing?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve taken care of sick folks.”

“And you said you can cook?”

“Yes, sir.” I’ve cooked everything from squirrel to rattler.

“Can you come back by here this afternoon before supper? I may have something for you.”

Thoroughly pleased with the twist of events, she formed an easy smile. “Thank you, Reverend. I’ll be here.”

As she rode Stampede to the livery stable, her spirits lifted. For the first time in many days, encouragement wove a trail of hope around her heart. She arranged for her stallion and gathered up her saddlebags to visit the boardinghouse. A short while later, Casey soaked in a warm bath and fought the sleep it invited. Her eyelids refused to stay open, and the thought of a real bed with clean linens tugged at her senses, but the prospect of sleeping past the appointed hour and keeping Reverend Rainer waiting didn’t settle well.

After a polite inquiry to the owners of the establishment, Casey was led to the kitchen, where she used an iron to smooth out the wrinkles of her blue traveling dress. She’d rather have tackled an angry mama bear. Thank goodness Rose had taught her a few womanly chores. Clean, neatly dressed, and her hair piled high and pinned into place, Casey felt much better about her second meeting with Reverend Rainer. She made her way down the stairs of the boardinghouse and ran straightway into the sheriff, a tall man with hair and eyes as dark as Jenkins’s. The star on his chest fixed in her mind.

“Afternoon, ma’am.” He tilted his hat.

She held her breath and smiled. “Afternoon.” Someday she planned to look a lawman in the eye and not fret about being recognized. And someday she planned to pack away the derringer in her dress pocket and the knives in her boots.

This time she walked to the parsonage and endured the heat. Birds sang and insects chirped, but nothing soothed the fluttering of butterflies in her stomach. Whether her nervousness came from her brief meeting with the sheriff or talking to Reverend Rainer about work, she had to shake off the trembling inside her. If this job didn’t work out, she’d ride on to Mexico and maybe South America. But she wanted to give the town a try.

A short while later, Casey stood on the wide front porch of the Rainer home and rapped lightly on the door. Everything looked newly painted, from the steps to the heavily carved front door, all in the cloud white she’d noticed earlier. An assortment of potted green plants lined the perimeter of the porch, except on the west side where a swing eased back and forth in a light breeze. A tabby cat slept on a braided rug, oblivious to Casey’s presence. She bent to scratch its head, and the animal barely opened its eyes to acknowledge her.

Smoothing her dress, Casey took a deep breath and waited for the reverend. Now she felt like a proper lady. All she had to do was act like one. Someday she’d be one. A lot of “somedays” had floated through her mind this afternoon.

Reverend Rainer opened the door with a feed sack apron wrapped around his waist. He’d rolled up the sleeves of a white shirt past his elbows, and flour coated his forearms. With a towel in one hand, he wiped the white dusting from his exposed hands and arms.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I thought I’d be finished before you arrived.”

“Would you like me to come back later?” Where was his wife?

“Certainly not.” A warmness in his gray eyes relaxed her. “I’ve looked forward to our visit since noon.”

As he reached to rub his nose, a fine mist of flour covered his nostrils, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry,” Casey said. “I’m forgetting my manners.”

“Nothing of the sort.” He chuckled. “Cooking is not what I do best. I’ve learned a lot of things in these aging years of mine, but mastery of the kitchen is not one of them. The only thing I can make is biscuits, and the Good Book says that ‘man does not live by bread alone.’” He wiped the white powder from his face and ushered her inside. “Do come in, Miss Flanagan. Would you like to sit in the parlor?”

“Why don’t we talk in the kitchen?” A fresh fluttering of nervousness attacked her. “You probably need to finish what you’ve started.”

“That sounds good to me. We could continue our discussion while I roll out biscuits.”

Casey liked the reverend’s kind face, although his eyes reminded her of an eagle, somewhat piercing, as if he knew a secret. For certain, he looked out of place in an apron. She considered taking more than a passing glance at the furnishings but thought better of it. She had no idea what folks were supposed to talk about with a preacher, other than God things. The idea of drowning in silence needled at her.

In the kitchen, he pulled out a chair from the table, and she sat on the edge just as she’d seen some ladies do during the past few weeks. “You have a fine home,” she said.

“Thank you. Several members of our church painted it last week. They did a good job.” The reverend paused. Picking up the rolling pin, he cleared his throat. “I’m not used to delivering speeches in an apron, but I’ll do my best.” He eased the pin across the dough. “Let me begin by saying my wife is upstairs sleeping. She’s been ill for some time now. When she wakens I’ll introduce you.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” Casey folded her hands in her lap. Noting the exquisitely carved oaken table and chairs before her, she complimented him on the fine furniture.

“My wife’s father made this for us many years ago. I fully intended to learn how to craft furniture until the War between the States broke out. I felt God’s call to the ministry and served the entire time as a soldier and chaplain. So I began carving names into the Book of Life instead of wood into furniture.” He paused and stared out the window. His face suddenly aged. “Now I don’t need to take up your entire afternoon with small matters. You asked me if I knew of someplace respectable for you to work.”

“Yes, sir, I did.” Casey’s heart pounded even faster.

“Well, I’ve been thinking and praying and talking to Sarah this afternoon. Sarah’s my sweet wife. We may very well have a possible solution. Goodness, where are my manners? Sarah would be appalled. Would you like a cup of coffee? I know I could use one.”

He wiped his hands on the apron before waiting for an answer and poured the fresh, hot liquid into a delicate china cup ribbed in gold. Casey’s fingers trembled, and she willed them to cease. The ladies she’d observed on the trains didn’t shake. She dared not, either.

“I make my coffee a little strong,” he said.

“I prefer it strong.” She lifted the cup to her lips. It tasted of brew made with part grounds and part dirt. Familiar but horrible. “It’s delicious.”

“Now I know better, but thanks just the same.”

He pulled out a chair for himself and sat across from her. Taking a deep breath, the reverend began again. “Miss Flanagan, I desperately need help here. I told you before about my wife sleeping. You see, she’s confined to bed. As much as I love her and want to take good care of her, I can’t seem to get anything done. The house needs attention, my cooking is terrible, and my sermons are suffering. The ladies from church are gracious to bring food and come to visit, but I need someone who can take care of Sarah and the house on a regular basis.”

Reverend Rainer stood again, and for a moment, she thought he resembled an old Indian chief with his silver hair and high cheekbones. “With someone reliable, I can tend to my responsibilities and still have time to spend with her. Oh no.” He grabbed a towel to pull a smoking, grease-laden skillet from the oven. He set it on the stove top and turned his attention back to the biscuits. “Guess that’ll teach me to check the oven before I fire it up. I normally cook outside in this heat, but I can’t get the biscuits to brown right.”

“Can’t I help you there?” she said.

He shook his head. “No, I won’t hear of it. Besides, I need something to do with my hands. Now where was I? Oh yes, we have two extra bedrooms upstairs, and I’m prepared to pay an adequate salary. I also think it best to give the lady who takes this position every Sunday afternoon and evening free. I like the idea of spending the Sabbath with my precious wife.”

His gaze rested upon her face. “I was praying over the matter when you rode up today. My Sarah’s a gentle lady, and she doesn’t complain about her ailments. She simply needs someone to care for her, keep her comfortable and the like. There’s medicine for the pain, except she rarely asks for it unless it’s unbearable.” He took a sip of coffee. “Miss Flanagan, would you consider a position as a nurse and housekeeper?”

Casey couldn’t believe what she’d heard. With her thoughts flying like a flock of geese headed south, she found it difficult to concentrate as the reverend continued.

“I understand if you can’t give me an answer right away, but do you mind meeting with Sarah and visiting for a spell?” He paused for a moment. “I can’t say how long nursing Sarah might last, because she isn’t getting any better. The doctor says she could live six months or six weeks.” He placed the biscuits atop the hot oven and seated himself across from her.

“What do you think about my offer, Miss Flanagan?”