Kathryn Albright - The Angel and the Outlaw

Rachel pressed her lips together. Her father hadn’t taken much of an interest in either of them since her mother passed away. He’d just been interested in finding gold. If only Caleb had someone who could help him through this rocky stage. She certainly wasn’t much help. The tighter she held on, the harder he pulled away. Plus she worried about how Caleb’s actions would affect her standing in the community. The selfish thought nudged her and she felt small for thinking it. But she still worried. Teaching was her livelihood—and Caleb’s too, for the time being.

Terrance cleared his throat. “About tomorrow. I…wish you would reconsider about going out to the lighthouse. It will be a long ride, and Taylor won’t take you up on your offer.”

“I don’t shirk a challenge, Mr. Morley. The girl needs to be in school and I’m going to convince him of it.”

By the look on his face, it wasn’t the answer he’d wanted. “Nothing I say will dissuade you?”

“My mind is made up.” She didn’t add that the more students she had in school, the better job security for her, although the thought had crossed her mind a time or two since seeing the girl.

“It seems like everyone dislikes him. Are they true—the things I’ve heard?” But even she could hear the beginning of doubt in her voice.

“Rumors have some truth to them in most cases. Otherwise how would they start?”

She shook off the misgivings. “I’m sure I’ll be safe enough with Reverend Crouse.”

“Yes…well,” he said, his gaze hardening slightly, “you know how I feel about you going out there. It’s a fool’s errand.”

He waited. Probably still hoping she’d change her mind. When she didn’t say more he continued. “Thank you for supper. Until Sunday services then.”

She nodded and watched him walk down the porch steps to the street. Sunday was the furthest thing from her mind.

Reverend Crouse yanked sharply on Jericho’s reins to avoid a large dried rut in the dirt road, yet their carriage still bumped through the edge, jostling Rachel to one side. She grabbed her seat and smiled gamely. “I hope after all this, we find them at home.”

“I don’t know where else they would be. Light keepers as a rule must not leave their lamps unattended.”

“Well, that gives us a place to start, then,” she said, thinking of her brother and how easily he slipped out of sight whenever he wanted to. “Trying to tie Caleb down and keep track of him is not easy.”

Reverend Crouse chuckled. “It may seem that way now, but you’re doing the right thing. Caleb will be the better for it in the long run. He’s not a bad boy, he just needs direction.”

“I suppose.” Rachel sighed, thinking her brother more and more showed signs of being like his father. “I’m glad you had chores for him to do today.”

“Terrance Morley stopped by earlier. He has things Caleb can help with at the mercantile.”

She shook her head. “Caleb needs something physical. He’s never been one for being cooped up inside. Often he talks about joining up with the whalers. And I’m afraid he might. That would suit him.”

The reverend skirted another deep rut where rainwater had gouged out the quickest path to the sea several hundred feet below. To Rachel’s left glistened the deep-blue waters of the harbor, and to her right the ocean stretched out unbroken to the horizon. Stunted light-green sagebrush and chaparral lined both sides of the road, struggling to keep a foothold in the dry ground. No homesteads broke the monotony of the single dirt road they traveled, a road that striped the ridge of the peninsula like the line down a lizard’s back.

Jericho pulled the carriage up one last rise and the lighthouse came into view. The sandstone house and tower stood sharply defined against the brilliant blue of the Pacific sky. Two short chimneys straddled the peak at each end of the two-story roof, the far one emitting small burps of black smoke. The light tower rose straight up through the center of the roof’s peak. She searched the black iron catwalk that circled the lamp for any sign of the inhabitants.

The reverend stopped Jericho at the picket fence that surrounded the lighthouse and enclosed a small, barren yard and the shriveled remains of a garden. “He’s home, all right,” he murmured, his eyes focused on the opening door.

Mr. Taylor stepped outside, his shoulders dwarfing the size of the doorway, his mouth set in a tight scowl as he slipped his shoulder suspenders into place. He wore a cream-colored muslin shirt, open at the collar on this warm and windy day, and dark brown pants that, as his clothes yesterday, appeared serviceable.

A small thrill went through her. What was it about this man that his very presence commanded attention? Would he lump her with all the other people from town? Most likely. She sat straighter in her seat, the urge to prove him wrong infusing her with courage. She wasn’t here for him, but she did need his support regarding his daughter.

“Hello. Mr. Taylor, is it?” Reverend Crouse climbed from the carriage. “I’m Reverend Crouse and this is Rachel Houston, the schoolteacher in town. We’ve come to invite you and your child to Sunday services.”

If it were possible, the light keeper’s scowl deepened further. His gaze flicked to Rachel, still seated in the carriage, and then settled back on the reverend. “Then you’ve wasted your trip, Pastor. I’m not on speaking terms with God.”

The blunt reply surprised Rachel, but the reverend seemed unruffled. “If not for yourself,” the reverend continued, “surely you want your daughter growing in the faith.”

Sarcasm twisted Mr. Taylor’s mouth. “I’m certain the good people of La Playa want nothing to do with her or me. You must have heard about what happened at the mercantile.” This time his stormy gaze settled on Rachel.

She swallowed hard, unable to look away, and felt her heartbeat quicken.

“An unfortunate incident, to be sure,” said the reverend as he swept off his black-brimmed hat. “You’ll find Hannah is treated better in church.”

Taylor turned back to Reverend Crouse, and Rachel took the moment to descend from the carriage and approach the two men. “That has not been my past experience.”

Reverend Crouse’s silver brows knitted together. “We are not a group of perfect people. Everyone is welcome in God’s house.”

Mr. Taylor didn’t answer, but his eyes hardened to blue slate. He folded his arms across his chest. “Look, Pastor, I mean no offense, but it’s best if you just leave. It’s too bad you had to ride all the way out here just to hear me say no, but no it is.”

The reverend shrugged his shoulders and gave a brief smile. “There is always that chance in my line of work. However, my job is to sow the seeds. Only God can make them grow.”

He seemed on the verge of continuing in the same vein, but then pulled back. “Very well. I won’t press you further. Remember, though, the invitation stands in the event you change your mind.”

“Good day, Pastor.”

“One more thing,” the reverend continued, smoothly filling in the awkward quiet. “We are planning to hold the annual community picnic here in a few weeks. You weren’t here last year, so I wanted to forewarn you.”

Taylor pressed his lips together. “Thanks for the warning.”

Concern softened Reverend Crouse’s eyes. “You’re welcome to attend, of course.”

Mr. Taylor nodded his acknowledgment.

“Come, Rachel.” The reverend started back to the carriage along the hard dirt path.

When she didn’t move, Mr. Taylor’s steely gaze fastened on her. She swallowed hard. He made it difficult to breathe, let alone speak. It seemed he really hated their intrusion into his life. “I…I brought something for Hannah.”