Victoria Bylin - The Maverick Preacher

Recalling that day, he lingered on David’s plea to the God who knew his deepest thoughts. He prayed, as he did every night, that the Lord would lead him to Emily. Before the river crossing, he’d shown her picture to everyone he’d met. Now he could only describe her. He missed the letter, too. The night she’d left, she’d put it on top of the sermon notes on his desk. He’d been preaching through the gospel of John and had reached the story of the adulterous woman and Jesus’ famous words, “Let him whose slate is clean cast the first stone.”

Sermons usually came easily to Josh, but he’d been unable to grasp the underlying message.

Now he knew why. He’d been a hard-boiled hypocrite. When Emily came to him for help, he’d berated her with words that bruised more deeply than rocks. Blinking, he recalled her letter. He’d read it so often he’d memorized it.

I love you, Josh. But I don’t respect you. You judged me for my sins—I admit to them—but you don’t know what happened or why. You don’t know me or my baby’s father and you never will. I’m leaving Boston for good. Someday, Reverend Blue, you’ll get knocked off your high horse. I’ll pray for you, but I won’t weep.

Your sister, Emily.

That Sunday, Josh had taught on the same passage, but he’d changed the message. Instead of focusing on the woman and Christ’s command to go and sin no more, he’d talked about throwing stones. In front of three hundred people, he’d admitted to his mistakes and resigned his position. A broken man, he’d packed a single bag and bought a train ticket. Based on Sarah’s knowledge, he’d headed for St. Louis, worrying all the time that Emily would travel farther west. Josh hadn’t found her in St. Louis, but he’d spotted a piece of her jewelry in a shop owned by a pawnbroker. It had given him hope. Over the next several months, he’d traveled far and wide.

Someday he’d find Emily. He’d hit his knees and beg for forgiveness. Until then, he had to live with his regrets. Exhausted, he blew out the lamp. As always he prayed for his sister’s safety. Tonight, he added Adie Clarke to that list. He couldn’t help Emily, but here at Swan’s Nest, he saw a chance to do some good. What he couldn’t give to Emily, he’d give to Adie Clarke and her friends. The thought put a smile on his face, the first one in a long time.

“Don’t let him inside!”

“I won’t,” Adie said to Pearl.

The two women were in the front parlor. They’d been on the porch when Pearl had spotted a carriage coming down the street. Terrified of Franklin Dean, she’d run inside with Adie behind her. Together they were peering through the lace curtain at a brougham that belonged to the banker. In the front seat sat Mr. Dean’s driver, a stocky man dressed in a frock coat and black bowler.

Adie’s gaze skittered to the back of the open carriage where she saw the banker folding a copy of the Rocky Mountain News. Some women would have found Mr. Dean handsome. He had dark blond hair, brown eyes, a mustache and what her mother had called a lazy smile, the kind that curled on a man’s lips with no effort at all. In Adie’s experience, smiles were rare and had to be earned.

She didn’t trust Franklin Dean at all. She’d felt uncomfortable the instant they’d met, and those suspicions had been confirmed when she’d heard Pearl’s story. A preacher’s daughter, Pearl had been engaged to the banker when he’d taken her for a buggy ride. Dean claimed that they’d succumbed to temptation, but Adie knew otherwise. Pearl had told her about that horrible afternoon. She’d protested. She’d pushed him away. He’d pushed back and left her ashamed and carrying his child.

Adie put her arm around Pearl’s shoulders. “Go upstairs. I’ll see what he wants.”

“I can’t leave you.”

“Yes, you can.” Adie made her voice light. False courage, she’d learned, counted for the real thing if no one saw through it.

“But—”

“Go on.” Adie pointed Pearl to the stairs. “I can handle Mr. Dean.”

The carriage rattled to a stop. With her eyes wide, Pearl stared at the door, then at Adie. “I’ll hide in the kitchen. If he tries anything, I’ll scream for help. I’ll get a knife—” Her voice broke.

Boots tapped on the steps. Adie nudged Pearl down the hall, then inspected herself in the mirror. She’d planned to walk to the business district to pay the mortgage and had already put on her good dress. Thanks to the rent from Reverend Blue, she had enough money for the payment and roast beef for supper. She’d put Stephen down for a nap and had been looking forward to a peaceful walk. Quiet afternoons were few and far between. She refused to let Franklin Dean steal her pleasure.

He rapped on the door.

Adie opened it. “Good afternoon, Mr. Dean.”

He tipped his hat. “Miss Clarke.”

It galled Adie to be pleasant, but riling him would only lead to trouble. She forced a smile. “What can I do for you?”

“May I come in?”

She stepped onto the porch and closed the door. “It’s a lovely day. We can speak out here.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’ve come to see Pearl.”

“She’s not accepting visitors.”

“I believe I’m the exception.”

No, he was the reason. The July sun burned behind him, turning the street into a strip of dust and giving his face craggy lines. Adie couldn’t stand the sight of him. He’d hurt Pearl the way Timothy Long had tried to hurt her. He swaggered the way she’d imagined Maggie’s brother strutted in his fancy pulpit. She had to convince him to leave.

“Pearl’s resting,” she said.

“You’re lying, Miss Clarke.” His lips curled into the lazy smile. “She was sitting by the window.”

“How would you know?”

“Am I wrong?”

“It’s none of your concern.”

Her voice rang with confidence, but her insides were quaking. He’d been too far away to see Pearl through the glass. Had he been watching her house? She thought of the rock that had shattered her bedroom window. Fear gripped her, but she met his gaze as if they were discussing lemonade.

Dean rapped a walking stick against his palm. Over and over, he slapped his own flesh as if he didn’t feel a thing. Adie had been beaten with bigger sticks and knew when to keep quiet. She also knew that Franklin Dean wanted to drive her out of Swan’s Nest so he could sell the property for a higher price than she’d negotiated with his father. Between silver mines and gold strikes, farms, ranches and the arrival of the railroad, Denver had been dubbed the Queen City of the Plains. Adie’s house stood on prime land and Dean wanted it back.

He couldn’t have it. She forced herself to appear blasé.

He slapped the walking stick against his palm a final time. Gripping it tight, he smiled as if nothing ugly had passed between them. “I’m rather thirsty, Miss Clarke. I’d enjoy a glass of sweet tea.”

“I’m fresh out.”

“Water, then.”

He wanted to get in the house and corner Pearl. No way would Adie open the door. “I was about to leave for town, Mr. Dean. If you’ll excuse me—”

“No, Miss Clarke. I won’t excuse you.” His eyes burned into hers. “I want to see Pearl.”

“Like I said, she’s resting.”

He glared at her. “The mortgage is due today, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“My timing’s excellent,” he said. “I’ll collect payment and save you the trip to the bank.”

“No, thank you.” Adie never dealt with Dean when she made her payment. She always visited the same teller, asked for a receipt and stowed it in the trunk. They were that precious to her.

Craning his neck, Dean peered through the lace curtain hanging in the parlor window. Adie turned and followed his gaze to Pearl, her belly large and round, as she peered around the corner and out the window.