Molly Bull - The Winter Pearl

“I’m ready now.”

“No, Miss McCall, you’re not.” He shook his head firmly several times. “Dr. Harris wants you to stay in bed for the rest of the week.” Jeth stepped to her bedside and touched her forehead. “Well, at least you don’t have fever.”

His palm felt rough on her skin. Weren’t preachers supposed to have smooth hands? The only real work they had was to preach a sermon on Sunday and preside over a funeral or wedding every once in a while.

He stepped back from the bed and adopted his soldier stance again, hands behind his back. “When you’re well enough, we’ll see about getting your ticket.”

“But I want—”

“No ‘buts.’ Doctor’s orders. In the meantime, try to enjoy your stay here—and my mother’s cooking.”

“I have no money to pay—”

“We know, and it’s all been taken care of.”

“How?” Honor felt a twinge of alarm. “Who paid for my room and board?”

“The Lord did,” he said.

That sounded too unlikely to be believed. “Would you please explain how God was able to do that?” she asked.

“The money came directly from the collection plate at our church,” Jeth explained. “But it really came from the Lord.”

“Why would God give me anything?” she asked.

“Because He loves you, that’s why.”

Honor shook her head doubtfully. The preacher must be just talking his line. God could never love someone like Honor McCall.

After Jeth left her room, Honor considered what he’d said, and she thought about the terrible irony of her situation. She was being supported by money from one church’s collection plate, after stealing from the collection plate at another church.

She’d done a terrible thing. Yet God was rewarding her with goodness. It didn’t make sense.

The sun shone high in the sky by the time Lucas woke up. When he climbed out of bed and crossed the room to draw the curtain, he saw two riders coming up the road.

Not those grave diggers again, he hoped.

As the riders grew closer, he realized they weren’t the Brown brothers after all. One of them looked too small to be a grown man, and the other was heavy and stout, with carrot-colored hair and a red beard.

No matter who they were, Lucas wasn’t in the mood for visitors. He closed the curtain and turned back to his bed. When a knock sounded at the door, he considered ignoring it, but curiosity captured him. He got up and headed through the kitchen to the small parlor.

Lucas opened the front door. Cold air blew inside. A thin layer of frost covered his front porch. And a man and a boy he’d never seen before stood there, staring into his face.

“Mr. Scythe,” the man said, “I’m John Crammer.” He glanced at the skinny, blond boy. “This here is my little brother, Bobby.”

The brothers wore tattered dark coats and caps. Puffs of smoke seemed to come from their mouths, their breaths visible in the wintry air.

“Someone told us you put a sign up in the saloon,” John Crammer said, “offering a reward for information on Miss Honor McCall. Is it true?”

“It shore is. Have you seen her?”

“Maybe.” John took a step forward as if he expected to be invited inside. His black boots crunched on the icy porch. “I seen a young woman get on the stage yesterday headed for Pine Falls—the one what was robbed.”

“Was she my niece?”

“I can’t rightly say, sir, but I think so. I knew Honor when we went to school together in Falling Rock—but that was back before she dropped out.”

Lucas held the door open only a crack, to keep out the cold wind. “My late wife taught Honor to read and write here at home. My Harriet was a former schoolteacher, you see, and a smart woman.” Lucas had kept Honor close to home most of her life. Not many in town knew her. Apparently, John Crammer was an exception.

John shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Mighty sorry to hear about your wife’s death,” he said.

Lucas nodded, studying the pair. The boy had a mass of curly blond hair beneath his black cap. Though Lucas’s mind was still cloudy, he intended to remember John and Bobby Crammer.

“So, do I get my thirty dollars?” John asked. “I could shore use it, seeing as I’m about to get married.”

“You’ll get nothing from me until I know exactly where Honor is,” Lucas replied firmly. “But if you’re wantin’ to make a little money, I might have a job for you.”

“What could that be, sir?”

“I need to be gone for a few weeks, looking for my niece. If you and the boy would look after my place and my cattle for me until I get back, I’ll give you one of my milk calves and call it even.”

“I reckon that sounds like an honest trade,” John said. “We accept. When are you leaving?”

“Today.”

At noon, Mrs. Peters returned to Honor’s bedroom. She placed a wooden tray on the bedside table, then removed a blue cloth that covered a white bowl. The aroma of chicken broth made Honor’s mouth water.

“Hungry?” Mrs. Peters asked in a perky voice.

Honor glanced at the older woman’s radiant smile and friendly expression and couldn’t help smiling in return. “Yes, ma’am, I would like some. Thank you for asking.”

Jeth’s mother chattered away as Honor ate her soup, talking about herself and her son. Honor learned Mrs. Peters was a widow and owned the only boardinghouse in Hearten, Colorado. Honor also discovered that Jeth rented a room there. In addition to being a pastor, he farmed the six acres behind the rooming house and was the handyman for all house repairs.

Now Honor understood why his hands were rough.

“My son is a widower,” Mrs. Peters said suddenly, simply.

Honor met her gaze. “I didn’t know.”

Honor hoped to hear more details, but instead of continuing to speak, Regina Peters gestured for Honor to lean forward. Then she reached for the pillow behind Honor’s back.

“Jethro lost his wife in a terrible fire that burned down the parsonage,” Mrs. Peters said as she fluffed the pillow. “My son hasn’t fully recovered from the pain of it yet.”

Honor looked into the older woman’s eyes again. “How terrible.”

“Yes, it was.” Mrs. Peters placed the pillow behind Honor’s head and put gentle pressure on her shoulder, encouraging her to relax. Then she pulled the covers up to Honor’s neck, tucking her in as if she were a small child.

“Jethro was visiting his former in-laws, Reverend and Mrs. Andrew Fields, in Falling Rock, when the grave diggers told him about your aunt’s death, Miss McCall. Ordinarily, Reverend Fields would have been the one to visit the gravesite, but he’s been a little under the weather the last week or two. So Jethro went in his place.”

“I don’t know Reverend Fields, but I’m sorry he’s sick,” Honor said. “And I hope he’s feeling better now?”

“Yes, let’s pray so.”

After Mrs. Peters left the room, Honor started thinking about Jeth again. Was he the man who had stood in the vestibule of the church on the morning she stole the money? Did Jeth know she was a thief? If so, why had he played innocent and acted nobly? There must be a reason.

She needed to leave Hearten as soon as possible. She couldn’t go on being a burden to these good people much longer.

It was Honor’s plan to move to Pine Falls. She had a lot of money to pay back. But first, she needed to find a job.

From the edge of the bed, she glanced out the open window. Jeth and his mother were in front of the boardinghouse, sitting in a wagon. A moment later, the team of brown horses started down the dirt driveway, Jeth at the reins.

A gust of wind rattled some papers on the table at the foot of the bed, sending them spinning. The vase of flowers stopped them from whirling to the floor. Honor crawled to the end of the bed, gathered the papers, stacked them, and placed a book on top, to keep them from scattering again. She was turning away when her eye fell on the title at the top of the first page: “Sermon for Sunday.”