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PRAISE FOR
THE WINTER PEARL

“Molly Noble Bull has written a charming story with twists and turns for a character the reader will really root for.”

—Lauraine Snelling, bestselling author of The Red River North series

“The Winter Pearl is a jewel of a novel! I literally couldn’t put it down and found myself reaching for a tissue more than once. Molly has beautifully blended a heart-stopping adventure and a glorious romance filled to the brim with God’s love and redemption—all set against the backdrop of the Old West. I can’t wait to see more from this talented author.”

—Diane Noble, award-winning author of The Butterfly Farm

“I cared about Molly Noble Bull’s heroine, Honor McCall, from page one of The Winter Pearl to the end of her satisfying and surprising journey where she discovered the precious pearl of grace set in a filigree of hope, redemption and forgiveness.”

—Tamela Hancock Murray, award-winning inspirational author of Virginia Hearts

The Winter Pearl
Molly Noble Bull

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my husband, Charlie Bull, to our family—

Bret, Burt, Bren, Jana, Linda, Bethanny, Dillard, Hailey

and Bryson. And to our pastor, Rev. Jerry Scott.

But to God give the glory.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Chapter One

Falling Rock, Colorado

Late October 1888

“I’m not one to go without a woman for long, missy.”

When Honor McCall had first heard her uncle say those words, she’d been sitting beside him in the wagon on the drive from the farm to the cemetery in nearby Falling Rock. She’d trembled then. Now, standing at Aunt Harriet’s grave and digesting what Uncle Lucas must have meant, she realized she’d never stopped shaking.

She did not want to marry her late aunt’s husband. If only the God that Aunt Harriet had told her about would provide her with a means of escape.

Although her aunt had been a Christian all her life, Lucas wasn’t allowing a funeral service. There was no one to attend the burial because only the grave diggers knew about the death. It was surprising that Lucas had driven Honor to the cemetery to watch the men dig the hole. Knowing him, that was more than she’d expected.

As the diggers lowered the crude, wooden coffin into the ground, Honor saw a flash of gray behind a group of trees. In a moment, it became a young man in a gray suit, coming toward them, and she knew she’d never seen him before.

Her heart knotted. Lucas would not be pleased by this turn of events.

The stranger had thick brown hair and broad shoulders that reminded her of Lucas. Though her uncle was at least twenty years older, both men were tall and well built. But the young man’s clothes looked spotless, and he held what appeared to be a black Bible in one hand and an umbrella in the other. While Lucas, also in a gray suit, had liquor stains down the front of his jacket, and he gripped a half-empty whiskey bottle as though it were glued to his right hand.

Dreading a confrontation, Honor wished the young man would just go away. At the same time, she hoped he would stay. There was something in his presence that made her feel safe.

She’d been so overwhelmed by the death of her aunt, she’d hardly noticed the weather. Now she felt the nip of a fresh norther that had just blown in. Dark clouds gathered, and an icy wind stirred the pines that surrounded them. Her shivers deepened.

When the younger man reached the graveside, Lucas glowered at him. “What do ya think you’re doing here, mister?”

“My name is Jethro Peters, but my friends call me Jeth. I’m just visiting here in Falling Rock. I live over in Hearten. I’m the pastor there, and when the diggers told me someone died, I came to see if I could be of help.”

Lucas studied the minister, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging slack, the way it always did when something unusual happened to him. After a moment, his thick eyebrows drew together. His face turned red, and a crease appeared in the center of his forehead.

“Your kind ain’t welcome here,” he said, his voice rough and gravelly. “We don’t need no preacher.”

“Yes, Uncle, we do.” Honor could hardly believe she’d found the courage to speak up. She knew she could be beaten for her words, but for her aunt’s sake, she’d had to say what was in her mind.

Lucas scowled. “What did you say, girl?”

“I said that we need a preacher here today—at least, I do.” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Aunt Harriet was a Christian, and she would have wanted someone to say a prayer over her grave and read from the Good Book.”

“I would be glad to do it,” Jeth Peters said softly, “if you will allow it, sir.”

Honor expected Lucas to curse the preacher and drive him away, but strangely, he kept silent for a few moments, staring at the younger man. Then he looked down at his dirty black boots. “All right,” he mumbled. “Say what you have to and read from that there book you got. Then git. I ain’t never had no use for do-gooders.”

Jeth Peters nodded. In a clear voice, he read from the Bible. When he finished, he said a prayer.

The Bible reading sounded strange to Honor’s ears, but the prayer made her feel warm all over. She longed to say “Amen” loud enough for her uncle to hear, but decided against it. One more word could set Lucas off, and that might embarrass the minister.

Rain started to fall before the diggers had finished covering the grave.

The minister opened his black umbrella and offered it to Honor. “Here,” he said. “We wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”

Honor shook her head. “I couldn’t take your umbrella, sir, but thank you for offering. And thank you for coming today. I’m sure it was just what my aunt would have wanted.”

“My pleasure.”

The preacher’s wide smile lifted her spirits for an instant. Then thoughts of what Lucas might do to her at home washed away those good feelings.

“Will you take my umbrella if I stand under it with you?” the young man asked.

Stand under it with him? He obviously had no idea how dangerous such an act could be for her. The young minister couldn’t know that Lucas would never allow her to stand close to any man, especially a man of the cloth. But defiance suddenly gripped her.

To her own surprise, she lifted her head and said firmly, “Yes. I would be happy to share your umbrella with you. It is kind of you to ask.”

Lucas took a swallow of whiskey from the bottle without comment. She wondered if he was aware of what had been said. Or was he too drunk to have really taken in what was going on? No matter, sooner or later, he would insist that Honor pay for the things she’d said and done here today, of that she was certain. She shivered again.

Jeth stood under a spreading pine, watching as the young woman and her drunken companion climbed into the wagon. She’d called the man Uncle. Other than that, Jeth hadn’t learned anything about them. Still, he wanted to know more, especially about her.

Her eyes were honey brown, fringed with long dark lashes, and her skin was as pale as alabaster—and flawless. So was her softly rounded figure, in his opinion. Her hair had been hidden under a cotton bonnet, but a few dark auburn curls had escaped—enough for him to know that her hair was long and probably very soft to the touch. And she’d smelled as sweet as rosewater. His experience as a pastor had taught him to notice things about people that other folks might miss—like the fact that the young woman’s face, despite all its beauty, didn’t contain any laugh lines.

It wasn’t surprising that a deep sadness appeared to encase her; her aunt had died. But Jeth wondered if perhaps joy wasn’t something she knew very little about—even in the best of times.

Was she married? Betrothed? He hadn’t had such thoughts about a woman since before he met his late wife….

Jeth glanced away. A lump now dwelled in his throat as well as his heart. Pain, sudden and strong, blocked out everything. When he glanced back, the wagon had disappeared beyond a clump of pine trees.

In the four-room cabin Honor called home, the stale odor of alcohol surrounded her. Aunt Harriet had always kept the place clean and neat, but no matter how often she’d scrubbed the pine floors, Lucas had always found a reason to complain.

Honor glanced at the black iron skillet, hanging over the cookstove. The tears that she’d been holding in all day spilled down her cheeks. Quickly, she wiped them away. Memories of her aunt standing in front of the stove, cooking for her family with that very skillet saturated her mind.

Her gaze traveled to the door of the room Aunt Harriet had shared with Lucas. He was in there now—passed out on the bed, if she was lucky. Dabbing her eyes with a white handkerchief, Honor straightened her back. Lucas could come in here at any moment, but he wouldn’t find her crying—not ever. It had been heartbreaking to say goodbye to Aunt Harriet, but now Honor’s strongest emotion was a desperate fear—fear of being alone in the house with Lucas.

He had started to look at her in peculiar, leering ways shortly after her fifteenth birthday. She’d managed to stay out of his presence and avoid his attention most of the time. But what would happen now that her aunt wasn’t here to protect her?

At that moment, Lucas tottered out of the bedroom on shaky legs, eyeing the table and the whiskey bottle in the center of it. Holding the back of a kitchen chair for support, he reached for the bottle, tipped it back as he drank. Then he wiped his wet mouth with the back of his hand.

He’d started drinking before breakfast that morning. Now, he reeked of whiskey—even his sweat seemed to give off fumes.

Standing in front of the stove, trying to appear calm, Honor thought about Lucas and his lustful glances through the years. She knew she would only encounter worse in the future. She was like a caged animal searching for a way out.

Lucas glared at Honor. “After what happened at the cemetery today, you owe me for not beating you the minute we came in the house.”

She looked at his big hands. A shudder ran down her spine. His hands were strong and deeply tanned from the Colorado sun.

His face was bronzed, too, and with his high cheekbones and straight nose, some would still call him handsome, though his thick brown hair had thinned on top.

Some would call him successful also, since Lucas knew farming. Honor gave him his due in that regard. Yet when she looked at him, all she saw were a rough, unshaven face and bloodshot, blue eyes, with a twisted malevolence lurking behind them.

“Your aunt was sick for six months before she died, and I ain’t had no woman since she took to her bed,” Lucas began ominously. “But I aim to do the right thing by you. So we’ll drive into town in the morning and get hitched. But not by no preacher. Don’t even ask.”

Lucas studied Honor’s face—like a bobcat with a rabbit in its sights. “You’re willing to marry me, ain’t ya, girl?”

Never! Honor’s mind screamed, but she swallowed. “Yes, Uncle,” she said softly.

“And from now on, call me Lucas. It ain’t fittin’ for my future wife to call me Uncle.”

“Very well, Lucas.”

When he slammed the empty bottle on the kitchen table, it shattered. He laughed. “You’ve lived here for free long enough,” he said. “It’s time you paid for your keep. Now, pick up them broken pieces of glass.”

She wanted to shout at him, to tell him she would never marry him. Never! She would yell and scream and fight to her last breath before she’d let him touch her. But she bit her lower lip. What good would yelling do? Lucas was big and powerful, and he had no mercy in him. Her only chance was to escape from him.

Honor took the broom from its place beside the woodstove. Sweeping up the tiny bits of glass, while he looked on, she made her decision. She would run away at the first moment of opportunity that she saw. In his drunken state, Lucas might not notice that she was gone for a while.

“Now,” he demanded, “fix me my supper.”

“I’m—I’m out of potatoes for the stew, Uncle,” she said, feigning a light tone. “I’ll need to go out back and get some.”

“Then be quick about it. I’m hungry.”

Honor still wore her best dress, the tan one she’d worn to the burial. When she wrapped her shoulders in her brown woolen shawl and pulled on her brown and yellow print bonnet, she snatched the vegetable basket from the shelf by the back door. Without another glance at Lucas, she went out.

The root cellar was to the right of the garden. If he was watching now, when his mind cleared Lucas would remember that she had turned in the opposite direction. Honor prayed he wouldn’t notice. Walking, then running, toward the wooded area behind the house, she discarded the basket as she fled.

The cool October air smelled of nuts and pinecones. The wind murmured through the bare branches of the trees, tossing the soft curls around her face. Below her bonnet, her long auburn hair blew every which way.

Honor darted a fearful glance behind her. Nothing moved. She slowed her pace, tying the ends of her knit shawl in a knot. The soft garment did little to shield her from the slicing breeze, but it was better than no covering at all.

By the time Honor reached the turnoff that led into town, her breath was coming in deep gasps. She knew better than to stay on the road. If Uncle Lucas had a shred of wits about him, he would look for her there first. Besides, she couldn’t take the chance of being spotted. Travelers moved along the road all the time. Her best bet, she decided, was to follow a line of trees.

Darkness had painted the sky a grayish-black by the time she arrived in Falling Rock. The bare trees looked like skeletons in the dim light of three street lamps. It was late enough that all proper folk were off the streets. The only men and women in public now would be those inside the Silver Nugget Saloon on the corner—or those standing outside that establishment. Honor skirted around and behind the saloon, making her way toward the church. Her aunt had told her that the building was kept open day and night. She would be safe there.

Honor hoped that by now Lucas would have passed out. Her best chance for escape hinged on his not coming after her until morning—and on her not being seen by anyone else. There were plenty of men around who thought like Lucas, and a young woman of barely nineteen years would be a quick target for them. Her aunt had cautioned her that such men were always out there.

As soon as she entered the church, Honor found a pew toward the middle of the chapel, and stretched out on it. Anyone who came in would not be likely to see her. She couldn’t afford to fall asleep, but it was nice to rest her bones.

A sudden growl of hunger rumbled from her belly, loud enough to be heard if a stranger stood nearby. Yet her cravings went beyond her need for food. Peering at the dim outline of the pulpit at the front of the small church, she longed for a home, a place in the world. She also wished for someone who would love her unconditionally—the way her aunt had, before she died. Beyond that, Honor dreamed of never having to see Lucas again. If she’d known how to pray, she would have asked God to grant her requests.

Honor pressed her back against the hard wooden pew, wondering if the minister she had met that morning had a wife and children. She scarcely remembered her own parents. They had died of a fever before Honor reached the age of three. Her aunt Harriet, who lived in Colorado, had taken her in four years before she married Lucas. Were it not so, Honor might have spent her growing-up years in an orphanage. Although sometimes she wondered if that would not have been better than living in a house with the likes of Lucas Scythe.

Sitting up, Honor rubbed the palms of her hands across the oak pew and felt the strong yet rough texture of the wood. Her aunt had taken her to church every Sunday—until Lucas put a stop to it.

Harriet Scythe had been a churchgoing woman and a member of the choir, too. Lucas must have known how leaving the church would injure her, but then, hurting others appeared to give him a great deal of pleasure.

Her aunt had once told Honor that the folks at church had thought Lucas was a decent man before they married. Honor had wondered if he’d only pretended to be good and kind. Maybe he’d thought Aunt Harriet had money, since she’d inherited the cabin and the family farm. In any case, he’d managed to fritter away what little she once had, drinking and gambling at the saloon in town.

Aunt Harriet had never complained about anything. But her bruised arms and swollen, red eyes had told Honor all she needed to know.

As Honor sat in the church, remembering, her eyes grew heavy. She yawned, and stretched out again on the pew. Despite herself, a few minutes later, she was asleep.

A sound woke her just before daylight. She jerked, finding herself half on, half off the pew. Pulling herself back onto the wooden bench again, she stiffened and became still. She held her breath.

Had someone entered? Was it Lucas? Honor coiled into a tight ball. The church was silent once more. A few minutes later, she slept again.

Something brushed her face. Honor was instantly awake. She sat up, looking around. A soft thump sounded, and she turned in time to see a white cat disappearing behind a stairway leading to the choir loft. Honor sighed in relief. It wasn’t Lucas.

Aunt Harriet would say she should pray if she hoped to survive this terrible ordeal. But if there really was a God, He seemed far away to Honor. She was on her own in getting out of this trouble. Since she would not go back to the cabin, not ever, and she couldn’t remain in Falling Rock, Colorado, Honor had to get away. Yet where would she go? And who would take her in?

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, but before they could fall, Honor sniffed. There didn’t appear to be a safe place in the world where she could rest her head, but she refused to cry. She had to think.

She needed a job, but employment choices for a young woman were few. She didn’t have enough skills to become a schoolteacher, and she wouldn’t become a saloon girl. So what did that leave? Nothing that she could think of.

A bookshelf, attached to the back of the pew in front of her, held two hymnals, one new and one old and worn. Honor took the new songbook in both her hands. The brown cover smelled fresh. She opened to the first page. In the pale light of early morning, she squinted at the dedication.

This hymnal is given to the Glory of God in memory of my dear wife, Selma, the love of my life.

Honor ran her fingers down the smooth, white page, studying the inscription. Were there really men in the world who could love a woman the way this nameless husband seemed to have loved his wife? Men were good at pretending. Lucas had taught her that. She put the hymnal back on the shelf and turned to gaze out the windows.

The morning sun still hid beyond the horizon, but the eastern sky was bright. A golden light edged the hills at the end of the street and it glinted on a collection plate in the center of a table directly under a window.

Would there be money in that plate?

Of course not. What pastor worth his salt would leave money in an unlocked church? That would be like opening the door to every outlaw for miles around. Still, what if money was left there? And what if she took some?

Honor hated to even consider the thought. Her aunt would have said that such musings were sinful. Yet Honor remembered her aunt also telling her that the collection money went to pay for the pastor’s keep and to help the poor and needy. Well, who needed money more than Honor?

The right thing to do would be to wait until the preacher came in for the day and ask him for financial help. But if she waited, she could miss the early morning stage out of town.

Biting her lip, she deliberated. Thieves deserved to go to hell. Sinful thoughts came from the devil. Lucas never allowed Aunt Harriet to pray openly or study the Good Book, but she’d managed to teach Honor the Ten Commandments. And Honor knew stealing was a sin.

But what if she vowed to pay back all the money someday? Considering recent events, surely God would understand.

On the chance that money waited in that silver plate, Honor crept to the window. Even at a distance, she could see several coins and a number of bills. Her throat tightened. Her fingers shook as she reached her hands forward and scooped up all of the money they could hold. As she turned back to the wooden bench, she heard someone coming.

Trembling, she slipped into the nearest pew and stretched out to hide. The faint tap, tap of footsteps on the brick floor drifted up from the entry of the church. Honor dared not move.

Chapter Two

A man and woman whispered to each other as they moved down the aisle of the church. Honor held her breath. Now what? The squeak of old wood told her that they had selected a pew not far behind her. The scent of lilacs filled the air.

“Annie,” Honor heard the man say. “I know your poor old bones are tired, because mine are, too. But, honey, do you really think it’s all right for us to sit in here ’til the stage leaves? Why, we ain’t even members of this church.”

“A church is God’s house, Simon, no matter where it is,” the woman answered. “Besides, I reckon if you put something in the plate—under that there winder—it should take care of everything.”

Honor froze. If the man named Simon came over to the window to put money in the plate, he might be able to see her crouched on the pew. Slowly, not making a sound, she inched along the pew, out of the light coming in from the window and into the shadows.

“Well, Simon. Are you gonna put something in or ain’t you?”

Simon groaned. “Oh, all right. I’ll put in a coin or two if that will satisfy you.”

“Thank you, dear.”

“So now I’m ‘dear,’ huh?”

Another squeak of the wooden bench indicated that the man had left the pew and was headed for the window. Honor shut her eyes. A minute later, the bench creaked again. She didn’t feel safe, but at least she hadn’t been discovered yet.

For the next hour, Honor learned more about Annie and Simon than she cared to know. Their conversation held no interest for her, but it assured her that they were harmless. The elderly couple planned to visit their daughter in Pine Falls. Honor wondered if she had enough money to travel that far. She still hadn’t counted her loot.

Loot? Why, I’m nothing more than a common thief, she thought.

A lump lodged in her throat when she contemplated what she’d become. Not in her worst nightmare had she ever envisioned that she would stoop so low.

Simon’s offering in the silver plate couldn’t possibly add up to the amount of money Honor had taken. A feeling of shame swept over her. She wanted to tell God she was sorry for what she’d done, but she didn’t know how. The only prayer that Honor knew was one Harriet had taught her before they stopped going to church, and years had passed since she’d recited that one.

But she remembered how it began. Our Father, who art in Heaven.

The sun had risen over the horizon now and was beaming through the east window. Inching back along the pew, closer to the light, Honor reached for a hymnal. When Lucas wasn’t around, sometimes her aunt had enjoyed singing hymns as she did her daily chores. She said that church music gave her strength.

Strength. Honor could use some of that.

Flipping through the songbook, she didn’t find any of the hymns her aunt had once sung, but she noticed some blank sheets of paper near the back of the book, titled “Note Pages.”

She considered using one of the sheets to compose a note, a letter to members of the church. And what better place to write it than the back of a hymnal? She reached for the pencil that was in a slot on the bookshelf, and began to write.

Dear Church People,

I hated to steal the money from the collection plate, and I wrote in the hymnal, too. I know I did wrong, but I was once told that the collection money went to the minister and to the poor and needy. Well, I’m poor and might need money more than the preacher does.

You see, I have to leave town today. If I don’t, my uncle will beat me and force me to marry him. He might even kill me.

Thank you for leaving the money in that plate so I could find it when I needed it the most. If I knew how to pray, I would tell God I am sorry for what I did. Since I don’t, would you folks please pray for me?

As soon as I can find a job, I promise to pay back everything I took, a little at a time.

Yours truly,

H.

Honor placed the songbook back on the shelf. She was wondering if there was a way for her to count her money without making a sound, when the bell in the tower suddenly pealed six times. Honor flinched each time. Somebody had to be pulling the rope to ring that bell, but she hadn’t heard a sound above her all night long. Yet, someone other than Annie and Simon was nearby. The minister? If he came down and saw her in the church or the churchyard, might he stop her from leaving?

The bench behind her squeaked, cutting off her racing thoughts. Honor didn’t move a muscle.

“Wake up, Simon,” Annie said. “It’s time to go.”

“What? Oh. Well, I wasn’t asleep no-how.”

“You were, too.”

“No, I was just resting my eyes,” Simon insisted.

“You can rest your eyes when we get on the stage.” There was fond exasperation in the woman’s voice. “Get up now, Simon. We have to get out of here. It’s six o’clock. The stage leaves at six-thirty, and we still have to buy our tickets.”

The bench creaked several times. Then Honor heard the tap, tap of their shoes as they moved back up the aisle. When the heavy front door of the church closed, Honor cautiously sat up and began to quietly count her money.

She had ten dollars and fifty-one cents, more than she had dreamed of finding. She could go to Pine Falls, for sure. That much money might take her all the way to Denver.

She’d almost reached the entry of the church when she saw the shape of a man in the shadows to the left of the door. Though she couldn’t actually see him, she felt him—and there was something in the air between them, a kind of regret. Was it coming from him? Or was it her distress?

Guilt engulfed her. Did he know what she’d done? Would the man try to stop her to recover the money? She hesitated by the door, waiting to see what he might do. But he never said a word.

“I’m sorry,” Honor whispered.

Without saying more, she raced out the door and down the path toward the livery stable where stagecoach tickets were sold. Once the stage pulled out, she would never have to see Lucas or Falling Rock, Colorado, again.

Honor waited in the carriage with Annie and Simon for the fourth passenger to arrive. The silver-haired couple looked older than she had expected, and she learned that their last name was Carr. Honor couldn’t help liking them, but she wished they weren’t so talkative.

The red velvet interior of the carriage looked new, and, although the back of the seat was wooden, the bench was padded.

Honor had heard that within a year, the railroad would be coming to Falling Rock. Tracks were being laid throughout the state, and stagecoaches could soon become outdated. A stagecoach had brought Honor to Colorado after her parents died, but she was too young to have a clear memory of that journey.

Now, fidgeting with the small velvet bow at the neck of her dress, she waited for the fourth passenger. She wished she had a hat with a net veil like Annie Carr’s little black one. Honor also admired the string of pearls around the older woman’s neck.

Aunt Harriet had had a pearl necklace that she’d inherited from Honor’s grandmother, but one day it vanished. Lucas was behind the disappearance, of course.

Proper ladies wore pearls and store-bought hats, not homemade print bonnets like Honor’s. But there wasn’t much cause for Honor to worry about becoming a lady now.

The driver had explained that the fourth passenger would be delayed as a result of unforeseen circumstances. Honor hoped whoever it was would hurry and be done so they could leave. Lucas could come looking for her at any moment.

When she heard a click at the door, she looked up expectantly, and then recoiled. Lucas! Trembling, she pressed back and covered her mouth with her hand to keep from shrieking.

In the next moment, she saw that it was the minister who’d prayed at her aunt’s grave, standing outside the carriage in his gray suit. He looked so much like a younger version of Lucas that for an instant, she’d thought he was her aunt’s husband.

Standing in the street, with one hand on the door handle, the handsome young man smiled warmly at the passengers in the carriage. “Sorry to have kept you nice folks waiting. Jeth Peters,” he said, leaning through the door, offering Simon Carr his hand, which the older gentleman took in a friendly shake. Jeth identified himself as the pastor of a church over in Hearten.

When Simon finished introducing his wife, Annie, Jeth turned his gaze on Honor for the first time. His smile fell away. “I want to express my sympathy once again for the loss of your aunt,” he said.

Annie and Simon glanced at each other, then at Honor. She recognized the expression of sympathy in their eyes.

“Reckon we’re sorry, too, miss,” Simon said.

Honor’s heart squeezed. “Thank you.” She ducked her head, trying not to look at Jeth.

Was he the man from the church who’d hid in the darkness? Had her sin been discovered? Did he know what she’d done? When Honor glanced up, finally meeting his sky-blue eyes, the warmth in them suggested he wasn’t concealing thoughts about her. But who could be sure?

Jeth climbed into the carriage and took a seat beside Honor. “I don’t believe you told me your name at the burial yesterday. May I know it now?”

“My name is Honor. Honor Rose McCall.”

“Honor.” He smiled. “I like that.”

Why had she told him her real name? She could have lied. Now it would be easier for Lucas to find her.

“Honor is a good character trait to have,” he went on, “and one we should all live by. Are you on your way to Pine Falls?”

“Yes,” Honor said a little too sharply, and pressed her lips together.

Jeth turned his gaze to the Carrs. “And where are you folks headed?”

“We’re going to Pine Falls, too,” Annie said, “and we’ll be gone for quite a spell. We’ll be home by Christmas, though.” She turned to her husband. “Won’t we, Simon?”

“We sure better.”

Annie Carr looked back to Jeth. “Did I hear you say you were a preacher?”

A grin started in Jeth’s blue eyes. “That’s right.”

Annie’s wrinkled lips turned up at the edges in reply. “Reckon you could answer some questions about the Bible?”

“Watch out, Preacher,” Simon put in. “My Annie is a longwinded woman when it comes to Scripture.”

Jeth chuckled under his breath as Annie Carr began asking her questions. Honor glanced out the window on her side of the coach.

A quaint little log cabin with a peaked roof stood on a hill. It reminded Honor of the clock her grandmother had sent to Aunt Harriet for a wedding gift. Grandma McCall was dead now, but when she sent the present, she wrote that she’d bought it from an Amish wood-carver during a visit to Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.

Painted statues of a little man and woman inside the clock had captivated Honor as a child. She’d spent hours in front of the clock, sitting cross-legged on the floor, waiting for the toylike couple to come out of their little house to check the weather.

Sometimes, the statues stayed out on their front porch for a while. At other times, they went right back inside and shut the door.

Honor was like that, too.

She’d been a happy, winsome child who loved playing in the sunshine—until Lucas came into her life. After that, she went inside herself and only came out occasionally to see if things had changed. Nothing ever did.

An image of Honor and Lucas sharing a house together as man and wife flashed through her brain. Her heart constricted.

Lucas couldn’t force her to marry him, but if he found her, he would whip her. Could she survive another of his beatings?

Aside from fearing him, she was disturbed and disgusted by the thought of seeing Lucas again. She knew she would always feel that way.

The stagecoach rocked, bumping Honor against the door. Holding herself stiffly on the bench, she gazed out the window again. They would be driving south from Falling Rock through what the ticket agent had called “rugged country.” There was to be a stop in Hearten, then on to Pine Falls. Some of the trees were leafless. Others were alive with all the fall colors—red, orange, yellow, gold and shades of rusty brown.

The ticket agent had explained that traveling through the hills would not be easy. The roads were rocky and there were numerous low-water crossings. Nevertheless, Honor loved the beauty that surrounded her.

“God gave us a good world to live in, didn’t He, Miss McCall?”

It was Jeth Peters who spoke, and Honor turned to face him, nodding a quick reply. She hadn’t realized the minister was sitting there watching her. She wondered how long he’d been doing so.

“I noticed you looking out at the scenery,” he continued, “and I figured you must enjoy the magnificence of nature as much as I do.”

“Yes.” Glancing away again, she squeezed her hands together tightly. She didn’t care to talk. She hoped he’d take the hint.

“White-topped mountains are peaceful looking,” he said. “Aren’t they?”

She turned back again, nodded, and then looked away once more.

“It’s real peaceful over in Hearten, too, where I live,” he went on. “The stage will be stopping there before going on to Pine Falls. Hope you have time to look around before you have to get back on the stagecoach. Have you taken this route before, ma’am?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Then let me prepare you.”

When he leaned a bit closer, she flinched and pressed her shoulder against the side of the carriage. A hint of puzzlement crossed his face, but then his expression became sober.

“The first creek will be easy to cross,” he explained. “But some of the rivers ahead are deeper. The currents will be swifter.”

“Are you trying to scare me, Preacher?” she asked.

“Not at all.” He chuckled, and a twinkle gleamed in his eyes. “Still, a person should know what to expect.”

They crossed the first creek easily, just as Jeth had predicted. The banks held only a trickle of water. What he’d said about the rivers worried her, though, because she’d heard that a stagecoach could be swept away by the rapids in an instant.

Annie and Simon Carr had fallen asleep. Simon snored; the echo of it filled the carriage.

Jeth laughed softly, sharing his amusement with Honor. She smiled back, giving herself permission to relax. The stress she’d felt since Aunt Harriet died slowly began to melt.

The ride had been bumpy since they’d left town that morning, but now, all at once, it felt like the carriage hit something large and hard. The coach rocked and tilted to the left. Annie and Simon were jolted awake as they tumbled toward the door. With the stagecoach canted to on one side, Honor slid across the seat, landing in Jeth’s arms.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she exclaimed.

He gazed down at her, and she felt the warmth of his smile.

If the man weren’t a minister, Honor would say he enjoyed their brief encounter. Then the rig straightened, and she returned to her half of the padded bench.

Squeaking and jerking, the stagecoach continued down a road, which really wasn’t much more than a set of deep ruts. Then the vehicle stopped. The driver got down from his perch and came to the window on Jeth’s side of the carriage.

“We’re gonna be going up a steep hill,” the driver told him. “And the horses could sure use some help pushing the load if you two men are of a mind to lend a hand.”

“Of course we’ll help.” Jeth glanced at Simon. “At least, I will.”

“Reckon that makes two of us,” Simon added.

“Now, you be careful, Simon,” Annie warned. “You ain’t as young as you used to be.”

“Neither are you, my dear.”

When the two men exited, the driver turned his gaze on the women. “Both you ladies better sit on Mrs. Carr’s side of the coach. ’Cause you’ll be thrown to her side anyway, once we start up that hill.”

Honor considered offering to help push. She certainly felt fit enough. But Aunt Harriet would have said it wasn’t ladylike to do such a thing, and Honor didn’t want to draw more attention to herself or to be judged improper.

The stagecoach slowly moved upward at a steep angle. Honor fell against the back of the seat and held down the skirt of her dress to keep it from slipping up and showing her ankles. If she had thought the journey jolted her back and forth before, she needed a new word to describe the ride from that point on.

At the top of the hill, the carriage stopped again. Honor checked the condition of her clothing. The tan dress had been her aunt’s wedding gown, and the wide lace collar looked soiled—no doubt the result of her dash into town through the woods and a night spent sleeping in it. The pearl buttons that went up to her chin appeared clean enough, but her sleeves were dirty.

After she’d bought her ticket, she’d placed her remaining paper money in the lace-edged cuff of her right sleeve. After the rough ride to the top of the hill, she wondered if she still had the bills. Pressing her fingers against the cuff at her wrist, she felt the stiff wad and breathed easier.

Honor moved back to her original seat. She smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt, then stuck her head out the window to see what the world looked like from the top of the hill. She saw three riders coming up behind them at a fast gallop, and her pulse began to race. They wore masks. For a moment, she couldn’t react.

Outlaws.

“Jump back inside!” she heard the driver shout to Jeth and Simon Carr. “I’m gonna try to outrun ’em.”

Both doors flew open. The stagecoach lurched forward—starting off at a fast pace, while the two men crouched on the floor.

“Get down!” Jeth yelled to the women. “Both of you.”

Honor jumped to the floor beside Jeth, Annie Carr right behind her. The men pulled pistols from their belts.

Honor hadn’t expected Jeth to be armed—he was a preacher. However, she felt relieved, knowing he carried protection.

“Will we be able to outrun ’em?” Annie asked in a shaky voice.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jeth replied. “I think so. At least, I hope so.”

Every muscle in Honor’s body tensed as the carriage rolled on down the hill. Clinging to the edge of the bench, she tried to imagine the driver and the man riding shotgun whipping the horses, urging them to run even faster. She could only hope the two men driving the stage could outrun their pursuers.

The carriage took a sharp curve, wobbling and swaying back and forth over the big rocks. Honor was tossed against Jeth again and again, and he jostled against her.

She felt a sudden jolt as the carriage lurched sharply. “What’s happening?”

Jeth peered out a window. “We lost a wheel! I can see it rolling down the hill.”

The carriage swerved to the right. The screeching cry of iron against rock rang out. All four passengers tumbled to the side of the stagecoach. Honor could scarcely breathe until Jeth pulled her out from under Annie. The crippled rig careened down the hill, half rolling, half dragging. They were coming close to the edge of a cliff. Annie screamed.

“Move out of my way, Miss McCall!” Jeth shoved Honor to one side and crawled to the door.

The stagecoach lost speed, then banged against the side of an embankment. They were all thrown to and fro. The rig slid a few more feet. Then stopped.

“Praise the Lord!” Jeth released a big breath of air and wiped his brow. “Someone must have cut those horses loose. Anybody hurt?” He glanced around and smiled. “Guess not. What a blessing.”

“We’re safe, then?” Honor asked, feeling a first rush of relief.

Jeth shook his head and cocked his pistol. “Now we’ll have to deal with the outlaws.”

Honor shrank to the floor as shots blasted from both directions. Jeth placed his hand on her back to keep her there. At the ring of a bullet hitting metal, Honor glanced out the window just as a rifle flew by.

“The stagecoach driver lost his weapon,” Jeth announced.

Jeth and Simon aimed their pistols at the three riders who had caught up with them. Before the two men inside the carriage could discharge a single shot, the outlaws surrounded the crippled stagecoach.

“Everybody out with your hands up,” a bandit with gray hair shouted down from his horse. “And be quick about it.”

Jeth tucked his pistol in the waistband of his trousers. “Do whatever they tell you to do, Miss McCall,” he whispered. “This is not the time to try anything risky.”

Honor stepped down from the stage and stood between Jeth and Annie Carr. When she raised her hands above her head, she noticed that the edge of one bill protruded from the cuff of her dress.

Two of the robbers had dismounted. A young-looking man with a pimply face above a red bandanna held a basket that reminded Honor of the one she had discarded back in Falling Rock. Another outlaw stood beside him, aiming a gun at the hostages. The man with gray hair remained atop a big, reddish horse. He held a rifle on the group as well.

“Put all your money and valuables in the basket there,” he ordered them. “And hurry up, or you’ll be sorry.”

When Honor thought nobody was watching, she attempted to push the money back in the cuff of her dress. The next moment, everything went black.