The Winter Pearl. Molly Bull Noble
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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.”
Had the sermon been left deliberately? Was Reverend Peters hoping to convert her? More likely, it was an oversight. Still, she wondered….
Honor glanced toward the bedroom door. If she was going to leave now, this might be her best opportunity to get away without being noticed.
Swinging her legs around, she rose out of bed. When her feet touched the soft rag rug, she felt as if the carpet had grown wings and was about to fly away. To keep from falling, she grabbed the bedpost and waited for the wave of dizziness to disappear.
Several moments later, the flying carpet became a rug again, and she reached for her tan dress. Pulling the garment from the hook on the wall, she saw that it had been cleaned, freshly ironed, and smelled faintly of rosewater. She buried her nose in the sweet scent, grateful for Mrs. Peters’s kindness. Honor’s shoes, bonnet and shawl were on a shelf by her dress—and those items, too, had all been cleaned.
Honor still felt slightly woozy. Jeth had said Dr. Harris wanted her to stay in bed for a week. For a moment she was tempted to follow medical advice and climb back under the covers. But no, if she planned to make her escape, she had to do it now.
Jeth and his mother were indeed generous to have done so much for her. Aunt Harriet had always valued giving thanks, and Honor couldn’t leave town without writing a thank-you letter.
After quickly buttoning up her dress and gathering her bonnet and shawl, Honor went downstairs. In the entry hall, she noticed dark wood paneling. A small maple desk stood against one wall, and writing materials lay on the desktop. Honor sat down to write.
Dear Reverend and Mrs. Peters,
You have been more than kind to me, and I appreciate all you have done. But it is time for me to leave now. I hope to have left on the noon stage by the time you get back.
Yours truly,
Honor McCall
The minute she stepped out the door and onto the wide, front porch, a rush of cold wind whipped around the corner of the big, old house and slapped her in the face. The air smelled like rain. For a moment, she doubted her strength, and her resolve weakened. Perhaps she should have stayed in bed.
Another norther must have blown in while she was recuperating in the bedroom upstairs, and she wasn’t dressed warmly enough. She longed for her old woolen cape, but she’d left that back at the cabin with Lucas. Still, she was determined to leave now.
Honor stepped into the wind, head lowered. The ends of her long hair flew below the print bonnet. Draping her shawl over her bonnet and around her shoulders, she continued up the road on shaky legs. Since she never reached her destination, Jeth had said that Honor’s ticket was being held until she could pick it up. All Honor knew was she’d never been to Hearten before and had no idea where to find the ticket office.
Wagon tracks went to the right. She turned to the left as droplets of frozen rain hit her cheeks. Honor took a dozen steps, then slipped and fell. Quivering from the dampness and cold, she tried to rise and slipped again. Her head began to spin. The next moment, a blanket of darkness shrouded her.
Lucas rode toward Pine Falls, in search of Honor. He’d found a little food in the root cellar on the farm and had wrapped it in a potato sack to bring along. He was taking a route that avoided Falling Rock—too many debts waited for him there. His plan was to make a stop in Hearten, pick up a couple of bottles of whiskey, and move on.
There were no saloons in Hearten. The whole countryside was dry, though he’d heard of several ranchers who brewed spirits on the side. Maybe he could find one of them.
His mind seemed clearer now, and he’d been thinking about the minister from Hearten, who had been at the cemetery. The preacher had reminded him of somebody. Try as he might, Lucas couldn’t think who.
When he was a child, his mother had read to him from the Good Book. Since the preacher carried a Bible, maybe that was what stirred his recollections. All he knew for certain was that seeing the reverend had caused him to recall events he would rather not remember.
His mare, Lady, moved into a soft trot. A frosty breeze whipped Lucas’s ears. He pulled up the collar of his brown jacket. He had never thought he would miss Harriet. But he did. With a jolt, he realized he missed his mama and his childhood home, as well.
Lucas had ridden a horse named Old Smokey to school every day when he was a boy. He could almost see his mama standing at the kitchen door, waving goodbye to him and his big sisters as they sat astride the big gelding. Back then, Lucas was known as Lawrence Smith, but it had been years since anybody had called him by his real name.
His mama had wanted him to become a Christian and get a good education, but he’d fulfilled neither of those goals. Maybe he would have if he’d stayed at home instead of running away when he was barely fifteen.
Both his parents had been churchgoers, but his father was a hypocrite. Every time Pappy got drunk, he’d beat Lucas severely. Mama never said a word about the old man’s drinking, but she scolded Lucas when she found him behind the barn one day, sipping spirits with his friends.
As soon as he was big enough, Lucas had joined a cattle drive. He’d admired the strength he’d seen in his first trail boss, Adam Scythe. He wanted to be just