The Parson's Christmas Gift. Kerri Mountain
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stood on a high shelf, shrouded with a layer of fine dust. Otherwise the room held little adornment beyond the ornate couch and a simple wooden rocker.
The fireplace in the middle of the house glowed with faint embers. On either side, a doorway opened. One led to the kitchen and Journey guessed the other led to Miss Rose’s bedroom. Simple in design and decoration, it was so unlike the garish and cluttered rooms she’d lived in up until now. She liked it, quiet and unobtrusive.
They followed the tiny figure into the kitchen. Freshly baked bread steamed through cloths on the sideboard. The scent filled the room to the farthest corners.
“I was about to slice some bread for lunch,” the woman said. Journey noted her slow, sure step and the steady voice.
Abby rested the basket she carried on the table. “Then we’re just in time, Miss Rose. I’ve brought some chicken sandwiches for all of us. Zane already took one, and there’s plenty more.”
Miss Rose sat, then slid out a chair and nodded Journey into it. “I’m assuming your friend has a name you just haven’t got around to sharing.”
Abby’s light laugh held none of the nervousness Journey felt. “This is Miss Smith. She wandered into town this morning, looking for work and a warm roof to sleep under. Journey, this is Mrs. Rose Bishop.”
Journey forced her hand forward in greeting. Something about the woman reminded her of the ladies who would pass by the saloon on Sundays, all fine and proper. Except that this woman seemed to possess a kindness, a fairness—confidence born of something more than money and position. She tried to hold her fingers and voice steady. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Bishop. Please, call me Journey.”
“Only if you’ll call me Miss Rose,” she said, getting up to set a kettle to heat. “Everybody does. Make yourselves at home, and I’ll get the settings.”
It seemed Mrs. Bishop—Miss Rose—could well handle the affairs of her own home. It didn’t appear as if much needed to be done on the grounds that Miss Rose couldn’t find a nearby rancher to lend a hand. She moved slowly but with a fairly steady step. While the house wasn’t spotless, it wasn’t unlivable, either. What would she want with hired help?
But Journey needed to find a more stationary hideout, and after months on the trail, eyeing every shadow, she was tired. The warmth and comfortable feeling this house offered could seep right in. She’d be inclined to let it.
She couldn’t afford to let it.
Abby sat down across from her and placed sandwiches on the three plates Miss Rose brought out. Journey clasped her hands together, squeezing one thumb. Her knee bobbed as her mind raced to come up with a way to bring this meeting to a close before she agreed to something. She wanted to stay. She wanted to think she could belong in such a home. But where had her instincts taken her in the past? She was no longer fit for these fine people.
Miss Rose smiled, skin pulled paper-thin over her round cheeks. She seemed about to say something when Zane’s hammer interrupted. Journey caught her motion to take a plate and pass a cloth-wrapped sandwich her way. Then the ladies bowed their heads without a word while she twitched in her seat.
“So you’d be willing to help out an old lady like me?” Miss Rose said when the pounding stopped. “You might find I’m too ornery for your liking.”
“I’m not the easiest person to live with, either, ma’am.” Hank had shown her that often enough. “I wouldn’t want to obligate you.”
“Nonsense. I’ve been looking for someone to move out here and help me some. My old bones can’t go like they used to. I’ve been praying the Lord would send just the right person. To be honest, I’m looking for the company as much as the help.”
Journey nodded and drew her eyebrows together. “You really think I could do that?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Abby’s own furrowed brow.
“Now that’s hard to tell from this side of it,” Miss Rose said. “Can you clean? Wipe windows?”
“Yes.”
“Muck out a few stalls?”
“Sure.”
“And you’re in need of a place to stay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, then it seems like we’re in a position to help each other. I can’t believe it’s a coincidence that you’d wander into town, into Abby and Sam’s store, when here I am looking for someone like you.”
“Like me, ma’am?”
Miss Rose looked her over, and Journey sensed the woman knew there was something more than met the eye. “Yes,” she said. “Someone just like you.”
“What about the preacher? He seems handy enough.” Why argue the matter? She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t.
“Pastor Zane’s been helpful to a lot of folks around here. He considers it part of his ministry. But he has plenty ministry beyond playing ranch hand. I found myself expecting it of him, and that’s wrong. So I told God He’d have to send someone else along, so I could let Zane focus on more important things.”
“You don’t even know me.” The steadiness of her voice surprised her. “I could only be looking for a handout from you.”
A dignified sniff from the woman punctuated the air. “You might find you’ve gotten the harder end of the bargain. I’m set in my ways and terrible stubborn about some things. My Lord’s had many a year to help me improve, and I still struggle with it—” she interrupted with a grin “—so that tells you what I was like at your age. I’ll be after you to do some things both here in the house and around the property, but something tells me you’re heartier than you look. Pay’s not much—maybe a dollar a month, plus room and board, and of course, Sundays off. I’m figuring we could both win on this gamble, if you’re willing.”
Journey nodded. There was no way this could work. Who was she to involve this woman—this community—in her mess? The pounding on the roof matched the pounding in her head.
“So what do you say?” Abby’s voice rose over the din.
Journey’s muscles grew stiff. She needed to think. What would it matter if she darted for the door and never looked back? She waited for the hammering to stop.
“I appreciate your kind offer, Miss Rose, but I can’t—”
The ring of the hammer interrupted again. It stopped, breaking the rhythm they’d grown accustomed to with a rough scrape. A heavy thud punctuated the instant of silence. For a moment, all three of them sat stock-still. Journey’s heart leaped and she grasped the edge of the table, ready to push herself up and away.
“Zane…” Abby voiced Journey’s own thought. They jumped from their seats as one.
“Go!” Miss Rose said, her voice calm and firm. “Make sure he’s not hurt.”
Journey thought that her very tone insisted that he was fine. Somehow that tone was comforting in itself. But that thought didn’t keep her from flying out of the house, close at Abby’s heels, wondering why it should matter to her.
Chapter Three
Journey turned the far corner of the house to see Zane struggle to his elbows. His gray eyes searched the skies above, unfocused. She watched as Abby knelt at his side, and followed her glance to the old woman. Miss Rose stood with a white-knuckled grip on the corner porch post, peering over the edge.
“Zane? Zane, are you all right?” Abby grasped his shoulders in both hands, holding him steady.
“What happened?” Journey asked. Zane’s head jerked back, focusing his gaze on her. She fumbled for a handkerchief from her pocket and tapped it against Abby’s shoulder but couldn’t draw her gaze away from his. The woman took it to dab at the