The Preacher's Bride (Brides of Simpson Creek) Read online

  Finally the Indian turned to Gil. “Sit, white man,” he said.

  Gil felt his jaw drop in astonishment at hearing English from the Comanche, but the other man made no move to explain. He made a clumsy job of lowering himself to the earthen floor, but the other man appeared not to notice as he called something in a voice designed to carry outside the tepee.

  The Comanche turned back to him. “I am Makes Healing,” the Comanche said. “I am the medicine man. I am grateful to you for trying to bring my son home. His name in your tongue would be Runs Like a Deer. Thanks to you that will still be true, after some moons have passed.”

  “I am Gil Chadwick,” Gil said, following the other man’s lead by giving his name first. “I was happy to help your son.”

  Makes Healing considered Gil’s words, his black eyes unreadable. Then he said, “You took a great risk to help my son. You have not been rewarded for your kindness by our young warriors.”

  Gil nodded, resisting the urge to complain about it.

  His restraint seemed to please the man, for he smiled faintly. “You will be better treated now. We will give you food and drink.”

  As if to prove the truth of what he said, a squaw entered the tepee then, carrying a crude wooden bowl full of chunks of meat that Gil had smelled cooking earlier. She set it before Gil, along with a hollowed gourd full of water.

  “Eat. Drink,” Makes Healing told him.

  Gil lost no time in seizing the gourd and relieving the parched dryness of his throat. “Thank you,” he said, before dipping into the stew with his fingers. He guessed the meat was buffalo, and it was seasoned with some unfamiliar flavoring, but the roasted chunks of meat were actually quite tasty.

  How soon did he dare ask to leave? From the light coming through the smoke hole at the top of the tepee, it was dusk. His father and Maude Harkey must be getting worried at the very least. Would Maude notify Faith? Then she’d be worried, too.

  “What will you have as a reward, Gil Chadwick?” the Indian asked, while Gil chewed.

  Would it be rude to ask to be allowed to leave immediately? Gil thought wryly, and said an inward prayer of thanks.

  “I could offer you a beautiful Comanche woman for a wife.”

  Gil almost choked on his meat. Was the man serious or merely toying with him? The black eyes gave no clue, but Runs Like a Deer chuckled out loud.

  Gil reckoned it was best to use diplomacy. “Thank you for that honor,” he said with all the solemnity he could manage, “but I am a minister of the Christian faith—”

  “You are a holy man?” the medicine man interrupted, clearly impressed.

  Not nearly holy enough, Gil thought, remembering his past, but he knew what the Indian man meant, and merely nodded. “A holy man of my people must marry a woman who is a Christian.”

  “You take a wife, you tell her what to believe,” the other man countered, but there was a twinkle in the obsidian depths of his gaze. “You are a holy man—she must respect you.”

  Gil took a deep breath, hoping he could trust that twinkle. “Again, I thank you, but there is a woman among my people that I wish to marry.” If Faith comes to believe, he added to himself.

  “The only reward I would ask of you, Makes Healing,” Gil said, “is to be allowed to return home now.”

  “Now you are tired. You will return home when the sun rises again. You should eat more, then rest.”

  Gil could only imagine how anxious his father would be if he was gone all night. And Faith—she’d know he would never willingly be gone so long. Would she be anxious for him, fearing the worst?

  “My father is old and has been very sick,” he countered. “He and the people who care about us must be very worried at my absence, for I had planned to return home hours ago. Please, with your permission, I must leave soon—tonight.”

  The medicine man eyed him for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he nodded. “Your horse will be brought. You will be guided to the white man’s road.”

  Thank you, Lord! Gil prayed in relief.

  “You will be blindfolded until you reach the road, holy man,” Makes Healing went on. “You must never try to find this camp again or tell your people of it. I have forbidden our young braves to harm you further because of your goodness in helping my son, but I would not be able to restrain them a second time. If you come to the camp again or if the bluecoats come looking here because of your words, I could not stop them from taking vengeance on you and on your people.”

  Gil swallowed. “I understand,” he said, knowing he would never be able to find his way back here even without the blindfold. He wondered how he was going to explain his absence and his obvious injuries, but he would have to find a way, for endangering the boy and his people would be poor thanks for the mercy he had been shown.

  Could he trust the braves’ obedience to the medicine man’s order not to harm him? They’d had a bloodthirsty glint in their eyes, and who would know if they murdered him somewhere beyond earshot of the camp?

  Chapter Ten

  Gil walked quietly into his house, using the back door that led into the kitchen. He’d already untacked and stalled his horse at the livery, not wanting to wake the proprietor to do it at an hour he reckoned to be sometime after midnight.

  The flickering light of a lamp illuminated a figure in a dress, her head on her hands on the table. From her regular breathing, it was obvious she slept, yet as he drew closer, he saw the figure was too slight to be Maude Harkey’s, and her hair was auburn, rather than Maude’s bright red. What was Faith doing here?

  He stepped closer, and became sure it was. But how to wake her without frightening her?

  “Faith?” he called softly, then, when she only stirred and mumbled something in her sleep, called more loudly, “Faith?”

  She came awake so suddenly that she nearly tipped over the chair. Blinking, she focused on him, then jumped to her feet.

  “Gil Chadwick! Where in tarnation have you been?” she whispered. “Maude was worried sick when you never came home—” Suddenly she stared at him, then lifted the lamp to illuminate his face. “What happened to you? Have you—have you been in a fight?” She leaned closer.

  She thought he’d been in a saloon altercation and was sniffing for the smell of liquor! The thought that he’d been brawling in a saloon was so vastly different from what had really happened that he couldn’t help chuckling.

  “I’m glad you think it’s funny, Gil!” she hissed indignantly, pointing at him. “While you were out gallivanting around, we were just waiting for dawn to organize a search party!”

  “I’m sorry.” He held up his hands in a gesture for peace, knowing she would see they were badly scraped and cut, too. “I didn’t mean to make light of it, and I’m sorry I worried you. Does everyone in town think I’m missing?”

  “Only Maude, my parents and I,” she admitted. “We couldn’t see waking everyone else when there was nothing anyone could do till first light.”

  “I’ll apologize to them personally,” he said. “I wasn’t in a fight, I...well, I accidentally came upon some Comanche braves. I managed to outrun them, but then...uh, my horse spooked at a jackrabbit and I fell off. I must have hit my head on something, because when I came to my senses, it was dark.”

  His throat tightened as he uttered the half-truth. It wasn’t completely a lie, he told himself. It had been completely accidental that he’d found Runs Like a Deer, then the three Comanche braves. And his interaction with the braves couldn’t properly be termed a fight—he hadn’t been able to throw even one punch.

  “You were unconscious?” she asked, her hands over her lips. She looked alarmed, but the disapproving glint had left her eyes. “It’s fortunate you were able to make it home, then.”

  “I’ll be all right, just a little sore,” he said, feeling guilt
y at allowing her to jump to the wrong conclusion. “Is my father asleep? Was he worried? Where’s Miss Maude?”

  “I sent Maude home. I planned to tell your father we thought you’d stayed over for supper at some ranch so he wouldn’t be anxious. He was asleep when Maude left to come tell us, and he was still asleep when I looked in on him,” she said, still whispering.

  Once again, Faith had seen a need and taken care of it, he thought, touched, even though she’d been willing to tell a little lie just as he had. He was conscious of an overpowering wish to kiss her, but he couldn’t cross that line. Not as long as his soul and hers resided on different sides.

  He let out a breath, feeling the weight of worry about his father slipping off his shoulders. With any luck, the old man would never have to know his son had been in danger today—although that meant repeating the lie to his father.

  Or perhaps his father was the one person he could safely tell the truth, he thought.

  “Thank you for staying with Papa,” he said to Faith. “Let me just look in on him, and then I’ll walk you home.”

  “I’m not leaving until I wash those cuts and scrapes,” she told him tartly. “You look like you’ve been tied up in a sack with a wild cat. Sit down there,” she commanded, pointing to the chair she’d just vacated.

  He watched as she moved efficiently around his kitchen, lifting a big bowl from the shelves into which she pumped some water. She got a cake of soap and some clean rags, then began to gingerly clean his wounds.

  The soap stung like a battalion of wasps on his broken skin, but he bore her ministrations meekly, wishing he could tell her his feet looked worse. Faith would never believe he’d fallen from his horse, as he’d implied, if she saw them. He’d just have to tend to those wounds himself, and make sure she didn’t catch him wincing when he walked her home. It served him right. He hoped she didn’t smell the pungent green poultice the medicine man had anointed his feet with before wrapping thin strips of cloth around them. The bandages made for a tight fit when Gil had put his newly returned shoes back on, but that hadn’t bothered him until he’d dismounted and walked from the livery stable. He was sure he had bruises blossoming all over his chest and abdomen, as well.

  When she was done, Gil looked in on his father to assure himself the old man was still asleep before he kept his promise to walk Faith home.

  “I’ll let Maude know you’re all right in the morning,” she told him, as they walked down Fannin Street from the parsonage to the Bennetts’ house. “She lives in the boarding house, and I don’t want to wake the whole place.”

  “Thank you,” he told her. “And again, I’m sor—”

  She surprised him into silence by reaching up and placing a finger on his lips. “No more apologizing,” she told him.

  The urge to kiss the finger, then her sweetly curved lips, came over him again, and once more, he had to suppress it.

  It seemed as if her action had startled her, for she shoved her hand back down at her side again. “I’m just glad you’re all right,” she said quickly.

  I’m glad you’re glad, he thought, although you don’t know half of the story.

  By now they had reached the Bennetts’ house, but he wasn’t in a hurry to bid her good night. “I went up into the hills to pray about you today,” he said, as she placed her foot on her porch. “That was the reason I rode out.”

  She blushed, then said, “And?” her voice carefully neutral.

  “When will you be taking care of Papa again?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” she said.

  He eyed the low-hanging moon ruefully. “This morning, you mean, so I must not keep you up much longer. I’ve already robbed you of some of your sleep. Come later in the morning, if you like. Papa and I will be fine. But perhaps when he takes a nap, we could take some lemonade and some of those cookies Mrs. Detwiler keeps bringing, and spend some time talking on the riverbank?”

  She hesitated. “I’m afraid it might be misconstrued by someone passing by.” Faith avoided his gaze.

  He started to argue, but realized she was right. Sitting alone together by Simpson Creek could look like they were having a picnic, and therefore courting.

  “All right, then,” he said. “Perhaps we could talk in the sanctuary? Surely no one could get the wrong idea if you did that.”

  “I suppose that would be all right. Good night.”

  Gil watched her as she walked up the porch steps, and quietly entered her house.

  * * *

  Faith sprang out of bed, full of anticipation, as if she had not been up late the night before. She found herself picking out one of her favorite dresses in her wardrobe, one of orange blossom-sprigged cotton with a green sash at the waist that tied in a bow over her bustle. Both colors complemented her auburn hair and green eyes, she knew. She couldn’t seem to resist taking special care with her hair, either.

  It was as if she were two different people, one a sensible person who knew she must not start something she could not in good conscience complete, the other a girl who could not stop smiling into the mirror at the thought of spending time with a man whose hazel eyes had flecks of gold in them, and whose voice caressed her heart every time he spoke.

  “How pretty you look, dear,” her mother said as she came downstairs. “Going to take care of Reverend Chadwick?”

  She nodded. “And to see if his son is all right after his spill yesterday.” When she’d returned home last night, she’d told her parents what had happened to Gil.

  “He’ll likely be more sore and stiff today than he was last night,” her mother said. “Not that he’ll admit it, mind you, if he’s like most men,” she added with a laugh and a roll of the eyes.

  “He didn’t seem to want to talk about it last night,” Faith said. “I suppose he’s embarrassed that he fell from his horse. All men seem to think they should ride like they were born in the saddle, don’t they?”

  Her mother nodded. “It’s God’s own mercy he was able to escape those Indians! And that he didn’t break a leg or crack his skull, alone out there in the hills, isn’t it?”

  Faith nodded, although privately she thought it was just pure luck. It was not as if Gil was a cowboy, always in the saddle, after all.

  “Why don’t you take some of my willow bark and brew a tea for him?” her mother said, moving toward one of her glass jars in which she kept a number of home remedies. “That’ll take away the aches.”

  “I’ll take it, Ma. But you’re right, he probably won’t admit needing anything,” Faith said, and sailed out the door.

  * * *

  Breakfast was over, and Faith had started a pot of soup simmering on the stove for dinner. Gil had gone off to his study to work on Sunday’s sermon, and the old preacher had seemed content to sit in the kitchen and watch the birds flit about from tree to tree from his window. But now he put a gnarled hand on her sleeve as she passed by, and when she paused to see what he wanted, he pointed in the direction of the back door.

  “Did you want to go outside, Reverend?” she asked. “It’s a little hot, but I suppose if you sit in the shade of that live oak, it’d be all right for a while.”

  He shook his head vigorously and pointed again.

  She realized he was pointing at the hat rack by the door, rather than at the door. “Yes, you’ll need your hat to keep the sun out of your eyes.”

  Again, he shook his head. “C-c-caaannh...”

  He was pointing, not at his hat, but at the cane which also hung from the row of knobs along with his and Gil’s hats.

  “You want your cane?”

  The old preacher nodded, then made motions with the first two fingers of his good hand to indicate walking.

  Faith stared at him. He’d been able to tolerate pivoting from a somewhat shaky standing position when transferring from the bed
to the wheeled chair, but now, it seemed, he’d decided he was ready to take the next step. Literally.

  Moments later, she called to Gil in the study. “Gil, could you come here for a moment please?”

  He was still placing his folded spectacles in his pocket when he reached the kitchen. “Do you need help with—”

  Faith watched as Gil stopped, dumbstruck at the sight of his father standing a few feet from the wheelchair, leaning on his cane. Then the old man took a wobbling step toward him. Then another and another.

  “Papa! You’re walking! God be praised!” He turned to Faith, tears of joy standing in his eyes. “Faith, it’s a miracle!”

  Faith couldn’t stop grinning. “You can’t keep a good man down, that’s for sure,” she said. Her grin broadened as Gil swept them both in an exuberant hug, although he was careful not to knock his father down.

  “Dr. Walker said he thought he might eventually walk again, but I hadn’t dared to hope,” Gil told her, “at least not this soon. Papa, you’re amazing!”

  His father grinned crookedly, then mumbled, “Don’ be...dourrrr.”

  Faith turned to Gil for a translation.

  “I think he told me not to be a doubter,” Gil told her. “I won’t, Papa. Never again!”

  Then the old preacher pointed outside, and it was clear he wanted to get there with his newly regained ability to walk. They spent a happy hour sitting in the shade with him, not talking much, just rejoicing in the moment.

  The effort had tired him, though, and when they brought him back inside, he indicated a desire to go to his bedroom and nap.

  By unspoken mutual consent, Faith and Gil quietly left the house and went into the church sanctuary.

  “Tell me if I’m wrong, Faith,” Gil said, as they settled themselves on the front-row pew. “But I get the idea you don’t think what happened to Papa this morning was a miracle.”

  Faith stiffened. She’d not expected Gil to be so direct. She shrugged. “I don’t know, Gil. But Dr. Walker had already said he might learn to walk again.”