The Winter Pearl. Molly Noble Bull
give.
As Jeth continued to hold out the pink flower, she saw that it was made of silk. So the scent she’d noted was rosewater. How had she not realized such an obvious fact immediately?
Honor looked back at Jeth. “Would you mind telling me exactly what happened? I still don’t remember much.”
Jeth returned the flower to the vase. Facing her, he again stuck his hands behind his back. “When you got off the stage, one of the outlaws caught you trying to hide your money and hit you over the head with the butt of his gun. Our entire congregation is praying for you.”
“Was anyone else hurt?”
He shook his head, and she saw his shoulders relax a little. “The rest of us did exactly as the robbers said to do—especially after we saw what happened to you.”
Jeth paused, as though he expected her to reply. When she didn’t say anything, he stepped to the window near the foot of her bed and turned his back toward her.
Honor sat up. The pain in her head had faded slightly. “The elderly couple—Annie and Simon—” She swallowed. “Can you tell me…?”
He turned briefly, gazed at her, and then peered out the window again.
Honor wondered what he found so interesting out there. All she saw was brownish-green grass, trees, and a few clouds in a blue sky.
“What would you like me to tell you?” Jeth prompted.
She hesitated; she’d almost forgotten what she had planned to say. “Oh, about the Carrs. How are they?”
“They’re fine. Except that, like you, they lost all their money.”
When he turned back to face her, Honor flinched. It had happened again. For a moment, she had thought she was looking at her uncle instead of at Jeth. Why did she keep seeing a resemblance? The two men were nothing alike.
“The stage company honored the Carrs’ tickets,” Jeth continued, “and they caught another stage to Pine Falls.” He took a step toward her. “They sure hated to leave before they found out how you were doing.” A wrinkle appeared on his forehead. “How are you doing?”
“My head hurts. Other than that, I’m all right.”
“Frankly, I’d be a little surprised if your head didn’t hurt—after the smack you got.”
A jumble of questions swirled in her head, but in her present state, she had trouble sorting them.
“You said the stage company honored the tickets of the other passengers?” she finally managed to ask. “Will they honor mine?”
“Of course.” White teeth gleamed in his smile. A lock of thick brown hair fell across his forehead. “In fact,” he added, “your ticket is waiting for you down at the stage office here in Hearten. As soon as you’re able to travel again, you can pick it up.”
“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