The christmas brides col.., p.50
The Christmas Brides Collection, page 50
Home. The word still filled Kate with longing. But a longing for what? Her father’s land? Four walls? Without Charlie, it meant nothing.
“Perhaps we’d better head back to the parsonage, dear.” Rev. Gleason gestured toward the door.
Mr. Heelin stopped in front of Kate. “Now I know why he was so anxious for me to buy your father’s land. He wanted money to get out of town. ‘Course, I couldn’t buy it. I’m retiring soon.”
Kate’s mind clicked with revelations faster than a telegraph machine. Papa’s land. Charlie wanting to leave Kennedale. His dedication to reading his Bible. His love of hymn singing. His love of her. She stepped away from the group, wanting to sort out her thoughts.
Charlie was a redeemed man still burdened by his past.
She spun around. “While he may not have revealed all of his history to me, I know that he is a good man.” A glimpse of the Bible resting on the pulpit caught Kate’s eye. “Reverend, you said, in your sermon this Sunday past, “ ’They that trust in the Lord shall be as mount Zion, which cannot be removed, but abideth for ever.’”
He nodded.
“I’ll not be moved. My place is with Charlie.” A warm glow filled her. I love him.
Ben rubbed his hand over his mouth. “But the train … snow’s closed the rails to Topeka. They’ll not open till next week.”
“Then I’ll have to find someone who can take me,” Kate said.
Mrs. Gleason touched her shoulder. “Be reasonable, dear.”
Ida folded her arms. “Someone would have to be a fool to travel in this weather.”
Lifting her chin, Kate replied, “I know just who to ask.”
Chapter 9
You want to go where?” Gilroy Grisford’s morning mug of coffee tumbled out of his hand and nearly put out the campfire.
“Topeka. Now please rouse some of your brothers and take me.” She stood outside the sod house and gestured behind her. “I have a wagon and fresh horses. It can’t be that far.”
Gilroy scratched his head. “In heavy snow it’s near impossible to find the trail.”
“Maybe Great Wolf can lend a hand.” Gary stood behind his brother and pulled his blanket around his shoulders.
“Gary, you’re better.” A warm sense of relief eased the tension in her shoulders.
“Yes, ma’am.” A slow smile spread across his face. “Better in body and soul. Now about my Indian friend …”
“Indians? Again?” Kate swallowed, her nerves returning.
“They’re the only ones who can follow a route in this weather.”
“Woolsack.”
Charlie paced in front of the smoky fireplace in his uncle’s guest room. “I don’t understand. How can the court claim insufficient evidence? I’ll give them all the evidence they need.”
His uncle grinned. “It’s the way the law works. I’m sorry, Charlie, but you’re a free man. That’s why I sent that document to your wife-to-be. All along, I assumed you’d told her. I thought it would be a relief to her.”
Charlie swallowed the bitter taste of smoldering wood in his mouth. Sweet Kate. What would she do now? Who would protect her? Even the thought of another man standing beside her sent daggers of pain into his chest. He slammed his fist on the table. “You don’t understand how my sin weighs on me.”
“We’re all sinners.”
“Innocent people have been hurt by my deeds.”
“God has given you a free gift of forgiveness. Accept it.”
Misery stole over Charlie like a cold draft. He understood what his uncle was saying, but he couldn’t let go. The swindling, the stealing, the lying, the greed that loomed over him like a shadow… “I can’t.”
“You mean won’t.”
“Won’t?”
“Jesus paid an awfully high price for you to toss it aside.” His uncle opened the door. “You’d better think on that, son.”
An opening and shutting of doors and raised voices sounded downstairs. Uncle Ridgley had sent a message to his pastor to come, but Charlie wasn’t in the mood for more words. Steps alerted him to someone coming up the stairs.
He stared at his clenched fists. “Go away.”
“If you think I’m leaving, Charlie Landing, you have yet to understand British women.”
Kate. Feelings of hope, joy, and relief fought for space in his chest. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He shot to his feet and flung open the door. “What are you doing here?”
“We have a wedding to attend to.”
“A wedding?” For a moment, his mind went blank.
“Our wedding? Christmas Eve? My promise to my father?”
Guilt snatched his fleeting happiness away. “He didn’t want you to marry an outlaw.”
Kate strode into the room. “According to your uncle, the court has declared you innocent.”
“I’m not innocent.” Charlie ran a hand over his lips. “And I no longer have a job or a town to call home.”
“But the people of Kennedale love you.”
“Hah. I couldn’t save the Watsons’ home. Diego was counting on me to find more men to learn saddle making, and now you know why the Grisford brothers kept coming back, and they will continue until—”
“It’s all taken care of.”
“What’s taken care of?”
“Mr. Heelin is retiring so you can open your store, and I’ve spent time with the Grisford brothers and they are new men.”
This woman would be the end of him. “If those bandits hurt you in any way—”
“They’ve repented and accepted God’s forgiveness, and they want to learn the saddle-making trade—all five of them. Now if I could just get them to bathe.”
Charlie ran his fingers through his hair. “You told the Grisford brothers about God? Did they come into town?”
“No, they kidnapped me.”
He startled. “Kidnapped?”
“Their brother was very ill, and they wanted my help. So I mixed up a special drink for Gary and told them all about their need for repentance. They readily accepted God’s grace.”
Grace. A light seeped into his being. God had redeemed the five brothers. Why couldn’t he accept it, too? “They didn’t hurt you?”
“No, and they brought me here along with Rev. and Mrs. Gleason and three of their Indian friends.”
“I thought you were terrified of Indians.”
“I was until I decided to trust in Jesus. Did you know there is a large group of people downstairs waiting for us?”
“For what?”
“To get married.”
His condemned heart lay heavy with guilt. He shook his head. Although not wanted by the law, he was an outlaw and a thief, and he’d not ruin her life by giving her his name. “I’ve changed my mind.”
She flinched. “Deplorable situation you’ve gotten yourself into, but you’ve promised to marry me.”
Dread weighed his gut. “I’m no good for you.”
Her quivering lower lip betrayed her ramrod-straight posture. “But, Charlie …”
“Please leave.” He led her to the door and shut it behind her. Desolation clutched at his insides as he rested his head on the door. Tears welled. He’d just closed the door on the most wonderful woman. His gift from God. But he wasn’t worthy enough to receive it.
My grace. The words floated across his mind. He ran his trembling hand over his mouth, trying to swallow back his engulfing emotions.
Suddenly a warbling sound, akin to two cats fighting, rang out behind his door.
’Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus,
Just to take Him at His word.
The voice screeched and squawked, fluctuating up and down.
Just to rest upon His promise
And to know, “Thus saith the Lord.”
Who was making that awful noise? He jerked open the door.
Kate’s eyes were clamped shut, her head thrown back, her mouth wide open.
Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him!
How I’ve proved Him o’er and o’er.
Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus!
Oh, for grace to trust Him more!
Grace. The word tugged again at his heart. His love for Kate overwhelmed him, and he pulled her into his arms as sobs racked his body. “I want to, sweet Kate. I want to.”
She wrapped her arms around him. “Can’t you accept God’s unearned favor like the Grisford brothers have?”
Charlie crumpled to the floor, his face buried in his hands with Kate beside him. “I don’t deserve it.”
“None of us do. It’s a gift.” She laid her cheek against his arm.
Hope flickered in his heart. “Lord, I need You,” was all he could manage. He sat up and held Kate’s face. Several moments passed in silence as he worked to collect himself. “It’s His grace, isn’t it,” he said, his voice trembling, “that helps a man forgive himself?”
“Yes.”
He kissed her lips. Her broad smile warmed his heart.
Lord, I’ve been a fool. Thank You for Your grace that throws my sins as far as the east is from the west. And thank You for Kate, my sweet Kate.
“Does this mean you’ll marry me before the sun sets?” Kate blurted out.
He studied the messy curls sprung loose from her bun and the look of tired excitement in her green eyes. He loved her. His English wildcat. “Yes, my sweet Kate.”
Christmas Eve night had come, and through the parlor window, stars flickered like candles in the night sky. Light snow fell like clumps of soft sugar, and the pleasant harmony of carolers walking the streets rang in the air.
Kate smiled with warmth at those who gathered in the room, witnessing her and Charlie’s vows. Rev. and Mrs. Gleason, four swarthy brothers, one still pale brother who had insisted on coming, three Indians, a local pastor and his wife, and one uncle.
Charlie leaned in. His eyes shone vibrantly as only a redeemed man’s can. “I guess this means we’re staying in Kennedale.”
Joy welled in her throat. She glanced at Uncle Ridgley, who’d just finished preaching the wedding sermon. She couldn’t believe all that God had done for her. More than just finding a husband, she had found a home.
Charlie nudged her.
“Oh, I do,” she said.
The judge smiled. “I pronounce you man and wife. Charlie, you may kiss Katherine—”
Charlie held up his hand. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to kiss Kate, my bride and now my wife.”
He pressed his lips to hers.
Her heart welling with joy, Kate responded, delighted with her Christmas gift from God.
Angels in the Snow
by Colleen L. Reece
When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him? For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour.
PSALM 8:3–5
Prologue
… a bird of the air shall carry the voice,
and that which hath wings shall tell the matter.
ECCLESIASTES 10:20
Wyoming Territory in the late 1880s
No one knew where it started.
Some said the mysterious stranger who rode into Jubilee and quickly passed on through brought the news. Others believed it came from the East, passed person-to-person over the shining, silver Union Pacific Railroad tracks from Cheyenne to Rock Springs that turned blood-red in the sweltering sun, then traveled northwest to the Teton Valley by stagecoach. The more fanciful maintained hundreds of golden-leafed cottonwoods and aspens avidly whispered the news to one another each time the autumn wind blew.
No one knew where it started, but young and old agreed: it was one of the most important messages the town had received since learning of the Little Bighorn Massacre in 1876. Before nightfall, every Jubilee inhabitant, except those sleeping in the cemetery next to the town’s only church, had heard the news: Matthew Coulter was coming home.
Matt Coulter: unsurpassed in western Wyoming at riding, roping, shooting.
Matt Coulter: driven from Jubilee in disgrace seven years earlier.
Matt Coulter: bright-haired cowboy with a smile like an angel.
The young man had not been smiling that long-ago day. Blue hatred flashed from his eyes at his accuser, Jedediah Talbot, before Matt fixed his piercing gaze on the judge who had been imported for the trial. The wizened man pounded a gavel on a small table in the saloon-turned-courtroom, then gestured out the window to the towering Teton Mountains.
“See those shadows?” he barked. “Take a good look. If any man of you has the slightest shadow of doubt that Matthew Coulter rustled this man’s cattle from the Lazy T, there will be no hanging.” He slammed the gavel down again.
His charge had an effect. In spite of some fairly convincing evidence, the twelve men were either unable or unwilling to convict Matt. They returned a startling verdict, especially since the accused said nothing in his own defense except for the single quiet statement, “I never stole a head of cattle in my life.”
“More than I can say for some in this room,” Sheriff McVeigh, the grizzled, long-term keeper of the peace in Jubilee and Matt’s best friend, called.
Guffaws and titters greeted his remark. They were quickly silenced by a third heavy thud of the gavel and a sheriff-directed glare from the judge.
An hour later, the jury shuffled in from a back room where they had been deliberating. “We ain’t sure whether he’s guilty or not,” the foreman flatly stated. He carefully avoided looking at Matt. “Because of that, we ain’t goin’ to hang Matt Coulter.” He scratched his head and sighed. “However, things bein’ what they are, we’d like to suggest for him to mosey on.”
“Since you haven’t found him guilty, he can do as he pleases,” the judge snapped. “Case dismissed.” He lifted his creaking bones from his chair and strode from the room. A loudly protesting Jed Talbot tailed him.
After a few awkward moments, Matt followed. The curious crowd surged through the swinging doors and watched him mount his magnificent black stallion, King. McVeigh laid a detaining hand on King’s neck. “No need for you to leave, Matt,” he said, loudly enough for all to hear. “Like the judge says, you can do as you please about following advice that don’t hold water. I say, stay.”
Coulter stared into the sheriff’s eyes. A muscle twitched in his set jaw. His lips thinned to a seam. “Thanks, but I don’t stay where I’m not wanted.” He swept the crowd a contemptuous glance and touched his heels to King’s flanks. Head high, shoulders as stiff as if he had a rifle strapped to his spine beneath his buckskin jacket, Matt slowly urged King down the dusty street. He didn’t look back, not even when a girl’s clear voice called, “I believe in you, Matthew Coulter. Go with God. Prove your innocence. Then come home to …”
The ringing affirmation of faith broke in midsentence. A few bystanders later insisted Matt checked King for the space of a heartbeat before urging him into a dead run. Others said, “No such thing.” In any event, the poignancy of the moment stilled the jeers common to someone being run out of town. The crowd watched until King and the man with whom many had shared grub and campfires melted into the lengthening afternoon shadows cast by the frowning Tetons.
No one spoke then or later of two hidden factors everyone, except perhaps the judge, knew played a part in the jurors’ decision, good men though they were.
First, fifty-year-old Jed Talbot, owner of the Lazy T cattle ranch in the foothills, was the most hated man in Wyoming Territory. On the rare occasions he appeared on the dusty or snow-clogged streets of Jubilee, inhabitants wisely kept out of his way. The raging demon born and nurtured by Jed’s years of hard drinking would hold full, triumphant sway until satisfied.
The stern discipline Jed normally exercised over himself, and always over the cowhands who hired on with him—most of whom quit and rode away in a few weeks or months—vanished like August snow with Jed’s first drink. Jubilee knew from past experience that once the rancher “gave his devil a run,” Talbot would sober up and return to what most folks derisively called the “Tipsy T.”
The second reason was Jed’s seventeen-year-old daughter, Lass, noble and truthful as her given name, Alicia. Lass was admired and respected even more than her father was despised. Milk-and-water maidens pleased their mamas with pretended horror at Lass Talbot’s antics, but they secretly longed to be like the strong young woman who many believed actually ran the Lazy T.
Tales of her courage and daring provided fodder for campfire and town gossip, and Lass Talbot’s fame spread through the often harsh, unforgiving land. It increased a hundred, nay, a thousandfold, after the trial. Let those who would, prate of vanished heroines. When the courageous girl publicly challenged her father’s iron authority and pledged unswerving loyalty to her friend Matt Coulter, she became dearer to Jubilee than Joan of Arc or Helen of Troy.
Young and not-so-young cowboys, ranchers, even merchants, rode miles out of their way to catch sight of Lass on her favorite horse, Diogenes. No hairpins could keep her thick, wildly flying braid beneath a hat. It gleamed in the sun and matched to a tint the chestnut stallion’s glossy coat. Her superb figure bent forward when she called into his ear—a picture to linger long in the beholder’s mind.
Yet two obstacles blocked the dozens of would-be suitors longing to camp on the girl’s doorstep and win her hand. Both appeared insurmountable.
Chapter 1
But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.
ISAIAH 40:31
Two obstacles blocked those who yearned to win Lass Talbot. Both loomed higher than Grand Teton, the 13,770-foot monarch of the mountain range that reared above the valley and Jubilee. Dried leaves and rolling tumbleweeds whispered Jed’s threat to run off any man foolhardy enough to come courting his daughter. True and exaggerated stories told of those who dared the Lazy T owner’s wrath, only to find themselves staring into Talbot’s surly face and the business end of a rifle barrel. Such tales effectively dampened most of the intrepid swains’ ardor. One by one, they reluctantly gave up their pursuit of Lass. While they might continue to admire her from afar, common sense prevailed; so most settled for other girls with less fire but with more reasonable fathers.
