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Honor still wore her best dress, the tan one she’d worn to the burial. When she wrapped her shoulders in her brown woolen shawl and pulled on her brown and yellow print bonnet, she snatched the vegetable basket from the shelf by the back door. Without another glance at Lucas, she went out.
The root cellar was to the right of the garden. If he was watching now, when his mind cleared Lucas would remember that she had turned in the opposite direction. Honor prayed he wouldn’t notice. Walking, then running, toward the wooded area behind the house, she discarded the basket as she fled.
The cool October air smelled of nuts and pinecones. The wind murmured through the bare branches of the trees, tossing the soft curls around her face. Below her bonnet, her long auburn hair blew every which way.
Honor darted a fearful glance behind her. Nothing moved. She slowed her pace, tying the ends of her knit shawl in a knot. The soft garment did little to shield her from the slicing breeze, but it was better than no covering at all.
By the time Honor reached the turnoff that led into town, her breath was coming in deep gasps. She knew better than to stay on the road. If Uncle Lucas had a shred of wits about him, he would look for her there first. Besides, she couldn’t take the chance of being spotted. Travelers moved along the road all the time. Her best bet, she decided, was to follow a line of trees.
Darkness had painted the sky a grayish-black by the time she arrived in Falling Rock. The bare trees looked like skeletons in the dim light of three street lamps. It was late enough that all proper folk were off the streets. The only men and women in public now would be those inside the Silver Nugget Saloon on the corner—or those standing outside that establishment. Honor skirted around and behind the saloon, making her way toward the church. Her aunt had told her that the building was kept open day and night. She would be safe there.
Honor hoped that by now Lucas would have passed out. Her best chance for escape hinged on his not coming after her until morning—and on her not being seen by anyone else. There were plenty of men around who thought like Lucas, and a young woman of barely nineteen years would be a quick target for them. Her aunt had cautioned her that such men were always out there.
As soon as she entered the church, Honor found a pew toward the middle of the chapel, and stretched out on it. Anyone who came in would not be likely to see her. She couldn’t afford to fall asleep, but it was nice to rest her bones.
A sudden growl of hunger rumbled from her belly, loud enough to be heard if a stranger stood nearby. Yet her cravings went beyond her need for food. Peering at the dim outline of the pulpit at the front of the small church, she longed for a home, a place in the world. She also wished for someone who would love her unconditionally—the way her aunt had, before she died. Beyond that, Honor dreamed of never having to see Lucas again. If she’d known how to pray, she would have asked God to grant her requests.
Honor pressed her back against the hard wooden pew, wondering if the minister she had met that morning had a wife and children. She scarcely remembered her own parents. They had died of a fever before Honor reached the age of three. Her aunt Harriet, who lived in Colorado, had taken her in four years before she married Lucas. Were it not so, Honor might have spent her growing-up years in an orphanage. Although sometimes she wondered if that would not have been better than living in a house with the likes of Lucas Scythe.
Sitting up, Honor rubbed the palms of her hands across the oak pew and felt the strong yet rough texture of the wood. Her aunt had taken her to church every Sunday—until Lucas put a stop to it.
Harriet Scythe had been a churchgoing woman and a member of the choir, too. Lucas must have known how leaving the church would injure her, but then, hurting others appeared to give him a great deal of pleasure.
Her aunt had once told Honor that the folks at church had thought Lucas was a decent man before they married. Honor had wondered if he’d only pretended to be good and kind. Maybe he’d thought Aunt Harriet had money, since she’d inherited the cabin and the family farm. In any case, he’d managed to fritter away what little she once had, drinking and gambling at the saloon in town.
Aunt Harriet had never complained about anything. But her bruised arms and swollen, red eyes had told Honor all she needed to know.
As Honor sat in the church, remembering, her eyes grew heavy. She yawned, and stretched out again on the pew. Despite herself, a few minutes later, she was asleep.
A sound woke her just before daylight. She jerked, finding herself half on, half off the pew. Pulling herself back onto the wooden bench again, she stiffened and became still. She held her breath.
Had someone entered? Was it Lucas? Honor coiled into a tight ball. The church was silent once more. A few minutes later, she slept again.
Something brushed her face. Honor was instantly awake. She sat up, looking around. A soft thump sounded, and she turned in time to see a white cat disappearing behind a stairway leading to the choir loft. Honor sighed in relief. It wasn’t Lucas.
Aunt Harriet would say she should pray if she hoped to survive this terrible ordeal. But if there really was a God, He seemed far away to Honor. She was on her own in getting out of this trouble. Since she would not go back to the cabin, not ever, and she couldn’t remain in Falling Rock, Colorado, Honor had to get away. Yet where would she go? And who would take her in?
Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, but before they could fall, Honor sniffed. There didn’t appear to be a safe place in the world where she could rest her head, but she refused to cry. She had to think.
She needed a job, but employment choices for a young woman were few. She didn’t have enough skills to become a schoolteacher, and she wouldn’t become a saloon girl. So what did that leave? Nothing that she could think of.
A bookshelf, attached to the back of the pew in front of her, held two hymnals, one new and one old and worn. Honor took the new songbook in both her hands. The brown cover smelled fresh. She opened to the first page. In the pale light of early morning, she squinted at the dedication.
This hymnal is given to the Glory of God in memory of my dear wife, Selma, the love of my life.
Honor ran her fingers down the smooth, white page, studying the inscription. Were there really men in the world who could love a woman the way this nameless husband seemed to have loved his wife? Men were good at pretending. Lucas had taught her that. She put the hymnal back on the shelf and turned to gaze out the windows.
The morning sun still hid beyond the horizon, but the eastern sky was bright. A golden light edged the hills at the end of the street and it glinted on a collection plate in the center of a table directly under a window.
Would there be money in that plate?
Of course not. What pastor worth his salt would leave money in an unlocked church? That would be like opening the door to every outlaw for miles around. Still, what if money was left there? And what if she took some?
Honor hated to even consider the thought. Her aunt would have said that such musings were sinful. Yet Honor remembered her aunt also telling her that the collection money went to pay for the pastor’s keep and to help the poor and needy. Well, who needed money more than Honor?
The right thing to do would be to wait until the preacher came in for the day and ask him for financial help. But if she waited, she could miss the early morning stage out of town.
Biting her lip, she deliberated. Thieves deserved to go to hell. Sinful thoughts came from the devil. Lucas never allowed Aunt Harriet to pray openly or study the Good Book, but she’d managed to teach Honor the Ten Commandments. And Honor knew stealing was a sin.
But what if she vowed to pay back all the money someday? Considering recent events, surely God would understand.
On the chance that money waited in that silver plate, Honor crept to the window. Even at a distance, she could see several coins and a number of bills. Her throat tightened. Her fingers shook as she reached her hands forward and scooped up all of the money they could hold. As she turned back to the wooden bench, she heard someone coming.
Trembling, she slipped into the nearest pew and stretched out to hide. The faint tap, tap of footsteps on the brick floor drifted up from the entry of the church. Honor dared not move.
Chapter Two
A man and woman whispered to each other as they moved down the aisle of the church. Honor held her breath. Now what? The squeak of old wood told her that they had selected a pew not far behind her. The scent of lilacs filled the air.
“Annie,” Honor heard the man say. “I know your poor old bones are tired, because mine are, too. But, honey, do you really think it’s all right for us to sit in here ’til the stage leaves? Why, we ain’t even members of this church.”
“A church is God’s house, Simon, no matter where it is,” the woman answered. “Besides, I reckon if you put something in the plate—under that there winder—it should take care of everything.”
Honor froze. If the man named Simon came over to the window to put money in the plate, he might be able to see her crouched on the pew. Slowly, not making a sound, she inched along the pew, out of the light coming in from the window and into the shadows.
“Well, Simon. Are you gonna put something in or ain’t you?”
Simon groaned. “Oh, all right. I’ll put in a coin or two if that will satisfy you.”
“Thank you, dear.”
“So now I’m ‘dear,’ huh?”
Another squeak of the wooden bench indicated that the man had left the pew and was headed for the window. Honor shut her eyes. A minute later, the bench creaked again. She didn’t feel safe, but at least she hadn’t been discovered yet.
For the next hour, Honor learned more about Annie and Simon than she cared to know. Their conversation held no interest for her, but it assured her that they were harmless. The elderly couple planned to visit their daughter in Pine Falls. Honor wondered if she had enough money to travel that far. She still hadn’t counted her loot.
Loot? Why, I’m nothing more than a common thief, she thought.
A lump lodged in her throat when she contemplated what she’d become. Not in her worst nightmare had she ever envisioned that she would stoop so low.
Simon’s offering in the silver plate couldn’t possibly add up to the amount of money Honor had taken. A feeling of shame swept over her. She wanted to tell God she was sorry for what she’d done, but she didn’t know how. The only prayer that Honor knew was one Harriet had taught her before they stopped going to church, and years had passed since she’d recited that one.
But she remembered how it began. Our Father, who art in Heaven.
The sun had risen over the horizon now and was beaming through the east window. Inching back along the pew, closer to the light, Honor reached for a hymnal. When Lucas wasn’t around, sometimes her aunt had enjoyed singing hymns as she did her daily chores. She said that church music gave her strength.
Strength. Honor could use some of that.
Flipping through the songbook, she didn’t find any of the hymns her aunt had once sung, but she noticed some blank sheets of paper near the back of the book, titled “Note Pages.”
She considered using one of the sheets to compose a note, a letter to members of the church. And what better place to write it than the back of a hymnal? She reached for the pencil that was in a slot on the bookshelf, and began to write.
Dear Church People,
I hated to steal the money from the collection plate, and I wrote in the hymnal, too. I know I did wrong, but I was once told that the collection money went to the minister and to the poor and needy. Well, I’m poor and might need money more than the preacher does.
You see, I have to leave town today. If I don’t, my uncle will beat me and force me to marry him. He might even kill me.
Thank you for leaving the money in that plate so I could find it when I needed it the most. If I knew how to pray, I would tell God I am sorry for what I did. Since I don’t, would you folks please pray for me?
As soon as I can find a job, I promise to pay back everything I took, a little at a time.
Yours truly,
H.
Honor placed the songbook back on the shelf. She was wondering if there was a way for her to count her money without making a sound, when the bell in the tower suddenly pealed six times. Honor flinched each time. Somebody had to be pulling the rope to ring that bell, but she hadn’t heard a sound above her all night long. Yet, someone other than Annie and Simon was nearby. The minister? If he came down and saw her in the church or the churchyard, might he stop her from leaving?
The bench behind her squeaked, cutting off her racing thoughts. Honor didn’t move a muscle.
“Wake up, Simon,” Annie said. “It’s time to go.”
“What? Oh. Well, I wasn’t asleep no-how.”
“You were, too.”
“No, I was just resting my eyes,” Simon insisted.
“You can rest your eyes when we get on the stage.” There was fond exasperation in the woman’s voice. “Get up now, Simon. We have to get out of here. It’s six o’clock. The stage leaves at six-thirty, and we still have to buy our tickets.”
The bench creaked several times. Then Honor heard the tap, tap of their shoes as they moved back up the aisle. When the heavy front door of the church closed, Honor cautiously sat up and began to quietly count her money.
She had ten dollars and fifty-one cents, more than she had dreamed of finding. She could go to Pine Falls, for sure. That much money might take her all the way to Denver.
She’d almost reached the entry of the church when she saw the shape of a man in the shadows to the left of the door. Though she couldn’t actually see him, she felt him—and there was something in the air between them, a kind of regret. Was it coming from him? Or was it her distress?
Guilt engulfed her. Did he know what she’d done? Would the man try to stop her to recover the money? She hesitated by the door, waiting to see what he might do. But he never said a word.
“I’m sorry,” Honor whispered.
Without saying more, she raced out the door and down the path toward the livery stable where stagecoach tickets were sold. Once the stage pulled out, she would never have to see Lucas or Falling Rock, Colorado, again.
Honor waited in the carriage with Annie and Simon for the fourth passenger to arrive. The silver-haired couple looked older than she had expected, and she learned that their last name was Carr. Honor couldn’t help liking them, but she wished they weren’t so talkative.
The red velvet interior of the carriage looked new, and, although the back of the seat was wooden, the bench was padded.
Honor had heard that within a year, the railroad would be coming to Falling Rock. Tracks were being laid throughout the state, and stagecoaches could soon become outdated. A stagecoach had brought Honor to Colorado after her parents died, but she was too young to have a clear memory of that journey.
Now, fidgeting with the small velvet bow at the neck of her dress, she waited for the fourth passenger. She wished she had a hat with a net veil like Annie Carr’s little black one. Honor also admired the string of pearls around the older woman’s neck.
Aunt Harriet had had a pearl necklace that she’d inherited from Honor’s grandmother, but one day it vanished. Lucas was behind the disappearance, of course.
Proper ladies wore pearls and store-bought hats, not homemade print bonnets like Honor’s. But there wasn’t much cause for Honor to worry about becoming a lady now.
The driver had explained that the fourth passenger would be delayed as a result of unforeseen circumstances. Honor hoped whoever it was would hurry and be done so they could leave. Lucas could come looking for her at any moment.
When she heard a click at the door, she looked up expectantly, and then recoiled. Lucas! Trembling, she pressed back and covered her mouth with her hand to keep from shrieking.
In the next moment, she saw that it was the minister who’d prayed at her aunt’s grave, standing outside the carriage in his gray suit. He looked so much like a younger version of Lucas that for an instant, she’d thought he was her aunt’s husband.
Standing in the street, with one hand on the door handle, the handsome young man smiled warmly at the passengers in the carriage. “Sorry to have kept you nice folks waiting. Jeth Peters,” he said, leaning through the door, offering Simon Carr his hand, which the older gentleman took in a friendly shake. Jeth identified himself as the pastor of a church over in Hearten.
When Simon finished introducing his wife, Annie, Jeth turned his gaze on Honor for the first time. His smile fell away. “I want to express my sympathy once again for the loss of your aunt,” he said.
Annie and Simon glanced at each other, then at Honor. She recognized the expression of sympathy in their eyes.
“Reckon we’re sorry, too, miss,” Simon said.
Honor’s heart squeezed. “Thank you.” She ducked her head, trying not to look at Jeth.
Was he the man from the church who’d hid in the darkness? Had her sin been discovered? Did he know what she’d done? When Honor glanced up, finally meeting his sky-blue eyes, the warmth in them suggested he wasn’t concealing thoughts about her. But who could be sure?
Jeth climbed into the carriage and took a seat beside Honor. “I don’t believe you told me your name at the burial yesterday. May I know it now?”
“My name is Honor. Honor Rose McCall.”
“Honor.” He smiled. “I like that.”
Why had she told him her real name? She could have lied. Now it would be easier for Lucas to find her.
“Honor is a good character trait to have,” he went on, “and one we should all live by. Are you on your way to Pine Falls?”
“Yes,” Honor said a little too sharply, and pressed her lips together.
Jeth turned his gaze to the Carrs. “And where are you folks headed?”
“We’re going to Pine Falls, too,” Annie said, “and we’ll be gone for quite a spell. We’ll be home by Christmas, though.” She turned to her husband. “Won’t we, Simon?”
“We sure better.”
Annie Carr looked back to Jeth. “Did I hear you say you were a preacher?”
A grin started in Jeth’s blue eyes. “That’s right.”
Annie’s wrinkled lips turned up at the edges in reply. “Reckon you could answer some questions about the Bible?”
“Watch out, Preacher,” Simon put in. “My Annie is a longwinded woman when it comes to Scripture.”
