The Parson's Christmas Gift

A soft moan drew his attention to the still, small form lying nearby. Peering through the dimness, he found a floppy brimmed hat lying against a tree trunk. The same one he’d seen on the woman Abby had introduced earlier. Journey? What was she doing all the way out here?

If not for the unnatural angle of her left leg, Zane could’ve believed she’d fallen asleep. She lay on her side, head cradled on her outstretched arm. A few loosened curls draped over her shoulder. He dropped down beside her and eased her over to her back. A bruise formed near her temple, stark against her pale skin. She moaned again and he leaned back on his haunches, pulling her tattered skirt down from where it bunched at her knees.

“Journey? Miss Smith?” He tapped her cheek. “Journey, wake up.”

She tossed her head once to either side as if to refuse him. “Don’t touch me. I—I mean it.” Her voice slurred.

“Journey? Ma’am, it’s me, Zane—Reverend Thompson.” Her eyes fluttered. “That’s it. Come on now.”

He watched her eyes slit open, and she struggled to sit up. He saw her grind her teeth rather than cry out at the pain the movement had to have caused her leg.

“Gypsy?”

He guessed she meant the horse by the way she searched about with her deep brown eyes. She blinked at him as if he’d just appeared. She moved to touch the lump on her head, but he pulled her icy fingers away and held them in his hand.

“Hold on, there.” Zane stayed her with a hand at her arm, not quite touching. “Let’s check you out, first. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Squinting, her head wobbled slightly. “Four. How’s my horse?”

“Three. And she’s not good,” Zane said. He slid down and picked up her left foot in both hands. “Neither are you. I need to check your leg.”

She didn’t protest, only turned her head and squinted in the direction of her whimpering horse. He slid the tattered fabric back to just past the smooth knee. Moving his hands along the leg, he felt the bone move beneath the stockings, much as the horse’s had. Fortunately for her, unlike with the horse, it wasn’t a fatal injury.

She shivered. Wind blew through the trees. “Journey? Are you with me? Your leg’s broken. We need to get you inside.”

“My horse…”

Her white skin glistened in the moonlight, like some ghostly beauty from an old story. Her head bobbed with no particular rhythm as she scanned the space around them.

Zane grabbed a blanket from her now-still horse. He balled it up and placed it under her head.

“Ma’am, my house isn’t far from here if we cut straight through the field. It seems best if I carry you there, then go for the doc in town.”

“I need my horse,” she said, as if that should be his only concern.

He moved his head, trying to keep himself in her field of vision. “We’ll get you inside, I’ll get the doc and then I’ll come back and take care of your horse. Ready?”

She stiffened as he moved to lift her. “I’ll ride Gypsy.” Her voice fairly shook.

He settled back on his heels and slid his hat off to scratch his head. The horse panted behind them, and he knew she hadn’t gotten a good look at the damage. But then, she didn’t seem to register her own damage.

She scrambled to her feet, slender arms swinging to gain balance. The instant she rested her weight on her broken leg, a low moan ripped through her throat. Zane saw her eyes flutter closed and caught her as she collapsed.

Her breath puffed warm on his neck. He knew he needed to get her indoors but set her back to pull a coil of rope from the horse’s halter. He patted the horse’s head and she quivered at his touch. “Hold on, gal.”

Journey moaned softly. He found a few branches nearby to splint her awkward leg before bending to lift her. “I hope you’re as light as you look, ma’am,” he said, peering through the pine boughs waving overhead to the starry sky above.

Malachi was a sturdy sort. Not fast, but steady. Zane was thankful now as he lifted Journey to the saddle. He held her head in one hand and pulled himself into the saddle with the other. Her teeth clenched as he reached for the bridle.

“I mean it, Hank. Don’t you touch me,” she said. He leaned forward, but her eyes never opened.

“Don’t worry, lady,” he said. He lifted soft curls of hair to check the cut on her head again. “You’ll feel a whole lot better, soon’s we get the doc to take a look at you. Giddap, Malachi.”

Journey listened, straining to catch the sounds of the room beyond the pounding in her head. Creaking boards told her she wasn’t alone.

She opened her eyes a slit, peering through her lashes. She could barely make out a window frame opposite where she lay. The glow at her right side could’ve been only a lamp, but the warmth made her think of a fireplace. How did she get here? And where was here? She couldn’t think with this stampede running through her head.

Gypsy. She remembered the horse stumbling, going down.

A shadow crossed over her. She sat up with a gasp as pain flashed hot like lightning down her leg.

“Take it easy,” a voice spoke from the shadow. She jerked her head and opened her eyes wide, but the ache forced her back to the softness of the pillow.

“Abby?” She blinked until her eyes adjusted to the light. “Wh-what happened? Where am I?”

Abby pulled a chair closer to the edge of the bed and smiled down at her. “You’re at Zane’s. He found you in the woods, thrown by your horse.”

“Gypsy? How is she?”

Abby smoothed the blanket over her and leaned back in her seat. “Sam and Zane went to check. Doc Ferris was here. He said your head should feel better in a day or so. It’s a good thing Zane was there.”

Journey shifted, biting her lip against the pain.

“That leg’ll take a while longer. Doc left something to help ease the hurt.”

She slid her leg under the quilt, feeling the stiff binding around it. “How much longer?”

Abby’s lips quirked to one side. “At least a month, maybe more, Doc said.”

She could be snowed in by that time, if the chill in the night air held. Where would she stay? She wouldn’t be able to afford a room longer than a week, and that’s if she didn’t eat. She knew enough to realize Reverend Thompson couldn’t extend his hospitality to her that long. And the doctor! How was she to pay him?

She had to leave before that. She’d give herself the day and let Gypsy rest. Then she’d be ready to move on. If she went slowly, they’d make out fine. She could just take it easy, not push the horse too much and keep her leg bound.

“I’ll need to settle up with the doctor before I leave.”

Abby patted her arm. “Don’t you worry. Once you get settled in at Miss Rose’s, you can work it out with her. I’m sure she’ll help you. You can pay her back when you’re on your feet again. Let me get that pain medicine. You’re about due.”

Abby moved to the table behind her. It seemed this room served as kitchen, sitting room and sleeping area for the pastor. It must be his bed she lay on. Her leg throbbed in time with her head. She had to get out of here.

“Here you go.” Abby nudged a spoonful of liquid to her. “This’ll help you rest, too. You’ve had quite a night. I should’ve told you to stick closer to town.”

She swallowed the liquid, but Abby’s words burned her with embarrassment. What would she think if she knew there had been no plan to stay? Not that it mattered now. Did it? Was there any way to explain how grateful she was for the kindness they’d shown and make them understand that she couldn’t allow it anymore? It didn’t seem likely, not without telling too much.

“I’m not one to be hemmed in,” she said. She fisted the blankets around her and slid down into the pillow.

“Believe me, I can understand that,” Abby said. Her eyebrows lifted, and Journey braced herself for more questions. “I didn’t expect you to ride so far out of town. We were looking for you to come back any time when Zane came pounding on the door. He’d found Doc Ferris at the Wilsons’ and sent him out here, then came for Sam to help with your horse. I had Sam hook up the wagon and bring me along to see what I could do. I thought you might feel better if you came to with a familiar face around, instead of a complete stranger here.”

Journey fought the gathering tears. She nodded and her throat felt tight. “You’re right. Thank you.” She didn’t know this woman well, but it was better than waking up with an unknown doctor prodding around. “Where are they?”

“Doc Ferris figured you’d rest quietly awhile, and he needed to get back to the Wilsons’ to check on their new baby before he headed back to town,” Abby said. “Zane and Sam should be back any minute now, soon as they get your horse checked over.”

Journey felt the bandage over her temple as she brushed a curl from her forehead. She smoothed the blanket at her waist with the other hand even though Abby had already done that. Her leg felt better since taking the medicine, and her head slowed its throbbing. She yawned.

“Did Reverend Thompson—Zane—say how she was?”

“Your horse?”

“Yes.” She yawned again. “Gypsy.”

Abby turned away, as if she suddenly remembered the spoon and bottle she still held. They clinked together on the table. “Zane didn’t say. He was more anxious about Doc Ferris getting out here to see you. He said you were in and out, calling him ‘Hank’ or something like that.”

Journey kept her eyes down, staring at her hands on the quilt. A chill fell over her. She no longer felt drowsy. What else might she have said?

But Abby chattered on, unaware that she’d struck a nerve. “If anyone can patch up your horse, it’s Zane. He worked with his father raising horses before Mr. Thompson passed away. What he didn’t know about horses wouldn’t fill a thimble, and he taught Zane everything.”

She slid back down on the bed, pulling the covers all the way over her shoulders, and Abby put another log on the fire. “Keep warm. Doc was worried you’d fall into shock, being out in the cold air like you were. But you look better already than you did when I first arrived. Your color’s back.”

Boots on the porch boards outside the front door roused her. She and Abby turned as the door swung open, revealing Zane and Sam. Journey caught the shake of Sam’s head when he looked at his wife. The sharp whinny of the horse echoed in her memory. How bad could it be?

Zane looked haggard. The bruise around his eye from his fall at Miss Rose’s was dark and swollen. He rubbed a hand over the shadow beard on his chin, and she felt sorry for the trouble she’d caused him. He shrugged her saddlebag from his shoulder and hung it on a peg near the door, then hooked the gun he carried above it. He turned and stared at her.

She grew uneasy, self-conscious, thankful the doctor hadn’t needed to disrobe her to splint the leg. She felt bare toes scrape the blanket only on that foot, the other stocking still in place. Why didn’t he say something?

He swiped a hand through his hair and cleared his throat, then placed his hand on his hip.

“How bad is she? I have to know.”

Zane cleared his throat again and looked over to Sam and Abby. Then his gray eyes turned in her direction and he drew in a deep breath.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am—Journey,” he said. “I had to put her down.”

The coldness swept through her again, and this time her injuries weren’t to blame. She covered her face with her palms.

Slender fingers squeezed her shoulder. Journey looked up to see Abby’s teary face. She’d cry herself if she thought it would do any good. She’d come all this way. She couldn’t let herself get caught now. But without Gypsy…

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Abby said. “We’ll help you. Miss Rose has plenty of space and a good little riding horse she’ll let you use, I know it. We’ll work things out with her.”

“I have nothing to bargain with. I can’t stay here. I’m sorry, I should have said before, but I couldn’t possibly—”

“Sure you can,” Sam said. “I’m sorry about your horse. Believe me, I know what it’s like to lose a good mount like that. It feels like you lost your best friend. But the Lord works in mysterious ways, right, Zane?”

Zane nodded. “Don’t worry about anything, Journey. It’ll work out.” His voice rasped as he stood in the flickering light.

You don’t know! How could you take my horse? She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to shove him out the door and demand he bring Gypsy back.

“I’ll stay with you tonight, and we’ll let you get some rest,” Abby said. “Zane and Sam can stay out in the barn. Then in the morning they can ride over and talk to Miss Rose, let her know what’s happened. After church we’ll ride you over in our wagon.”

“But how can I work for her now?”

“It’s the company she needs most,” Abby said.

“And we’ll be around to give her a hand,” Zane added. “I guarantee she’ll not consider you a bother.”

Her options had been shot out from under her. It was all decided. She’d stay in Walten until her leg healed. Until she could afford another horse. Until she paid all the debts this one night had cost her. She sighed. Or until the law caught up with her.

Chapter Six

Zane dragged his feet across the rug at the door. Journey lay across his bed on top of the quilt Sarah had made. He’d had it in his buckboard the night of the fire, and it was the only tangible thing he had left of her.

“Zane? What’s wrong?”

Abby’s voice drew him from the memories that never were very far away. “Nothing. I was just…nothing.” He nodded toward the patient. “She ready?”

Abby nodded. “She’s tuckered out. I helped her wash her hair, so between that and the laudanum Doc Ferris left her, she sleeps hard.” She looked from him to the tiny form on the bed. “I get the feeling she hasn’t had a good rest for a long time.”

Zane remembered her wild-eyed fear the night before when he’d found her in the woods. Something about her tugged at him, and he didn’t know himself yet what it was. “Well, maybe that’s why the Lord led her here. He definitely wanted her to stick around awhile. What did Doc say?”

“Six weeks. By then the snow will be through the pass and she’ll be here until spring.”

“Did she say where she was headed yesterday?”

Abby shook her head. “I have a feeling she wasn’t planning to be here long, though.” Her shoulders rose with a forceful breath. “Does Sam have the wagon ready?”

“He’s ready and waiting.”

“Good. I’ll go out and get the blankets ready, and you can bring her out,” Abby said, pulling on her sweater from the back of the chair.

Zane started. He hadn’t thought of how they would get Journey to the wagon, but looking at her now, he knew she wouldn’t be managing it on her own.

“It’ll be good if she stays asleep. I know from experience that leg will pain her these first few days especially.” He didn’t add the fact that she hadn’t been too fond of him the last time he’d tried to help.

Abby grinned and patted his shoulder on the way out. “Don’t be nervous, Zane. It’s not like she’ll bite.”

“You didn’t see her last night when I brought her in here.”

Abby got a strange look in her eyes, the one that told him her thoughts were moving the conversation into a different direction entirely. “Maybe in time both of you will change your perceptions, then. You deserve to give some girl the chance to make you happy again.”

He laughed softly as she swept out the door with a wink. Abby, the eternal matchmaker. She’d been the one to introduce him to Sarah.

Striding over to Journey’s prone form, he adjusted his hat and bent down to pick her up. Instead of the tense fear that weighed her down last night, she felt no heavier than a new colt. He pulled her head against his shoulder before managing to get a grip under her knees to lift her up.

Her hair followed in a trail that swept past his elbow, a fiery wave of still-damp curls. She smelled of lavender soap, and he knew Abby had been adding any little thing she could to comfort their newest resident.

Standing upright, he felt her shift against him, burrowing her face into his shoulder with a soft murmur. Thick lashes brushed her tanned cheek, which blurred a fine spray of freckles that could be seen only from this close. Her wide mouth parted open slightly, and he felt her soft breath at his neck.

Zane tightened his hold and focused on moving her out the door without jarring her bound leg. But had she been awake and not fighting against him, he knew she would feel his pounding heart in the hand that brushed his chest.

Abby needed to stop putting ideas into a man’s head.

The rumble of pans being placed in a cupboard roused Journey. She ran her fingers over the heavy brocade of the couch where she lay. The fire crackled and cast a soft light over the room, which had grown darker since her arrival that afternoon.

Her throbbing head reminded her why she was there. A groan escaped before she could stifle it. She eased into the pillow as Miss Rose came into view, standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a drying towel in her hand.

“Did you sleep well?”

Journey stretched her leg, the one that wasn’t broken. “I must’ve. I forgot where I was for a moment. What time is it?” Her whole body felt stiff.

“Nigh onto seven o’clock.”

“I guess I slept the day away.”

Miss Rose smiled. “It’s the best thing for you. You had enough excitement last night to wear a body out. And I’ll bet the ride here this morning didn’t help any. Are you hungry?”

Her stomach rumbled before she could deny it. “A little.” She mustered a small grin.

“Good. You dropped off before supper and we hated to wake you, so I saved you a plate. Let me warm it a bit and I’ll bring it in for you.”

Journey pulled herself up further with her arm. “Please, don’t trouble yourself. I can come out.” She paused as her vision swam.

Miss Rose had already moved back into the kitchen, but her crackling voice carried through. “You’ll do no such thing. Doc Ferris said you’re to keep that leg up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Doc Ferris’s word carried a lot of weight, Journey already knew. Pain medication was given every two hours, no matter how she tried to beg off. No weight on that leg meant being carted to the house by Zane Thompson in his arms, much to her embarrassment. She’d slept through the move from his house, at least. But now here she sat, being waited on by the woman she’d been hired to care for.

The steaming plate placed on her lap aroused her hunger even more. She smiled her thanks and leaned forward as Miss Rose propped more pillows behind her. The chicken leg and green beans smelled delicious, and a thick slice of bread with a generous spread of butter and a drizzle of honey made her mouth water. She calculated the cost of such a meal and made a mental note to keep a ledger. But for now there was nothing to do for it. She’d have to eat if she was going to stay strong and mend quickly. She poked a bean with her fork.

Miss Rose must have been satisfied, because she smiled and said, “I’ll leave you to your supper. I figure you’ll want some time to ponder your situation.” Then she moved back toward the kitchen.

Journey sat back into the cushions, grateful for the solitude. But ponder? There wasn’t much she could do. Miss Rose welcomed her with open arms and seemed pleased with the arrangement. Tears fought their way into her eyes as she thought about the kindness these people had shown. How could she tell them why she had run? Didn’t they deserve to know? What if they threw her out? What would she do then?

Her options had been cut off. She tried to think what had spooked the horse in the first place, but a fog surrounded all the particulars of the night before. Now here she sat. No horse. No money. No job. Broken leg. She tore a corner from the bread and chewed, trying to slow her jumbled thoughts.

Part of the reason she’d taken up with Hank back then had been because she’d felt she had no choice. But the day she had stood up to Hank was the day she’d realized she was never without options. Even now, looking over her shoulder, waiting to be caught for her crime, she was better off than she’d been with Hank.

Biting into the tender chicken, she thought about her predicament. She couldn’t walk around, but there was nothing wrong with her hands. There had to be something. No great loss without some small gain, Mama had always said. Where was the glimmer of hope?

Journey licked the salty crisps from her fingers. Cooking meant standing. Tending children was out of the question. She drew in a deep breath. Something would come to her. The one thing she did have was time to think—a lot of time to think.

She silently thanked Abby for taking the time to help wash her hair before she had dozed off. She’d need some pins to put it back up. She yawned. Maybe it could wait until tomorrow.

The shuffle of feet from the kitchen drew her attention. “I thought you might want your saddlebag,” Miss Rose said, nodding toward the floor by her side. “Zane left it there for you.”

She glanced at the buckles. They didn’t seem to have been opened since she’d fastened them yesterday. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“You might as well get into the practice of calling me Miss Rose,” the old woman said.

“I’ll work on it.” She squirmed under the blanket, trying to shift her aching leg into a more comfortable position. “I appreciate what you’re doing, honestly I do. I’d be at a loss without your kindness. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll pay you back for everything, somehow. I hate to be beholden.”

“Nonsense. I’m glad to help. And I don’t want you fretting about it. This gives me my chance to play the Good Samaritan.” She patted Journey’s good leg and took her empty plate. “We’ll even it out when you’re able, dear.”

“You’ll find I’m not very ‘dear,’” she whispered. “Please, just call me Journey.”

“I think there’s more ‘dear’ in you than you give yourself credit for.” Miss Rose stroked a hand over Journey’s hair. Like Mama used to do. Warmth for this woman grew no matter how she tried to stop it.

“Zane left this package for you. He brought it in with your saddle.” Miss Rose handed her a lump tied in brown paper, then returned to the kitchen.

The fabric she’d bought at the store. She’d have a fine dress, plenty warm for winter. At least she could work on that.

She always could sew a fine seam. Mama had taught her to stitch and to sew in the afternoon hours before she’d go to work. If she could find sewing to do, it might not be much, but at least she could pay something toward her board until she was up and around again. She would ask Abby to post a notice in the store.

She turned her attention to the saddlebag, listening for Miss Rose to return. Looking over her shoulder, she fumbled the buckle open and hefted the bag to her lap to reach the bottom of the deep pocket.

The touch of cool metal brought a sense of relief. They hadn’t found it. She pulled the Double Derringer gun from the pack and slid it into her skirt pocket. The smooth nickel barrel and walnut handle felt secure in her fingers.

Yes, there were options. Spring was a long winter away. She had to wait and not tip her hand. Because if they knew she had killed a man, her only options would be prison or a rope.

Chapter Seven

A knock at the door woke Journey. The final glow of sunlight slanted lower through the back window. At least she hadn’t slept as long this time. She eased up and swiped the curls clinging against her cheek from her face. Miss Rose stood from the nearby rocker and shuffled to the door.

“Zane! What a nice surprise!”

She slid lower under the covers. Maybe if she closed her eyes…

But Miss Rose’s voice called her. “Journey, are you awake? Pastor Thompson is here to see you.”

Not Zane this time—Pastor Thompson. This must be a business call. She pushed herself up again but kept the blanket close. The room swam slightly and the pressure in her head felt as if it would push her eyes right out of their sockets. She nodded to Miss Rose, who continued to block the doorway.