Cowboy Preacher, page 1
part #7 of Glory, Montana Series
Cowboy Preacher
Linda Ford
Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
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Dear Reader
Also by Linda Ford
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The story of the Kinsley family begins long before they take up residence in Glory, Montana Territory. It begins with a young woman, married to a preacher man. Both of them desire to serve God and have a large family. But their lives aren’t the dream they’d imagined. There are disappointments that threaten their hearts. Will their faith endure and their love survive?
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1
Glory, Montana Territory. Fall 1884
Shouting, followed by a gunshot, shattered the calmness of Saturday morning shopping.
“Come on out.” The loud, rough voice seemed to be addressed to someone in the store.
Nineteen-year-old Clara Redd, fearing the person or persons responsible might mean her, caught her brother, Louie, by the shoulder and drew him into the far corner of the store where she was joined by an older woman who had recently moved into town, Mrs. Pottinger, and her gangly, almost-grown son.
Clara let the woman press close, hoping, praying the pair would hide her and Louie.
Others in the store had grown silent.
“My son. I want my son.” Another shot.
“I’m going for the sheriff.” The storekeeper ducked out the back door.
Clare trembled. She should have given a false name for herself and Louie but had grown confident that her stepfather was gone for good. Besides, how many falsehoods could one tell and hope to keep track of?
“It’s him.” The fear in the other woman’s voice shivered along Clara’s nerves.
“I ain’t goin’ with him,” the lad said, his voice thin.
Clara forced her attention on the pair. She had only glimpsed Mrs. Pottinger briefly before, but now studied her more closely. Gray hair and dark eyes, the woman had a worn appearance, as if life had sucked the color from her. She understood the boy to be around twelve. Clara shivered, remembering how harsh life had been for her at that age.
The woman wrapped her arms about her son’s shoulders and bowed her head. “God, protect us. Hide us. We beg You.”
Another shot rang out. “I seen them go in there. Send them out afore I do some damage to the store.” Silence. The air inside the building grew heavy with waiting.
Then, “Mrs. Pottinger, I know you’re in there. Send out Oliver. Get yourself out here too.”
The woman pressing to Clara shook like a leaf in a strong north wind. Clara wrapped an arm about Mrs. Pottinger’s shoulders to hold her upright. She kept Louie behind them. Oliver clung to his mother.
Clara tried to think of something to say to comfort the pair, but her own insides trembled as she thought how easily she could be in the same situation.
The man outside roared.
Inside, the two women and likely everyone else in the store, stood as if frozen, waiting for the sheriff to put an end to the ruckus.
The back door creaked open, and Clara tightened her arm around Mrs. Pottinger as she jolted.
“Sheriff is out of town,” the storekeeper whispered.
Besides Clara and the other three huddled in the back, the storekeeper, and his alarmed-looking wife, a young man stood at the counter. Clara did not recognize him.
He straightened and turned toward the two women. His gaze came to Oliver. “Are you the boy he’s looking for?”
Oliver nodded, his over-long pale brown hair flopping around the edges of his cap. “But I ain’t goin’ with him.”
The dark blond newcomer shifted his gaze to Mrs. Pottinger. “Are you this boy’s mother?”
“I am.” The words were barely audible.
“Is there some reason to be denying the man his son?”
Mrs. Pottinger’s shoulders went back, her chin went up. “He beats the boy.” She pulled her son closer. “I don’t intend to let that man take him ever again.”
The inquiring man nodded. Blue eyes steady, his mouth set in a determined line, he turned, set a satchel on the floor, and went to the door. He glanced over his shoulder. “As his mother, I believe you have the right to make choices for your son.”
Clara forgot to breathe as he opened the door. He was perfectly calm. Walked through the door with seeming indifference to the threat he was about to face. He was either unaware of the danger or extremely bold.
If only she could be half as fearless and confident.
From where they stood, Clara could not see out to the street, but she could hear what was said.
The fearless young man spoke. “Shooting and shouting in the street is no way to settle a grievance.”
“I want my son.” The words roared into the store, causing young Oliver to suck in a noisy breath and his mother to quake so violently that Clara struggled to hold her.
“Your son doesn’t want to join you.”
“He’s got no say in it.”
“I suggest you take it up with the sheriff. Or better yet, a judge.”
A shot rang out, and Clara bit her bottom lip, sure she’d see the young man crumple at the doorway.
“Why don’t you take your gunplay out of town before someone gets hurt?”
Another shot. Then yelling. “This ain’t over, despite yer interferin’.” And then the clatter of horse hooves.
No one moved until the sound faded away.
The storekeeper hurried to the door. “Is anyone hurt?”
The brave young man returned inside. “He’s gone.” He looked toward Mrs. Pottinger. “You’re safe for now.”
The woman sagged. Her son clung to her arm.
“Who are you?” Clara asked, her tone conveying more awe than curiosity.
“Alex Keystone. I’m the new preacher come to help Preacher Kinsley.” He grinned.
The storekeeper clapped him on the back. “That was very brave of you.”
The new preacher grew serious. “There are a few things I can’t abide. Injustice and dishonesty would be at the top of the list.” He retrieved his satchel. “Now if someone would direct me to the church, I’ll make my presence known there.”
Norm White, the storekeeper, went to the door with him and pointed out the way.
Clara and Mrs. Pottinger broke free of each other. Each avoided looking at the other. For her part, Clara was uncomfortable with how tightly she’d clung to the other woman. But no doubt she would think it was kindness on Clara’s part. No way she’d know that the fear coursing through Clara’s veins when she heard someone bellowing for his son was personal.
Alex Keystone thanked Norm and left.
“Well,” said Norm. “So that’s the man who has come to help Preacher Kinsley. Quite the chap.”
Clara had to agree. A fearless preacher who could not abide injustice and dishonesty. What if one was necessary to avoid the other? She wasn’t about to ask, and she was far less interested in finding out firsthand. She gripped Louie’s hand. His eyes were wide with excitement at the drama he’d witnessed.
“Clara,” he whispered, his words round. “He didn’t even have a gun.”
“No, he didn’t.” But he had something else that Mr. Pottinger recognized, and so did Clara. Power and authority in his words. The sort of man who would demand the truth. She shivered as she pulled Louie out of the store. No one must ever know the truth. But she wasn’t good at hiding it even though she’d been doing so for four years…since Louie was born. One would think she would find it easier after that much time.
But her conscience seared at every falsehood she told to protect them both.
If it was possible she’d avoid the young preacher, but how was she to do that when she and Louie lived with the Kinsleys and she herself had fixed up a room for the interim preacher in the addition to the house?
She would speak to him as little as good manners allowed.
Most of all, she would not get friendly enough he would feel free to ask questions about who she was.
Alex strode toward the church. The smile upon his lips came from deep inside. Joy threatened to burst forth in song. He restrained the impulse lest the good residents of Glory, Montana Territory think he’d been partaking of liquor. He’d lived his whole life waiting for this moment. His father and grandfather were preachers, and Alex had wanted to be one since he was young. More than that, he wanted the kind of experience his grandfather had had. He’d heard the story many times and never grew tired of it. The Lord stopped me from a wayward path with a touch that saved my life. It forever changed me. Alex wanted the fervor that experience had given his grandfather. So at age twenty-five, fresh out of seminary, he had eagerly accepted the call for help from Preacher Kinsley...his first posting as a fully-qualified minister of the Lord. He hoped a nd prayed being in the raw West would put him in a place to really, truly feel God.
He had not reached the church when someone called his name, and he stopped. Young Oliver Pottinger rushed up to him. “Preacher, thank you. You saved me from an awful fate.”
Preacher! It was the first time he’d been addressed as such, and the word glowed inside like a warm fire.
Mrs. Pottinger joined them. “Yes, Preacher Keystone. We owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“I only did what needed to be done. I hope you understand that I am here to serve. If there is anything I can do to help, don’t hesitate to ask.”
With a few more words of thanks, the pair turned down a side street. Alex watched them go, praying for their safety. He didn’t think the raging man would be so easily dissuaded. He was about to resume his journey when the other woman and child he had seen at the store turned the corner and headed toward him. As soon as she saw him, she did an about-face.
Now that was odd. He knew there were individuals who were hardened toward God and
showed disfavor to His ministers. If she was one of those, convincing her to trust God would become his mission.
She disappeared around the corner, and he resumed his journey toward the church.
He opened the front door and stepped inside, immediately enveloped in an atmosphere of worship as if the place was bathed in prayer and filled by the presence of God’s holiness. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the peace and silently thanked God for allowing him to come here. Grant me wisdom to help others, and God, if it pleases You, could You show Yourself to me in a special way?
Opening his eyes, he studied the interior of the sanctuary. Wooden benches, plain glass windows, a stove—now cold—in one corner, a piano on the platform, and a pulpit that was simplicity itself.
A door to one side of the platform opened, and light slanted across the floor. A tall figure stood outlined in the opening. “May I help you?”
“Are you Preacher Kinsley?”
“I am.” The man spoke with kindness and authority in his deep voice. Alex could well imagine his words carried power when he preached. He immediately thought of his grandfather.
“Then I am here to help you. Alex Keystone at your service.” He strode forward and met the man halfway down the aisle. They shook hands, their grasp lingering as they openly studied each other.
After a moment, the older man nodded, and Alex felt as if he’d passed some sort of test.
“I’m grateful you’re here. We’ve just come through an epidemic that left many in the area mourning. My wife is worn out from tending so many. Thankfully, we have a young lady helping her at the moment. She is residing with us.” The man leaned back, his gaze looking past Alex and out the windows. “We brought four daughters when we came, but they are all happily married. I don’t regret one day of their new life but…” A deep sigh and then his piercing gray eyes returned to studying Alex. “I’m not as young as I used to be, and on top of that, I was injured a few months ago. I suppose all those things have contributed to my weariness.”
“I’m here to help.” From what Alex had heard, this man had been doing the work of three men. No wonder he was tired.
“When did you arrive in town?”
“I rode in a bit ago. Left my horse at the livery.”
Preacher Kinsley indicated Alex should follow, and they left the church via the back door. The preacher paused. “We have pasture and a barn, so you can stable your horse here.”
“I’ll get him presently. Now tell me what I can do.”
The preacher laughed. “How be you look around and get settled.” He sobered. “Though if you have a message prepared for tomorrow, I’ll gladly sit back and let you take the pulpit.”
Alex hoped his eagerness wasn’t too evident. “I had plenty of time on the journey here to think of what I’d like to say by way of introduction. I could do that tomorrow.”
“Excellent. Now come, and I’ll introduce you to my wife. You’ll meet my daughters and their husbands tomorrow.”
They crossed to the manse…a two-story house with windows looking out at the backyard, a large addition to one side. Beyond the buildings was a garden, the leaves of many plants brown and gold. Past that, a dusty lane and then a line of trees.
Preacher Kinsley noted Alex’s interest. “The river is down there. Seems to me it’s a place where the young folk go for courting.” He turned to Alex. “I received a letter informing me you were coming. In it, I was told you are a single man.”
Alex nodded. “I am indeed. And I intend to stay that way.” He wondered at the flare of interest in the other man’s eyes.
They reached the house, threw open the door, and entered a large kitchen with the stove and cupboards at one end with a window overlooking the backyard. A long wooden table took up most of the other wall. A window to the side provided a view of the church.
A little boy stared wide-eyed at him. Dark, bottomless eyes, black hair, dusky skin. Alex would guess the boy had mixed heritage.
Behind him sat an older woman, her hair fading to gray, and a weariness in her friendly expression. At the kitchen cupboards stood a young lady. He recognized her as one of those who had been at the store. The one who had turned around the corner when she saw him. He had certainly never expected to see her at the manse.
He guessed she was the young woman the preacher had said lived with them to help his wife. Why had she been trying to avoid him when she must know they would soon be in close proximity? Seemed odd to his way of thinking.
She had black hair held back in a loose bun that allowed her hair to float around her face. A sprinkling of freckles marched across a pale complexion. Her eyes were so blue they were startling. She wore a simple gray dress with a white apron over it. She half turned, busying herself with something on the cupboard, still able to see him, but not allowing him to study her more closely.
“This is my wife, Mrs. Kinsley.” The preacher’s voice brought Alex’s attention to the older woman. “My dear, this is Alex Keystone, the young man who has come to help.”
“Welcome.” Her greeting was warm. “I’m pleased to have you join our ranks.”
He realized he had grown sober at his study of the younger woman. But his smile returned as he acknowledged the woman’s greeting.
His gaze lowered to the little boy.
“This is young Louie Redd. He’s four, and a very nice little boy.” The child gave Preacher Kinsley a shy smile.
“And this young lady is his sister, Clara. She’s the one I told you was helping my wife.”
A sister? He’d assume her to be the child’s mother.
“How do you do?” she murmured, making no move to close the distance between them. She kept her gaze lowered.
He was more than ever convinced she didn’t welcome him.
Why not? She was here in the preacher’s house. He’d understood the preacher would provide him accommodation. That was going to make it difficult for them to avoid each other, although he had no intention of avoiding her. God, is this why You sent me here? To help this young woman? Different scenarios raced through his head. She had been disappointed in her faith and struggled to believe. He could help her understand that God didn’t change even if circumstances did. Or she had not heard of God’s love until she came to the Kinsleys. He tried to think if he had been told how long ago that was. Didn’t seem he had. Again, he was more than willing to teach her.
Now wait a minute. He must guard his heart and his mind against distractions. He’d learned that lesson well his first year in seminary and had no intention of repeating it. He would spend time with her only if it furthered his work as a minister.
“You didn’t have a gun.” The words, soft, with a bit of a lilt drew Alex’s attention to the child.
“A gun?” Mrs. Kinsley looked surprised. Perhaps shocked as well. “Whatever is he talking about?”
“There was a bad man shooting and yelling. He scared everyone, even Clara. Except him.” Louie pointed at Alex. “He wasn’t scared. He don’t even have gun.” Unblinking big dark eyes studied Alex.
