Page 7 of Love and Order
CHAPTER 7
Sunday, June 22, 1873
After the mishap with Lady two days ago, then the rough handling by that cantankerous old fool yesterday, Callie ached. Yet she’d dressed for Sunday services and ridden in the wagon with Hattie, despite the church being only a short walk from the boardinghouse. To her irritation, once they arrived, they discovered the itinerate pastor had moved that week’s meeting—and the picnic afterward—to the field where the medicine show had been told to set up. She loved Sunday services, but tolerating the hard wooden pews for the length of the sermon held little appeal. The hard ground held even less. Yet here she sat as people spread quilts and blankets under shade trees, facing the arched line of the medicine show wagons.
People milled, talking with others. Young children darted and chased. Near the edge of the crowd, the older boys made eyes at the pretty girls nearby, who giggled and blushed in response. A petite woman with a head of shiny raven hair stood near the end of the street, a book balanced on one forearm as she worked a pencil over the page with her other. The gal glanced up toward the medicine wagons, then back to the page, scratching with the pencil repeatedly.
Another artist? Callie’s interest piqued, though before she could rise to investigate, the medicine show’s pipe organ began to play her first mother’s favorite hymn, “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing,” and her mind shot back more than a decade to the many times she recalled Mama humming or singing the tune. The traveling pastor invited everyone to join, and around them, people began to sing. Homesickness swept her until she almost couldn’t breathe.
Lord, help me. I don’t want to fall to pieces now over something I can’t change.
From the medicine show wagons, a beautiful woman with long red ringlets in a buckskin dress, a muscle-bound man a head taller than any in the field, and three others she couldn’t make out stepped out and found places at the edge of the crowd. She watched them, trying to keep her mind from the memories attached to the song.
Several hymns later, the music ceased, and the pastor quieted the crowd. “Thank y’all for your willingness to worship outdoors on this beautiful day. Did everyone enjoy the pipe organ?”
Some applauded politely while others were more raucous in their agreement.
“Our illustrious visitors, Dr. Chellingworth and his company, offered to provide music for our service.” He motioned to an odd man of moderate height and build, thinning chestnut hair combed to one side, and facial hair that covered only his jawline and chin. “And it seemed a shame to miss the opportunity to worship with some real accompaniment.”
Callie stared at the odd Dr. Chellingworth. To add to his strange appearance, he wore spectacles with dark lenses. Catching Joe’s eye, she leaned close. “I’ve never seen darkened spectacles like those.”
He glanced up, searching, then nodded. “I have. In the war. A few soldiers wore ’em on long marches. One day when I had a fearsome headache, a fella let me borrow his.” His blue eyes sparkled as he grinned. “They were unexpectedly soothing.”
Why did she find the idea that he’d served in the war so intriguing? Plenty of men had, probably even ones in this very crowd. Only he hadn’t been a man. Joe was just a boy at the time. Every time he mentioned it, pride and admiration swelled in her heart. How fearless he must be to have served at such a tender age.
She leaned nearer, dropping her voice low. “In case I haven’t said so, I admire that you served. Especially when you were so young.”
His cheeks reddened, and a wry grin tugged at his lips. “Thank you. I was just following my brother. I didn’t understand the horrors I was getting into.”
“But you served the whole time, even after your brother passed. It was very brave, and I respect you for it.”
He seemed to stand a little taller. “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”
If she thought it appropriate in such a setting, she’d have hugged him, but she focused on the pastor. He’d asked some question, and many within the crowd had raised their hands. Dr. Chellingworth, standing next to him, pointed to one of the nearest families with their hands up.
“Where has your family come from, sir?”
“Denver.”
He welcomed them and asked their names, then moved on to greet several others and ask their names and locations. Shading his eyes, he looked toward the back of the crowd.
“You, sir. Standing at the back. What is your name, and how far have you come?”
Many in the field turned, including Callie.
“Ask somebody else,” a man grumbled, though she couldn’t tell which spoke. None of them had their hands raised.
“Oh, come now. We’re all friends. Please. Share your name.”
As she scanned faces, her eye snagged, and her breath caught loudly. The same dark-haired man she’d seen arguing yesterday—now with a gun belt slung low, like a gunfighter—glowered at Dr. Chellingworth, then pulled his hat lower and stalked away.
Her jaw slack, Callie pushed to her feet and went after him, hurrying despite her aches and pains.
“Sir, stay, please!” Chellingworth called. “Forgive me for putting you on the spot.”
Clearing the crowd, Callie looked one way, then the other, and spotted the man heading back toward town. She followed, fighting to catch up.
“Pardon me!” she panted as she closed the gap.
He seemed not to hear.
“Sir! In the blue!”
He turned, his features hard. “What do you want?”
She stopped short, and for an instant, she could only stare.
“Well?”
“Forgive me.” A thickness settled in her throat, making it difficult to ask the question burning on her tongue.
He arched his brows in scorn. “Speak up, or I’m leavin’.”
When she still couldn’t force out a sound, he gritted his teeth and stalked away.
Panic lanced her. “Are you Orion Braddock?”
The man’s steps faltered. Hand resting on the butt of his pistol, he turned slowly. “Who’s askin’?”
“Call—” She caught herself. “You may call me Kezia Jarrett.”
His eyes narrowed. “And how d’you know my name?”
Lord, it is him! Decades-old emotion roiled, and the urge to weep lodged in her throat. Or to break her cover and run to him, bury herself in his embrace.
If he would embrace her …
What if he didn’t want to be found? That thought had never crossed her mind, so deep was her desire to reunite with her brother and sister. It nearly knocked the air from her lungs.
Oh, Lord God … please let him have yearned for me like I have him!
“Were you the man …” She fought tears. “Were you arguing with a white-haired gentleman yesterday in town?”
Confusion clouded his gaze before he stalked up. Towering over her, he glared. “Ellwood Garvin ain’t no gentleman, and you’d do well to cut him a wide—” His eyes narrowed more, and he leaned in before giving a tiny shake of his head. “Cut that one a wide path, Miss. Now, name your business with me. Otherwise, I’m gone.”
The loud gasp Callie released unfurled a huge warning flag in Joe’s mind, and the wind of his thoughts snapped it to sharp attention when she’d darted up and hurried away. As soon as she departed, Mrs. Ingram gave him the look, and he took off in pursuit. His heart thundered as petite Callie Wilson charged after the big gunman. Durn it all, it was Sunday, and they were attending services, so he’d left his own guns locked in his room at the boardinghouse.
How stupid of him!
Lord God Almighty, what is she doing?
Ahead, she hurried after the man, obviously winded, and finally got him to turn. But when he did, his hand was on his pistol …
Sweet Jesus, protect her. Please!
“Were you arguing with a white-haired gentleman yesterday in town?” she asked as Joe neared.
Ahh. This fella must be the other half of that pair Whitey was arguing with yesterday. But Whitey had mumbled a name—one she’d seemed quite interested in. Was this about finding the black horse that had stampeded their mounts, or was it about finding the man who bore the name Whitey muttered?
The gunman glared at her in a way that set Joe’s teeth on edge. “Ellwood Garvin ain’t no gentleman, and you’d do well to cut him a wide—” The fella paused, a look of befuddlement flashing in his gaze. With a shake of his head, he continued. “Cut that one a wide path, Miss. Now, name your business with me. Otherwise, I’m gone.”
“Kezia?” What was her interest in this gent? He strode up.
“Who’s this?” The fella jutted his chin in Joe’s direction.
With a perturbed look, Callie turned, then faced the man again. “Stephen Nesbitt, another resident in the boardinghouse where I rent a room.”
Joe extended his hand. “Yes, sir. And you are?”
“My name’s nobody’s b—”
“Orion Braddock.” Her voice shook.
Braddock’s bearded jaw firmed. “What d’you want with me?”
“I, um—” She froze.
He had no idea her business with Braddock, but she’d gone to lengths to chase him down. He should help her keep him close.
“Well, sir. Mrs. Ingram, who owns our boardinghouse—her husband used to pastor the local church before his passing. The dear woman doesn’t like seein’ anyone turned away from Sunday meetings, so we’re asking you to stay …”
What he’d said about Mrs. Ingram was true—to a point. Had Callie not gotten up, the woman might have sent him after Braddock, especially given Braddock looked like he lived on the fringes of polite society. Who better to invite to hear the Lord’s Word than a man on the edge?
Callie’s confusion dissolved. “Yes. Please. Come sit with us—or listen from our wagon—but stay. I can’t imagine anyone else will ask your name so publicly, and I won’t blurt it again.”
“That’d be helpful.”
“So you’ll come back?” Hopefulness seasoned Callie’s voice.
Who was this Braddock fella to her?
“Y’all are invitin’ me to church …” Braddock eyed them skeptically.
Her boldness returning, Callie shot him a pointed look. “Have you ever attended services, sir?”
“Men like me don’t frequent such places.” A hardness edged his voice.
“Please, try it today.” Her voice was gentle.
As he looked first at Joe, then Callie, a muscle in Braddock’s jaw twitched. “I heard the singin’.” He heaved a breath, shrugged, and shook his head. “Some of my dearest memories contain one of those hymns.” He shot Callie another strange look, and her eyes brimmed.
“The music brought back some powerful memories for me as well.” She nodded.
Braddock stared at her. “What’d you say your name was again?”
She lifted her chin. “Kezia Jarrett.”
Finally, the man gave a grudging nod. “Fine, Miss Jarrett. But only because I ain’t had a pretty gal talk sweet to me in a mighty long time.”