LITMIR.BIZ

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Louisa—Mrs. Stillwater—thought it might be the babies’ mother,” Annie said. “But no one’s seen a strange woman in town.”

      “Except Miss Dumont,” Mrs. Hickey said, watching Elizabeth.

      Was the woman intent on starting that rumor now? Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, then hesitated. What would they do if she claimed to be the boys’ mother? The Lone Star Cowboy League would be bound to give her the boys. They might even help her support them.

      But no, she couldn’t lie. The boys deserved to know their parents, both the ones who had birthed them and the ones who would raise them.

      “Miss Dumont arrived in town weeks after the babies were found,” Mrs. Tyson pointed out with a look to Mrs. Hickey. “And she only came at David McKay’s request. She can’t be the triplets’ mother.”

      Mrs. Hickey sniffed. “I suppose not. But you tell this Good Samaritan, whoever he is, that I am not the postmaster.” She picked up her skirts and swept to the piano in the corner, where she positioned herself on the bench, fingers poised.

      So the boys had someone else looking out for them. Elizabeth glanced around the church again, wondering who it could be. No one seemed to be watching to see how she’d taken the drawings, but perhaps the Good Samaritan was being cautious. Still, helping the babies was a kindness. Why keep it a secret? As if the matter concerned him too, Theo cuddled closer when Elizabeth stood with the others and sang the opening hymn. In Mrs. Tyson’s arms, Jasper clapped his hands as if trying to keep time, and Eli rocked himself against Annie, wrinkling her red-and-yellow flower-printed cotton dress.

      Mr. Crenshaw, the stationmaster, came to the pulpit. He must be the deacon. Elizabeth followed along with the prayers and readings, all the while making sure her boys weren’t any more of a distraction than necessary. Her thoughts were distracted enough. Why would the Good Samaritan draw her and Brandon holding hands? Had she done something that made it appear they were a couple?

      Then Brandon stepped up to the pulpit, and she couldn’t look away. At more than six feet tall, he had had a presence even when he was just a student at the divinity school. Now, though his brown frock coat, waistcoat and trousers were plain and functional, he looked every inch the compassionate, dedicated minister. He leaned forward and smiled, and the whole church seemed to brighten.

      “We’ve been talking about the Israelites leaving Egypt,” he said, glancing around at the people who had come to worship. Elizabeth found herself trying to catch his gaze and chided herself. She no longer had to posture for Brandon’s attentions. She had more important matters to attend to. She turned her smile on Theo, who smiled back.

      “God provided the Israelites a way through obstacles, both natural and made by human hands,” he continued, voice warm and thoughtful as he straightened. “Through a series of plagues, He convinced the King of Egypt to let them go free from slavery. With a miracle, He made a way for thousands of people to pass through the Red Sea unharmed. He guided them by day and by night.”

      How nice to have a God so attentive, to work such wonders. Of course, He’d likely had to perform such feats to save a nation from bondage. That didn’t mean she should expect Him to do the same for her and the boys. Didn’t the Bible say not to put the Lord God to the test?

      “Without God’s help,” Brandon was explaining, silver gaze ever-moving, “they would have continued in slavery. Even the right to raise sons was denied them. They were, in effect, orphans, until God made them His family.”

      She glanced at the boys. All three had turned their heads toward Brandon. They knew the sound of his voice, trusted it enough to listen. When had she lost such childlike faith?

      Could she find it again?

      On the altar, Brandon leaned toward the congregation again with a smile, as if he was about to impart a secret. “We have among us today a number of orphans, children left by parents who passed on or could no longer pay their way. They too are part of God’s family. And I believe God is calling on us to help them.”

      Around her, men straightened on the wooden pews, ladies raised their heads.

      “Even though the drought appears to be behind us, for which we thank God, the effects remain for many in our community,” he told them. “Times for them are hard. We cannot allow our hearts to grow hard as well. Jesus welcomed the little children, warned against hindering them from learning about Him. And He said that when we offer a cup of cool water or a set of warm clothes to those in need, we offer them to Him. There are many needs in Little Horn. Pray this week about what God would have you do to help meet them.”

      Elizabeth glanced at Mrs. Tyson to see her wipe a tear from her cheek. Annie held Eli as if she’d never let him go. Theo turned in Elizabeth’s arms and gazed at her so somberly she could not forget that she was the one he and his brothers relied upon.

      Am I doing what You want me to do, Father?

      Just then the piano began tinkling under Mrs. Hickey’s fingers, and the congregation rose for the concluding hymn. Elizabeth would have liked a moment or two to think about what Brandon had said, but as soon as the song ended, she was surrounded.

      “I kept some of our sons’ baby things,” Mrs. Tyson said, rubbing a hand over Theo’s dark hair and earning her a frown from the touchy baby. “They certainly aren’t going to need them again. I’ll bring them to you this week.”

      “The blackberry preserves are just about set,” another woman put in. “I’ll give you some.”

      Other ladies offered blankets and bonnets. Gents asked if Elizabeth needed help with handling the cart or chopping firewood for the hearth in her room. Jasper and Eli ate up the attention, and even Theo broke into a giggle as Stella tickled him. All Elizabeth could think was that Brandon wielded a great deal of power in Little Horn, for the townsfolk certainly listened to their minister.

      One of the last to come forward was Mrs. Hickey, and she was towing an older man with a wide girth.

      “Miss Dumont,” she said, pointed nose in the air, “this is Clyde Parker. I understand from Mrs. Arundel that you are desirous of making his acquaintance.”

      And the way her wiry brows came down told Elizabeth that the pianist suspected nefarious purpose in the request.

      The fellow frowned at Elizabeth. A bulldog of a man, with a neck nearly as wide as his chest, he splayed his bandy legs and put his hands on his hips, eyeing her up and down. His clothes were clean, but wrinkled and well-worn. His battered felt hat seemed as ancient as the lines in his weathered face. Oh, dear. Wasn’t he one of the men who had been suggested as a husband for her?

      “Ma’am,” he spit out with a nod of his graying head. He eyed Theo in her arms as if she held a snake. “Pleased to meet you. I hear you’d like to stay in Little Horn.”

      “No!” Jasper told him. Mrs. Hickey recoiled, and Mr. Parker frowned. Mrs. Tyson stepped back to quiet the boy.

      “It’s a pleasant town,” Elizabeth assured the rancher, wondering how to gracefully make her escape. “Everyone has been so kind.”

      “Pastor Stillwater knows her family,” Mrs. Hickey informed Mr. Parker. “He says they were fine people.”

      He hadn’t actually said that, and Elizabeth knew many did not consider her uncle so fine anymore.

      Mr. Parker nodded. “References are always good. And it seems you like children.”

      She liked Jasper, Theo and Eli. “Do you have children, Mr. Parker?” she asked, turning the questions on him.

      “My wife, God rest her soul, and I were never blessed.” He cleared his throat as if it hurt to remember, and Elizabeth could not help but like him for that. Then he narrowed his eyes at her. “So, can you cook?”

      She had been hoping to interview with someone in the area as a nanny or governess. Did he intend to interview her as a wife? She could think of no kind way to answer him.

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