Mr. Cook studied Sheriff Walden for a long moment before coming to the conclusion the man was not bluffing. Walden was appointing himself Faith’s protector. “Mr. Gaines has given his permission for Faith and I to marry,” Mr. Cook said proudly. As if he was purchasing a new filly and was wanting everyone to know the brand Faith was now wearing was his.
“I believe Miss Gaines has decided otherwise. My warming still stands,” Sheriff Walden stated. He understood men like Cook. It was necessary to use force against force. Without further comment Mr. Cook stalked off. But, Amos Walden was not fooled. He would need to keep an eye on Faith as well as Jim Cook. A storm was brewing and if he was to protect Faith from the fallout, he must remain on his guard.
The moment Sheriff Walden escorted Mr. Cook across the dining room Faith darted into the kitchen and up the backstairs. She was trembling all over. Her breath came in short gasps. In the room she shared with Elizabeth and Lydia, Faith sank down on the stool before their vanity dresser. She locked her fingers together and leaned towards the mirror. She was as pale as a ghost.
“Faith,” Mary Gaines said from the open door.
“I am alright,” Faith replied, her voice shaky.
“What happened,” Mary asked coming into the room.
“Nothing of consequence,” Faith replied.
Mary took her daughter’s arm in her hand and examined the bruises on Faith’s wrist. “Who did this,” she demanded.
“Mr. Cook,” Faith whispered. Finding she could no longer hold back her tears she turned away from her mother and wept silently. “I asked Sheriff Walden to show him the door. Father won’t be pleased. I am sorry.” The hopelessness in Faith’s voice wounded her mother’s heart. “I tried, Mother. I really did. I know how much it means to Father that I marry well.”
“Philip will understand,” Mary said quietly. Comforted by the fact Faith leaned her head against her. “He doesn’t know the real man behind Mr. Cook’s congenial face. Philip only sees the good in people. That is alright when you are a Minister facing the daily problems of a diverse congregation. Not so useful in trying to raise five lively daughters.” Mary’s smile was sad.
“Mr. Cook says we are engaged.” With this statement Faith began to tremble again. Mary placed one arm over her daughter’s shoulders and kissed Faith on one cheek. “Philip will straighten out any miss understandings,” she whispered. “I dare say if your father sees these bruises he will take his buggy whip to Mr. Cook’s back. Philip can be formidable when he feels justified.”
“There mustn’t be a scene,” Faith whispered knowing how the ladies of Junction City liked to gossip. While in her mind Faith could see her calm, gentle father chasing Mr. Cook through the streets of town snapping his buggy whip across the man’s back. Taking comfort in these musings her fears vanished. Between Sheriff Walden and Father she need not fear Mr. Cook any longer.
“You let Philip worry about gossip,” Mary advised. “Your Father can handle Mr. Cook as well as any malicious rumors.”
“Yes Mother,” Faith replied feeling comforted by home and family.
“You stay here. I will send Laurie up. The child has had enough excitement for one day.” Faith knew her mother was thinking up an excuse for Faith’s absence and readily agreed to watch Laurie. “I will send Imogen up with a plate of food.”
Faith wondered why her mother always believed food was the cure for everything bad that happened in the world and was able to smile. After all, maybe her mother was right.
Chapter Sixteen
Royce dressed in a dark shirt and denim jeans. Strapped on his gunbelt and picked up his Henry rifle. The sun was inching down the western horizon when he let himself out the side door. Keeping to the shadows with his hat pulled low over his forehead Royce walked along boardwalks and crossed alleyways. The back streets of Junction City were just coming awake. Laughter could be heard erupting from saloons and cafes. Horses tied to hitching posts were lining both sides of the road. For Wednesday night the boardwalks were crowded. People in for Hogan’s funeral were out celebrating the fact they were still alive.
Leaning his shoulder against the last building on West Ninth Street Royce stood surveying his surroundings. Windows on the Baptist Church glowed bronze. The sky overhead was turning dark blue as shadows lengthened. Royce crossed the road and hurried into the darkness under bare limbed oaks and cottonwood trees. Red cedar trees looked black green when he moved between branches and smelled the trees’ tangy scent. A few moments later he was walking along side the weathered barn behind the Gaines family home.
Faith had left the tackroom door unlocked as she promised. In the dim interior Royce located Reverend Gaines’ saddle and bridle. He roped Get-a-long and led the gelding into the shadow cast by the barn. Quickly saddling the horse Royce led the animal out of the corral and mounted. Taking the trail through the trees Royce rode Get-a-long towards the schoolhouse. Not stopping until he was among the trees behind the Elementary School. Miss Ferguson’s house was in view. A light shone through the front window. Hunching down, Royce settled against a dark tree trunk for a long night’s vigil.
A short time later Miss Ferguson’s light went out. Milton Ferguson’s heavy treads were heard crossing the front porch. The man walked upright. His long stringy hair was loose on his shoulders. His dark hat pulled low over his eyes. “John,” he called before stepping off the porch.
“Here,” a voice called back. In the deep shadows behind the house Royce searched for the man but could not locate him.
Crossing the yard Milton Ferguson swung open the corral gate. The hinges squeaked. “Damn,” he growled before walking towards the small barn and went inside. He returned moments later with his saddle.
Back in the trees
