Chapter Three

Esther was standing next to the counter looking at the display of hair ribbons, while waiting for her turn to talk to Mr. Arden, when Mrs. Arden approached her. The Ardens owned the mercantile and had been in Flat River since the first group of settlers arrived. This made her as old as the dinosaurs, as far as Esther was concerned, even though Mrs. Arden couldn't be much older than Ma or Mrs. Chapman. Mrs. Arden, however, had a kind heart, even if she did like to indulge in a bit of gossip.

"I thought you might like this," Mrs. Arden said, slipping an item into Esther's basket.

"What is it?" Esther's hand reached in, and she flipped the item over, her eyes widened in surprise. Black Bess; or the Knight of the Road: The Complete Stories the cover read . "Really?" Her excitement was palpable as she ran her thumb over the raised design on the cover.

"Dillon purchased it for me from the mail-order catalog. I stayed up all night reading it. Ellie Chapman just returned it because Owen was done with it. There are nearly three hundred episodes of Dick Turbin's exploits in here."

"Three hundred? Why so many?"

"It was published as a weekly serial in a newspaper. Each episode is like a chapter."

"How wonderful. It will take me many nights to read. Who is Black Bess?" Esther eagerly opened the novelette and carefully turned each page. The illustrations were intricate and captivating. A man dressed in elaborate baroque clothing sat confidently on a sleek black horse, brandishing a single shot pistol toward a cowering stagecoach driver. The details were so mesmerizing she couldn't help but stare at the scene for a few moments longer before continuing with the story. SPLENDID COLOURED PICTURE: DICK TURPIN LEAPS BLACK BESS OVER ... The rest of the words were missing. "Why are the words misspelled?"

"The spellings are proper British spellings. Black Bess was the mount of Dick Turbin, a notorious highwayman with a humble upbringing who turned to a life of thievery."

Esther tugged on her lower lip with her teeth. "Like an outlaw?"

"No. Like a highwayman."

"Isn't that the same thing? Is there romance?" Esther asked hopefully.

"Yes." Rose gave a knowing smile.

"Kissing?"

Mrs. Arden laughed. "You'll have to read it for yourself."

"You won't tell Papa, will you?"

"Just return it when you are done. I'm sure there are others in the town who would like to read it as well." Rose pointed to a small corner of the store. "I took Naomi's suggestion. She said it came from you."

"My suggestion?" With fumbling hands, Esther carefully tucked the small tome into the inside pocket of her worn paletot. She made sure it was secure, giving it a reassuring pat and adjusting the fabric to keep it from falling out. Her anticipation grew as she thought about getting home to dive into the new story.

"There is a little nook where folks can share books until the book canvasser makes her way back around."

When Esther looked, she noticed one small shelf where canned goods used to be lined with several books of varying sizes and thicknesses. Shoved between the various publications were the penny novels Esther loved so much.

Unable to contain her excitement, she let out a delighted squeal. "This is a treasure trove for the whole town!"

"Most of the books came from my collection, but I'm hoping many of the people in town will step up and donate a few they no longer read. I know Ingrid is planning on dropping a few off later this week."

"Then I will return this one when I'm done. Once Ruth and Naomi have finished with the penny novel I'm currently reading, I'll add it to your collection."

"That sounds just fine."

"Rose," Mr. Arden called. "Can you help Mrs. Clark?"

"Of course, husband. I'll see you at services on Sunday." Mrs. Arden gave Esther's arm a pat before moving toward the second counter. "June! What a lovely fabric you've chosen. Is this for the girls?"

Esther touched the book through the fabric once more and smiled as she moved to the counter. "Mama asked me to drop this off to you, Mr. Arden." She pulled a folded paper from the basket and placed it on the counter.

"I saw you eyeing the ribbons. Those are new. Would you like one?"

Esther shook her head. "Not today, thank you. I'll mention it to Papa, though." She reached a gloved finger out and touched one of them. "They are beautiful."

Mr. Arden looked over the list. "We have everything in stock. Do you want to wait, or have it delivered?"

"I can wait for it." She looked around the store and spied Whit sitting next to the potbelly stove. He was so handsome!

She tried to act casual as she made her way over to the stove, pretending to warm her hands while sneaking glances at Whit. He was leaning back in his chair, long legs stretched out, intently reading a newspaper. She noticed his furrowed brow and wondered what had captured his interest so fully.

Esther couldn't help but admire his strong jawline and the way his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. A fluttering feeling rose in her chest, and she quickly tamped it down. Such thoughts were improper for a preacher's daughter.

Still, she wished he would look up and notice her. She imagined striking up a conversation, though she could hardly fathom what she might say. Whit was so different from the young men she normally interacted with. He was rough around the edges but appeared to have a good heart underneath.

She snorted.

Mama had warned her to stay away from the likes of him. Why, she didn't even know his last name.

Today she would change it. She made it her mission to find out his last name and more about him.

Clearing her thoughts, she gathered up the courage to speak. "Good morning," Esther said politely, with a slight curtsy.

Whit's ice-blue eyes flickered up to meet hers. "Morning, Miss Billings," he replied, his voice a low rumble. He folded the newspaper and set it aside. "Keeping warm this morning?"

"Yes, thank you." Esther felt her cheeks flush, hoping it wasn't noticeable. She didn't expect him to know her name.

"Looks like some interesting news?" she added, nodding toward the paper.

"Oh, just more trouble around these parts."

"Anything in particular?" She moved to lift the coffeepot and found it empty.

"Seems outlaws have made their way over here from Lincoln."

Esther shook the pot, hoping for something to appear. "Outlaws?" she said with a hint of sarcasm, pretending to be uninterested. She nodded as she set down the empty coffeepot. "Oh yes, outlaws," she said, keeping her tone light. "They seemed to stir up a fair bit of excitement around here."

She saw Whit's eyebrows raise slightly at her words. Proper young ladies weren't supposed to ask about ruffians and criminals. Her cheeks grew warm, but she continued. "Of course, I don't approve of their ways, but life around here can be so uneventful. A small-town preacher's daughter doesn't get many chances for adventure."

She gave a small, shy smile, and Whit chuckled, a low rumbling sound which made her heart skip.

"No, I don't suppose you do," he said. He studied her thoughtfully for a moment. "Though something tells me you've got more spirit for adventure than you let on."

Esther felt her cheeks redden at Whit's words. He saw right through her proper exterior to the longing for excitement underneath. She cast her eyes downward, suddenly feeling exposed. "Forgive me if I spoke out of turn," he said.

"Well, I, uh..." she trailed off, flustered.

Whit smiled kindly, seeming to take pity on her embarrassment. "No need to explain yourself to me. I understand wanting more from life than what's expected. I've done my fair share of rambling trying to find where I belong."

He stood up from his chair and moved closer. Esther was struck again by how tall and broad-shouldered he was. She had to tilt her chin up to meet his piercing blue gaze.

"Don't let anyone else define you, Miss Billings. You follow your heart wherever it leads. Folks might not understand, but you must be true to yourself."

"Would you like some coffee, Mr..."

He smiled. "Moore."

She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward, studying his face for any signs of deception. Crossing her arms, she tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for his response.

"Mr. Moore?"

"Yes, ma'am, but you should call me Whit."

"Is Whit your cowboy name? Such as you have great wit, so you ended up stuck with it as a name, or is it short for something?"

Esther felt her cheeks flush as Whit gently took her hand in his, his rough, calloused fingers enveloping her delicate ones. She knew she should pull away. It was improper for an unmarried man and woman to have any physical contact, but his touch ignited a warmth which spread through her whole body.

"It's short for Whitney. My mother named me after my grandfather. Your hands are like ice, Miss Billings," he said, his voice soft. "You could use a cup of hot coffee."

She was relieved when he released her hand, though she immediately missed the contact. Clearing her throat, she straightened her posture. "Whitney is a fine name," she said, hoping her voice didn't betray the whirlwind of emotions inside.

"My family has always just called me Whit. Whitney sounds too formal."

Esther's heart quickened. She knew she was venturing into dangerous territory, conversing alone with a man like Whit. She found herself drawn to him, captivated by the intensity of his ice-blue eyes.

"I'll stick to Mr. Moore, thank you." She busied herself preparing a fresh pot of coffee, aware of his gaze following her every movement. As she waited for the coffee to boil, she looked at him. "I don't think following my heart is the answer."

"Why's that?"

"I need to follow God's will. He will tell me what He wants me to do."

Whit sat back down. "He will, but you'll know in your heart what it is. I at least know that. You seem very capable of knowing your own mind."

"You know nothing about me, Mr. Moore."

"Whit. You are going to call me Whit, and I'm going to call you Esther. I know more about you than you I think do. I've had my eye on you since you arrived in town."

Esther felt her back stiffen. "You've been watching me?"

He guided her to the bench behind the stove before going to fetch two cups from the pegs on the wall. He poured a cup and handed it to her, his fingers brushing hers.

"Not watching. I've noticed you. I've enjoyed our conversations, and I'd like to get to know you better."

"What you suggest is highly improper, Mr. Moore. I've not seen you at Sunday services."

Whit's tall frame stood out in the quaint mercantile. As he settled into the seat beside Esther, she caught a whiff of wood smoke, leather, and pine sap. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to imprint the scent into her memory as he leaned closer to whisper in her ear.

"I'm not the kind who is welcome in church, Esther." His breath was hot against her skin. "Does it bother you?"

"Everyone is welcome in the Lord's house." She blew on the coffee before taking a small sip.

"Not everyone."

She ignored his response for now. "Do you have family in the area?"

He took a sip of his coffee before placing the mug on the bench beside him. "You could say that."

As she opened her mouth to speak, the door to the mercantile burst open. A group of people entered, their faces flushed from the cold, and immediately gravitated toward the warmth of the potbelly stove.

She watched as they huddled around the glowing potbelly stove, their raucous laughter and lively conversation filling the room, before disappearing to the far side of the store.

"Those are Baxter and the Beale children. The other man is Rex."

"I met them once at a barn dance."

"A barn dance, eh?" Whit's eyes danced with delight. "You don't seem like the barn dance type."

"What type is a barn dance type?"

"Not a preacher's daughter?" He gave a little chuckle. "I'm sorry I missed it. If I were there, I would have taken all your dances."

"Do you always say what you think?" She watched as he took another sip of coffee.

"Most of the time. Don't you?"

She gave a delicate snort. "Hardly ever. You seem to know many people here. Do you know everyone in town?"

"Almost everyone. I don't know you as much as I'd like. It's important to be aware of who is surrounding you."

The small bell above the door drew Esther's attention as it rang, signifying new customers. She longed to talk to Whit, but the couple who entered caught her eye.

They were both wearing thin, summery clothes, despite the freezing weather outside. The woman's shivering figure stood out in contrast to her partner's calm demeanor. Her pale hands shook as she tightly clutched a thin shawl around her body, trying to ward off the cold. Her long, red hair was tangled and wild from the wind, and her dress was frayed at the edges. As she stood there, heads turned in admiration of her radiant beauty which seemed to outshine any imperfections.

Esther felt plain and unremarkable as she noticed the way the men were gazing at the young woman. She couldn't help but feel envious as she watched Whit stand to interact with the young lady. A strange, bitter heat flooded through her body, causing her to squirm in her seat and clench her hands. These emotions were new and uncomfortable for Esther, making her wonder what was happening to her.

Esther listened long enough to find out their names were Youngerman, and they were traveling from town to town looking for a lost relative. Whit had offered the woman his arm and escorted her to the bench next to the fire before taking a seat between Esther and Miss Youngerman.

Esther gripped the bench for fear she would throw her arms around Whit and make a scene. Her heart churned with frustration and longing as she watched Whit and this woman interact.

Shifting uncomfortably on the bench before clearing her throat, she allowed herself a minute to compose herself before asking, "I hope you aren't staying long, Miss Youngerman." A hint of disapproval tinged her voice, along with something else.

It took only a minute for Esther to realize what the feeling was.

Jealousy!

She was jealous of the attention Whit was paying to this stranger.

Her heart constricted at the thought. Envy was a sin, but she couldn't stop. It was as if she were a puppet and someone else was controlling her mouth.

She knew exactly who the someone was.

Dear Lord, please make the devil stop, she prayed. But He didn't.

The woman reached out her gloved hands toward the fire. "We won't overstay our welcome."

Esther opened her mouth to say something else, but Whit put his hand on her back. She could feel each individual finger as his hand splayed across her spine.

"Esther," Whit growled in low warning close to her ear.

Esther still couldn't stop.

"What?" Esther said, adjusting her skirt so it wasn't close to the stove. "It isn't like there is any place for them to stay. Unless you want to stick them in the room at the livery?" She sounded hopeful for a minute.

His calloused fingers pressed into her back as he leaned in, his warm breath tickling her ear. "You need to watch your mouth, young lady, or I'm going to kiss you so hard all thoughts will go right out of your head." His fingers tightened on her back before releasing her and settling back on the bench.

Her body tensed as she imagined his lips on hers, and a rosy hue spread across her cheeks. She gasped for air, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to regain control of her thoughts.

Realizing she had made a fool of herself, she needed to escape. She awkwardly stood, bumping the bench, and spilling her coffee on the floor. Without a word, she hurried past Whit and out the door, nearly colliding with Annamae and her husband, Sawyer, as she rushed down the creaky wooden stairs and onto the bustling street. Her heart raced as she made her way to the livery, embarrassed tears streaming down her face.

She needed to compose herself before she got home and faced Mama's questioning. The last thing she wanted was to have to explain what had happened.

She hurriedly made her way across the street and slipped into the narrow alleyway behind the doctor's office. Jogging to the end, where the alley opened to a field filled with discarded pumpkins, she paused for a moment to catch her breath. Leaning against the side of the medical building, she allowed herself to cry.

Why did Papa have to arrange a marriage for her? Couldn't she find a suitable husband in town? Why did Whit suddenly ask about getting to know her after Papa brought up the idea of corresponding through letters? What caused her to transform from a polite preacher's daughter to a jealous and bitter person at the thought of Whit being interested in another woman?

She was not usually so improper, and after all, she knew she would never marry him.

Noticing movement at the entrance of the alley, near the road, she quickly pushed herself away from the wall and began walking toward the church. Using the heel of her hands to wipe the tears from her eyes, she had passed three buildings when she realized she forgot to get Mama's order.

Ruth and Naomi could walk back to the store and pick it up. Groaning, Esther realized she didn't have her basket with her either. She must have left it on the bench when she hurried out. Patting her paletot, she gave a half smile. At least the book Mrs. Alden let her borrow was still there.

Esther hurried the rest of the way through the back alleys of town, her skirts swishing around her ankles as she made her way home. She needed time to process what had just happened with Whit at the mercantile. She hadn't expected to feel such fiery jealousy course through her when he smiled at the woman. His whispered words still echoed in her mind, making her cheeks flush.

She paused in the alley behind the church to catch her breath. She leaned against the rough wooden slats and looked up at the gray winter sky.

"Lord, help me understand these feelings," she prayed under her breath. She had always tried to be a good, obedient daughter, just as the Bible taught, but Whit stirred up emotions in her she didn't know how to handle.

Most of all, her heart ached with confusion over her feelings for Whit. She knew deep down he could never be more than a fantasy, yet being near him stirred something within her which both thrilled and frightened her. She had always prided herself on being proper and dutiful, yet Whit made her feel alive in ways she didn't understand.

As she looked at the sky, she replayed Whit's words in her mind. The threat of his kiss still lingered, causing a tremor deep within her. She knew such thoughts were scandalous for a preacher's daughter, yet she could not stop her traitorous heart from fluttering at the memory.

"I've been looking for you."

Esther's head snapped toward the source of the raspy voice, and she froze when she saw a man standing there. The man's flesh was a patchwork of angry red and silvery white, a living roadmap of pain and survival, and it bore witness to a past which could not be unseen. His voice was hoarse and cracked, as if it had been scorched from within. One side of his head was missing hair, as if someone had scalped him. The other half was a mess of dark and gray patches.

Esther's panicked scream became muffled as a man with a pocked face and a scar across his chin forcefully shoved a rag into her mouth. Before she could react, another man grabbed her arms and turned her around, sneering at her. Despite the fear gripping her, she tried to focus on their faces. Scarred, pocked, and the one with a sneer.

One of them threw an earthy potato sack over her head and wrapped a blanket around her, pinning her arms to her side. She felt her feet leave the ground as one of the men hoisted her onto his shoulder.

She could smell the stench of stale liquor on the clothing of the man who carried her, groaning her displeasure as he jostled her on his shoulder.

"Don't hurt her." Esther was sure the words came from the burned man. "Ma said not a hair was to be harmed on her before she arrived."

"God help me," she prayed silently, struggling against her captor's bonds.

"Your prayers won't save you now," the man said, as if reading her thoughts. She clung to her faith, vowing to herself she would not let these men break her spirit or her resolve. Instead, she would bide her time and wait for an opportunity to prove even in the darkest of times, God's light could still shine through.

She was only carried a short distance before being handed off to someone else who placed her on his lap.

"Don't get any ideas, Tom."

Esther turned her head. She didn't recognize the voice.

"Behave, preacher's daughter," the man named Tom hissed into her ear. "Behave and you won't get hurt."

She knew better than to trust their words; this wasn't the first time she had been told to behave.

"Let's ride," someone called. The men took off, and the sound of horses running at breakneck speed filled her ears.

God, I know I've asked for excitement in my life, but not like this, Esther prayed.

She wished she could see where they were going. As they galloped further away from her home, her heart ached at the thought of her family's anguish upon discovering her disappearance. She knew she had to be brave, not just for herself, but for them as well. She continued to plead silently. "If I make it out of this alive, I promise to marry whoever Papa chooses for me with no complaints or rebellion."

As they rode further into the unknown, she couldn't shake off the feeling that her fate was slipping out of her control, and she didn't know how God was going to answer her prayers out in the wilderness.