Page 26 of Fairest of Heart

A second paper listed train schedules. A third itemized the stolen items. A slender stack at the corner looked to be reports from town marshals. Probably included witness statements and investigator notes. “Sounds like an interesting case.”

“It’s yours.”

Titus straightened and eyed his commanding officer. “Sir?”

“Solve this case, Kingsley, and I’ll recommend you for sergeant.”

“Thank you, sir.” Heart thundering in his chest, Titus fought off the smile that begged for release and kept his tone modulated and controlled. “I won’t let you down.”

“Better not, son. There’ll be a lot of eyes on you for this one. Several gents on the list have political ties to Austin. This could make your career. But it could also break it. Still want the job?”

Titus’s mouth went dry, but he held his position. “Yes, sir.”

Either God intended for him to be a Ranger, or he didn’t. Seemed he was about to find out which path the good Lord had mapped out for him.

11

Penelope awoke with a start, jarred into wakefulness by a barb of dread insisting she had overslept. Madame LaBelle would not be happy if her morning tea was late. Penelope tossed off the covers and blinked into the dark as her feet hit the rug.

Rug? That wasn’t right. Her spartan accommodations never included something as frivolous as a rug. She gripped the mattress edge as the happenings of the last day and a half splashed into her consciousness. This wasn’t a hotel bed or her camp cot. She was in a ranch house, surrounded by kind old men. Men who’d rescued her. Fed her. Clothed her. Tended her wounds. Dear, sweet Doc had even given up his room to provide a quiet place for her to rest and recover. One she’d apparently needed more than she’d thought, for she’d obviously slept the entire day away along with at least half the night.

A swelling sense of gratitude pulled her from the bed and down onto her knees. Bowing until her forehead brushed the mattress, Penelope poured out her heart to the God who had kept her safe.

I’ve never felt such desperate fear or such abundant blessing. Lord, I am humbled by your goodness. I still don’t fully understand why I was persecuted so harshly when I did nothing wrong, but I can see now that you never abandoned me. Even in the darkest moments where I walked through the valley of the shadow of death, you were with me. You sent godly men with noble hearts to rescue me and surrounded me with compassion and chivalry. Thank you. May I honor your gift with a spirit of gratitude and compassion toward others, especially the men here at the Diamond D.

As she knelt there, eyes closed, heart meditating, a thought seeped into her mind. Could it be that her trial was necessary to bring her to a place of blessing? A place she never would have encountered had she remained on her previous path?

The notion instilled her with a measure of hope. She might have lost her job, her belongings, and even her clothes, but she wasn’t destitute. Not when she had strength to work and the Lord to guide her. She’d been given a chance. A chance to make a fresh start. And start, she would. Even if dawn was still a couple of hours away.

Penelope pushed up from the floor, lit the bedside lamp, and surveyed the shadowy room around her. Time to return all the kindness she’d received from the Diamond D men. But first, she’d need something more substantial to wear than a cotton nightdress.

Praying there’d be a corset among the late Mrs. Kingsley’s things, Penelope approached the trunk at the end of the bed, set the lamp on the floor beside her, then opened the lid. A Bible lay at the top of the packed items. The worn leather at the edges testified to its frequent use. Penelope ran her hand over the cover, thinking of her own small Bible left behind with her beloved copy of Oliver Twist and the photograph she and Edith had taken together before she left Chicago. The loss throbbed in her chest, but she’d not dwell on what had been taken from her. No, she’d focus on what she’d been given. A new path forward. One rich with blessings—some already known to her, others yet to be discovered. Penelope smiled as she lifted the Bible from the trunk and set it next to her on the floor. Doc had encouraged her to make use of whatever she found. Perhaps he’d allow her to borrow the Bible while she was here at the ranch so she could read a chapter or two before bed each night.

Penelope turned her attention back to the contents of the trunk and soon grew absorbed by the possibilities inside. Twenty minutes later, she had a dozen clothing items draped over the bed, including a selection of underclothes and stockings. Mrs. Kingsley must have been a few inches shorter than Penelope, for both skirts she tried on hit her above the ankle. The yellow one fit better around her waist, so Penelope selected that one to wear. The matching yellow bodice, however, was far too tight across the bust. All of the bodices and shirtwaists had the same problem.

Thankfully, the simple corset in Mrs. Kingsley’s collection could be loosened enough to fit, though it didn’t offer the same support as the over-the-shoulder style Penelope preferred. It was far more comfortable and modest than Madame LaBelle’s monstrosity, so Penelope counted that as a blessing and thanked the Lord accordingly as she slipped it around her midsection and tightened the laces. Still, she’d need more than a camisole as covering. She checked the construction on the largest of the shirtwaists, but the seam allowance was too narrow. Letting it out wouldn’t solve her problem.

Determined not to let discouragement gain the upper hand, Penelope scanned the room for inspiration and found it hanging on the edge of the washstand mirror—Titus’s shirt. Memories of the man who’d given it to her sent warmth radiating through her neck and face. His tender touch as he’d wrapped her feet. His strong arms as he carried her away from the mesquite shrubs. The honor shining in his brown eyes as he offered his shirt in trade for her blanket. She’d thought to launder his shirt and return it to him, but it seemed she might need to make use of it a little longer.

Not that Mr. Kingsley would notice. The Ranger had left yesterday without a word to her. From the small bathroom window, she’d caught a glimpse of him riding out while Ike had heated her bathwater. His leaving left an ache in her chest, but he hadn’t owed her any special consideration. He’d done his duty. More than his duty. Yet the intimacy they’d shared on the journey to the ranch had made it feel as if a friendship had been budding. At least to her.

She padded over to the washstand, took down his shirt, and ran her fingers over the dark blue cotton. Bless him in his work, Lord, and protect him from harm. What kind of business had called him away yesterday? Whatever he faced was bound to be dangerous. Chasing another gang of bank robbers, perhaps? Hunting outlaws? Stopping a range war? Titus certainly seemed capable of handling whatever trouble crossed his path, but a man who courted danger on a regular basis could do with an extra helping of divine defense. She’d add him to her evening prayer list.

Today, though, she let him rescue her again by making use of his shirt. It was far from feminine, but it was serviceable, and it fit. Sure, it hung practically to her knees, but that didn’t matter. She’d just tuck the tails into her skirt and roll the sleeves above her elbows. She had no idea how long she’d be staying at the Diamond D, but while here, she intended to earn her keep. After washing, dressing, and pinning up her hair, she packed up the trunk, made the bed, and headed downstairs to get to work.

Not wanting to disturb anyone’s slumber, Penelope decided to wait until after sunup to tackle the deep cleaning the house needed. For now, she’d focus on baking and mending. After stoking up the fire in the cookstove, she bloomed some yeast and mixed up a bowl of bread dough. It felt good to have her hands in dough again. Being raised by a cook, Penelope had learned to master a stove from a young age. Yet Edith had always encouraged her to use her education to move beyond the kitchen. Working as a lady’s maid or a governess would carry more prestige and a better salary. Unfortunately in Penelope’s case, those positions also came with scandal and false accusations, leaving her with neither prestige nor money. But that was a problem for another day. Today, she was counting her blessings, and being back in a kitchen with rich memories of Edith surrounding her was blessing indeed.

After setting the bread dough near the stove to rise, Penelope quietly took an inventory of the larder and cupboards. Finding a few inches of coffee left in the pot on the back of the stove, she decided to make Edith’s famous coffee cake for breakfast. She found eggs, brown sugar, molasses, butter, baking soda, and flour, but cinnamon and cloves were harder to come by. A nutmeg seed rolled around in the spice box, so she grated a healthy dose into the molasses and coffee before adding the butter and eggs, followed by the dry ingredients. Unable to find any raisins or currants, she left the batter fruitless and poured it into a tubed cake pan.

The squeak of the oven door woke Lucky and brought him hobbling to her side.

“Look at you, up and about.” Penelope hunkered next to the dog and petted his head. “At this rate, you’ll be back to chasing squirrels in no time.”

She let the dog out the back door to tend to his personal business. Not knowing if he might need help, she kept an eye on him but shivered in the predawn air. A tinge of gray light edged the horizon, announcing the sun’s gradual approach, though she doubted any rooster would be crowing for at least another thirty minutes.

Lucky seemed to miss the warmth of the stove as much as she did, for he hurried back as fast as his stiff, limping gait would allow. He took a few slurps from his water bowl, then laid down on his pallet.

“I don’t suppose you know where the mending basket is, do you?”