Jolt

  "Behold the fountain near,

  By faith, oh, plunge today;

  Oh, sin-sick soul, draw near—

  'Twill purge thy stain away."

  And by the time they'd finished singing

  "O poor sinner, come to Jesus,

  Hasten, come, before too late;

  Lest the Spirit cease His wooing;

  Sad, then, sad will be your fate."

  Lalita was pretty sure she knew what was coming. The good reverend did not disappoint. It was a fire and brimstone sermon for the ages, and although he addressed his admonitions, exhortations, and warnings over the whole congregation, she couldn't help feeling that he focused a great deal of his verbal energies right on their pew. She set the fan she'd brought along to work, moving the stale air, and she noticed Tate wiping his brow with a handkerchief.

  When the final hymn was rolled out—Don't Resist the Holy Spirit—Lalita was starting to feel bruised. She leaned toward Tate over Nellie. "Can we leave?"

  He gave her a tiny smile of understanding but tried to signal patience with his hand over the hymnal. Lalita's patience meter, however, read empty. She released her end of the song book and eased her way past half of the Calvins to the aisle. Seth Dickson gave her a grin and a tilt of his head as she marched by, and the reverend himself seemed to plead through the song for her to return.

  "Don't resist the Holy Spirit,

  He has called you oft before;

  This may be His final visit,

  If you open not the door."

  Lalita opened the door, all right, and stepped out into a gale that nearly took the hat from her head. Grateful that she had thought to sew in hair combs, she hung onto it with both hands as she made her way down the steps and to Tate's buggy.

  Waiting for Tate and Nellie, she watched the clouds. Dark thunderclouds had formed while they were in the church, and she couldn't help remembering the last storm she had experienced. What if lightning strikes nearby? Will I jaunt through time again? Fear seized her, and she jumped back out of the buggy and ran to the church just as a spitting rain began.

  She just reached the top of the steps when the doors opened. Tate and Nellie were coming out but stopped at the sight of her. "Lita, you're white as a sheet. Are you ill?"

  She shook her head, pushing past them and the rest of the throng heading out.

  Tate turned and pulled Nellie back into the building. After weaving through the crowd, ironically, he found her sitting on the front row. He sat beside her, pulling Nellie onto his lap. "Lita, tell me what's wrong."

  She looked to the windows that were now being pummeled by rain. "It's the storm." Her eyes were filled with fear. "Lightning brought me here. Maybe it could take me away, and who knows where I might end up." As if on cue, thunder rolled, and she jumped.

  Tate wanted to take her in his arms, but a pat to the shoulder would have to do. "Don't worry, you're safe in here. And I very much doubt you would be in danger even outside." He suddenly scowled as he remembered consoling Augusta through many a storm. Lightning had been one of her irrational fears as well, although he had to admit, Lita actually had reason to be afraid after what she'd been through.

  Nellie broke into his thoughts, looking bewildered. "Lightning brought you here?"

  Tate and Lita's eyes met, both realizing their error at the same time. They were saved from either a difficult truth or spinning a yarn in the house of the Lord by hands on their shoulders. They both looked up into the face of Reverend Niemeyer.

  "Riding out the storm? That seems like a good plan, and I was hoping to have a word with the both of you." He turned his attention to Lita, and Tate held his breath. "Miss Torres, the Allens relayed your hesitance to reside with them while you recover from your head injury, but I'd like to make the appeal once again. I—"

  Lita's chin ticked up. "I believe you've been making it for the last hour, Reverend, and while the whole room may have heard your sermon, you seemed to be preaching to just a few of us."

  Reverend Niemeyer's brow furrowed. "I assure you, I never meant to single anyone out in particular…"

  Tate rose, setting Nellie on her feet. "Reverend, if you wouldn't mind having a word with me in your study."

  The reverend slipped out into the aisle. "Certainly. Right this way."

  Tate looked into Lalita's flaming eyes. "Wait here with Nellie."

  "Tate, don't let him tell you—"

  "I'll handle it."

  "But—"

  "Lita. Please."

  She sat and folded her arms, and Tate followed the minister, pondering whether he could be an Episcopalian.

  Lalita was a mixed up mess. She was still fuming about the church service, irked to be left out of the conversation with the minister, and a good deal of fear from the storm was hanging on as well.

  Nellie sat beside her. "Lalita, what did you mean when you said that lightning brought you here?"

  Lalita threw an arm around her. She had hoped that Nellie would forget all about that remark, but no such luck. "I don't have any idea if your papa would want me to tell you this or not, but since he saw fit to have a discussion with the minister without me, I guess I'm on my own." Lalita looked around the room, but those who were waiting out the storm were at the back. Still, she lowered her voice. "Well, Nellie, I know this may be hard to believe, and you have to swear not to tell a soul…"

  ***

  "I'm sorry you feel this way, Dr. Cavanaugh, but perhaps you're taking my sermon upon yourself because you feel some guilt for having an unmarried woman under your roof."

  Tate's jaw was set. "No, Reverend, I do not. I know that you and the church and maybe even the whole town would like me to feel guilty, but I've had enough of society rules for a lifetime. I've put one wife in the ground because of them. I'll not let them think for me again."

  The minister leaned forward in his desk chair. "Tate, Augusta took her own life. Surely you can't think that anyone wanted that."

  "It doesn't matter what anyone wanted. She killed herself because she couldn't fit in, and I helped her do it by insisting she find a way to conform." Tate rose and paced. "I shamed her in Denver, Reverend, when she scorned society functions, sinking deeper and deeper into melancholia. When we moved here, I tried again to make her fit in because as a doctor, I thought I needed to achieve a certain status."

  He stopped and faced the minister. "But when the dirt was being shoveled onto her coffin, I saw it all so clearly. She needed understanding, and because she had been a cold wife, I mocked her instead. And I made a vow that day. I would decide which rules of society and propriety would fill my home. Miss Torres is in my home and needs my help, and as God is my witness, she will not be harmed or taken advantage of. She will stay there until she no longer needs it or decides herself to leave."

  Reverend Niemeyer was silent for several moments as Tate tried to slow his breathing. Finally, he rose and came around his desk, putting a hand on Tate's shoulder. "I can understand how you feel, but I believe you are letting your past cloud this issue. If she stays with you for much longer, looking as fit as a fiddle as she does, rumors are bound to start." He tightened his grip on Tate's shoulder. "She'll be ruined, and no man will have her. Is that what you want?"

  Tate shook his head, grinding his teeth. "There are… mental issues that can't be seen." He strove to explain without lying. "Her… thinking is… different. It makes her… vulnerable."

  Niemeyer released him and crossed his arms. "And are you qualified to deal with these issues?"

  "I'm as qualified as anyone here in town."

  The minister smiled and returned to his desk chair. "That may be true, but perhaps in Colorado Springs or Denver, she might find better help than you can offer."

  Tate swallowed. "I've considered that and have written to a psychiatrist in Denver. I've not received a return post yet."

  The minister nodded. "Ah. Well, perhaps this will all be resolved soon then."

  Tate was starting to sweat through his
jacket. "Perhaps."

  Chapter 24

  It was a silent ride home.

  Tate kept his eyes on the wet road, trying to avoid muddy ruts, not saying a word. His silence bugged the heck out of Lalita, but she knew she wouldn't find out about his time with the minister until Nellie, who had been strangely quiet ever since Lalita had explained about taking a ride into the past on a bolt of lightning, was in bed.

  Lalita let out a sigh as they turned onto their hill, wondering if the rest of the day would be like this, when they were met by a buggy coming down. The man in the seat waved and shouted to Tate as he approached.

  "Doc, there's been an accident with a wagon overturning up the mountain. The man driving was pinned. He needs you right away."

  Tate handed the reins to Lalita as he pulled his bag out from under the seat. "Can you drive Maisy up the hill?"

  Lalita took them, trying to remember what he'd taught her. "I think so."

  "Good. I'll go with Mr. Winley then, to save time." Jumping down, he made his way across the muddy street and climbed into the buggy. They took off at a brisk trot, the horse's hooves sending mud flying. Lalita eased Maisy forward slowly, and they arrived at the carriage house without incident. Harold, however, didn't usually work on Sundays. "Now, what do we do, Nellie? Your papa never taught me how to unfasten the carriage."

  Climbing down, she tied Maisy to a post and studied the carriage straps and fittings. Not wanting to damage her new outfit, she took off her hat, shirtwaist, and overskirt and handed them to Nellie, leaving her standing there in the simple sleeveless dress. "Can you please take those into the house for me?"

  She took the large bundle of fabric. "Can I come back out and watch?"

  Lalita began gathering up the front of her skirt. "Sure. Just change out of that pretty Sunday dress first." Grabbing hold of the tabs hanging underneath, she buttoned them to keep the skirt off the ground and out of her way.

  It seemed a simple matter to disconnect the horse from the carriage but more complicated to get the elaborate harnesses off the horse. As she was unfastening buckle after buckle, she heard a noise at the door and assumed that Nellie had returned. "Do you know where the horse feed is? I'm sure Maisy's hungry."

  "It's most likely in the room over yonder, kept closed to keep the rodents out."

  Lalita spun at the sound of a man's voice.

  Seth Dickson stood just to the back corner of the buggy, grinning as he looked her up and down. "My my, but that's the kind of Sunday dress a man only dreams about." His eyes widened still further, "And what's that you got on your shoulder? Real pretty." He moved closer, and Lalita stepped back. "I knew you were a wild one. I could see it in your eyes the first time I seen ya." He kept walking until he had her pinned against the stall fence.

  Lalita tried to stay calm. "If you're looking for the doctor," —she tried to ease past him— "I'll just slip inside and get him for you."

  Dickson caught her arm. "So the doc makes his patients unhitch his buggy while he lounges in the house?"

  Lalita swallowed. "No, not usually, but he… he…"

  Dickson tsked as he rubbed his thumb over her tattoo. "Now there's no need to lie to me. I seen the doc heading out of town at a fair clip."

  Lalita squared her jaw. "What do you want?"

  He trailed a finger up over her flowered shoulder. "To put it bluntly, I want to court you." His finger continued up the side of her neck. "So I can marry you."

  Lalita licked her dry lips. "I'm sorry Mr. Dickson, but I don't wish to marry you."

  He looked down at her bare shins. "There's some that would say being together here with you in this state of undress would make it mandatory."

  She batted his hand away. "No one tells me what to do, Mr. Dickson, and nobody can force me to marry you."

  He hitched his thumbs in his front pockets but still blocked her way, looking perplexed. "I'm not a bad-looking man, Miss Torres, even if I'm a might older than you, and I have a successful saddlery. I promise I'll take care of you."

  Lalita wondered if she might get out of this with an appeal to his vanity. She attempted a smile. "Of course, anyone can see that. I'm just not in need of anyone's care."

  He squinted. " 'Cept the doctor's. Or is your noggin better?"

  She put a hand to her head. "There are still some things I can't remember."

  "That don't much matter, though, does it? Seems to me the doc is keeping you to himself unnecessarily."

  "I do what I want. The doctor isn't 'keeping' me at all." She shoved past him, but he spun and caught her shoulders, pulling her back against him.

  His breath was hot behind her ear. "So you're one of those spinster suffragettes, are you? What's your story? Were you ruined, so you think you've got no more chances?" He turned her to face him, careful to keep his arms around her. Lalita's hands were on his chest, her nose inches from his chin. "I don't care what you've done in the past. The Lord forgives, and so do I."

  Lalita smiled as sweetly as she could muster with her heart beating in her throat. "That's mighty nice of you, Mr. Dickson. I hope you can forgive me for this, as well." She clutched his shirt and brought her knee up sharply and swiftly. Dickson released her with a howl and bent over as she flew out of the building. She met Nellie coming out the back door. "Quick, back inside!"

  Nellie, confused, turned, and Lalita hurried her up the steps and into the house. Locking it, she pulled the shade, then ran to the front door. It was still locked, so she pulled all the shades on the ground floor before stopping and trying to catch her breath.

  Nellie's eyes were round. "What's wrong?"

  Lalita sank to the settee in the parlor. "Do you remember Mr. Dickson?"

  Nellie nodded.

  "Well, he's taken a liking to me, and he doesn't give up easily."

  Nellie sat beside her. "I bet he doesn't like you as much as Papa does."

  Lalita looked to Nellie with eyebrows raised. "What makes you say that?"

  Nellie giggled. "He can't stop looking at you."

  Lalita blinked. "So you know that we've been—"

  "Sneaking kisses." Nellie nodded, giggling some more.

  Lalita put a hand to her chest. "Well, your papa isn't quite as covert as he thinks." She gave Nellie a serious look. "This has to be another secret, though. If anyone knows, I'll have to move out."

  Nellie threw her arms around her. "I promise not to tell. Are you going to be my mama?"

  Lalita returned the hug. "That's the plan. Your daddy hasn't figured out how just yet."

  Nellie pulled back. "Just tell Reverend Niemeyer you want to get married."

  Lalita looked down into Nellie's adamant expression. "That's what I thought, but evidently it's more complicated than that. And anyway, we should probably get to know each other a little bit better before saying 'I do.' "

  "He loves you, and you love him. What else is there to know?"

  Lalita smiled and pulled Nellie to herself once more. Out of the mouths of babes.

  ***

  Tate unlocked the front door as quietly as he could. The house was dark but for a lamp in the parlor, and he found Lita curled up on the settee, covered by a quilt. If he had any strength left, he would have carried her upstairs, but the day had been too long.

  Walking to her side, he squatted down beside her and combed his fingers through her hair. Her eyes blinked open, and she gave him a sleepy smile. "You're home."

  He smiled back, grateful that this woman was now a part of it. "How did you do with the buggy? Has Maisy been taken care of?"

  She sat up, and he rose to sit beside her. "Yes, although I had to call Harold."

  He nodded. "All the harnesses can be a bit overwhelming."

  She rubbed a corner of her eye. "I could have done it, but Seth Dickson showed up, and—"

  "Dickson!"

  She pulled the quilt tighter around her. "That man just won't take no for an answer."

  Tate's pulse jumped. "He didn't touch you, did he?"

/>   Lita covered his hand resting on her knee and told him everything that had happened.

  Tate tried to remain calm during her retelling, even while she admitted to stripping down to indecent exposure of her limbs, but when she told him that Dickson had caressed her shoulder, he leaped up and walked across the room. "Lita, why would you expose yourself like that outside of the house?"

  Lita stood, still clutching the quilt. "I didn't want to ruin my new dress. It's the only one I have that fits. And anyway, why are you blaming me for Dickson's bad behavior? He had no right to touch me, whether I was covered head to toe or stark naked."

  Tate turned back to face Lita's righteous anger. "Not everyone sees it like that. Many would say you provoked him by your exhibition."

  Lita strode toward him. "Exhibition? I was inside the carriage house! If anything, he was trespassing." She scowled. "You don't even care that he had me trapped against the fence, breathing on me like a randy teenager."

  He stepped toward her and took her in his arms. "Oh, I do, Lita. I care very much. And believe me, I am going to have a talk with that man first thing in the morning."

  Lita giggled against his shoulder. "Well, don't be surprised if he's walking a bit funny."

  He pulled back, taking hold of her shoulders, knowing the answer to his question before he asked it. "Why?"

  She was grinning. "I put my self-defense class into practice and gave him a good knee in the—"

  "You didn't!" Tate stepped back, horrified.

  Lita was defiant. "He totally deserved it."

  Tate ran a hand around his very tired face. "Maybe so, but it will be your word against his. Did he try to kiss you? Tear your clothes? Anything that would suggest he planned to ruin you."

  "Well, no, but he thought I was already 'ruined' as you Victorian troglodytes put it, so who knows what he had in mind. I wasn't about to wait around to find out. I let him have it and ran to the house."

  Tate took hold of her shoulders. "Lita, the laws don't favor women."

  "I just… he wouldn't press charges for something like that, would he? Especially when he said he wanted to marry me."