Free Whippoorwill by Sharon Sala Page A

into holes, all the while planning the next fifty years of her life. And it was comforting to know what that would be. She shook her head as she thought of the dream and her own misconceptions.
    A nun. How silly. She couldn’t be a nun—not now. Not when she’d experienced the wonders of being a real woman.
    Finally she was dressed. She dashed next door, knocking lightly upon Randall’s door, but he didn’t answer. She knocked again, thinking to herself that he was just sleeping in. After all, the rigors of last night had been strenuous indeed. But still he didn’t answer. She frowned and then tried the knob. When it turned, she peeked inside. The room was empty. His clerical robes were gone, as was his bible. Her heart gave a funny twitch, which she ignored.
    Outside, she heard the loud, mournful wail of the train whistle as it began to leave. She turned and walked to the window, absently watching the smoke billowing from the smokestack and the slow flow of people and horses moving about in the street.
    The train whistled again, and as it did, a sudden panic came upon her. She spun around, gazing wildly about the room.
    “No,” she moaned, and clutched at her stomach. “He wouldn’t. He couldn’t!”
    Out into the street she ran, heading for the livery with single-minded intent. Once inside, her worst fears were revealed. He was missing and his bag was gone, too. She stood then, listening to the beat of her heart and hearing the last mournful call of the train as it disappeared into the distance.
    Without speaking, she hitched up her horses and climbed up in the buggy. A few minutes later, she started home. Back to Mehitable. Back to her shame.
    At first she was numb. But as the miles sped away, her emotions began to kick in. She went from heartbreak to humiliation and back again. By the time she topped the rise leading down to the ranch, she was sobbing hysterically and the horses had begun to stampede. The reins slipped from her fingers, but she didn’t care. She fell back in the seat, hoping that she would die before her shame could ever be revealed.
    Near the barn, a young wrangler named Beau James was the first to hear the commotion. When he looked up and saw the runaway buggy, his heart skipped a beat. He’d long been an admirer of Mehitable’s sister, and the knowledge that she was in danger sent him running for his mount. His race from the barnyard brought the others out to see.
    Mehitable cried in alarm and jumped on her horse as she, too, gave chase, but it was Beau who got there first. Riding at full gallop, he leaned sideways and grabbed the lead horse’s reins. With every ounce of his strength, he began to pull back.
    Moments later it was over. The team had stopped.
    He leaped from his horse and dashed to the buggy. “Miss Charity! Miss Charity! Are you all right?”
    She took one look at the tenderness and concern on his face and fell forward into his arms.
    It has to be said now, that at that moment, Beau James fell the rest of the way in love. With her warm body against his and her soft hair tumbling around his face, it was all he could do not to cry. As for Charity, the knowledge that she had even failed at dying sent her into a new spasm of sobs.
    Beau’s heart twisted with panic as he looked back over his shoulder. Hetty was bearing down upon them at a fast pace. He didn’t know what to do except hold her.
    Moments later, Mehitable was on the ground running. “My God, girl, what happened? Where is the Reverend? Why did you come back alone?”
    Just the mention of his name was enough to send Charity into new fits of sorrow. She forgot Beau James was holding her. All she could think was to tell Sister. She would know what to do.
    “The preacher,” she sobbed. “He’s gone.”
    “Gone! Already? But why? What happened?”
    “It’s ruined,” Charity sobbed. “Everything’s ruined… including me. I thought he was… I trusted him to…”She swallowed, unable to voice the truth of