Page 79 of The Heart’s Charge

Come at once.

Harmony House. Kingsland, TX.

She tore the page from the tablet and thrust it at Rawley. “There’s a telegraph station at the depot. Have this sent immediately. If the telegraph operator doesn’t take you seriously, get Mr. Lopez to help.”

The boy’s eyes glittered with determination. “I’ll get it sent, Miss Katherine. They won’t put me off.”

“Thank you.” Impulsively, she grabbed Rawley by the shoulders and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I know I can count on you.”

The shock on the Negro boy’s face would have been comical had this been any other situation. As it was, she was glad to see the bewilderment quickly vanish beneath the hardened veneer he usually wore.

After stuffing the money Alice handed him into his trouser pocket, Rawley offered a sharp salute, then sprinted back into the depths of town.

Lifting silent prayers heavenward for Mark and Jonah, Katherine took up Alice’s hand again and ran for home.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-THREE

With Priscilla on her lap, Quill wedged beside her on the parlor sofa, and Ted quietly building alphabet block walls at her feet, Eliza turned the page in Russell H. Conwell’s Bible Stories for Children and continued reading about a shepherd boy who became a giant killer.

“David’s faith in God was so great,” she told the children, “that even when the king told him he was too young to help, he didn’t give up. He might not have had any experience fighting giant warriors, but he had fought lions and bears to protect his father’s sheep. He told the king, ‘The Lord that delivered me out of the paw of the lion, and out of the paw of the bear, he will deliver me out of the hand of this Philistine.’ All the fighting men of Israel were too afraid to face Goliath, but not David. He trusted God to help him.” She tapped Pris on the nose and squeezed Quill’s shoulders with the arm she’d wrapped around him earlier. “God will help you too, if you believe in him.”

She glanced up from the book to make eye contact with Ted as well, but something other than the story had captured his attention. He launched off the carpet like a frog eager to try out a new lily pad. In his hurry to rush to the window, his foot collided with his carefully constructed wall. Blocks tumbled, but their builder paid them no mind.

“Come back to the rug, Ted,” Eliza gently chided.

“But a horse just ran into our yard, Miss Eliza. A big one!” He plastered his nose and palms to the glass. “It looks like Mr. Jonah’s horse, but there ain’t nobody ridin’ him.”

Eliza dropped the book. Her throat constricted. “What?”

Ted had to be mistaken. She’d never met a man more confident in the saddle than Jonah Brooks. Whatever horse was out there, it couldn’t be Augustus.

Heart quaking in her chest, she unhooked her arm from around Quill’s shoulders, scooted Pris and the book onto the sofa cushion, then hurried to the window. She shoved the curtain aside and peered into the yard.

A giant chestnut horse reared, his front hooves pawing the air. A demanding whinny carried through the window glass and turned Eliza’s blood to ice.

Augustus. It couldn’t be.

Yet it was.

She dropped the curtain and ran for the front door. “Ruby! Abner!” she called, pausing at the foot of the stairs. “Something’s happened. Come watch the little ones.”

Her skirt billowed around her legs as she spun back toward the front door. Ted beat her there, his tiny hand already reaching for the handle. Eliza jumped forward and pulled him away from the door. “No, honey. You need to stay inside.”

Who knew what horrible danger was afoot? Anything strong enough to tear Jonah out of the saddle boded ill for the rest of them. Even so, she had to go outside. See the horse. Figure out how to help the man who had crawled under her skin and into her heart.

The pounding of child-sized feet on the stairs announced Abner’s arrival. “I’ve got him, Miss Eliza.”

Taking the boy at his word, Eliza hurried out the door and slammed it closed behind her. Augustus’s head snapped up at the sound. He snorted, tossed his mane, and charged toward the house as if he planned to race right up onto the porch.

Eliza lunged backward against the door, biting back a scream.

The giant warhorse did not charge onto the porch, of course. He simply eyed her from the base of the steps, pawing the dirt impatiently.

Get ahold of yourself, Eliza. It’s just a horse. A well-trained one, at that. He won’t trample you.

The logical arguments peeled her spine from the door and even convinced her feet to carry her to the edge of the porch. They couldn’t quite get her down the steps, however. She clung to the balustrade, her breathing rapid and shallow.