Levi locked up the smithy and trudged toward the livery. Halfway there, music from the saloon called to him. He looked over toward the building. Light glowed from within. Voices carried across the street. The Hang Dog offered companionship, distraction. The chance to forget for a while.
Levi adjusted his course.
No one showed up to stop him. Not even Ornery. The mutt was probably off cavorting with a pretty little female somewhere. No sympathy at all for his master’s troubles.
He lengthened his stride.
Thirst struck him—a thirst so deep he started salivating. How well he remembered the taste and the way it made him feel. The rounds of beer and whiskey shots in celebration of his latest prizefighting victory. The hurrahs from his cohorts. The respect in men’s eyes. The way the sporting girls would flash him hungry looks and find a way to stroke his chest or arm as they passed by, serving drinks. He didn’t even have to watch his speech. Everyone slurred and stumbled over their words.
It was freedom.
The door stood open, promising camaraderie. Promising acceptance.
The bank notes from the quarry job burned so hot in his pocket that heat seeped into his leg. He reached down and curled his fingers around the cash, then climbed the steps to the entrance.
Something in his gut told him to stop, but the lively piano music drowned out the quiet voice whispering to his heart. Levi hesitated for a moment, but a burst of laughter from inside the Hang Dog urged him forward.
Then a man staggered through the opening and caught Levi’s arm to steady himself. The sour smell of alcohol wafted up from his mouth as he spat out an apology.
“Betsy begged me not to come. Said she’d leave if I didn’t quit. I tried. I really did. But the memories keep coming back.” The man turned up rheumy eyes, and the light from inside the saloon fell across his face. A jolt of recognition flashed through Levi. It was the man who’d attacked him at his shop, the man who’d lost his boy.
“Don’t go in there, feller. It won’t help.” He pushed off of Levi and wobbled down the walk. He reached for the wall to steady himself and looked back over his shoulder. “It never helps.”
Like a two-edged sword, truth sliced through Levi and nearly stole his breath. The relief he’d hoped to find in this place had nothing to do with freedom. It was slavery.
What am I doing?
A rush of nausea hit him, and Levi dashed around the corner into the alley. He stood hunched over, hands braced against his knees, panting. Like a dog. A dog who’d run away from his master in order to rummage in the garbage of his own will.
Lord, I’m sorry.
Levi straightened and pressed his back to the wall, the muted piano music fading out of his consciousness. He pulled his hat off and tipped his chin up toward heaven. Black filled his vision. No stars, no moon, just darkness.
I’m weak, God. So weak. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I ask for it anyway. Change my heart. Make me new.
His eyes slid closed as the familiar weight of guilt bore down on him. Hadn’t he made vows to avoid the trappings of his old life? He’d been in Spencer a month and never been tempted in this way before. Why now?
Eden’s face swam before him.
He’d been walking in faith. Until tonight. He’d let his desire for Eden outweigh his desire to follow the Lord’s path. He’d refused to seek God’s will because he feared it wouldn’t coincide with his own. And in the process he’d left himself open to attack—attack from an opponent who never pulled his punches.
The words of the Prodigal Son came back to haunt him. “I am no more worthy to be called thy son.” Levi bent his head, unable to look in heaven’s direction. Why did he even try to change? He’d never be good enough.
As the thought formed in his head, a barrage of Scripture hit him as if some unseen angel had reached into his seed bag, grabbed a handful, and flung it at him.
“For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God; being justified freely by his grace . . .”
“A man is not justified by the works of the law, but by the faith of Jesus Christ . . .”
“For I will be merciful . . . and their iniquities will I remember no more.”
“If we confess our sins, he is faithful . . . to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”
“There is therefore now no condemnation . . .”
Levi trembled as those seeds took root in his soul. Grace. Cleansing. Forgiveness. No condemnation.
No condemnation—with all he had done? The prison chaplain had made him memorize these verses, but never before had they penetrated his heart to such an extent. They were meant for other Christians, those who didn’t have blood on their hands, those who hadn’t betrayed their families and their God with such flagrant selfishness. No, he was the unworthy prodigal, hanging his head in shame, trying to make up for all his past mistakes to earn back his Father’s love.
“But you don’t want me to earn it, do you?” Levi whispered as his gaze climbed back up to the night sky, truth resonating in his soul. “I can’t earn it. I can only accept it. Your gift.”
Levi raised a shaking hand to his face and scrubbed away the moisture that pooled in his eyes.
I understand now. Thank you.
Pushing away from the wall, Levi straightened, ran his hand through his curls, and repositioned his hat on his head. He felt taller. A grin tugged at his mouth. Taller. Imagine that.
Guilt no longer weighed on him. Regret? Yes. Repentance? Assuredly. But guilt? It had finally slid from his shoulders, and the relief he’d been seeking poured through Levi like a cleansing stream. Gone was the desperate drive to redeem himself. Christ had already done that job.
Laughter gurgled in his throat at the irony of his misplaced efforts. No, he couldn’t redeem himself, but he could demonstrate his thankfulness and love by extending God’s grace to others and living in a way that brought glory to his Lord. And that he vowed to do.
Starting now.
As if the angel who’d earlier showered him with Scripture had heard him, something new hurled from the heavens to slap against his head. But this time there was a definite physicality to the projectile. Levi grasped it with his hand. It was slender, a bit scratchy, and definitely still attached to something above him. He pivoted to face the wall, and scanned up to the second story.
Who would drop a rope into a saloon alley?
Chapter Twenty
Levi craned his neck. A window above him had been propped open, and sounds filtered down to him. Shuffling. Scraping. What could have been drawers slammed shut. Then, after one particularly loud bang, a woman’s voice pierced the quiet of the alley.
“Get out! I ain’t servicin’ you.”
Deep masculine tones vibrated in answer, but the man spoke too low for Levi to make out his words.
“I don’t care what he promised you or how much you paid. I ain’t no whore!”
Something crashed.
“Stop! I work in the kitchen. Leave me alone!”
Levi shoved his hat onto his head and leapt for the rope to scale the wall. But before he could fully plant his feet, a metallic clank echoed like a strike from one of his hammers, followed by a dull thud. Did he hit her?
Levi scrambled, straining against the rope as he hoisted his large frame toward the window. A third of the way there, he glanced up in time to see a petite pair of arms shove something through the opening. He barely had time to turn his face before a gunnysack plowed into him, knocking his hat from his head and his feet from the wall as he instinctively twisted to protect himself from the blow.
Then, as he dangled midair, curling his biceps to keep himself from slipping, a stocking-clad leg thrust out of the window, followed by more feminine parts encased in white petticoats.
Apparently the woman was alive and well.
Not wanting to frighten her, Levi dropped to the ground on quiet feet, collected his hat, and waited. If what he overheard was accurate, the gal had gotten herself into quite a
pickle. If she’d let him, maybe he could find a way to help her. If not, well . . . at least he’d make sure she didn’t fall on her backside as she navigated her way down.
She grunted and groaned but made good progress. Levi picked up her bag and positioned himself in the middle of the alley so as not to jump out at her from the shadows. When her feet finally hit the ground, she swiveled from side to side, looking for her belongings.
Levi held his arms out wide and tried to make himself appear as nonthreatening as possible. Not an easy task for a mountain-sized ex-prizefighter.
“I’ve got it, ma’am.”
She gasped and braced her back against the saloon wall. Her attention darted to the bag, to him, to the end of the alley, and back to the bag.
Afraid she’d try to make a run for it before he could assure her that he meant no harm, he set the bag down in front of him and stepped back. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I’d like to help if you’d let me.”
The woman was a mere girl. A tiny little thing with big eyes suspended in a face as pale as the moon. Well, pale except for the reddened portion along her jaw.
Slowly, her shock gave way to determination as she eyed her bag. She lifted her gaze to him once again and straightened away from the wall just a bit. “You drunk?”
Levi shook his head. “Nope.”
She leaned forward and sniffed. He fought the urge to smile.
The girl slid a step closer. “Whatcha doin’ in the alley?”
“Praying.”
Her face scrunched in disbelief, and she eyed him as if worried about his mental stability.
He couldn’t hold back his chuckle. “Odd, I know.” Keeping his arms out wide, he shrugged. “I thought I wanted what the Hang Dog offered, but at the la . . . final minute, I remembered all the trouble that kind of help can lead to. Thought I’d be better off trying God.”
“Mister, I lived in saloons my whole life, and you’re the first feller I met who ever figgered that out. Don’t know much about the God part, but I seen enough trouble over liquor, cards, and women to—”
A masculine moan echoed from above, cutting her off. The girl must have hit her assailant pretty hard to have knocked him out for so long.
She darted a glance up at the window. “Crikey! I gotta git.”
She grabbed the gunnysack and dashed away from Levi. Not wanting to leave her unprotected, he followed. After rounding the corner of the saloon, she halted at the edge of the side street and twisted her head from left to right as if trying to determine which route would prove safest.
“You got a location in mind?”
The girl shot a glare at him over her shoulder. “Away,” she snapped before turning back toward the street. “Now leave me alone, mister. I ain’t your problem.”
Yet Levi couldn’t shake the feeling that she was.
“I know people who would take you in. The wife of the town preacher would—”
“I ain’t going to no church lady’s house! All that holier-than-thou snubbin’? No thanks! I’d be better off hidin’ out in a barn somewhere.”
Levi wanted to argue, to explain that Emma Cranford was not that way at all. If she could host a man like him in her parlor, she could handle a runaway saloon dweller with grace, too. But he knew it’d do no good. The gal was scared and fixin’ to dart into the night if he didn’t come up with another idea, and quick.
“What about a library lady?” The words slipped out before the idea had fully formed.
The girl’s head swiveled so fast, he thought it might detach from her neck. “You know Miss Spencer?” Her face was a mask as she spoke, but even in the darkness, Levi could make out the longing in her gaze.
“Yep.” He prayed he wasn’t making trouble for Eden by bringing her into the situation, but knowing how she felt about children, he figured she’d be willing to help.
“I done heard about them stories she tells the school kids. You think she would let me—”
The sound of a man yelling shot panic into the girl’s eyes. She flattened herself against the side wall and slowly peeked around the corner. Jerking her head back, she panted like a trapped animal. Thinking to put himself between her and what threatened her, as well as hoping to catch a glimpse of the man responsible for her fear, Levi strode forward. Before he could angle himself around the corner, though, the girl threw her puny strength against him.
“Don’t!” she hissed. “He’ll see ya.”
Levi resisted at first, but then her voice lost its toughness and took on a childlike pleading. “Please, mister.”
He complied, shifting his stance to merge again with the shadows.
She stole another glance around the side of the building, and this time her shoulders sagged with relief when she returned to her place. “He’s leaving.”
“You made up your mind yet on where to go?”
She met his gaze. “I reckon I’ll give the library a try.”
A tapping from outside roused Eden from her doze. She startled awake. The book she’d been reading dropped to the floor. Blinking, she took stock of her surroundings and tried to recall what had awakened her.
Another tap, louder this time, carried to her from the front door. She slid her feet into a pair of house shoes, checked to make sure her wrapper was properly done up, shuffled to the front room, and parted the curtains to peer out.
Levi?
She couldn’t make out his features, but no one else in town stood so tall and broad. It had to be him. What was he doing at her door so late in the evening?
Eden moved from the window and made her way down the hall to unlatch the door. “Levi, why are you—”
Her throat suddenly closed in on itself as she discovered he was not alone. What was he doing with a girl? Especially one so young and pretty?
“Can we come in?” Levi asked in a low voice.
“I’m not exactly dressed for company, Mr. Grant.”
She watched his gaze travel over her, lingering on her hair. Only then did she remember that it hung free, nearly to her waist. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he stared. The warmth in his eyes soothed her in a way words could not.
Eden pulled the door wide and showed them to her personal parlor.
“Why don’t you have a seat, Miss . . . ?”
“It’s Chloe, ma’am. Just Chloe. Ain’t got no last name.” She spoke the shocking statement with bland acceptance as if such a thing were of no consequence, then lowered herself onto the sofa. Chloe settled the sack she carried on her lap, hugging it to her chest as if it were a toddler in danger of crawling away.
“A pleasure to meet you, Chloe. I’m Eden.” Somehow it didn’t seem right to introduce herself with her surname when the poor child didn’t have one of her own to offer. “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I need to have a word with Mr. Grant.”
The girl nodded and squeezed the bag more tightly as her wide-eyed gaze darted around the room.
Eden led Levi out into the hall. “What is going on?” she whispered.
“I’m hoping you can help her.” Levi rubbed a spot on his chest and dipped his chin to avoid looking at her face. “The kid . . . had nowhere to go.”
“Where did she come from?”
“The Hang Dog. Found her climbing out a window.”
“The Hang Dog? You brought a girl from the saloon into my house? How could you? She has to leave.” Eden took a step toward the parlor, but Levi’s large hand closed around her wrist. Gently, but with enough power to bring her to a halt.
“Hold up there.” He looked her full in the face now, and the plea she read in his eyes softened her heart. She ceased pulling against his hold.
He stroked the tender skin on the underside of her arm. “Hear me out, will you?”
She hesitated a second, then nodded.
Levi released his grip on her arm and let out a heavy breath. “From what I can gather, the girl worked in the kitchen, not in . . . uh . . . entertaining. Un
til tonight, when a man paid to . . . break her in.”
Eden covered her mouth with her hand and shook her head in denial. Chloe couldn’t be more than fifteen. What kind of animal would put a price on her innocence?
“Chloe fought him off, though,” Levi continued. “Knocked him out and climbed through the window. I tried to . . . get her to go with me to . . . talk to Dave and Emma Cranford, but the girl wanted nothing to do with them. I worried about her bolting. I told her I knew you, and . . . now we’re here.”
She could hear the unasked question. Would she take Chloe in?
Her heart ached for the girl, it truly did, but opening her home to a young woman who made her living in a saloon? Unthinkable. “I can put together some food and rent her a room in the hotel for the night. I’ll give you the funds to buy her a ticket on the morning train to wherever she wants to go. She can make a fresh start in a new town.” Pleased with her solution, Eden relaxed.
However, Levi didn’t seem too enthusiastic about the suggestion. The way his mouth turned down made Eden’s stomach clench.
“A new town won’t fix the problem,” he rasped. “Without a job or family, you know where the girl will end up.”
“But what will people think, Levi?” Eden crossed her arms over her churning stomach. “I have my reputation to consider.”
As soon as the words passed her lips, her mind flew back to her conversation with the sheriff. He’d claimed reputation was everything, and she’d belittled him for such a superficial attitude. And here she was doing the same thing.
Levi peered into her eyes for several seconds, his disappointment in her palpable. “You can’t control what people think, Eden. You can only control how you live. Do you live to protect your reputation—or to care for a child in need?”
Eden bit her lip and turned her face toward the wall to hide the tears welling in her eyes. He was right. So right. Jesus asked his followers to deny themselves, take up their cross, and follow him; to present themselves as living sacrifices. Putting Chloe on a train might have soothed her conscience at first, but not now. Not when her soul was convicting her that it was time to deny herself and act sacrificially.