Angel in My Arms (30 page)

He ceased shaking. She could feel his body relaxing, enveloped by hers.

"It's all right," she whispered. "I'm here with you. It was just a bad dream."

"Oh, God," he murmured. It was his own voice now, weak, but definitely Fox. "Oh, God."

Celeste smoothed his hair with her palm and kissed his shoulder.
"Shhh, you're safe now," she soothed as she had once soothed Adam.
"You're safe in my room. You're awake and safe."

"Oh, Celeste."

"Tell me," she whispered.

He shook his head wildly and swallowed. "No."

"It might help."

He hung his head. He was still panting, but not as hard. "I… I was dreaming I was in San Francisco… not now,
then,
but now, too."

"Mm hm."

"I was looking for Amber. She hadn't come home. She just disappeared."

Celeste brushed his hair over his forehead with her fingertips. They
hadn't been asleep long. It was still damp from their bath… or the
arduous lovemaking afterwards. "Yes?" she encouraged. "You were looking
for her."

"Down at the docks. I don't know why."

"Did you really look for her there?"

"No." He shook his head. "Someone else found her there. In an alley. Dead."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, genuinely so.

"In the dream I was looking for her. There was this rat." He paused.

Celeste waited in the darkness, letting him catch his breath. She
heard Silver move from one spot in the room to another and lay his head
down again.

"I followed the rat," Fox finally continued. "It knew where she was."

"You found her?" Celeste whispered. "In the dream."

"Yes." He rubbed his face with his hand. "Only… no. No, Celeste, I
didn't find her." He took a deep breath as if afraid to say what came
next. "I found you."

She smoothed Fox's silky hair over one ear. "It's just a dream. I'm
not dead. I'm alive." She rose on her knees behind him and wrapped her
arms tighter around his neck. "I'm alive and as happy as I've been in
my life… because of you," she dared.

"You don't understand," he whispered. "I killed her."

Involuntarily she stiffened. A chill ran up her spine. "You killed Amber?"

He exhaled. "No. She… she smoked opium. She bought some in a den. Someone followed her out. Slit… slit her throat."

"Oh, Fox." She relaxed against him again. "I'm so sorry."

"It was her own fault. She knew better than to go to a place like that. My fault…" he finished softly.

"Your fault?" She crawled around him so that she could see his face
in the moonlight that poured through the paned glass. It was cool in
the room. Gooseflesh rose on her arms and across her chest. "It was
your fault she bought opium and was murdered?"

"My fault she smoked it, maybe?" he said harshly. "My fault because I made her unhappy."

"Nonsense," she declared firmly. "You didn't hold the pipe to her
lips. You weren't responsible. Women make choices. We all have our own
heads about us. We make our own choices and then we must live by them…
or die."

For the first time since he'd awakened her, he met her gaze. "Not my
fault?" he asked. "But her brother James said it was. My fault. I made
her unhappy. I drove her to it."

He looked so lost, so forlorn, that her heart ached. "The same
James, your partner, who stole from you and left you with debts? That
James?"

Finally she seemed to be reaching him. There was a light in his eyes
that indicated he was listening, that he heard what she said and that
he was absorbing her words.

"Yeah, that James," Fox said.

She rose on her knees and kissed him on the mouth. "You dreamed it
was me lying in that alley because you still feel guilty about Amber's
death. But you didn't kill her, and you're certainly not going to kill
me."

He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. "I would never hurt you," he whispered.

His voice was so passionate that it brought tears to her eyes. She
hugged him so that he wouldn't see her tears and think her foolish. "I
know you wouldn't."

"But there's something else."

"Yes?"

He pushed her back to face her squarely. "The sheriff. He took me in."

She grimaced. "For Amber's death?"

"Questioning. I think… I think James put him up to it and that was when he cleared out of town."

"It's only logical that the authorities would question the man she lived with, Fox. She did live with you, right?"

He hung his head. "It was stupid. I knew she was trouble. I knew it
from the start. Then the opium. I should have put her out the day I
found out."

"The past," she told him. "You can't change it. Give it up. You have
too much to live for to bathe in the tragedy of days gone by."

He clasped her hands and gazed into her eyes meaningfully. "I do have a lot to live for. I have you."

He hugged her and tears threatened to spill from her eyes onto his shoulder.

"There," he said finally. "Now you know my sordid past. Now you know what kind of man I really am."

She kissed his cheek. Fox had revealed so much of himself recently
that she wondered if she should tell him about Adam. Just blurt it out.
But she wasn't ready to do that. She wasn't ready to complicate their
relationship. And she was still ashamed of the circumstances.

"I've always known what kind of man you were. Even before you arrived."

"And how's that?"

She sat back on her heels on the mattress. "Your father."

He scowled.

"Everything he said was true," she insisted. "He said I would like you. That you were a fine, honest, handsome man."

Fox was still for a moment. "He said that to you?" He acted surprised, but pleasantly so.

"He did. He bragged about you all the time. He was so proud, not just of your accomplishments, but of you."

He laid back on his pillow and stretched out his arms to her. "Well,
what's say you come a little closer to this honest, handsome man, and
I'll show you a trick or two I bet my father never knew."

She laughed, her voice light and airy in the dark room. The words
I love you
were on the tip of her tongue. But she didn't say them because if she
did, she knew what would happen. She knew what had happened before.
This wonderful spell would be broken forever.

Sally stood on the parsonage steps and took a deep breath to calm
her pattering heart. She'd dressed carefully for the visit. She'd
borrowed a plain, metternich green traveling gown from one of the new
girls at Kate's, pinned her hair up under a modest bonnet, and scrubbed
her face clean of red paint until her cheeks stung. She didn't have a
strand of blond hair out of place or a hint of color on her lips. This
call was important to her, and she wanted to look her best.

Sally made herself rap on the door before she lost her nerve,
turned, and hightailed it back to the whorehouse. Before she could
exhale again, the door creaked open.

Mrs. Tuttle appeared, nearly as tall and as wide as the doorway. "Afternoon," she said kindly.

"Good… good afternoon." Sally smiled hesitantly at the reverend's
wife, a little intimidated by her size. She must have doubled Sally in
weight. But she had always been pleasant to her on the streets of
Carrington, unlike most of the matrons. "I… I've come to see the
reverend. Is… is he in?"

"Could I ask why?"

Sally glanced at the hem of the woman's gray gown. "P-personal, ma'am. Preacher business."

Mrs. Tuttle stepped back. "Please come in. We weren't expecting guests, but our home is always open to the reverend's lambs."

Sally stepped into the front hall that was dark and smelled
peculiar. She tried not to wrinkle her nose. It smelled like rat poison
to her.

"Would you care to wait in the parlor, Miss… I'm sorry, I don't know your true name."

Sally had to think for a second to remember her surname. She'd been
Silky Sally for so long that her old identity was nearly lost.
"Jenkins. Sally Jenkins, ma'am."

"Would you like to wait in the parlor, Miss Jenkins, while I fetch the reverend? He's in the kitchen doing a chore."

Sally glanced into the dark parlor off the front hall. The furniture was draped, just to keep out the dust, but it looked eerie.

This was where Sally'd come to pay her respects last year, when poor
Anne had died of the clap. Joash had had the mortician lay her out here
because she'd had no parlor of her own. It had been kind of Mrs. Tuttle
to allow a dead whore in her parlor, but Sally would just as soon not
go in. It made her think too much about Anne… about her own mortality.

"If'n it wouldn't be a problem, ma'am," Sally said softly, "I'd just as soon see him in the kitchen."

"This way."

Sally followed her down a hallway into a small, cozy kitchen.

"Miss Jenkins to see you, Reverend."

Joash Tuttle turned from a wooden worktable, a triangular butcher
knife in his hand. The last of the afternoon sunlight glimmered off the
blade. "Good afternoon, Miss Jenkins." He smiled in his preacherlike
way. "Mrs. Tuttle, I think this knife will slice far more evenly now
that it's sharpened properly." He ran his finger along the shiny blade
carefully so as not to cut himself.

"Thank you, Reverend. A woman does appreciate a man's effort in her
kitchen." She smiled at Sally and backed through the doorway. "I'll
just go out and catch that hen while you speak with the Reverend."

"I won't take much of his time," Sally said.

Mrs. Tuttle lifted her big hand, unadorned but for her platinum
wedding band. "Please, Miss Jenkins, take as much time as you need. The
Lord's work cannot be measured by time."

Sally gave her a half smile, not really understanding what she
meant, but wanting to get on with her business. "Thank you," she called
after the woman disappearing down the hallway.

"Now what can I do for you, Sally?" Joash wiped the blade of the
butcher knife with a clean cloth and slipped it into a wooden block
that held two other knives.

Sally watched the blade slide into the wood and licked her dry lips.
It was the biggest butcher knife she'd ever seen. She thought about the
dead women. They'd been killed with a knife. Brutally murdered, Sheriff
Tate said. Thank God she was getting out of Carrington before it was
too late.

"I… I wanted to talk to you on a matter."

"Do sit down."

She glanced at the wooden kitchen chair he indicated. "I'd rather stand. Makes me humble."

He nodded and smiled the barest smile as he folded his hands neatly
at his waist. "I'm pleased you came to me. I'm always pleased when one
of my stray lambs comes to call. Now tell me how I can help you, dear
Sally."

She took a deep breath. She'd practiced what she was going to say on
the walk over, but now she forgot the words. "I… I want to know if… if
someone, a woman, can be forgiven for her sins."

"Christ died so that we might be forgiven of our sins," he answered.

She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again. "I… I know
that's what people like you say. But what I mean is… is, can I
really
be forgiven? If… I say I'm sorry for what I done and I'm really sorry
and I won't do it anymore—" She exhaled. "Hell, Joash." She glanced up
him. She was trying so hard to be a lady her Noah would be proud of,
but a thing like this took time. "I want to get married and be a wife…
maybe even a mother. If I don't spread for no more men, and I'm sorry
for what I done in the past, I won't be punished, will I?"

His smile was serene. "All you must do is accept Christ as your savior, confess your sins to His ears alone, and repent."

She heaved a sigh of relief. "You mean if I don't do it no more, if
I stay true to my husband, and I go to church every Sunday, I won't go
to hell?"

He chuckled. "It's the glory of Christ, Sally."

She smiled. "I… I never knew it would be so easy."

"It's easy to give yourself to the Lord, difficult to follow Him. Remember that."

She fluttered her gloved hand. "Thank you. Thank you so much." She
started for the door. "I can't tell you how much better I feel. My
Noah, he says he doesn't care what I've done, but I was worried about
Jesus. Worried something fierce. I didn't want to die like those other
girls—punished."

Joash followed her down the hallway to the front door and out onto
the parsonage's front porch. "Go home and pack your things, and take
yourself from that den of sin, Sally. That's the first way to begin
your new life."

She tugged on the ribbons of the itchy bonnet she'd borrowed. "Oh,
don't worry. I plan to get out of there soon. My Noah's hit silver."
She broke into a wide grin. "We're going to get married." Happy beyond
words, Sally fluttered off the porch. "Thank you. Thank you much."

Joash waved. "Go in peace, child, and do not sin again."

"Don't worry," she called back. "I'm not even lettin' Noah in my drawers again until I've got that ring!"