The Marshal Meets His Match. Clari Dees

praying.

      Why wasn’t God listening? She’d prayed and waited and waited and prayed through her mother’s illness but lost her anyway. Now here she was again, in the same position with her father. She couldn’t go through this again. She couldn’t!

      Fear and grief met with the fury of a mountain thunderstorm and raged in Meri’s chest. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her eyes and throat burned. She needed to get away from curious eyes. She needed to be on the range where she could run and scream. Where no one could hear and accuse the “old maid” of finally snapping.

      Where could she go? For that matter, where was she?

      Disoriented, Meri glanced around and realized she’d run from Pastor Willis, straight to the church building. Well, maybe praying at an altar would be more effective than the silent, incoherent pleas ricocheting around her brain the past three days.

      Trying the handle of the spick-and-span little white building, she walked inside, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the dimmer light. The room that rang with preaching and singing on Sundays, and the schoolchildren’s recitations the rest of the week, was unnaturally quiet and dim. The sun had just started peeking over the horizon, not yet bright enough to illumine the interior.

      Collapsing onto the nearest bench, her eyes fastened on the flag at the front of the room as her mind tried to find the words to pray. Gradually her ragged breathing began to quiet.

      “Heavenly Faither...” The words echoed hollowly in the empty room. “I don’t know what to say that I haven’t already prayed. I don’t want to lose Faither. I’ve already lost Mither. Isn’t that enough for a while?” The anger in the question surprised Meri. She was scared and sad, not angry. Meri’s voice rose though she tried to temper her tone. “Please! You have to heal Faither!”

      Unable to sit any longer with the emotions tumbling around inside her, Meri got up and paced the aisle of the little building. An open Bible lying on the edge of the desk at the corner of the platform caught her attention. It was a school day, and the teacher would soon be here to prepare for the children who would fill the benches when the bell rang. She needed to leave before she was caught yelling at God, but maybe she could find quick comfort in His word.

      Grabbing the book, her eyes roamed the open pages for several seconds...

      ...searching... There.

      Romans 8:25–28.

      But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it.

      Wait. There was that word again. She was tired of waiting. She wanted her father healed now.

      Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of the God.

      Pastor Willis had preached one Sunday how Jesus Christ prayed to the Father on behalf of believers. He didn’t forget to pray like a person might, He always knew what and how to pray, and the Holy Spirit interpreted the muddled, incoherent prayers, which might be all a believer was capable of in times of trouble.

      A hint of peace tiptoed through her heart. Someone was praying over her, and that thought brought the first comfort she’d felt in days. Her eyes continued down the page.

      And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God...

      She didn’t know how any of the awful recent events could be good, but maybe she’d make it through them without running screaming down the main street of town.

      Rereading the verses slowly, she hugged the reassurance of them to her heart before placing the Bible back on the desk. The weight on her shoulders wasn’t gone, but it was more bearable, and Meri felt she could face the day and the people in it.

      Hunger pangs reminded Meri of missed breakfast, so she left the little church—her return to the doctor’s house much slower than her departure. Fear and worry still nibbled around the edges of her heart, but the verses she’d read seemed to be keeping the worst of it at bay.

      A burst of embarrassment over her abrupt exit hit her as she slipped through the kitchen door.

      “There you are. I’ve got your breakfast keeping warm on the back of the stove if you feel like eating.” Mrs. Kilburn looked up from the bread dough she was kneading.

      “I am hungry, but I need to apologize for the way I ran out so rudely,” Meri said softly.

      Wiping her hands off on a towel, Mrs. Kilburn walked over to where Meri was standing and wrapped her in a hug. “Oh, honey. You don’t owe me an apology. I’m not upset. You’ve been cooped up in this house for days and have a ton of worry pressing on you. Frankly, my husband and I were beginning to worry that you hadn’t let any of it out. I think that maybe you have this morning. You look like you feel better.” She pulled back and peered into Meri’s face.

      “A little. Thank you for saving breakfast for me, and for taking the time to clean my clothes.” Meri swallowed past the lump in her throat as the warmth of Mrs. Kilburn’s hug sank into her heart.

      “Enough of that. We keep this up, and we’ll both be crying while your food spoils.” Mrs. Kilburn dabbed her eyes with her apron and tugged Meri to a seat at the table before placing the plate of breakfast in front of her. “You eat while I tend to this bread, and then you can help me do the dishes. Busy hands help keep the mind off heartaches.”

      Meri’s mouth watered as the aromas drifted up from the plate in front of her, and she bowed her head briefly. Digging into her meal, she listened to Mrs. Kilburn quietly hum the new tune “Blessed Assurance.”

      Mrs. Kilburn was in her late forties with curly blond hair arranged in a thick bun, and soft eyes that seemed to look at the world with a calm assurance and acceptance Meri wished she could emulate. Meri had not spent much time around the woman outside of church gatherings, but she knew Mrs. Kilburn was familiar with heartache. She’d miscarried several times and knew the grief of loss and childlessness, so her words of compassion rang with authentic empathy.

      Mrs. Kilburn assisted her husband with his patients, and Doc frequently said he wouldn’t be able to practice medicine without her. He bragged she was his right hand and the best nurse he’d ever worked with. Watching her over the past few days, Meri couldn’t help but agree.

      Finished with her meal, Meri washed and dried the dishes while Mrs. Kilburn kneaded and shaped the dough into loaves and slid them into the oven. Meri could hear Dr. Kilburn’s office door open and the sound of boots getting closer.

      “Come into the kitchen,” Dr. Kilburn was saying to someone. “We can grab a cup of coffee while you wait for Meri to return.”

      Meri finished drying the dish in her hands as she glanced toward the door. Dr. Kilburn entered followed by the tall figure of Marshal Cameron. Meri stiffened her knees and spine, fighting an abnormal thudding in her heart that destroyed the measure of peace she’d found earlier.

      “Ah, she’s back already. Meri, the marshal stopped by to speak with you. Both of you have a seat, and I’ll get us some coffee.” He stepped to the stove where the coffeepot simmered.

      Meri set the dish down and wiped her perspiring hands on the towel, the marshal’s cool, searching eyes making her uncomfortable.

      “If she can be spared for a few minutes, I need to speak to her in private.” He addressed Dr. Kilburn, but his hard gaze remained on Meri, watching, waiting. He motioned toward the back door. “If you’ll step outside into the garden, I have a few questions to ask you about the bank robbery.”

      Chapter Three

      Wyatt studied Miss McIsaac, and replayed the morning’s events in his mind. Questions concerning the holdup had driven him from his bed before dawn. After time spent praying and searching the Scriptures for wisdom,