The Whippoorwill Trilogy - Sharon Sala Page 0,21

sending sparks and smoke spiraling up into the night sky. A lantern hung on a nail outside the livery, its flame weak—the wick in need of a trim. Lights from the bar next door spilled out of dirty windows and onto the ground.

After the dusty ride from the train station to the ranch, Randall had brought his bag back into town so that he could change into clean clothes before the sermon. He had wanted to appear as fresh and dust-free as possible. But now he stood silently in the midst of the smoke and flames, his clerical robes billowing out about his feet and his bible held close to his chest.

More than one person in the congregation took note of his holy appearance and commented upon it to a neighbor. But none were as taken as Charity Doone. She sat loose-lipped and silent, staring up at the man who would help seal her fate. Transfixed by his demeanor, she watched as he stepped up to the pulpit. When he opened the bible, she took a deep breath. Then his magnificent voice spilled out across the gathering like water over a damn, cleansing lost souls and healing weary bodies. She shivered where she sat.

“Judge not, lest ye also be judged,” he began.

Within moments, Charity was motionless. Her gaze darted from his lips, to the Good Book, to the breadth of his shoulders beneath his robes. Her thighs began to quiver. Her heart began to pound. When he shouted, “Praise the Lord,” she broke out into a sweat. Something was happening to her. Something she didn’t understand.

He moved away from the pulpit and stepped into the aisle, pausing less than a yard from where Charity sat. Anxious not to miss a nuance of this wonderful night, she tilted her head for a better view and within seconds, she started to shake.

Silhouetted against the back light from the torch, Randall Howe looked as if he was on fire. And in that moment he became the figure from her dream—the man surrounded by a bright, burning light—the man who had reached out to her. It was all she could do to sit still.

She never knew when the sermon ended, but her mind was racing. She’d been given a sign. It just wasn’t what she’d expected. So, it hadn’t been God in her dream after all. It had been the preacher. She sighed, reminding herself that wasn’t so far off. Randall Howe was God’s representative. She’d just misunderstood.

She kept remembering her dream, but this time there would be no mistaking the path she must take. By the time the last buggy had pulled off into the night, Charity was wound as tight as a top. To add to the turmoil in her soul, it started to rain.

Randall was beside himself with glee. In spite of its inauspicious beginning, his first sermon on his missionary trail had been a resounding success. The collection money was jingling in his pockets and his fervor was at an all-time high. If only his colleagues could know this sensation, there would be an exodus of preachers out of the cities and into the wilderness. And then he felt the raindrops upon his face and turned with quick concern.

“Miss Doone, it’s starting to rain. I fear it would not be wise to journey back to your ranch tonight. Is there a hotel nearby?”

Still speechless by her revelation, she pointed toward a building across the street. There was no name on the front, only a sign in the window.

ROOMS

“Our horse and buggy are already in the livery. Under the circumstances, I think it would be wise it we stayed in town.”

Charity’s fingers knotted. This was it! She’d been right!

“Will your sister worry if we don’t come home?”

Charity tried not to giggle. “No. She would expect us to stay. After all, she owns the hotel as well.”

Randall thought of his bag in the back of the buggy. It should be safe in the livery for the night.

The sky belched fire. The rumble of thunder put them in flight. They ran, but not soon enough. By the time they gained entrance into the hotel, they were drenched.

The desk was vacant. Only a single lantern burned nearby.

“Oh no, there’s nobody on duty. What shall we do?” Randall asked.

Charity slipped behind the desk and pulled keys to adjoining rooms out of their slots.

“The last man who worked here died. People just choose a room and leave their dollar on the desk when they leave.”

Randall shook