God had brought him to this den of iniquity to be a light of hope. To plant a seed that might bring the lost back to Him.
One ill-tempered madam wasn’t going to run Beau off that easily. “I simply offer to listen, and give advice accordingly.”
“You mean preach.”
Love the sinner, hate the sin.
Even Mattie Silks deserved his best efforts. “Preach, give advice. Semantics, Miss Silks, nothing more.”
She gave him a hard look. “Thanks to you, two of my girls have already quit.”
Beau sighed. He’d hoped for more. Shaking away his feelings of powerlessness, he continued holding Mattie’s stare. “Only two?”
Her lips twitched before she pointed at him with a gnarled finger that revealed her true age. “You are an arrogant man.”
Beau couldn’t deny that one. He was, after all, an O’Toole. His natural arrogance was a character flaw he had to fight against daily. His professors at seminary had tried to break him because of it. His fellow students had shunned him. He’d been run out of countless churches. And even now, the Rocky Mountain Association of Churches still questioned his ability to shepherd the new congregation in Greeley. All because he was an arrogant son of…actors.
Beau dropped his gaze to Jane and watched her fight for each breath of air. “I won’t leave my mother’s friend in the midst of her distress.” He brushed a hand across her brow. “There is no changing my mind, Miss Silks. I am determined.”
Mattie’s eyes flashed. “And if I say otherwise?”
Beau couldn’t fault the woman for her territorial reaction. This wasn’t the first time he’d walked into a brothel since leaving seminary, only to be unceremoniously tossed out when the madam in charge discovered who he was. Or rather what he was.
Nothing like experiencing a little shunning of his own to help him better relate to his unusual flock. “You’d deny one of your girls a moment of peace in her final hours of life? Are you so cruel?”
Her gaze wavered, just a bit, revealing that Mattie Silks might have a heart beneath the tough businesswoman veneer. “You think she’s that ill?”
“Dr. Bartlett thinks she’s that ill.”
Mattie shifted from one foot to the other then peered slowly down at Jane, who had finally fallen into a labored sleep. For several long heartbeats the madam merely stared at the near-lifeless form dragging ragged breaths into its injured lungs.
“I saw her perform once. Years ago, here in Denver. Such a talent. Such a waste.” She shook her head and sighed. “You may stay, Reverend O’Toole. But I’m warning you. Keep yourself hidden.”
Beau blinked at the sudden capitulation. Mattie Silks, hardened madam, had gone from outraged employer to saddened friend in a heartbeat. Talk about dramatic range.
“I have no plans of leaving her side,” he said.
“Then we understand one another. Stay away from my other girls. You preach—” she spat out the word “—and out you go.”
Beau simply nodded.
Fanning herself with her hand, Mattie sighed again. “It’s scandalous, really. A preacher taking up residence in a parlor house.”
Beau gave her his best Sunday-school smile. “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
Three days of unsuccessful searching had brought Hannah to Denver, Colorado, feeling defeated and frustrated. Rachel and Tyler had completely vanished. The sheer gravity of their selfishness, the reality of the ensuing scandal, had nagged at Hannah during the entire journey from Chicago to Colorado.
Hannah lowered her head and sighed. Why would Rachel run off with Tyler when she was engaged to a man who had adored her since childhood? Why would her sister throw away the guaranteed devotion of a good, Christian man for the wavering affection of a fickle actor?
Well, this time Rachel would face the consequences of her actions. Hannah would make sure of it.
Of course, she had to find her sister first.
With Patience and Reginald O’Toole performing in London, and the rest of their acting brood in New York, Hannah had one potential ally left, a man who might be able to help her right this terrible wrong.
Exhausted from her travels, but resolved nonetheless, Hannah checked the return address on the letter, folded the paper at the well-worn creases and shoved it into the pocket of her coat. For several moments longer, she allowed her gaze to sweep up and down the street, taking note of the houses and rushing populace, before her attention came to rest on the building directly in front of her.
If houses had gender, this one was surely female. Elegant, whimsical, the two-story building was made of rose-colored stone. The bold lines of the roof and sharp angles were softened by rounded windows and sweeping vines. On closer inspection the house looked a bit neglected; the twisting wisteria covered a few sags and wrinkles that made the building look like a woman refusing to accept her age.
A swift kick of mountain air hit Hannah in the face. She pulled her coat more securely around her middle and shoved her hands into her pockets. As her gloved fingers brushed against the letter, a fresh wave of guilt threatened her earlier resolve. At first, she’d been reluctant to read the correspondence addressed to Tyler from his brother, but after that initial hesitation she’d been too desperate not to open the letter.
Unfortunately, all Hannah had gleaned was the deep affection one brother felt for the other, and Reverend O’Toole’s last known address. Thus, here she stood outside one of the most notorious brothels in Colorado, shifting from foot to foot like a nervous schoolgirl and praying Reverend O’Toole was still here, ministering to his mother’s friend.
Buck up, Hannah, she told herself. God has protected you this far. Even with the gravity of the situation weighing on her heart, it was hard to marshal the courage to walk across the street and pass through those heavy double doors.
But really, how did one go about entering such an establishment in the light of day?
She took a deep, soothing breath and prayed for the nerve needed to continue her quest. Contrary to the cold, stale air, the sun hung high in the middle of the sky, bleaching the street with a blinding white light.
Oh, please, Lord, he’s my last hope now. Let him agree to help me.
If she found Rachel and dragged her home, would their father believe Hannah wasn’t to blame, after she had carried the burden of Rachel’s actions all these years? Ever since Hannah had refused to chase after Rachel when they’d fought over a neighbor boy, Hannah had faced the consequences of her selfishness. Rachel had lost her way in the woods that cold winter day. She’d caught a fever and ultimately had suffered permanent hearing loss in one ear. Out of guilt—the debilitating guilt of knowing she was to blame for Rachel’s disability—Hannah had accepted responsibility for her sister’s many transgressions.
The pattern had been set long ago, the roles so familiar, to the point where Rachel was now a master at using Hannah’s guilt against her.
Tears pushed at the backs of Hannah’s lids, bitter tears
