Chapter 7
Sunday morning broke with a golden haze over the prairie, the air crisp and carrying the faint scent of dew-soaked grass.
Carrie stood before the small mirror in her room, her hands trembling as she pinned her best hat into place.
It was nothing more than a simple straw bonnet with a faded ribbon, but it was all she had.
Her reflection stared back at her, hazel-brown eyes shadowed with anxiety.
Going to church meant facing Eagle Ridge’s community.
It would be a test of her ability to maintain the fragile fiction of Catherine Morgan under the scrutiny of countless strangers who thrived on details and gossip, as civilians in any small town often did.
She had dodged social gatherings during her first few days at the ranch by burying herself in chores, but Sunday service was unavoidable.
Her stomach churned as she smoothed her dress, the fabric worn but neatly mended, a relic of her life before Emmett Thorne’s cold, murderous eyes and Marcus Reed’s relentless pursuit. Her mouth went dry.
“Catherine? Are you ready?” Irene’s voice called from the hallway. “The wagon is waiting.”
“Coming, ma’am,” Carrie answered, forcing steadiness into her voice.
She grabbed her shawl and stepped out, her heart thudding like a trapped bird.
Downstairs, Josh stood by the front door, his blond hair slicked back and dressed in his Sunday best, a dark vest and a pressed shirt that made him look strikingly handsome.
Her breath caught, and she quickly looked away, chastising herself for the flutter in her chest.
“You look nice,” Josh said, his blue eyes crinkling into a smile as he held the door open. “And that hat suits you.”
Carrie’s cheeks warmed, her fingers brushing the hat’s brim.
“Thank you,” she murmured, brushing past him.
Goosebumps pebbled her skin as his scent collided with her senses, and she breathed deeply, her eyes closing for a moment before she managed to find her words again.
“It’s… been a while since I’ve been to church,” she admitted.
Irene, already climbing into the wagon, glanced back. “You will find Pastor Cartwright a fine preacher. Thomas always said his sermons were like a cool drink on a hot day.”
The mention of Thomas twisted Carrie’s heart, guilt mingling with grief for a man she had never met but whose kindness still haunted her, the lines of his letters constant sentries in her mind.
She climbed into the wagon, settling beside Irene as Josh flicked the reins and the horses started toward town.
The ride passed in a hum of conversation.
Irene recounted the birth of a neighbor’s new foal.
Josh teased his mother about overfeeding the chickens and how they had become waddling little balls of fluff.
Their words were full of mirth and familiarity, flowing with the ease of a healthy relationship.
Neither seemed to notice that Carrie was unusually quiet, her thoughts spiraling.
Every jolt of the wagon heightened her dread.
What if someone recognized her refined speech and city manners as out of place for an orphaned seamstress?
What if Marcus Reed’s shadow followed her even here? Where would she escape to then?
“You’re quiet, Catherine,” Josh said, glancing over his shoulder. He had noticed, then. “Nervous about meeting the townfolks?”
She forced a smile, her hands twisting in her lap. “A little,” she admitted. “I’m not used to… so many people.”
Irene patted her knee. “They’re a friendly bunch. They might be a little curious, is all. Thomas’s bride showing up after his passing is news in a place like Eagle Ridge. But they’re good people. You’ll see.”
Carrie nodded, her throat tight. “Good people,” she thought, the words like a knife held under her neck, making it even harder to breathe. They were good people who did not deserve the danger her presence brought to their sleepy little town.
The white-steepled church came into view, its cross gleaming against the sky.
The congregation milled outside, women in calico dresses fanning themselves and men in vests swapping animated stories.
Children darted between wagons in games of keep away.
Carrie’s pulse quickened as Josh helped her down.
She could already feel everyone’s eyes on her.
“Stick close,” he said, his voice low and reassuring. “I’ll introduce you.”
Inside the church, the pews smelled of polished wood and the faintly musty scent of worn hymnals.
The air hung thick with murmured greetings.
Carrie sat between Josh and Irene, her hands clasped tightly as Pastor William Cartwright took the pulpit.
His kind eyes swept the room, lingering on her for a moment.
She stiffened, fearing he might see through her mask—her lies—her countless sins.
She swallowed and dropped her gaze to her hands, her pulse rushing in her ears.
The pastor’s sermon began, his voice resonant yet gentle, as he spoke of courage in the face of overwhelming odds, harkening back to the stories of David and Goliath and Esther before the king.
“Fear tells us to hide,” he said, his gaze meeting Carrie’s again.
“But faith calls us to stand, even when the path before us is dark.”
The words pierced her, her throat tightening with emotion.
She felt exposed, as if the pastor were calling her out before the entire congregation.
She was certain he knew about her flight from Thorne and the lies she had told the McKennas.
Yet his eyes held no judgment, only encouragement.
So she clung to his message like a lifeline as her guilt grew heavier, weighed down by the ongoing betrayal of Josh and Irene’s unwavering kindness.
After the service, the congregation spilled onto the church grounds for a shared lunch, with blankets spread under cottonwood trees, their leaves casting dappled shade.
Carried helped Irene unpack their basket of cold chicken, cornbread, and apple preserves.
She had to force herself to focus on her task, hyperaware of the curious glances from those seated around them.
Their stares weighed on her shoulders and made her want to hide.
Before they could dig into their meal, a stout woman with a bright smile approached, her husband trailing half a step behind her.
“Mrs. McKenna,” the woman greeted Irene, bending to embrace the older woman. “And this must be Thomas’s bride,” she added a moment later, her voice warm and eager. “I’m Sarah Dawson, and this is my Henry.”
Carrie’s heart lurched, but she extended her hand, her smile practiced. “Catherine Morgan,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Such a tragedy about Thomas,” Sarah said, clucking her tongue. “You came from Chicago, I hear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Carrie said, her voice steady despite the knot in her chest. “I… did not expect my arrival to be met with such sad news.”
Henry nodded, his weathered face etched with kindness. “Thomas was a fine man. You must be truly special if he chose you.”
Carrie’s cheeks flushed as her gaze dropped to the blanket. “He was charming in all his letters,” she said softly, carefully navigating the truth. “I had looked forward to meeting him and getting to know him better.”
Josh joined them, his presence a quiet anchor Carrie could steady herself upon. “Catherine’s been a great help at the ranch,” he said, his tone easy and genuine. “Already mending fences like she was born to do it.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “Is that so? You’re no city flower, then.”
Carrie laughed, the sound more sincere than she had expected. “I am learning, Mrs. Dawson. I am sure I have a long way to go, but Josh is a patient teacher.”
“Call me Sarah,” the woman insisted, patting her arm. “And do not let Josh fool you. He is not as perfect as he seems. Ask him about the time he fell off a ladder while fixing our barn because he was too stubborn to ask for help.”
The conversation flowed, but Carrie’s every word was a tightrope walk, each sentence vague enough to avoid suspicion yet warm enough to blend in.
Her throat was incredibly dry, and her stomach felt like it had been twisted into an impossible knot that tightened every time she met someone new, forcing her to spin another web of lies.
She met ranchers, shopkeepers, and a schoolteacher who gushed about Thomas’s love of books.
Each introduction tightened the unease in her chest. These were good people who had formed a close-knit community she longed to belong to.
Children laughed nearby, chasing each other through the shade.
Carrie’s heart ached for the life she might have had if Thorne’s evil had not destroyed the peace of her world.
As they packed up their basket, a young woman—Lila, the blacksmith’s daughter—approached shyly. “Miss Morgan, I heard you’re originally from Boston,” she said. “What’s it like? All those fancy shops and carriages? Is it beautiful?”
Carrie froze, her mind racing. “It’s… busy,” she answered carefully, refusing to move, as if that might trigger some sort of trap and pin her in her lies.
“Lots of people, lots of noise. I prefer the quiet of the prairie, if I am being honest.” The half-truth tasted bitter, but Lila beamed, seemingly satisfied with the answer.
Her heart tightened at that innocent smile.
The wagon ride back to the ranch was quieter, the sun dipping low and casting long shadows across the prairie.
Irene hummed a hymn, her voice soft, while Josh guided the horses, his profile strong against the fading light.
Carrie’s hands twisted in her lap, the day’s warmth warring with the growing unease in her chest. She had passed the test with her lies and her mask remaining intact despite everything.
Now, the community’s kindness and trust in her only felt like theft.
Josh and Irene, Sarah and Henry, even Pastor Cartwright, were all drawing her into their fold, and they did not know she was poisoning it with her secrets.
She could taste the bile in her mouth as her stomach churned.
She couldn’t keep doing this. She couldn’t keep misleading these people.
“You did well today,” Josh said, breaking the silence. “Folks seem to like you. I hear Sarah’s already planning to have you over for tea.”
Carrie’s lips curved, but her heart sank further. “They are kind,” she said softly. “Kinder than I expected.”
Irene glanced at her, her eyes searching. “You seemed a bit tense, child. Something on your mind?”
“No, ma’am,” Carrie lied, her voice smooth. “Just… adjusting to so many new faces.”
Josh chuckled. “Give it a week. By then, you will know everyone’s secrets.”
The irony stung. Carrie forced a laugh. “I’ll try to keep it up, then,” she said, her gaze fixed on the horizon where the prairie met the sky.
“Lord, forgive me,” she prayed silently.
“Forgive me for the secrets I must keep from these people who have opened up their home for me.” The wagon rolled on, but her deception settled into a deep shadow she could not outrun.