Chapter 16
Jonas had never stood in front of so many people in his life. Sure, he’d talked to a handful of folks at a church meeting here, a work crew there, or just the ranch hands milling around after supper.
But this? This was something else.
The whole town was packed into the church hall, every face turned his way. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest so hard he wondered if it might actually rattle his ribs.
The place looked almost the same as it did yesterday, when Maeve had sung for everyone. Lanterns dangled from the ceiling and gave everything a warm, golden glow.
But today, the air felt heavy. Every whisper seemed to hang in the space between people. Every glance carried a question, all growing from the ugly rumors Patrick O’Malley had been spreading.
Jonas stood up front, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He could hardly breathe.
Pastor Whitcomb had called everyone here to “clear the air” after trouble started brewing thanks to Patrick O’Malley, but Jonas had more on his mind than setting the record straight.
He wanted to stand up for Maeve.
He wanted to defend her, no matter how much his nerves threatened to unravel him. No matter if his stutter caught on every word.
Maeve wasn’t there. She’d slipped out before daylight, her eyes tired and her mouth set in a tight, sad curve. Jonas knew she was leaving town.
He’d tried to talk her out of it, but he could see the fear written all over her, and he wasn’t about to let her leave.
Not like this. Not because of Patrick’s lies.
“Thank you for coming,” Pastor Whitcomb stepped up first. “There’s been too many troubling stories about Mrs. Maeve Webber. Before we let gossip rip us apart, I think we need to hear the truth.”
A wave of murmurs passed through the crowd. Jonas felt his pulse thundering in his ears.
“Jonas?” Pastor Whitcomb turned to him. “You said you wanted to speak.”
For a second, Jonas thought about backing out. His throat felt like it was closing, and sweat prickled in his palms. Every part of him screamed to just sit down and keep quiet.
But right then, he pictured Maeve, and the way her hands had shaken, and how she’d whispered her fears to him. The way she braced for judgment.
He made himself step forward.
Everyone went quiet, as a hush filled the room.
Jonas had to clear his throat before he could push the words out. “I… I need to t-talk to ya. All of ya.”
His voice cracked and a hot blush crept up his face. A few folks fidgeted in their seats.
“It’s about Maeve,” he gripped the podium so hard his knuckles whitened.
Nobody moved.
“Ye’ve all heard the rumors,” he went on. “Heard lies.”
“A man, a reputable looking man, said…” Mrs. Turner didn’t waste a second to speak up.
“I know what he said,” Jonas interrupted before he could stop himself. Even he was surprised by the way his words cut her off. “And it’s not true.”
You could almost hear the shock ripple across the room. Jonas never interrupted anyone. He was the quiet man in the back of the room. But not today. Today he was the one up front. That in itself surprised most of the townspeople.
“Maeve didn’t steal anything,” he tried for a steadier breath. “She didn’t do one thing wrong.”
“But the man claimed…” Mrs. Caldwell began.
“He lied,” Jonas said, this time louder. “The m-man he works for, a Mr. Harridan, hurt M-Maeve. When she fought back, he blamed her and made up stories. Th-That’s why she had to run, b-because no one would believe her in Boston.”
Gasps burst out here and there. People twisted around to look at Patrick O’Malley, who leaned against the back wall with his arms crossed and a smug little smile.
Jonas’s jaw clenched.
“She told me what h-happened,” Jonas pressed on, his voice trembling. “She told m-me about Harridan. How she pushed him away. H-How he turned it around on her. How she had no choice but to leave.”
“Oh, the poor dear…” Mrs. Hartley’s hand went to her mouth.
“She just w-wanted somewhere safe,” Jonas gave a small nod. Somewhere to start over, and to b-build a life here.”
His voice kept shaking, but he forced himself to keep going.
“And she’s d-done it. She’s worked harder than anyone I know. She helped b-build this hall. She made friends. She brought music and k-kindness and light into this town.”
Emotion got the better of him. He almost couldn’t get the next words out, but he trudged on.
“She’s m-my wife,” he said softly. “And she’s a g-good woman.”
Nobody made a sound.
Jonas’s hands still shook, stubborn as always, but he refused to stop.
“I know I’m not m-much for words,” he admitted with a little stutter. “B-But I know Maeve. She doesn’t deserve what’s b-being said.”
He turned straight to Patrick, who straightened up and had lost his grin.
“And you,” Jonas said, voice steady for once. “Ya don’t get to come to my town and tear her down.”
“Your town?’ Patrick scoffed. “You think these people will believe you?”
“Aye,” Jonas took a step forward, squaring his shoulders.
Patrick blinked, almost like he hadn’t expected that.
“They know me,” Jonas faced the crowd again. “They know I don’t lie. I only speak up when it matters.”
A couple of people nodded, as Mrs. Hartley wiped her eyes. Brigid squeezed Fiona’s hand. Jonas saw how the people were coming to his aid, so he pressed on.
“Maeve’s telling the truth,” Jonas braced himself. “Harridan hurt her. Patrick helped him. Now he’s trying to do it again.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Patrick’s face flushed red.
“I know enough,” But Jonas looked him right in the eye.
“Mr. O’Malley, do you have anything to say for yourself?” Pastor Whitcomb stepped forward and fixed Patrick with a firm, level stare.
Patrick paused, just for a heartbeat, but that was all it took. Everybody noticed.
Mrs. Caldwell let out a gasp. Mrs. Turner’s face twisted with fury. Somewhere, a farmer muttered something ugly.
“Sir, I think it’s time for you to leave Owl Flats,” Pastor Whitcomb’s eyes turned cold. “Right now.”
“You can’t…” Patrick tried to argue but stumbled over his words.
“Oh, we can,” Pastor Whitcomb said. “And we will.”
“Get out,” Brigid stepped right in front of him, her eyes blazing.
“Unless ya want help leaving,” Fiona stood firm, arms folded.
A few men, Gideon Hart and Elias McKenna included, moved forward, just enough to make Patrick realize he was alone. He looked around, searching for support. Nobody spoke up. Nobody defended him.
“You’re all fools,” he spat.
With that, he stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls rattled.
For a moment, the room buzzed with relief, anger and sympathy all tangled together. Jonas stood there, barely breathing, and his heart hammered so hard he thought he’d faint.
He’d done it. He spoke up. He stood his ground.
“Jonas…that was brave,” Pastor Whitcomb put a hand on his shoulder.
“I just…I had t-to,” Jonas swallowed.
“We’ll stand by Maeve,” Mrs. Hartley came over, her eyes kind. “Let her know.”
“She belongs to us,” Brigid nodded, very determined.
“Go find her, Jonas,” Fiona gave him a gentle smile. “She needs ya.”
Jonas nodded, a rush of emotion rising in his chest. He stepped outside, the evening air cool on his face. The sky sprawled out in streaks of gold and rose, the sun sinking behind the pine trees.
Maeve was out there, probably scared and certain she’d ruined everything.
But she hadn’t.
Jonas had spoken up, and the town listened. The stranger was gone.
Now he just had to find Maeve.
He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and started down the road.
He would bring her home.