The Cowboy and the Quaker Read online

  THE COWBOY AND THE QUAKER

  By

  Award Winning, Best Selling Author

  Margaret Tanner

  Contents:

  Copyright 2015 – Margaret Tanner

  Disclaimer

  Acknowledgement:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  All rights reserved

  Copyright 2015 – Margaret Tanner

  Thank you for downloading this e-book. It remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author. Quotes used in reviews are the exception. No alteration of content is allowed. If you enjoy this book, then please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy.

  Disclaimer

  This novella is a work of fiction.

  Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental or historical. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously.

  Cover Image

  Period Images

  Acknowledgement:

  To my friend and fellow Western Romance author, Susan Horsnell. Thank you for all your help and guidance.

  Chapter One

  Boston – 1870’s

  He shouldn’t be here, not with his wedding a few days away, but before he left he wanted another taste of Rachael, his little Quaker whore. Once he returned from his honeymoon he had every intention of resuming their affair. Giving Rachael an engagement ring was a master stroke, lulled her into thinking they had a future together. His lips curled with derision, as if a man of his background would ever marry a lowly school teacher. If he was discreet, he would get away with this dalliance for as long as he wanted. Discretion had got him to the position he was in today, and he intended to make it stay that way.

  He removed his soft kid gloves and knocked on the door of the two roomed cottage, a hundred yards or so away from the school house. It stood on the edge of town, convenient for his clandestine, nocturnal visits.

  The door swung open and there she stood, blonde hair tied back with a blue ribbon that matched her high collared demure gown. Once a Quaker always a Quaker. Her background made her all the more desirable. The allure of forbidden fruit had always appealed to him. His groin tightened in anticipation.

  “George Partridge, what brings you here?” Her eyes shone, her smile of pleasure lit up her beautiful face. Rachael stepped back into the cottage and he followed.

  “I had to see you one more time before I leave for New York tomorrow.” He dragged her into his arms and ravished her mouth. He wasn’t a gentle lover; he saw no reason to be. Women were there to satisfy his lust. Releasing her, he stepped back a pace so he could shrug out of his coat.

  She turned reproachful eyes on him. “You hurt me.”

  “I have such need of you it makes me inpatient. I love you so much, and I don’t have much time. I need to return to the office to catch up on a few things before I leave.”

  “I love you too. Why can’t we announce our betrothal? I hate keeping it secret. It makes things seem, well, sordid.”

  His face flushed with indignation. “Don’t you think I want to let the whole of Boston know that the beautiful school teacher, Rachael Fairchild, has consented to be my wife? It wouldn’t do, not until you meet my parents. The moment I return, I’ll arrange it. A large party I think, a hundred or more guests.”

  She sighed. “I’d prefer something smaller. I know you’re an important man but…”

  He put a finger on her mouth to quiet her. How gullible and foolish women were. “Not now, my sweet.” He reached for her again, and she offered no resistance.

  Within a short time, they were both naked on the bed. Once his need was appeased, he dressed, kissed her quivering lips and left as abruptly as he’d arrived.

  ***

  Rachael lay on the bed running a trembling finger across her tender lips. She loved George, but lately his lovemaking was rough and hurried. After he left, she always felt used and upset. Just once, she wanted him to spend a few hours with her, how it used to be. Lying in his arms, relaxing in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

  She fingered the diamond engagement ring she wore on a chain around her neck. She couldn’t wait to wear it on her finger. To show the world she was betrothed to George Partridge, senior partner in the prestigious law office of Partridge and Abbott.

  A whole month without seeing him. How could she bear it? He called her his little Quaker, but it wasn’t strictly correct. Her grandparents who had brought her up, belonged to The Society Of Friends it was true, but on their death when she was nine, the aunt she lived with, followed the Wesleyan Methodist faith.

  Rachael tried to sleep, but it was hard when her heart was breaking. She had to get up early in the morning to prepare the classroom for her pupils. Fifteen students attended her small school on the farthermost edge of town.

  Three hundred and fifty dollars a year might not be top money, but the free cottage more than compensated. She also received fresh fruit and vegetables from the pupils’ parents, most of whom were small farmers.

  George was discreet and she liked that, because it helped her as much as him. She couldn’t afford to have her reputation tarnished. The head of the school board, Eli Zimmerman, was a Church Elder who would have no hesitation in dismissing her if there was even a hint of scandal. Her life had been beyond reproach until she had met George. The handsome, charming Attorney had quickly stolen her heart, not to mention her virginity. He would soon be her husband, and all wrongs in the sight of God would be righted.

  Have patience, George has your best interest at heart. But did he? Of late, the doubts crowded in on her. She felt weepy and depressed when he wasn’t with her. You’re a vain, selfish woman. Always wanting him to be with you, stroking your ego and confessing his undying love. Her eyes grew heavy and she drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  Wednesday dawned bright and sunny. Rachael always rose at 6 o’clock during the working week. It was the only way she could get everything done on time. On the weekend she allowed herself the luxury of sleeping in for an extra hour or two.

  Heavens, she had slept in. It was nearly 7 o’clock. She dived out of bed and the room spun. Nausea rose up in her throat. She clamped a hand over her mouth and just made it to the washing up dish before vomiting her heart out. She must have eaten something that disagreed with her.

  Feeling like death warmed up, she washed and dressed. Even the thought of food made her gag. She poured herself a glass of water and nibbled on a piece of dry bread. Her head ached, her eyes burned from unshed tears. It was dreadful to be so alone.

  Where was George? Enjoying himself in New York with his legal colleagues no doubt, while she suffered here on her own.

  She left the cottage and traipsed across the paddock to the schoolhouse. For the first time she could ever remember, it was a chore to teach the children. Normally she loved it. Was the class more rowdy than normal?

  “Wayne, stop disrupting the class,” she scolded the red-haired youngster who kept flicking pieces of chalk at one of the girls.

  Rachael turned her back to write something on the black board. A shriek had her spinning around. Her head turned cartwheels, and she had to hang on to the desk to stop her legs from collapsing under her. She took several gulping breaths to steady herself.

  Billy Johnson was tying Connie Taylor’s long plaits to the back of the chair. “Billy, ou
t here. You will stand in the corner until I say you can return to your desk.”

  The school board had provided her with a cane to punish unruly students, but she couldn’t bring herself to use it. Billy stomped out the front. His scuffed boots were obviously hand-me-downs from his older brother, as they were a couple of sizes too big and flopped up and down.

  He was a small, weedy child, and she often wondered whether he got enough to eat. She had caught him on a couple of occasions stealing another child’s lunch. Often, red marks crisscrossed the backs of his legs. On several occasions he had come to school with a black eye. Normally she dealt with him sympathetically, discreetly giving him a couple of pieces of fruit, but today the only person she felt sympathy for was herself. What a selfish woman she had become.

  ***

  Rachael’s illness did not abate. On Saturday she had a shocking thought. Nausea in the mornings, no monthly flow. Dear Lord, she couldn’t be pregnant? “Why couldn’t you be?” her conscience asked. “You shared your bed on numerous occasions with a man who wasn’t your husband.”

  “We’re betrothed,” she whispered, fighting an inward battle with herself. Tears filled her eyes. She had to contact George, but didn’t know how. Didn’t know where he lived or where his law office was.

  Thankfully, she didn’t have to teach today. She only had to spend a couple of hours tidying up the schoolroom. Please George, hurry back.

  They would have to be married immediately. She hadn’t thought about it before, but this was the second monthly flow she had missed. If George let her down she would be in diabolical straits. Surely, he wouldn’t do that to her? He loved her. A gentleman like him would do the right thing. He had been so protective of her reputation. “And his own,” her conscience said.

  I can’t stay in the cottage, I’ll go mad. The long walk into town might clear her head so she could think clearly. To preserve her modesty, she always wore high collared, button up gowns with a small amount of lace or pin-tucking on them. Maybe she had more Quaker in her than she realized.

  She had always projected a modest demeanor before meeting George and falling under his spell. The mere touch of his hands or his lips and she became wanton. He was a demanding lover who had taught her how to pleasure him, even if some of the things he expected were embarrassing.

  Fear of losing him to a more accommodating woman often reared its ugly head. She had given him everything he asked for, even though he often used her roughly and without respect. But that was the way of men, selfish and insensitive when their lust was up, gentlemanly and considerate at other times. He never failed to bring her a gift, a posy of flowers, silk handkerchiefs, lace gloves, a small token of his esteem he always said.

  On a warm spring day, the white and pink blossoms on the trees would normally have had her stopping to admire their beauty, but not today. She trudged along staring straight ahead. The pretty blue bonnet, another gift from George, couldn’t cheer her up. She was in the deepest, darkest pit of despair.

  After an hour or so of walking, she felt weak and nauseous. If she didn’t sit down she would collapse. Passing a large church with a high bell tower, and beautiful leadlight windows, she stopped and leaned against the creeper covered fence to catch her breath.

  A wedding was in progress; she could tell by the numerous grand carriages. The bridal coach looked magnificent, decorated with white ribbons. The two black horses had white rosettes in their harnesses, obviously a society wedding.

  She heard organ music, the service must have started. With a quick glance around to make sure no-one was taking any notice of her, she darted inside and found an empty pew behind a huge stone pillar.

  She would rest here for a while before deciding what to do. Maybe go for a tea and cake before facing the return journey. Perhaps try and find George’s law office. If she knew exactly where to go, on Monday after school, if she hurried, she could get there before it closed for the day. Someone there might even know how to contact him. It was the best idea she could come up with.

  She closed her eyes and prayed to God. This was his house, so he might be more receptive to her desperate plea.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in…” She blocked the words out. She didn’t want to hear the happy couple making their vows, not until she and George stood before the preacher making their own before God and the congregation. No, not the congregation. In the privacy of the preacher’s residence would be best.

  “Do you Kathryn Bodsworth take George Partridge, as your…”

  Rachael shoved a fist in her mouth, and bit down on her knuckles to stop the screams spilling out of her mouth. She shook from head to toe. Fortunately, she was seated, otherwise she would have fallen onto the floor.

  George. Her George, was marrying the daughter of one of the most powerful and influential men in New England. She closed her ears to the rest of the service.

  George had tricked her. Betrayed her. The engagement ring nestling between her breasts suddenly felt heavy, the diamond hard and cold against her skin. The organ music was almost drowned out by the pealing of the bells, as the bridal couple walked up the carpeted aisle leading to the massive arched doorway of the church.

  Rachael couldn’t move, her legs wouldn’t work. All the life was sucked out of her. She wondered whether she looked as pale and sick as she felt. Finally, when the church was empty, she stood up and her legs were able to hold her weight. She couldn’t stay in the house of God for a moment longer. Defile this beautiful church with her sinful presence, and that of the bastard child she carried.

  Self-pity and remorse suddenly gave way to fury. She took several deep breaths and headed outside. People milled around the newly wedded couple. George wore a dark suit and a top hat. He had a satisfied, almost smug, expression on his face. The dark haired, pretty bride’s looks were spoilt by a petulant droop to her lips.

  George glanced up and a spasm of irritation crossed his face. A muscle convulsed in his jaw, but he quickly composed his features. He snapped his fingers and a servant scurried up. After a short conversation the man minced over to her. “I have a message from Mr. Partridge. He said you are not to contact him again. He no longer has any interest in you.”

  Anger overrode her heartache. “Well, you can give him a message from me. I will be in contact with him. I happen to be carrying his child.”

  The man’s jaw dropped. “What…what…” he spluttered.

  “You heard me. I’m carrying his child, and I want to know what he’s going to do about it?”

  She waited while the manservant got George to move to one side so no-one would hear what was said. Angry red infused George’s cheeks, his body became rigid. His eyes, the ones she had thought held love, but now knew was lust, froze over. He glared at her, and the cold fury in his stare caused her to tremble. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to blurt out about her condition to the servant. She should have waited and told him privately.

  The man slunk up to her again. George was too lily-livered to face her. “Mr. Partridge wants you to leave town.” He thrust money into her hand. She was tempted to take it and throw it back at George’s feet, but didn’t, just stuffed it into her reticule.

  “If I don’t choose to leave?”

  The man gnawed his lip. “Look lady, take the money and run, otherwise you could get hurt.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No. No. Not me Miss, Mr. Partridge. He…” The man gave a hunted look around. “He has political aspirations and will stop at nothing to achieve them. Please leave while you can.”

  The man left her standing there. Alone. Devastated. The bridal party filed over to the coach and within five minutes, the church and surrounds were empty except for her. How could she have been foolish enough to believe George’s honeyed lies? Why hadn’t she detected the cruel streak hidden behind his debonair appearance?

  She struggled up the road to a diner, slumped in a chair and ordered a pot of
tea to fortify herself for the journey home. What was she going to do? Where could she go? Better to resign her position straight away so Mr. Zimmerman would write her a reference, rather than wait until she was dismissed once her condition became obvious.

  Glancing around to make sure no-one could see what she was doing, she took the crumpled notes out of her reticule and quickly counted them. Thirty dollars for services rendered. She felt like a harlot. It wasn’t much. She had hidden a tin in the back garden. Her aunt had instilled in her that banks could not be trusted. Safer to hide your money somewhere. And she had. Tea with cream and sugar, would give her the strength to walk home.

  Her life lay in tatters.

  ***

  On Monday when she returned home from school, her cottage had been ransacked. Nothing appeared to be stolen, but her ornaments were smashed, her curtains cut to ribbons. Food was scattered everywhere. She hadn’t observed any strangers loitering around. It made her ill to realize that some-one she knew, most likely a parent, had been paid to violate her home.

  This was a warning to get out, but she couldn’t leave yet, there was nowhere to go. It took several hours to clean up the mess and she flopped into bed exhausted.

  ***

  Tuesday was incident free. Maybe now that George had shown her what he was capable of if she crossed him, he would leave her alone. She sat at the table planning her lessons for the next few days, instead of going to bed like she normally did.

  A crash rent the air. Dashing into her bedroom she was shocked to be greeted by a wall of flame. Someone had set fire to her bed. Had she been asleep she would have been burnt alive. Dread, like a million spiders, crawled over her. If she didn’t leave here tonight, she would surely die.

  The flames were intense. All she had time for was to grab up a bonnet, shawl and her reticule from an armchair before dashing out into the night.