Sister Ruth, as she was clapping and singing, saw the young woman out of the corner of her eye. She wore her hair down and her neckline low. Her face was marked with "paint".

Some revivalists would have gone to her and insisted she leave, thinking she was only there to solicit the crowd. And even more ministers would have thrown such a woman out of "their" church with the attitude that soiled doves had no right to come into the presence of God with their sin still heavy on their conscience.

Yet, she bet those same ministers had never actually talked with the women and found out their circumstances. Many were more in physical bondage than spiritual, trapped in merciless contracts and circumstances. And regardless of whether they'd chosen to walk that path or not, they were the very people who Christ had come to save. It wasn't the healthy that needed medicine and it wasn't the righteous that needed to be found as the Good Book said.

The young woman went straight to Horace, the nice fellow whose leg God had healed at the church, and put money in the offering plate that he was holding. Horace put a hand on her shoulder.

Ruth smiled to herself. They were a couple in love it was plain to see and she was touched by the offering she had given.

The woman sat right down on the front row and tucked her shawl around her in a show of modesty and joined in the clapping.

Ruth continued to give her quick glances during the service. The girl was earnestly watching, seeking, praying. She had a timid smile and a gentle spirit about her despite the ugliness she must have seen in her profession. To a woman such as this belonged the kingdom of God.

August 13, 1837

The Coles were currently holding revivals out in the territory where doctors were few and so were preachers, but they periodically went in to St. Louis for mail and supplies. Ruth had received a letter from an aunt, who was now living in Louisville, on one such visit.

After too many failed crops, her uncle had taken a job on one of the steamboats and her aunt was lonely in the big city with her husband gone most of the time. She asked her to try and visit. But what really sold them on the idea was that it mentioned there was a mysterious situation she couldn't quite explain in a letter and that she thought Kid might be able to help with it.

It took a little under a month to get there by wagon, but get there they did. Louisville was a bigger place than Ruth had imagined. Although Kentucky might have once been considered "way out west" and "uncivilized", it wasn't anymore. The city boasted a library, a medical school, a theatre, mills, factories. It was a city in every sense of the word, including the swarms of people.

Mercy sat complacently in her lap, playing with a handkerchief that Ruth had tied to look like a person, or chewing on it anyway. Her red gold hair was now thicker and more visible, sprouting into loose curls. She dropped her handkerchief doll on the floorboards of the wagon. "Mama," she said.

"I don't think I'll ever tire of hearing her say mama," Ruth told Kid as she bent down to retrieve the doll for her 1-year-old daughter.

"I know I haven't grown tired of hearing her say dada and she said it 2 whole weeks before she said mama," he teased with a grin.

"Rub it in and I just might decide not to feed you tonight," she warned with an equal grin.

"That's okay. Your aunt'll feed me."

"We'll see."

Her aunt and uncle's house was located near the Ohio River. Her aunt had given good directions in the letter and had included an even better drawing of what the house looked like, so it was no trouble at all finding it.

Aunt Dorcas was sitting out on the porch and she smiled wide when she saw them coming. She had a beautiful flower garden in front of the white frame house. Ruth spotted chrysanthemums, black-eyed Susans, and a rose bush. It was a charming, little home.

After the horses had been taken care of and hugs exchanged, they all went inside.

Ruth smiled as she spotted a painting on the wall. It was no wonder Aunt Dorcas hadn't made many friends yet. She was something of an artist and her paintings could be a little on the shocking side. It was a lovely, idyllic hill scene with a crystal blue lake and wind-swept grass, but at the top of the hill was a shirtless Indian astride a horse with a spear in hand. She was eccentric, but who was she to talk about that, a woman revivalist and faith healer? It seemed eccentricness ran in the family. All in all, Ruth liked the painting.

"It's a nice home you got here," Ruth complimented. "Are those roses from Momma's garden?"

"They sure are. The soil's just wonderful here. You spit a seed into it and you get it to grow. I think we could have made a real go of farming here, but your Uncle Israel said he was done growing things. If you want my opinion, the river's a lot riskier than the ground, but you know how men are. No offense, Kid."

"None taken," he said, doffing his hat with a small smile.

"Can I hold your sweet baby?" Aunt Dorcas asked.

"Of course, you can," Ruth said. "She's your niece after all."

When Aunt Dorcas stretched her arms out to take her, Mercy turned her head and tucked it against Ruth's shoulder.

"She's a little on the shy side, which is probably strange, considering all the people we meet, but I don't think she'll cry if you take her."

Ruth proved to be right and her aunt commented, "Stranger still considering her mother. I remember you liked to babble all day long when you were a baby."

"That hasn't changed much," Kid said with amusement.

Ruth kicked his shoe good-naturedly.

Aunt Dorcas didn't seem to notice. "And you never met a stranger. But then I guess the Good Lord makes us all different. Variety is the spice of life and all that."

"It's a nice view of the river you have," Kid said.

"It makes me nervous to tell you the truth. The locals still talk about a flood they had 5 years ago. Nearly all the buildings by the river were destroyed. But they say a flood like that only comes once every 100 years or so, so maybe I won't live to see another."

Mercy dropped her doll again and wanted down to get it. Aunt Dorcas set her down on the floor. "You remember I mentioned the mysterious situation?"

"Of course," Ruth answered.

Aunt Dorcas pulled a clipping from a newspaper put out a couple months ago from her sewing basket and passed it to her.

Ruth read it out loud. "A young woman by the name of Emily Copin was murdered on Pine Road by unknown person after dark. Ladies are advised to stay at home after sunset or be in the company of a male escort if she must be out." Ruth passed the article to Kid. "That's just terrible, Aunt Dorcas. I'll pray for her family, but what do you think Kid can do about it? He normally hunts down folks who are known or people with descriptions."

Rather than answer she gave her 2 more clippings just like it. Blurbs that mentioned the young women's names but nothing about the killer.

"Oh, this is a tragedy," Ruth said. "3 murders?"

"You don't know the half of it. What the paper doesn't tell you is that the women all had something in common. And I don't think the city marshal or his deputies are at all interested in finding their killer because the women were all ladies of the night. But if you ask me, that doesn't mean they have the right to be murdered. After all, they're somebody's daughters. And certainly the murderer doesn't have a right to go free. I know how you and Kid have a soft spot for such women from your letters, ministering to them and all, so I immediately thought of your husband."

"Up," Mercy said, having crawled over to her mother. She was lifting her hands up in the air. Ruth picked her up, mulling over the information.

Kid's face had become unreadable to most, but Ruth recognized the set of his jaw and the glint in his eyes. He was going to do everything in his power to find the killer. "Well," he said, "I am interested in finding him."