They managed to make it out of the mass of people and were able to take off running. Kid and Ruth ducked in an alley and the crowd went by without seeing them.

"Are you okay?" Kid asked, out of breath and bruised.

"I think so," she answered, also out of breath. "How in the world did they know who I was?"

"We've been traveling along side the Mississippi. Word must've traveled up and down the river about you. After all, we've been doing this for over a year now. It ain't everyday a genuine faith healer comes to town. With Sister Ruth's Revival written out as plain as day on the wagon, it ain't too hard for people to put two and two together."

"No, I reckon not," she said, still seeming dazed.

"I'll sneak you back into the hotel," he said, taking her arm. "They must have a back door for the staff."

"I'm not going to be a prisoner over that foolishness. I'm going around to the churches like I said before."

His brows furrowed in anger. "I don't want to argue. You could have been seriously injured just now."

"It was scary, but they didn't really want to hurt me. They just wanted to be healed. They went about it the wrong way, but we've lost them. I'll meet you at the end of the street in about an hour or so and we'll go back in together."

"You are stubborn," he said with a frustrated sigh.

She got on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "That's why you love me."

His lips twitched from trying to hold back a smile. "I'm sure that's not the reason. Fine, have it your way, but if you're not back in exactly an hour, expect to be tied up and locked up for the remainder of our time in St. Louis."

She gave his forearm a gentle squeeze and then hurried off on her errands.

She got Carmel from the livery and rode to find a good spot for the revival. Locating a nice little meadow and ensuring the land didn't belong to nobody but the city, she set off in search of churches next.

She came to a brick church first. She wished they'd arrived on a Sunday. It was easiest to get the news out when a service was being held, but it looked as if someone might be in there.

A knock brought a black man with a receding hairline to the door. "Welcome to First African Baptist Church. I'm John Meachum. Can I help you?"

She gathered from his dress and his being at the church that he was the pastor. "You may, reverend. I'm Ruth Cole, but you can just call me Sister Ruth."

I've heard about you. My guess is you're looking for folks to attend your revival."

"You guessed it."

"Most of my congregation is enslaved. They got permission from their masters to come to church on Sundays, but revivals are out of the question."

"I guess they would be. What a sad situation."

He seemed a little surprised that she sympathized. "Yes, it is."

"Well, if it's alright with you, I'll come here on Sunday then."

"That's nice of you," he said, seeming surprised again. "When's your first revival?" he asked.

"Tomorrow at 4:00." She gave him directions to the spot she had picked out. "Probably run a week or two depending on how the Lord moves. Are you coming?"

"Plan on it and so will my family. There are some also some freemen I can let know about it and I have some slaves I'll let attend."

"That you'll let attend? You own slaves?"

"I know it seems strange a negro man owning other negroes, but you see they're learning a trade at my factory during the time that I have them. Then when they've earned enough to purchase their own freedom, they can support themselves."

It made sense. "It sounds like you're doing good work, brother. I'm interested in learning more about your ministry."

"As I am in learning about yours, sister. See you tomorrow then."

"I'll be there," she said with a smile.

The next church she rode to was Our Lady of Mount Carmel. It sat on a hill and wasn't as fancy as the other Catholic churches she had been to. The priest lived there and so she found him at home.

"I'm Ruth Cole or Sister Ruth as I prefer to be called, Father. I'd like to invite you and your church members to my revival."

Sometimes she felt like she had a label that read crazy somewhere on her person from the way and the length he stared at her.

The priest at last recovered his voice. "I can't in good conscience tell my parishioners to go to some protestant service. The bishop would have my head."

She could see at a glance that he wouldn't be moved on the subject. "Well, have a good night then, brother. God bless you."

"God bless you," he returned.

There were no doubt more churches to try where she might have more success, but the sun was sinking lower, telling her that her hour was almost up. She definitely didn't want to get to the hotel after dark as Kid would hit the roof if she was late.

sss

Kid took a deep breath. It would be the first time he'd entered a saloon since Santa Fe, since before he turned his life over to Christ. He went inside before he changed his mind.

He was immediately bowled over by the atmosphere. Had it always been this dreary in here? This wicked? It hadn't seemed so then. Now he felt suffocated by it.

He forced himself to go up to the bar and take a seat.

"What can I get you to drink?" the bartender asked.

"Nothing for me. Thanks."

"That's unusual." He smiled. "Came here for the company, then?"

"It does get a mite lonely moving from place to place."

He agreed and then moved to another customer.

Kid sat there with his back turned, picking up snatches of conversation and avoiding eye contact with the skimpily dressed women milling around the place. He heard nothing of interest so far.

He turned to the man beside him with a half empty glass. "You heard of those stagecoach robberies in the area? I was thinking of taking one, but I hear some guy is putting a sack on his head and holding them up."

"I heard that too. A man in here earlier was saying he was on the stagecoach that Cole fellow robbed."

Kid was excited to have success so soon and was about to ask where he could find this man now, but he stiffened when he heard a familiar laugh behind him. He'd known Camille would be here, a fact he had neglected to tell Ruth, but he had hoped that he wouldn't see her all the same. He couldn't keep himself from stealing a glance.

Her complexion was as flawless as ever; it practically glowed. Her eyes were an interesting cross between blue and green. Her perfectly shaped brown eyebrows raised in surprise for a moment as she caught sight of him and then a smile widened her heart shaped face. She immediately came over.

"Kid! You are very naughty to stay away so long," she informed him in a French accent.

He was almost positive her accent was phony. It had amused him before, now it just grated on his nerves. "I haven't come to see you."

"You have a new favorite lover?" she asked, her pouty lips becoming poutier.

He smiled as he thought of Ruth. "You could say that."

"Well, I will steal you back," she told him with a toss of her head, the gesture reminding him of his and Ruth's yearling, Grace.

"I'm married."

She shrugged. "A shame to be sure, but most of my companions are married. What does it matter?"

"What matters is that I'm married to the greatest woman I've ever known. I would never do anything to hurt her and I'm trying to follow God's commands now, and frankly, I'm not sure why you ever attracted me."

"So high and mighty now, are we?" she asked in an offended tone. "It so happens that I own this place now and I can have you thrown out." She looked to a bulky man in the corner and gestured toward Kid.

"No need, ma'am," he said, standing up. "I can see myself out."

Camille held up a hand to stop the man and she walked Kid to the door.

"You may come back when you are ready to make up with me," she said to him, sounding so irritatingly sure he would be back.

"When there's winter in hell," he muttered. He supposed he could have let her down more gently, but he meant every word he had said.

He stopped once he crossed the street. He had to find out who had been on the stagecoach. However, he hung around only a few minutes before Camille's goon came out; apparently she wasn't even going to let him be in the vicinity. He decided to call it a day. He was eager to check up on Ruth anyway.

Historical Note: John Meachum was a real historical figure.