In the hotel room, Ruth was hunting down some verses that contained a lot of simple, repeat words for Lydia tomorrow to fill her full of confidence. So deep into it she was that she smelled Kid before she heard or saw him.

She reprimanded herself for it, but for one moment, she had feared that he had fallen back into drinking as she caught the sickening whiff of whiskey, a marshy smell that turned Ruth's stomach.

Her eyes quickly caught sight of the handkerchief that was practically crimson but the bleeding had mostly been staunched. "You're bleeding," she said, jumping out of her chair and running over to him.

"Head wounds always look worse than they are."

"Sit," she commanded.

He did and she used her own clean handkerchief dipped in just plain water to wipe the blood from his skin and make doubly sure the wound was clean. Then she used a strip of cloth she had ready for just such emergencies and wrapped it around his head.

When she was finished, she said, "You look like an Indian now. Just need a feather or two to stick in there and call it macaroni."

He attempted a weak smile.

"You want to tell me how you got that cut?"

He'd been hoping she wouldn't ask. "From a bottle. Got in a little argument with a man there."

"Looks like a big argument to me. I'm sure you didn't provoke it though. That's what I hate about folks drowning themselves in cups over there. It never leads to good. I'd like to see that man. I'd give him a talking to he wouldn't forget anytime soon."

His smile was bigger than his last try. "I'm sure you would, but I think I got my message across well enough without words." Sobering, he said, "I have to go to Jefferson City to find the imposter."

He was afraid to have her come with him. This boy may have had no history of violence, but men and boys alike got desperate when jail time or worse loomed in front of them. On the other hand, he was half afraid to leave her here with the scandal she was facing in St. Louis.

"I have work to do here," she answered, making the decision for him.

"I'll only be gone a week at the most, 5 days if I'm lucky."

"I'll be here."

"I need a promise from you. Promise me you won't try to go see Camille or go into any of those saloons or brothels while I'm away. I think my cut is proof enough of the danger there."

"If it'll give you peace of mind, I promise, but I got to walk Lydia to and from our lessons. I know she's more used to it than I am, but she's still just a little girl."

"I knew you'd say that and the only protection you're going to carry is your Bible, am I right?"

"It's all the protection I need. Seems to me we've had this conversation before though."

"We have," he grumbled. "Make sure you pay attention to your surroundings at least. If you see something unusual, get out of there as fast as you can and make sure it's always daylight when you're there."

"I will," she assured him.

He stood up and split the money he had with her. "I don't want to waste any time. I'm going to Jefferson City today. The sooner I go, the sooner I can get back."

"The day's more than half over and you look a little sore from your brawl. You're moving kind of funny too."

"I am a little sore," he admitted. His arm especially still pained him.

"Get a good night's sleep then," she admonished. She unbuttoned his shirt and he watched her hands, mesmerized by them. His shirt off, she could see the red mark on his arm where a bruise would form. Her finger ran across it with a feather light touch. "Does it hurt?"

"Just a bit and my back aches like the devil."

She led him to the bed where she proceeded to knead his back muscles with him lying prostrate on the mattress. It felt good in more ways than one. "Okay, you've convinced me," he said, the words coming out as more of a moan.

sss

Ruth was browsing the store for a primer and Bible for Lydia the next morning. Kid had already left for Jefferson City. It was an extravagance to be sure, but she knew he would agree that it was an expense that was worth it. The Lord wouldn't let them go hungry.

She saw 2 ladies with their heads together, whispering and sending pointed looks her way. It didn't take a clairvoyant to figure out what they were talking about. It was also clear that they didn't have the nerve to say whatever it was they had to say to her face.

She had half a mind to confront them, but she decided to ignore it instead and took the books up to the storekeeper.

Obviously he recognized her too because he frowned and said, "I can't sell you these."

"What do you mean you can't sell me the books?" she asked, the annoyance showing in her voice.

"I refuse to take your ill-gotten gains. Your money is dirty," he replied loftily.

She gave a sigh of frustration but set them down. "I thought they were overpriced anyway. You might want to do some housekeeping though and I'm not talking about the store but your soul."

She was muttering to herself for a good long while after that. Why did folks always want to stir up drama? Why could they just love people as they were faults and all? The sad thing was that sometimes the most judgmental people were those that considered themselves to be "religious" people, but they had strayed far from Christ's example and scripture.

His wasn't the only store in St. Louis that refused to sell to her, which was sad considering what she was trying to buy, a Bible. Were they determined there was no help for the lost or the sinner? After about a half hour, some sweet old lady sold her both the books she needed behind her husband's back.

Ruth had the awful feeling that she was being stared at in an unfriendly manner as she walked down the street, a paranoia that was natural after the treatment she had just received. She was going to get Lydia, which would only serve to validate their false opinions, but right now she didn't care. There was someone who needed her help; they could think what they liked.