The Teacher's Star

it, she forced the handle across the outlaw’s throat. “Jubal Yarborough, I have a warrant for your arrest on charges of rape and robbery.” The dazed look left the man’s eyes at her words. He struggled like a wild beast, trying to escape the handle and her weight.
“Best just lay in the snow. My husband, who’s also a marshal, has a rifle pointed this way. Bet he’d love to put a slug through your head.”
“How about a third marshal? You can bet your grits and gravy that I won’t hesitate to fire.” The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Looking over her shoulder toward it, Delia narrowed her eyes before widening them in surprise.
“Marshal Jessup? You’re alive!”
The older man’s eyebrows rose. “Certainly hope so ma’am. Got a few more rascals like those fellas to take care of before I give up my silver star and enter St. Peter’s pearly gates.”
Before Delia could respond, the man gave a rusty chuckle, as if he didn’t laugh often. “See you put the star I gave you to good use. Got your man, didn’t you?”
Looking at her husband, she and Rol exchanged a secret smile. “In more ways than one, marshal. Definitely got my man.”
Her man had turned his prisoner over to a deputy and now took charge of Yarborough. Pulling the man to his feet, he handcuffed the man none too gently. As he shoved the man toward the jail, Jubal yelled loudly to gain the attention of the people gathered around him.
“You gonna just let this go unchallenged. That colored woman hit me, a white man. Don’t none of you folks have enough decency to do something ‘bout that.” Spittle flew as he tried to stir up the crowd.
Faces turned to look at the teacher and then at each other in question. Finally, a voice spoke up at the back of the group. “What ya mean? Teacher’s white as you.”
Jubal’s head shook from side to side and then he strained to pull himself away from Rol’s restraining hand. The lawman’s grip tightened so he gave up and directed his gaze to the crowd. “Got a cousin lived in Evergreen. Sent him a letter and got the low down on the woman. Her ma’s a former slave. Now, she’s married a white man.”
A growl from Rol pulled the gaze of the crowd his way. “Who says I’m white?”
Delia could imagine the thoughts as the townspeople examined Rol. With his olive-tinted skin and dark eyes, he could pass as a mulatto she thought. Evidently others thought so too since they murmured and nodded at him.
Frowning, Mr. Stewart pushed out of the crowd to face Delia. His expression darkened as he looked between Yarborough and her. His thundering tone sounded like a pronouncement. “What kind of community do you think this is, Mr. Cobbler Man? We don’t pretend to like someone and then turn our backs on her. Teacher’s a good woman.”
Agreements echoed around Mr. Stewart. The moment she’d dreaded—the realization of who she truly was—had come and nothing changed. Praise God for a community that really lived out His love.
A blur burst from the doctor’s home. Rushing toward her father, Eenie threw herself into strong, waiting arms. He crushed her against him, kissing her hair as he squeezed her.
“Sweetie, I’m so thankful to God you’re safe.” Emotion made his voice hoarse. It was a sound Delia had never heard. He certainly hadn’t sounded that way when he’d rescued her.
Even though Eenie hid her face in her father’s shirt, Delia still made out her words. “It was scary, Pa. I’m glad you got the bad men.”
“All that matters is that you’re safe now. I love you, sweetheart.”
Something squeezed tightly in Delia’s chest. Those were the words she wanted. She’d faced danger, but it hadn’t made him realize he loved her.
Delia stood, free and safe in town. Suddenly, she felt trapped in her marriage.

Chapter 11
She wanted her mama. Being an adult seemed too painful lately for Delia. It wasn’t the responsibility of her daughter. No, even though Eenie had thrown a few tantrums since her father had left, she had been able to deal well with the little girl. In part, the girl merely needed the assurance that her father would come back, and they would be a family.
Delia wanted her mother’s soothing touch. The calm voice that would tell her everything would be fine. That her husband would love her one day.
Longing for that ate at her. She loved him. This feeling couldn’t be anything else.
Nights stretched out in long, lonely hours since Rol had traveled east with Marshal Jessup to deliver the prisoners. They’d waited a couple days before leaving since Yancy had been shot in the gun battle. Secretly, Delia had hoped he’d die so her husband wouldn’t be needed to escort the second prisoner. Terrible, she knew, but she badly wanted him with her.
Yancy had recovered enough to be taken to Nebraska. Jubal Yarborough would stand trial in the east somewhere. She couldn’t remember exactly where. All that mattered was that her husband’s part would be done when Yancy arrived at his destination.
She’d received one telegram to let her know Rol had arrived safely. Though that eased her worry, it did little to console her heart.
She chastised that heart more than once. Once Rol Anders slipped past her wall of reserve, her love had totally and forever been given to him. Supposedly, a wife should love her husband. She’d even vowed to love him in the vows she said before the preacher.
The trouble was she didn’t want to be the only one who loved in this marriage. And, she wouldn’t tell him until he told her of his love. Not that she thought he felt that way. No, he’d been maneuvered into the marriage. She filled a need he had