"Temporary Husband"
Chapter One Excerpt

Nebraska, July 1885

   Nettie Franklin paused to hear the lively laughter and shivered. She picked up her skirts, arched her back, and stepped through the creaking, swinging doors of Mesquite’s only saloon. She gasped at the show of decadence before her. In the dim lighting, men peered into cards as though they held the meaning of life. Base women with exposed bosoms and glaring face paint sat on their laps. She drew in a sharp breath and held it when the father of one of her students slapped his cards on the table and lifted a glass of something to his lips. She suspected he wasn’t drinking water. 
   Her gaze swept around the room and rested on a tall, narrow, table like structure adjacent to the swinging doors. A middle-aged man with dark, thinning hair stood behind it and laughed with the men on the opposite side. Liquor! She smelled it sharply along with a musty odor that attacked her sensitive stomach. Liquor gleamed wickedly from bottles and glasses. To Nettie, it was the root of one of the worst sins known to man. Did these poor people not know the depths to which they had fallen?
   Trembling, yet knowing she could not back down, Nettie craned her neck and cleared her throat, but no one noticed her at all. “Ah hem.” This time she managed to gain a bit of attention.
   “Yes, Ma’am,” the man behind the long table said. He plopped a bottle onto the top and poured some into a glass for another man. She heard the golden-colored liquid gurgle. “What can I do for you? Need a drink? Looking for your husband?” He turned to a man across from him. “Here’s your whiskey, Frank.”
   Appalled at the sight before her, Nettie rushed forward, nearly tripping, and grabbed the drink before the man could bring the glass to his lips.
   “Sir, your soul is at stake if you partake of this devil’s potion,” she said. Satisfied the Lord sat on His throne praising her good works, Nettie willed her heart to cease its thunderous pounding.
   “Frank, she has you there,” the man who served the liquor said.
   Frank said nothing, but the fellow standing beside him clapped a hand across his back. She felt a spark of hope. How she despised confrontation, but she must obey her God-given calling.
   “Ma’am,” Frank began and pushed his hat back from his forehead. “I’m gonna overlook what you just did given you’re a woman and this summer heat has about done me in. Now, I suggest you hand over my drink and go on back home to your family.”
   “She’s a spinster,” a woman said. Her raucous laugh infected the saloon.
   Frank chuckled. “Then I gather she don’t know no better, so I’ll go easy on her.”
   Nettie smoothed her dark skirt. “I’d like to talk to you about the wickedness of drinking.” 
   Frank, a thin fellow, lifted a brow. “I think you’d better loosen your fingers on my drink before I forget you’re a woman, although you’re a pretty one to be so ornery.” 
   Her heart roared in her ears. “What do you intend to—”
   He reached for the glass held tightly between her fingers, but she took a step back. “Sir, you don’t understand.”
   “Ma’am, if you want a drink, I’ll buy you one, but give me mine.”
   Nettie’s knees shook, and suddenly she noticed everyone stared at her. She felt their scrutiny piercing her bones. “S–s–sir,” she stuttered, “the Bible has much to say about the evils of drunkenness.” 
   “Ma’am, give the customer his whiskey,” said the man behind the tall table.
   Frank faced her squarely. His granite like features held fearful implications. “This is your last warning.”
   “Easy,” the man who supplied the drinks said. “The judge is in the back; I’ll fetch him to handle this.”
   Frank glared at Nettie. “For the last time, hand me my drink.”
   Her tongue thickened, and the words refused to come. Rather than admit defeat, she emptied the glass’s contents on the floor. The room resembled a tomb. 
   “Nettie Franklin! What do you think you’re doing?” The familiar voice of Albert Balsh, the saloon’s owner and judge for Mesquite and the surrounding county, echoed in her ears. “Give that man his drink.”
   She felt a bit more confident. The Bible said to love everyone, and she must show her love by protecting these sinful people from the indiscretion of their ways. Besides, the judge wouldn’t allow any of them to hurt her. She handed Frank the empty glass and offered a shaky smile. The irate man stood there, his eyebrows twitching.
   “Judge, she poured my drink on the floor.”
   Nettie whirled around to face Judge Balsh. She met his towering frame and stiffened, believing in her heart he too must be convicted of his ways. “I surely did. The evils of drunkenness—”
   “The last thing I want to hear is you spouting off Scripture to customers.” The judge clenched his fists. His face reddened like midsummer tomatoes.
   “But you will hear me.” She glanced about. “All of you are bound to everlasting condemnation—”
   The judge waved his hand in front of her face. “That’s enough, Nettie. Pay for the man’s drink and get out of here. My customers don’t need you harassing them.” 
   Nettie stamped her foot on the wooden floor. “I will not. It’s my responsibility to inform these people of the evils of this place. Look around you, Judge. How can God bless them when they are. . .are. . .involved with drinking and ungodly behavior?”
   The judge pointed his finger at her. “I’m no saint, Miss Franklin, but it seems to me this isn’t the way to persuade people to your way of thinking.” He looked out at the small crowd. “Somebody go get the sheriff.”
   “The sheriff.” Nettie’s voice cracked. Is this what the Bible meant by facing persecution?
   “Yes, Ma’am. I’m having you arrested for disturbing my peaceful business.”