Even the dog was concerned for him.
‘‘Good girl.’’ He stroked her head and down her shoulders and chest, then clasped his hands across his chest.
‘‘So you had to knock me out to get my attention?’’ Inside he nodded, favoring the idea of not moving his head any more than necessary. Ghost whined at the edge of the bed. ‘‘That’s all right, girl. I’m not going crazy. You needn’t worry.’’
The silence within the room felt like a gauzy covering of peace, so transparent he could see through it but so pervasive he breathed it in, a rich scent that made him desire more.
Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give
you rest
.
‘‘Lord, I am coming. I am here, and I am resting. I know your Word says that you forgive, but how do I forgive myself? I’ve made such a mess of my life . . . my son . . . his mother. Lord God, the lies, the deceit . . . even here I have hidden away like a criminal.’’
He flinched when he gritted his teeth, clamping shut his eyes.
Do you understand that I love you? I have called you by name. You
are Jacob, and as I blessed the man you are named for, I will bless you,
and there will be no more deceit. Through you, I will bless others
.
‘‘I am not worthy.’’ Burning tears scalded Jacob’s skin.
I love you. You are my child. I love you
.
Jacob’s fingers itched to write. How long it had been since he’d written anything—letters, sermon notes, his journal—yet now he could hardly keep his eyes open to read.
He snorted, gently. Now that he wanted to, he couldn’t even read his Bible, that dear book he’d tucked away at the bottom of his bag and not opened once since he stepped on the train. He’d left the Reverend Jacob Chandler behind. He’d buried him, as it were.
Ah, but someone would read to him. He felt sure that all he had to do was ask. Ask for help.
The agony of it, the weight that sat on his chest. Surely if he opened his eyes he would see an ugly creature sitting on his chest, licking its chops and grinning through slitted eyes and sharp teeth.
‘‘Because of Jesus I am forgiven. God, my Father, said so. I am forgiven,’’ he declared firmly.
Forgive yourself, even as I have forgiven you
.
That word
forgive
. To give for. Forgive, to let it go.
As far as the
east is from the west, that’s how far God puts my sin from His mind
. Thinking made his head ache, but he struggled on, putting one thought after the other, feeling the urgent need to do this now.
He would not refuse the laudanum the next time it was offered. But had he taken it before the others left for church, he would have been asleep now . . . instead of being set free.
What if—how could he not think of what he’d done? Joel was a visible reminder. How could he make it up to him?
Just love him. Be his father, as I am your Father
.
‘‘But, Lord, that sounds so easy.’’
Too easy?
‘‘I already love him.’’
So do I
.
‘‘I know.’’ Jacob lay still and let his mind drift.
But he doesn’t
love me
.
Ah, the crux of the matter. Why should he?
Pictures floated through his mind, pictures of Joel ignoring him, going his own way, glaring, always walking a distance apart.
‘‘Ah, I have been just like that with you, Lord, haven’t I? Ignoring you . . . going my own way. . . . But you have forgiven me.’’Achuckle billowed the white curtains.
Jacob drifted off to sleep with that heavenly chuckle pouring comfort in his ears and heart.
He woke to the sound of horses and wagon wheels, of laughter and footsteps on the porch that ran the length of the house. Ghost yipped her delight at the family’s return.
‘‘Shh, he might be sleeping.’’ Ada Mae could be heard clear to the springhouse when she tried to be quiet.
Mrs. Robertson stuck her head in the door. ‘‘You’re awake?’’
‘‘I heard the horses come back.’’ Jacob turned his head slightly.
‘‘Can I get you anything?’’
‘‘Thank you, but no. Is Rand still here?’’
‘‘Out on the porch with the others.’’
‘‘I’d really like to talk with him.’’
‘‘I’ll get him.’’
What am I going to tell him?
The thought made him blink. Why had he said that? Not that he disliked visiting with Rand, but . . .
What do I tell him? Do I need to tell him everything?
Somewhere he’d read that confession was good for the soul. It most likely went along with ‘‘Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed.’’
‘‘Opal tells me you got caught on the wrong side of a branch.’’ Rand pulled the cushion-padded chair up to the bed after the greetings.
‘‘Makes me feel right stupid.’’
‘‘It has nothing to do with how good a rider you are or anything else. It happens often when the cattle are in the brush and trees. That’s why a good dog is so important. Did Ghost take good care of you?’’
‘‘She got a bit concerned when I was talking to myself.’’
Or
rather to God, but that is another story.
A silence fell while Jacob fought a need to pick at the sheet covering, to stare out the window, to do anything rather than face the man beside him.
Coward
. The name echoed in the hallways of his mind. He cleared his throat. ‘‘I have something I want to tell you, mainly because God has impressed upon me that I should, not because I have any great yearning to do so.’’ He glanced at Rand from the corner of his eye, half expecting a look of either disdain or confusion but met neither.
‘‘Do you believe God still talks to us today?’’ Jacob’s words burst forth in a rush.
‘‘Of course. He uses His Word too. I often wish He would speak more distinctly, but when I force myself to take time to listen and the need is great, I hear Him.’’
‘‘Ah, good.’’ Once he’d asked a professor that question and had been granted a long diatribe on his audacity to expect such a thing. If it wasn’t in the Bible, it came not from God.
He started to turn his head, but at the immediate return of the room to fuzziness, he lay still. ‘‘I’m not sure where to start.’’
‘‘I’ve always found that the beginning is a good place.’’
Again another stretch of silence.
Jacob heaved a sigh that caused a drum roll in his head, and cleared his throat. ‘‘This started the summer I was to graduate from secondary school. I thought I had met the woman of my dreams and truly loved her. One night our passions ran away with us, and we spent the night together.’’ He glanced out the side of his eye again to see Rand’s reaction.
A gentle nod and a look of understanding greeted him. Had there been condemnation, he wasn’t sure he could have continued. Without justifying himself in any way, he told the remainder of his story, bringing Rand up to date. ‘‘So here I am, still living a lie, and I think it must end now.’’
‘‘Do you believe that you are forgiven?’’
‘‘By God, yes. By Melody, yes. By myself, well, that’s why we are talking. I have sinned greatly.’’
‘‘And been forgiven greatly. I’m no pastor, but I can say to you, in the name of Jesus the Christ, your sins are forgiven. A helpful verse I’ve learned is ‘There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus.’ If Christ and God himself do not condemn you, then where is it coming from?’’ Rand leaned forward. ‘‘I believe Satan himself condemns us so that we cannot trust God to do what He said He would. If Satan can get us to hate ourselves, we can’t walk in the freedom that Jesus promises.’’
‘‘Like me.’’
‘‘Exactly. Surely God can use you here. He promised to turn evil into good.’’
‘‘What do you suggest I do?’’
‘‘Well, you might not make the best cowhand, but I got me a feeling you’ll make a mighty fine pastor. And our little flock is in mighty need of one. You’ll have to have some form of support, like working right where you are, but we need the Word of God preached, the sacraments administered, and someone to marry our young and bury our dead without calling a pastor clear from Dickinson. You already took care of burying one of us. That made me certain there was more to you than you were willing to let on.’’
‘‘You are very perceptive.’’
‘‘Just observant. I like to see what folks are good at. Like, Opal is a natural at training horses.’’
‘‘And people.’’
‘‘Yes. As long as it has something to do with horses or cattle. She does love the ranch and everything that goes along with it.’’
‘‘She was riding from the time she was little?’’ Jacob hid a yawn behind his hand.
‘‘Oh no. For just a couple of years. You haven’t heard her and Ruby’s story?’’
‘‘No.’’ He yawned again. ‘‘Sorry, I keep falling asleep.’’
‘‘I’ll go on now. We can talk again.’’ Rand placed both hands on his knees. ‘‘I expect you’re going to be laid up awhile yet. That will give you plenty of time to think. But not on the sins of your past any longer. They’re over and done with. The present—it’s a gift.’’
‘‘Wish I could read, but I tried and my eyes . . .’’
‘‘I’m sure there are enough young ladies in this family that one or more will find time to read to you.’’ Rand stood and extended his hand. When Jacob met it with his, Rand wrapped his other over the two. ‘‘Welcome to the family, son. You made it home.’’
Home. I made it home
. ‘‘Thank you, sir.’’
‘‘You are most welcome.’’
Jacob watched as Rand left the room, the silence falling again, the sounds of laughter and chattering voices diminishing as Jacob floated away on the cloud of peace that surrounded and upheld him.
The next days moved by most quickly when he slept a good part of them away. Since the younger girls were out working with Opal, Edith offered to read to him. There was no way he could turn her down without sounding churlish.
‘‘Please don’t be offended if I fall asleep while you are reading,’’ he said, trying to cover a yawn. ‘‘I can’t seem to stay awake for very long.’’
‘‘I don’t mind. When you sleep, I’ll go help Ma again.’’
‘‘I don’t want to take you away from your duties.’’
‘‘Reading to you is a privilege, not a duty.’’ The warmth radiating from her gaze and her smile reminded him of nothing but the amorous glances of Miss Witherspoon from his church in Pennsylvania. But here he was trapped in bed, captive to gentle caring and serving.
I must have a serious talk with Mrs. Robertson. No matter how lovely
her daughter, how good a cook, or skillful in wifely duties, I’m not interested.
Why?
The other side of his mind snickered.
Because you’ve got your eye
on Opal, that’s why
.
If he could have leaped off the bed without paying a heavy price, he would have.
‘‘Are you all right?’’ Edith stopped in the middle of the sentence. ‘‘Can I get you anything?’’
‘‘Ah no. I’m fine. But I think I . . . ah . . . I’m just too sleepy to listen anymore. Thank you so much.’’
‘‘But you look really wide awake. Like something just frightened you.’’
If you only knew. Frightening is right
.
She rose and gave him the smile he’d come to realize she saved just for him. ‘‘Can I get you something to drink before I leave?’’
‘‘No. No, thank you. I’m sure I’ll be lots better when I wake up again.’’
Jacob sighed a breath of relief when the sound of her footsteps receded down the hall. Taking himself in hand, he began to list the reasons why he should not be interested in Opal Torvald.
She’s too young. She wears britches. She would rather be with horses than
anyone else. She knows more about ranching than I do. She can outride,
outrope, out-anything me when it comes to ranching. She’d never make a
pastor’s wife. Who said she had to be a pastor’s wife? Are you going to
volunteer to pastor here? Besides all that, Joel is not ready for a new
mother. And Opal is too young.
Now his head ached as though a herd of steers had run through, a herd of stampeding steers at that.
‘‘How’s it working out with Pearl?’’ Rand took off his hat and wiped his forehead with a shirt sleeve.
‘‘All right. At least I don’t have to go for lessons every day.’’ Opal loosed the gelding she was training back into the pasture, then joined Rand leaning on the top rail of the gate.
‘‘He’s coming along well?’’
‘‘He’s willing, at least, not like that knothead.’’ She motioned to a Roman-nosed heavy-boned gelding the Triple Seven had sent over. ‘‘I’m going to tell them he’d do better trained to harness. At least that’s what I’d do if he were mine. He’s not quick on his feet.’’ She shook her head. ‘‘I don’t want to waste my time on him any longer.’’
‘‘So tell them.’’
‘‘I plan to take him back tomorrow. I hate to even charge them. They could probably sell him to one of the sodbusters.’’
‘‘Sure, as if they’d make it easier for one of them. They’re the worst of the free-range advocates.’’
‘‘I know.’’ She stared across the river to where the sun was setting Chimney Butte on fire. ‘‘You really think they’ve brought in too many head this summer?’’
He nodded. ‘‘If we’d had more rain, we might have been all right, but the land is grazed too close. Leaves nothing for winter feed. It used to be there was standing grass, all dried and waiting, under the snow for the stock to dig for. If we get a bad winter, there’s going to be a lot of dead cattle. Those pesky sheep graze the plains right down to the roots. You ridden down the river lately?’’
‘‘I’ve not had time.’’
‘‘The marquis brought in thousands of sheep. People think there’s plenty of range. I just wish we’d put up three times as much hay.’’
‘‘How come you didn’t buy any steers coming up from Texas like the others?’’
‘‘The cattle born and raised here do better, that’s why. These last winters have been real easy. But old Beans said his bones were telling him we are in for a bad one this year.’’
Opal glanced at him out the side of her eye and scrunched a face. ‘‘That’s pretty superstitious. You don’t really believe it. . . .’’ She paused and turned to face him. ‘‘Do you?’’