Redeeming Love (50 page)

“Does that set your mind at ease?”

She laughed and embraced him, relief and joy obliterating all the anxiety 349

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of the long day without him. How the mind could torment.

She went into the cabin to see to dinner while he saw to his horse. When he came in, she smiled. “Is everything all right with Paul?”

“No,” he said grimly, hands shoved into his pockets as he leaned against the mantel and watched her. “Something’s eating at him, and he won’t talk about it.

We’re going to drive into town tomorrow and sell some of our produce.”

Her heart sank at the thought of his being away another day, but she said nothing.

“I’ll see to the stock in the morning, and you can spend the day with the Altmans,” he said. “Elizabeth’s putting up applesauce.”

Angel turned to look at him. “Did you see Miriam?”

“Yes.” His expression was inscrutable. “What a mess,” he said almost to himself.

She didn’t ask him anything more.

Paul came early. Michael was just finishing his coffee. When he stood, he put a firm hand on Paul’s shoulder, pushing him down into the seat again.

“Stay put. Have some coffee while I see to the stock. The wagon’s already loaded. I’ll give a holler when I’m ready to hitch up. We’ll swing by your place to pick up your crates and then be on our way.”

Paul’s face was stiff, and his gaze flickered coldly to Angel when Michael went out the door. “Was it your idea we have this time alone together?”

“No. I suppose Michael hopes we’ll work out our differences.”

Paul drank his coffee in silence, his shoulders rigid.

She looked at him. “Have you eaten this morning? There’s some mush—”

“No, thanks,” he said curtly. He looked up at her sardonically. “I thought you’d be long gone by now.”

It was clear he wished it so. “Would you like some more coffee?”

“So polite. So proper. Anyone would think you were raised to be a farmer’s wife.”

“I am a farmer’s wife, Paul,” she said quietly.

“No, you’re a good actress. You’re going through all the motions. But inside you’re nowhere near what a farmer’s wife should be.” His hand whitened on the mug. “Don’t you think Michael knows the difference every time he talks to Miriam Altman?”

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She showed no sign that his words had cut deeply. “He loves me.”

“He
loves
you all right,” he said, and his eyes swept her body up and down in a telling way. “You know how
that
is.”

How could Michael love this man like a brother? She tried to see something in him, some trace of kindness and humanity, but all she could see was his cold hatred. “Are you always going to hate me for what you did, Paul? Are you never going to forget?”

Paul shoved the mug away and scraped the chair back. His face was red, his eyes blazing. “You’re blaming
me
for what happened? Did I drag you off that wagon? Did I rape you? You’d
like
to think it was my fault, wouldn’t you?” He went out the door.

Angel didn’t move from where she stood. She should have kept silent.

She knew she had no defense.

Michael stepped in briefly to kiss her good-bye. “I’ll come by Altmans’ on my way home. Stay there, and we can ride home together.”

Ruthie ran to meet Angel as she came across the meadow. “Paul said we could pick all his apples!” she said as she was scooped up and perched on Angel’s hip. “Mama’s going to make applesauce. I love applesauce. Don’t you?”

Miriam was in the doorway, looking pretty in a blue gingham dress and white apron. She was smiling. “We’re being put to work,” she said and hugged Angel.

They took a handcart and walked the mile to the apple tree. While they picked the fruit, Miriam pointed out all the work Paul had done on his place. “He has a good crop of pumpkins coming, and he had a good crop of corn. We helped him shuck it a few days ago.”

When they returned to the Altmans’ cabin, they spent the rest of the morning peeling and coring apples and cutting them in pieces to cook.

Elizabeth added spices as she stirred, and the sweet smell filled the cabin.

While the pot simmered, she made up a picnic basket and sent them off.

“The boys are already with your father, and I’ll have the cabin to myself for a nap,” she said when Miriam asked if she would be all right.

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Ruth and Leah went with Miriam and Angel. The two younger girls waded in the cool water of the stream while Angel sat on the bank and sifted her toes through the sand. Miriam lay back, arms spread, and drank in the sun’s warmth. “Sometimes I miss home,” she said. She talked about the farm and the neighbors they’d had and the gatherings. She talked about the long journey west. She remembered one funny incident after another, and Angel laughed with her. Miriam made a grueling, two-thousand-mile trek sound like a pleasure trip.

“Tell me about the ship,” Miriam said, rolling onto her stomach and propping her head up. “Were there many women aboard?”

“Two others besides myself. My quarters weren’t much bigger than a backhouse, and it was so cold. I wore as much clothing as I could, and it still didn’t help. Going around the Horn was the nearest you can get to hell.

I thought I’d die of seasickness.”

“What did you do when you got to San Francisco?”

“Froze and nearly starved.” She clasped her knees and looked at the two little girls in the stream. “Then I started working again.” She sighed.

“Miriam, I don’t have many funny stories to tell, and the ones I do have aren’t fit for you to hear.”

Miriam sat up Indian fashion. “I’m not a child, you know. You could tell me something of what it was like.”

“Obscene.”

“Then why didn’t you run away?”

Was there faint accusation in that question? Should she tell Miriam what it was like to be eight years old and locked in a room and know that only two people had a key, a madam who brought food and replaced the chamber pot, and Duke? Should she tell her the disastrous outcome when she ran away with Johnny? “I tried, Miriam,” she said simply and left it at that.

“But men wanted you. Men fell in love with you. Just once, I’d like to walk down a street and have heads turn as I went by.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

Miriam’s eyes teared. “Just once, I’d like to be wanted by a man.”

“Do you really think so? What if it was a stranger and he’d just paid someone for you and you had to do whatever he wanted, no matter how 352

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degrading? What if he was ugly? What if he hadn’t bathed in a month? What if he liked to play rough? Would you think that was romantic?” She hadn’t meant to speak so harshly. She was shaking.

Miriam’s face was ashen. “Is that what it was like?”

“Worse,” Angel said. “I wish I’d never known another man before Michael.”

Miriam took her hand and didn’t ask any more questions.

Michael arrived at dusk. Miriam was the first one out the door to greet him. “I thought Paul was coming back with you.”

Michael jumped down. “He decided to stay in town for a day or two.”

“Just like a man,” Miriam said, but her gaiety was gone.

Elizabeth insisted he and Angel stay for dinner. Miriam sat on the other side of Michael and scarcely said a word through the meal. Her food was hardly touched. Angel saw Michael put his hand over hers briefly and whisper something to her. Miriam’s eyes filled with tears, and she excused herself quickly and left the table.

“What’s gotten into her lately?” John said, perplexed.

“Just leave it be, John.” Elizabeth glanced between Angel and Michael and then passed a bowl of squash.

Michael was pensive on the wagon ride home. He took Angel’s hand and held it tightly. “What I wouldn’t do for a little wisdom right now,” he said.

“What’d Paul say to you this morning?”

“He was surprised I was still around,” she said, smiling to make him think it hadn’t hurt.

Michael wasn’t fooled. “I brought you something from town.” When they reached home, he took the items out of the back and handed them to her.

She didn’t know what they were at first, just thorned sticks partially bound in burlap. “Rosebushes. The man swore they’re red, but we’ll find out for ourselves come spring. I’ll plant them first thing in the morning. Just tell me where you want them.”

Angel remembered the scent of roses drifting in a sunny parlor. “One right under the window,” she said, “and the other by the front door.”

When an image of her mother in a nightgown, kneeling in the moonlit garden, flashed in her mind, she quickly pushed it away.

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4

Thanksgiving approached quickly, and Elizabeth grew so large, Angel thought she looked ready to burst. She and Miriam took over the preparations for the holiday celebration while Elizabeth watched and advised.

When the day came, the table was laden with stuffed and roasted pheasant, creamed carrots and peas, potatoes and candied nuts. John had purchased a cow, and pitchers of milk sat on both ends of the table. Angel hadn’t had a glass of milk in months, and this delicacy drew her more readily than all the others she had helped to cook.

“Paul went to town to celebrate,” Miriam said, little inflection in her tone.

“He said the other day he’s thinking of going back to the streams come spring.”

“There’s a stream right near his house,” Leah said.

Jacob gave his sister a contemptuous look. “Not with gold in it, dummy.”

“That will do, Jacob,” Elizabeth chided him as she set a rhubarb pie on the table. Miriam put pumpkin at the other end. When everyone was finished, the children quickly scattered before they could be drafted into kitchen duty. John and Michael went outside so John could smoke his pipe.

The aroma made Elizabeth sick in her condition. Miriam went to the well for water.

Elizabeth sank wearily into a chair and rested her hand on her protrud-ing belly. “I swear this child is carving his initials on the walls already.”

“How long to go?” Angel asked, scraping leftovers from plates and putting them into the wash pan on the table.

“Too long.” Elizabeth smiled. “It takes John and Miriam to get me out of bed in the morning.”

Angel poured a kettle of hot water over the dirty dishes. Glancing at Elizabeth, she saw the poor woman was exhausted and half asleep. Drying her hands, she went to her and took her hand. “Elizabeth, you should lie down and rest.” She helped her up and covered her with a quilt when she lay down on the bed in the second room. She was asleep almost immediately.

Angel stood by the bed for a long moment. Elizabeth was curled on her side, her knees drawn up and her hand resting protectively on her unborn 354

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child. An embrace. Angel looked down at her own flat stomach and spread her hands there. Her eyes burned, and she bit her lip. Dropping her hands to her sides, she turned away and saw Miriam standing in the doorway.

Miriam smiled wistfully. “I’ve wondered myself what it would be like. It’s a woman’s reason for being, isn’t it? Our divine privilege: to bring new life into the world and nurture it.” She smiled at Angel. “Sometimes I can hardly wait.”

Angel saw the tears Miriam tried to hide. After all, what good was divine privilege to a virgin girl?

Or a barren woman.

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Twenty-seven

Many are the plans in a man’s heart,

but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.

P R O V E R B S

1 9 : 2 1

Before Michael went hunting, he brought several heavy sacks of dried corn into the cabin so Angel could shell it. She sat before the crackling fire and rubbed the cobs together until a few rows gave way and the rest of the kernels could be easily separated. Some fell onto her lap. Setting the bare cob aside, she picked up a kernel. Smiling, she rolled its hard shape between her fingers.

You have to die to be reborn.

She raised her head, listening intently. Her heart beat wildly, but the only sounds around her were the chimes stirring in the wind. She looked down at the dry, partially shriveled kernel in her palm. It was like the many she had planted last spring and out of which the forest of green had sprung. She tossed the kernel into the basket with the others and brushed the rest from her skirt.

Perhaps she was a little mad after all. The old voices seldom came anymore, but now there was this new one, quiet and still, making no sense at all. From death comes life? Impossible. But there at her feet was the basket of seed corn. She frowned slightly. Bending, she sifted her hands through it.

She clenched two handfuls. So what did it mean?

“Amanda!” Miriam gasped, bursting into the cabin. “It’s Mama’s time.”

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