Redeeming Love (52 page)

John handed Michael the Bible without saying what he wanted read.

Michael went straight to the Christmas story. Angel listened, her arms clasped around her raised knees. Ruth sleepily nudged her. Smiling, Angel welcomed her to her lap. Ruth wiggled until she was comfortable, her head resting against Angel’s breast. Angel stroked her hair.
If I love a child not my
own this much, how much more would I have loved my own?

Michael’s voice was rich and deep. Everyone was silent watching him.

Angel remembered her mother telling her the story of the baby Jesus being born in a manger and the shepherds and three kings coming to worship him, but from Michael’s lips it was full of beauty and mystery. For all that, she couldn’t find joy in it. Not as these others did. What kind of father would let his own son be born for the single purpose of being nailed to a cross?

The dark voice came unexpectedly:
You know what kind of father,
Angel. You had one just like him.

She shivered. Looking away from Michael, she saw John standing in the shadows beside Elizabeth. His hand was on her shoulder. All fathers weren’t like Alex Stafford. Some were like John Altman. She looked at Michael again. He would be a wonderful father, too. Strong, loving, forgiving if it came to that. He had read her the story of the prodigal son once not long 364

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after bringing her back from Pair-a-Dice. Should his child stray, he would be a father to welcome him home again. He wouldn’t be like the one who had turned her mother away.

Michael finished reading and closed the Bible. When he raised his head, he looked straight into her eyes. She smiled. He smiled back, but there was a question in his eyes.

“Miriam,” John said softly. She went to her father, and he said something to her. Elizabeth handed her the baby. Miriam carried him back and placed him in Michael’s arms. The baby raised its hand, and Michael brushed his finger lightly against the tiny palm, smiling as the child clasped it tightly.

“So, John,” he said, “have you and Elizabeth come up with a name yet?”

“We have. Benjamin Michael. After you.”

Michael looked stunned and then deeply moved. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. Miriam put her hands on his shoulders and leaned down to kiss his cheek. “We hope he’ll grow into the name.”

Angel’s heart twisted as she looked at Michael holding the baby, and Miriam with her hand still resting on his shoulder. They looked like they belonged together.

From the darkness outside, Paul was thinking the same thing.

The rose bushes Michael had brought home to Angel bloomed early. She touched the scarlet buds and thought of her mother. She was so much like Mae. She was good for growing flowers, looking pretty, and giving a man pleasure. Beyond that, what good was she?

Michael should have children. He
wants
children.

She knew on Christmas night what she should do, but it was unbearable to even think of leaving him, of living without him. She wanted to stay here and forget the look in his eyes when he held Benjamin. She wanted to cling to him and bask in the happiness he gave her.

It was that very selfishness that made her realize she didn’t deserve him.

Michael had given her everything. She had been empty, and he had filled her to overflowing with his love. She had betrayed him, and he had taken her back and forgiven her. He had sacrificed pride to love her. How could she discard his 365

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needs after that? How could she live with herself knowing that she had ignored the desires of his heart? What of Michael? What was best for him?

The dark voice spoke often:
Stay! Don’t you deserve some happiness
after all the years of living in misery? He says he loves you, doesn’t he?

So let him prove it!

She couldn’t listen anymore. She closed her mind to it and thought of Michael instead, and she thought of Miriam, sister of her heart. She thought of the children Miriam and Michael could have, dark and beautiful, strong and loving. Down through generations to come. She reminded herself that nothing could come from her. If she stayed, Michael would remain faithful until he died, and that would be the end to him.

She couldn’t let that be.

When Michael told her he was going into town with Paul, she made her decision. John had remarked only yesterday that the town had grown so big a stage came twice a day. It traveled on the high road not two miles from the cabin, just beyond the line of hills. She still had the gold she had earned from Sam Teal and Joseph Hochschild. Michael had insisted she keep it for herself. It was enough to get her to San Francisco and keep her for a time.

She would not think beyond that.

I have to think of what’s best for Michael.

When Michael came in from the fields, she had a sumptuous venison dinner ready for him. The cabin was bedecked with flowers, the mantel, the table, the bed. Michael looked around bemused. “What are we celebrating?”

“Life,” she said and kissed him. She drank in the sight of him, setting every angle of his face and body to memory. She wanted him desperately, loved him so much. Would he ever know how much? She couldn’t tell him.

If she did, he would come looking for her. He would bring her back. Better that he think her carnal and base. But she would have this last night to remember. He would be part of her no matter where she was and even if he never knew it. She would carry the sweet memories to her grave.

“Take me up to the hill again, Michael. Take me to the place where you showed me the sunrise.”

He saw the hunger in her eyes. “It’s cool tonight.”

“Not too cold.”

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He could deny her nothing, but there was a strange uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. Something was wrong. He took the quilts from the bed and led the way. Perhaps she would talk to him and tell him what preyed on her mind. Maybe she would open up to him finally.

But her mood changed, swinging from pensive to abandoned. She ran to the top of the hill ahead of him and spun around, her arms spread wide. All around her, crickets sang, and the soft breeze stirred the grasses. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The vastness of it all. I’m utterly insignificant.”

“Not to me.”

“Yes,” she said, turning to him. “Even to you.” He frowned, and she turned again. “There shall be no other gods before me,” she cried out to the heavens. “None but you, my lord.” She turned and looked at him.
None but
you, Michael Hosea.

He frowned. “Are you mocking me, beloved?”

“Never,” she said and meant it.

She took her hair down. It spilled over her shoulders and back, white in the moonlight. “Do you remember reading to me of the Shulammite bride dancing for her husband?”

He couldn’t breathe as he watched her in the moonlight. Every movement drew his gaze to her and made him aware. When he tried to take hold of her, she moved away again, her arms outstretched in invitation. Her hair floated about her, and her voice came husky and enticing in the wind.

“I’ll do anything for you, Michael. Anything.”

And suddenly he knew what she was doing. She was saying good-bye, just as she had the last time. She was deadening his mind with physical pleasure.

When she came close again, Michael caught hold of her. “Why are you doing this?”

“For you,” she said, pulling his head down and kissing him.

Digging his fingers into her hair, he slanted his mouth across hers. He wanted to consume her. Her hands were like flame on his body.

God, I won’t let her go again. I can’t!

She moved against him, and he had no thought except for her, and it was not enough.

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God, why are you doing this to me again? Do you give only to take away?

“Michael, Michael,” she breathed, and he tasted the saltiness of his own tears on her cheeks.

“You need me.” He could see her moonlit face. “You need
me.
Say it, Tirzah. Say it.”

Let her go, beloved.

God, no! Don’t ask it of me!

Give her to me.

No!

They clung to one another, seeking solace in sweet oblivion. But sweet oblivion doesn’t last.

Michael held her tightly when it passed away. He tried to hold onto all of it, but they were two separate beings again. He had not the strength to hold them together forever.

She was trembling violently, whether from cold or spent passion he didn’t know. He didn’t ask. He drew the quilt around them both and still felt her resolve like a raw wound.

It was growing colder, and they needed to return. They dressed in silence, both tormented, both pretending not to be. She came to him again and put her arms around his waist, pressing herself against him as a child would, looking for comfort.

He closed his eyes against the fear uncurling in the pit of his stomach. I
love her, Lord. I can’t give her up.

Michael, beloved. Would you have her hang on her cross forever?

Michael let out a shuddering sigh. When she lifted her face, he saw something in it that made him want to weep. She loved him. She really loved him. And yet, there was something else in her moonlit face. A haunting sadness he couldn’t take away, an emptiness he could never fill. He remembered her anguished words on the night Benjamin was born.
“I wish I
was whole!”
He couldn’t make her so.

Lifting her, he held her cradled in his arms. She put her arm around his neck and kissed him. He closed his eyes.
Lord, if I give her up to you now, will
you ever give her back to me?

No answer came.

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Lord, please!

The wind stirred softly, but there was only silence.

Angel walked out to the barn with Michael the next morning and watched him saddle his horse. “When do you expect to be back?”

He glanced back at her enigmatically. “As soon as I can.” Leading the horse out of the stall, he put his arm around her shoulders. She smiled up at him. Stopping, he drew her into his arms and kissed her. She kissed him back, making the most of the last opportunity she would ever have. When Michael’s fingers dug into her shoulders painfully, she was surprised. “I love you,” he said roughly. “I will
always
love you.”

She wondered at his vehemence and touched his face tenderly. “Take care of yourself.”

He didn’t smile. “You do likewise.” He mounted and rode away. She didn’t go back into the house until he disappeared over the hill.

She wasn’t going to leave until everything was properly in order. She made the bed, washed the dishes and put them away, and shook out the hearth rug. The flowers were still fresh. She banked the fire so that it would still be going when Michael returned home.

She jumped when someone tapped at the door. It was Miriam. “What are you doing here?” Angel asked in dismay.

Miriam was taken aback. “Weren’t you expecting me?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s odd. Michael came by the house on his way to Paul’s and said this was a good day for a visit.”

Angel turned away and went back to her carpetbag lying open on the bed. She quickly stuffed in one of Michael’s shirts and then folded a dress on top of it. Miriam watched her. “Michael didn’t tell me you were going anywhere.”

“He doesn’t know.” She snapped the bag shut and lifted it. “I’m leaving him, Miriam.”

“What?”
Miriam said, looking at her as though she had sprouted horns.

“Again?”

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“I’m leaving him for good this time.”

“But
why?”

“Because I have to.” Angel looked around the cabin one last time. She had been happy here, but that didn’t mean she should stay. She went quietly out the door.

Miriam came after her.
“Wait!”
She kept pace as Angel headed for the hills. “Amanda, I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to. Just go home, Miriam. Say good-bye to everyone for me.”

“But where will you go?”

“West, east, it doesn’t matter. I haven’t decided.”

“Then why are you in such a hurry? Stay here and talk things over with Michael. Whatever he’s done to make you want to leave—”

Angel couldn’t have her friend believing Michael was in the wrong.

“Miriam, Michael has never done a thing wrong in his life.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Angel kept walking, wishing Miriam would give up and leave her alone.

“You love him. I
know
you do. If you leave without any reason, what’s he going to think?”

Angel knew what he would think. He would believe she had gone back to her old life. Maybe it would be better if he did believe that. It would keep him from looking for her. Only she need know that she would never go back to prostitution. Even if it meant starving to death.