Too Long a Stranger (Women of the West) (32 page)

Rebecca dropped her head in her arms and wept into the darkness. After a time she slowly, haltingly began to pray, opening her heart and her most intimate feelings to the God she could not see but could sense was with her in the dark night.

At last a peace stole over Rebecca. She couldn't have explained it, but she knew that her prayer had been heard. She knew that she had been forgiven.

"If—if Mother—and the others—will just—just give me another chance. If only they can—can forgive me—for what I've done—and been," her heart cried.

***

With the first light of morning, Rebecca tried to stir. The night had been cold and she was lightly clad. Her dress with its many skirts really had not been of much warmth. She felt cold and stiff and miles from nowhere. She did not even know in which direction the town lay. She was not only far from home but she was lost as well.

Had Ebony been hurt in the fall? She hoped fervently that he had not. She peered into the morning light for the horse but saw no sign of him.

She managed to pull herself to her feet, though weight on one ankle sent pain shooting through her. With the help of a tree limb to steady herself, she looked around for some landmark. She saw nothing familiar. How would she ever get home again? Her mother would be worried. What would she say? Rebecca knew that she deserved a scathing reprimand. This time—this time she would accept what was justly hers. She had done wrong—again.

Had her mother summoned Boyd? Rebecca had done much thinking during the night about her Uncle Boyd. She had replayed his words over and over in her mind and gradually sorted them through and felt that she understood him. She was sure that he was one of the young men who had loved her mother. One that her mother could have chosen to marry and live in reasonable comfort instead of working so hard. Rebecca understood now that she couldn't cause her mother pain without also hurting Boyd. "Uncle Boyd will be so angry," she whispered to herself.

And Seth. What of Seth? He had—had almost told her that he—that he cared for her in a special way and then— Then she had become defiant and headstrong and had raced off into the night on one of the horses he tended carefully. She was selfish. Had been selfish. After her long prayer throughout the night, she hoped she would never be so selfish again. She felt—changed. She
was
changed. She hoped to have opportunity to prove it. But first. First she had to get back home. First she had to ask forgiveness from those she loved the most. Had to try to explain to them that she'd had a change of heart. No. No, that wasn't quite right. God had changed her heart. What was the Bible verse she had learned so long ago?

Create in me a clean heart, O God.
That was it. King David had prayed the prayer. He had been selfish, too. Rebecca remembered the story. And God had answered King David's prayer—just as He had answered hers.

***

It was Boyd who found her. Rebecca expected reprimand, but he was off his horse before the animal had even stopped. He gathered her into his arms.

"Rebecca. Are you hurt?" he asked, his face ashen. "We've been searching all night."

"I'm fine," managed Rebecca, clinging to him—and then her tears started again. She was so ashamed. So embarrassed. She clung to him and he held her close and let her weep, brushing back her tangled hair with a clumsy hand.

As soon as she was calmer he released her and eased her to a large rock, taking off his coat and wrapping it around her shaking shoulders.

"I must let your mother know," he said and crossed to his horse to withdraw a rifle from where it hung on the saddle. He fired his gun into the air, startling his horse even more than he startled Rebecca. The animal leaped forward and ran a short distance, tossing its head and snorting in fright, then stood trembling as the sound echoed and reechoed in the distance.

As soon as the sound of the shot had evaporated in the morning stillness, Boyd whistled for the horse who obediently retraced its steps, still looking skitterish and uneasy. The man put the gun back into its case and lifted down a small bag that Rebecca would discover contained first-aid supplies and a flask of water.

"Where are you hurt?" he asked with concern.

"I—I bumped my head—and—and hurt my ankle," she answered.

He was still kneeling before her, gently wrapping the injured ankle, when Sarah rode up.

"Oh, Rebecca. Thank God!" she cried before she even dismounted.

"She's fine," Boyd quickly assured her.

"Thank God!" Sarah cried again as she ran toward the girl and threw her arms around her. "Oh, thank God."

They cried together, clinging to each other. Sarah kept whispering little words of love and praying prayers of thanks all jumbled together.

Later, with the ankle protected as best he could, Boyd placed Rebecca in the saddle, mounted up behind her, and cradling her close against his chest, they rode toward home.

"We'll soak that ankle and get you to bed," said Sarah from her mount, her eyes still misty. "I'm so glad—you'll never know how frightened I was when Ebony came limping home."

"Is he—?"

"He'll be all right. It's not a break."

Rebecca felt so thankful.

***

She was fussed over and put to bed. The warmth and softness felt wonderful to her aching, chilled body.

"We need to try to find Seth. Let him know she's found," Rebecca heard Sarah say quietly to Boyd as the two left the room.

Seth? Seth was still searching. Seth was searching for her after she had made him so angry?

Rebecca wasn't sure that she wished to see Seth. What would he say? What could she say?

She had tried to apologize to her mother. She had shared with her the experience she'd had the night before in the darkness with only God to talk to—and her prayer of repentance and remorse. She had tearfully asked for her mother's forgiveness for her terrible attitude and the spiteful words she had said.

Sarah had wept and held her close against her breast. She had kissed her forehead and assured her that she was loved. That she was forgiven. That they'd make a new start. And Rebecca, through her own tears, had said that she would like that. Would try hard to be the daughter that Sarah had wished to welcome home.

Then Rebecca had reached for the man's hand. "Uncle Boyd," she had said sincerely, "I understand now. I'm—I'm sorry. I—I know I've been selfish and ungrateful. Please—forgive me."

It had been almost like having a father. He had held her close, unable to say much, but Rebecca knew that she was loved—and forgiven.

But Seth? Seth knew the wickedness of her heart. He understood just how selfish and proud she was. He knew. Could Seth ever, ever wish to even speak to her again after her childish behavior?

Rebecca closed her eyes and willed herself to go to sleep. Her mind was spinning. She just wanted to rest. To sink into blissful oblivion.

But at least, at last, she was at peace within her own heart. At peace, even though she still felt uneasy about facing Seth with her confession.

A light rap on the door caused her eyes to flutter open. Her mother peered in. "Are you still awake?' she whispered.

Rebecca managed a nod. The door opened wider and Seth moved his broad shoulders through the narrow crack. Rebecca caught her breath. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what he would say.

Silently he knelt by her bed and took one of her hands in his. Wordlessly he caressed the slender fingers with one thumb. When he raised his eyes they were filled with tears. "I hear you're home," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Rebecca nodded.

"To stay?"

"To stay," whispered Rebecca, her whole heart in the words.

He smiled softly and lifted her hand to press it to his lips.

Like the prodigal son, Rebecca knew the wonder of complete, though undeserved, forgiveness.