After long, uneventful days of riding, he’d completed his circuit of the herd and fences and settled Dusty into the barn with an extra ration of oats. He stroked the horse’s mane. “You’ve earned a good rest.” Dusty nickered in response, bringing a smile to Aaron.
In the cabin, he built up the fire, eased off his boots, and installed himself on a cushioned chair, leaning his head back. The luxurious sensation of complete relaxation soon put him into a half-sleep. Scattered images floated through his mind, random and with no logic or reason to connect them.
When he slipped into a dream state, recurring themes he’d had since childhood repeated themselves. He was running and hiding, burrowing behind or underneath various objects or structures. This time, crawling into a mass of musty smelling hay in the corner of a barn, he contorted his skinny, twelve-year-old body, tunneling in abject terror, his breaths coming in gasps, hindered by the stems that stuck to his face and threatened to make him sneeze.
In the dream, he pinched his nose to stop the sneezes that would help the pursuer find him. His heart pounding, he forced himself into total stillness, the scratchy hay plastered over his sweating face while the panic built to a towering height inside him. He heard slow footsteps growing near. The skin of his scalp prickled and the sweat chilled on his forehead.
Aaron roared awake, bolting upright and gasping for air. He blinked and took deep breaths, recovering from the effects of the dream. A vivid, buried memory played itself out in his mind while tremors rippled in his limbs.
His father’s low, menacing voice echoed inside. “Maybe I’ll use this pitchfork to find you, boy.”
Near his feet, one of the tines came close to shearing his shoe and he shrieked. If he could tunnel out the side fast enough, he might escape to the outdoors. As he thrashed through the weight of hay, his father’s laugh sounded.
“Think you’ll get away with what you done? Don’t nobody steal my rations without payin’ for it.”
As soon as Aaron cleared the hay and sprinted toward the open barn door, the handle of the pitchfork slammed across his back, and he crumpled onto the dirt floor, sobbing in pain.
The cruel voice mocked him. “You sound like a stuck pig. Too bad you ain’t. Then I could fix you for my dinner.”
More furious blows followed while Aaron covered his head and curled in on himself. Pain sliced through his body, and the last blow he remembered crashed onto his skull, and he passed out.
The memory faded into mist, and he sagged back in the chair, his hands shaking as though it had just happened to him again. The fingers of his right hand traced the old scar on the side of his head, and a wave of queasiness hit him.
“Oh, God. Oh, God,” he gasped. He remembered waking up on the barn floor, surprised he was alive, the spring night chilly and dark. Moving was agony, but the fear that his father might return and beat him to death drove him upright while silent tears fell from the torture of motion. He had to get away. Never come back.
He hobbled to the pegs near the door, pulled down his father’s old coat, and slipped out into the night. Though he hated the grimy coat that smelled of his father, he wore it for days while he traveled through the woods, avoiding roads and hunting trails. Two nights out, he heard the unmistakable sound of his father bellowing his name from somewhere down the road.
Terror paralyzed him and he cowered under the bushes he’d sheltered in. As soon as his father’s voice faded, swallowed by distance, he bolted up and ran in the opposite direction. He staggered, fell, and continued to run throughout the night and the following days. Once he’d made it a full state away and arrived in Oregon, he stayed there and found work on a farm. The night of his first pay, he went off in an empty field, built a fire, and burned his father’s coat.
“Good riddance,” he’d shouted, and threw sticks on the blazing fabric. A sense of ease and freedom filled his chest and he breathed in a deep breath. Silence stole through him, replacing the constant undercurrent of dread he’d suffered from as far back as his memory reached. Sparks danced up, as though rejoicing with him in the destruction of his old life.
Yet he knew now that traces of it still clung to him, holding him back from the true freedom he wanted. Perhaps it was time to find it. But how?
Fergus told him to bring his cares to God, to ask Him to change his heart. Part of him didn’t want to let go of the hate he still held for his father, but it stood in front of him now, obvious as the obstacle it was. One of the scriptures he’d read with Fergus haunted him as soon as he heard it. “But if you forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.”
Aaron stood and walked to the window, staring out at the limitless sky. His father didn’t deserve forgiveness. The man not only acted with cruelty, he took delight in it. He belittled, mocked, and hurt every chance he got. Aaron was his sole companion. All others left him, yet Aaron remained, inhabiting his father’s angry world, holding on to the foolish thought that the few times of decency his father had shown to him would somehow increase someday.
But they grew less over time, and the pity that Aaron had for him died the day his father nearly killed him. That horrible, ruthless beating, simply because Aaron was so hungry, he ate all the corn mush and left none for his father to eat once he woke from his latest binge.
No, he didn’t want to forgive him. But if he refused to, the things he’d done himself wouldn’t be forgiven. He shook his head. “God, Fergus says You’re fair. But I never treated people like my father did, so why do I have to forgive him just so I can be forgiven? It doesn’t seem right.”
A sudden vision of the dying German made him squeeze his eyes shut. His father ended up hung for killing a man. And Aaron had done the same thing. Killed another man out of fury, because he wanted to. But Aaron was still alive.
A blanket of shame dropped over him, weighty as stones tied to his limbs, dragging him down. He made his way to the chair and knelt, resting his elbows on it, and bowing his head. “There’s no path out of this for me. I did what my father did. I’m guilty. I admit it to You. And I want to be forgiven. I just don’t know how to forgive my father.”
He clenched his fists against the chair cushion, causing dim pain from his healed wounds. “He liked hurting me, laughing at me whenever I cried. Mocking me if I begged him not to hit me.”
His voice cracked. “He said I’d never be a real man. And I never thought I was. Until I shot the German. I almost felt like I was shooting my father. Finally giving him what he deserved, and finally being a man.”
He swallowed and continued, pulling up the thought he’d buried years ago as soon as it surfaced. “And when the German died, I imagined my father would’ve been proud of me. And part of me was glad for that.”
Tears of relief came with the shameful admission. It hurt to look at the ugliness in his own heart, but Fergus told him he had to be honest with God if he ever hoped to really know Him.
“So I’m asking You to forgive me. I want Your Son’s words to live in me and teach me. I want to be the kind of man He was. And I need Your help to forgive my father.”
He wiped his eyes and stayed quiet, his breaths becoming regular and slow. He rose and sat in the chair, leaning forward, bowing his head and holding his clasped hands together. The room held a heavy stillness, as though it waited along with him. The only sounds were the rhythmic ones of his breathing and the gentle hiss of the fire. Time passed in a fluid stream that flowed over him.
A different kind of silence descended upon Aaron. A healing calm grew into a sensation of wholeness that relaxed all the tense muscles of his neck and shoulders. He felt emptied and full at the same time. The experience awed him and made him smile in delight.
He opened his eyes, half expecting the room to appear different. But the difference was inside him. Giving himself to the sensation of newness, he pulled on his coat and stepped outside.
He scanned the open, clear landscape. The hatred and bitterness for his father was gone
. He searched himself. None of it remained.
“So this is what it feels like to be free.” He closed his eyes. “Now we can begin, me and You. And I really can become a Christian… Thank You.”
Chapter Fifteen
Kay rested her chin in one of her palms and studied the small bonnet-style hat she’d made. How cute it was. She’d give it to Phil and Maddie as their baby’s first Christmas present from Aunt Kay. A smile crossed her lips. She picked up the cunning little hat. The cream color assured that it might do for a baby boy or a girl. She’d seen both boy and girl infants wearing bonnets, after all. But she wanted to make something different. New. Surprising.
Restlessness lay below the surface of everything she did lately. This problem with Aaron lay at the heart of it. She needed to write to him, find some sort of resolution, but doing that might result in closing the door to him. The one that she’d forced open and didn’t want to close.
She tried to focus on studying the sketches she’d made for various baby hats, but her mind soon circled back to the issue that dogged her waking hours since his last letter. Maybe there was a way to accept his apology while still letting him know he hadn’t frightened or upset her, and that she liked him.
She ran through a variety of possible approaches. Dear Aaron, You did not frighten or upset me, and perhaps it is I who should apologize.
That one started out well, but she couldn’t get past the first sentence. What about a more formal one? Mr. Shaw, The occurrence between us has left you with a misconception concerning me. I…
Finishing that one stumped her, too. Why not be blunt? Come right out and say what she truly thought? Didn’t the Bible teach that people should speak truth to one another? Aaron, I asked you to kiss me because I wanted you to. You didn’t frighten or upset me, and I would like to talk with you in person about it.
That approach was so brazen, it made her giggle. Of course, she couldn’t write that. Could she? Her eyes closed while she imagined herself approaching him in such a bold fashion. What would his reaction be, and how—
“Kay?” Phil’s voice disrupted her thoughts. “Have you noticed if Fergus has driven into town today?”
“I haven’t seen him pass by. Why?”
Phil sighed, brows furrowed. “Maddie’s having a great deal of trouble with nausea. The doctor says its normal, but it’s really bothering her. She has to lie down so much. And Megan mentioned once that she had a tea mixture that helped her a lot, and she told Romayne she’d fix some up for Maddie if she ever needed it.”
He stared out the window, as if Fergus might suddenly appear. “I was hoping he or Patrick might come to town, and I’d ask if Megan would send some in with him when he comes next.”
“What if he doesn’t come to town for a while? Even then, you’d have to wait until his next trip in before he’d bring it.”
Phil crossed his arms. “I know. But there’s no help for it. There’s too much snow to make it out there in the Ford.”
An idea sparked in her mind. “I could ride out and get some for her.”
“How?”
“Jerry Webster has a good horse he rents out for riding. Bessie and I used it once when she couldn’t bring Dandelion.”
Phil rubbed his chin and studied her. “I don’t know. Maybe I should go instead. Do you ride well enough to go out on your own?”
She beamed at him. “Of course I do. And I’ve been wanting to ride in the snow. By myself, too.”
She waited while Phil stood silent for long moments. “Well, all right. If you’re sure. I’ll pay for the horse.”
She hopped up to grab her coat. Maybe she’d be able to see Aaron when she was out at the ranch. Just a glimpse would be nice. Or difficult.
Or both.
* * *
Jerry’s horse was well named. She patted his neck while they rode along. “You’re a good fellow, Steady.”
The large bay horse gave her a nicker and tossed his head, continuing his sure-footed trek to the ranch. The strong desire to spur him into a gallop was quenched by the memory of her promise to Bessie not to gallop on a horse that didn’t know her well. So she made herself settle for a fast trot instead.
She tilted her head up to the sky, gratified at the clear vista. No snow clouds were visible anywhere, and the wind was mild for December. As they neared the ranch, her nerves spiked. She wanted to see Aaron, but couldn’t figure out the best way to try and speak with him.
Maybe she should take her cue from him. After all, it would be so embarrassing if she started the conversation only to find that he’d rather forget what happened between them. The possibility made her squirm in discomfort. On the other hand, maybe he was interested, even a little, but he was so quiet, he’d never approach her. And she’d never know.
Did she want to live the rest of her life wondering if they might have a chance at a future? The desire for safety and keeping her self-respect warred with the longing to find out what was behind that explosive response of his. The memory obsessed her. The internal struggle waged and when the ranch came into view, her heartbeat accelerated and her stomach tightened as though she were going into battle.
This is silly. I’m a grown woman.
So why didn’t she feel like one?
Oh, dear. Aaron issued from the bunkhouse, striding toward her as she rode up. His hat obscured his brow, but she could see enough of his handsome face to cause turmoil in her nerves.
“Hello, Aaron. I’ve come to visit Megan.”
“She’s home.” He tipped his hat and nodded. “I’ll take your horse to the barn for you if you like.”
She dismounted, careful to be as graceful as possible while navigating her increasing tension, and handed him the reins. “Why, thank you.”
They stood for a silent, awkward moment, Aaron’s eyes on the horse. A sense of disappointment flooded her and she turned and swept to the front door. He wouldn’t even do her the courtesy of meeting her eyes. His feelings were obvious. Any optimism she’d entertained died there on the doorstep.
Megan answered her knock. “Well, hello, Kay. Step on in.”
The friendly greeting eased the coldness of Aaron’s response to her. Darn him anyway.
Kay handed Megan her coat. “I can’t stay too long. It’s a rented horse, and I promised Phil I’d hurry.” As soon as they sat, Kay explained Maddie’s problem.
Megan clucked her tongue. “I know just how the poor girl feels. I had a miserable time carrying Patrick until a storekeeper suggested I try his special tea. And, oh my, what a difference. I was able to eat more and get to feeling like myself again.”
She patted Kay’s hand and rose from the couch. “I’ll go put some together for her. Want to come with me?”
“Sure.” Kay followed her through the kitchen and into a large pantry full of shelves. Numerous glass jars of home-canned food lined the nearest wall. Megan opened a cupboard and removed various jars filled with dried herbs.
While Megan crumpled leaves and mixed them together in a bowl, Kay studied her method and inhaled the interesting aromas. “It seems funny that drinking tea made from leaves would help a person’s stomach feel better.”
Megan nodded. “I’d like to know more about such things. About why things work as they do. Maybe someday, I’ll have time to learn.”
They shared a smile, and Kay said, “Too bad there isn’t a tea to make a person’s emotions stop or go away.” How useful that would be. She’d drink some every time she thought about Aaron.
Megan laughed. “I imagine the only thing that does that is a hard blow to the head.”
The two chuckled, and Megan poured the herbs into a small cloth sack. “Here you go. This should get her through for a few weeks. I’ll send more with Fergus, or I’ll bring it myself if we’re able to get to the Christmas bazaar next week. I sure hope we don’t miss it.”
She gave Kay’s cheek a kiss. “Give my regards to Phil and Maddie, won’t you? And ride home safely.”
“I will.�
�� She donned her coat, waved a cheery good-bye, and closed the door behind her, hoping Aaron wasn’t lurking around. She doubted her ability to act casual with him. He didn’t appear to be anywhere in sight, and some of her nervousness faded. The cold air refreshed her, and she beat a quick path to the barn.
Chapter Sixteen
Kay entered the barn, peered around, and breathed out a relieved sigh. Only horses. She patted Steady, put the sack of herbs in the saddlebag, and began to check the cinch.
“I already did that.”
She whirled around while a sharp breath caught at the sound of Aaron’s voice. He stood in the doorway of the barn.
She swallowed and turned back to the horse. “Oh, well…thank you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ma’am? He couldn’t even say her name? She pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t spout anything stupid. She’d better leave before that happened.
He cleared his throat. “May I ask you something?”
She didn’t trust her voice or her face. She kept her back to him and nodded.
“Are you ever going to answer my letters? I’ve been waiting.”
Words failed her. Not a single intelligent response came to mind. She blurted, “I don’t know what to write.”
Silence. Embarrassment at her foolish answer made her face hot.
The sound of his boots as he stepped closer caused her spine to stiffen. He stopped across from her, his hand on the horse’s back as it stood between them. “I asked if you’d forgive me. That’s not hard to write, unless you feel you can’t.”
She kept her face down and fiddled with the horse’s mane. The gentle tone in his voice and words undid her. She tried to ignore the response to his nearness and concentrated on expressing herself. “I wasn’t sure what you thought, I mean why you thought—”
Hat's Off! (Christmas Holiday Extravaganza) Page 8