Redeeming Love

by Francine Rivers

  “I do not say to you up to seven times, but up to

  seventy times seven.

  MATTHEW 18 : 21-22

  The Palace was gone.

  Angel stood shivering in the falling snow, mud up to her ankles, and stared at the blackened rubble of what was left. She looked around and saw that the streets were quiet and half deserted. Several buildings were half torn down, the boards and shingles already loaded on wagons. What was happening?

  Across the street was an open saloon. At least the Silver Dollar was still in business. She remembered the proprietor, Murphy. He always came up the back stairs. When Angel entered the swinging doors, the few men inside stopped talking and stared. Murphy was at the bar.

  “Well, I’ll be! If it ain’t Angel!” He grinned broadly. “I didn’t recognize you in those rags. Max! Get the lady a blanket. She’s wet and half frozen. Hey, gents, look who’s back! Little lady, you are a sight for sore eyes. Where you been, sweetheart? Word was you got married to some farmer.” He laughed as though it were a great joke.

  Murphy was loud, and Angel wanted to tell him to shut up. “What happened to the Palace?” she asked quietly, trying to still the shaking inside her.

  “Burned down.”

  “I can see that. When?”

  “Couple of weeks ago. It was the last bit of excitement we had in these parts. Town’s dying, in case you hadn’t noticed. The gold that’s left in these parts is too hard to get out. Another month or two and Pair-a-Dice is going to be stone-cold dead. I’ll have to move with the strikes or go broke like some have already done. Hochschild saw what was coming and tore his mercantile down weeks ago. He’s in Sacramento now, raking in the dust.”

  She tried to still her impatience and raise her waning hope. “Where’s the Duchess?”

  “Duchess? Oh, she’s gone. Left right after the fire. Sacramento, San Francisco. Don’t rightly know where. Someplace bigger than this, you can bet.”

  Angel’s heart sank as all her plans disintegrated. Max gave her a blanket, and she wrapped it around herself to ward off the growing chill. Murphy kept on talking. “She didn’t have a thimble to spit in after Magowan burned the place down around her. Fire killed two of her girls.”

  She glanced up sharply. “Which girls?”

  “Mai Ling, that little Celestial flower. I’m going to miss her.”

  “Who was the other girl?”

  “The drunk. What was her name? Can’t remember. Anyway, both of them were trapped upstairs when the blaze started. Nobody could get them out. You could hear them screaming. Gave me nightmares for days afterward.”

  Oh, Lucky. What am I going to do without you?

  “Magowan tried to get away,” Murphy said. “Made it about five miles before we caught up with him. Brought him back and hanged him right out there on Main Street. Raised him like a flag. Took him a long time to die. He was the meanest—”

  Angel left the bar and sat down at a table. She needed to be alone and get control of her emotions.

  Murphy came over with a bottle and two glasses. He stayed and poured her a whiskey. “You look down on your luck, honey.” He poured another drink for himself. His eyes were dark and bright as he looked her over. “You got nothing to worry about, Angel. I’ve got a spare room upstairs.” He glanced around at the men. “You could be back in business in five minutes on a simple say-so.” He leaned closer. “All we got to work out is the split. How about sixty for me, forty for you? You’ll get room, board, clothes, whatever you want. I’ll take good care of you.”

  The shaking began inside her again. Angel cupped the glass of whiskey between her hands and stared bleakly into the amber liquid. All her prospects were gone. She had no gold, no clothes other than the ones on her back, no food, and no place to stay. She was back where she had started in San Francisco. Except it was winter now and snowing.

  There’s never going to be a cabin.

  Murphy leaned forward. “What do you say, Angel?”

  She looked up at him and smiled bitterly. He knew she couldn’t say no.

  I’m never going to be free.

  “Well, what do you say?” He ran his finger back and forth on her arm.

  “Fifty-fifty, and they pay me,” she said, “or we don’t do business.”

  Murphy leaned back, brows flicking up. He studied her for a long moment and then laughed. Downing his whiskey, he nodded. “Fair enough. Providing you give me whatever I want for free. After all, it is my place, isn’t it?” He waited, and when she made no argument, he smiled. “Right now, honey.” He stood. “Hey, Max! Take over for me. I’m going to show Angel her new digs.”

  “She’s staying?” a man called, looking like Christmas had finally come.

  Murphy grinned. “She’s staying.”

  “I’m next! How much?”

  Murphy named a high price.

  Angel drank the glass of whiskey. Shuddering, she stood as Murphy pulled back her chair. Nothing is ever going to change. Her heart beat slower and slower as she went up the stairs. By the time she reached the top, she couldn’t feel her heart beating at all. She couldn’t feel anything.

  I should have stayed with Michael. Why didn’t I stay with Michael?

  It would never have worked, Angel. Not in a million years.

  It did for a while.

  Until the world caught up. The world has no mercy, Angel. You know that. It was a desert dream. You just left before he was finished using you. Now you’re back where you belong, doing what you were born to do.

  What did any of it matter? It was too late to think about what-ifs. It was too late to think about why. It was too late to think about anything.

  Murphy wanted the works.

  When he left, Angel got out of bed. She blew out the lamp. Sitting in the darkened corner, she hugged her knees against her chest and rocked herself. The pain that had begun when Paul showed up in the valley bloomed and expanded and consumed her. Eyes tightly closed, she made no sound, but the room was filled with silent screaming.

  The days ran together. Nothing much had changed. Instead of the Duchess, Angel now had Murphy; instead of Magowan, there was the more manageable Max. Her room was smaller and her clothing less grand. The food was tolerable and plentiful. Men were still the same.

  Angel sat on the bed, leg crossed and swinging back and forth as a young miner undressed. His hair was still wet and slicked back, and he smelled strongly of harsh soap. He didn’t have much to say, which was fine, because she didn’t want to listen. This one wouldn’t take long. Closing down her emotions, closing down her mind, she went to work.

  The door crashed open, and someone yanked the young man away. Angel drew in a sharp breath as she recognized the face of the man above her. “Michael!” She pushed herself up. “Oh, Michael…”

  The young man thudded on the floor. He came to his feet. “What’re you doing?” Swearing, he lunged. Michael hit him and sent him back against the wall. Hauling him up, he hit him again and sent him flying backwards through the open door to crash and sag against the outer wall. Michael snatched up the miner’s things and heaved them out on top of him. Kicking the door shut, he turned.

  Angel was so relieved at the sight of him she wanted to fall at his feet, but one look at his face and she shrank back.

  “Get dressed.” He didn’t wait for her to move as he grabbed up her discarded clothing and tossed it at her. “Now!”

  Heart pounding, she fumbled with the clothing, frantically trying to think of a way to escape him. Before she was fully clothed, he yanked her off the bed, opened the door, and shoved her into the corridor. He hadn’t even allowed her to put her shoes on.

  Murphy was coming. “What do you think you’re doing? I told you to wait downstairs. That man paid. You can wait your turn.”

  “Get out of my way.”

  Murphy spread his feet and balled his fists. “You think you can get by me?”

  Angel had seen Murphy in action before and was sure Michael was no match for him.
“Michael, please—” Michael shoved her roughly to one side and stepped in front of her.

  Murphy came at him, but Michael moved so fast, Murphy was down before he knew what hit him. Michael caught her wrist and pulled her along again. Before they reached the stairs, Murphy was up. He grabbed her arm and yanked back so hard, she cried out in pain. Michael let go, and she fell against the wall. Murphy came at him again, and this time Michael sent him straight down the stairs.

  When Michael bent over her, Angel drew back from him. “Get up!” he bellowed. She didn’t dare disobey. He took her arm and shoved her ahead of him. “Keep walking and don’t stop.”

  Max charged Michael when they reached the bottom of the stairs. Michael used the man’s momentum to lift and heave him across a poker table. Two more men came at him, and he pushed her out of the way just before they hit him. The three went crashing back over a faro table. Chips, cards, and men scattered. Two more entered the fracas.

  “Stop it!” she screamed, sure they would kill him. Frantic, she looked for something to use as a weapon to help, but Michael wasn’t down long enough. He kicked one man off of him and was on his feet. She stared, mouth agape, as he fought. He stood his ground, punching hard and fast as the other men came at him. Swinging around, he brought one foot up straight into a man’s face. She had never seen anyone fight the way he did. He looked as though he had been doing it all his life instead of plowing furrows and planting corn. He hit square and he hit hard, and those he hit stayed down. After a few minutes, the men weren’t so eager to come at him.

  Michael stood ready, eyes blazing. “Come on, then,” he grated, daring them. “Who else wants to get between me and my wife? Come on!”

  No one moved.

  Kicking a turned table out of his way, Michael strode toward Angel. He didn’t look anything like the man she had come to know in the valley. “I told you to keep walking!” He grabbed her arm and swung her toward the doors.

  His wagon was right outside. Michael caught her up in his arms and tossed her onto the high seat. She had no time to think of escape before he was beside her. He took the reins and snapped them. She had to hang on for dear life. The pace he set was grueling. He didn’t slow until they were several miles out of Pair-a-Dice, and when he did, it was out of care for the horses and not her.

  Angel was afraid even to look at him. She was afraid to say a word. She had never seen him like this before, even that one time when he had lost his temper in the barn. This was not the quiet, patient man she thought she knew. This was a stranger bent on vengeance. She remembered Duke lighting his cheroot and broke out in a cold sweat.

  Michael wiped blood from his lip. “Make me understand, Angel. Tell me why.”

  Angel. There was a death knell in the name. “Let me off this wagon.”

  “You’re coming home with me.”

  “So you can kill me?”

  “Jesus, are you listening to her? Why’d you give me this stupid, stubborn woman?”

  “Let me off!”

  “Not a chance. You’re not skipping out of this. We have some things to settle.”

  The look in his eyes was so full of violence, she jumped. She hit heavily and rolled. Regaining her breath, she clambered to her feet and ran.

  Michael drew back hard on the reins and veered the wagon off the road. He jumped down and started after her. “Angel!” He could hear her footsteps fleeing into the woods. “It’s getting dark. Stop running before you break your neck!”

  She didn’t stop. She tripped over a root and fell so hard she knocked her wind out. She lay gasping on the ground and could hear Michael close behind. He was walking fast, slapping branches out of his way until he spotted her.

  Angel scrambled to her feet and ran from him in terror, heedless of the branches that slapped her face. Michael cut her off and caught her shoulders. Stumbling, she took him down with her. He turned his body so he landed first and tried to roll her. She kicked and twisted, fighting for freedom. Flinging her onto her back, he pinned her down. When she tried to claw his face, he caught her wrists and held them against the ground.

  “That’s enough!”

  She lay panting for breath, her eyes enormous. Getting his breath back, he yanked her to her feet. The minute he loosened his hold, she tried to run again. He swung her back and took a blow. He almost hit her back, but he knew if he hit her once, he wouldn’t stop. He let go of her, but each time she tried to flee, he swung her back. Finally, she attacked, slapping, hitting, and kicking at him. He blocked her blows, all without retaliating.

  When she sagged, Michael pulled her into his arms and held her tightly Her whole body was shaking violently. He could feel the fear radiating from her. And rightly so. His rage frightened him. If he had hit her back once, he would have killed her.

  He had almost gone out of his mind when she left him.

  He searched on foot until he found the wagon marks and realized what had happened. She had left with Paul. She was on her way back to Pair-a-Dice. He went home, hurt and furious at them both. The long wait for Paul’s return from town had been the closest thing to hell he had ever experienced. Why had Paul done it? Why hadn’t he sent her home instead of taking her with him?

  But Michael knew.

  Paul brought the wagon and horses back. He said Hochschild moved to Sacramento and that was why it had taken him so long. It was clear he wasn’t going to volunteer any information about Amanda. Michael asked straight out. Paul had little to say other than yes, he had driven her back to Pair-a-Dice.

  “It was her idea to leave. I didn’t talk her into it,” Paul said, pale and scared. What struck Michael hardest was the guilt etched deeply into his grieving face. He didn’t have to ask anything more. He knew what else had happened on the road. Or in Pair-a-Dice.

  “Michael, I’m sorry. I swear it wasn’t my fault. I tried to tell you what she was—”

  “Get out of my sight, Paul. Go home and stay there.” And he did.

  Michael almost didn’t come and get her back after that. She deserved whatever she got. She went looking for it, didn’t she? He wept. He cursed her. He had loved her, and she betrayed him. She might as well have stuck a knife in his guts and twisted it.

  But at night, in the dark, he remembered those first days when she had been so sick and he had been given a glimpse of her soul. She had said a lot in her delirium, drawing pictures of the wretchedness of her life. Did she even know any better? He remembered Paul’s reaction to her, and her own anger. He had seen her hurt, though she had denied it fiercely. He had to go and get her back. She was his wife.

  Until death do us part.

  He prepared himself for anything on the way to Pair-a-Dice, but when he walked into that room and saw for himself what she was doing, he had almost lost all reason. If he hadn’t seen her eyes or heard the way she said his name, he would have killed them both. But he had seen and heard it—for one brief, unguarded instant he’d known what she really felt. Relief. Relief so profound it stopped him cold.

  But it didn’t mean the instinctive rage at her betrayal wasn’t still there, bubbling just below the surface.

  Michael shuddered and drew back from her. “Come on,” he said tightly. “We’re going home.” He took her hand and started back through the woods.

  Angel wanted to resist but was afraid. What was he going to do to her now? In this mood, could he be as brutal as Duke? “Why did you come for me?”

  “You’re my wife.”

  “I left the ring on the table! I didn’t steal it.”

  “That didn’t change a thing. We’re still married.”

  “You could’ve just forgotten about it.”

  He stopped and glared at her. “It’s a lifetime commitment in my book, lady. It’s not an arrangement you nullify when things get a little tough to bear.”

  She searched his face in confusion. “Even after you just found me—” He started walking again, pulling her along with him. She didn’t understand him. She didn’t understan
d him at all. “Why?”

  “Because I love you,” he said thickly. He swung her around in front of him, his eyes tormented. “That simple, Amanda. I love you. When are you going to understand what that means?”

  Her throat tightened, and she hung her head.

  They walked the rest of the way in silence. He lifted her onto the wagon seat. She shifted over as he pulled himself up beside her. She looked at him bleakly. “Your kind of love can’t feel good.”

  “Does your kind feel any better?” She looked away. He unlooped the reins. “Right now love doesn’t have an awful lot to do with feelings,” he said grimly “Don’t misunderstand. I’m as human as the next man. I feel all right. I feel plenty right now, a lot I wish I didn’t.” He shook his head, his face strained with hurt and anger. “I felt like killing you when I walked in that room, but I didn’t. I feel like beating sense into you right now, but I won’t.” He looked at her with dark eyes. “And no matter how much it hurts, and no matter how much I feel like hurting you back for what you’ve done, I’m not going to.” He snapped the reins and set off again.

  Angel tried to shove her feelings down, but they kept coming up, choking her. She clenched her fists, fighting it. “You knew what I was. You knew.” She wanted him to understand. “Michael, it’s all I’ve ever been. It’s all I’m ever going to be.”

  “That’s pure, unadulterated horse manure. When are you going to stop wallowing in it?”

  She looked away, shoulders sagging. “You just don’t understand. It’s never going to be the way you want it to be. It can’t be! Even if there ever could have been a chance, that’s gone now. Don’t you see?”

  His eyes impaled hers. “Are you talking about Paul?”

  “He told you?”

  “He didn’t have to. It was written all over his face.”

  Angel offered no defense. She offered no excuses. Shoulders limp, she stared straight ahead.

  Michael saw she took the whole blame on herself, but she and Paul were both going to have to deal with it. So was he. He faced the road again and was silent for a long time. “Why did you go back? I just don’t get it.”