Redeeming Love

by Francine Rivers

  When he stepped away, she looked up at his face and saw he meant every word he said.

  Paul awakened to find Miriam stirring the coals and adding wood to his fire. The blanket slid down his bare chest as he sat bolt upright and stared at her. He was dreaming. He must be. Rubbing his face, he looked around and saw her shawl across the back of his chair and a case on the table.

  She turned toward him and smiled. “Good morning. It’s almost light.”

  She was real all right. Panic set in. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m moving in with you.”

  “What?”

  “I said I’m moving in with you.” He stared at her as though she had gone out of her mind. She came and sat on the edge of his bed. He pulled the blanket up to cover his bare chest.

  Miriam watched Paul, and she couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. It was his own fault. If he weren’t so stubborn…

  “This isn’t the least bit funny,” he said through his teeth.

  “No, it isn’t,” she agreed more solemnly. “I love you, and I’m not going to let you go off to the mountains and ruin your life.” He looked endearingly confused. His hair was poking up in all directions, like a little boy’s. She reached out to smooth it down, and he drew back, his eyes filled with alarm.

  “Go home, Miriam,” he said, desperate. He had to get her out of there! Did she know what it did to him to have her say she loved him? If she didn’t leave now, he didn’t think he would be able to resist her. But she didn’t move. She just sat looking at him with a patient smile. He heard a roaring in his ears and bellowed, “I said go home!”

  “No,” she said simply, “and I’m not giving you your clothes, either.”

  His lips parted.

  She folded her hands and placed them demurely in her lap, then smiled at him. The look in her eyes made him hot all over. He could barely get his breath. This was insanity! “What are you playing at, Miriam Altman? What’s your father going to say about this?”

  “He already knows.”

  “Oh, God,” he prayed aloud, wondering when John was going to burst in the door with a shotgun in his hand.

  “Papa spent most of last night trying to talk me out of this and finally gave up. I would have been here sooner otherwise.” Her smile hinted at mischief. “Do you remember the Book of Ruth, Paul? In the Bible? Do you remember what she did? Well, Boaz, here I am, at your very feet. Now, what are you going to do about it?” She put her hand on his thigh, and he jumped a foot.

  “Don’t touch me!” he said, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. “I’m telling you, I want you out of here right now.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “How do you know what I want?” He tried to sound angry.

  “I know every time you look at me. You want me.”

  “Don’t do this,” he pleaded.

  “Paul,” she said very gently, “I love Michael very much. He’s like an older brother to me, but I’m not in love with him and never will be. I’m in love with you.”

  “You don’t belong with me,” he said, anguished.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said as though speaking to a recalcitrant child. “Of course I do.”

  “Miriam—”

  She put her hand against his bare shoulder, and he drew in his breath at her touch. “I’ve always wanted to touch you,” she said, her voice soft and husky. “That day in the field when you were plowing—”

  He swallowed hard and caught her hand.

  Her eyes met his. “And I’ve always wanted you to touch me.”

  “Miriam,” he said hoarsely, “I’m not a saint.”

  “I know that. Do you think I am?” Her eyes were shimmery with tears. “This isn’t easy, you know, but I am a woman, Paul, not a child, and I know what I want. I want you. As my husband. To live with for all our days.”

  He was shaking. “Don’t do this to me.” He watched a tear slide down her cheek and couldn’t help himself; he reached out to brush it away. She put her hand over his, trapping it there against her cheek, but only briefly. Her skin was so soft, her hair silky. His thumb slid down, feeling the wild pulse in her throat. “Miriam. Oh, Miriam, what are you trying to do to me?”

  “Nothing you haven’t wanted for a long time. Admit it.” Her arms slid around his neck, and she kissed him. When she raised her mouth from his, he couldn’t have stopped for the world. He framed her face with his hands and kissed her, gently at first, then with all the pent-up love he’d been feeling for months.

  He kissed her as the starving man he was. Her surrender to him made his senses swim. She was firm and smooth and warm, and she tasted like heaven. “I love you,” he whispered, almost afraid to say the words aloud. “I’ve been going mad. I couldn’t stand it. I had to get away from you.”

  “I know,” she said, trembling, her hands in his hair. She started to weep. “I love you so much. Oh, Paul, I do.…”

  He drew back, looking down into her face, noting how her cheeks were flushed, her eyes filled with her love for him, and he thought his heart would burst. She was his. She belonged to him! He could scarcely take it in.

  She saw the look burning in his eyes and reached up to touch his cheek, her face softening with tenderness. “I want us to begin right. Marry me first, Paul. Be my husband. I want to share everything with you without any shadows over us. Without any regrets. If you make love to me now, you’ll be ashamed tomorrow. You know you will. You won’t be able to face my father and mother. You’ll think you took advantage of me.” She smiled tremulously. “Even though it’s the other way around.”

  “I thought I could leave you,” he said, knowing he would have carried her with him the rest of his life, a torment he would never escape. “I guess we’ll have to ride up to Sacramento and see if we can find a preacher.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  He looked at her, surprised.

  Blushing, she smiled shyly, more the Miriam he knew and not the bold young woman who had stolen into his cabin at night.

  “Papa said he would marry us himself. He was going through the trunk when I left, looking for his Book of Common Prayer. He was rather in a hurry, I think.”

  He kissed her again, unable to help himself. “I never had a chance, did I?” he said, laughing softly.

  “No, you didn’t.” She smiled, content. “Michael always said you’d come around. I just got so tired of waiting.”

  From where she stood behind the curtain to the left of the stage, Angel could hear the men who jammed the casino. The place was a circus, and Duke was going to put her right in the center ring.

  He had already given them a show of dancing girls, jugglers, and acrobats. Where he had found such people Angel couldn’t even guess, but Duke had his ways and means. Perhaps he had waved his hand and produced them from the fire and smoke.

  She moved restlessly, and the hand beneath her arm tightened. She hadn’t been without a guard since Duke had put her in the upstairs room. There was no escape, and she was sick with dread and fear.

  Closing her eyes, Angel fought down the nausea. Maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe she should go out center stage and vomit. That would dampen the ardor Duke was inciting in the crowd. She almost laughed, but she knew if she did she would give in completely to hysteria.

  She could hear him, working his audience. He had an orator’s voice. It had served him well in politics—and afterward, when he decided working behind the scenes was more lucrative. He was putting a fire beneath the waiting men, rousing them. She could almost smell their lust. In a few minutes, she would face it. Hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at her, taking off her clothes, imagining whatever they wanted to do to her. And Duke would let them make those imaginings real. For a price. Anything for a high enough price.

  “For a week, you’ll serve them.”

  Angel closed her eyes. God, if you’re there, kill me! Please! Send a lightning bolt, and wipe me off the face of the earth. Send me into oblivion.
Send fire. Turn me into a pillar of salt. Any way you want to do it. Only do it. Please, God, help me. Help me!

  “Easy, little lady,” the man said, smiling down at her coldly.

  Oh, God. Oh, Jesus, please help me! “He’s almost got them ready for you.”

  Then, just when she thought her heart would stop for the terror, she heard it.

  Sarah, beloved.

  It was the same soft voice she had heard in Michael’s cabin. The one she’d heard in her dream.…

  Be still, for I am here.

  She looked around, but only her guard and the performers were there. Her heart was racing madly, and her skin rose with goosebumps as it had that strange night in the cabin.

  “Where? Where?” she whispered frantically.

  The guard looked down at her questioningly. “What’s the matter?”

  “Did you hear someone speaking?”

  “With all that racket out there?” he laughed.

  She was shaking violently. “Are you sure?”

  His hand tightened, giving her a hard jerk. “You’d better get yourself together. Pretending you’re crazy isn’t going to do you any good. Duke’s just about ready for you to come out. Listen to those men. Sound like hungry lions, don’t they?”

  Angel was ready to dig in her heels, but what was the use? She closed her eyes tightly again, trying to block out the maddening crowd sitting in front of the stage, trying to focus on the frightening, quiet voice in her head that called her by a name she had heard only once in a dream since her mother died.

  What do you want me to do? Tell me. Oh, God, tell me.

  My will.

  Despair filled her. She didn’t know what that was.

  “There’s your signal,” her guard said. “Are you going to walk on your own?”

  Even if she were able to get away, where could she run? She opened her eyes, and suddenly the shaking inside her stopped. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt calm. Unnaturally so. She gave the guard an imperious look. “If you let go of my arm,” she said. He blinked, surprised, and let go of her. She stepped forward, and he held the curtain aside so she could walk out.

  As soon as she appeared, the place went wild. Men whistled and catcalled. She kept her head up, her eyes straight ahead, and walked to the center stage where Duke stood smiling at her with malicious delight. He leaned close, his mouth near her ear so she could hear him above the din. “Feel the power, Angel? You can share it with me. We can bring them to their knees!” Then he left her standing in center stage alone.

  The noise was deafening. Were they all mad? She wanted to run and hide. She wanted to die.

  Look at them.

  She forced herself to display the old arrogance and disdain as her gaze swept the crowded room.

  Look into their eyes, Sarah.

  She did, the men closest to the stage at first, then sweeping outward. They were young. There was a hollow, haunting look in their eyes. She recognized that look. Disillusionment and broken dreams, defiance. Hadn’t she felt the same loneliness and desperation she saw reflected all around her? She looked at the men standing near the faro tables, staring up at her. She looked at the men lining the mahogany bar, glasses of whiskey in their hands. Was it her imagination, or was the noise quieting?

  “Sing us something!” a man called from the back. Others yelled their agreement. Her mind went blank except for one song, totally inappropriate, utterly out of place. “Sing, Angel!” The noise rose again like a tidal wave, and the piano player pounded out a bawdy tune the men recognized. Some took up the tune themselves, singing raucously, laughing with abandon.

  Sing, beloved.

  She closed her eyes to shut the men out and started to sing. Not the song being played, but another song. One from long ago. And as she sang, she stood again at the well with Michael and Miriam bending over the side, singing down into it, the harmony and music rising up to envelop her. She imagined Michael and Miriam on either side of her. She could almost hear Miriam’s warm laughter. “Louder, silly. What are you afraid of? You can sing. Of course you can sing.”

  And then Michael’s voice echoed: “Louder, Tirzah. Sing as though you believe it.”

  But I don’t believe. I’m afraid to believe. She stopped abruptly and opened her eyes, her mind suddenly blank. The words to the song were gone. Vanished.

  The place was silent, every man staring up at her where she stood, alone on the empty stage. She could feel the burn of tears behind her eyes. Oh, God, make me believe!

  Someone began singing for her, picking up the words where she had left off. His voice was rich and deep, so like Michael’s her heart jumped. She searched for him and saw him near the bar, a tall, gray-haired man in a dark business suit.

  As suddenly as they’d disappeared, the words came back to her, and she sang with him as he continued. He walked slowly through the parting crowd. He stopped below the stage and smiled up at her. She smiled back. Then she looked around at the men again, all silent now, stunned. Some couldn’t meet her eyes but looked away, ashamed.

  “Why are you all here?” she cried out, the tears so close she was afraid they would choke her. “Why aren’t you home with your wives and children, or your mothers and sisters? Don’t you know what this place is? Don’t you know where you are?”

  The curtains swished open behind her, and the dancing girls came racing out. The piano player began again, and the young women began singing loudly around her, kicking their bare legs up high. Some of the men began to clap and cheer. Others just stood there, silent, ashamed.

  Angel walked slowly off the stage. She saw Duke waiting for her, a look in his eyes that she had never seen before. Perspiration beaded his brow, and his face was pale with fury. He grabbed her arm brutally and yanked her into the shadows. “What made you do a stupid thing like that?”

  “God, I think,” she said, stunned. She felt jubilation—and the presence of a power so immense she was trembling. She looked up at Duke and wasn’t afraid of him anymore.

  “God?” He spat the word out. His eyes blazed. “I’m going to kill you. I should have killed you a long time ago.”

  “You’re afraid, aren’t you? I can smell it. You’re afraid of something you can’t even see. And do you know why? Because what Michael has is more powerful than you ever were, ever could be.”

  He raised his hand to strike her, and a man spoke quietly from behind him. “You touch that young woman, and I will see you hang.”

  Duke swung around. The man who had sung with her was standing a few feet away. He was slightly shorter than Duke and much leaner, but there was something about him that gave him an aura of strength and authority. She looked up at Duke to see if he felt it too, and saw he did, indeed. Her heart began beating wildly.

  “Would you like to leave, miss?” the stranger asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I would.” She didn’t question his destination or intentions. It was enough that she had a way of escape, and she grasped it. She expected Duke to threaten the man for his interference, but he just stood by, silent and pale, his teeth gritted. Who was this man?

  She would find out later. She started toward him, then halted. She couldn’t leave yet. She turned to Duke. “Give me the key, Duke.” Two men looked at her, one in question, the other livid with rage. And something more. Fear. “The key,” she said again, holding her hand out.

  When Duke didn’t give it to her, she ripped open the front of his shirt, grabbed the chain, and broke it. He stared at her in shock, sweat pouring down his temples. She looked straight back into his eyes. “You can’t have her.” She held the key in her fist right beneath his nose. “Burn in hell, Duke.” She looked at the gentleman standing silent, watching them. “Wait for me, please.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without you, ma’am,” he said very calmly.

  She hurried upstairs to the room next to hers and unlocked it. The child lying on the bed awakened immediately and sat up, her blue eyes wide with fear. She edged back,
her pink dress bunching around her knees. She had pale blonde hair tied with pink satin ribbons.

  Angel bit her lip. It was like looking in a mirror and seeing herself ten years ago, but she couldn’t just stand here, drowning in pain. She had to get this child out of here. Now. She came forward quickly. “It’s all right, sweetheart. I’m Angel, and you’re coming with me.” She held out her hand. “Come on now.” She leaned over and took the girl’s hand. “We haven’t much time.”

  As they came out into the hallway, Angel saw Cherry standing a few feet away, her mouth open in surprise and wild hope. “Come with us,” Angel said. “You don’t have to stay here, but you must come now.”

  “Duke—”

  “Come now, or you’re going to spend the rest of your life in a place like this. Or something worse.”

  “Let me get my things—”

  “Forget everything. Just leave it. Don’t even look back.” She hurried down the corridor. Cherry stood undecided for a moment and then raced after her. They came down the stairs together, and the stranger was there to meet them. Duke was nowhere in sight. As the gentleman looked at the two children with her, his face filled with wrath.

  “I’m not going without them,” she said.

  “Of course not.”

  She nodded toward the stage door. “We can go out that way.”

  “No.” His eyes were hard. “We’re going right out on the stage and through the front doors.”

  “What?” Angel said. Was he crazy? “We can’t!”

  “We will. Let’s move.” His face was livid. “We’re going to expose this man for the devil he is.” The little girl was crying and clutching at Angel’s blue satin skirt, and Cherry was hugging close as well. “Here, I’ll carry the child,” the gentleman said, but when he moved, the girl tried desperately to hide behind her.

  “She won’t let you touch her,” Angel said, kneeling and giving her a hug. “Hold tight, sweetheart. I’m going to carry you.” She looked up at the stranger and said firmly, “We won’t let anyone hurt you. Duke’s not going to stop us.” The girl’s legs clamped around her waist as Angel straightened. Her thin arms clung to Angel’s neck, and she appealed to the man. “Another way would be safer.”