This Homeward Journey

by Misty M. Beller

  She couldn’t seem to stop those words from sinking through her like a warm drink on a cold night. This man wore his role as protector like a second skin. She’d never experienced that before. She was almost afraid to allow it. When he slipped up, the disappointment would be all the worse.

  He’d done so much, it seemed as if she should offer something in return. She had nothing, though. Nothing except herself and her son and a past she wanted to leave far behind.

  “Samuel and I joined up with a group coming back from California. The boss man had a strong dislike for Indians and always set a watch. It only took a few days before we figured out the Indians probably had a good reason to dislike him back. Seemed like a decent man when he was sober, but when he started drinking, the fellow turned vicious. We figured we were better off making our way alone.”

  She had to steel herself not to flinch. “A lot of men get mean when they’re in their cups.”

  The burn of his gaze pressed into her, but now it was her turn to stare out at the darkness. “Do you know that from experience?”

  His question was personal, yet he’d spoken with a gentleness that didn’t make it feel like prodding. Even still, she had to fight the urge to pull away from him. Had to fight to keep her hackles lowered.

  This was Seth. He seemed to truly care. And hadn’t she been thinking minutes before she wished she could give him something in return for his help and protection? The least she could do was answer his questions.

  “I do.” Her voice came out weaker than she liked, even in a whisper. She forced strength into it. “My husband drank some.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  She’d known that question was coming. Still, anger flashed through her. Only for a second, yet he must have sensed it.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.” He inhaled a long, audible breath. “You said he passed away. What happened to him?”

  She’d started down this road, she may as well finish. And part of her wanted to tell. Wanted someone else to know what life with Richard had been like. She’d not had anyone to talk to at the time. Now Seth...he was her safe place.

  She took in a steadying breath. Where to start? Probably from the beginning. If she was going to do this, she may as well tell all in one fell swoop. “Richard didn’t always gamble. When we married, I thought I loved him.” Bitterness slipped into her words before she could stop it. “I was so young, I didn’t know any better.” But she’d had nowhere else to go. Not after Papa died. Mama had remarried, and Rachel wasn’t about to move in with her new stepfather. In truth her mother was only a shell of a woman by then, probably hoping the man would finally push her into the grave.

  She blinked, driving away the image that threatened. This was about her life with Richard. “I didn’t know how much he drank for a while. His trips to sell our produce began to take longer and longer. Sometimes he’d come home with more money than we’d ever earned before. He would tell a story about the wealthy husband of a sick woman tipping him well for the healing foods we offered. Other times, he’d return with almost nothing.”

  Anger stirred anew in her belly. “I knew something wasn’t right, so one week Andy and I followed him into town. My son was only toddling around then, and I remember how hard it was to carry him all the way, since Richard had the wagon. He sold our produce within a few hours, then I watched him go into the hotel that also housed the only restaurant and bar. He didn’t come out for a long time, so I snuck around to the windows. I knew people would recognize me if I went inside.”

  She gritted her teeth against the rage that still seared her at the memory. “He sat there for hours, playing game after game. Others at the table came and went, but he spent every last coin he had. We had.” She forced herself to breath out the anger roiling inside her.

  “Finally, when dusk was coming on, the woman whose husband owned the place came and tapped him on the shoulder, then stood there with her hands on her waist until he walked out. She gave him a pouch, which he must have asked her to keep safe for him, because it was the same pouch he brought home and said was all he had earned from selling the vegetables.”

  She’d thought she lost this anger years ago, yet it curled inside her like smoke filling a cookstove. She had to separate herself from this story or she’d never get through it.

  Drawing another deep breath to settle herself, she forced that wall she’d summoned so many times before. “I took over selling the produce after that, but Richard still found ways to slip off and gamble. I’d come in from the gardens, and he’d be gone. I confronted him a few times, but he always denied it. Told some kind of story about helping a neighbor or seeing a young child on the road he had to take to town. Confronting him never helped, so I stopped.

  “Then he started drinking to excess, too. He’d come home late at night, so soused he could barely stand upright. Since he didn’t have money from the produce to gamble, things started disappearing around our home.

  “One morning when I awoke, I realized he’d not brought the horse home when he returned in the middle of the night. I asked when he would be going to retrieve it, and he said the animal wasn’t his, not anymore. That was the first time the liquor made him mean.”

  “It might not have been only the drink.” Seth’s words came quietly, breaking through the past. “Loss like that can gain power over a man.”

  She turned to look at him. He was facing her, his face shadowed. Was he defending Richard? Why speak at this point when he’d been silent until now?

  Maybe he read her thoughts, for his jaw worked, and a bit of steel crept into his tone. “I’m not defending him, Rachel. Not in the least. Just saying more than the drink was probably feeding his anger.”

  She nodded, turning away from him again. “I’m sure his rage came from many places, and the whiskey made it worse. I didn’t confront him again until my grandmother’s brooch disappeared. I’d already hidden my valuables, anything that would be worth money. But Richard found that particular hiding place. And others.”

  If she didn’t bring this to a close, she would be in danger of letting the emotions take control again. “Anyway, by the time Andy turned ten, the drink was wasting his father’s body away. There was some kind of fight at the card table. Richard wasn’t strong enough to defend himself, or maybe he was too drunk.

  “One of the men he gambled with came by the next morning to tell me they’d laid out Richard’s body and asked if I wanted to come pick it up for burial. He also took our milk cow that he’d won in the game before the fight began.”

  “Oh, Rachel.” The depth of sorrow in Seth’s voice would be enough to break her if she let it. In truth, if he touched her, she wouldn’t be strong enough to continue.

  She kept herself rigid. “I went to town, arranged for Richard’s burial. I sold our home and land to pay off the lien on half the property caused by his gambling. With what was left, I bought these two horses and our guns, then Andy and I headed northwest.”

  She inhaled a cleansing breath, releasing the past with the spent air. “We’ll start a new life when we find Henry. Our own life.”

  The strength of Seth’s gaze finally left her face as he turned to stare out at the night. All was quiet. Blessedly quiet. Only their breathing, the soft snores drifting from behind them, and the gentle snort of one of their horses.

  “It’s peaceful out here.” And why did she feel she needed to break the silence again? Maybe to distract him from her tale. Or perhaps distract herself.

  “It is if you’re not watching for Indians.” But his tone had a light tinge that sounded as if he agreed. Then it grew serious. “Thank you for telling me your story. Now and the other night. I wish more than anything you didn’t have to go through all that. Andy, too.” His voice seemed to crack, although it could have been the effort to keep his words soft. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”

  Trusting him. She did trust him. And even more now that he’d not condoned Richard’s actions nor railed ag
ainst him. In truth, Richard had made poor decisions, but those vices swallowed so many men, taking control and ruining lives. Now that she was free, she would never allow herself to be in that situation again.

  As the silence settled, her mind wandered back through the events from earlier that day. Amusing how being captured by Indians felt less threatening than her former life.

  A yawn forced her jaw open before she could stop it.

  “Why don’t you get some sleep?” Seth touched her arm. A light brush of his fingers. For once, the touch didn’t make her jerk away. Instead, she almost leaned in, like when she’d been whispering earlier.

  But instead she nodded. “Wake me if you see anything concerning.”

  “I will.”

  Before she could push to her feet, he stood in an easy motion. After brushing his hand on his trouser leg, he extended it to her. Taking that hand felt like more than simply accepting help to rise. Almost as though placing her hand in his would mean accepting something beyond his friendship.

  But that was silly. He was simply being Seth. Caring for her even when she didn’t realize she needed—or wanted—his care.

  So she slipped her hand in his, feeling the warmth of his contact. Accepting his strength to help her stand.

  When they stood, face-to-face, he didn’t release her. His gaze searched hers. Just enough moonlight shone to see the glimmer in his eyes. For a moment, it looked as if he might lean forward and kiss her.

  Her breath seized. Part of her almost bolted out of his hold. Back to her bedroll. Yet she stood, rooted, because the other part of her, apparently the stronger part, longed for his touch. Longed for his arms around her, pulling her close.

  He didn’t move though. Didn’t come nearer. Did nothing more than brush his thumb across the back of her hand.

  Then he released her. Stepped back. “Good night, Rachel. Sleep well.” Something in the words felt like a promise.

  Of what, she wasn’t quite sure. But as she curled onto her pallet and pulled the blanket over her, she couldn’t help a longing for what might be to come.

  She shouldn’t want it. But she did.

  Chapter Twenty

  Why can’t the good moments last?

  ~ Rachel

  The Indians never came. Or if they did, they didn’t leave a sign. And they didn’t attack.

  Seth finally found a moment alone with his brother while they saddled the horses. “You think they’ll ambush us today?”

  Samuel scanned the open land around them, just as they’d both been doing all morning. “Couldn’t say as I know what they’ll do. I’m a bit tired of trying to guess it.”

  He couldn’t help a snort. “I know what you mean.”

  His brother’s mouth tipped as he met Seth’s look. Then he sobered, his gaze drifting toward the mountain they’d be climbing soon. “I think we have enough to worry about getting over that. We’ll watch for the Indians, but we can’t lose our concentration up there.”

  Samuel was right. Getting Rachel and Andy over this peak safely had to be his main focus today. “All right. Onward and upward.”

  His brother nodded as he pulled the cinch tight on his saddle, then gave his gelding a pat. “Let’s get to it then.”

  Rachel and her son had already saddled their horses and were finished packing their gear by the time Seth led his gelding to the camp. Within minutes they’d tied the last of the bundles on their mounts.

  “I think we’re quicker each day.” He shot Andy a grin.

  The boy returned a flash of white teeth. “Yes, sir.” He mounted with the ease only a youth could accomplish—one who’d spent many hours in the saddle.

  Scaling the cliff proved easier than Seth had feared, as they were able to find a zig-zag pattern that allowed the animals somewhat sturdy footing.

  Rachel stayed to the rear of the group as they planned their descent, her uneasy look and white-knuckled grip on the saddle making it clear she loathed this more than the rest of them did.

  He gave her what he hoped would pass for an encouraging smile. “Just tuck your horse in behind mine and you’ll be fine.”

  She nodded, but her gaze strayed toward the edge of the mountain. Then downward. Her eyes widened, her face going as pale as the white clouds overhead. She squeezed her eyes tight, and she swayed a bit in the saddle.

  Maybe that was his imagination, but it was enough to make him rein his gelding closer and reach for her arm. He kept a steadying grip on her, even after she opened her eyes.

  “Just look at me.” He kept his voice low and encouraging. She needed something safe to focus on.

  She obeyed, although her face hadn’t regained its color.

  “Do you want to ride down with me? We can tether your gelding to mine.” If she lost her balance while in the saddle, a tumble would probably kill her.

  She looked like she might accept the offer, but then the steel slipped back into her spine. She raised her chin and focused her gaze. “I’ll be fine. I can do it.”

  He almost grinned at her as he released her arm and straightened in his saddle. “That’s my girl.”

  It took about an hour to descend the mountain, then they traveled through a rocky valley that led them steadily upward, although at a much lower incline.

  The easier terrain would give Rachel a chance to unwind from the stress of the mountain they’d just traversed. For her sake, the end of their journey couldn’t come fast enough.

  Yet when they reached their destination, she expected to part from him. He hadn’t even hinted to her yet that he wanted a life with her. She hadn’t been ready to hear it, he was fairly certain of that.

  The telling of her story—both last night and the other day—seemed a significant step. Monumental. She trusted him with her past, and he knew in every part of him that trust was the biggest gift she could have bestowed. Had she ever told anyone else? He suspected not.

  But hearing her history had planted a boulder in his gut that felt like it grew every time he thought of it. Her husband had struggled with a gambling addiction? What were the odds he’d be afflicted with that particular vice? Lord, why?

  God had completely healed Seth of that obsession. Stripped away all desire not just for the thrill of winning at cards, but also for the taste of alcohol, and the smoky haze of a game room, women moving among them more freely even than drinks.

  He could barely stomach the memories, so far had he run from that life. But would Rachel believe it? Drink and gambling had stolen everything good in her world—except her son, of course. When he told her of his past, would she think him just as untrustworthy as her husband had been?

  It seemed crazy that God would bring a woman into his life who’d suffered so much at the hands of the same vices the Lord had saved him from. Father, only You can make this turn out for good. Please.

  A rustle ahead snagged his focus, and he reined his gelding to a stop as he reached for his rifle.

  White flashed behind a stubby cedar, drawing his gaze as he positioned his rifle. White?

  The animal took shape as it stepped forward, but the image still didn’t make sense. It looked like a deer, but the coloring was as pale as trampled snow. He’d heard of albino buffalo and how prized they were among Indians and traders. Could this be an albino deer?

  He shouldn’t miss this chance to claim a valuable trade good, and they did need the meat. Aiming along the barrel, he held his breath and squeezed the trigger.

  A clean shot. The animal dropped to the ground in a lump, pressing on his chest at the sight. He’d never get used to taking animal life, even if it was the only way those he loved could live.

  Lowering the gun, he glanced back at the group behind him. His gaze swung to Rachel, whose face had paled to almost the shade of the deer. “What’s wrong?” He swung down from his horse and moved to her animal’s side.

  Her hands were shaking as they clutched the reins. “Nothing’s wrong.” The tendons at her throat worked, and she blinked. “I mean...we’
re almost out of salt. We don’t have enough for this meat and the hide.”

  The knot in his gut tightened and he rested a hand over her fist. “We’ll figure out something. Why are you shaking, though, Rachel? It’s not because of the salt.”

  She turned her gaze on him, her eyes glimmering with enough terror that he had to tighten his jaw to keep from pulling her into his arms to comfort her. “I don’t do well with gunshots. It’s a weakness.”

  Her mother. Realization flashed over him like a bucket of water. He brought up his other hand to close over both of hers. “I’m sorry, Rachel. Oh, I’m sorry.” He was a lout to not recognize the signs sooner. She’d reacted strongly the time Elias took down a deer while they rode, too. And she’d told him her story.

  She shook her head, nudging her horse forward, out of his reach. “I’m fine. Let’s do what we need to with this deer.”

  As he watched the stiff set of her shoulders, he couldn’t help the ache in his belly. Help me help her, Lord. Show me the way.

  “WHAT DO YOU MAKE OF it?” Seth eyed the smoke curling through the trees ahead.

  “Looks like a campfire of some sort. But only one. Maybe a cabin or teepee.” Samuel shot a look at the late afternoon sky, and Seth raised his gaze to follow. It had almost reached the time that they would stop to camp for the night. Would these strangers be friend or foe?

  “I’ll ride ahead and scout it out.” Rachel nudged her gelding forward as though she planned to do just that.

  “Wait.” He didn’t even try to hold back the growl from his voice. “You’re not going to march in there for those Indians to capture you.”

  Her spine stiffened, and she turned a glare on him. “I can be quieter than any of you. I’ve snuck up to Indian camps before and never been noticed. In fact...” Her eyes narrowed and the corner of her mouth tipped upward. “Andy and I spied on your camp the night before we first joined you.”