Steadfast Heart

by Tracie Peterson

  Wade looked up, surprised. “Not at all. But I will say that I never expected to see you here.”

  Kolbein nodded. He’d been thinking over some things Abrianna had said about God, and suddenly his visit seemed preordained. “You’re a man of God, aren’t you?”

  Wade put down the hammer and wiped his hands on the leather apron that protected his clothes. “I am. Why do you ask?”

  “I realize we don’t know each other very well, but I guess . . . I have some questions—man to man.”

  Wade appeared to consider this for a moment. Then without ceremony he pulled off his leather apron. “Why don’t we have a cup of coffee together? I’m ready for a break.”

  Kolbein agreed and followed Wade into yet another portion of the shop. It wasn’t much—a ten-by-ten-foot room at the most, and in it was what appeared to be Wade’s entire home. A table for two and a small woodstove occupied one end of the room. Lifting the coffeepot from the stove, Wade motioned for Kolbein to take a seat.

  This gave him the opportunity to study the entire room as Wade poured hot coffee into first one mug and then another. A small bed stood opposite the impromptu kitchen, and in between were a couple of bookcases, a reading chair, and a chest of drawers. The top of the chest was covered with a variety of objects, but otherwise the little room was fairly well maintained.

  “So you actually live here?” Kolbein asked, uncertain what else to say.

  “I do. I know it’s not much, but I don’t need much. I figure it’s better to save money.” Wade took a seat. “I didn’t think to ask—do you take sugar? I don’t have any cream, but I do have sugar.”

  “Black is fine.” Kolbein took a sip of the coffee. It was good and strong. “It’s perfect.”

  Wade smiled and took a slow sip. “Hotter than I expected. I figured it’d be pretty cooled down by now. Guess I stoked that fire up a bit more than I thought.”

  Kolbein nodded. “What with the rain I can’t say as I blame you. I’ve been walking amongst the street vendors and asking about my sister. It chilled me through.”

  “I can build up the fire more if you’d like.”

  “No. I didn’t come here to impose.” Kolbein fidgeted with his coffee cup. “Fact is, I didn’t figure to come here at all, but I found myself standing out front and thought you might be able to help me.”

  “With what?” Wade looked confused.

  “Well, this isn’t exactly easy to say, but I know Abrianna puts a lot of trust in you, and she seems to have a deep regard for the Bible and spiritual matters.”

  Wade gave a nod. “That she does. I’ve been attending church with her nearly since she was born.”

  “She seems really knowledgeable about a lot of things, I must say.” Kolbein chuckled. “I’ve never met up with a more opinionated woman in my life.”

  “Abrianna is that,” Wade admitted hesitantly. “But . . . well, you have to consider how she’s been raised. Those aunts of hers aren’t exactly the demure and silent type. They are more educated than most women. Mrs. Madison was a teacher before she married, and her sister graduated from a women’s college. I believe her focus was music. Mrs. Gibson was a preacher’s daughter. Her father insisted she study the Bible every day and learn about various views of theology. Then she married an educated man and grew quite opinionated about his love of”—he lowered his voice—“science.”

  Chuckling, Kolbein rubbed the top of the wood table as if checking for snags. “The cad.”

  Wade laughed. “She has a definite opinion of what is acceptable regarding issues of faith and what is not.”

  Kolbein sobered and reconsidered his situation. Why had he come here? Ackerman hardly knew him. How could he ask the man about spiritual matters when they were barely friends?

  “You seem really troubled. Is it your sister?” Wade asked. “Or something more?”

  “I am continually worried about Greta, but I actually came here with another thought in mind. You see, I grew up respecting God and figured myself to be a good Christian, even though I don’t attend church very often. However, I find myself feeling at a loss these days where God is concerned.”

  He stopped and toyed with the rim of the mug. “I’m sorry. This is probably something you’d rather I take to a minister or priest.”

  Wade’s expression softened. “Not at all. If your spirit is troubled, I want to do what I can to help. God calls us to bear one another’s burdens, and many a good man has done the same for me.”

  Kolbein heard the sincerity in Wade’s voice. There was no condemnation. No judgment. Just genuine respect and interest.

  “Abrianna is always telling me to trust in the Lord. She tells me to pray about Greta and tells me that she’s praying for me and for her. I’m sorry to say that the words just seem hollow to me. Not that I don’t believe God exists or that He controls all things, but I don’t feel connected to such spiritual matters. I suppose I’m not a good Christian because I have doubts and haven’t been attending church.”

  “Fellowship and learning are important in order to know God better,” Wade replied. “But being at the church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than being in a wagon shop makes you a wainwright. Being a man of God has to do with knowing Him and seeking Him for direction and answers. However, it starts with accepting that Jesus died for your sins and repenting of them.”

  “I did that as a child,” Kolbein told him. “I remember a time in Sunday school when the teacher had all of us pray and ask Jesus into our hearts.” He smiled. “I was only nine, but the teacher was adamant that we all pray together.”

  Wade shook his head. “Accepting Jesus is a personal experience. You can’t force a group of folks into salvation. Did you understand what you were saying when you prayed that prayer?”

  “No, I suppose I didn’t understand the full implications,” Kolbein admitted. “Not like I do now.”

  “So maybe now is the time you should pray for real.” Wade took a drink of coffee and then set the mug down. “I could pray with you . . . if you’d like.”

  “Here? Now?”

  “Sure. God doesn’t require us to be in a church to get our hearts right.”

  “I guess I’ve always thought of God as the great judge in the sky—out there somewhere waiting to mete out His punishments.”

  “That’s the lawyer side of you,” Wade said, grinning. “I tend to think more of Jesus being from a carpenter family. That’s because it’s what’s familiar to me. I think folks need to see something personal that connects them to God.”

  Kolbein considered this. “I remember a sermon in which the pastor said none of us were good enough to get into heaven. That made me angry. If God made us, then He could have made us ‘good enough.’”

  “My personal thought is that He did make us good enough, but then man took things into his own hands and made some really bad choices. Did God know that would happen? I think so.”

  “Then why bother?”

  Wade shrugged. “I can’t say for sure I know the answer to that. Over the years, I’ve studied the Bible and prayed to have understanding, only to realize that God’s ways are not my ways and we won’t always know why. And I suppose knowing why wouldn’t change a thing.”

  “Forgive me for asking all these questions, but why do you say that?” Kolbein found that he longed to know the answer more than anything.

  “Well, it seems to me that a lot of folks worry about the whys of life when they ought to focus more on the who.”

  This comment only served to further confuse Kolbein. “The who?”

  “Exactly. Whose plan is it? Mine or God’s? If it’s mine then I probably already know some of the whys and realize that they aren’t worth a hill of beans. Most of the time we do things out of selfish ambition or personal comfort. If you look at the sinful choices we make, I think you’ll find they are all prideful choices. Look at Eve in the Garden of Eden. She listened to the snake and made a choice because the food looked good and was pleasing to he
r eye, and because her pride longed to know what God knew.”

  “So the who was Eve?”

  “Exactly. God had told Adam and Eve what they could and couldn’t do, and they chose their own way. I don’t think it took God by surprise, but I also don’t know why He would tolerate such blatant disobedience. On the other hand, I’m glad He gives grace and mercy for such actions, because I’ve been disobedient enough myself. If I’d been in the garden, I’ve no doubt my choices would have been just as poor.”

  “As a man of the law, the reason or motive for action is always examined,” Kolbein admitted, “but I think I’m getting the point of what you’re saying. God gives instruction and our job is to obey.”

  “In faith,” Wade added. “And that’s what makes it difficult, maybe more so for men than for women. Trust comes hard for me. It’s taken a lifetime of seeing God at work to know my faith is well placed.”

  “I see where I’ve fallen short. My faith has been mostly in myself.” Kolbein shook his head. He felt sadder than he had in years. “That was certainly not a good place to put it.”

  “You don’t have to leave it there,” Wade said, smiling. “The nice thing is that God is always willing to hear us repent and put our trust in Him.”

  “I can see what you’re saying. I guess . . . if you don’t mind, I’d like to do that.”

  Wade nodded in a knowing manner. “I don’t mind at all.”

  “How can another man be dead just steps from our building?” Aunt Selma asked, wringing her hands together. “Oh, this is bad. Very bad, indeed.”

  Abrianna could see the expression on Selma’s face matched that of her other two aunts. They were horrified that their neighborhood had been compromised by such indecency and malice.

  “The police said the poor soul probably has no family and will be buried in a county plot. God rest his soul.”

  “Amen,” the women replied in unison.

  “What is this world coming to?” Aunt Miriam’s tone held a hint of fear. Not something Abrianna heard often from the stoic woman. Her aunt continued. “I would expect this from Skid Road, but not from our area. Another killing . . .”

  Another killing—another man that few if any would miss. Abrianna didn’t know this one. He was much younger than Charlie, but he’d been killed in the same manner. At least that’s what she’d heard the police officer share. Other than that, he’d conveyed very little. He believed the case would go unresolved for lack of evidence. In fact, he said there would be very little investigation into either murder.

  The attitude of this man irritated Abrianna to no end, and she would have given him a piece of her mind had Aunt Miriam not rushed her back up the stairs to their home. Now they were gathered in the private sitting room, and Aunt Miriam was most grave.

  “It would seem that the neighborhood is taking on a baser nature. Perhaps the people who frequent this area are less inclined to care about human life.” She shook her head. “I wonder if perhaps we need to do something more to ensure our safety.”

  “We could purchase a gun,” Aunt Selma suggested. “Mr. Gibson always had firearms in the house.”

  “Do you know how to handle one?” Aunt Miriam asked.

  Selma shook her head. “I’m afraid Mr. Gibson thought it unseemly for a woman to learn such operations.”

  “My beloved captain, God rest his soul”— Poisie paused momentarily for her companions’ amen—“he carried a gun.”

  “And did he teach you to fire it?” her sister asked.

  “No, but he said it was an important part of keeping himself safe.”

  “Well, I do not know how to handle such a weapon, either,” Aunt Miriam replied.

  Abrianna felt the need to interject at this point. “It can’t be all that hard. You point one end at the threat and pull the trigger at the other end. Goodness, we needn’t make such a simple thing difficult.” Then a thought came to her. “I suppose we might not know how to care for a gun or how to load one, but I’m certain Wade or even Kolbein might teach us.”

  “And could you truly take the life of a man?” Aunt Miriam questioned.

  Thinking on this for a moment, Abrianna frowned. “No. You are right to question that. I don’t suppose I could. However, the threat alone might cause the assailant to flee.”

  “And if it doesn’t?” her aunt pressed. “What if the attacker simply disarms you and then kills you with your own weapon? Or flees, now armed to kill in a manner even easier than beating a man to death?”

  “Yes, you are right,” Abrianna said, remembering Wade’s demonstration of her weakness.

  “Perhaps, Sister,” Poisie began softly, “it is time to consider a relocation.”

  “Move from here?” Aunt Miriam asked, as if the thought had never occurred to her.

  “Not too far,” Poisie replied. “Perhaps on the hill. I wouldn’t want to move away from the water and not be able to at least see it.”

  Aunt Selma nodded. “You know yourself that this building is in the perfect location for a variety of businesses. Why, Mr. Fulcher himself might wish to obtain it. And then, of course, there’s Mr. Welby.”

  Aunt Miriam got up and moved toward the window. “I must say the same idea has been brewing in my mind. I can’t imagine selling this building. It would be akin to losing Mr. Madison all over again.”

  “But it doesn’t need to be that way, Sister. After all, your husband never intended this to be your home.”

  “But it became that because it worked out so perfectly with our business.” She turned to face them, and Abrianna could see the sadness in her eyes. “Perhaps our days are numbered. Maybe this is God’s way of telling us it’s time to put an end to our matchmaking.”

  “No!” Poisie declared adamantly.

  “The sale of the building would bring in a most satisfactory sum. And that, along with our investments, would keep us for as long as we live if we used it wisely.”

  Abrianna had never wanted to take over her aunts’ bridal school and saw this as the perfect time to delay it again. “I think that would be the best solution. Just imagine . . . you could sell this building to Mr. Welby. He’s always talking at the receptions about how much he likes it and how perfect it would be for his import business. Sell to him, and we can buy a little house on the hill where I can take care of you as you get older and . . . learn all that you desire me to learn about housekeeping and cooking.” She threw the latter in hoping it might tip the scales in favor of the move. She didn’t so much want to leave this building as she wanted to put an end to her aunts’ desire to have Abrianna take over the school.

  “We’d be farther from Wade and Thane,” she pondered aloud, “but they wouldn’t mind the extra walk to visit on Sundays.” Abrianna thought about her various causes: the poor old sailors who barely kept clothes on their backs and a blanket in their keeping. The orphans would still be close enough, as they moved around and would no doubt seek Abrianna out if she didn’t look for them. As for the ladies of the evening who plied their trade in the Lava Bed, Abrianna would simply have to figure something else out. Perhaps if they had a carriage . . .

  “I suppose it is something to consider.” Aunt Miriam looked first to her sister and then to Aunt Selma.

  “Perhaps we could grow vegetables to sell,” Poisie said. “Or maybe get a cow and sell milk.”

  Aunt Miriam didn’t so much as acknowledge that comment. “Do you suppose I should discuss the matter again with Mr. Welby?”

  “I do, Sister.”

  “But do not be too eager, lest he reduce the price he’s willing to pay,” Selma cautioned.

  Abrianna thought this would be as good a time as any to discuss her desire to no longer attend the receptions. She had the distinct feeling that Mr. Welby’s biggest interest was the building; otherwise, why should he ask so many questions about it.

  “He plans to attend the reception on Saturday,” she told her aunts. “That would be a good time to take Mr. Welby aside and discuss the subje
ct. Of course, you might want to have Mr. Fulcher present, but I don’t know when they plan to return from San Francisco. Lenore thought it would be right away.”

  “I shall take it under consideration,” Aunt Miriam said, brushing a piece of lint from her dark blue dress. “And we should all pray about this.”

  A knock at the door sent Abrianna flying down the hall. She was glad for the excuse to leave the meeting. Goodness, but it seemed to take forever for her aunts to make even the smallest decision.

  This really isn’t a small decision, she admitted to herself. But it is just one simple decision. Either they should sell the building or they shouldn’t. It really is just that easy. She opened the door to find Kolbein Booth. He was smiling and seemed most at peace.

  “Good day, Abrianna,” he said. “Do you feel up to a bit of searching?”

  “I do. Let me tell Aunt Miriam our plan.” She stepped back so he could enter the room. “Just hang on to your hat,” she added. “This needn’t take long.”

  At least that was her hope. Since the killing of yet another person, Abrianna had thought of nothing but warning the orphan boys. “While we’re out,” she said, looking back at Kolbein as she led the way down the hall, “I have something to attend to, as well.”

  Abrianna hurried to secure a flour sack and load it with food for the boys. She had just put in a couple dozen cookies—ones she’d managed to bake without burning—when Aunt Miriam came into the kitchen with Militine.

  “I told Mr. Booth that you could go searching with him, but I want you to take Militine along. It would hardly look right for the two of you to always be seen alone.”

  “I don’t really care what anyone thinks,” Abrianna replied, “but I certainly don’t mind Militine’s company.” She looked down at the sack in her hands and then met her aunt’s questioning gaze. “I thought we might . . . well, we could meet up with someone who’s hungry.”

  Aunt Miriam’s expression didn’t change, but she gave the briefest nod. “Very well.” She turned and left the room, leaving the girls to conspire.

  Abrianna hurried to finish loading the sack and then motioned to Militine. “Let’s find Kolbein and get out of here before anyone changes their mind. Are you sure you don’t mind accompanying us?”