Claiming Mariah

by Pam Hillman

  It had never occurred to him to thank the Lord that Buck’s life had been spared, that he’d lived. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that if his brother had died, he would have rushed head over heels to blame God.

  How could he be so quick to cast blame when he’d never even considered giving thanks?

  Slade and Mariah headed back to the ranch as soon as Sally arrived and took Elizabeth Denton under her wing. Becky had regained consciousness and asked for her ma, and Doc Sorenson had hopes she’d make a full recovery. But it was still going to be touch and go for several days.

  Slade kept his attention on Mariah as she swayed in the saddle. She’d been up all night and could barely stay awake. He hadn’t slept any either, but he was used to long days and nights without sleep.

  Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks.

  “Mariah?”

  “What?” She jumped. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He pulled her horse to a stop and tilted her chin up, forcing her to look him in the face. “Do you think you can make it home?”

  She nodded, eyes heavy-lidded, weariness evident. She shook her head and blinked several times. “I’ll be fine. I need to check on Grandma, and we need to let Jim know how Becky is doing.”

  “All right. Just hold on. We’ll be home soon.”

  Slade set a slow, steady pace the rest of the way home. He caught Mariah smothering yawns, but she managed to stay awake until they got there.

  Mrs. Malone waited on the porch. Slade helped Mariah dismount, and her grandmother embraced her, worry written all over her lined face. He figured she’d spent a sleepless night along with the rest of them.

  “How’s Becky?”

  “Better. Doc thinks she’s going to be all right.”

  “Praise the Lord. I’ve been praying for that child all night.”

  “Where’s Jim?”

  She motioned toward the creek. “Down there. Poor boy. Buck and I couldn’t get him to eat a bite of breakfast.”

  Slade found Jim seated on the creek bank, his knees drawn up to his chin and his scrawny arms wrapped tightly around his legs. Early morning sunlight filtered through the trees. Shadows danced across the water, and a slight breeze ruffled the leaves overhead. But Jim stared straight ahead, not seeming to notice his surroundings. Slade hunkered down beside him.

  “I think Becky’s going to be all right. Doc’s taking good care of her.”

  Jim flung a rock into the creek. “I hate my pa.”

  Slade sighed. “Don’t hate him. It’s not worth it. Hate will just eat you up inside, and you’ll only become bitter.”

  “But it’s never going to get any better. Pa is just going to keep on drinking and being mean and hurting Becky and Ma. I wish he was dead.” Jim swiped at his face, smearing dirt and tears across his cheeks.

  Slade’s heart twisted. He’d said much the same thing to Mariah only hours before. He could see so much of himself in Jim’s face, in his words. Many times he’d wanted his own father dead. But when he had died, Slade wanted him back. No matter how mean when drinking, the man had still been his father.

  “No, Jim, you don’t. Your pa prayed last night. He said he wasn’t going to drink anymore. He told God he would do better.”

  Jim sniffed. “Do you think he means it?”

  Slade shrugged. “Miss Mariah thinks he does. And Reverend Winston’s praying for him too.”

  “Do you think he’ll do better?”

  Slade scraped a hand over his mouth. How could he tell the boy what he thought when he didn’t even know himself? “I think your pa can do better if we help him.”

  “Could we pray for Becky and my pa?”

  A hollow spot of dread bottomed out in Slade’s stomach. “I’m not much of a praying man, Jim, but if you want to, I’ll stand by you.”

  “Will you say something?” Jim hung his head. “I don’t know how to pray.”

  Me neither.

  But if one simple prayer would help the boy get through this, Slade would attempt it. For Jim’s sake. He stared at the rippling creek, his heart hammering with what he was about to do. “Lord, Jim and I aren’t very good at this, so we ask that You forgive us if we don’t do it right. We’re asking You to heal Jim’s little sister, Becky. And also, Lord, Jim’s pa promised he’d stop drinking. Show us what to do to help him keep his promise. Amen.”

  Jim squinted up at Slade. “Do you think I should say something too?”

  Heart still pounding from the first real prayer he’d said in years, Slade nodded. “If you want to.”

  “I think I’d better,” Jim whispered. He bowed his head. “Lord, this is Jimmy Denton. I know You’ve heard about how sick my little sister is, and I don’t want her to die. Can You please help her to get well? And help my pa, too. He’s not so bad when he’s sober, but he’s powerful mean when he’s been drinking. Help me to be good so he won’t get mad and want a drink. I reckon that’s about all, Lord. Amen.” Jimmy peered at Slade, his tearful gaze unsure. “How’d I do?”

  “I think you said a mighty fine prayer.” Slade stood. “Now, how about some breakfast? Mrs. Malone said you hadn’t eaten anything, and the last thing Becky needs is for you to get sick.”

  “Okay. I feel a lot better now that I’ve prayed, don’t you?”

  “I sure do.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

  Jim raced on ahead, Slade right on his heels.

  Halfway up the path, Slade turned. Nothing had changed. Sunlight still danced across the water, a bird twittered in the trees somewhere off to his right, and a breeze stirred the leaves over his head. Nothing had changed, but somehow everything had changed.

  He bowed his head.

  I’m a little late doing this, Lord, but thank You for sparing my brother’s life.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  FIVE DAYS AFTER BECKY’S ACCIDENT, Jim skidded to a stop outside the barn door. “Miss Mariah said I could go to the church picnic today.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.” Slade threw a forkful of hay into one of the stalls and moved on to the next. A quick glance revealed that Buck had cleaned that one and left a bucket of water inside.

  “You going?” Jim cocked his head to one side, chewing his bottom lip.

  “To the picnic?”

  “Nah. To church.”

  “Hadn’t planned to.”

  “Please?”

  “You scared?” Slade leaned on the pitchfork and eyed the boy.

  “Yeah.” He scuffed the dirt. “I’ve never been to church. Pa wouldn’t ever let us go.”

  The barbed memory of his own father pricked Slade. “Why not?”

  “Dunno.” The boy shrugged. “But he said he’d better not catch us in church. He’d wallop us good if he did.”

  Slade forked some hay into the last stall. “I don’t think your pa would mind now that Becky’s been hurt. I think he’d be mighty pleased if you went.”

  “But will you go too?” Jim asked. “Please.”

  He studied the boy for a moment before putting the pitchfork up. “All right. I guess it won’t hurt.”

  In the bunkhouse, Slade grabbed his only good shirt and shook out the wrinkles. It had been years since he’d been in church. And he wouldn’t be going today if Jim’s pleading hadn’t been his undoing.

  His pa had beaten the desire to attend church out of him much the same as Jim’s father had done. A hot flash of anger swept over him, and he jerked the shirt on, buttoning it with quick, determined moves. His father had been dead for years. If he wanted to go to church, it was nobody’s business but his own.

  Jim stuck his head in the bunkhouse and hollered, “You coming? Everybody’s ready and waiting.”

  “I’m coming.”

  He strode across the wide expanse of swept dirt toward the wagon waiting in front of the house. Cookie stepped off the porch, carrying one of the rockers. Slade almost laughed out loud. Cookie wore black pants, a white shirt, and a bl
ack string tie.

  The cook scowled at him. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing.” He motioned to the rocker. “What’s that for?”

  “Mrs. Malone likes to have her rocker at the picnic. Not anyplace for her to sit.”

  Slade took the rocker and put it in the buckboard.

  Cookie hefted himself into the driver’s seat. “Help the ladies, you young whippersnapper, and we’ll be on our way.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Slade helped Mrs. Malone up onto the seat beside Cookie, then handed Mariah up next to her. It was a tight squeeze with all three of them on the seat, but Mrs. Malone and Mariah were both small boned. Slade sat on the back of the wagon, and Jim hopped up beside him.

  Mrs. Malone kept up her usual monologue all the way into town, so Slade let his mind wander. Why had his father been so intent on keeping them out of church? Because the preacher spoke out against drinking, and his pa hadn’t been willing to quit? Or had there been something more?

  His mother always said she’d found peace and safety in church. Slade could understand that. She’d had precious little peace or safety at home when his father was alive.

  All too soon, they drew up in front of the whitewashed church, the boards gleaming in the bright sunshine. Slade hopped down and helped the ladies from the wagon. Cookie clambered to the ground and offered his arm to Mariah. Slade held out his arm to Mrs. Malone. Jim stood beside Mariah, being properly quiet and respectful.

  “You coming inside today?” Mrs. Malone asked Slade as they walked slowly toward the church, Cookie, Mariah, and Jim trailing behind them.

  “I thought I might.” He cleared his throat. “Jim wanted to come, but he was a little scared.” He didn’t tell her he was pretty nervous himself.

  “‘And a little child shall lead them.’”

  “What was that, ma’am?”

  “Nothing.” She smiled. “Just something out of the Bible.”

  Mrs. Malone dragged him down the aisle halfway to the front of the church. The farther they walked, the more self-conscious he became. Glancing around, he couldn’t figure out what had made his mother feel better. Sure, the church smelled nice and clean, and somebody had put a bouquet of wildflowers on a table up front. But other than that, he didn’t feel any different than he did on the outside.

  If anything, he felt a sight worse.

  He settled in, ignoring the curious stares of the congregation, his eyes straight ahead, focused on the front. By the time they’d made it through the opening prayer and two congregational hymns, his heart had stopped its vicious pounding in his chest.

  Mrs. Winston motioned to the song leader from her perch on the piano stool and whispered something to him.

  The man turned toward the congregation. “Mariah, it’s been requested that you honor us with a song this morning.”

  Mariah rose from the seat and glided toward the piano, her skirts swishing against the pews as she passed. She faced the crowd, her attention focused over Slade’s head, toward the back door. Mrs. Winston played the opening strains of a vaguely familiar hymn, and Mariah started singing.

  A hush fell over the congregation.

  The preacher’s wife had been right. Mariah could sing. She stood beside the piano, her dark-brown skirt and cream-colored blouse showing off the light-brown hair she’d swept to the top of her head.

  Jim leaned over and whispered, “She sure can sing, can’t she?”

  Slade nodded.

  Her gaze met his, and she tripped over the words for a moment but then caught herself and finished without another flaw. As she made her way back to the pew, she wouldn’t even look at him. Why? She’d been wonderful. Had the slight mishap at the end embarrassed her that much? When she sat down between Jim and her grandmother, Slade stole another glance at her.

  She faced forward as if unaware of his attention. He studied the side of her face, the way her hair flowed smoothly back from her temples, the tiny jut of her eyebrows, then the gentle tilt of her nose, on down to her full lips.

  As he watched, a tint of red crept up from her high lace neckline and covered her cheeks. He bit back a grin and faced forward, amused that it took so little to bring that blush to her cheeks.

  Reverend Winston stood behind the pulpit, and Slade tried to concentrate on the preacher. Maybe the sermon was what made his mother enjoy church so much.

  “I’m going to take my text from Luke 6:37 today. ‘Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.’”

  The preacher placed his hands on either side of the podium and regarded the congregation. Slade swore the reverend’s attention lingered on him longer than on anybody else.

  The nervous tic in Slade’s jaw started. Had Reverend Winston decided to preach this sermon on forgiveness because Slade had come to church this morning? Did he know about what had happened between the Malones and the Donovans? After all, Mariah and Sally Winston were good friends. Had Mariah confided in the preacher and his wife, even though she’d made him promise not to slander her father’s memory?

  Reverend Winston slapped the podium with his open hand and Slade jumped. “I tell you, if you’re not willing to forgive those who wrong you, you are none of His.”

  Was Reverend Winston asking him to forgive Mariah’s father? And what if he did? The direct result of forgiveness would be to turn the ranch back over to Mariah and her grandmother and walk away.

  He crossed his arms and glared at the preacher, letting Reverend Winston make his case.

  After church, the entire assembly headed to the creek for the picnic. Cookie rode with Doc Sorenson in the doctor’s buggy, and Slade drove the team. As he slapped the reins against the horses’ backs, Slade considered all the preacher had said. And realized none of it mattered now. He couldn’t change his mind if he wanted to. Not with his mother and sisters just days away from arriving.

  He hauled back on the reins, and the wagon jolted to a stop. He set the brake and jumped to the ground. Jim tumbled out of the back.

  “Here, young man, help me down from this contraption.” Mrs. Malone held out one hand to Jim. The boy looked at Slade, and he nodded permission.

  Once on solid ground, she pointed with her walking stick. “Put my rocking chair over there under that tree. After they say the blessing, you can bring me a plate. Mariah will fix it. And I want some of Gertrude Riker’s lemonade.”

  Slade escorted Mrs. Malone across the uneven ground to where Jim placed the rocker.

  Jim fidgeted. “Can I go now?”

  Mrs. Malone sank into her rocker and shook her cane at him. “You can, but don’t forget about me.”

  While Jim raced off to join a couple of other boys, Slade moved toward the wagon, intent on seeing to the horses.

  “Slade?”

  “Ma’am?”

  She gave him that peculiar look of hers that said she was old enough to say what she wanted and get away with it. “Reverend Winston’s sermon on forgiveness shook you up pretty good, didn’t it?”

  He flushed.

  “No use denying it.” She waved a bony hand at him. “You squirmed like a bug caught in a jug of syrup all morning. I declare, I reckon you were more fidgety than little Jim.”

  Slade couldn’t disprove what she said, so he just stood there, watching the women as they hurried back and forth toting baskets of food and arranging it all on makeshift tables made out of boards placed on sawhorses.

  “You know, when you showed up demanding the entire ranch, I told Mariah the land legally belonged to you and your family, and we just had to accept that fact. But in my heart, I questioned why God would let something like this happen to our family.”

  “Mrs. Malone—”

  “No, let me finish. I’ve come to realize that possessions aren’t everything. But souls are.” She held his gaze, her expression intent. “Maybe the Lord sent you here for a reason. Maybe He wanted you to find peace with Him and accept Him as your Savi
or.”

  His heart jumped at the very words he’d been contemplating all morning. How do I find that peace? he wanted to ask. Instead, he tucked the still, small voice inside. “I don’t think the Lord has any use for someone like me, Mrs. Malone.”

  “The Lord has use for everybody. That’s why He died on the cross for our sins. He loves us all, no matter what we’ve done or who we are. All you have to do is ask Him to forgive you for your sins and ask Him into your heart. He’s the only one we can trust to never betray us or fail us.” She paused. “You remember that, son.”

  “All right, ma’am, I will.”

  “Now, go on. I plan to sit right here in the shade and take a little nap before Mariah catches me.”

  Slade walked away and watched from a distance as the church ladies spread out platter after platter of fried chicken, salted ham, vegetables, biscuits, corn bread, cakes, and pies, laughing and talking among themselves.

  The men stood around in small groups, talking about ranching and farming or anything else that came to mind, while children’s laughter rang out from the shallows of the nearby creek.

  Cookie stood off to the side, speaking with a plump older woman. He held himself erect as if his neck and back didn’t bother him a bit. Slade grunted. The Lazy M cook might be more spry than he’d let on.

  Slade wondered if he could ever feel a part of the people of Wisdom, if he would ever belong. Reverend Winston, Doc Sorenson, and John Riker had made him welcome. But he still felt like an outsider.

  Maybe he needed that peace Mrs. Malone talked about. Peace that no matter what happened, everything would be all right. That God loved him even though Slade had turned his back on Him all these years.

  He sought out Mariah. She reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. Somebody said something, and a round of merriment burst from the group. Tightness gripped his chest at the carefree look of happiness on Mariah’s face. Would she find that kind of happiness when she left here? Would she find friends somewhere else she could laugh with so freely?

  And would his own family ever be accepted so fully into this community? His mother and sisters would attend church, and eventually they’d be accepted. But what about Buck and himself? Both loners, they’d never felt at home in Galveston because of their father’s reputation. Would it be any different here?