by Lisa Harris
However, that wasn’t why he was here. Nothing had really changed. He planned to ask for her help—beg, if need be, to get his job done. And once he found the gold, or some sort of proof that it couldn’t be recovered, then he’d take on the next assignment. Or retire to some rolling hillside near the banks of the Mississippi. Alone.
“I…thanks for coming.” He pressed his lips together, determined not to get tongue-tied today. “What would you like to drink?”
Miss Young set her light wrap on the chair behind her. “Lemonade would be wonderful.”
Aaron motioned for the waitress and ordered them each a glass before continuing their conversation. “It’s hot today, isn’t it?”
“Very.” She smiled and his heart tripped. “But I still enjoyed the drive here. The fields are sprinkled with Queen Anne’s lace and the perfume of wild roses.”
“And there are clouds in the horizon.” He tugged on his collar, longing for relief from the stifling heat. A light breeze filtered in from the open front door but did little to alleviate the humid air. “I believe we’re in for some wet weather. Might help cool things down.”
“Mr. Carpenter said the crops could use another good rain. He’s afraid production will be down this year.”
The waitress put tall glasses of lemonade in front of them, then headed back to the kitchen. At two o’clock in the afternoon the place was quiet with no other patrons, which was exactly what he’d counted on. What they had to discuss had to be kept between them.
“For a city girl, you’ve learned a lot since your arrival in Iowa.” He caught her gaze, grateful for the few minutes of small talk before things between them got serious. “You need to be careful, though.”
“And why is that?”
“For instance, wild parsnip is often mistaken for Queen Anne’s lace, but the wild parsnip is a rather toxic plant that can actually burn the skin if one isn’t careful. Things aren’t always what they appear to be.”
“Apparently, I have much to learn.” She cocked her head. “Does that apply to people, as well?”
“In my line of work, I’ve found that one must always be cautious.”
Aaron toyed with the cloth napkin. Looking at her heart-shaped face and full lips, it was easy to forget the real reason he was here. He shifted his gaze to the decorative wallpaper behind her. Swirls of lavender blurred before him as he tried to refocus on the matter at hand. He wasn’t here because the woman sitting across from him made him want to retire and settle down. He was here to make a deal and find the gold.
“Is there anything else I should watch out for?”
He blinked at her question and turned back to her. Was there anything else to watch out for? Here was a woman who’d been attacked, shot at, threatened, and had somehow even managed to color her hair purple. If anything, people needed to watch out when they were around her.
He shook his head. But she’d been talking about plants. Queen Anne’s lace…roses… “To watch out for what?”
“You mentioned wild parsnip.”
“Oh. I don’t know…” He shook his head and tried to think. “Poison ivy, stinging nettle, and the black locust tree, I suppose, for starters.”
She smiled at him. “I didn’t know you were interested in such matters.”
“My grandfather taught me a love and a respect for the land.”
“But we’re not here to discuss plants, are we?” She looked around the empty room then leaned forward. “I’m anxious to know what information you have to share with me.”
Aaron cleared his throat. She was right. It was time to get to the issue at hand. “I found out yesterday that Mr. Schlosser is dead.”
Miss Young drew in a sharp breath, and he cringed. He hadn’t meant to be so blunt. He’d found himself so wrapped up in her presence that he knew he needed to forge past all the small talk or he’d find the afternoon spent with no progress made. But what happened to his skills of diplomacy and discretion? If he had any hope of getting what he wanted, then he would have to be careful how he said things.
“I’m sorry.” He picked up his lemonade and let the small chunks of ice swirl in the glass. “It came as quite a shock to me, as well. I was hoping that your lead would pay off.”
“I’m just surprised.” She took a sip of her drink. “This changes things substantially.”
“It means that we are both out of leads. Unless…” He let his voice trail off. He had to sound convincing. “Unless we work together.”
Her eyes widened. “You want me to help you?”
“You have information. I have the resources. Together, we might actually be able to recover the gold.”
He liked the thought of them working together. He couldn’t help it. A lonely retirement wasn’t an appealing future. As hard as he’d tried not to, she was the one he saw sitting beside him on a porch swing watching the sunrise or on a cold winter evening in front of the fireplace.
“What about the reward money?” She eyed him cautiously. “Would you still be willing to make good on it?”
“Of course.”
She lowered her gaze. “I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t want you to believe that I’m completely self-centered.”
He wasn’t sure what she meant. “I don’t.”
She frowned “It’s really not about the money.”
“Then what is it about?”
She stared at her glass and began wiping away the condensation. “It’s about proving I can do something worthwhile in life.”
“I don’t understand.”
Miss Young folded her hands on the table and looked at him. “My aunt was a spy for the Union in the war. She made a difference, risking her life while passing important information to key people. My parents were a part of the Underground Railroad. They helped countless people escaping from slavery. And as for myself…” She shrugged. “I’ve failed to do anything of value.”
Aaron shook his head, wondering how a beautiful and intelligent woman could think such a thing about herself. “But you told me about your charity work and—”
“What good is giving a child a blanket or a pair of shoes, when you can’t assure him that he will one day have a home where he is loved?” An underlying passion resonated through her voice as she gripped the edge of the table. “What assurance is it to give a cup of soup to someone one day when the next day she’ll still be hungry? Everything I’ve done is small. Insignificant. I want to do something…something big with my life.”
Aaron was surprised at her display of honesty, but he also understood exactly where she was coming from. Hadn’t he spent his whole life searching for the same things? Yearning to find a way to measure up to someone else’s standard. There was one thing, though, that wasn’t clear in his mind.
He longed to understand completely what was in her heart. “You say you want to make a difference to people, but how does finding the gold accomplish that?”
“I don’t know.” She fidgeted in her chair. “I read my aunt’s journals after hearing her stories while she was still living. Finding the gold seemed like something tangible I could do to help my country. A silly idea, wasn’t it—”
“No.” He reached out and squeezed her hand, then pulled back at the intimate gesture. He had no right to bridge that gap between them. And he mustn’t forget that their relationship was strictly business. “I’m sorry, but no. I don’t think your actions were foolish. Not at all.”
Miss Young’s gaze rested on the hand that he had touched. “They were foolish, and you know it.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I think you’re wrong.”
“How can you understand how I feel?” She shook her head, and he didn’t miss the tears that pooled in the corners of her eyes. “You’ve spent your life making this country a better place by bringing criminals to justice and stopping evil men from following through with their plans. You’ve made a difference.”
Aaron winced. Her words might seem true to someone looking at his
life from the outside, but to him, his actions had never been enough. At least not enough in the eyes of some.
“Have you ever thought about what God sees as success and failure?”
He stopped to consider her question, though it wasn’t something he hadn’t thought of before. He’d wondered the very same thing a dozen times. Did his hard work make up for his failures in God’s eyes? It was a question to which he’d never found the answer.
“I’m not sure, but I doubt He sees things the way we do.”
“Do you have an example?”
He wasn’t following her train of thought. “An example?”
“From the Bible. I just thought of the widow who gave her last two coins to the offering. Man saw that as foolish, but Jesus held her up as an example because He saw how her motives were pure compared to the rich and their large offerings.” She leaned forward, intent. “Jesus saw the motivations of the woman’s heart, not how much she gave.”
“You’re right.”
He’d spent his whole life worrying about the external results and far too little time examining his heart and what really mattered. The significance of what she said was sobering. An image of Jesus on the cross flashed before him. Christ was the one Man who’d never concerned Himself with what the world said or thought about Him. Instead, He’d spent His time on earth teaching the truth. And none of it had been what the people expected.
“What about the life of Jesus?” he offered. “To the world, don’t you think His life was a failure? Not only did all His followers leave Him, the mob had Him crucified. But God saw success in Christ’s sufferings on the cross even when everyone else heralded the event as a complete failure.”
She nodded. “God knew the final outcome. And the fact that Jesus would conquer death. And that’s why He looks at our hearts. It doesn’t matter if we’re parting the Red Sea or cleaning out a horse stall.”
“What?”
She laughed for the first time all afternoon. “Or shall I say that whether we’re chasing a pot of gold or a band of outlaws for a living, it isn’t as important as whether or not we are following Him with our whole heart.”
He matched her broad grin. “I’d say you’re exactly right.”
“I have the journal. I suppose you’d like to look at it.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
She shook her head. “And besides, our conversation has given me an idea.”
Thirteen
Tara read through the last few verses of Romans chapter eight, then laid her Bible on the small table beside the rocking chair. She took a deep breath. From the front porch of the Carpenters’ home, the air was fragrant with the sweet-smelling honeysuckle that grew along the side of the house. It had rained all night, bringing a renewed freshness to the morning temperature. For the first time in months, she felt surrounded by a warm blanket of contentment.
She ran her fingers across the leather-bound Bible her parents had given her on her sixteenth birthday. Verse thirty-seven in particular had stood out during her devotional. Paul had written that in all things we are more than conquerors through Him that loved us. The straightforward words were significant, especially in the light of her conversation with Mr. Jefferson yesterday.
Aaron Jefferson.
Just the thought of his name made her smile. The man continued to amaze her. Rarely had she met someone willing to discuss spiritual matters in such a forthright and honest way. And while he seemed to be grappling with his own uncertainties, his sincerity in discovering God’s will for his life was evident. And his example of Christ’s death as the ultimate victory out of perceived failure was key.
It was a situation that didn’t make sense to the world. Life through death. Success through sacrifice. Storing up treasures in heaven and not on this world. But God’s Word was clear. Only through Christ would she be able to find her worth. The reminder was freeing. And one she regretted not grasping sooner. When she’d made the decision to give her life to Christ, she had confessed He was Lord and had been baptized into His death in order to live a new life. It was time she started fully living that position as the daughter of the King. Time she stopped worrying about how the world saw her.
She knew now that she didn’t have to find the gold to be worth something in God’s eyes. Christ wanted her to daily live for Him, no matter what she was doing. He’d accepted the widow’s small gift as if it were all of Solomon’s wealth. And He would accept all her offerings, gifts, and talents as she used them for His glory. He just wanted her undivided heart.
A horse and rider galloping down the dusty lane toward the Carpenters’ home caught her attention. Tara stood and put her hand above her eyes to shield the morning sun. The older couple hadn’t mentioned that they were expecting company, though an occasional visit from the pastor or one of the other members of the church wasn’t uncommon.
Or maybe Mr. Jefferson had decided to call on her this morning instead of waiting to meet again at the hotel restaurant with her aunt’s journal as he’d suggested. The thought of seeing him now made her heart flutter, and she strained for a view of his ever-present Stetson.
The rider slowed as he approached the house, but this man wasn’t wearing a black hat. She wrapped her hand around the porch’s solid post. Faded denim jeans paired with a worn plaid shirt…
It wasn’t Mr. Jefferson. It was Mr. Martin.
The man stopped in front of the house and slid off his chestnut mount. He tipped his hat, but his expression was far from friendly. “Good day, Miss Young.”
“Mr. Martin.” Tara clasped her hands together. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
“I’m sure you weren’t.” The man’s gaze scanned the front of the house while his hand rested on his sidearm. Either he had news regarding their quest for papers Mr. Schlosser had left behind, or the man was here on other business. From his somber expression, something made her fear the latter.
She attempted to keep a smile in her voice. “Is there something I can do for you today?”
He stopped at the bottom of the staircase. “Where are the Carpenters?”
“Inside, finishing their morning coffee.” Tara felt her lip twitch. “Why—”
“Is anyone else around?”
Sampson had gone into town for supplies. Even the nearest tenant farmer was likely to be out of earshot.
“I can’t say for sure.”
He pulled a gun out of his holster and marched up the stairs. “I want you to take me to the Carpenters. Now.”
Tara couldn’t move. She stared at the gun and tried to breathe slowly so she wouldn’t faint. What had the scripture said this morning?
Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress—
“I believe I gave you an order, Miss Young.”
Tara moved to open the front door, praying each step of the way. The verse continued to flow through her mind. Or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword—or gun…Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.
Through Christ.
“Where are they?” Mr. Martin’s voice reverberated through the quiet house.
Repeating the verse in her mind, she led him through the kitchen and into the dining area with the large window overlooking the back pasture.
“Tara?” Mr. Carpenter’s smile vanished as he moved to stand, but Mr. Martin shoved him back in the chair.
Tara sat across from the Carpenters as ordered. “I’m sorry. He has a gun.”
The cozy dining room, where they had shared dozens of meals over the past few weeks, seemed suddenly cold. Even the warming summer sun couldn’t take away the chill she felt. Mrs. Carpenter grabbed onto her husband’s arm, her eyes widening in fear.
He set his coffee mug on the table and clasped his wife’s hand. “What do you want?”
“Where’s Mr. Jefferson?”
Tara tried to speak, but fear seeped through every pore of her body. Mr. Jefferson had been r
ight. She seemed to have a knack for attracting trouble. Except this time, she had no idea what she’d just gotten herself into.
“I asked you a question, Miss Young.” Mr. Martin smacked his hand against the table.
Tara jumped. “He’s…I don’t know. In town somewhere, I suppose. I haven’t seen him today.”
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. We are more than conquerors. We are more than conquerors. She repeated the words over and over and tried to get a grip on the panic enveloping her.
Mr. Martin pointed the gun out the window as he paced the room and scanned the horizon.
Neither death, nor life…nor height, nor death…shall be able to separate us from the love of God.
Scenes flashed through Tara’s mind of times she’d longed to do something bold and heroic. This time, she knew she didn’t have to prove anything. Inside her being, as a child of God, was a far greater source of strength than anything she could ever have on her own. Silently, she began to pray, until the fear faded into a dim image of what it had been before.
“Mr. Martin?”
He turned to face her. “What?”
She sat up straight and looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry our visit the other day upset you. I’m assuming that’s what this about?”
He took a step toward her and shook his head. “How can you act as if you have no idea? You came into my house with the pretense of finding a stack of letters that belonged to your aunt, when what you really wanted to do was to set a trap for me. I’m not stupid.”
“Of course you’re not.” Tara worked to keep her voice calm. “This is about your wife, isn’t it?”
“Matilda.” For an instant his face softened. “Matilda Grace Martin. I loved her so much.”
“I’m sure you did.” Tara measured each word she spoke. “I saw her picture. She was beautiful.”