“Even if that was a sin, and I don’t agree it is, wasn’t it a bigger sin for the church not to forgive?” It irritated Rhyan that church people were forever preaching forgiveness but were unwilling to give it to their own.
“I was forgiven, Mr. Cason, but sin has consequences. I didn’t realize the consequences until later.” He propped an elbow on the desk and rubbed his forehead. “My wife died in childbirth. The child died too.”
“You think God brought that on? A lot of women die in childbirth.”
Hal looked up, leveling a stare straight into Rhyan’s eyes. “My sin wasn’t marrying a divorced woman. You see, the scripture also says not to be unequally yoked. I knew my wife wasn’t a Christian. I married her anyway. I thought I could make a difference.”
Had someone put the backwoods preacher up to this to remind him people with different beliefs shouldn’t marry? Colt? God? Well, it wasn’t necessary. He’d lived through the consequences with his own parents. Hal couldn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know.
“If you’re concerned any of that disqualifies you for this job, forget it.”
The transformation in Hal’s craggy features showed his relief. “I appreciate it. I’ve already been stopping by the chapel every day to collect prayers from the prayer box.”
“What’s that?”
“Miss Barlow had this little box made with a slit at the top and pencils and paper at the side. The men write down their prayer requests and put it in the box. I come by and collect them and pray for them. A lot of the men ask for prayer for the ranch. They’re afraid they’re going to lose their jobs. I want you to know I’m spending a lot of knee time praying for you and the ranch.”
So far his prayers went unanswered, but the men had good reason to be concerned. Rhyan got up to indicate the end of the meeting. Hal scraped his chair back as he rose and shook Rhyan’s hand.
“Much obligated, Mr. Cason. I’ll be keeping up with my other duties, but if there’s anything I can do…or if you want to talk—”
What would he need to talk about? “You know I can’t pay you.”
“I know that. Whatever offerings I get will be plenty to cover the chapel’s needs.”
Hal turned and ambled to the door. He had the build of a young Abraham Lincoln with his rail thin build, his brown shaggy hair, and the fact that he was from Kentucky. He’d make the cowboys feel at home in that elegant chapel Rhyan didn’t know how he was to pay for.
The opening of the chapel would please Carianne like salt sprinkled on sweet melon.
Hal stopped in the doorway and turned. He twisted his worn hat several seconds, his Adam’s apple working. “Mr. Cason, you didn’t ask for my advice, but I feel obliged to give you some. I overheard you talking to Carlos before I came in.” He flung the hand holding his hat out. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. Your voices carried through the transom.”
Rhyan glanced to the open window above his office door and nodded.
Hal dropped his hands and stared him straight in the eyes. “You should leave it up to the law to deal with those men. A horrible thing they’ve done, I know, but you’ll never find peace unless you forgive them and…like I said, leave vengeance up to the law and God.”
“I hope you don’t think I’d let those polecats come in here and as good as murder two of my men.” Rhyan moved around the desk, his fists clenched at his sides. Forgive them? He was ready to light out and find somebody to smash in the face.
The preacher backed up as if he could read Rhyan’s thoughts. “I hope to see you next Sunday.”
“Don’t expect me. I do my paperwork on Sunday.”
The minister smiled. “Even God rests on Sunday.”
“I guess God has the time to spare,” Rhyan countered. “I don’t.”
Hal’s features took on that pinched expression again. No doubt he knew what he was up against.
Chapter 11
Carianne watched the yellow tabby disappear through the open kitchen door. He wanted to go out, though for the life of her, she didn’t understand why he insisted on going out the back door. Even cats had their peculiarities. She gave a parting swipe to the bookshelf she’d been dusting, and scurried after Henry to let him out.
It never failed. She’d no sooner gotten through the kitchen door than she heard a rapping on the front door. It wasn’t time for the ladies to arrive for the library meeting. Was it? She let the cat out, tossed the dust rag on the kitchen table, and dashed back through the parlor.
She’d begun meeting with her friends again, realizing she’d been avoiding them for no other reason than they’d remind her they’d warned her Rhyan Cason would break her heart. She didn’t want to hear them say, “I told you so.”
As she opened the door, Agnes Comings had her hand raised, ready to pound again. Carianne held the door wide. “Come in Agnes. Glad you could come.”
Agnes hugged her warmly, then stood back. Carianne noticed water in the woman’s faded gray eyes.
“I know I’m early, but I had to know.” Agnes pushed back a strand of hair, more gray than brown, that had escaped from the top knot on her head.
Only one thing could bring tears to the tough farm woman’s eyes. A lump rose in Carianne’s throat. “I have a new letter from Maggie.”
Maggie Comings, Agnes’s daughter, got herself pregnant some months ago and went away to have the baby. At Carianne’s urging, Rhyan had found an exclusive place that took such girls, and he’d paid for it. Now that Carianne thought of it, he’d paid for a lot of her do-gooding ideas.
He’d have to return to Sollano soon and settle the ranch’s affairs before leaving for good. The thought he might have to sell out rankled her. But whether he did or not, some fine people would lose their jobs.
She felt partly responsible for his money problems.
He’d built the chapel she’d inveigled him into building. Now he needed that money. She ought to pay him back. When he returned from Washington, she’d go out to the ranch. See him.
Was she ready for that? Would he even take her money? He was a man. No man wanted to take money from a woman—except a scalawag. Something Rhyan Cason wasn’t.
Agnes took Carianne by both hands. “I want to thank you for what you did for Maggie…and not only for finding that place for her. You led her to Jesus, Carianne, and she’s completely changed. It was a miracle.”
A miracle indeed. Faced with the greatest problem a woman could have, Maggie had turned her life over to the Lord right here in this very room. Carianne squeezed Agnes’s work-worn hands. “There’s no greater miracle than a changed heart, but it wasn’t me. The Spirit must draw one to Christ. If I had any part in that, it was praying.”
But hadn’t she prayed for Rhyan too? Was he too hardened? The question kept nipping at her, with no answer in sight.
“Let me get the letter for you. Do you want me to read it for you before the other ladies arrive?” Agnes was illiterate, and Carianne intended to offer reading classes for adults as soon as the larger library was open.
“No, I’ll get Jannie to read it to me when I get home. The girls will want to hear it, too.”
“All right.”
Carianne made her way to the bedroom. She opened the top drawer of the oak highboy where she kept her letters. Her hand brushed across the missives Rhyan had sent from his business travels. She’d avoided them since he’d broken their engagement. Floundering in pity, she’d shut out any thoughts of their time together. It was painful to even pray for him.
No one came to Christ except the Spirit draw him. The Spirit hadn’t given up on Rhyan. She knew that as clearly as she knew anything, but why was he kicking against the pricks, as the Spirit of the Lord expressed it to the Apostle Paul? Maggie had accepted the Lord easily. Quickly.
But Maggie was younger. Not as hardened.
Rhyan might yet come to believe. And if he did…if they shared the same faith, might he come for her? That spark of hope still lingered, the reason she couldn’t throw
his letters away.
She pushed aside the large bundle of her grandmother’s letters. Talk about hardened. Carianne had prayed for Grandmama for four long years and despaired of the old woman ever coming to Christ. But she had.
Carianne might never be anything to Rhyan but a friend, but she would keep praying. At the moment Agnes waited, so she retrieved Maggie’s letter and shut the drawer.
Agnes still stood by the door. “Let’s sit over here while we wait for the others.” Carianne handed the letter to Agnes and moved to the comfortable seating arrangement near the fireplace. No need for a fire today. The afternoon was stifling, and she wished she’d thought to raise the front windows.
She sat in the rocker, and waited for Agnes, but the older woman hesitated, hugging the letter to her chest, obviously lost in her thoughts. After several moments, she came in slow strides to sink onto the mauve brocade covered sofa.
“Maggie’s doing exceptionally well.” Carianne set the rocker to a gentle sway. “She’s settled in, and Mrs. McKay is a kind, Christian woman who’s taken her under her wing, but Maggie would do well in any case. She’s changed more than anyone I know…except my grandmother.”
Agnes caressed the letter in her lap. “I thought you’d never actually met your grandmother. Didn’t she live in England?”
“She did, but we corresponded. The first letter told me my mother had been right. Grandmama was the haughtiest, cruelest, most difficult woman on either side of the Atlantic.”
Agnes chuckled. “I don’t know. I’ve come across a few like that. Tell me about your grandma. I haven’t heard you mention but a few snatches before.”
Carianne nudged the rocker into motion again. “Mama was so terrified that Grandmama would try to kidnap me, she wouldn’t allow me to go to school until I was nearly ten. But if Grandmama ever tried to see me, I never knew. Until Mama died.”
“How old were you when your mother passed away?”
“Sixteen. The same age as Maggie.” Carianne stopped the rocker’s motion and sat forward, pulling memories from that painful time. “Grandmama’s solicitors met me at the gravesite. They wanted to take me to London immediately, but I refused.”
She clasped her hands on her knees. “I couldn’t leave Aunt Jewell. She’d been living with Mama and me for as long as I could remember. Mama’s pension and Aunt Jewell’s small inheritance was all we had to live on. I knew I’d have to get a job because Aunt Jewell couldn’t support herself, let alone me.”
Agnes scooted to the edge of her seat, interest plain in her homey features. “So you didn’t go?”
“Grandmama was awarded guardianship, and she provided a nice house for me and Aunt Jewell. I still kicked up a fuss about moving to England, and surprisingly, Grandmama changed her mind. She wanted me to go to a finishing school, then to Harvard College.” Carianne leaned over to pat Agnes’s arm. “I think Grandmama decided I wasn’t educated enough or cultured enough to meet her friends.”
She winked on a laugh. “The funny thing was, as I corresponded with Grandmama, I grew to love her. Between the words, I read how lonely she was, and behind the bitterness and harshness, I saw a woman who cared for me. I was her only blood relative.”
Gripping the rocker’s arms, she remembered the care she’d taken in composing the letters to her grandmother. “I prayed for her, of course, and did my best to witness God’s love. Without being pushy, you understand. One could not push Grandmama into anything.”
An annoying fly that had somehow gotten into the house buzzed by her nose, and Carianne swatted the air. “That went on for five years, and I despaired of Grandmama ever changing.”
A glance at the wall clock urged her to finish the story. “Then I got a very long letter from Grandmama. I remember how the words jumped out at me from the first page. She told me of accepting Jesus as her Savior and how the world had finally turned right side up for her, how she intended to, as she put it, ‘make up for wasted years.’ By the time I’d finished her letter, I was a puddle of tears.”
Agnes released a sigh. “I can image.”
“But why should I have been surprised, Agnes? Isn’t it strange that we pray and pray, then when our prayers are answered, we’re surprised? But I was astonished with the change in Grandmama. She was like Scrooge in A Christmas Carol, trying to make up to everyone she’d wronged.”
“I know I could hardly believe the change in Maggie. You have a way about you, Carianne, to make people believe.”
Carianne stared at Agnes. Did she? Her prayers seemed not to affect Rhyan at all. In fact, he might be further away from God now than before he knew her. Maybe she’d been more concerned with getting Rhyan to love her than getting him to love God.
“Grandmama only lived five months after coming to Christ.” Carianne met Agnes’s tear-filled eyes. “Maggie’s so young. She has her whole life to serve the Lord, and she will, I know.”
Silence fell and after some long moments Agnes took out her handkerchief, blotting her eyes and blowing her nose. “It might not be fittin’, but I’m proud of her.”
“Of course it’s fitting. You have every right to be proud. Maggie has finally come to terms with giving up her baby, and sees a future for herself. She’s going to stay on at that school and get a teacher’s certificate, then come back to Westerfield and teach. I expect she’ll eventually marry and have other children…if God wills it.”
If God wills it. Maybe Maggie had the sense to let God help her decide when and who she’d marry. Carianne stared into nothingness. What had she been thinking? She should never have fallen in love with a man, thinking he’d change. He’d have to change first.
Again, she reminded herself God might not want her to marry Rhyan at all.
A commotion drew their attention to the window. Carianne got up to pull the curtain back. Rachel’s buckboard and Dorcas’s buggy stood in the yard. “The other ladies have arrived. Would you get the door while I get the lemonade?”
Carianne made her way to the kitchen and filled six glasses. That was one more than she’d need. Few ladies would come today. She’d sent out a call for those willing to help work on expanding the library. Quite an understatement, but if she’d revealed all her grand schemes, no one could have come.
Laughter rang out from the parlor. She prayed no one would mention Rhyan, though every woman in town was still tsking over how he’d treated her.
She set the tray on the small commode at the back of the room. The ladies could serve themselves.
Dorcas came toward Carianne, shooting her a look she might have given a small child who’d tripped and hurt herself. “I’m so glad you finally got away from Sollano.” Dorcas’s voice, thick and smooth as hot taffy, brushed her ear as they embraced. She made it sound like Carianne had been held prisoner.
Maybe she had been.
Dorcas pressed her hands on Carianne’s cheeks, forcing an eye-to-eye stare. “Now you see what I’d been warning you about. You’ll see it’s the best thing that could happen. Rhyan Cason has always been a two-timing heart breaker, and he’s not going to change.”
Rachel swiveled from the bookshelf at the other side of the room. “Carianne’s through with Rhyan. She’s been keeping company with Colt.”
Carianne’s spine stiffened. Neither time nor her patience would permit them to go into their silly matchmaking. She latched onto Dorcas’s forearms, forcing them down and sidestepped her. “We’re not keeping company. Colt and I are just friends.”
“But you are going with him to the barn dance next Saturday.” Rachel made it sound like a certainty. “Rhyan makes an appearance on third Saturdays, and you’ll want him to see you with Colt.”
“Rhyan left for Washington last week with—” No, she wouldn’t mention Abby.
“He’s back.” Myra nodded, setting the baubles on her hat to dancing. “And I, for one, will be there. Two good-looking men at the same dance is a temptation beyond me.”
Myra must be mistaken. Rhyan wouldn’t return th
at fast.
Rachel sidled up beside them. “Do give the men a chance to dance with Carianne, Myra.”
Carianne eased Myra and Rachel to the sofa. “Let’s all sit down and get to the business at hand. I need your help with new plans for the library, and I’m bursting to tell you.”
She waited until everyone found a seat. “They say all spirits will be outlawed on July the fifth.”
Rachel snorted. “You know why they chose that date. So they could still have a rip-roaring celebration on July fourth.”
Laughter burst forth like so many hens cackling.
As soon as she was able, Carianne went on, letting her glance skip to each one as she spoke. “Molly is selling the saloon, and I want to buy it.”
Laughter died. “You’re what?” Dorcas asked.
“I’m going to use the building for my library and culture center, and I need your help.”
“What’re you planning?” Dorcas’s tone dripped with skepticism.
“Remember those wild-west shows we put on during the spring festival? Besides the library, I want to set up a theater and start out with those type shows. The land in back can be turned into an amphitheater for rodeos.
“Inside we’ll have a lecture hall. This is an election year. We won’t have any trouble lining up politicians to speak. Later, we could have authors and other famous speakers.”
Ignoring their stunned stares, she got up to walk around the chair and leaned over the back. “And we could have concerts and famous singers.”
Dorcas waved her hand like a child asking for permission to speak. “Carianne, you’re talking about a lot of money. I’ll grant you politicians wouldn’t ask for pay, but all the rest you mention would. Who’s going to pay to see them? Westerfield don’t have over two hundred people, not counting Sollano.”
Carianne gripped the sofa tighter. “The foundation will have to pay for the venture for several months…maybe years, but most of our patrons won’t be townspeople. They’ll come off the train.” She moved back to her seat and hunched forward. “I’ve considered this carefully. I know how tedious it is to travel on that train. Lots of people would love the opportunity to stop over and be entertained for a day or two.”
Surrendered (Intrique Under Western Skies Book 2) Page 12