She wasn’t like some women who enjoyed toying with a man’s affections. She wouldn’t hurt him for the world, and she’d have to tell him the truth before he left her this night.
The closer they got to her house, the harder it was to take another step.
He shortened his long strides to match hers, but all too soon, they ambled into her yard. “Is your Church meeting going to last long?” Perhaps he’d stop back by after the meeting, and she’d have a little longer to practice her speech.
“I hope the business part can be taken care of quickly.”
She laughed. “Myra says she thinks you men call these meetings just to have a rooster party.”
His chuckle soothed her nerves. “There’s a grain of truth to what Myra says, but there won’t be any parties tonight. I intend to get everyone there praying for Rhyan.”
Nerves jolted back to attention. “What’s wrong with Rhyan?”
“I didn’t mean to mention it because it might upset you…and I know you’re already praying.”
Too late for that. She was upset. “What’s wrong?” she repeated in a strangled tone.
“Well, he’s been…well…acting strangely. He won’t eat or sleep. Does nothing but pace from room to room and play the piano.”
“Play the piano?” He’d refused to play for her because he said the music room held too many painful memories.
“Carlos says there’s ranch business he won’t touch and buyers are getting aggravated.” Colt readjusted his hat. “If he’s not better by tomorrow, we’ll have to send a wire to his brother.”
She grabbed his arm for support. “It’s not as bad as that?”
“Well…yeah.” The cords in his neck tightened. “It’s pretty bad, but don’t worry too much. I’m going to stop back by Sollano tonight, and I’m not leaving until I get some sense out of him.”
“Don’t let the meeting run too late,” she said, still holding onto him. She wouldn’t ask him to stop back by here. Rhyan needed him more.
“I’ll leave if it does.” He squeezed her hand in both his. “I hate to leave you like this. There was a lot more I wanted to say, Carianne, and this might not be the right time, but I have to know tonight. If—” He stared at the ground, seemingly tongue-tied.
His words reminded her she had much left to say as well. The situation with Rhyan had knocked all sense from her mind. She’d wait for Colt to collect his thoughts.
He finally raised those clear blue eyes filled with concern, and maybe a little bit of fear. “I don’t know the right way to say it, but…Carianne, I’d like for you to consider marrying me.”
She shouldn’t have been surprised, but the enormity of his words left her speechless. For too long. He released her hand. “You don’t have to say anything now. Just think on it.”
If she hadn’t been so distracted by the turmoil roiling inside, she could have delivered her prepared speech. She searched his features. The honesty in his eyes. The gentleness of his smile.
Even as her lips moved to speak, the memory from her childhood flashed.
All she could do was burst into tears and shake her head. “I…I…can’t.”
Before he could react, she grabbed him in a hug, pressing her face on his shoulder.
Colt pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Tilting her chin, he blotted the tears from her cheeks. “It’s all right, Carianne. I’m the one who should be crying.”
She met his gaze. He didn’t understand, and he deserved an explanation. “It doesn’t change my love for you, but…but it’s not the love of a woman for her husband.” Her voice choked, barely audible. She pressed a corner of the handkerchief to each eye to prevent more tears. “You see…I…I recall who you remind me of.”
He cupped her elbow. “Want to sit on the steps?”
Shaking her head, she flipped loose tendrils behind her ears. New tears flowed and she buried her face on his shoulder again. “You already know I wasn’t always rich. My father’s family disowned him, and when he died, my mother and I lived in a ratty tenement. What you don’t know is my mother was so afraid my grandmother would kidnap me, she refused to allow me to go to school until I was nine. That was the year my grandmother married an English earl and moved to London.” Her words came out muffled, and she wondered if he’d heard.
She swallowed and raised her voice an octave. “My mother was a strict Quaker, and so I had to wear the gray dresses Quakers must wear. As you can imagine, I stuck out like a scarecrow in a cornfield at school, especially since I was woefully behind everyone else at first. They taunted me all the way home every day.”
Her tears had completely dried, and there were none left to shed over those memories. She’d long since forgiven her tormentors. Lifting her head, she smiled. “I had quite an imagination, and I pretended I had a big brother who’d meet me after school and fight all my battles. He was very tall with blond hair and blue eyes, and no one would have taunted me when he was by my side.”
Colt was nodding, but she wondered if he really understood. She patted his shirt where she’d left it soaked with her tears. “The truth is, I can’t marry you because I can’t marry my brother.” She sniffed. “But please, can we still be friends?”
He cupped her chin with his fist and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “It’s all right, Carianne. I’m pleased to be your brother. Just hope I can live up to your expectations. Sounds like they’re pretty grand.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him. “You already do.” Then as that weight fell from her shoulders, the concern foremost in her mind flared. She stepped back “You’re going to see Rhyan directly after your meeting?”
“Sure, and I’ll let you know about it tomorrow.”
Standing planted where she was, she watched him climb into the saddle and turn his horse. Not moving for a long while afterward, she contemplated going to Sollano herself. Yet what could she do? She might make things worse. Certainly Rhyan wouldn’t want to see her.
Finally, she turned and entered into the darkening house. Mechanically she went about lighting the lamps, trying to bring in enough light to dispel the gloom.
There wasn’t enough kerosene in the world.
She’d been living in some sheltered place, thinking that if she had enough faith, she’d be spared the tribulations of life. She’d never faced the hard realities common to everyone. Yes, her mother had died, but that had happened so quickly, and she knew her mother was ready for eternity. All the time before and since, she’d known no pain, her days filled with peace and joy.
But life was hard and she wouldn’t escape. She thought of Opal Cason who’d endured losing six babies one by one. What heartaches lay ahead for Carianne Barlow?
There was no escape, she had to endure too.
Someday she’d be able to smile again, to laugh, to sing and embrace each day with happiness. But not now, perhaps not for a long time. Her heart was laid open and vulnerable. She couldn’t expect God to spare her. Indeed, the real purpose of this life was to prove your mettle—to face the adversary and win.
Your adversary, the devil, walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.
When she entered her room, she found Henry lying asleep on the bed. She plucked the limp cat from his place and dropped him outside the door, closing it behind her. The night was too early for sleep, but she had no intention of sleeping.
The lion wouldn’t torment her tonight.
Falling to her knees beside the bed, she rested her chin on her folded hands. She’d stay right here all night. In this position. Praying until peace came.
Praying, not only for Rhyan, but that she might be able to face tomorrow.
Chapter 25
The observation tower loomed before him. Rhyan didn’t know why he chose this spot out of the thousands of acres available, except it seemed logical. The place where he’d killed any hope for love and happiness ought to be the site of his demise.
Being away from the grazing land and isol
ated, it was too far out for a shot to be heard. Eventually someone would come searching, but at least they wouldn’t find him accidentally.
Quivering like an exposed nerve, the memory of finding his father’s body held him captive, and it was a good thing his horse knew where to go. He couldn’t put anyone through the horror of finding his lifeless body.
Fortunately, no one would bear a hint of blame as he had when rumors ran wild that he’d killed his father.
He’d left a short note telling of his plans on his desk.
Fatigue drained him as he slid out of the saddle. The job before him wouldn’t take much energy, and somehow, that didn’t seem right. How easy it was to snuff out life. It should be harder. Demand a struggle.
He slapped the stallion’s rump, sending him off at a trot. The big roan would find his way home.
The sun had begun its decent over the horizon, casting out streaks of red and gold from behind a cloud formation. Light. Where did it come from? Not the direct light coming from the heat of a blazing sun, or even the reflected light of the moon. Where did the essence of light come from—this thing that pierced through darkness?
I am the light.
His grandmother would’ve been pleased to know he could recall Bible verses so easily. She’d taken so much time to pound it in him.
Should he wait until full dark? No, there was no reason to wait. Besides, nothing but darkness lay beyond the curtain of death. He stepped onto the grass covered mound and pulled the pistol from his belted waist. Recriminations and if onlys would do no good. He couldn’t change his past, and the future would lead to the same end, whether now or later.
His hand shook as he raised the gun, and he forced himself to steady it. Just press the muzzle against the temple and get it over with. One glance at the sunset told him the world would go on with or without him. He cocked the trigger. A calm he hadn’t expected spread over him.
He pulled the trigger.
The click reverberated through his brain.
Why was he still standing? Why wasn’t blood gushing?
For some unaccountable reason, the gun had misfired. He took it down and stared at it for long moments in total silence. Even the grasshoppers ceased their chirp.
What were the odds? That refrain echoed through his brain like a shout against canyon walls.
How many times must I intervene for you?
The words came through as clear as alarm bells. Not a Bible verse, but from the same source. Perhaps he should consider the odds.
The sun disappearing below the earth’s surface was placed at exactly the right position, exactly the right size, at exactly the right time for life to exist. What were the odds of that?
The grass under his feet could convert exactly the right amount of light, using the exact type of nutrients that happened to be in the soil with a very small amount of moisture to produce food. What were the odds?
Grass was useless to humans, but cattle could eat it and produce food that people could eat. An incredibly complex chain of events. What were the odds?
Where did life come from?
I am the life.
He realized this wasn’t the first time he’d barely escaped death. He’d fought a man intent on killing him, a man stronger than he, with better advantage, and yet he’d won. What were the odds of that? He’d pulled a gun on a man in the saloon, and only a shaking hand and a friendly barkeeper saved him. Or so he’d thought. What were those odds?
And now? Maybe his pistol was broken, mechanically malfunctioning. The need to know compelled him to raise the gun over his head, firing. The explosion made him flinch. The gun wasn’t broken.
Maybe it wasn’t fully loaded. Yes, he’d doubled checked it, but in his agitation, he could have missed a cylinder. He raised the gun overhead again. He jerked with the second explosion. He fired three more times in rapid succession.
If the first chamber was empty, it wouldn’t fire again. He hesitated, realizing how much the answer meant. If it didn’t fire, it was simply a human oversight. If it did, it was a miracle. He slowly raised the pistol high in the air and pulled the trigger.
Gunfire rent the air and sent him to his knees in the grass. Unable to get up, he sat back on his haunches with head bowed, allowing tears to flow, a long overdue release.
Gradually he became aware of the night-loving insects coming out. Crickets chirped, a firefly bobbed right in front of his face.
Life. And he was alive to witness it.
A mosquito bit him and he slapped it, flicking it off his hand. A life gone in the same manner his would’ve been spent had the gun fired as he’d expected. To return to the earth.
All of these creatures, the grass, the sun, and he had a purpose. The odds were too great to think otherwise. Subtly, without even realizing it, a peace had settled over him, and a new awareness of creation. He could see every little detail of a blade of grass, and it was a wondrous sight, as was the Creator Who ordered and controlled it all.
God didn’t reside in the farther most reaches beyond the sky’s firmament. He was all around. In the life that pulsed everywhere, even in this virgin stretch of land. In the ground. In the gravity that held it all to that ground. In the air he breathed.
The only thing he could claim as his own was his will. The only thing separating his life from that of the mosquito was his will. Unlike all other life, humans possessed a will.
The will to hate or love.
Where does love come from? He could hear Carianne as she asked that question, her head tilted back, her voice challenging. Skeptical. Taunting.
Now he knew the answer. God is love, but illuminating that love required one’s will. A candle would remain forever in darkness unless it was sparked, then consumed to generate light. The will must be consumed.
To spark the light, the will had to surrender.
He who loses his life for My sake will find it. Jesus didn’t speak of the physical life, but rather, the eternal life available to all who sought Him. The life available right now.
Jesus, You are my savior, tell me what to do. What is my purpose?
He looked off in every direction…his land. He had so much, surely he could do much. Those tramps who stumbled over his land at times. Something had to be done for them. Instead of chasing them off, he’d build a bunkhouse for transients, give them a new set of clothes and boots, hot meals and baths. He’d research the country for jobs and give them the train tickets to get there. He’d hire Preacher Hal to work in the chapel to work full time with the men he knew were as lost as he’d been.
Being in a position of influence, he could help those fighting unfair laws. The suffragists. The unions. The former slaves.
He felt another mosquito bite. Even that felt exhilarating. It proved he was alive when he might have been lying dead at this moment. The wonder of being alive flooded him with relief and love for this glorious God Who’d saved him and the Lord Jesus Who’d made it possible.
Twilight deepened as the sun slipped below the horizon. Rhyan didn’t really notice, so intent was he, drinking in the new feeling of love and being loved. Then he felt a nudge and looked up to find his horse standing in front of him.
Another miracle. He didn’t even question the possibility God had sent the horse back so he wouldn’t have to walk the seven miles home.
He got to his feet and hugged Rusty’s neck. The impatient horse whinnied and pawed the ground. Time to go. Rhyan slapped the roan’s flank, and with an energy he hadn’t felt in weeks, sprang into the saddle.
***
It was fully dark when he got back to Sollano. He entered the quiet house and stood drinking in the sight of home, as if seeing it for the first time. How blessed he was, and he’d never appreciated it. All the work his grandparents had put into this place. All the work his employees did to keep it running as smooth as his best silk tie. They all deserved a bonus for putting up with him the past few weeks.
A loud gasp wrenched him around.
Ma
ria came running from the hallway. “Rhyan.” She gave him an uncertain glance. “You’ve had a nice ride? We’ve been worried. Carlos was just about to go looking for you.”
He’d put those deep grooves in her forehead and probably a few more gray hairs besides. Clasping her by the shoulders, he kissed the top of her head, then gave her a wide grin as he straightened. “I’m fine, Maria, but hungry.”
Her smile wobbled like she was uncertain whether to be glad or run from a crazy man. Her wrinkled brow smoothed out, saying she chose the former. “You’re hungry? Of course you’re hungry. You haven’t eaten enough to keep a sparrow alive the last few days. I’ll fix your plate. We have roast venison.” She started to go, then pivoted. “No, that would be too heavy since you haven’t eaten in so long.” She twisted her apron. “I know. There was beef stew for luncheon. I’ll have that warmed, with cornbread.”
“Sounds good, but no rush. I’m going to clean up first. Tell Carlos I’ll see him at breakfast, and we’ll decide what to do about those sales.”
He detoured to his office to destroy the note he’d left. No reason to give Maria anything more to worry about. Besides, attempted suicide was against the law. Not that it was a capital offense. Even the government wasn’t that stupid. He chuckled, trekking up the wide stairs. His sense of humor had returned.
After a hot bath, shave and clean clothes, he felt almost as physically clean as he did inside. Another revelation. He did feel clean. He’d been so overwhelmed out at the observation tower, he’d not noticed until now. The guilt was gone…the lying, cheating, adultery, even that horrible guilt over what he’d done to his father.
The conflicted emotions left by his mother’s abandonment were gone. He could forgive her. Of course he could. If she were still alive, he’d find her someday.
He sat alone at the long table to savor his blessings and then attacked the food like a starving man. It seemed that every taste bud had come alive. So much he’d been missing, even the simple pleasure of eating.
His second bowl was almost empty when he heard Colt’s voice in the outer room. Maria was speaking to Colt, though Rhyan couldn’t make out what she said.
Surrendered (Intrique Under Western Skies Book 2) Page 23