by Diane Noble
He drew a deep breath and turned back, a smile fixed in place. “Coal and I will go with you all the way to California. And Chuck, of course.” He tried to meet Enid’s eyes, but she was getting ready to mount her horse and head back to town.
He concentrated on her face, so familiar, so beloved, yet different somehow. There was a new sharp angle to her demeanor, a bitterness, perhaps. Yet still he loved her—oh, yes, he loved her. He longed to take her into his arms this moment.
But their time was over. Their chance for love in the past. He smiled at her and gave her a little salute.
She frowned briefly and turned the horse to head back down the road.
“You must tell her.” Bronwyn now stood beside him. “There may never be another time you can. You must tell her now. Hurry!”
Still, he didn’t move.
“If you don’t, I’m going to run out there and scream to the top of my lungs that you love her and she’s a fool if she doesn’t love you too and that she’d better get that horse turned around and hightail it back here.”
Hosea grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you scream.”
She poked his chest with her index finger to emphasize her point. “Then you just listen, mister, because you’re going to hear the loudest—”
He held up a hand. “No screaming, please. I’ll do this my own way.”
Hosea walked out to the moonlit road. “Enid,” he called. “Enid, come back. There’s something you must know.”
She halted the horse, and for a moment just sat there, still as a marble statue, in the moonlight.
“Enid,” he cried again, and he threw down his stick and limped as fast as he could toward her. “There’s something I forgot to tell you in my last letter.”
She turned then, and watched him walk toward her. For several heartbeats she didn’t speak. Just stared. “Your letter?” she said, frowning. “What letter.”
Then she blinked and caught her hand to her mouth. He could see that she was crying.
“Hosea?” she whispered. She slid down from the horse and ran into his arms. “Oh, my darling,” she cried. “Is it you?”
“I forgot to tell you,” he said, holding her tight, “I forgot to tell you I love you. I always have, and I always will.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Enid rode for an hour before she came to a rise and looked down to see the ranch before her, bathed in moonlight.
She halted the roan and bit her bottom lip, trying not to think about what lay ahead. She was riding headlong into danger, more than she’d ever encountered in her life.
For once, she put away her own desires and thought about those she loved. None of them knew how much they meant to her or to what ends she would go for them.
Her gaze took in the barren ranchlands, the barn, the garden, and finally the house itself. It reminded her of bones without flesh, gray in the pale light, bereft of lamplight, of children’s laughter, of wafting scents of Cordelia’s cooking.
One way or another, this was the end of life with the Saints. Her greatest discovery had been of herself, though she would be the first to admit she had a long way to go.
She followed Gabe to Nauvoo for selfish reasons. She needed him. Needed the challenge of proving that, though Hosea had rejected her in the end, she could still snag Gabe right from beneath Bronwyn and Mary Rose’s noses. It was a matter of pride.
Bronwyn and Mary Rose didn’t want her to marry Gabe; she’d known that from the beginning. But she was determined to have him anyway, no matter the cost.
Yet in the end, they had included her as part of the family. The children adored her. She never let on how much their love healed her, how something deep inside her came alive again because of it. When Little Grace adopted her as her favorite “mommy”—even though she knew Grace told Bronwyn and Mary Rose the same thing—her heart rejoiced.
She had come to the MacKays believing that life owed her. She’d known too many heartaches. Gabe left her young and pregnant to pursue his career; she’d lost their baby, a baby he didn’t even know about. Hosea had ridden into her life as if on a white steed, tall, handsome, the captain of the whole world in her eyes, and she’d found what deep and abiding love between a man and a woman was meant to be. She’d known what it meant to be cherished.
And then lost him.
And turned into a bitter and angry woman, not caring if she made everyone around her as miserable as she felt.
Hosea. . .
It warmed her to think of him, but she scarce could take it all in. They hadn’t had time to talk. And if she told him, or told any of them, what she planned, she knew she would break down in tears and never set foot outside their protective circle.
How she’d longed to stay in Hosea’s embrace. Her determination had wavered, but only for a moment when he held so tight she felt the beat of his heart. Stepping back before her resolve faded, she had kissed him and held his gaze with hers in the moonlight, wanting to memorize the love and forgiveness she saw there. Then she ran to her horse, mounted, and rode away without looking back.
She urged the roan down the slope, and within minutes rode through the gate to the ranch house. She tied the roan outside, visible to anyone coming by. She let herself inside and lit every lamp so the windows glowed and light spilled out for anyone and everyone to see.
Enid MacKay had come home, and she wanted everyone to know.
And then she sat in Cordelia’s rocking chair and waited. And tried not to think of how alone she was. How vulnerable.
How much she wished the Hawken lay across her lap.
An hour passed. And then another. Then she heard the thundering of hooves, the shouts, angry shouts of men out for blood.
“See who it is inside,” a gruff voice yelled.
“I see someone.”
“Go get Greyson,” someone shouted. “We’ll tar and feather them together.”
“The tar’s nice and hot,” cried another. “Boiling hot.”
“Hot enough to kill him. Dead or alive, we’ll carry him through town hogtied on a pole. Send his body back to New York. Teach Gentiles a thing or two about writing about us.”
The door flew open. Gabe was the first to enter. A dozen others crowded into the room around him.
All of them looked wild eyed, worked into a frenzy. Even Gabe.
“Where are they?” Gabe demanded when he saw Enid. “Where’s my family?” His face was wild with rage. “Answer me!” he shouted. “Where is my family?”
She stood, hoping her trembling knees didn’t show underneath her skirts. “If you’ll settle down, I’ll tell you,” she said, attempting to smile.
“Bet you can’t trust her either,” one of the men muttered.
“I don’t know why not,” Enid said with a sweet smile. She went over and took Gabe’s hand, leaning against him lovingly. “After all, I’m here and the other wives aren’t.”
She took a deep breath. “Gentlemen, would you like some hot cocoa? I have a lovely recipe . . .”
Gabe gave her another stern look and drew a deep breath. “Tell me where they are. Now.”
“Have you tried the house in town?” She kept her sweet smile in place.
“Of course, we just came from there.”
“Well, that would have been my first guess.” She shrugged. “Now, how about the cocoa?”
Some of the men actually looked tempted. If she hadn’t been so scared, she would have laughed.
“There’s a search going on right now,” Gabe said, his voice calmer. “They will be found, you can count on that. But I need to find them first so no one will get hurt.” He stepped closer and dropped his voice. “Please, I beg you, tell me.”
Something in his eyes told her she’d been right after all. She sighed as if exasperated. “I thought you would have guessed by now, Gabe, you and your vigilante friends. Your family is on the way to Fort Bridger. They plan to head east, back to England, last I heard Mary Rose say. She still has the deed to her
family’s manor house, you know.” She hesitated, and then added. “With riches like that, why would she head anywhere else? Young women don’t inherit property like that every day.”
She smiled at the men. “Can you blame a woman for wanting to take the fastest way home?”
Gabe stared at her, working his jaw, then he turned to the other men. “Find the others and tell them they’re headed to Bridger. I’ll be behind you.” Then he grabbed her arm firmly and pulled her through the doorway. As soon as the other men had ridden off, he released her arm. His face softened. “Now, tell me where they really are.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t.”
She studied his eyes in the moonlight, and thought of their childhood together. How they played along the seashore on Prince Edward Island, built castles in the sand, and rode their horses in the shallow waves, letting the water splash over them. They’d made sand angels, and then lay still as the water pulled the sand out from under them, threatening to pull them with it, out to sea.
Who had Gabe run to when the news reached him that his family perished at sea? He had run to her and she’d held him while he sobbed. He had lived with her family, taken in as a son when he had no one else.
Had she ever known him to be cruel, or even harsh? Never. He’d been her friend, the best she’d ever had. When she followed him to Nauvoo, he hadn’t wanted to marry her. She realized now, looking into his eyes, that friendship was really all he ever wanted. And perhaps, because of the Church’s influence, a spirit baby or two born of her womb.
Even that didn’t ring true. He knew because of his friendship with Hosea that she was barren. When he married her he had done what he thought good and honorable at the time. He didn’t love her with a romantic love. He loved her as a friend. Why hadn’t she seen that all along?
She smiled, finally.
“Your family is waiting,” she said. “If you want to come with us to California.”
“That’s all I want,” he said. Something new shone in his eyes.
Her smile widened. “And you won’t believe how it’s grown since the last time you saw us.”
He cocked his head. “What do you —?”
“You’ll find out.”
Laughing, she stepped into the stirrup and swung her leg over the saddle. Gabe did the same. “I’ll race you to the top of the rise,” she called back to him, riding on the wind. “And I’ll bet you ten sand dollars I win.”
“Yee-haw,” he cried, waving his hat in the air. “In your dreams.”
They were children again, riding in the moonlight, following their hopes and dreams, following their hearts. “This way,” she cried. “Follow me!”
And he did.
Epilogue
Be not disheartens’—Affection shall solve the problems of freedom yet;
Those who love each other shall become invincible.
—Walt Whitman
Mary Rose urged the team up the final hill between her rig and the wagon company in the valley below. When the weary horses reached the top of the incline, she halted them for rest before starting the treacherous journey downward.
The wagon train’s cookfires had long ago died, but scattered here and there coals glowed, breaking up the darkness and competing with the pinpoints of starlight in a sky just beginning to fade to dawn.
The children had fallen asleep again—Ruby, Pearl, and Little Grace under the canvas cover; Joey and Spence on Cordelia’s and Bronwyn’s laps. Through the long night of travel, the conversation had been hushed, though lively, as Coal and Hosea caught the others up with their stories, and she, Bronwyn, and Cordelia told theirs.
Now dawn was about to break, and Mary Rose looked out over this small western valley and the wagon train that would lead them to California, her thoughts turned to what they were leaving behind, a life that she and Gabe had once thought full of adventure—beginning their married life in a new country with an exciting new frontier religion. Heady with a surety of purpose, they’d felt invincible. What could possibly come between them? she remembered thinking. They held a deep and abiding love for each other, a love that she was certain would not die.
Her soul felt battered, and worse, betrayed. Especially this final betrayal. She hadn’t spoken of it, but when Enid rode off—even after a show of affection for Hosea—she wondered if the two of them had planned the final betrayal.
Her heart twisted. How desperately she wanted to believe in Gabe.
Hosea came up on the horse he affectionately called MacDuff, and halted beside her.
“If you look back, you might turn into a pillar of salt,” he said, guessing her musings.
She gave him a soft smile. “I try not to. But Gabe keeps crowding into my thoughts. I’ll never know what happened in the end. It’s like a death, only worse.”
“Don’t give up hope,” Hosea said.
She looked at him and nodded. “You’re a living example of that, Hosea. Your story . . . your heart of forgiveness and mercy and love . . .” A sting of tears filled her throat. “I don’t know if I could do what you’ve done. Keep loving no matter what. Follow my beloved to the ends of the earth—not even knowing what I’ll find when I get there.”
“That’s how God is with us,” he said. “He never gives up, no matter what we’ve done. Remember the story of the ninety-nine sheep?”
She nodded. “From my childhood. The shepherd leaves the ninety-nine to search for the one lost sheep.”
“That story is a portrait of God’s undying love for us. We may take paths that He would not have us choose, paths that lead us into sin and temptation, cause us greater heartache and pain than we can imagine . . . but He comes to find us, not matter where we stray.”
Bronwyn, sitting next to Mary Rose, spoke up. “You’ve just said that He finds us, not the other way around.” Her voice held a sense of wonder. She cuddled Joey close, resting her cheek on the top of his head.
“I remember aboard the Sea Hawk how you called your little ruffian wards—”
“Be careful how you refer to us,” Coal grinned from where he was letting the pinto graze a few yards ahead. “We weren’t that bad.”
Hosea laughed. “It was in the eye of the beholder, son.” Then he turned back to Bronwyn. “You called them your little lambs and no matter how they were acting, what antics they were up to, they responded to the love in your voice, to that word lamb.”
Bronwyn’s eyes filled. “Unearned love,” she said. “Being loved for . . . just being.”
“That’s the profound simplicity of God’s love,” Hosea said. He turned to look out in the distance. “Nothing can get between you and the One who loves you, not principalities with their powers, not institutions and rules made by man.”
“Those things we’ve done that have hurt others and shamed us . . .” Bronwyn whispered. “Unforgivable things.”
Hosea nudged MacDuff closer. “That’s called grace,” he said. “Sometimes it’s difficult to believe that God extends it to us freely. But He does.”
He rode off a short ways, and in the light of breaking dawn, his silhouette made her think of him again as their captain. He sat tall in the saddle, his back straight, his face forward. His profile exuded strength. And now that she knew what he’d endured—and overcome—when he was swept overboard and washed up on the shores of Maine, she was in awe of the man. Master and commander, some called the captains of sailing ships. He had been that indeed, when she first met him.
Now his strength rose not from that commanding presence, but from a strength and peace that came from his heart.
Just then Coal shouted, “Riders approaching!”
Mary Rose heard the children wake and scramble to the rear to peer out. She looked around the side of the long canvas cover and grinned. “Bronwyn,” she said, almost unable to contain her joy. “Bronwyn, get down and look at this.”
Bronwyn watched the approaching group of riders. It was light enough now that she could ma
ke out Gabe and Enid on separate horses. It appeared that someone rode on the saddle behind Enid. And a third horseman beside Gabe.
She glanced over at Coal. He’d noticed the rider in back of Enid. Red hair, a face wreathed in smiles as she peered out from behind Enid, a pretty face with large eyes that sought out his. He blushed and kicked the soil with his foot, but Bronwyn had never seen him look happier.
The group came closer now, and Bronwyn gasped. The third horseman was Greyson. He lived!
Oh, Father, she breathed, Thank you!
She moved her gaze to Gabe and looked into his eyes as he drew nearer. He searched hers, and it seemed, even from a distance, that he asked for forgiveness.
So much to say, so much mercy and forgiveness needed among them all. Where would they begin?
Hosea came up to stand beside her. “It begins with one step, one day at a time,” he said. “Forgiveness doesn’t come all at once. It’s part of a journey. But when you begin it, you’ll never be sorry. Neither will you be alone.”
Mary Rose came up to stand beside her and Bronwyn reached for her hand. Around them, the children cheered and carried on, waking the birds in the trees overhead.
Then the two women stepped out to meet the riders.
Gabe spotted the wagon first, off in the distance, touched by the first rays of the rising sun. He called back to Enid to take a look. Her horse trotted slightly behind, slower than his now because she rode double.
Gabe looked over at the rider beside him and raised a brow. “You ready to meet my family?”
“You forget I’ve already met a few of them.” Greyson grinned. “And I liked what I saw. Plus I spent a lot of time with your son. He’s a fine young man. I doubt that he would’ve made it through his ordeal with the Dakota if you hadn’t taught him how to survive.”
“I didn’t ever think I’d see him again.” Gabe’s heart skipped. He couldn’t reach his family fast enough, but neither did he want to leave the others in his dust.
“Sometimes we don’t know what’s around the next corner.” Greyson laughed. “Like last night when it was you coming for me instead of the mob with a pot of hot tar.”