John looked at Greta. Greta shook her head at him. “I see goodness in you,” she told John. “I also see goodness in the man who betrayed me. I was filled with anger, fear, and hurt. But I put my faith in God to bring me peace. Whenever you want peace, God is waiting.”
“All I want is my son,” John told Greta.
“And then what?” Greta asked. “Will you go to Carson City? Who will watch your son while you work and visit the saloons? Who will feed him and nurture him? Who will run to his side when he cries? Who will wash his clothes and cook his meals? You? Look at you. You stink of whiskey.”
Greta's words punched John in the gut. In the battle to regain custody of his son, he had never thought about the extra responsibilities and duties attached with parenthood. Who would watch his son while he was working? Who would cook his meals, wash his clothes, and see that he got proper schooling...a man standing in a church smelling of whiskey? “Can I still come for supper?” he asked. “I'll behave myself, I promise.”
“I expect you to apologize to Matthew for your rude behavior,” Greta warned John.
John plopped down in a pew. “How can I forgive that man?” he asked in a hard voice. “Lady, I saw that man run and help other people while me and my mother were hiding behind a wagon. He didn't pick up a rifle and defend his family or anything. The other men were fighting... boy were they ever fighting. Those men were brave and strong. But my Pa... No way, he was a coward.”
“Why?” Greta asked, “Because he went to the wounded and dying? Because he cared?”
“Because he refused to fight,” John snapped.
“Did he?” Greta asked. “There's more to fight with than a rifle,” she explained. “Fighting with the heart takes a lot more courage than you can understand. Every man is called for a certain purpose by God. Matthew is dedicated to his purpose.”
“I don't believe that,” John objected. “Lady--”
“Call me Ms. Gutermuth...or Greta.”
“Ms. Gutermuth,” John continued, “When it comes to life or death, a man's gotta fight. This land has no room for cowards. Can't you see that? We were under attack, and my Pa did nothing to protect his family.”
“Is that true?” Greta asked John. “How do you know you Matthew didn't pray for you and your mother first? God protects you, not a rifle.”
“My mother died, so I guess God didn't hear his prayer, then,” John told Greta, hoping to back into her a corner.
“You're alive, so I guess God did hear Matthew's prayer,” Greta replied. She drew in a calm breath. “When I was a small girl, my mother died. She was very sick. I prayed and prayed to God to spare my mother, but in the end, God took her. Why? At the time, I couldn't understand because I was a small girl. But as I grew older, I came to understand that we come from God, and we will return to God. John, we are simply passing through this earth as strangers.”
“Nice sermon,” John said and stood up. “But I don't hide behind pages in a book. I face life head on.”
“And you're doing a lovely job of it,” Greta told John. “I suppose tomorrow you will smell even better than today.”
John looked down at his wet, dirty, clothes. “My wife...” he began to say and paused.
“What about your wife?” Greta asked.
John ran his hands through his wet hair. “It wasn't supposed to be like this. We got married...we were gonna live a happy life together out in my ranch. But she... she hated me. She married me to get even with the banker she ran off with. She didn't care one flip about me or our son... and then burned down the ranch house with me and Mark inside.” John closed his heads. “That woman got me drunk, and I passed out. I woke up to flames and smoke. I barely got me and Mark out in time. Pa thinks I went after Gennifer to bring her home. Truth is, I went after her with a rifle in my hands.”
Greta was shocked to hear John make such a confession. “Why haven't you told Matthew this?” she asked John.
“What good would it have done? My Pa thinks I'm a sinner without hope,” John told Greta in a frustrated voice. “Mr. Self-Righteous thinks he is above everyone and can do no wrong. But let me tell you, lady, no matter what you say, he murdered my mother. A man who refuses to fight is a coward and a murderer.”
Greta decided to stop debating the issue of personal courage with John. Instead, she took a different approach. “You love your son. I think that's admirable. But, I'm curious, why did you sign custody of your son over to Matthew if you hate him the way you do?” she asked.
John shoved his hands down into his wet pants pocket. “To protect him,” he admitted in a low voice. “Gennifer tried to kill us. How was I supposed to know if she might come back if she ever found out that me and my son were alive? That woman never stepped foot in this church. This church scared the dust out of her evil heart.”
“Evil is always terrified of good,” Greta pointed out.
“Yeah,” John sighed. He looked around the sanctuary with exhausted eyes. “I remember when the old church stood here. Boy, was that church a sight to see. Wobbly walls, weak floors, uneven windows... Pa sure isn't any good with his hands. But--”
“But what?” Greta gently pressed.
“Ah, forget it. It just don't matter,” John said and yawned.
“Maybe it does,” Greta disagreed.
John shrugged his shoulders. “Pa had enough strength to build a church but not fight for my mother. What kind of a man can bury his wife and then go on a build a church like nothing in the world ever happened? Sure, he's got people fooled. But not me. I know his kind. I know cowards.”
Greta bit back her anger. “John, if Matthew is such a coward, why is he living in a town full of drunks and snakes, as you yourself admitted. Why Matthew could be ministering in say Boston or St. Louis, Sacramento or Atlanta?”
“There's rumors of war floating around on the east coast. Pa ain't about to go that way.”
“Rumors are just rumors. There's Sacramento and other towns that are less dangerous than Brown Ridge,” Greta explained. “And also,” she added, “If Matthew is such a coward, why did he move west, knowing the dangers and the risk? And before you answer my question, let me ask you one more. Your mother was killed because she left her safe position behind the wagon. Yet, Matthew was running through the bullets to reach the wounded and dying. Does a coward really do that?”
John stared at Greta. She presented difficult questions to him, questions he had never asked himself before. “All I know...is that...he didn't fight,” John stated weakly.
“If you say so,” Greta told John. “Go rest and be back for dinner.”
John let his shoulders sag. “Yeah, sure, I guess,” he said and walked out of the church.
But John didn't return for dinner. He vanished for seven days. When he returned to Brown Ridge, he returned clean-shaven, dressed in new clothes, and carrying a Bible in his hands. Nervously, he went to the church, walking through a damp, cold, morning, filled with gray skies and cold winds. Greta was shocked to see John walk into the church with his hair cut and neatly combed, wearing a new brown coat and new pants. She was even more shocked to see the man carrying a Bible. Sitting in a pew holding Mark and going over her plans for school with Matthew, she thought, for a moment, that perhaps her mind was playing a trick on her. “John?”
John nervously walked down the aisle and paused in front of Matthew. “I've been doing some thinking,” he said keeping his eyes low, “And maybe... well, I've been wrong about you. Ms. Gutermuth pointed out a few things about you that got me to thinking is all.”
Matthew glanced at Greta. Greta smiled and snuggled Mark up to her chest. The baby let out a sweet sound, smiled, and closed his little eyes. “Greta, what is this all about?” Matthew asked.
Greta motioned to the Bible John was holding in his hands. “Have you been reading?”
“Re-reading,” John confessed. “I've read the Bible many times, but I guess my heart was never in the right place when I did.”
Matth
ew slowly stood up. “Son, where have you been?” he asked worriedly.
“Thinking,” John told Matthew. “I rode up to my mother's grave and sat with her a few days and did some talking with God.” John carefully looked Matthew in the eyes. “I've been wrong about you. I'm...sorry. You ain't a coward. I see now that it took a mighty good bit of courage to run through gunfire to help out folk who were hurt or and dying.”
“John--” Matthew began to speak.
Matthew held up his left hand. “But it was something my mother said to me, something I just went and forgot, that came back into my memory. On the day when the shooting started, she watched you run through the gunfire and told me that you were a hero. I guess I didn't want to remember her saying that to me.”
Tears began falling from Matthew's eyes. “I only did what God would have me to do. I was very scared.”
John shifted from one foot to another. “So was I,” he admitted. “So were the other fellas with us. I guess we were all mighty scared.”
“John,” Greta asked, “would you like some coffee?”
John felt his stomach growl. Greta smiled. “Guess I'm a bit hungry.” John looked at Mark. “I'm not here to ask for my son. I'm here to ask for help.”
“Help?” Matthew asked.
“I'm selling the ranch land to Reed Wilshire,” John admitted. “I ain't interested in building up a ranch that was no good to begin with. I also ain't going to Carson City and spend my time drinking. I...”
“What?” Matthew asked calmly.
John looked down at the Bible he was holding. “It's time I stopped fighting God,” he told Matthew.
“My son!” Matthew said in a joyful voice and hugged John. Shocked, John looked at Greta. Greta beamed and nodded her head. John slowly wrapped his arms around Matthew. “My son,” Matthew cried.
“Pa,” John said and allowed a smile to touch his face.
Greta walked over to John. “Would you like to hold your son?” she asked.
“I'll break him,” John said, terrified.
“No, you will not,” Greta giggled and placed Mark into John's arms. “This is your son.”
John stared down into the sweetest face he had ever seen. Mark opened his eyes, looked up at his daddy, smiled, and went back to sleep. “He likes me,” John said shocked.
Before Greta could speak, a large man wearing a Sheriff's badge walked into the church with two other men carrying rifles. “I'm sorry, Preacher Greenwood, but I have to arrest your boy. Gennifer Greenwood was found dead two days ago. Her body was found outside Carson City.”
“What?” John exclaimed. “Now wait just a minute. I didn't kill Gennifer. Don't get me wrong, I sure wanted to after she tried to burn out me and my son. I even went after her. But then I came to my senses and let her be.”
“Where have you've been these last few days?” the sheriff asked John.
John drew in a deep breath. “I needed some time to think some matters through. I went and sat at my mother's grave a bit and then made my way up to the lake.”
“Anybody see you?”
“Maybe? I didn't stop and make friends if that's what you're asking,” John said defensively. Recognizing the harshness in his voice, he shook his head. “Sorry, Sheriff. I know you're doing what this town pays you to do. No, nobody saw me, I guess.”
The sheriff nodded his head. “I don't think you killed your wife,” he told John in a supportive voice. “That banker she ran off with that is claiming he saw you in the area the body was found in. Now before you say anything, I think the rat is lying. I think he killed Gennifer and wants to pin her death on you.”
Matthew rubbed his chin. “John, go with the sheriff. Greta and I will along shortly.”
The sheriff rested his eyes on Mark. “John,” he said, “Everyone tried to tell you Gennifer was no good. You should have listened.”
“I know,” John admitted, “But I was too fool-headed to listen to anyone. All I was hearing was my own anger toward everyone and everything. And when Gennifer came along, pretty as she was, all I could see was the outside of the cup and not the filth on the inside.” John looked at Matthew. Matthew nodded his head. “I went off and did some praying to the Good Lord above, and He set me straight.”
The sheriff put a hand on John's shoulder. “Some people think you're no good. But I've always believed you had goodness in you. The night you stood up against Nate Mitchell proved that to me.”
“Nate Mitchell was a gunfighter,” Matthew explained to Greta. “He was bullying the sheriff's son and trying to get him to agree to a gun fight. John stood up to Nate.”
“And today, that snake is six feet under, and my boy is still alive,” the sheriff finished. “John, I gotta arrest you. But I'm going to stand by you and do all I can to help you. Hopefully, this will be settled before the New Year.”
John looked down into his son's sweet face. “I gotta go now, but don't you worry, I'll be back. I'm gonna make a good life for us, you wait and see.”
Greta took Mark back from John. Feeling helpless, she watched John walk away with the sheriff and the other two men. “What can we do?” she asked Matthew.
“Pray,” Matthew said and looked at Greta. Something in Greta's eyes caught his attention. “You care for my son, don't you?”
“I see the good in him,” Greta confessed. “He needs love. This sweet baby needs love. They need me, and I need them.”
Chapter 3
Soldiers and Cowards
Greta watched John pace around a small jail cell that held a single sleeping cot. A cold wind was coming through a set of bars covering a window. “Eat,” she pleaded with John.
“I'm too riled up to eat,” John replied. “Why are you here anyway? Do you want to be seen with a murderer?”
“I'm here because I care,” Greta told John.
John stopped pacing and looked at Greta. The woman looked beautiful in the white coat she was wearing over a pink dress. Her hair was soft and flowing. Her eyes bright and warm. He saw purity in Greta's beauty. “Why?” he asked.
“John,” Greta explained, “I came to Nevada with anger hidden in my heart. Albie, the man I agreed to marry, betrayed me. But God did not betray me. I knew God had a different purpose for me. And I made a promise to serve Him.”
John shoved his hands down into his pants pockets. “I guess God don't like me very much.”
“I'm standing here with you, aren't I?” Greta smiled at John. “God has not deserted you.”
John looked into Greta's eyes again. “Yeah, I guess that's true.” Walking to the sleeping cot, he sat down and picked up the plate of food Greta had brought. As he took a bite of food, he began to think about his son. “My son deserved a mother,” he said miserably.
Greta drew in a deep breath. “John, you've been sitting in this jail for four days now. During that time, Matthew and I have been talking. I want to adopt Mark and raise him as my own.”
John's mouth dropped open. “You what?” he asked, shocked.
Greta glanced over her shoulder toward a door that led into the sheriff's office. The two jail cells were separated from the main office, allowing a little privacy. “John, please, allow me to explain,” Greta finally spoke as the cold winds coming in from the window in the cell touched her caring, warm, face. “I have come to love Mark as my own. Your son needs a mother--”
“I know my son needs a mother,” John said in a sorrowful voice.
“And you need a woman to love and care for you,” Greta confessed. “You're filled with hurt, anger, confusion, and grief. You're running against a cold wind, hoping to someplace warm to rest, but the arms of saloon women aren’t what you need. I was told the woman who was found dead was a saloon woman.”
John nodded his head. “Gennifer knew how to manipulate the drunks,” John told Greta in a shameful voice. “Her outwardly looks fooled me because I didn't have enough sense to see the truth. I was a blind horse running straight into a trap.” John looked at Greta. “You're
so beautiful. What does a woman like you want with a low life like me?”
“You weren't a low life when you walked into the church carrying a Bible,” Greta told John in a soft, caring, voice. “John, when you walked into the church carrying a Bible, you were a man, a real man. For the first time, I saw the man your son needed you to be. I also saw the man I knew you could be.”
“You sure walloped me on the arm mighty good,” John smiled.
“I was attempting to knock some sense into you and the sin out of you,” Greta smiled back. “John, I love Mark. Please, let me adopt him.”
John didn't know what to say. “But he's my son,” he told Greta in a desperate voice.
“If I adopt Mark and we get married, then that makes you his legal parent,” Greta explained. “I've gone and spoken with Judge Green. The man has no intention of ever allowing you to retain custody of Mark.”
“Judge Green wants to see me hang,” John admitted.
“If we get married and leave Brown Ridge and move to Sacramento, Judge Green will have no authority over you or Mark,” Greta explained.
“Married!” John exclaimed. “Now hold on a minute…I mean, I'm almost penniless. I can't afford to get married right now. And what would I do in Sacramento? Besides, didn't you come west to be a teacher? Also, you deserve better than me.”
Greta gently touched the bars separating her from John. “I deserve who I choose,” she told John. “The man I see in your eyes, the man who walked into the church carrying his Bible, that's the man I deserve.”
John felt scared. How could such a beautiful, pure, woman choose him to be her husband? What was he but a saddle bum that barely managed to run ten cent ranch that earned enough money to buy a few bags of flour and sugar? “I'm poor,” he said miserably. “I ain't got nothing to offer you or my son.”
“All we ask for is your love. Isn't that all God asks for?” Greta asked John. “Take my hands, please.”
John looked at Greta's small and fragile hands. He carefully wrapped his rough, callous-scarred hands around her hands. Greta smiled into John's eyes. “God will show us the way, together. We must have faith, though. Do you have faith?”
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