“Are you coming?” she asked, her voice a bit too high pitched.
Joseph nodded her to go on. “You all start without me. I’ll need to wash up first.”
Esther’s shoulders began to turn, but then she stopped. Cocking her head to the side she smiled shyly. “When I came out were—were you praying?”
Joseph felt his windblown cheeks warm up.
Am I blushing? The thought horrified him.
“No, well, I began to but… you know, I am just not the praying type.”
Another tilt of the head to the left. “Hmm, you know, Joseph, when Samuel Colt invented the majestic pistol he did so with prayer. The design came to him in a dream after praying.”
Joseph’s lips parted. The woman knew who Samuel Colt was? He truly was hopelessly in love. “Is that really true?” he asked, cocking a brow.
Esther laughed. “I have no idea, but wouldn’t it be wonderful if it was?”
Joseph chuckled, having no reply to give.
Esther gave him one last curious glance before turning away. Somehow there had been a change just now, she towards Joseph and he towards her. She realized that Joseph was the first single man who did not repulse her or scare her. She still felt uncomfortable with him, but this time when she had seen him she felt—attraction? The word stung Esther. She was not supposed to be attracted to a man. Esther clenched her jaw. She was not attracted to him. She was tired, confused, and worn out. Glancing behind her, Esther expected Joseph to be gathering the chopped wood, yet as fate would have it, he stood straight staring directly at her. When they made eye contact Esther quickly looked away, but not before seeing the victorious smile of Joseph.
She had looked back! Heaven be praised, she had looked back. Abby always told him that if a woman was interested, she looked back upon departure, and Esther had just done that, with her piercing eyes and flushed cheeks. She had looked back. He would find out her story and would court her even if it killed him. He would win her heart.
Abby was surprised at how good the rice and beans were, especially with the fresh fish fried to perfection. Esther hardly ate, although she assured Abby it was because of fatigue and not because the food was not good. Michael ate with as much gusto as usual, and when Joseph finally arrived, hair wet from bathing, he too helped himself generously.
“I was just telling Esther that I am determined to learn how to knit. In fact, I wanted to know if you could take me into town tomorrow so I could buy some yarn,” Abby said to Joseph.
“My little sister is cooking and now knitting. What will be next?” he teased, taking a large bite of rice.
“Hopefully, a garden in the spring. Will is supposed to be a great gardener—maybe he can help me,” Abby said, blushing slightly.
Esther suppressed a smile. Abby and Will definitely had a spark between them. What a wonderful couple they would be. “Will is a great gardener Abby; he knows when to plant and what to plant. I would definitely ask him for his advice,” she encouraged.
Joseph wanted to growl. What did he have to do to receive a compliment from Esther? He was as good as this pastor. “Miss Esther, just curious to know, are you from these parts? Born and bred in Colorado?” he asked, turning his attention towards her. The question must have surprised Esther because she almost dropped her spoon.
“Uhh, no, I am not.”
Joseph knew he would have to dig for details. “Where are you from?”
“Back East,” she said. She focused on her plate though she merely twirled the beans without taking bites. Noticing Joseph’s inquiring look she sighed and looked up while pushing away her plate. “Boston to be exact,” she said, glancing at Michael who was feeding Killer tidbits from his plate.
“A city girl!” Abby exclaimed. “I never imagined you were a city girl. You handle the roughness of Tall Pine so well.”
Esther laughed nervously. “To me the city is rougher than the country. At least that was my experience.”
Joseph was not satisfied, “And your parents, they still live in Boston?
Again Esther glanced at Michael whose little ears had perked up. “Yes—yes, they do.”
Abby now looked interested and confused. She had never seen Esther look so uncomfortable. She shot Joseph a warning look to stop talking, but he ignored her.
“Do your parents ever visit?” he asked.
Before Esther could reply, Michael spoke up: “Momma’s father came a year ago. I was five almost six, but he was not nice and he told me—”
“Michael!” Esther stood up, jerking the table an inch forward. Her face was red and her hands shook slightly, Joseph would not have noticed had he not been sitting close to her. She looked at Abby and Joseph apologetically. “I am so sorry; we must go.”
Michael looked heart stricken. “But what about the apple pie?” he wailed.
Esther shook her head and held out her hand to him. “Michael, I am serious. We need to go, now!”
Abby now was on her feet. Joseph followed. “Esther is everything alright?” Abby asked full of concern.
“Yes I—I am not feeling well,” she said too quickly as Michael began to protest with angry tears. Abby attempted to comfort him by wrapping up a slice of pie to send home with him.
Joseph walked Esther out. “Let me hitch up the horse,” he offered.
She shook her head walking quickly, “No, thank you Joseph, please go finish your meal. I am quite capable.”
She reached out her hand for the horse’s reins, but was stopped when Joseph placed his hand on hers. He expected her to pull away, but instead she froze, staring at their touching hands. Joseph felt her pulse quicken, her skin sprout tingly bumps. She swallowed, still not moving. Joseph closed his fingers around her hand, slowly lowering it away from the reigns and down to her side.
“Esther,” he said gently, “let me help you.”
Esther nodded, stepping away and slowly pulling her hand from his.
Joseph did not push the physical contact any more. He turned and began assembling the cart and horse with experienced skill. After a few seconds of silence with only the faint talking of Abby and Michael in the distance, Esther came beside him.
“Listen Joseph, a year ago my father came to visit. He met Michael and me in Denver. I can’t give you details, but I can say that is was a heartbreaking experience for us. I beg you to not bring it up with him; for that matter, please do not ask any questions about my parents or my past,” she pleaded. “Please Joseph—please no questions.”
Joseph nodded as Michael walked out holding a covered plate of pie; his cheeks were tear streaked and his nose red. Joseph looked at Abby who mouthed helplessly, “I tried.”
“You ready to go, sweetheart?” Esther asked her son sweetly. When she reached out for him, Michael jerked away from her, glowering. Esther politely ignored his attitude and allowed Joseph to lift the upset boy into the cart.
“Michael, I got something to tell you,” Joseph whispered as Esther said good-bye to Abby.
Michael looked up curiously. “What is it?” he asked in a quivering voice.
Joseph leaned in closer, “I need to go into town tomorrow, so I was thinking how about I pick you up a present and give it to you on Sunday?”
Michael’s lips parted into a cherub-like smile. “Really? You’ll get me a present?”
Joseph nodded. “A good present, I promise.”
“Promise what?” Esther asked, taking up the reigns.
“I promise that I will see you and Michael on Sunday,” Joseph replied with a knowing half wink to Michael. Esther gave him a “sure you did smile” before making a clicking sound and leading the horse away.
Abby and Joseph stood watching the fading cart until it disappeared. When it did, Abby spun around to Joseph. “Alright Mr. Inquisitor, why were you relentless in asking Esther about her parents? It was obvious she did not want to talk about it, and yet you persisted.” She shook her head with a sigh, “And, I thought you wished to win her over.”
&nb
sp; “I do,” Joseph said firmly. “But that woman has a past, a hidden one from what I can tell, and there is no way I will reach her unless I know what I am dealing with,” he said and began to walk back to the house. “Luckily, I know a detective back East with whom I corresponded for a time over a case. I am going to write to him and have him find out what happened with Esther Callen.”
Abby blinked incredulously before catching up with Joseph. “Wait—wait!” she called out, grabbing his arm in haste. “Did I hear you right? You are going to hire a detective to find out about a past which she is desperately trying to keep hidden?”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures, Abby, and time is one thing I don’t have right now.”
“But Joseph, do you not see how wrong that it? Esther is an intelligent woman, and if she is not speaking of her past, then there is a good reason why. Besides, things have a way of revealing themselves without anybody’s help. If you force it…” she bit her lip thinking of an analogy. “Well, remember you told me that no Ranger was able to catch that crazed killer, Cut-Throat Nick? You said it was because he’d barricade himself in until it caused the Rangers to force their way to him… they all ended up dead or injured. You caught him by waiting three days until he came out. Now Esther is certainly no Cut-Throat Nick, but the same concept applies. I promise you, Joseph that if you go behind Esther’s back and pry into her past, nothing good will come of it and you will never win her.”
Joseph sighed, rolling back his neck and looking at the star-filled sky. “Goodness Abby, you should have been a lawyer. You do make a good case.”
“That’s because I am right. Just let Esther be for tonight and come have some pie; otherwise, I will eat the whole thing myself,” she said, nudging him playfully.
Joseph nodded, glancing over his shoulder one last time. What did Esther have to hide? Would she ever tell him? Did it have to do with Michael? Joseph felt sorry for the disappointed kid. He would make sure that tomorrow he found Michael the finest cowboy hat there was—and maybe a slingshot, too.
/
Michael was silent during the ride home. Esther tried talking to him, but each time she spoke, he huffed and would look away. Once they were home Michael began running to his room, but Esther caught his shoulder.
“Hang on mister, we need to talk.”
Michael pulled away. “Why did we have to leave? We were going to have pie and play,” he cried.
“Michael, you can’t spend all your time with Joseph, and besides, you know why we left. You were about to tell our secret.”
Michael’s eyes swelled with tears, “You mean that my dad was a bad and evil man like your dad told me.”
Esther, too, felt the sting of tears pooling. She sat down holding out her arms to Michael, but he did not come. “Michael, the man who got me pregnant is not your dad. A father is someone who loves and protects you and the man who hurt me was bad, but then God sent me you to make it all better. You are special… you are my miracle,” she practically pleaded with him, wanting to take away his pain and disappointment.
“But you promised me a father, remember? And you told me what he would be like—that he would be like Joseph.” Michael’s tears streamed down his face. “Why can’t you marry Joseph, Momma? Then we can be a family.”
“We are a family,” Esther cried. “You and I are enough. We don’t need a man.”
“But why? Why can’t I have Joseph as a father?”
“Because men are terrible, Michael,” Esther blurted out. “They are cruel and bad.”
Michael went very still, his face written with devastation. “But Momma… I am a man.”
Esther felt a stab in her heart as the realization hit her. She had wounded her son, damaged his hope and self-worth. “Michael, I didn’t mean you. You are still a boy, my sweet boy. You are different.”
“But I will grow up to be a man. Does that mean I will be terrible, cruel, and bad?” His lips trembled.
Esther stood up reaching out to him. “Michael, listen—” she began.
“No!” Michael shouted and ran from her. “I hate you!” he sobbed before slamming the door to his room.
Esther sank down onto a chair, her head falling into her hands as she allowed pent-up tears to fall freely. What a horrible thing she had done. Her own fears were scaring her son, denying him a father, and making him feel bad about himself. Was she being selfish holding onto her fears thinking that they would keep her safe, justifying them by telling herself she was keeping Michael safe? What kind of woman was she if she could not let her past go for the sake of her son?
“Dear Father in heaven,” she pleaded through sobs, “I know I have wearied you with my prayers and surely seem ungrateful when I ask for help after all that you have given me, but Lord I know the sacred nature of parenthood, and I know you hold it close to your heart, so I beg of you—help me, heal me from my past that cripples me like a disease. I have thought I was enough. I believed that I was sufficient to take care of all Michael’s needs, and yet I see a void in him needing to be filled with the love of a father. But, dear God and perfect Father, I hate men. I distrust them and fear them. Please heal me of this prejudice and dislike. I do not want to be filled with hatred when my son needs so much love. Please help me.” Her words were muffled in sobs and her shoulders sagged as her body shook. After several minutes Esther sat up and took a long steadying breath to calm herself.
“Dress,” she told herself. She needed to finish the red dress for the barn dance. She needed to do something, for although she felt calmer after praying, she was still shaking and seized with guilt. She walked to her room and began hemming the bottom of the flame-red dress. As her hands fell into a pattern, her mind cleared. She worked for a solid hour before feeling the effects of a long day. Just before she finished the hem and was ready to cut the string, a staggering image filled her mind and it almost made her cry out. The image was of Joseph carrying her laughing son on his back, his face lit up in genuine delight as he played with her son. The image faded into another. This time of Will dripping with sweat as he plowed a sick man’s crops for a whole season and then used his own money to buy shoes for the children. Then a scene of Sheriff Ben organizing a charity donation for a widow whose husband had been killed, husbands praying on their knees that their wives would live through labor, and fathers rushing sick children to Uncle Tim as they pleaded with tear-soaked faces for their child’s life. The baker who handed out free samples to the poor, the bookstore owner who saved picture books for Michael, her own uncle who had welcomed her into his home when she had nowhere to go. Memory after memory of good, honest, and hardworking men filled her mind until she had seen almost a lifetime in but a few moments. The images faded, leaving her feeling warm and peaceful. She felt the familiar sting of tears, but not of sorrow; this time they were from a joyful realization that God had spoken to her, answered her prayers. After seven years of hate and anxiety, He seemed to have healed her in a matter of minutes by showing the good that existed among men. There was still the fear of touch, the fear of being controlled, but the crippling hate was gone.
Esther set down the dress and stood tall. Esther, she told herself, there are good women out there and bad women. There are bad men, but there are also many good men. You are wrong to hate them. You are wrong to mistrust them. It is time to grow up and move on. You may not want to marry or need to marry, but it is wrong of you to hate any of God’s children, including men. She bowed her head reverently. “Thank you Father—thank you so much,” Esther whispered, her heart filled with a newfound peace. She then washed her face, braided her hair, and tiptoed into Michael’s room. The perfect little body lay deep in sleep on his narrow bed tucked under the thick quilt she had made him. Esther went and sat on the bed, stroking the angelic face that she loved so much. Michael stirred and opened his eyes.
“Momma?” he croaked.
Esther leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I’m here love,” she whispered, kissing him again.
“Do you still love me?” he asked in a whimper.
Esther lay down next to her son and pulled him close, “Michael, I love you so much and will always love you. There is nothing you can do to stop me loving you.”
“But I said I hate you… I didn’t mean it.”
Esther smiled and nuzzled her face into his hair. “I said some things I did not mean as well. How about we both start over?”
Michael nodded. “I think that is a good idea,” he said before relaxing fully into her arms. His breathing slowly turned into a light snore and Esther scooted herself fully onto the bed and fell asleep.
Eleven
Will walked agitatedly past the bookstore, the butcher shop, and then the post office. He wasn’t quite sure what more he needed. He had bought garden tools, seeds, and socks. All was packed away in his wagon, and yet he continued to walk. Maybe it was because his mind was muddled with confusion; he had no idea what to write for tomorrow’s sermon. He admitted that he wanted Abby’s advice. His best sermons had been guided by her insight, but he had avoided her the past week. Will knew why. It was simple: he’d fallen in love with her. Somehow it had snuck up on him. The little schoolteacher with her giggles and big gray eyes, she was the complete opposite of the composed stately woman he had pictured himself with.
Now he was unsure. She was what he wanted, but was he what she wanted? After all, she was a gorgeous woman with a father who owned a large and lucrative ranch—what would she want with a pastor who only had a small farm and an old Bible to offer? He could say love was enough, but every father with a beloved daughter would scoff at that. He could give up being a pastor and move to Texas, but he knew nothing about raising cattle. Besides, a pastor was what he had been called to be. During the whole course of his life his father had engraved it in him to make money, no matter what it took—being a man of God was pointless. Will still had studied to be a pastor. It had felt right, and that was how Abby’s presence felt—right.
Will inhaled deeply; the smell of autumn was crisp and refreshing and calmed his nerves. He had to realize that just because he never earned his father’s good opinion did not mean he could not earn Abby’s, although Abby seemed to have a good opinion of everybody. How could he distinguish himself from everybody else?
Beneath the Heavens Page 20