Beth smiled at the young man. “Well, we’re going to have more food than you can imagine. Meats and vegetables, breads and custards. Oh, and pies—pumpkin, pecan, and apple. We’re also planning to have applesauce cake.”
“Can we go, Pa?”
Cubby sounded so hopeful. Beth couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “Everyone is invited, Rafe. You, Wyman, all of the girls, and, of course, Cubby. We really want to put aside our differences and just be thankful for what the Lord has provided.”
Rafe looked as if he might make some snide comment, but he held his tongue. Beth thought perhaps memories of the Gallatin House cooking was too much for him to risk with flippant remarks.
“I suppose we can go, if it means that much to you, boy.”
“Thanks, Pa!” Cubby looked at Beth and winked. “We’ll be there!”
“Good. How many should I count on?”
Rafe considered this for a moment. “I guess put us down for nine. I have three extra girls now, you know.”
Beth nodded sadly. “Yes, I was aware of that sad news.” She turned to step off the saloon’s low porch. “Oh, and, Rafe, leave your knife at home. Hank will take care of anything that needs to be carved.”
She didn’t give him a chance to reply but quickly made her way back toward Gallatin House. She glanced up just before running headlong into Nick.
“Oh, I am sorry. I wasn’t looking at all where I was going.”
“No problem.” He smiled at her, and Beth felt a strange sort of quiver in her stomach. It was just like when Lady Effingham met Lord Wodehouse for the first time at the Duke of Winchester’s masquerade ball. Lady Effingham had found herself thrown into Lord Wodehouse’s arms when the duke’s evil brother had tried to steal a kiss.
“I was hoping I’d see you,” Nick told her. “I was just coming back from the store, and Gwen told me you were over at Rafe’s.”
Beth settled her nerves and squared her shoulders. She had to remember that a lady appeared refined and calm under any circumstances.
“Yes, I was extending the Thanksgiving invitation. I’m heading home now.” It seemed ridiculous to say such a thing. Where else would she be going?
“Millie was at the store, hoping to find some things, but Hank told her she might have to go into Bozeman for them. I wondered if maybe you’d like to ride along?”
Beth considered the possibility of a long day in Nick Las-siter’s company. She knew he was very interested in her; he’d even proposed courtship several times. She’d avoided his affections because he seemed to be fond of frequenting Rafe’s Saloon. Of course, of late, he had put that aside. At least that’s what Cubby had told her.
She thought of Lady Effingham again. What would she do? How would she respond to Lord Wodehouse or any other suitor? Beth remembered a passage she’d read earlier that morning. Lady Effingham had pretended to faint in order that one of the would-be suitors might catch her. She had been convinced that this would allow her to know her true feelings for the man.
Perhaps that would work. . . .
But I can’t be fainting. I have no reason to faint. Maybe if I just trip.
She stumbled awkwardly, and sure enough, Nick reached out and took hold of her and pulled her toward him. The very action caused her to tremble. Beth suddenly remembered that Lady Effingham batted her eyelashes on many occasions to entice the men around her. She lifted her face and did her best imitation of Lady Effingham in the arms of Lord Wodehouse. Her heart seemed to race with excitement. Was this love?
“What’s the matter? Did you get something in your eyes?”
Beth stopped batting her eyelashes and straightened. Pulling away, she sighed. The romance of the moment was gone. “I’m fine now. I’m sorry. Thanks for keeping me from falling.”
Nick nodded but seemed confused by the matter.
Men! They are such a mystery.
“So do you want to go to Bozeman with us?”
Beth thought of the money she’d been putting aside to buy new books. “Yes, I believe I’d like that very much. Let me make sure Gwen doesn’t mind. I know we’re not expecting a stage in this evening, so it shouldn’t cause too much difficulty.”
Nick watched Beth walk away and smiled at the prospect of spending the entire day in her company. There had to be a way to convince her that he was good enough for her. He knew she had her Christian beliefs and all, and he wasn’t opposed to such things. He believed in God and had always figured that made him a Christian . . . until lately. Some of the things Pastor Flikkema preached on had Nick wondering what was really involved with being a Christian.
He pushed aside his concern about the matter. Right now he just wanted to think about sharing the day with Beth Gal-latin. It had felt so right to hold her, even briefly, in his arms. Why couldn’t she see that he was the one man who would love her forever?
CHAPTER THREE
The day before Thanksgiving, Nick was still consumed with thoughts of his day in Bozeman with Beth. It had been, to be perfectly honest, uneventful. Beth had spent almost every moment with Millie. The two women were like young girls as they giggled and shopped. Nick had finally taken himself off to check on some things Evan and Forrest had asked him to pick up.
Coupled with this, when Pastor Flikkema had led Sunday’s service, Nick found his words convicting and impacting. The pastor had talked about how nothing was too big for God to forgive—that He hated all sin but wanted to offer redemption through Jesus to anyone who accepted His Son as Savior. That confused Nick. He couldn’t help but wonder what it all meant.
“You look like you’ve lost your last friend,” Hank said as Nick stood waiting his turn at the store counter. Nick glanced around and saw the place was now empty.
“I was just thinking about some things the pastor said on Sunday.”
Hank nodded. “He makes a good teacher, don’t you think?”
“I do. I just don’t understand.”
“About what?”
Nick cleared his throat as if the words had somehow gotten caught there. “I guess it was that stuff about no sin being too big for God to forgive.” He looked around again and then fixed his gaze on Hank. “Can I ask you something—just between us?”
Hank nodded. “Of course. Speak your mind.”
“Well, it’s just that I’m not proud of the way I lived my life when I was younger. I made a lot of mistakes. Big mistakes. I hurt people, and . . . well, I can’t really talk about the details, but I don’t know that God can forgive me for the things I’ve done.”
“Why?” Hank asked, genuinely interested.
“I suppose because it seems too simple—too easy. How can it be that by merely asking for forgiveness, the past suddenly ceases to be held against me?”
“Ah,” Hank said, nodding. “Alienum est omne, quicquid optando evenit.
”
“Is that the Latin Beth says you’re always speaking?”
Hank laughed. “Yes, I spent a lot of time learning it in college. It means, ‘What we obtain merely by asking is not really our own.’ It’s an old saying that I used to believe, but I don’t any longer.”
“Why not? Seems sensible to me. If we don’t have to fight for something, it just doesn’t seem to have as much meaning,” Nick replied. “I remember when I was a kid and I wanted a rifle of my own, my pa made me earn it. Working hard for that rifle made it all the more precious to me.”
“I know what you’re saying. After my father’s death, we had it pretty bad for a while. My mother was always working herself sick to provide for us. When she remarried, I learned my stepfather was fairly well off, and I was glad to hear it. I figured we could all relax a bit and take things easy. But that man had no intention of letting me take it easy. He made me work hard to learn as much as I could about business and hired me to help him when I wasn’t at school. He paid me a pittance, but his actions made me all the more determined to be successful. I was driven to start my own business and make it work.”
“So why don’t you believe that saying anymore?”
“Because while I know there are many things that are all the sweeter for having to work for them—fight for them—God’s love is not one of those things. He gives it freely. He wants to be reconciled with us. Jesus sacrifices everything in order to see us made right with His Father. We can’t be saved because we deserve it or earn it—we’re saved by grace. God’s grace. His forgiveness comes at a high price, but Jesus paid that price so we wouldn’t have to. Therefore, being forgiven is just as simple as repenting and asking.”
“Even for really bad things, Hank?”
“I don’t know what you’ve done, but I know God can and will forgive the truly repentant. I know it, because the Bible says it’s so, and I believe it.”
“Just seems too good to be true.”
Hank smiled and reached across the counter to touch Nick’s shoulder. “But it is. You can count on it.”
Nick left the store and made his way back to the stable. He thought about Hank’s comment for most of the day. He couldn’t see how God could look at the ugliness of his past and just let it go—just forgive him.
I don’t deserve to be forgiven. I did wrong, and then I ran away like a coward. But even as Nick went about his chores, Hank’s words continued to pierce his heart.
“Just smell that pig roasting,” Simon declared, interrupting Nick’s thoughts as he curried one of the stage horses. “I can hardly wait for tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Nick agreed. “The girls have been out there taking turns tending that thing, and I have to say my mouth is watering.”
“I’m glad we’re having pork instead of elk or deer,” Simon said, putting away some newly mended harnesses. “Millie’s been inside, cooking up a storm, as well. That little gal is amazing.”
Nick nodded and put aside the currycomb. “Simon, do you ever think about the past? About coming here?”
“Every so often. Why?”
Shrugging, Nick tried not to sound all that interested in continuing the conversation. In truth, however, he had a million questions running through his mind. “Do you regret coming here?”
“No,” Simon answered without a pause.
This surprised Nick. “Not even a little? I mean, you had to leave everything on my account.”
“I don’t regret it; I think it was the best thing for us. I do feel bad for not being there when the folks passed on, but even then, I know they wouldn’t want me to dwell on it. Besides, I didn’t come here just on your account, so stop blaming yourself.”
“You mean you would have picked up and left Kansas even if I hadn’t needed to get out of town?”
“Probably. There wasn’t a whole lot of future for me there. We already had six blacksmiths in the area, and I sure wasn’t a farmer like Pa.” Simon paused and looked quizzically at Nick. “So what’s this really all about?”
Nick leaned against the stall and frowned. “I was thinking about last Sunday’s sermon and how Pastor Flikkema said that nothing is too big for God to forgive—well, except blaspheming the Holy Spirit. I’m still not sure I really understand all there is to know, but when I asked Hank about it, he seemed to think that God would forgive murderers and thieves as easily as liars and such.”
“That’s what I understood the pastor to say, as well. You thinkin’ your sins are too big for God to forgive, little brother?”
Nick rubbed his forehead. “You know what I did.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Can God forgive me?”
Simon shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t want to be the one to second-guess that. I think He can, given what was preached on Sunday. But you might want to talk to Pastor Flikkema yourself.”
“Just seems too good to be true. All these years, I figured I was probably condemned—that nobody, God included, could forgive me.”
“Ma and Pa did, and I sure never held anything against you. If we can put things aside, don’t you think God can?”
“I guess I know that, being God, He can do anything. But the question is—will He? Will He forgive me?”
Simon smiled. “Guess you’ll just have to ask Him.”
Beth put small chunks of wood on the already-glowing embers. The key to successfully roasting a pig, Patience Shepard had told them, was to keep the fire consistent and not too hot. It had been a labor to tend the animal for hours on end, but Beth knew that by the time they sat down to dinner tomorrow, everyone would appreciate the effort.
Gwen was in the kitchen busy baking all sorts of goodies, while Lacy was making repairs to the chicken coop. When the winter snows finally hit and the temperatures dropped, they’d move the chickens to the back porch. But for now, they were just fine in their coop. Unfortunately, the last heavy gusts of wind had wreaked havoc with the thin wooden shingles, and Lacy had volunteered to don her trousers and tend to business.
Gazing off across the valley, Beth noted the snow-capped mountains and sighed. Sometimes she felt hemmed in by the majestic range; and other times, like now, she felt protected and secure. The mountains were like a barrier to keep out the bad things. Pa had once said they were like sentinels, watching over the valley.
“You lose something up there?”
Beth startled at the sound of Nick’s voice. “I was just admiring the mountains.” She felt embarrassed by his intent gaze. “What brings you here?”
“Millie. She sent me to see if you could send her over any pork fat.” He held up a jar as if for proof.
“Sure. I’ll get it for you right now.” Beth took the jar and went to the grease pan, where the drippings had been collecting. She took a dish towel and wrapped it around the jar before spooning in the hot juices. “I guess Millie must be a pretty good cook. You boys haven’t been over to share our table much at all.”
“She is a good cook,” Nick agreed. “And I have to say, it’s pretty nice having a woman in the house to cook on a regular basis.”
Beth shook her head and handed him the jar. “Sounds like you’re thinking with your stomach.”
Nick frowned. “Well, when I think with my heart, it doesn’t seem to get me anywhere.”
Beth headed back to the fire. “Maybe you just don’t know your heart as well as your stomach.”
She looked up to find Nick giving her a rather smoldering look. Was that anger? Passion? Maybe he was just thinking of the pork again.
“I know my heart very well,” he said, turning on his heel. “For all the good it does me.” He stormed off, leaving Beth to wonder what in the world had gotten into Nick Lassiter. She was certain she would never understand men, no matter how much she tried.
Lacy Gallatin had similar thoughts as she worked to secure the last few shingles on the chicken coop. She had tried hard to honor her sister’s wishes that she give up on searching for their father’s killer. After all, the man had been shot during the hoopla of drunken cowboys shooting off their guns. No one intended for George Gallatin to be shot—at least, that’s what everyone said. But he was dead, just the same, and Lacy wanted someone to be punished.
“Of course, Dave Shepard and Sheriff Cummings won’t lift a finger to do anything about it,” she muttered, pounding a nail. It wasn’t her fault that she kept hearing rumors and leads. It wasn’t her fault that Sheriff Cummings and Deputy Shepard had given up worrying about such things.
“I see you’re wearing britches again.”
Speak of the devil, she thought and resisted the urge to suddenly drop her hammer on Dave Shepard’s head.
“You looked a whole sight better when you were gussied up for your sister’s wedding,” he added. “Why can’t you just be happy to dress like a woman?”
“I think wearing lace and ruffles would be a bit awkward on the roof of a chicken coop, don’t you?” Lacy retorted. She finished her job and scooted off the roof to the ladder. “Besides, you seem to spend an awful lot of time worrying about what I wear or don’t wear. Maybe if you put that energy into finding who shot my father, we’
d both be a lot happier.”
“Maybe if I didn’t have to worry about you stirring up trouble, I’d have more time and energy for a lot of things.”
Lacy looked over her shoulder and down at the man. He positively vexed her with his insults and admonitions. “Dave Shepard, I am convinced that no matter what I wear, you would find reason to condemn me. If I were up here in a ball gown, you’d still be standing there growling about it for one reason or another.”
“You shouldn’t be on top of the roof anyway,” he countered, “so I suppose you’re right. You should leave something like that to Hank, or else get another man to help you out.”
“Why? I’m perfectly capable of doing the job.” She reached the next-to-the-last rung of the ladder and stopped. It made her a bit taller than Dave’s six-foot-three-inch frame, and she rather liked having that advantage. “You simply worry too much, Mr. Shepard. You will worry yourself right into a grave if you don’t stop concerning yourself with me, my wardrobe, and my job responsibilities. Now, why are you really here?”
He scowled. “I was making my way home and wondered if there was anything I could do to help you ladies prepare for tomorrow’s celebration, but I see you have it all under control.”
“And that really bothers you, doesn’t it?” Lacy saw him grit his teeth and knew she’d hit a nerve. Why should it irritate him so much that she was self-sufficient? If he only understood about her life—her childhood—he would know why she had to be like this. There had never been anyone to depend on. Most of the time, the girls had been alone.
“I’ll leave you to your chores and caustic remarks,” Dave said, moving away.
Lacy started to step after him, forgetting that she was two rungs above the ground. She hit the ground hard, nearly knocking the wind out of her. She looked up to find Dave staring down at her. He was fighting hard, or so it seemed, to keep an unemotional look on his face.
Rather than wait for him to offer assistance, Lacy quickly got to her feet and dusted off her backside. She wanted to cry out in pain at the sore spot on her hip, but she said nothing.
A Love to Last Forever Page 3