Farmer's Daughter Romance Collection : Five Historical Romances Homegrown in the American Heartland (9781630586164)
Page 58
Violet chuckled. “I’ve noticed. She has good taste. Maybe I’ll have Albert for a son-in-law someday after all. I hope so. He’s a dear boy.”
Beulah concentrated on tying a knot. “She’s only thirteen, Mama. Maybe I should have married him.”
Violet’s hands dropped to her lap. “Pardon?”
Beulah winced, wishing she had kept the stray thought to herself. “Al wouldn’t marry me now if I proposed to him myself, and I’m not in love with him anyway, but I can’t help wondering if I couldn’t have been happily married to him. After all, lots of people make marriages of convenience and end up happy together. Al is annoying, but he’s steady and safe.”
Violet lowered her chin and stared at her daughter. “What about Myles?”
Beulah pressed her lips together and jerked at a tangle in her thread. “Myles is not the man I thought he was. He is selfish and bitter.” She swallowed hard.
Setting aside her mending, Violet joined her daughter on the couch. “Tell me.”
Beulah leaned against Violet. Her shoulders began to shake. Wiping her eyes, she grumbled, “I hate crying, Mama, but it seems as if every time I try to talk about something important, I start bawling.”
“It’s a woman’s lot in life, darling.” Violet pushed a lock of loose hair behind her daughter’s ear and smiled. “I understand, believe me.”
Between sobs and sniffles, Beulah poured out her heartache and disappointment. “…so I told him he could go without me. I thought he was kind and wise, Mama, but yesterday he acted like a brute. And all because of some money he doesn’t have. I’m so thankful I found out what he is really like before I married him!”
Violet stared at the fireplace, pondering her reply. “So now Myles is a brute. All the good things you loved about him mean nothing.”
Beulah wiped her eyes and nose with a handkerchief. “I could never be happily married to a man with such a terrible temper, Mama. He swore in my presence and never apologized!”
“If Myles has truly turned his back on the Lord, then I agree that you should not marry him. But if, as your papa believes, he is on the verge of surrender, it would be a shame for you to give up on him. He adores you, Beulah, and I think he would make you an excellent husband.”
Beulah’s head popped up. “Mama! How can you say that after what I just told you? He told me never to mention God’s name in his presence again!”
“He was distraught. I’m sure he didn’t mean it. I understand he had a long talk with Al about God this afternoon, and he plans to start reading the New Testament when he gets home today. Darling, every man has faults. I hope you realize that. Even Al would lose his temper, given the right provocation.”
“Papa never shouts at you.”
A dimple appeared near Violet’s mouth. “No, but that’s because he talks softly when he gets angry. The angrier he is, the softer his voice.”
“You don’t mean it, Mama,” Beulah said, eyes wide.
Violet rubbed a little circle on the girl’s back. “I mean every word. Darling, you had better learn quickly that only God can offer you complete security and contentment. No man can fulfill your every need, and most of them wouldn’t want to try. The average man enters marriage thinking that a wife’s purpose is to fulfill his needs. Unless you recognize the fact that all people are basically selfish, you will be in for a rude awakening when you marry. Myles has plenty of faults, but so have you, my dear.”
“If people are so terribly selfish, how can a marriage ever be happy?”
“That’s where the Lord makes a difference. In His strength, you and I can learn to love our men with all their human flaws and failings. That is one of the greatest joys of marriage: to give and give of yourself to please your beloved. Usually a good man will respond in kind, but you must understand that there is never a guarantee of this. Your part is to love at all times, without reservation.”
Beulah wilted. “How can I do that, Mama? You know how selfish I am!”
“In the Lord’s strength, dear. If you truly love Myles, you will accept him just as he is and be grateful for the opportunity to shower him with the love and attention he craves from you. There are few things in life more fulfilling than pleasing your husband, Beulah.” Violet spoke with the authority of experience.
Beulah sat straighter. “I want to be exactly like you, Mama. You make Papa so happy that he glows when you’re near. I want to make Myles that happy.”
Violet squeezed her shoulders. “That’s my girl! Now you keep on praying for Myles, and when he is ready to receive your love, I think you will know it.”
Beulah hugged her mother. “You’re wonderful. I feel so much better! Now, I have this idea for my wedding dress that I’ve been wanting to discuss with you. Do you have a moment?”
Eyes twinkling, Violet nodded.
Pushy kneaded a dent for herself in the middle of Myles’s back. He groaned when she settled down. “You must weigh a ton, cat. When are you going to fire off those kittens?”
Pushy purred, vibrating against him. “You really missed me, didn’t you?” Her affectionate greeting had warmed his heart.
He returned to his reading. The book was fascinating. For the first time in his life, Myles could visualize Jesus among the people, teaching, healing, loving.
The parable of the unforgiving servant in Matthew, chapter eighteen, struck a nerve. He recognized himself in the cruel, vindictive man who punished a debtor after he himself had been forgiven a much larger debt. The simple story was an eloquent reprimand and admonition.
“I understand, Jesus,” Myles said, bowing his head. “This story is about me. Please forgive me for my anger at Monte. I want to forgive him as You forgave me. If he’s there with You now, please tell him for me. Tell him I love him. I forgive Mama for dying and leaving me behind. She must have been terribly lonely after Father was killed in the war. And I forgive Mr. Roarke for swindling us, too. I don’t imagine he’s deriving much true pleasure from his ill-gotten gains. I feel almost sorry for him. You know that the real reason I refused to forgive people all those years was pride. I thought I was better than others. I was wrong.”
Humility was an easy burden in comparison to the bitter load he had carried for so many years. Myles felt free and relaxed, yet still rather empty.
“Where is the joy, God? Are You really here with me? What’s wrong with me? Maybe I’m spiritually blind.”
Pushy purred on.
Sighing, Myles returned to the Book. The story enthralled him, and when he reached the end of Matthew, he continued on into Mark, absorbed in the story of Jesus from a slightly different perspective. His eyes were growing heavy when he reached chapter ten, the story of blind Bartimaeus begging at the roadside.
Then, for some reason, he was wide awake. His mind pictured the pitiful man in rags who cried out, “Jesus, thou son of David, have mercy on me.”
Jesus stopped and asked the fellow what he wanted. Jesus didn’t overlook the poor and helpless among His people. He cared about the blind man.
Myles read the next part aloud. “ ‘The blind man said unto him, Lord, that I might receive my sight.
“ ‘And Jesus said unto him, Go thy way; thy faith hath made thee whole. And immediately he received his sight, and followed Jesus in the way.’ ”
Myles stopped and read it again. Slowly his eyes closed and his hands formed into fists. The cry echoed from his own heart. “Lord, I want to see! Please, help me to see You as You truly are.”
He contemplated Jesus. “The kindest man who has ever lived. He came to reveal You to mankind. He was Emmanuel—’God with us.’ God in the flesh. So You are a God of mercy, patience, and infinite understanding. Lord, I believe!”
Myles wept for joy.
Chapter 15
For I determined not to know any thing among you, save Jesus Christ, and him crucified.
1 CORINTHIANS 2:2
His bandaged foot wouldn’t fit into a stirrup, so Myles decided to ride Cholla bareba
ck. A wool blanket protected his clothes from her sweat and hair, and he laid his walking stick, a gift from Cyrus Thwaite, across her withers. “Take it easy, girl,” he warned, gripping a hank of her mane in one hand as he sprang to her back and swung his leg over. “I’m running on one foot, so to speak.” The swelling had receded and the vivid bruising had faded to pale green and purple, but Myles could put little weight on the foot as yet.
“Myles, you be careful,” Virginia called from the front porch as he passed. “Visit your friend and the barber and come straight home. Do you hear?”
“I hear.” Reining in the fidgeting mare, Myles grinned at his grandmother. He could endure her motherly domination for the sake of her good cooking and excellent housekeeping skills—abilities he had never before known she possessed. “You’re quite a woman, Gram.”
“Away with your flattery,” she retorted, not before he glimpsed her pleasure.
Cholla trotted almost sideways up the drive, head tucked and tail standing straight up. Its wispy hair streamed behind her like a shredded banner. “You’re a loaded weapon today, aren’t you?” Myles patted the mare’s taut neck. “Sorry; no running. The roads are too icy.”
A few miles of trotting took the edge off Cholla’s energy. She still occasionally challenged her master’s authority, but her heart was no longer in it. Myles felt her muscles unwind beneath him.
Although it was good to be out in the open again instead of cloistered in his stuffy room, fighting the horse drained much of Myles’s strength. When he dismounted in front of Miss Amelia’s boardinghouse, he lost hold of his walking stick. It clattered to the frozen mud. Cholla shied to one side, and Myles landed hard. His bad foot hit the ground. Clutching Cholla by the chest and withers, he gritted his teeth and grimaced until the worst pain had passed.
“Steady, girl,” he gasped. Balancing on one foot, he scooped up his stick. It wasn’t easy to tether Cholla with one hand, but he managed. Hopping on one foot, using the stick for balance, he made his way to Amelia’s porch.
“What on earth are you doing, Myles?” Amelia said, flinging open her front door and ushering him inside.
“I came to see Boz,” Myles gasped. “Isn’t he here?”
“You come on into the parlor and sit yourself down.” Amelia supported his arm with a steely grip. “That’s where Boz keeps himself.” She lifted her voice. “You got a visitor, Sheriff. Another ailing cowboy on my hands. Just what I needed. You two sit here and have a talk. I’ve got work to do.” Leaving Myles in an armchair, she brushed her hands on her apron, gave each man an affectionate look, and departed.
Boz drew a playing card from his deck, laid it on a stack, and gave Myles a crooked smile. “How’s the foot?” His right shoulder was heavily wrapped, binding that arm to his side.
“Mending. You don’t sound so good.” Myles shifted in his chair.
Boz did not immediately reply. “I ain’t so good, Myles,” he finally wheezed. “Bullet nicked a lung and severed a nerve in my shoulder. It kinda bounced around in there. Doc did his best, but he doesn’t expect I’ll regain the use of my arm.”
Myles blinked and stared at the floor.
“I know what you’re thinkin’,” Boz said. “Not much good in a one-armed sheriff. I reckon God has other plans for my future.”
Myles met the other man’s steady gaze. Slowly he nodded, amazed by Boz’s cheerful acceptance of his fate.
“Amelia says I can work for her. She’s been needing to hire household help, and she cain’t think of anyone she’d rather have about the place.”
“You?” Myles stared blankly until he caught the twinkle in his friend’s eyes. “Boz, are you joshing me?”
The former sheriff’s face creased into a broad grin. “She reckons it wouldn’t be proper for me to stay here permanent-like, so she proposed marriage.”
Myles began to chuckle. Boz put a finger to his lips. “Hush! Let the woman think it was all her idea, at least until after we’re hitched.”
Myles sputtered with suppressed merriment, and Boz joined in. Soon the two men were wiping tears from their faces. Boz groaned, holding his shoulder and wheezing. “Stop before you do me in.”
The door opened, and Amelia backed into the room carrying a tray. “I brung you coffee and cakes.” Her sharp eyes inspected their faces. “Doc says the sheriff needs quiet. Hope I didn’t make a mistake by letting you in, Myles.”
“He’s all right, Amelia. Laughter is good for what ails a man. What you got there? Raisin cookies?” Boz perked up.
“Yes, and snickerdoodles. Mind you don’t eat more’n is good for ya, Boswell Martin.”
Nearly an hour later, Myles grinned as he heaved himself up on Cholla’s back. “Next stop, the store, then on to the barbershop.” The horse flicked her ears to listen.
Thank You for leaving Boz with us here on earth, Lord, Myles prayed as he rode. And thank You for giving him his heart’s desire. He’s waited a long time for love, but from the look in Amelia’s eyes while she fussed over him today, he’s found it.
Myles picked up his mail at the general store. There was a letter addressed in strange handwriting. Curious, he paused just inside the doorway, balanced on his good foot, and ripped open the letter.
Dear Myles,
Antonio tells me what to write, and I do my best.
Antonio pray for you every day. He say have you dropped your burden yet? I hope you do, Myles. We want your best for you.
You can write us here in Florida. We stay until summer season open. We want to visit you, but have not the money.
Antonio want to know if the bear was found. He feel bad about keeping it secret. Our circus, it was bought by another man when the owner was put in jail. He cheat one man too many, Antonio say. Things better for us now, but we want a home that does not move.
Antonio speak much of settling down to open a bakery. Is there need for a bakery in your town?
God bless you.
Antonio and Gina Spinelli
Myles determined to write back at his first opportunity. Antonio would be pleased to hear news of his mended relationship with God, and if any town ever needed a bakery, Myles was certain Longtree, Wisconsin, did.
As Myles rode past the parsonage, someone hailed him. He reined in Cholla and waited for the pastor to approach. “Hello, Reverend.”
David Schoengard’s ruddy face beamed as he stood at Cholla’s shoulder and reached up to shake Myles’s hand. “Good to see you about town. We’ve been praying for you. From all I hear, yours was a serious injury.”
“Thanks for the prayers. God has been healing me…inside and out.”
David’s eyes gleamed. “Ah, so the lamb has found its way home?”
“More like the Shepherd roped and hog-tied an ornery ram, flung it over His shoulder, and hauled it home. I’m afraid I was a tough case, but He never stopped trying to show me the truth.”
The pastor chuckled. “I understand. Are you ready to profess your faith before the church?”
Myles tucked his chin. “Is that necessary?”
“Not for your salvation but it would be a wonderful encouragement to other believers to hear how God worked in your life. I’m also hoping you’ll honor us with a song someday soon.”
Staring between Cholla’s ears, Myles pondered. “I do need to ask forgiveness of people in this town. Guess this is my chance. I’ll do it, if you think I should, Reverend.”
“I appreciate that—and please call me Dave, or at least Pastor Dave. I’m no more ‘reverend’ than you are.” He patted Cholla’s furry neck.
Myles nodded. “All right, Pastor Dave. Do I need your approval on a song?”
“I’ll trust you to choose an appropriate selection. And thank you. Caroline will be excited when I tell her you agreed to sing.”
“How is she doing?”
“She has a tough time of it during the last weeks before a baby arrives, but she handles it well. My mother is at the house to help out. She and Caroline are grea
t friends.”
David cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind me asking, how are things between you and Marva? Or is it you and Beulah? Caroline and I were never sure.”
Myles scratched his beard and took a deep breath. “Marva and I are friends. There never was more between us. And Beulah isn’t speaking to me at present. I…uh…let’s just say she got a glimpse of Myles Van Huysen at his worst, and she didn’t care much for what she saw.”
“I see. Have you apologized?”
“Not yet. I haven’t spoken with her since God…since He changed me. I don’t know how to approach her. I mean, she pretty much told me to leave her out of my future plans.”
“The change in you could make a difference, Myles. Faint heart never won fair maiden.”
“Yes, I need to figure out a plan. I’d better be on my way. I’ve got orders not to dawdle.”
“Your grandmother?” David stepped away from the horse. “I enjoyed meeting her last Sunday. Quite a lady.”
Myles nodded. “Beulah is a lot like her. Feisty.” He smiled. “If you think of it, I could use a few prayers in that area, too. You know, for wisdom and tact when I talk to Beulah.”
“Every man needs prayer in the area of communication with women,” David said with a straight face. “See you Sunday.” With a wink, he turned away.
Myles squirmed in the front pew, elbows resting on his knees, and rubbed one finger across his mustache. His chin felt naked, bereft of its concealing beard. His heart pounded erratically. Lines of a prepared speech raced through his head.
Marva Obermeier played the piano while the congregation sang. She never once looked in his direction. Myles could not sing. He knew he would be ill if he tried. Why had he volunteered to sing so soon? He wasn’t ready. It was one thing to entertain a crowd for profit and another thing altogether to sing in worship to God while other believers listened.
“Relax, Myles. The Lord will help you.” Virginia leaned over to pat his arm.
He nodded without looking up.
Was Beulah here, somewhere in the room behind him? Would she change her mind when she saw how God was transforming his life, or had he forever frightened her away? With an effort, Myles turned his thoughts and heart back to God and prayed for courage and peace. This is all new to me, Lord. I feel like a baby, helpless and dependent. Can You really use me?