“Was? Has he passed on?” Betty asked.
“Yes.” She didn’t want to have to get into the details just yet. “Do you have children, Sue?”
“Two,” the woman replied. “Much older than yours. I married Steve right after you left us.”
“Well, I never expected to see you back here.” The catty voice had to belong to Naomi Carlson. No, Clara reminded herself. It was Bittner now. Her aunt had written long ago of Naomi’s unhappy union with the much older Howard Bittner.
Clara turned to find the woman sneering. “I heard your aunt say you’re a widow now. But I guess even with your husband dead you must feel pretty lucky to have avoided marriage to a man like Curtis Billingham.”
“Naomi, that’s hardly called for,” Sue interjected. “Curtis has turned his life around.”
“Well, it doesn’t change the fact that he spent a good many years drinking and . . . womanizing.”
Naomi had never been a friend to Clara. She had wanted Curtis for herself, and when he refused to even give her a second look, Naomi had made it her personal duty to malign him at every chance.
“I’m sure we all have things in the past that we’d rather folks forget,” Sue’s mother declared. “Seems I remember you making a few bad choices, Naomi.”
The younger woman turned red. “Well, at least I didn’t end up in prison.”
The words hit Clara hard. She couldn’t imagine Curtis drinking and doing things that fit the image Naomi was painting. Womanizing. Prison. Clara tried to keep her face void of emotion but could tell by Naomi’s look of satisfaction that she was doing a poor job.
“Like my mother said, Naomi, we all make mistakes. We’re all sinners saved by grace.”
“Well, my sins were never as bad as his,” Naomi countered.
Just then Aunt Madeline joined them. “I didn’t know there was a list of sins to tell us what was bad and what was worse. What book of the Bible did you find that in?”
Naomi frowned. “Some things are just naturally worse than others.”
“The outcome and consequences might be,” Madeline replied, “but sin is sin. We’re all guilty of it, and the outcome for each one of us is death, unless we accept Jesus as our Savior.” Sue and her mother nodded in agreement.
“And it seems to me that you’re gossiping about Curtis,” Madeline added. “Gossips or whisperers are listed right there with murderers in the first book of Romans.”
“So are maligners,” Clara said, regaining her voice.
“Well, I was only making conversation,” Naomi said, acting terribly wronged. “It seems a person can’t even speak around some folks.” She stormed off in a huff.
“Don’t mind her,” Sue said, patting Clara’s arm. “She’s always been jealous of you, probably even more so now with your twins. She’s never been able to have children.”
It was only then that Clara realized her children were no longer standing with her. “Where are Hunter and Maddy?”
“I sent them out with your uncle once Naomi started to badger you,” Madeline answered. “Come on. It’s a long ways home, and I’d imagine your uncle is starving.”
Clara bid the others goodbye with their promise to come and visit one day after the sheep were sent to summer pasture. Making her way to the wagon she was relieved to see that Naomi was nowhere in sight.
“Clara, do you remember Judge Walker?” her uncle asked.
“I do.” Clara smiled and extended her hand. “Your honor, it’s good to see you once again.”
“No need for calling me ‘your honor,’” the man said, taking hold of her hand. “I’m retired now.”
Paul laughed. “But he’ll always be Judge Walker to folks in this valley.”
Clara nodded. “That seems only fitting, Uncle Paul. You’ll always be known as a sheep rancher. I suppose those things we do stay with us for a long time.” She frowned. Her own words only served to remind her of Curtis’s plight.
Once they were well on their way home, Clara decided to just ask her aunt about what was said regarding Curtis. Mindful of the children, however, she chose her words carefully.
“Was Naomi speaking the truth about Curtis?”
Madeline met her gaze. “I think you should ask him about it. It’s his story to tell.”
Clara nodded and eased back. It might be his story to tell, but what if she couldn’t get him to speak to her at all?
By the time they reached the house, Clara had managed to work herself up into such a state of agitation that when Hunter jumped from the wagon, she reprimanded him as she had never done before.
“Hunter, I’ve told you before that you cannot be jumping off things like that. You’ll get hurt!” Hunter’s eyes welled with tears, and Clara immediately regretted her harsh tone. Uncle Paul helped her from the wagon, and while he assisted the others, Clara took hold of Hunter and brushed the tears from his cheek. “I’m sorry for the way I spoke, Hunter. I was afraid for you. You mustn’t keep jumping off things.”
He nodded and sniffed. “I’ll try to be good, Mama.”
She kissed his forehead. “You are good, Hunter. It’s just sometimes you make bad choices.”
Her words reminded her of Curtis and all that had been said. She walked slowly with her son to the house, and by the time she reached the front porch, Clara was determined to force Curtis to speak to her. After all, it wasn’t like he could run away, and knowing men in general, she couldn’t imagine he would sit there and let her rant at him without comment. She smiled. It might not be the best way to handle things, but it was going to be done.
They changed their clothes from Sunday best to everyday, and then each went to their various duties. Her aunt and uncle only did what was necessary on the Sabbath, and Clara and the children would do likewise.
Coming into the kitchen, Clara pulled on an apron and went to where her aunt kept the bed tray. “I’m going to take Curtis his lunch,” she announced. “I have some things to discuss with him.”
Madeline’s eyebrows rose slightly, but she said nothing. Instead, she helped Clara set the tray with food. Once that was complete, she looked at her niece with a smile.
“I’ll say a prayer for you.”
“Thank you. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”
Clara took up the tray and started for the door that led out the back of the kitchen and down the hall. She paused long enough to hear her aunt instruct the children to set the table and knew they would be kept busy for as long as was needed.
When she reached Curtis’s open door, she took a deep breath before stepping into the room. She saw that he was busy concentrating on a game of checkers with Joe. She’d only met the man in passing, but he seemed quite friendly and easygoing.
Joe looked up first. “Boy, am I glad to see you. Thought I might starve to death before you folks got back.” He stood and stretched.
Curtis cast her only a cursory glance and then looked to Joe. “What about our game?”
Joe leaned down and pushed a checker into place. “There, now you’ve won.” He turned and gave Clara a smile. “That ought to put him in a good mood.”
She waited until he’d gone before setting the tray on the bedside table. She took up the checkerboard and checkers and looked around the room.
“They go in the top drawer of that dresser,” Curtis said, pointing.
“Thank you.” She marched across the room and put the game away. Turning back, she found Curtis watching her. It was now or never. She bolstered her courage.
“I’ve brought your lunch, but first you’re going to answer some questions. I plan to stay here as long as it takes to get my answers, and if you go hungry, then that’s just the way it will be.”
To her surprise, Curtis actually smiled. “All right. Why don’t you close the door and pull up a chair?”
Relief washed over her. She nodded, then closed the door. Curtis’s expression showed more peace than it had the last time they’d met. Settling on the wooden chair, Clara tried to think of
how to pose her questions. Should she just tell him of her experience at church and go from there? Or should she simply ask him to tell her what happened to him after she left fourteen years ago?
“So, are you going to ask your questions or just sit here keeping me from my lunch?” Curtis asked after several moments of silence.
Curtis could see that Clara was uncomfortable. He couldn’t blame her. He’d been quite cruel to her, and frankly it surprised him that she’d even bothered to return and set herself up for additional pain. And if not for the straightforward words of Madeline and Paul, he might very well have given her more of his anger and grief.
Clara cleared her throat. “I want to know about the past. I want to know what happened to you after I left.”
He nodded, never looking away from her beautiful face. “I know, but hearing it won’t be easy.”
“I don’t care. I need to know.”
He knew she’d been at church that morning and figured she’d already heard an earful from well-meaning folks who would consider it their duty to let her know just how awful a man he was. He figured Naomi Bittner, in particular, wouldn’t miss an opportunity to put in her two cents.
“You look so much like the girl you were fourteen years ago.” He hadn’t meant to say the words out loud, but once said they obviously couldn’t be taken back.
“And you look like the boy I left behind.”
He shook his head. “That innocent young man is gone forever. I’m sure you have an idea of my past. I don’t expect you to forgive me for it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How dare you? Do you know me so little that you suppose there is anything I wouldn’t forgive of you? I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you. I know I’m probably a fool to be here telling you this—wearing my heart on my sleeve only for you to hurt me again. But the cost in being here is less than the one I’d face if I didn’t try.”
He took in her words, and the battle within him stilled. She was right. There would be a price to pay no matter which way he went.
“All right. After your mother took you away, I gave serious thought to coming after you and stealing you away. I kept praying that somehow you would be able to refuse your mother’s demands and even prayed that no one would want to marry you.” His lips twitched and the corners turned up just a bit. “Of course, all the men in New York would have had to be blind for that to happen.”
“Nothing’s too big for God,” she murmured.
This made Curtis laugh. “Exactly my thoughts.” He paused for a moment at the sight of her smile. “Well, losing my folks was hard, but losing you . . .” He left the words unspoken and looked toward the open window. “For the first few weeks I was in a stupor. I tried to make sense of it all, but there was nothing to make sense of. I felt that God had abandoned me just like everyone else.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. He hated telling her of his downfall.
“I started drinking. I’d heard enough people say it was a good way to forget, and God knew I wanted to forget. I begged Him plenty of times to help me forget, but He never did. I only drank at night to begin with. I kept it hidden from Madeline and Paul. They insisted I stay with them for a time, but I couldn’t bear it. After a few weeks, I left. I had to. I was so ashamed of what I was becoming.” She kept gazing at him with the same expression of acceptance.
“Go on.”
“Well, pretty soon it wasn’t enough to drink alone. I started drinking in town. I met up with some unsavory fellows who got me a job on a cattle ranch. That only caused me more problems. They took me to Lewistown one weekend and introduced me to . . . women. I kept looking for one that reminded me of you, but of course that wasn’t to be found in those hardened souls. I didn’t realize then that the things I loved most about you were buried deep or had already died in those working women.
“After a time these friends of mine decided it would be better to rob a bank than to work on a cattle ranch. They figured I would agree, and when I didn’t at first, they didn’t seem to care all that much. Later on when I kept refusing, they started giving me grief. Finally the ringleader of the group told me I didn’t have to go into the bank with them, I just needed to hold the horses while they went in. I thought about it and convinced myself that I wouldn’t really be doing anything wrong by holding a bunch of horses. But, of course, it was wrong. Everything about it was wrong, and a man was killed during the robbery. A man who had a family.”
Curtis shook his head and looked down at his casted chest. “I’d give just about anything if I could go back and keep it all from happening.”
“I know.”
Those two words meant more to him than she’d ever know. “We got ourselves arrested almost immediately. As I sat there in jail with the others, I tried to reason out how I’d come to this. I tried to talk to God, but that was impossible. I held Him responsible for taking my folks and you away, for letting me get caught up in all the ugliness. I blamed Him for everything. It was easier than taking responsibility for my own actions.”
“It’s easy to blame God when things go bad,” she admitted. “I have to say I did some of that myself.”
“The judge took pity on me since I was young and it was my first offense. I didn’t know it then, but Paul and Madeline put in a good word for me. The judge gave me only five years. The others paid with their life.” He shook his head. “But five years was bad enough. I’ve heard it said that prison is supposed to reform a man, but it didn’t do that for me. There was too much time to think—to remember. I sank deeper and deeper. By the time I was released, I went right back to the bottle and never looked back. I can’t even tell you what I did during that time. Most of it’s a blur and what isn’t . . . well . . . I’d never share such things with you. They’re just too vile. It’s enough to say that I should have died and would have if Paul hadn’t found me. He brought me back here, and he and Madeline nursed me back to health physically and spiritually. I only had one minor setback.”
“What caused that?” she asked.
He smiled. “I saw your portrait.”
She looked momentarily confused. “My portrait?” Then she nodded. “The one in the front hall.”
“Yes. I was barely on my feet and wanted to go out on the porch to get some air. Your picture was there and I couldn’t help but stop. You were so beautiful and you looked so happy.” He shrugged. “It hurt to see you so happy.”
“I wasn’t happy. The photographer was so put out with me because he said I looked far too melancholy to photograph. He finally told me to think of something that I loved—something that made me happy. I thought of you and immediately he took the picture. I looked that way because I was remembering you.”
Her words humbled him. Here he thought she was enjoying her new life without him. That thought had devastated him so much. “It just goes to show you that things aren’t always what they seem.”
“That’s very true.”
“So now you know the truth about my past.”
“What I know is just that. It’s in the past. You don’t stop to think about the fact that I too have done things I regretted. I too have a past. However, my past is very much a part of my future.”
“What do you mean?” He could see the emotion playing on her face.
“I have children.”
He’d never considered she might have children, but of course it made sense. She had, after all, been married for twelve years. “How many children do you have?”
“Two. They’re twins. They’re here with me, and they’re almost five years old. In fact, their birthday is the twenty-sixth of July.” She paused and looked to the window, where a light breeze fluttered the curtains. “I’m definitely not the same girl I was when I left here. Something died in me that day and again the day I married. It was almost more than I could deal with, and after a time I decided to take my life.” She looked back to him. “Does that shock you?”
“No,” he barely whispered, but the pain in his voice was clear.
Clara bit her lower lip for a moment. Curtis could see she was truly struggling. At that moment he wanted more than anything to take back his denial of loving her. He wanted only to ease her pain.
“I was taking breakfast with my husband when I noticed an article in the paper about a woman who had taken arsenic. Her death had been almost immediate. I nonchalantly asked Adolph where a person would even get such a horrible thing. He didn’t realize that I was hoping to take the woman’s example for myself.”
She drew a deep breath and looked at her hands. “He told me it was easily obtained for killing rats and mice. So I decided on one of my shopping trips I would secure some arsenic for myself.”
“What stopped you?”
Clara shrugged. “I believe God did. I purchased the stuff and had it ready to take. I had even planned out how I would do it. Sundays were always our social day. On Mondays Adolph always left early for work, and since we had separate bedrooms, I knew he wouldn’t know if I was simply sleeping or dead. I reasoned that I would go to church on Sunday, dine with whomever we were to dine with, and receive anyone who might come to visit us in the afternoon. Then I would feign a headache in the early evening and I would retire.”
She finally looked up, meeting his gaze. “I didn’t want to live without you. I hadn’t wanted to marry Adolph and had tried to run away, but Mother had me watched and kept under lock and key. Adolph was a kind enough man, but he wasn’t you, and I knew I would never be happy married to him. When I thought of living twenty or thirty years with him, it was unbearable.
“I know Christians aren’t supposed to consider killing themselves, but . . . I . . . it’s just that . . .” She fell silent.
Curtis shook his head. “You don’t have to justify wanting to end your life to me. I wanted it myself, and I think that’s what my actions were all about. I kept hoping someone would just end it for me.”
She nodded. “So that was my plan. When evening came I told Adolph I didn’t feel well and planned to go right to bed. He didn’t care. In fact, he had to go out to meet with his brother regarding some business deal. I was surprised that he would do something like that on the Sabbath, but he was never a religious man and only attended church because it connected him to wealthy people who might buy Vesper jewelry.
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