“Michael,” she ground out.
He cupped her face. “Look at me. Say it again.”
“Michael.” Was he satisfied now? She waited for his triumphant grin and instead saw his adoring eyes and heard his tender voice.
“Keep on saying it.…”
When it was over, Michael held her close, telling her how much he loved her and of the pleasure he found in her. He was no longer hesitant, no longer the least unsure, and with his growing assurance, her own doubts expanded.
Some unknown and unwelcome emotion opened deep inside Angel. Something hard and tight began to soften and uncurl. And as it did, the dark voice arose.
Get away from this man, Angel. You’ve got to get out of here! Save yourself and flee. Flee!
But if we hope for what we do not have,
we wait for it patiently.
ROMANS 8 : 25
When Michael went out to do his morning chores, Angel headed up the hill to the road. The faint trail Michael had cut with his wagon during his journeys to camp markets was difficult to follow. On a road less traveled, Angel was soon lost. Everything looked so unfamiliar, she was disconcerted. Was she still walking in the right direction, or had she come full circle and was back near Hosea’s homestead where she had started?
The sky was darkening, heavy gray clouds closing together. Angel pulled the shawl more tightly around her, but the thin wrap did little to ward off the chill in the air.
She headed for the mountains, reasoning that Pair-a-Dice was up there somewhere, and heading that way gave her a better chance of reaching it. Besides, going east would take her away from Michael Hosea. The farther away from him, the better.
Things had changed between them. It wasn’t that he had finally had sex with her. It was something else, something deeper and more elemental, something beyond her understanding. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she knew if she was ever going to call her life her own, she had to get away from him. Now.
But where was the road to freedom? She hunted in vain.
She saw a creek and, thirsting, she went to it. Dropping to her knees, she scooped up water and drank deeply. Looking around, she wondered if this was the same stream that ran through Michael’s land. If so, surely crossing it and climbing that hill would bring her back to the road again.
The stream looked shallow, the current calm. She had forgotten to bring the buttonhook. Annoyed, she worked at the shoes until she could pull them off. Pulling the skirt up, she bunched it in front and tucked the shoes into the folds for safe keeping before she waded into the stream.
Rocks bit into her tender feet, and the water was so cold it hurt. Though she picked her way carefully, she slipped on a mossy stone and dropped a shoe. Swearing, Angel reached for it and slipped again, falling this time. She struggled quickly to her feet, but she was already soaked. Worse, both shoes were floating downstream. She took off the shawl and tossed it on the far bank.
One shoe filled with water and sank. Angel retrieved it easily and stuffed it securely inside her shirtwaist. The other shoe had lodged in the branches of a fallen tree. She plodded through the water toward it.
The rushing stream deepened and the current tugged, but she knew she couldn’t walk all the way to Pair-a-Dice barefooted. She had to have that shoe. Determined to get it, Angel pulled her skirt higher and waded closer.
When the bottom sloped sharply, she caught hold of a branch and leaned out to reach the shoe. Her fingers brushed it once, and the branch snapped. Crying out, she slid down sharply, cold water closing over her head.
The current dragged her thrashing into the hollow beneath the tree. Clawing at the trunk, she pulled herself up and gasped in air. Her skirt caught. She clung with all her strength to the fallen tree and kicked her skirt loose. She grabbed the vines close by. The blackberry thorns cut into her palms, but she held on and pulled herself to the safety of the bank, collapsing there. She was shaking violently from fright and cold.
Angry, she threw rocks at the shoe until it broke free and was swept along with the current. It lodged in the reeds not far away, where she had no difficulty retrieving it.
Cold, weary, and miserable, she pulled on the sodden shoes and climbed the hill, sure she would find the road.
She didn’t.
It began to rain, a few drops at first, then more, plastering her hair to her head and soaking through the shirtwaist. Cold, stiff, and exhausted beyond pain, Angel sat down and put her head in her hands.
What was the use? So what if she did make it to the road? She couldn’t walk all those miles. She would never make it. She was already exhausted, aching, and hungry, and she couldn’t even find her way.
Who would be there to give her a ride back to Pair-a-Dice? What if it was someone like Magowan?
Thoughts of Michael’s warm hearth, a heavy quilt, and food tormented her. She hadn’t thought to bring any food with her. Her stomach was already knotted with hunger.
Dejected but resolved, Angel got up and went on.
After another mile, her feet hurt so badly, she took off the shoes and tucked one in each skirt pocket, unaware when they dropped out along the way.
When Michael came in for breakfast and found Angel gone, he saddled his horse and went looking for her. He blamed himself for not expecting it. He had seen the look in her eyes when he made her say his name last night. He had smashed through her defenses for one brief instant, and she hadn’t liked it.
He followed the road to where she left it and trailed her to the stream. He found Tessie’s shawl. He spotted a shoe print on the bank and followed her trail up the hill.
It began to rain. Michael was worried. She would be soaked and cold and probably frightened. It was clear she didn’t know where she was or where she was going.
He found her shoes. “Lord, she’s heading away from the road.” He galloped to the top of the knoll and looked for her. He could see her in the distance, walking across a field of grass. He cupped his hands. “Mara!”
She stopped and turned. He could tell even at this distance by the set of her shoulders and the tilt of her head that she had made up her mind to leave him. He rode slowly toward her. When he was within a hundred yards, he dismounted and walked toward her. Her face was dirty, her shirtwaist torn. He saw bloodstains on her skirt. The look in her eyes made him hold his tongue.
“I’m leaving,” she said.
“Barefooted?”
“If I have to.”
“Let’s talk it over.” When he put his hand beneath her elbow, she drew back sharply and slapped him in the face.
Michael stumbled back a step, astonished. He wiped the blood off his mouth and stared at her. “What was that for?”
“I said I am leaving. You can drag me back, and I’ll leave again. However long it takes you to get it through your thick head.”
Michael stood silent. His anger burned hotter than his cheek, but he knew anything he said now he would later regret.
“Do you hear me, Michael? This is a free country. You can’t make me stay.” He still said nothing. “You don’t own me no matter what you paid the Duchess!”
Patience, God said. Well, patience was wearing thin. Michael wiped the blood off his lip. “I’ll give you a ride to the road.” He walked to his horse.
Angel stood, mouth ajar. He glanced back at her. She lifted her chin but didn’t move. “You want a ride or not?” Michael said.
She went to him. “So, you’ve finally come to your senses.”
He lifted her to the saddle and then swung up behind her. When he reached the road, he took her arm and slid her off the horse. She stood looking up at him, bemused. He unlooped the canteen and tossed it to her. She caught it against her chest. He took the shoes out of his coat pocket and dropped them at her feet.
“That way is Pair-a-Dice,” he said. “It’s thirty miles, uphill all the way, and Magowan and the Duchess are waiting for you at the end of it.” He nodded in the opposite direction. “That way is home. One mile downhil
l, fire and food and me. But you’d better understand something right now. If you come back, we’re picking up where we left off last night, and we’re still playing by my rules.”
He left her standing alone in the road.
It was after dark when Mara opened the cabin door. Michael glanced up from his reading but didn’t say anything. She stood there for a moment, pale, strained, and covered with road dust. Mouth tight, she came in.
“I’ll wait for spring,” she said bitterly and dropped his empty canteen on the table. She sank down on a stool as though every muscle in her body hurt, but she remained too stubborn to seek the warmth of the fire.
From the look on her face, it was clear she was waiting for him to mock her.
Michael got up and ladled stew from the iron pot. He took a biscuit from the pan. Setting both before her, he smiled ruefully. A small frown flickered across her brow as she glanced up.
Obviously famished, she ate. He poured her coffee. She sipped at it while watching him fill a pan with hot water. When he leaned his elbow on the mantel and looked at her, she lowered her head and went back to eating her supper.
“Sit over here,” he said when she finished. She was so tired she could hardly get up, but she did what he told her. He knelt and set the pan of water at her feet and eased the shoes off.
All the way back, she had imagined him gloating and taunting, rubbing her face in her own broken pride. Instead, he knelt before her and washed her dirty, blistered feet. Throat burning, she looked down at his dark head and struggled with the feelings rising in her. She waited for them to die away, but they wouldn’t. They stayed and grew and made her hurt even more.
His hands were so gentle. He took such care. When her feet were clean, he kneaded her aching calves. He cast the dirty water outside and poured more, setting the pan in her lap. He took her hands and washed them as well. He kissed her stained, scratched palms and worked salve in. Then he wrapped them with warm bandages.
And I hit him. I drew his blood…
Angel shrank back ashamed. When he raised his head, she looked into his eyes. They were blue, like a clear spring sky. She had never really noticed before. “Why do you do this for me?” she said thickly. “Why?”
“Because, for some of us, one mile can be farther to walk than thirty.” He brushed the dust and tangles from her hair, undressed her, and put her to bed. Undressing, he lay down beside her. He said nothing and asked nothing.
She wanted to explain. She wanted to say she was sorry. The words just would not come. They stuck like hot rocks in her chest, weighing her down deeper and deeper.
I don’t want to feel this. I can’t let myself feel this way. I can’t survive it.
Michael turned on his side and propped his head up on his hand. He stroked the hair back from her temples. She was back in his tiny cabin and looked more lost than ever. Her body was like ice. He pulled her close to share his warmth.
Angel didn’t move when he kissed her. If he wanted sex, he could have it. All he wanted. Anything. For tonight, anyway.
“Try to sleep,” he said. “You’re home and safe.”
Home. She took a long shuddering breath and closed her eyes. She had no home. Her head rested on his chest, and the steady beat of his heart soothed her. She remained like that for a long time, but for all her exhaustion, sleep would not come. She drew away and lay on her back staring up at the ceiling.
“Will you talk about it?” Michael said.
“About what?”
“Why you left.”
“I don’t know.”
Michael traced the side of her face. “Yes, you do.”
She swallowed heavily, fighting emotions she couldn’t even identify. “I can’t put it into words.”
He curled a strand of her pale hair around his finger and tugged gently. “When I made you say my name, you couldn’t pretend nothing was happening between us, could you? Was that it? I wanted to get inside you, inside your heart,” he said huskily. “Did I?”
“A little.”
“Good.” He traced her face with one finger again. “A woman is either a wall or a door, beloved.”
She gave a bleak laugh and looked at him. “Then I guess I’m a door a thousand men have walked through.”
“No. You are a wall, a stone wall, four feet thick and a hundred feet high. I can’t get over you all by myself, but I keep trying.” He kissed her. “I need help, Tirzah.” Her lips softened, and she touched his hair. Aroused, he drew back. He knew how exhausted she was.
“Roll over,” he said softly, and she did. He tucked her body into his own and put his arm around her. He brushed his lips against her hair. “Go to sleep.” She sighed in relief. It only took a few moments for the weariness to catch up with her.
She lay in the safety of Michael’s arms and dreamed of a high, thick wall. He was there below her, planting vines. As soon as they touched the soil, they grew, spreading the green life up the sides and working their strong tendrils between the stones. The mortar was crumbling.
Michael lay in the darkness, wide awake. He would have to give up hoping he could break through her barriers. But how do I reach her, Lord? Tell me how!
He closed his eyes and slept peacefully, forgetting the enemy who was loose in the world. The battle was not yet won.
Paul was coming home.
Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with the
judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and
the measure you give will be the measure you get.
JESUS, MATTHEW 7 : 1
Paul dumped his meager gear and stood on the hillside. He saw Michael working in the field and cupped his hands to his mouth to shout. Michael left the shovel to meet him halfway down the hill. They embraced. Paul almost wept at the feel of those strong, sure arms.
“Oh, I’m glad to see you, Michael,” he said, his voice graveled with fatigue and emotion. The relief was so great he had to fight back unmanly tears. He withdrew and rubbed his face self-consciously. He hadn’t shaved in weeks, and his hair had grown long. He hadn’t changed his clothes in a month. “I must look—” He gave a bleak laugh. “It was awful.” Hard work for little or nothing, drinking to forget, women to remember, and fighting just to stay alive.
Michael put his hand on his shoulder. “You’ll look a lot better after you clean up and have a good meal.” Paul was too tired to protest when Michael went up the hill and shouldered his load. “How was it on the Yuba?”
Paul grimaced. “Dismal and cold.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“If there’s gold in them thar hills, I never saw much of it. What I found was barely enough to keep body and soul together.” He looked toward his end of the valley and thought of Tess. The last few days had been filled with thoughts of her and how they had dreamed of coming to California and building a place of their own. Losing her was what had driven him into the gold country. Every time he thought about her, he felt the pain coming up again.
Oh, Tessie. Why did you have to die?
His eyes burned and filled up against his will. He needed her so much. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore. His life had lost meaning when she died.
“Are you home for good?” Michael asked.
Afraid to trust his voice, Paul cleared his throat. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted flatly. “I’m just played out.” He was too bone-weary to think about what he was going to do tomorrow. “I wouldn’t have survived winter in the mountains. I wasn’t even sure I could make it home.” Now that he was, he felt the old ache again. Thank God, he could spend the winter with Michael. He was looking forward to long hours of intelligent conversation. All the men on the streams talked about was gold and women. Michael talked of many things, big things that filled a man’s head and gave him hope.
He had headed for the streams to make his fortune the quick way. Michael had gone with him but only stayed a few months. “This isn’t what I want from life,” he said and tried to talk Paul
into going back to the land. Pride had made Paul stay. It was cold, disillusionment, and hunger that brought him back. Not hunger for food or even riches, but a deeper hunger of the spirit.
Michael put his hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re home.” He grinned. “There are fields to plant, brother, and the workers are few.”
Michael always made it easy. Paul smiled wryly. “Thanks.” He fell into step beside him. “It wasn’t anything like I expected out there.”
“No pot at the end of the rainbow?”
“Not even a rainbow.” He was feeling better already. He would stay. Better to break soil than your back. Better to muck out a stable than stand in freezing water trying to find a few meager specks of gold in a rusting pan. The quiet, dull farmer’s life was what he needed right now. The sameness and routine of every day. Watching something grow from the earth, rather than ripping something out of it.
“Anything happen around here while I was gone?” He could see Michael had done some building and cleared another section of land.
“I got married.”
Paul stopped dead and stared at him. He swore. “You didn’t.” He realized as soon as the words were uttered how bad they sounded. “Sorry, but I haven’t seen a decent woman since we got here.” He saw an odd look on Michael’s face and tried to make amends. “She must be something if you married her.” Michael had always said he was waiting for just the right one.
Paul tried to be happy for him, but he wasn’t. He was jealous. All this time he had been on the road home, looking forward to sitting in front of the fire and talking to Michael, and now Michael had a wife. What rotten luck.
He needed Michael’s advice. He needed his friendship. His brother-in-law had a way of listening and understanding things you didn’t even say. He could bring a lightness to the heaviest times, a feeling that everything would come out the way it was intended, and for good. Michael raised hope, and God knew how much he needed hope right now. He expected to come back and find everything the same.
Women had been chasing after Michael for as long as he could remember. Why did one have to catch him now? “Married,” Paul muttered.
Francine Rivers Page 16