Francine Rivers

by Redeeming Love

  She returned her studious attention to the cloth in her lap. How should she start? Never having made her own clothing before, she didn’t know how to begin. She kept thinking of all the money Michael had spent and was afraid to cut into it and ruin it.

  “You look glum.” Miriam grinned. “Don’t you like to sew?”

  Angel could feel the color mounting in her cheeks. She was humiliated by her own ignorance and inexperience. Of course, Elizabeth and Miriam would know exactly what to do. Any decent girl would be able to make a shirtwaist and skirt.

  Miriam suddenly looked aggrieved, as though she realized she had drawn attention where she shouldn’t have. She gave Angel a tentative smile. “I don’t enjoy it much myself. Mama is the seamstress in our family.”

  “I’d love to help you,” Elizabeth volunteered.

  “You’ve enough to do already,” Angel said roughly.

  Miriam brightened. “Oh, let Mama do it for you, Amanda. She loves to sew, and she hasn’t had much to work with over the past year.” Not waiting for an answer, she took the material from Angel and handed it over to her mother.

  Elizabeth laughed, looking delighted. “Do you mind, Amanda?”

  “I suppose not,” Angel said. She gave a start of surprise when Ruthie climbed up into her lap.

  Miriam grinned. “She only bites her brothers.”

  Angel touched the dark, silky hair and was enchanted. Little Ruth was soft and cuddly, with pink cheeks and bright brown eyes. Angel felt her heart grieve. What would her own child have looked like? She blotted out the horrible memory of Duke and the doctor and savored Ruthie’s affection. The child chattered like a little magpie, and Angel nodded and listened. Glancing up, Angel encountered Michael’s gaze. He wants children, she thought, and the thought hit her solid in the pit of her stomach. What if he knew she couldn’t have them? Would his love for her die then? She couldn’t hold his gaze.

  “Papa, would you play the fiddle for us?” Miriam asked. “You haven’t played in so long.”

  “Papa, please,” Jacob and Leah begged.

  “It’s packed away in the trunk,” he said, eyes shadowed. Angel expected that to be the end of the discussion, but Miriam was dogged.

  “No, it’s not. I unpacked it this morning.” John gave his daughter a dark look, but she only smiled, knelt down beside him, and put her hand on his knee. “Please, Papa.” Her voice was very gentle. “‘For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.’ Remember? ‘A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.’”

  Elizabeth had stilled where she stood, her hands on the fabric spread out over the supper table. When John looked at her, his eyes were dark with pain. Her own were swimming in tears. “It has been a long time, John. I’m sure Amanda and Michael would enjoy hearing you.”

  Miriam nodded to Leah, who fetched the instrument and bow, then held them out to her father. After a long moment, he took hold of them and laid them in his lap.

  “I tuned it this afternoon while you were out in the field,” Miriam admitted as he ran his fingers across the strings. Then, lifting it, he set it beneath his chin and began to play. At the first few notes of the tune, Miriam’s eyes flooded with tears, and she sang with a high, pure voice. When he finished playing, he laid the fiddle on his lap again.

  “That was beautiful,” he said, plainly moved. He touched his daughter’s hair. “For David, hmm?”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  Elizabeth raised her head, tears running down her cheeks. “Our son,” she told Angel and Michael. “He was only fourteen when—” Her voice broke, and she looked away.

  “He sang alto,” Miriam said. “He had a wonderful voice. He far preferred lively songs, but ‘Amazing Grace’ was his favorite hymn. He was so full of life and adventure.”

  “He was killed near the Scott’s Bluff,” Elizabeth managed. “His horse threw him when he was chasing a buffalo. He hit his head.”

  No one said anything for a long time. “Gramma died at the Humboldt Sink,” Jacob said finally, breaking the silence.

  Elizabeth sat down slowly. “We were the only family she had left, and when we decided to come west, she came with us. She was never very well.”

  “She wasn’t sorry, Liza,” John said.

  “I know, John.”

  Angel wondered if Elizabeth was sorry. Maybe she never wanted to leave home. Maybe all this was John’s idea. Angel looked between the two of them and wondered if John wasn’t thinking the same thing, but when Elizabeth regained her composure and looked across the cabin at her husband, there was no resentment in her expression. John lifted the fiddle again and played another hymn. Michael joined in the singing this time. His rich, deep voice filled the cabin, and the children were in awe of him.

  “Well, now!” Elizabeth said, smiling in delight. “The Lord blessed you indeed, Mr. Hosea.”

  The boys wanted to sing road songs, and their father obliged. When they exhausted their repertoire, Michael told them about Ezra and the slaves who sang in the cotton fields. He sang one he remembered. It was deep and mournful. “Swing low, sweet chariot, comin’ for to carry me home…” Michael’s voice pierced Angel’s heart.

  Angel was tense when she and Michael finally returned to the barn loft. The what-ifs went around and around in her head. What if Mama had married a man like John Altman? What if she herself had grown up in a family like that? What if she had come to Michael whole and pure?

  But it hadn’t happened that way, and wishing didn’t make it any better.

  “You’d have done very well in the Silver Dollar Saloon,” she said, striving for lightness. “The singer they had wasn’t nearly as good as you. He used some of your same tunes,” she added wryly, “but the lyrics were different.”

  “Where do you think the church got most of their music in the first place?” Michael chuckled. “Preachers need recognizable tunes to get their congregations singing along.” He put his arms behind his head. “Maybe I could’ve won a few converts.”

  He was teasing her, and she didn’t want to soften any more toward him. He made her heart ache as it was. When she looked at him, her nerves felt raw. “The lyrics I could sing for you are offensive.” She felt his thoughtful silence as she undressed and slipped beneath the blankets. Her heart was pounding so fast she wondered if he could hear it. “And don’t try to teach me yours,” she said. “I’m not singing praises to God for anything.”

  He didn’t turn away from her as she hoped. He gathered her in his strong arms and kissed her until she could scarcely breathe. “Not yet, anyway,” he said. His hands fanned the spark inside her until it was a flame, but he didn’t quench it. He gave her the space and freedom she thought she wanted and let it burn.

  Within a few days, Elizabeth had a yellow plaid shirtwaist and rust skirt ready for fitting. Angel was hesitant to undress, embarrassed at the poor state of Tessie’s worn undergarments. “It needs another tuck here, Mama,” Miriam said, pulling in an inch at the skirtwaist.

  “Yes, and a little more fullness in the back, I think,” Elizabeth said, fluffing the material at the back of the skirt.

  Angel was disturbed that they would go to so much work on her behalf. The less they did, the less she would owe. “I’m going to be working in the garden in these clothes.”

  “You needn’t look like a drudge doing it,” Miriam said.

  “I don’t want this to be a bother to you.” The dress was lovely as it was. It didn’t need to be a perfect fit.

  “A bother?” Elizabeth said. “Nonsense. I haven’t had so much fun in months! You can take the dress off now. Be careful of pins.”

  As Angel removed the dress and reached quickly for Tessie’s worn clothing, she saw Elizabeth’s pitying glance at the shabby camisole and threadbare pantalets. If she had her things from the Palace, these ladies would be impressed. They had probably never seen satin and lace undergarments from France, or silk wraps from China. Duke had dressed her only in th
e finest. Even Duchess, cheap as she had been, wouldn’t have thought to dress her so crudely. But no, she had to appear to them in underwear made from used flour sacks.

  She wanted to explain that the things weren’t hers, that they belonged to Michael’s sister, but that would only raise questions she was loathe to answer. And worse, it might reflect badly on Michael. She didn’t want them thinking ill of him. She didn’t know why it mattered so much, but it did. She dressed quickly, stammered out a thank-you, and escaped to the garden.

  Where was Michael? She wished he were close by. She felt safer when he was. She felt less alone and out of her element when he was in sight. He and John had been in the field digging stumps this morning, but they were nowhere in sight now. The horses weren’t in the corral. Perhaps Michael had taken John hunting.

  Young Leah was gathering miner’s lettuce from around the oaks, and Andrew and Jacob were fishing. Angel bent to her weeding and tried not to think about anything.

  “Can I play here?” Little Ruth asked, standing on the gate. “Mama’s washing and says I’m being a pest.”

  Angel laughed. “Come in, sweetheart.”

  Ruthie sat in the pathway where she was working and talked incessantly as she pulled up the weeds Angel showed her. “I don’t like carrots. I like green beans.”

  “So there you are,” Miriam said, swinging the gate open. “I told Mama I knew where to find you,” she said, wagging her finger at her baby sister. Stooping over, she chucked Ruthie’s chin. “You know better than to leave her and not say exactly where you’re going.”

  “I’m with Mandy.”

  “Mandy?” she said, straightening, her eyes dancing over Angel. “Well, Mandy’s working.”

  Angel lifted the small carrot from the basket. “She’s helping.”

  Miriam sent Ruthie to report back to Mama and knelt to work with Angel. “It suits you better,” she remarked, thinning bean plants.

  “What does?” Angel asked tentatively.

  “Mandy,” Miriam said. “Amanda just doesn’t seem right somehow.”

  “My name was Angel.”

  “Really?” Miriam said, raising her brows dramatically. She shook her head, eyes twinkling. “Angel doesn’t fit you either.”

  “Would ‘Hey-you’ do?”

  Miriam chucked a dirt clod at her. “I think I’ll call you Miss Priss,” she decided. “By the way,” she added, tossing weeds into the bucket. “I wouldn’t be so embarrassed about your unmentionables.” At Angel’s startled response, she laughed. “You should see mine!”

  A few days later, Elizabeth gave Angel something wrapped in a pillowcase and told her not to take it out in front of anyone. At Angel’s curious look she blushed and hastened back to the cabin. Curious, Angel went into the barn and dumped out the contents. Picking the things up, she found a beautiful camisole and pantalets. The cutwork and embroidery were exquisite.

  Clutching the lovely things in her lap, Angel felt the heat pouring into her cheeks. Why had Elizabeth done this? Out of pity? No one had ever given her anything without expecting something back. What did Elizabeth want? Everything she had was Michael’s. She didn’t even belong to herself anymore. Shoving the things back into the pillowcase, she went outside. Miriam was toting water from the creek, and Angel intercepted her.

  “Give these things back to your mother, and tell her I don’t need them.”

  Miriam set the buckets down. “Mama was afraid you’d be offended.”

  “I’m not. I just don’t need them.”

  “You’re angry.”

  “Just take these things back, Miriam. I don’t want them.” Angel thrust them at her again.

  “Mama made them especially for you.”

  “So she could feel sorry for me? Well, tell her thank you very much and she can wear them herself.”

  Miriam was affronted. “Why are you so determined to think the worst of us? Mama’s only intent was to please you. She’s trying to say thank you for giving her a roof over her head after months of living in that miserable wagon!”

  “She needn’t thank me. If she wants to thank someone, tell her to thank Michael. It was his idea.” She immediately regretted her harsh words when the girl’s eyes filled up with tears.

  “Well, then, I suppose he can wear the camisole and pantalets, can’t he?” Miriam snatched up the buckets again, tears running down her pale cheeks. “You don’t want to love us, do you? You’ve set your mind against it!”

  Angel smarted at the hurt in Miriam’s face. “Why don’t you keep them for yourself?” she said more gently.

  Miriam was not mollified. “If you’re of a mind to hurt my mother, then you do it yourself, Amanda Hosea. I won’t do it for you. You go tell her you don’t want a gift she made for you because she loves you like you’re one of her own children. And that’s exactly what you are, isn’t it? Just an idiotic child who doesn’t know something precious when it’s staring her right in the face!” Her voice broke, and she hurried away.

  Angel fled back to the barn.

  Clutching the camisole and pantalets, she sat with her back against the wall. She hadn’t thought a few cutting remarks from a naive girl could hurt so deeply. Flinging the things away from her, she pressed her fists against her eyes.

  Miriam came in quietly and picked them up. Angel waited for her to leave with them, but she sat down instead.

  “I’m sorry I spoke so crossly to you,” she said meekly. “I’m far too outspoken.”

  “You say what you think.”

  “Yes, I do. Please accept Mama’s gift, Amanda. She’ll be so hurt if you don’t. She’s worked on these things for days, and it took her all morning to get up nerve enough to give them to you. ‘Every young bride should have something special,’ she said. If you give them back, she’ll know she’s offended you.”

  Angel drew her knees up tightly against her chest. She felt trapped by Miriam’s entreaty. “I would have gone right past all of you on the road that day.” Grimacing inwardly, she held Miriam’s gaze. “You knew, didn’t you?”

  Miriam smiled slightly. “You don’t really mind now we’re here, do you? I don’t think you knew what to make of us at first. But that’s changed, hasn’t it? Ruthie saw through you right away. Contrary to what you may believe, she doesn’t take to everyone she meets. Not the way she has to you. And I love you, too, whether you like it or not.”

  Angel pressed her lips together and said nothing.

  Miriam took the camisole and pantalets and folded them onto her lap. “What do you say?”

  “They’re very lovely things. You should keep them.”

  “I already have some tucked away in my hope chest. Until I’m a new bride, flour sacks will do very nicely.”

  Angel could see she wasn’t going to get anywhere with this girl.

  “You don’t know what to make of us, do you?” Miriam said. “Sometimes you look at me so strangely. Was your life so very different from mine?”

  “More different than you could ever imagine,” Angel said bleakly.

  “Mama said it’s good to talk things out.”

  Angel arched a brow. “I wouldn’t think to discuss my life with a child.”

  “I’m sixteen. Hardly that much younger than you.”

  “Age hasn’t anything to do with years in my business.”

  “It’s not your business anymore, is it? You’re married to Michael. That part of your life is over.”

  Angel looked away. “It’s never over, Miriam.”

  “Not when you carry it around like so much baggage.”

  Angel gave her a startled look. She laughed mirthlessly. “You and Michael have a lot in common.” He had told her the same thing once. Neither one of them could understand. You didn’t just walk away and say things had never happened. They had, and they left deep, raw, gaping wounds. Even when the wounds healed, there were scars. “‘Just walk away and forget,’” she mocked. “It’s never that simple.”

  Miriam toyed with a blade
of hay and changed the subject. “I imagine it would take a great deal of effort, but wouldn’t it be worth it?”

  “It always catches up with you.”

  “Maybe you just don’t have enough faith yet in Michael.”

  Angel didn’t want to discuss Michael, especially with a nubile girl like this one, who was far better suited for him than she was.

  “I was walking the other morning and saw a cabin,” Miriam said. “Do you know who lives there?”

  “Michael’s brother-in-law, Paul. His wife died coming west.”

  Miriam’s dark eyes were alight with curiosity. “Why doesn’t he ever come to visit Michael? Are they feuding?”

  “No. He’s just not very friendly.”

  “Is he older or younger than Michael?”

  “Younger.”

  Her smile was playful. “How much younger?”

  Angel shrugged. “In his early twenties, I guess.” She could see where this was going and didn’t like it. Miriam reminded her of Rebecca, the prostitute who’d been so intrigued with Michael.

  “Is he handsome?” Miriam persisted.

  “I suppose to a virginal young girl anyone without warts and buckteeth would be handsome.”

  Miriam laughed. “Well, I am sixteen. Most girls are married by now, and I haven’t even a beau on the horizon. Naturally, I’m interested in who’s available. I have to find a groom so I can wear all those pretty unmentionables Mama’s made for me and packed away in my trunk.”

  Thinking of this sweet girl with Paul disturbed Angel greatly. “Pretty things don’t mean very much, Miriam. They really don’t. Wait for someone like Michael.” She could scarcely believe she had said it.

  “There’s only one Michael, Amanda, and you’ve got him. What’s Paul like?”

  “The opposite of Michael.”

  “So that would mean… ugly, weak, glum, and irreverent?”

  “It’s not funny, Miriam.”

  “You’re worse than Mama. She won’t tell me the least little thing about men.”