Francine Rivers

by Redeeming Love

  The old peddler beside her hadn’t stopped talking since he picked her up on the road at dawn. She was thankful for the barrage. He hadn’t sold any of his stock on this trip to the mountains. His food supplies were low, and his rheumatism was paining him something fierce. Best thing that had happened to Sam Teal in the last month was seeing a pretty little thing like her sitting on a stump by the road. Sam was clean and trimmed but worn out and bent over. Most of his hair was gone. As were his prospects. But he had kindly eyes beneath gray beetled brows. As long as she listened, she didn’t have to think.

  “Who you running from, missy?”

  She pushed a loose strand of blonde hair back from her face and forced a noncommittal smile. “What makes you think I’m running from someone?”

  “The way you keep looking back over your shoulder. You looked mighty worried back there when I found you. I figured you must be running away from your husband.”

  “How did you know I was married?”

  “You’re wearing a wedding ring.”

  She covered her hand quickly and blushed. She had forgotten to take the ring off. She turned it on her finger and wondered how she was going to get it back to Michael.

  “Did he mistreat you?”

  Michael wouldn’t think of it. “No,” she said dully.

  He gave her a curious look. “Must’ve done something to make you run away.”

  She looked away. What could she say? “He made me fall in love with him?” If she told this old man that Michael had never done anything but treat her with the greatest kindness and consideration, he would start asking questions. “I don’t want to talk about it, Mr. Teal.” She twisted the ring ’round and ’round her finger and wanted to weep.

  “Sam. Call me Sam, missy.”

  “My name’s Angel.”

  “Just take the ring off and throw it away if it’ll make you feel better,” he said.

  She would never do that. The ring had belonged to Michael’s mother. “I can’t get it off,” she lied. She would have to find a way to send it back to him.

  “Were you on your way to Sacramento?”

  Sacramento was as good a place as any to start over. “Yes.”

  “Good. I’m on my way there. I’ll be stopping off at a few more mining camps along the way and see if I can’t sell some stock.” He urged the tired horse on. “You look wore out, missy. Why don’t you climb back in my wagon and sleep? Bed folds down from the side,” he told her. “Just pull that latch.”

  She was exhausted and thanked him for the offer. She lowered the bed down and curled up on it, but sleep eluded her. The wagon rolled and bounced along, and her mind spun. She kept thinking about Michael. He wouldn’t understand why she left him, and he would be angry. She was so full of confusion. Something inside her tugged at her to go back and talk to Michael, to tell him what she was feeling. She knew that in that lay madness. Hadn’t Mama poured out her emotions on Alex Stafford? Hadn’t she professed her love over and over again? All love had done was destroy her pride and shame her.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about last night. Being with Michael had made her feel replete, not empty. She had felt a rightness in Michael’s arms, a sense that this was exactly where she belonged.

  Your mother felt the same way about Alex Stafford, and look how that turned out.

  She moaned softly and curled tighter.

  If Sam Teal hadn’t come by when he did, she might have weakened and gone back. And she would have clung to Michael the same way Mama clung to her father. Sooner or later Michael would tire of her the same way Alex Stafford tired of Mama.

  She thought distance would ease the pain, but it kept getting worse. Her mind and body, her very essence, longed for him.

  Why did I ever meet him? Why did he ever come to Pair-a-Dice? Why did he have to be standing on the street when I walked by that day? Why did he come back to the brothel after I drove him away?

  She could see his eyes, full of passion and tenderness. “I love you,” he’d said. “When are you going to understand I’m committed to you?”

  “He said he loved me,” Mama had wept. “He said he’d love me forever.”

  Angel could feel the tears building and fought them down. All right. She had fallen in love with Michael and shed a tear, but she had been smart enough to flee before things got too bad. She had brought more this time than just the clothes on her back. She would put it all behind her. She would go east, west, north or south. Whatever she wanted.

  “I’ll make it,” she whispered. “I’ll make it on my own.”

  Doing what? A voice mocked.

  “Something. I’ll find something.”

  Sure you will, Angel. Doing what you do best.

  “I’ll find some other way to live. I won’t go back to that.”

  Yes, you will. What else do you know? Was it really so bad? You had food and shelter, beautiful clothes, adoration.…

  The dark voice kept cadence with the steady clop of the tired horses on the dusty road. When she slept, she dreamed of Duke again. He was doing all the things he used to do. And Michael wasn’t there to stop him.

  Sam Teal awakened her. He shared his grub with her and told her he would be coming into a camp soon. “I’m going to give it another try. If I don’t sell some of these wares, I’ll be busted when I get back to Sacramento. All this gear’s on consignment. I don’t get a penny if I don’t sell something. Maybe the Good Lord’ll be with me this time.”

  He took her empty tin plate, and she watched him take it down and wash it in the creek. The Good Lord hadn’t done anything for this poor old man. No more than he’d done for her. Sam Teal gathered his things together and packed them back in the wagon. He was waiting beside it and handed her up as though she were a lady.

  “You’d better stay hidden inside,” he advised. “Some of these young gents can get pretty woolly when they see a lady.” He gave her a wry, apologetic smile. “And I’m too old to fight for you.”

  She touched his hand and climbed into the back.

  When they arrived in the camp, she listened to Sam hawk his wares. Men hooted insults and ridiculed his horse and wagon. They made disparaging remarks about his merchandise. They made worse remarks about him. Sam was dogged. More insults were hurled, and still he kept on, swearing to the quality of what he had to offer. The men were having fun tearing this poor old man down. She could hear in Sam Teal’s voice that his last hope was dwindling. She knew how that felt. She knew how the soul could hurt.

  “One pan’s all anybody needs up here,” someone called. Someone called Sam a fool. Angel frowned. Maybe he was one, but he didn’t deserve this. All he wanted was to make an honest living.

  Angel drew back the curtain and came out. Her appearance silenced the men in the crowd immediately. “What’re you doing?” Sam whispered. He looked scared to death. “Go back inside, missy. These gents are mean.”

  “I know,” she said. “Let me have that pan, Sam.”

  “You can’t beat them all off.”

  “Let me have the pan.”

  “What’re you going to do with it?”

  “Sell it,” she said. She took the pan from his hand. “Sit down, Sam.” Nonplussed, he did as she told him. She stepped around him and held the pan up, running her hand over it as though it was an object of great worth. “Gentlemen, Sam knows his merchandise, but he doesn’t know anything about cooking.” She smiled slightly and saw the grins coming.

  Some laughed as though she were making a ribald joke. She talked about chicken and dumplings, fried salt pork and gravy, scrambled eggs and bacon. When they were fairly drooling, she quietly discussed the necessity of having a quality pan to bring about a good meal. She talked of the fine cast iron, the distribution of heat, the easy handling. Sam had said it all before, but this time the men listened raptly.

  “Besides all the wonderful meals you can prepare in this pan, it has other uses. When you run out of bullets and need to protect your claim, you have a weapon.”
She made a mocking swing at a man who was pushing too close. The men laughed. She laughed, too, playing them. “So what do you say, gentlemen? Do I have a buyer?”

  “Yes!” Men started pushing forward to get closer to her. They would have bought a dented tin can from her. A fight broke out in the middle. While it was going on, she leaned toward Sam and asked him what his cost was. He named a modest amount. “Oh, I think we can do much better than that,” she said and waited for the two brawlers to be separated before she named her price. Someone complained loudly, making the others pause.

  Angel smiled and shrugged, her attitude saying that she didn’t care whether they bought anything or not. She hung the pan back on the side of the wagon and sat down. “Let’s go, Sam. You were wrong about these gentlemen. They don’t know quality when they’re looking at it.”

  His mouth was agape. Several men protested. She looked back at them. “You said we’re asking too much,” she said. “Frankly, I see no sense in trying to talk you into something your own intelligence should tell you is necessary. Sam?” She handed him the reins. A miner held the horse’s harness and told her to hold on, he had a pan to buy before she took off.

  Angel gave in graciously and sold every pan on the wagon.

  The crowd didn’t start dispersing until Sam took the reins and drove down the road out of town. He was grinning and chuckling. “You got a talent for this, missy.”

  “Well, I’ve got something,” she said dryly. It wasn’t so much what you said as how you said it and the look in your eyes as you talked. Selling a frying pan wasn’t any different from selling herself. And she knew all about how to do that.

  She cooked their evening meal while Sam Teal counted his gold. She served him and then sat down to eat. When she set her plate aside, he tossed her something. She caught it, startled. “What’s this?” she asked, holding a leather pouch.

  “Your share of what we earned today.”

  She glanced up in surprise. “But the pans were yours.”

  “And they’d still be hanging on my wagon if you hadn’t spoken up. You need a grubstake. Now you’ve got one.” He took an extra blanket and slept under the wagon.

  They headed for Sacramento at first light. They arrived at noon the second day. There was a race going on, and Sam just managed to get his wagon to one side as three riders thundered by. The street filled in after them with wagons and men. Angel could see buildings going up everywhere. The air rained with the sound of hammers and lumber wagons rolling.

  “First there was the fire,” Sam said as he drew the wagon into the traffic. “Then the flood. Lost most of the buildings down by the river.” He snapped the reins. “Have you got family here?” he asked her.

  “Friends,” Angel prevaricated, pretending interest in the bustling activity.

  “Can I take you anywhere in particular?” Sam asked, clearly worrying about her.

  “No. Anywhere is fine. I’ll find my own way. Sam, don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  Sam pulled up before a big hardware store. “This is the end of the line for me.” He helped her down and shook her hand. “I’m grateful for your company, missy, and for your help at that last camp. I think my traveling days are over. Time I stood behind a counter. Maybe I’ll set up shop and find myself some pretty little sales ladies.”

  Angel wished him luck and made a quick departure. She walked along the boardwalk, stepping around men who lifted their hats to her. She didn’t look at anyone, her mind busy trying to figure out what she would do now that she was in Sacramento. She passed a saloon, and the riotous music sent her mind reeling back to the Silver Dollar and the Palace. It seemed a lifetime ago, but the reminder brought it too close for comfort.

  She ended up near the river. The irony of it made her smile bitterly. Hadn’t Mama ended up on the docks? And here she was gravitating toward the pier with the ships coming in. She watched people coming down the plank and crates being unloaded.

  Walking on, she saw buildings going up all along the street, replacing the ones that had been swept away in the flood. A couple of buildings were still in business. One was a big saloon. Angel knew if she walked through those swinging doors, she would be working in one of those upstairs rooms within the hour.

  Aimlessly, she continued down the street. What was she going to do? The gold Sam Teal had given her was enough to last a week or two. But what about after that? She needed to find a way to make a living for herself, and the thought of going back to prostitution was unbearable.

  I can’t do it anymore. Not after Michael.

  Michael’s just a man like any other.

  No. Nothing like the rest.

  A tall man with dark hair came out of a store and her heart lurched. It wasn’t Michael but another man with his coloring and build. He was laughing with several other men as they crossed the street.

  She had to stop thinking about Michael. The first thing she had to do was find a place to stay, but everything she passed looked too rough or too expensive. Her mind kept betraying her and turning back to Michael. What was he doing right now? Was he looking for her, or had he given up and gone back to work in his field? She passed another brothel.

  Go on in, Angel. They’ll take care of you. You’ll have a room of your own and food.

  Her palms perspired. It was late afternoon and getting cold. How long had she been wandering? She moved back as a man came out. He looked at her in surprise. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat. He was swaying on his feet. “You shouldn’t be standing outside a place like this.”

  “My husband’s inside,” she said, grasping at the first thing she could think of to get rid of him.

  “Your husband?” He looked her over and shook his head. “What’s he doing inside with someone like you at home? What’s his name?”

  “His name? Oh. It’s Charles.” As soon as the man went back through the swinging doors, shouting up the stairs for the nonexistent Charles, she hurried on, crossing the street and heading up another. Men stared as she raced past them. She spotted a freshly painted sign: Hochschild’s General Mercantile, and headed straight for it like a beacon in the darkness.

  A heavyset elderly woman came out with a broom and swept the steps and boardwalk. Unsmiling, she worked diligently, swishing dirt onto the street and rapping the broom against the boards. She glanced up when Angel stepped onto the boardwalk. “Men,” she muttered with a faint smile. “Can’t even use the boot scraper before tracking their mud into the store.” Her gaze dropped to the tied bundle in Angel’s hand. Angel gave a self-conscious nod and went inside. She looked for Joseph, but he was no where to be seen.

  “Can I help you find something?” the woman asked, standing just inside the door, broom held like a rifle at rest.

  “Carpetbags,” Angel said. “A small one.”

  “Right over here,” the woman said and led her to a shelf against the wall. “This one’s nice.” She took one and handed it to Angel. Another woman, dark-haired and robust, came out from behind the back curtain and set a box down on a counter. She wiped perspiration from her forehead. “Joseph,” she called back, “would you bring out that crate for me, please? I can’t lift it.”

  Angel wished she hadn’t come here. Why hadn’t she given it a thought before plunging in? Joseph was fond of Michael. What would he say about her running off the way she had? She couldn’t expect any help from him. And who were these women with him? Hadn’t he said something about his mother coming and bringing him a wife?

  “Do you like it?” the woman asked her.

  “What?” Angel stammered. She had to get out of here.

  “The carpetbag,” the woman said, curious now.

  “I’ve changed my mind.” She handed it back. Joseph came through the curtain with the crate and saw her immediately. His face split with a wide smile, and she saw his quick glance around the store for Michael. Angel turned quickly and started for the door, bumping into the elderly woman. “Excuse me,” she stammered, tr
ying to steady her as she brushed past.

  “Angel! Where you going? Wait!”

  Angel didn’t. Joseph slammed down the crate, swung over the counter, and caught up with her. “Hold up,” he said, his hand clamping on her shoulder. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” she said, her face hot. “I just came in to look at a carpetbag.”

  “So look to your heart’s content. Where’s Michael?”

  She gulped. “Home.”

  Joseph frowned. “What’s happened?”

  She tilted her chin. “Nothing’s happened.”

  His mother came to stand with them, the broom still in her hand. “Who is this young woman, Joseph?” She was studying Angel with new and disapproving interest.

  “The wife of a friend of mine,” he said without looking away from Angel. She wished he would stop probing her with his shrewd eyes. His hand gripped her elbow. “Come over here and sit down and tell me what this is all about.” He dispensed with introductions quickly. “My wife, Meribah, and my mother, Rebekkah.”

  “Would you like some coffee?” Meribah asked, and Joseph said yes she would. He waved his mother off, and she went back to her sweeping, watching them surreptitiously.

  “I shouldn’t have come here,” Angel said flatly.

  “Does Michael know where you are?”

  “Of course he does,” she lied.

  “So,” he said, a multitude of statements in that one simple word. He sat down on a barrel, still not letting go of her arm. “You ran out on him, didn’t you?”

  She pulled her arm free and drew herself up in self-defense. “It wasn’t working out.”

  “No?” He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “That’s not too unexpected, I guess, but it’s a shame.”

  Her defiance flagged. “Got any ideas what a reformed soiled dove can do for a living in this town?” she asked flippantly and smiled her old, practiced smile. When he frowned, she figured he was probably worrying that she would ask him to give her some money. “Never mind,” she said quickly. “A bad joke.” She stood. “I’d better be going.”