Francine Rivers

by Redeeming Love

  “Now!” he boomed so abruptly, Angel jumped. She had never heard John Altman use such a tone on anyone in his family.

  Elizabeth raised her head with dignity. “Leave me be, John. Go feed the horses or chop wood. Go muck out a stable. Go shoot something for dinner. But don’t bother me right now.” She said it all in such a calm voice, Angel almost laughed. John tossed up his hands and stormed out of the cabin, muttering about women. “Bar the door, Andrew.”

  “Mama?”

  “He’ll come right back in if you don’t,” Elizabeth said with an amused smile. The children laughed and went on with what they were doing. Miriam was tense and clearly worried.

  Several more pains came, and Elizabeth stitched madly. She knotted the thread and snipped it. Another contraction came while she was folding the shirt, and Miriam was growing more pale. She looked frantically to Angel, but Angel intended to wait on Elizabeth’s pleasure. If she wanted to sit there and have the baby in the chair, that was her business.

  When the contraction lengthened, Angel bent down and put her hand firmly on Elizabeth’s knee. “How can I help you?” she said with more steadiness than she felt.

  Elizabeth said nothing, her hand clenched white on the arm of the chair. Finally, she let out a gusty breath and took Angel’s hand. “Help me to the bedroom,” she said softly. “Miriam, see to the children and your father.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “And we’ll need plenty of hot water. Jacob can fetch it. And cloths. Leah, they’re in the trunk. We’ll need the ball of twine in the cabinet. Ruthie, you get that for me, will you, dear?”

  “Yes, Mama.” The children scattered to do her bidding.

  Angel closed the door quietly behind her. Elizabeth sat down carefully on the edge of the bed and began to unbutton her dress. She needed help in removing it and had but a thin shift on beneath.

  “It’s coming now,” she said. “My water broke when I went to the backhouse this morning.” She laughed softly. “I was afraid for a moment that the child would drop right down into that hole.” She took Angel’s hand. “Don’t look so worried. Everything is fine.” She drew in her breath sharply, her hand tightening. Perspiration beaded on her brow. “That was a good one,” she said finally.

  Miriam entered the bedroom with a pitcher of water and a pan full of cloths. “Papa is bringing more water. Two buckets besides Jacob’s. We’ve got the pot over the fire.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled. “I suppose your Papa thinks a nice warm bath would solve everything.” She kissed Miriam’s cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’m depending on you to take care of things. Leah was having trouble with her arithmetic, and Jacob needs to practice his letters.”

  The pains came more quickly and lasted longer. Elizabeth made no sound, but Angel saw the strain she was under. She was pale and sweating profusely. Wringing out a cool cloth, Angel bathed her face.

  Miriam peered in an hour later. “Michael’s here.”

  Angel let out a sigh of relief, and Elizabeth smiled. “You’re doing just fine, Amanda.” Blushing, Angel laughed.

  Elizabeth had little to say over the next hour, and Angel respected her silence. She stroked her tenderly and held her hand when the pains came. When Elizabeth relaxed, she wrung out the cloth and dabbed her brow.

  “Won’t be long now,” Elizabeth said following one pain that had rolled right into the next. She moaned this time, her hand clamping white on the headboard. “Oh, I didn’t think it would take this long.”

  “Tell me what to do!” Angel said, but Elizabeth had no breath to do so. She gasped, but drew in her breath sharply again, her legs coming up. She moaned louder, her face contorting and turning bright red.

  Angel didn’t stop to think about modesty. She pulled the quilt back.

  “Oh, Elizabeth! It’s coming, darling! I can see the head.” Angel supported the child as Elizabeth gave one last push. Angel went down on her knees, the newborn baby in her arms, squalling.

  “A boy. Elizabeth, a boy! And he’s perfect. Ten fingers, ten toes.…” She got up, trembling with exhilaration and wonder.

  Elizabeth wept in joy as Angel placed her son on her chest. A few moments later, with the last contractions, she relaxed completely, exhausted. “Tie the cord with the twine before you cut it,” Elizabeth said wearily and smiled. “He has good lungs.”

  “Yes, he certainly does.” Angel washed the baby carefully before wrapping him in a soft blanket and giving him to his mother. He suckled immediately, and Elizabeth smiled contentedly. Pouring warm water into a pan, Angel washed Elizabeth carefully, making every effort not to hurt her, but hurt she did, though Elizabeth didn’t complain. Bending down, she kissed Elizabeth’s cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered to the already sleeping woman.

  Angel went out quietly. Everyone was standing in the other room, waiting. “You have a beautiful new son, John. Congratulations.”

  “Praise the Lord.” He wilted into his chair. “What’d you say his name was?”

  Angel laughed, all the pent-up tension gone. “Well, I don’t know, John. I think you’re supposed to decide that.”

  Everyone laughed, John included, blushing beet red. Shaking his head, he went into the bedroom. Miriam and the children filed in quietly behind him.

  Michael smiled at her in a way that made her heart race. “Your eyes are shining,” he said.

  She was so full of emotion she couldn’t speak. His expression was so endearing, full of so much promise. She loved him so much she felt consumed with it. When he came to her, she lifted her face so he could brush his mouth lightly against hers. “Oh, Michael,” she said, putting her arms around him.

  “Someday,” he said, then went cold at his cruel blunder. He held her more tightly.

  Angel knew what he was thinking. They would never have a child. He drew back slightly, but she couldn’t look up at him, not even when he cupped her face. “Amanda, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Don’t apologize, Michael.”

  Why hadn’t he thought first before saying anything? “I’ll tell them we’re going home.” He left her long enough to congratulate the Altmans. The baby was beautiful.

  Elizabeth took his hand. “Amanda was wonderful. Tell her I’d be honored to tend her when her time comes.”

  “I’ll tell her,” he said dully, knowing he couldn’t.

  They walked home in silence. He watched her bank the fire.

  “Elizabeth said you were wonderful.”

  “She was magnificent,” Angel said. “She could have managed with no one to help her.” She glanced up at him with a sad smile. “It’s what being a woman is all about, isn’t it? Miriam called having children a divine privilege.” She looked away. “John’s seed was planted in fertile ground.”

  “Amanda,” he said, putting his hand beneath her arm to stop her.

  “Don’t say anything, Michael, please.…”

  She didn’t fight him when he drew her into his arms. He held her firmly, his hand spread over the back of her head. He wanted to take away the hurt and didn’t know how. “Christmas is only a few days away.”

  “I didn’t remember until tonight at the Altmans’.” Elizabeth and Miriam had already decorated their cabin with pine bows and red ribbons. Leah and Ruthie had made a nativity scene with corn-husk dolls. Angel hadn’t thought to do anything. Duke had always said Christmas was just like any other day and you slept eight hours of it.

  Mama had made something of Christmas during those early years. Even when they lived on the docks and had little food and no money, Mama treated Christmas as a holy day. No men were allowed in the shack on Christmas. Mama used to tell her what Christmas was like when she was a little girl. Angel didn’t like her to talk about it because it always made Mama cry.

  “Christmas,” Angel said and drew back from Michael.

  He saw her anguish and felt he was the cause of it. “Amanda…”

  She looked up at him, unable to make out his face
in the darkness. “What do I give you for Christmas, Michael? What do I give you when the only thing you really want is a child?” Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she struggled against the emotion rising in her. “I wish—I wish.…”

  “Don’t,” he said brokenly.

  She clenched her fist. “I wish Duke hadn’t ruined me! I wish no one else had ever touched me! I wish I was like Miriam!”

  “I love you.” When she turned away, he yanked her back, pulling her into his arms. “I love you.” He kissed her and felt the way she melted into him, clinging to him so desperately.

  “Michael, I wish I was whole. I wish I was whole for you.”

  God, why? John and Elizabeth have six children. Will I never beget even one on my wife? Why did you allow it to happen this way?

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said over and over. “It doesn’t matter.”

  But both of them knew it did.

  Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit,

  but with humility of mind let each of you regard

  one another as more important than himself.

  PHILIPPIANS 2 : 3

  Paul came to the Altmans’ Christmas gathering. Angel’s stomach sank at the sight of him, wondering what barbs he would aim at her this time. She stayed away from him, determined that nothing would spoil this Christmas. She had never had a real Christmas, and this family wanted to include her. If Paul called her a harlot to her face, she would take it and say nothing. Besides, she knew he wouldn’t do it loudly enough for the others to hear.

  To her surprise, he left her alone. He seemed just as determined to stay away from her. He brought presents for the children, small brown sacks of candy from the new general store. They were delighted, all except Miriam, who looked furious when he handed her one. “Thank you, Uncle Paul,” she said tartly and kissed his cheek. A muscle jerked in his jaw as she turned away.

  Angel waited until after the huge dinner she and Miriam had prepared before dispensing the gifts from her and Michael. She had worked for two days on the rag dolls for Leah and Ruthie, and she held her breath as they unwrapped them. Their squeals made her laugh. The boys were equally exuberant about the slingshots Michael had made for them. A target was immediately set up outside.

  Miriam opened her package carefully and held up the dried-flower garland Angel had made. She fingered the satin ribbons streaming from the back. “It’s beautiful, Amanda,” she said, tears welling in her eyes.

  Angel smiled. “I kept thinking of you running down the hill through all those wildflowers. It seemed appropriate.”

  Miriam took her hair down quickly and shook it out so that it flowed thick and curling about her face and shoulders and down her back. She placed the garland on her head. “How does it look?”

  “Wild and beautiful,” Michael said.

  Paul got up and went outside.

  Miriam’s smile dimmed slightly. “He’s such a dolt,” she said under her breath.

  “Miriam!” Elizabeth said in surprise, the baby against her shoulder. “What a thing to say.”

  Miriam didn’t look the least bit repentant as she glared out the door at Paul. She took the garland off and laid it in her lap. “I love it, and I’m going to wear it instead of a veil on my wedding day.”

  When darkness fell, the family gathered around the fire and sang carols. John handed Michael the Bible without saying what he wanted read. Michael went straight to the Christmas story. Angel listened, her arms clasped around her raised knees. Ruth sleepily nudged her. Smiling, Angel welcomed her to her lap. Ruth wiggled until she was comfortable, her head resting against Angel’s breast. Angel stroked her hair. If I love a child not my own this much, how much more would I have loved my own?

  Michael’s voice was rich and deep. Everyone was silent watching him. Angel remembered her mother telling her the story of the baby Jesus being born in a manger and the shepherds and three kings coming to worship him, but from Michael’s lips it was full of beauty and mystery. For all that, she couldn’t find joy in it. Not as these others did. What kind of father would let his own son be born for the single purpose of being nailed to a cross?

  The dark voice came unexpectedly: You know what kind of father, Angel. You had one just like him.

  She shivered. Looking away from Michael, she saw John standing in the shadows beside Elizabeth. His hand was on her shoulder. All fathers weren’t like Alex Stafford. Some were like John Altman. She looked at Michael again. He would be a wonderful father, too. Strong, loving, forgiving if it came to that. He had read her the story of the prodigal son once not long after bringing her back from Pair-a-Dice. Should his child stray, he would be a father to welcome him home again. He wouldn’t be like the one who had turned her mother away.

  Michael finished reading and closed the Bible. When he raised his head, he looked straight into her eyes. She smiled. He smiled back, but there was a question in his eyes.

  “Miriam,” John said softly. She went to her father, and he said something to her. Elizabeth handed her the baby. Miriam carried him back and placed him in Michael’s arms. The baby raised its hand, and Michael brushed his finger lightly against the tiny palm, smiling as the child clasped it tightly. “So, John,” he said, “have you and Elizabeth come up with a name yet?”

  “We have. Benjamin Michael. After you.”

  Michael looked stunned and then deeply moved. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. Miriam put her hands on his shoulders and leaned down to kiss his cheek. “We hope he’ll grow into the name.”

  Angel’s heart twisted as she looked at Michael holding the baby, and Miriam with her hand still resting on his shoulder. They looked like they belonged together.

  From the darkness outside, Paul was thinking the same thing.

  The rose bushes Michael had brought home to Angel bloomed early. She touched the scarlet buds and thought of her mother. She was so much like Mae. She was good for growing flowers, looking pretty, and giving a man pleasure. Beyond that, what good was she?

  Michael should have children. He wants children.

  She knew on Christmas night what she should do, but it was unbearable to even think of leaving him, of living without him. She wanted to stay here and forget the look in his eyes when he held Benjamin. She wanted to cling to him and bask in the happiness he gave her.

  It was that very selfishness that made her realize she didn’t deserve him.

  Michael had given her everything. She had been empty, and he had filled her to overflowing with his love. She had betrayed him, and he had taken her back and forgiven her. He had sacrificed pride to love her. How could she discard his needs after that? How could she live with herself knowing that she had ignored the desires of his heart? What of Michael? What was best for him?

  The dark voice spoke often: Stay! Don’t you deserve some happiness after all the years of living in misery? He says he loves you, doesn’t he? So let him prove it!

  She couldn’t listen anymore. She closed her mind to it and thought of Michael instead, and she thought of Miriam, sister of her heart. She thought of the children Miriam and Michael could have, dark and beautiful, strong and loving. Down through generations to come. She reminded herself that nothing could come from her. If she stayed, Michael would remain faithful until he died, and that would be the end to him.

  She couldn’t let that be.

  When Michael told her he was going into town with Paul, she made her decision. John had remarked only yesterday that the town had grown so big a stage came twice a day. It traveled on the high road not two miles from the cabin, just beyond the line of hills. She still had the gold she had earned from Sam Teal and Joseph Hochschild. Michael had insisted she keep it for herself. It was enough to get her to San Francisco and keep her for a time. She would not think beyond that.

  I have to think of what’s best for Michael.

  When Michael came in from the fields, she had a sumptuous venison dinner ready for him. The cabin was bedecked with flowers, the mantel, the t
able, the bed. Michael looked around bemused. “What are we celebrating?”

  “Life,” she said and kissed him. She drank in the sight of him, setting every angle of his face and body to memory. She wanted him desperately, loved him so much. Would he ever know how much? She couldn’t tell him. If she did, he would come looking for her. He would bring her back. Better that he think her carnal and base. But she would have this last night to remember. He would be part of her no matter where she was and even if he never knew it. She would carry the sweet memories to her grave.

  “Take me up to the hill again, Michael. Take me to the place where you showed me the sunrise.”

  He saw the hunger in her eyes. “It’s cool tonight.”

  “Not too cold.”

  He could deny her nothing, but there was a strange uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. Something was wrong. He took the quilts from the bed and led the way. Perhaps she would talk to him and tell him what preyed on her mind. Maybe she would open up to him finally.

  But her mood changed, swinging from pensive to abandoned. She ran to the top of the hill ahead of him and spun around, her arms spread wide. All around her, crickets sang, and the soft breeze stirred the grasses. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The vastness of it all. I’m utterly insignificant.”

  “Not to me.”

  “Yes,” she said, turning to him. “Even to you.” He frowned, and she turned again. “There shall be no other gods before me,” she cried out to the heavens. “None but you, my lord.” She turned and looked at him. None but you, Michael Hosea.

  He frowned. “Are you mocking me, beloved?”

  “Never,” she said and meant it.

  She took her hair down. It spilled over her shoulders and back, white in the moonlight. “Do you remember reading to me of the Shulammite bride dancing for her husband?”

  He couldn’t breathe as he watched her in the moonlight. Every movement drew his gaze to her and made him aware. When he tried to take hold of her, she moved away again, her arms outstretched in invitation. Her hair floated about her, and her voice came husky and enticing in the wind.