More Than Words Can Say

by Karen Witemeyer

  “Guilt leads us to confession and repentance, she told me, but after we take it to the cross, we’re supposed to leave it there, not carry it around with us. Jesus’s burden is light. Guilt is heavy. Satan is the one who wants to increase our burden, to weigh us down with shame and despair, to steal our joy and the strength of the Lord that goes with it. Believing his lies instead of God’s truth makes us weak. Made me a hypocrite.”

  Zach’s gut clenched. What did that make him? A heretic?

  For years, Evie had bugged him about his lack of singing in church. Told him he looked like a grumpy bear when he just sat there with his mouth shut and his arms crossed. She took him to task for not praising the God who had provided for them.

  He appreciated the Almighty well enough and understood the blessings he’d received even when he didn’t deserve them, which was most of the time. He sure as shooting didn’t deserve the woman walking beside him, the one sharing her heart, her pain, and her vulnerabilities with him without making a single demand in return. The one who innocently believed all he lacked was to leave his guilt at the cross when, in fact, he’d never made it to the cross in the first place.

  He didn’t sing in church because the Good Book taught that he wasn’t to offer worship without first being reconciled with a brother who had a grievance against him. He figured having a grievance with the Big Man himself made the crime an even larger offense. Didn’t Jesus define a hypocrite as one who worshiped with his mouth and honored with his lips while his heart was far from God? Zach thought that by refraining from worship, he was keeping himself from being a hypocrite. Maybe he was, but holding back certainly did nothing to span the gulf between him and the Almighty. Why the Big Fella hadn’t just given up on him by now was a mystery Zach couldn’t fathom.

  “But . . .” Zach drew Abigail to a halt, struggling to push the words through his rapidly constricting throat. “What if . . . I ain’t sorry? What if I haven’t confessed because I know I’d do it again if I found myself in the same situation?”

  He braced himself for her horror. Her judgment. But all that came was a crinkling of her brow and a tilting of her head. She didn’t even say anything, just took a page out of his book and waited, trusting that he’d offer the explanation she deserved. She had more faith in him than he did in himself. It left him humbled even as it gave him courage.

  He tugged his hand free of hers, then stripped out of his coat and laid it on the ground. Maybe he was just stalling, but he suddenly felt compelled to sit. As if that would make the tale easier to tell. It wouldn’t, but it would make it harder for his wife to run away from him once he was finished.

  He lowered himself to the grass, propped up a knee, then held his hand out to her in invitation. Angel that she was, she didn’t hesitate. She settled atop his coat, folded her legs to the side, and braced one arm behind her for support. The other arm stretched toward him, her fingers coming to rest upon his thigh in silent encouragement.

  “I was just thirteen when Seth, Evie, and I left the orphan train to make our own way. I’d spent a year livin’ on the streets in New York before gettin’ shoved into an overcrowded foundling home, so I thought I knew what it took to survive. I knew what it was like to go to bed hungry. I could handle that. What I couldn’t handle was watching Seth and Evie go to bed hungry. It like to tore my heart out. So I decided I would do whatever it took to make sure they had food in their bellies and a roof over their heads. I hired myself out as a stable hand so we could sleep in the livery. Did odd jobs for farmers in exchange for potatoes or anything else I could get my hands on. When I couldn’t find work, I stole what we needed. And as soon as I could pass for a man, which was around fifteen or so, thanks to an early appearance of facial hair and longer than average legs, I started putting my daddy’s gambling skills to work and made myself a place at the poker tables.”

  “Your father was a gambler?”

  Zach met her gaze and offered a self-deprecating grin. “Yep. Best on the Mississippi. No card game invented he couldn’t win.” He paused, his grin dissolving. “One way or another.”

  She nodded in understanding, the edges of her mouth turning down just a bit in disapproval. But then, she should disapprove. Any person with a functioning moral compass would consider cheating wrong, and Abby’s compass pointed true north.

  “For years, we scraped by,” he said. “Surviving but never able to get ahead. Evie was growing up in stables and back storage rooms, surrounded by men with foul mouths and shifty eyes. Seth’s asthma was worsening with the continued exposure to unsanitary conditions. It got so bad that we nearly lost him a time or two. I needed to get them somewhere safe. Somewhere clean. They needed a home. So when the opportunity presented itself to get them that home, I didn’t hesitate.”

  He grabbed a clump of grass near his hip and tore it from the ground. If only tearing the ugliness from his past could be accomplished as easily. Squinting up at the sky, he opened his hand and let the grass float away on the breeze. Then, after blowing out a breath, he returned to his story.

  “Word had spread around Pecan Gap about a card sharp who enjoyed luring men into deep play by dangling the deed to his family’s ranch as bait. When he was sure he had a winning hand, he’d up the ante with that deed, causing the others to either match it or fold, sacrificing the high stakes pot. Most folded. He walked away with hundreds of dollars each time. Until I earned my way into the game. I used every trick my daddy taught me. I out-sharped the sharp. Boosted his confidence, fed him the cards that would inspire him to wager the deed, then stole it out from under him by feeding myself the winning hand.

  “I won that house for Evie and Seth and never gave a second thought to the family who’d be forced to leave.” Zach stared at the ground. He couldn’t look at Abby when he admitted the worst. Couldn’t watch the esteem die in her eyes. But he owed her the truth. “The day after I stole his house, Rufus Fowler committed suicide. Left his wife and kid not only without a home but without a man to provide for them. I destroyed that family. What happened to the Fowlers eats away at my soul, but I can’t repent if I don’t actually regret the sin I committed. My baby sister gained a safe place to grow up, and my kid brother got a healthy environment that healed his lungs. How can I regret that?

  “I left gambling behind that night and swore to God that I’d never return, that I’d never pick up the cards again for personal gain. And I haven’t.” Zach ran a hand over his face. “But even knowing the destructive outcome of that night, if I had it to do over, I’d make the same choice.”

  He finally forced himself to look Abigail in the face. Her hand remained on his leg. She hadn’t pulled away from him, but he knew this would change the way she saw him.

  “You would undo what happened to Benedict Crowley,” he said, a tender smile curving his lips as her chin trembled and her eyes misted. He didn’t blame her for losing faith in him. How could he, when he’d never been worthy of it in the first place? “You’d make a different choice and preserve his life because you have a good heart. A righteous heart. You deserve absolution. I don’t.”

  CHAPTER

  29

  Abigail leaned close to her husband, an ache throbbing in her chest. Zach. So stoic, so strong and capable. Yet wounded, and determined to hide that wound from the world. Even from family.

  But not from her.

  Her heart so full of love she could barely stand it, she shifted up onto her knees directly in front of him. His eyes followed her, watching, waiting to see what she would do. His fingers twitched on the hand that dangled over his knee, almost as if he wanted to reach for her, but he made no move.

  So she made it for him. She captured those fingers and clasped their joined hands to her thumping heart.

  “None of us deserve absolution, Zach. It is a gift freely given. A gift that is waiting for you too. All you need to do is accept it.”

  “How?” His voice rasped. “Confession without repentance gains me nothing. And I can’t repent if I
’m not sorry.”

  “You are sorry,” she insisted, every protective instinct roaring to life inside her. “You’re so sorry it’s eating you up inside.”

  He shook his head and dropped his gaze to the ground. “Not sorry enough to regret my actions. They achieved the ends I needed. They saved my brother’s life and gave my sister a home.”

  What could she say to that? Without repentance there could be no forgiveness, yet she could see the craving in him, the weariness of carrying this burden. Her soul longed to help him, but how?

  Lord, show me what to—

  Before she could complete the prayer, a whisper of an idea swirled through her mind.

  “What if something else could have achieved those same ends?” she asked. “Would you regret your actions then? If there had been another choice?”

  Zach stiffened, and the edges of his mouth turned down. “There was no other choice. Playing what if is pointless.”

  “There’s always another choice.” Open his heart, Lord. Let him hear me. “When Rosalind agreed to let that photographer exploit her, she did it because she thought she had no other choice. It was the only option she could see to earn the money she needed to buy medicine for our father. But just because it was the only option she could see doesn’t mean it was the only option available.”

  Zach said nothing, just stared at her hard enough that she wanted to squirm. She could practically hear the justifications in his head, claiming that Rosalind’s situation was different. Yet it wasn’t. Not really. Not at the core.

  “Rosalind believed it was her responsibility to care for our father, just as you believed it was your responsibility to care for your siblings.”

  “They were my responsibility.” Zach yanked his hand away from her, and the harsh movement felt as if he were tearing himself from her heart.

  Nevertheless, Abigail held her course, an inner voice warning that if she gave up now, she might not get a second chance. “Yes, they were your responsibility, but not yours alone.”

  “What are you talking about? I was all they had.” Tension radiated off him. He grabbed at the grass with a fist.

  “No.” Abigail kept her voice soft. Gentle. He didn’t need accusation. He needed truth spoken in love. And, oh, how she loved him. “No, Zach. You weren’t all they had. They had God.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked.

  “God always provides other options for his people when they are tempted to take an unrighteous path. But if we depend only on ourselves to solve our problems, we narrow our vision and see none of those options. Rosalind could have come to me, she could have taken her worries to the church, or she could have left the outcome solely in God’s hands, even if that meant losing our father sooner than we wished. She did none of those things, however, because she never saw them as options. She was convinced that the burden was hers to bear alone. She was wrong. And so were you.”

  Zach clamped his jaw so tight that his teeth hurt. What did she know? She hadn’t been there. She didn’t know what it had been like.

  “Did you ever ask for help?” Why did she have to keep prodding at him? Digging into his sore spots? Why couldn’t she just leave it alone? “Approach the minister of the local church to see if someone would take Seth in for a short time until his health improved?”

  “And risk some do-gooder breaking up our family?” Zach slashed his hand through the air. “Not a chance!”

  “So you let fear about what might happen dictate your actions.”

  “What do you know about it?” he shouted.

  Shame rammed him in the gut. He had actually shouted. At his wife. The woman he’d sworn to honor and protect. The woman whose opinion mattered to him more than any other.

  “Abby. I’m sorry. I . . .” What could he say? He had no excuse. None. He’d lost control.

  But instead of shrinking back from him, she smiled. What kind of woman smiled when her bear of a husband roared at her like a wild man? She should be running for the horse and leaving him to rot, not scooting closer and placing her hands on his shoulders.

  “I know quite a lot about it.” Her fingers felt small and delicate against his shoulders as she squeezed, yet he recognized her strength. “I’ve chosen fear over faith more times than I can count,” she admitted. “And every time I did, I ended up with regrets. When I chose faith, I didn’t always get the outcome I wanted—my mother still died, as did my father—but I never regretted my choice, because I felt God beside me, holding my hand and lending me strength.

  “You’re a good man, Zacharias Hamilton. I admire your dedication to your family, your willingness to sacrifice anything to protect and provide for them. For us. But I love you too much to sit back and watch this old wound fester and destroy your soul.”

  Zach’s head snapped up, and his gaze zeroed in on her like a sharpshooter eyeing his target. Had she just said she loved him?

  Her cheeks reddened beneath his scrutiny, and her lashes lowered, hiding her eyes from him, but he didn’t look away. Couldn’t. Not with her words surging through his brain like a flash flood banging ten-foot tree limbs against his skull.

  I love you too much . . .

  Did she mean it? Every instinct honed at the poker tables told him it hadn’t been a bluff. Information she hadn’t intended to expose—yes. But not untrue.

  His pulse ratcheted up to a full gallop, and light-headedness assailed him. “Abby, I . . .” His throat tightened around the words, refusing to let them out.

  They were words he’d never said. Not since the day his mama died. Love made a man vulnerable in a world that required armor and a shield to survive. His father’s world demanded he hide all emotion to prevent his weaknesses from being exploited. The harshness of his grandfather’s world had beaten all softer places from him until only calluses remained. Evie and Seth had reminded him he still owned a heart and taught him how to use it, but not even they had managed to bring forth that three-word utterance from him. Some lessons were just too ingrained. Evie had taken to saying it for him in that teasing way she had, and he’d never denied the charge. But that was as close as he’d come.

  His silence condemned him, and razors scraped his shoulders as she pulled her fingers away and sat back on her heels. He followed, unable to stop himself from leaning forward, from preserving whatever closeness he might scavenge.

  Her eyes remained downcast, however, refusing to look at him, stealing the sunshine and leaving him cold.

  “Just . . .” She pushed to her feet and brushed at her skirt. “Just promise me you’ll think about what I said.”

  As if he’d be able to think about anything else.

  “Pray about it too.”

  He blinked, then realized she hadn’t been talking about her declaration of love but about the subject that had prompted it.

  “I will,” he promised, his voice gruff, raw.

  He might not be able to give her the words she deserved to hear, but he could give her this. No matter how pointless he found the exercise, he’d do it. He owed her that much.

  Abigail finally met his gaze, some of the red fading from her cheeks. “Thank you.”

  He swallowed and managed a nod.

  A dimple peeked out just a bit before she turned away from him. “I guess our abduction is good and ruined, isn’t it?”

  Not if he could help it. He hopped to his feet and whistled to Jack. Abby startled at the shrill sound, and when she caught sight of his horse trotting straight for them, she dodged behind his back.

  Zach stood a fraction taller as her hands took hold of his waist. All the secrets they’d shared hadn’t destroyed her trust in him. She still looked to him for protection and security.

  She’d stayed. Even when he had uncovered the putrid gash in his soul. There was no drawing back in horror and disgust. No forfeiture of hope, declaring him a lost cause. Not his Abby. She’d rolled up her sleeves and set to doctoring the nasty thing, scouring and prodding in places no one in their right mind would venture.
It might have hurt like the very devil and left him with fresh bruises that still throbbed, but he could see the heart behind it. The love behind it.

  “The sun hasn’t set yet,” he said as he reached for Jack’s reins. He patted the horse’s neck, then bent to retrieve his coat from the ground. “I say we give it another try.” He shook the dust and grass off his coat, then stuffed his arms in the sleeves and grinned at his wife, hoping it would cover his nervousness.

  Don’t give up on us, he silently begged her. Not today or any day hereafter.

  He checked the saddle, made sure everything was still secure, then turned and held a hand out to Abigail. “What do you say? I’ll let you do the abducting this time. Give you the reins and let you take Jack wherever you want to go.”

  Even if it’s back to the bakery. But please don’t go back to the bakery. Not yet.

  Her eyebrows lifted in matching arches. “Anywhere?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m your captive. Completely at your mercy.”

  Both dimples appeared, full and deep and adorable as her lips split in a flirtatious smile. Zach’s pulse stuttered, then pounded into a full-out sprint.

  “All right, then.” She slipped her hand into his. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER

  30

  “So . . .” Rosalind’s singsong voice tickled Abigail’s ears as her sister swept through the connecting door from the shop to the kitchen. The last of the breakfast crowd must have cleared out. “Are we moving you out of my room today?”

  “Rosie!” Abigail, face aflame, yanked off a piece of yeast dough and threw it at her sister’s chest. It splatted with satisfying force but proved an ineffectual deterrent, for her sister simply peeled it off and threw it straight back. The dough ball smacked Abigail on the left cheekbone and stuck there like some kind of unnatural growth, which set Rosie to giggling.