The Heart's Charge

by Karen Witemeyer

  How did one decipher God’s will when multiple paths seemed viable?

  They had time to figure things out, she reminded herself as she placed the thrice-dried baking dish on the shelf and reached for the upended saucepan—the last item waiting for a swipe of the dish towel. Mark had only proposed a few hours ago. And kissed her with enough passion to leave her heart sizzling long after his lips departed. Her eyes slid closed as she hugged the pan to her chest. She pressed her lips together. Remembering. Reliving.

  I love him, Lord. So much. But I want to love you more. Show me how.

  A burning bush or wet fleece would certainly come in handy. She glanced down at the damp spots on her bodice where she’d clung to the pan. Too bad her dress was made of cotton instead of wool. Katherine shook her head, blowing air from her nose in a silent snort. She was such a ninny.

  No longer dragging her feet, she shoved her towel inside the pan and wiped every droplet dry. God would make things clear when he was good and ready. She just needed to wait and prepare her heart to accept whatever answer he provided.

  “Need any help?”

  Mark’s voice startled her. Katherine spun to face the man who refused to leave her thoughts. “Are you and Mr. Brooks finished talking?”

  Mark nodded and crossed the kitchen to stand directly in front of her. “He left out the front. Going to walk the perimeter before heading to the barn for the night.” He took the pan from her hands and set it on the table behind him, the soft thud ringing with the volume of a fallen tree in her ears.

  Heavens, but he was handsome. Odd to have such an observation jump into her head now, though. He’d always been handsome. Mark’s chiseled features and lean, muscular frame had been making young ladies swoon since their school days. And while she appreciated the way the Good Lord had put him together as much as the next woman, his looks were no different today than they’d been yesterday. So what had suddenly magnified her attraction to him?

  His eyes, Katherine decided as Mark stepped even closer, causing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. She peered into those golden depths, and her pulse fluttered. They seemed . . . darker. More intense. More . . . focused. On her.

  Mercy. How had she never noticed the way his eyes glowed? Like amber lit by the sun.

  Mark reached for her. His hands cupped around her arms and slowly slid down until he captured her fingers within his own. “I love you, Kate.” His thumbs rubbed back and forth across the backs of her hands, sending delightful tingles dancing over her skin. “I want you to hear me say those words in an ordinary kitchen surrounded by ordinary items, not just in the middle of a railroad bridge while the tracks are still shaking from the train that nearly ran us down. Those words weren’t born from the momentary exhilaration of having cheated death. They were born from deep admiration. I don’t want you to doubt them, not even for a minute.”

  “I don’t.” She gazed into his face, her heart swelling by the second as love for this man flooded her. “I love you too. Wherever you might be standing.”

  He smiled, his eyes softening with a tenderness that weakened her knees. “I’m not leaving you this time,” he vowed. “Whatever hesitancy you have about accepting my proposal, we’ll work it out. Together.” He squeezed her hands, his voice tightening with fervency. “God reunited us, Kate. How else can you explain the two of us finding each other almost a decade after we parted, in a place half a continent away from where we started?”

  “I can’t,” she said. “He did bring us together. Of that I am certain.” She swallowed, then looked away. “I’m just not sure why.”

  His hold on her tightened. “I am. He’s giving us a second chance for a life together.”

  “I’m not so sure.” Katherine tugged her hands free. This was too hard to talk about while he was so close. Touching her. All she could think about was their kiss and how badly she wanted to repeat it.

  Retreating until her hips bumped against the dry sink, Katherine crossed her arms over her midsection and bit her lip. Mark didn’t follow. He just sat on the corner of the table and waited, his eyes a little duller than they’d been a moment ago. Her heart ached at the sight.

  Give me strength, Lord. And wisdom.

  “I made a promise. To Eliza. To God. That the children would come first.” She uncrossed her arms and clutched the edge of the counter, needing to feel something solid. “As much as I love you, Mark, I can’t abandon the work God has called me to. Even if Eliza were to find another partner willing to step into my shoes, leaving would haunt me. I made a commitment, and I don’t take it lightly. A vow made to the Lord is sacred, and only he can release me from it.”

  “All right. So we stay here.”

  Katherine blinked. Men didn’t follow their wives. Wives followed husbands. It was how marriage worked. Every marriage she’d ever seen, at least. Husbands provided for their families through the sweat of their brow. They made the decisions. Wives made the home, bore the babies, and served as helpmeets. They followed where their husbands led. Single women—widows and spinsters—could dictate the direction of their own lives. That was how she came to be at Harmony House, after all. But married women? They were subject to their husbands in all things. Scripture said so.

  “For how long?” Katherine’s grip on the counter tightened. “A year? Two? What about the Horsemen? Will you just leave them behind? Staying sounds like a good idea now, but what happens if you start feeling trapped? Your resentment would shred my heart.” Her voice broke, and she turned her face away.

  In an instant, he was in front of her, lifting her chin, seeking her gaze with his own. “I could never resent you, Kate. But it is about time you trust me to know my own mind.”

  The gentle jab hurt, but it also made her realize she was doing the exact same thing she’d done ten years ago—assuming she knew what was best for him, and letting her fear of holding him back get in the way of holding him close. His face started to blur in front of her eyes. She blinked to clear her vision.

  “We aren’t kids anymore,” he said. “Both of us understand that choices have consequences and sacrifices have rewards. It’s up to us to choose what we dwell on. Either what was left behind or what was gained. I, for one, plan to thank heaven every day for bringing you back into my life. The Horsemen are my brothers, and whenever they need me, I’ll answer their call, just as they will answer mine. But they aren’t my life. They aren’t my future. Jonah, Preach, and I have been working with Captain Hanger at Gringolet, training horses and breeding stock, but the three of us know it’s a temporary position, something to tide us over until we find our own calling. Well, I’ve found mine, Kate. It’s you.”

  Her eyes misted again, and no amount of batting could keep the joyful tears from spilling down her cheeks. “Even if God keeps me at Harmony House for the next forty years?”

  He smiled as he smoothed away her tears with the pad of his thumb. “Even then. Is it so hard to believe that I might find purpose here too? Maybe the Almighty brought me here not only to find you but to join in your work. As fine of a job as you and Miss Southerland are doing, the boys under your tutelage might benefit from a male perspective, someone who can teach them how to shoot, how to ride, how to”—he glanced at the window behind her—“replace a rotted railing.”

  A ripple of excitement lapped at Katherine’s toes, then gained momentum as it rolled upward through her belly and her heart, until it crashed over her mind. Could he be right? Could the Lord have brought him here to join her ministry? As much as she and Eliza loved and supported the children here, she couldn’t ignore the fact that there were some things they just couldn’t give them. Certain practical knowledge such as Mark had mentioned, yes, but more than that. An example of godly manhood for the boys to emulate and for the girls to recognize in prospective suitors.

  The scripture that had plagued her with doubts earlier returned to mind. Only this time, the next verse tagged along with it, offering a broader perspective. Therefore as the church is
subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in every thing. Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it.

  Could it be that being subject to a husband who loved her with sacrificial dedication meant freedom instead of subjugation? That becoming one flesh extended to more than the bedroom? That her vows would be honored as if they were his own? That marriage would create a partnership marked by respect as well as love?

  “I don’t have all the answers,” Mark admitted, his voice softening as he cupped the side of her face, “but I trust the Lord to find a way to make it work. Who knows,” he said with a chuckle, “maybe I’ll take over for that deputy who seems to think his job consists of manning an office and waiting for crime to find him.”

  Bubbles of possibilities fizzed through her like sweet soda water. “You could give music lessons in the evenings.” If they were going to build their dream future, they might as well add all the trimmings.

  Mark’s eyes crinkled. “Maybe even start a community band.” He slid his hand horizontally through the air as if painting a sign. “The Kingsland Calliope.”

  Katherine giggled. “That’s a terrible name.”

  Mark shrugged. “Yeah, well, we’ll probably sound terrible too. Just like a squeaky old steam organ with stops that stick and notes that play out of tune.”

  “Not exactly the Boston Symphony.” The place where his talents would have truly shined.

  “Nope. But it would be comprised of friends and neighbors, and we’d have a rousing good time.” His playful grin softened into something deeper, more mature. “That’s what music is all about. Spreading joy and touching hearts.”

  Her heart definitely felt touched. “Ask me again,” she whispered.

  His brow furrowed, then cleared a heartbeat later as if the sun had burst from behind a cloud. His hands closed around her waist, and he tugged her flush against his chest. She craned her neck back, her gaze glued to his, her heart thumping against her ribs like a percussionist performing a tympani roll.

  “Marry me, Kate.”

  It was more demand than question, but there was something raw about the way his voice rasped the words that made her soul sing. The eloquent, detached Mark Wallace would have waxed poetic about her eyes or spouted flowery romantic words. But the man standing before her was anything but detached. His heart glowed in his eyes. Full of passion, commitment, and just a sliver of uncertainty. The charming rogue with all the right words might make a fine literary hero, but this was the man she could trust with her heart.

  “Yes.”

  She barely got the word off her tongue before his lips crashed down over hers. Her arms twined around his neck. Her fingers combed through his hair. His palms climbed up her back. Holding her. Supporting her. Cherishing her.

  When the kiss ended, he pressed his forehead to hers, their breathing heavy in the air between them.

  “I’ll make you happy,” he whispered. “I swear it.”

  Dear, dear man. Happiness had never been her worry. “We’ll make each other happy,” she declared, “and trust God to make our joy complete.”

  Mark pulled away just enough to meet her eyes. “Amen.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Eliza backed away from the kitchen doorway, not wanting to intrude on the private moment happening inside. She’d known this would happen. Had even tried to prepare herself for it. Yet hearing the abundant joy in Katherine’s voice as she accepted Mr. Wallace’s marriage proposal hurt. Eliza pressed a hand to her midsection, pivoted, and strode down the hall.

  For heaven’s sake, Eliza, quit feeling sorry for yourself. She fisted her hand and thumped it against her hip. You should be happy for Katherine, finding love with the man she thought never to see again. What kind of friend hurts more over being demoted in relationship standing than rejoices in her sister’s good fortune?

  Of course, if she were brutally honest, it wasn’t the disintegrating vision of her and Katherine working together until they were a pair of old maids that brought the deepest ache to Eliza’s heart. No, it was envy, plain and simple. Katherine had found love while Eliza remained alone.

  Eliza thumped her hip again, harder this time. She wouldn’t let that seed of Satan take root. She would rejoice with those who rejoiced and count her blessings. Katherine wasn’t leaving. Eliza had overheard enough to gain that assurance. Harmony House would continue ministering to outcast children. That was the important thing. But a husband would be a distraction. Even if he supported and participated in their mission. And what would happen when he and Katherine started having children of their own?

  Leave tomorrow alone, girl. Her mother’s oft-voiced scold echoed in Eliza’s mind. The Lord’s the only one strong enough to carry the future. You’ll wear yourself out tryin’.

  Mama was right, of course. Eliza lifted her chin and grabbed the newel post at the base of the staircase, resolved to focus on today’s troubles instead of borrowing from tomorrow. There were children upstairs who needed to be readied for bed. Yet, as her foot trod the first stair, quiet murmurs from the other side of the front door tugged her in the opposite direction.

  Abner and Jonah. She recognized the deep bass of the Horseman’s voice, even though his words were impossible to distinguish through the wall. What were they discussing? A frown tightened her mouth. She hoped he wasn’t filling the boy’s head with whatever hunting plans he and Mr. Wallace had cooked up at the table tonight. Abner might think himself the man of the house, but he was only a boy.

  Releasing her hold on the banister, she moved toward the door, thinking to insert herself into the conversation and redirect it if necessary. As she reached for the latch, however, caution stilled her hand. Neither of the people outside would thank her for interfering. Besides, she had no proof of what they were actually discussing. For all she knew, they could be talking about horses or how to shoot the best spitball. But if they were talking about the hunt for Miguel Ortega . . .

  The matter required further investigation. Eliza crossed into the front parlor, picked up a chair with as much stealth as she could manage, and carried it on quiet feet to a place beside the window they had opened earlier to circulate air through the house. Taking care to position the chair on the left side to ensure Jonah wouldn’t glimpse her should he look toward the parlor window, she slid into the seat and tuned her ears to the conversation outside.

  “I wanna help.” Abner’s voice. “But I don’t know what to say to keep her from runnin’ away again.”

  They must be talking about Alice. Eliza leaned in, straining to hear over the crickets singing in the distance.

  “Sometimes it ain’t what you say but what you do that helps the most,” Jonah answered. “Be a friend to her. And pray for her. God knows better than anyone what she needs.”

  Eliza sat back. He was recommending prayer? A man of action who rode a giant warhorse and solved problems with his gun was recommending prayer. It seemed out of character for some reason. Though she wasn’t sure why. After all, this was the same man who carried his daddy’s compass and quoted Bible verses. Jonah Brooks was a man of faith, so why shouldn’t he urge a burdened young boy to pray?

  “I ain’t much of a pray-er,” Abner admitted softly, surprising Eliza once again. The boy said his prayers dutifully every night before bed. Or at least she’d thought he did. Had he just been going through the motions?

  “God don’t need fancy words,” Jonah encouraged, “just true ones.”

  “But he don’t wanna hear nothin’ from me.”

  Eliza’s heart cracked at the sad certainty in the boy’s tone. She started to rise, to go to him, but Jonah’s voice stopped her.

  “Why d’ya think that?”

  “’Cause I’m a whoreson.”

  The ugly word stung Eliza like a hard slap to the face. Tears welled in her eyes. Cruel words from her own past clawed at her heart. Vile words hurled at her, at her mother. Words designed to degrade and
humiliate. She clutched the chair arms in a bid to keep her anger and hurt under control.

  Where had Abner heard such a horrible term? Certainly not around here. Had one of the railroad boys said something? No, more likely the word had followed him from the saloon brothel where Katherine had found him. Words like that tended to burrow deep into a person, leaving a stain that could be painted over but never removed.

  Jonah didn’t react to the obscenity at all, however. Not a bit of outrage warbled his voice as he spoke in the same measured tone as always. “That ain’t what God sees, Abner. The Bible says he knew you even before you were in your mother’s womb. Knew you and had a purpose for you. That makes him your Father. You’re not the son of a whore, Abner. You’re the son of the King.”

  Eliza’s grip on the chair’s armrests relaxed a fraction as Jonah’s calm assessment soaked into her spirit and lifted her head. She was also a daughter of the King. Her earthly father might not claim her as his own, but her heavenly Father did. That was where her identity came from. Her value. Her purpose. She prayed Abner would see that too. That he’d hear the truth in Jonah’s words and believe in his worth in God’s eyes.

  Yet the longer the silence outside her window stretched, the more she feared he was losing the struggle.

  “You ever heard ’bout a fella in the Bible named Jephthah?” Jonah said, finally breaking the silence.

  “No. Who was he?”

  “The son of a harlot.”

  Eliza flinched at the bluntness. Jonah wasn’t one to mince words, but maybe that was exactly what Abner needed. Those who had reviled him certainly hadn’t sugarcoated their words.

  “Did he do somethin’ bad?” Abner’s downcast voice sounded resigned, as if villainy were the only viable option for a man with such a beginning.

  “He was a hero. One of the judges God chose to lead his people.”

  “What?” The sharp disbelief in Abner’s voice contained a definite tinge of hope. Eliza smiled.