The Heart's Charge

by Karen Witemeyer

“Old Jep had it pretty rough growing up,” Jonah said, getting into his tale. “His daddy married a different woman and had sons with her. Those boys didn’t want Jep hanging around or getting any of their inheritance, since he was the son of a harlot. So they kicked him out of his father’s house. Jep had nowhere to go, so he left Gilead and went to a place called Tob—a land full of scoundrels and rough men. I imagine Jep must’ve been a pretty big fellow and a good fighter, ’cause those scoundrels made him their leader. Pretty soon, Jep was known far and wide as a mighty warrior.”

  “But he was still a scoundrel.”

  “Yep. Until the Lord got ahold of him. Remember what I said about God knowin’ us even before we were in our mamas’ wombs? And having a purpose for us? Well, God had a purpose for Jep too, even though he was a scoundrel.”

  “What happened?”

  “War happened.” Jonah’s voice tightened for a moment, but then he continued on as before. If Eliza hadn’t been listening so intently, she probably would have missed it, but there had definitely been something there. Something dark. Painful. Something that haunted this man of faith.

  “Back home in Gilead, Jep’s brothers had grown up to take their place as the leaders of the land. Their land was under attack, and they were losing. That’s when they remembered their brother. The one they’d cast out. They needed a warrior, and Jep was the best one they knew. So they rode down to Tob and asked him to come fight for them.

  “Well, Jep wasn’t exactly in the mood to help the brothers who’d been so mean to him, but when they promised to make him their leader, he agreed. Now Jep, even though he was a scoundrel, knew that any victory he won was only because of the Lord, not because of his own strength. So before he went to war, he prayed.”

  “And God listened to him?”

  “Yep. Not only did God listen, but he helped. First, he helped him defeat the Amorites, who didn’t want him crossin’ their lands. After that, Jep wrote a letter to the king of Ammon, warning him that God was on Israel’s side, hoping the king would back down. When that didn’t happen, the Spirit of the Lord came upon Jephthah and helped him defeat the mighty Ammonite army. God made him a hero.” A quiet clap sounded, and Eliza pictured Jonah’s hand cupping Abner’s shoulder. “God can do the same for you.”

  Boards creaked and bootheels tapped, signaling that Jonah had risen from the porch steps. “Now, why don’t you go on inside? I’ll take over the watch for the rest of the night.”

  “Mr. Brooks?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If that Jep fella was such a scoundrel, why did God still help him?”

  Jonah took a long moment to answer. “All men are scoundrels in one way or another. We make mistakes. Bad choices. Sometimes ones with . . . hefty consequences.”

  That slight hesitation. Was he thinking of something specific? Something personal? Eliza’s chest squeezed.

  “That Jep fella made plenty of mistakes,” Jonah continued. “One of ’em was so big, it cost his daughter her life. Yet God still used him to lead his people for another six years. I gotta think it’s because even though the man wasn’t perfect, he was still God’s man at heart and did his best to follow where the Almighty led. That’s all any of us can do.”

  “Even you?”

  “Especially me.” His voice rasped slightly. He fell silent, then cleared his throat before continuing. “Regrets are heavy, son. The fewer you cart around, the better off you’ll be. But when they come, and they will, remember you got a Father who will carry them for you if you let him.”

  Eliza bit her lip, her heart melting. Maybe having a man around the place wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Although, the man she wanted hanging around wasn’t Katherine’s beau, but his reserved partner. The man with deadly aim, secret regrets, and the patience to tell a hurting boy healing stories.

  “Now get on in the house,” Jonah said. “The young’uns are prob’ly lookin’ for you.”

  “All right.”

  The front door opened and closed. Eliza leapt from her chair and pressed her back against the wall near the curtain, hoping Abner wouldn’t notice her and realize she’d been listening to his private conversation. She needn’t have worried, though. He charged straight up the stairs without a glance into the parlor.

  Letting out a breath, she stepped away from the wall and turned back to the window, intending to close it for the night.

  “Tradin’ listening at doorways for listening at windows, now, are ya?”

  Eliza gasped as Jonah stepped in front of the window and crouched down so she could see his face. He tipped his hat back on his head and aimed a sharp look her way, one that cut past her justifications and pierced a hole in her conscience.

  “Why don’t you come on out here and have a real conversation instead of stealing ones that belong to other folks?”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-NINE

  Jonah hadn’t known Eliza was there until the kid up and left and he caught movement at the parlor window. If he’d known, he never would’ve spoken in such crass terms. He’d done it to make a point, to help Abner understand that God loved all his children, no matter their origins. But to use such language in the hearing of a lady? His mama would’ve boxed his ears.

  No telling what Miss Eliza thought of his character now. If he hadn’t fully offended her with his frank talk, he’d no doubt finished the job when he’d snapped at her through the window. This was why he usually kept his mouth shut. It saved him from having to chew boot leather.

  Sticking his feet someplace other than his mouth, Jonah stomped down the wraparound porch to the steps. He’d best focus on the job he was here to do and quit worrying about impressing a woman a mile out of his league. Eliza Southerland was educated. Refined. And about as beautiful as they came. Fiercely independent too. Probably didn’t even want a man. At least not one like him. A Howard fella would suit her better. A man of letters. A scholar or maybe a minister. Not an ex-soldier with blood on his hands and sins on his soul.

  “It’s not polite to invite a lady to a conversation, then storm off before she has a chance to accept.”

  Jonah spun around. She stood in the doorway, eyes searching his, hands fiddling with the fabric of her skirt as if she were nervous. Or chastened.

  Doggone it.

  He strode back to the base of the stairs. “I had no call to say what I said.” He snatched his hat off his head and banged it against his thigh. “I’m sorry for growlin’ at you and for . . .” A few more thumps of the hat against his leg. “And for using inappropriate language in your hearing. I don’t normally talk about . . .”

  Shut up, Brooks, before you make it worse. He slammed his teeth together, then dropped his lips as an extra layer of protection against any other ill-advised explanations that might try to escape the stockade.

  Eliza pulled the door closed behind her and sauntered down the steps, stopping on the next-to-last one so she could look him straight in the eye. “You had every right to call me out. As soon as I realized the personal nature of the conversation, I should have left the parlor. But I didn’t.” She glanced away. “I am sorry for invading your and Abner’s privacy. However, I’m not sorry I heard what I did.”

  Slowly, her face came around again, and her gaze met his. His gut clenched when he noticed the moisture glimmering in her large brown eyes. “Thank you.” She touched his arm, her fingers squeezing against his bicep. His heart rate doubled. “I think you might have done more to raise that boy’s opinion of himself with one candid conversation than Katherine and I have done with all of our mothering and instructing.”

  Jonah shook his head. “It’s only because you’ve done such a good job makin’ the boy feel safe that he opened up at all.”

  “Still, it was a conversation that needed to be had, and I doubt Abner would have brought it up to one of his female guardians.” She shrugged, a self-conscious smile turning up the edge of her mouth. “To be honest, if he had, I probably would’ve invested more energy in trying
to correct his assumption and his language than in truly hearing him. You heard him.”

  “Maybe that’s ’cause I know what it’s like to feel unworthy.” The words slinked past the gate of his lips before he could lasso them back into the pen where they belonged.

  Stupid moonlight, glistening in Eliza’s eyes and turning them into glossy obsidian. It stripped a man of his defenses. Allowed hidden truths to sneak out into the open without his permission.

  She circled around to his side and slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. She started walking across the yard between the house and the barn, forcing him to either pull away or take the hint and escort her on an evening stroll. Despite his exposing an unwanted thread she was sure to tug on, he slapped his hat on his head and stretched his legs into a stride that would match hers. He’d been trained for battle, after all, not cowardice. Besides, what man in his right mind wouldn’t take a moonlight stroll with a lady he admired? Even in territory littered with verbal snares sure to trip a man. He’d just have to tread carefully.

  Once they were about a dozen yards away from the house, she leaned her face close to his and murmured two small words. “Tell me.”

  No ducking or dodging that bullet.

  Oddly enough, he wanted to tell her. Which made no sense. Doubts and secrets lived in the depths, not in the light. He’d never spoken them aloud to anyone, not even Matt. Warriors carried their own burdens. And a warrior with black skin? Well, he hid his weaknesses even deeper, guarding them zealously, lest they be uncovered and used as ammunition against him.

  So why were those same secrets scrambling up his throat and beating on the back of his teeth to be let out?

  Jonah glanced down at Eliza’s hand resting on his arm and felt the padlock inside him click open. Why not expose the worst of himself and test her reaction? If she pulled away, he’d know not to waste time pursuing what would never be his.

  And if she didn’t pull away?

  He cleared his throat, not quite ready to ponder all the ramifications of that particular outcome.

  Keeping his gaze trained on the packed earth in front of him as they walked the perimeter of the yard toward the barn, Jonah turned the key in the lock and let the words loose.

  “Before I met up with Captain Hanger,” he said, “I was assigned to the 10th Cavalry. My skill with a rifle moved me up through the ranks and landed me a position as sharpshooter. In three years, I earned a reputation as one of the best marksmen in the Army.”

  “I find that easy to believe.” He heard the smile in her voice, but he didn’t welcome it. Not when she didn’t understand the price that came with the position.

  “Snipers wage war . . . differently than other troopers.”

  How to explain? He blew out a breath as they reached the paddock. Pulling his arm away from hers, he moved to the fence and braced his back against the nearest post. He gazed into the sky and counted two stars near the moon, peeking through the still-early twilight to wink at him. Encouragement or mockery? Jonah thumped his heel against the fencepost at his back, feeling more apprehensive than he ever had fighting Apache with the 10th.

  Eliza came alongside and leaned against the rails a foot or so to his left. Close enough that he could feel her nearness while remaining out of his direct line of sight. Supportive but not demanding.

  “We plot our positions ahead of time. Lie in wait. Hide ourselves from our enemies instead of facin’ them on the field of battle. We shoot from cover while our brothers fight in the open.” Jonah’s attention wandered to the barn where he’d set up a nest in the loft, exactly as he’d been trained to do. High ground. Line of sight. Protective cover. Everything he needed to stave off an attack, to eliminate the enemy before they could eliminate those he was charged to protect.

  “I took pride in my skill, welcomed the praise of the officers who depended on my rifle to give us the advantage in battle. But takin’ lives changes a man, hardens him, even when those lives are taken to preserve others.” Jonah stared across the darkening yard. “Hand-to-hand combat is kill-or-be-killed. It’s a level playing field. Honorable. Sharpshooting? It’s all about stealth and distance. We’re a necessary evil.”

  “You are not evil, Jonah.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe not. But what I do ain’t exactly ethical neither. I think it messed me up . . . inside. Right and wrong blurred. God had made me good at somethin’ that left me feeling like a murderer. So I turned everything off. Guilt, pride, fear. I shut it all down. Ceased being a man and became a weapon. Followed orders. Did the jobs I was called to do. Took enemy lives and protected my brothers. Until Wounded Knee.”

  A shiver ran through him as the horrors of that day replayed in his memory. So many dead. Warriors. Women. Children. And he’d played a part in the killing. Maybe not of the women and children, but the blood that stained the snow that day also stained his conscience.

  His hand trembled as he rubbed it down his face. “It was a massacre,” he choked out, not recognizing the gravelly sound of his voice. “That’s when I knew I had to get out before my heart turned completely to stone. I couldn’t be a soulless weapon. I couldn’t just fire at whatever target my superiors placed in front of me without asking questions or considering consequences. So when Matthew Hanger invited me to join him and the others, to leave the ranks of the military and put our skills to work helping ordinary folks, I didn’t hesitate. I’d worked with Captain Hanger on several special assignments through the years. Knew him to be a good man. A godly man. The kind of man who could help me reclaim the missing pieces of my soul before they were gone forever.”

  Although sometimes he wondered if he’d ever feel whole again. Even with as much as he and the Horsemen had done to right wrongs over the last few years, Jonah still saw battlefields in his dreams. Heard the cries of the wounded. Smelled blood and gunpowder. Saw each man who fell to one of his bullets.

  “We took a vow against using lethal force,” he said, “and swore only to use our weapons to defend the innocent against injustice.”

  He fell silent. Stood still in the night air. Breathing. Listening to Eliza breathing beside him. He hated exposing his bloodstained underbelly to her, but she needed to know the truth.

  So, with a clench of his jaw, he made himself finish it. “Even with all the good we’ve done, my soul will always be scarred. Pieces will always be missing.”

  Finally, he pivoted to look at her. Tears glistened in her eyes, but he saw no anger, no horror. His heart throbbed with hope.

  “Every day, I pray for the Lord to do in me what he promised to do for the house of Israel in the days of Ezekiel. To sprinkle clean water on me and cleanse me from my filthiness, to take away my stony heart and give me one of flesh. But until I came here,” he said as his eyes caressed her face, “I hadn’t realized how much flesh the Lord had already restored.”

  He pushed away from the fence and moved to stand directly in front of her. He yearned to reach for her, to stroke her cheek, to slide his fingers along her neck and take her face in his hand, to press a gentle kiss to her lips. But he did nothing. Just drank her in with his eyes.

  “When I look at you, Eliza, I feel. More than I’ve felt in a long, long time. So I’m putting you on notice.” He targeted a look at her that an officer would pin on a new recruit. No softness. No sugarcoating. Just the truth, shot straight and true with no frills to throw off the aim. “After Wallace and I find those missing kids and put things to rights, I’ll be askin’ permission to come courtin’. I ain’t asking yet,” he blurted when her mouth started to move. He held up a hand to halt whatever she meant to say. “The things I done told ya tonight need time to soak in before you answer. Lord knows you deserve a better man than me, and if you decide not to accept my suit, I’ll have nothin’ but respect for your wisdom in not saddling yourself with a banged-up old war dog.”

  Without conscious thought, the hand he’d held up to stop her from speaking found its way to her cheek. The backs of his knuckles stroked the s
ide of her face, and the feel of her satiny skin on his fingers was the sweetest torture he’d ever known.

  Her gaze locked on his, her eyes piercing in their intensity. Jonah’s hand stilled. “But if you feel something when you look at me, the way I do when I look at you, and you’re willing to explore what those feelings might mean despite everything you’ve heard tonight, then perhaps we can have more of these moonlit conversations and see where they lead.”

  Her breath caught at his caress. Jonah yanked his hand away from her face before he did something stupid like pull her against him and kiss her until the stars twinkled in full brightness overhead. With a sharp pivot, he strode away from her and did what snipers did best—watched his quarry from a distance as she slowly made her way back to the house.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY

  As soon as the breakfast dishes were cleared away the following morning, Mark and Jonah saddled up and rode into Kingsland to question both the deputy and the livery owner about Miguel Ortega. Deputy Bronson had heard of Ortega but had no solid information on the suspect’s whereabouts or who he might be working for. The livery owner proved more helpful when he identified Ortega’s horse as a black Palouse. Ortega wasn’t a frequent customer—Donaldson had only seen him once or twice—but a mount with distinctive, spotted markings tended to linger in a liveryman’s memory.

  “At least we have an idea of what we’re looking for now,” Mark said as he swung into the saddle and nudged Cooper into a walk.

  Jonah came abreast of him as they left the livery but said nothing in response. Not that Mark had expected him to. Jonah was in scout mode. On the hunt. Only critical information warranted the use of words.

  Impatient energy coiled within Mark’s muscles, making it difficult to hold Cooper to a walk. Wart had been missing for more than a week. An unknown number of other boys for even longer. This lead had to pan out. He didn’t care how many unsavory rocks they had to turn over, they’d stick with it until Miguel Ortega crawled out from under one.