A Hopeful Heart (34 page)

“Unfair?” Abel scratched his head, his forehead puckered. “Yep, probably is unfair by most folks’ reasonin’. But to tell you the truth, it’s best that Amanda’s gone. She’d’ve never been happy here, an’ I’d’ve missed out on—”

Something in his eyes made Tressa’s pulse race. She wanted to explore the strange reaction, but when she opened her mouth a question spilled out. “But don’t you still love her? You . . . you carried her portrait with you. . . .”

He plucked up the frame and bounced it on his palm. “Reason I had this with me the other day is I was plannin’ on buryin’ it—givin’ my old feelin’s for Amanda a . . . well, a funeral of sorts. Puttin’ her to rest. I knew it was time for me to move on. ’Cause, Miss Tressa . . .” His whisker-dotted cheeks, pale from his ordeal, streaked pink. “I’m findin’ myself drawn to . . . someone else.”

She held her breath, her heart caroming against her ribs. Her mouth formed the word
who
, but no sound came out.

He sighed and closed his eyes, collapsing against the pillows. “But it wouldn’t be fair to say it, ’cause I can’t meet Aunt Hattie’s rules about providin’ for a wife.”

35

Two opposite emotions attacked Tressa: elation—
He loves me!
—and despair—
His pride will imprison his feelings.
She tried to speak, to tell him how she felt. “Mr. Samms, I—”

“I’m tired, Miss Tressa.” The words rasped out, proving his exhaustion. “I appreciate you comin’ to see me an’ bringin’ me . . . bringin’ me . . .” He swallowed. “But I need to rest now.” Grunting a bit, he rolled onto his good shoulder, hiding his face from her.

Without another word, Tressa gathered the shards of her shattered heart, turned, and left the room. Her chest ached so badly, breathing became torture. But somehow she made her way to the wagon, climbed aboard, and aimed the horse toward Aunt Hattie’s. By clenching her jaw, she held her tears at bay.

At the ranch, she guided the horse directly into the barn, leaped down, and released the animal from the rigging. She gave the horse a few scoops of oats, then walked stiffly across the yard to the house. She wanted to escape to her room, bury her face in the pillows, and cry this intense hurt away.

But when she clicked the front door shut behind her, Aunt Hattie’s voice called from the kitchen, “Tressa, that you?”

She sucked air through her nose, forcing down the tears. “Yes, ma’am.”

“How’s Abel this mornin’?”

Tressa’s lips quivered. Her chest grew tight. On a strangled sob, she barked out, “Positively mulish!” Then she clattered up the stairs and slammed the door to her room. Throwing herself across the bed, she pressed her face into her elbow and let loose a torrent of tears.

Pounding footsteps reached her ears, and hands curled around her shoulders, forcing her to roll over. Tressa took one look at Aunt Hattie’s concerned face, and her wails increased in volume.

The older woman swept Tressa against her chest and patted her back. “Lands, darlin’, what’d that man say to you? ’Cause injured shoulder or no, I’ll give him a piece o’ my mind if he—”

“He loves me, Aunt Hattie,” Tressa blubbered into Aunt Hattie’s shoulder. “He won’t say it, but I know he does. Oh, Aunt Hattie . . .” She rubbed her eyes with her fists. “You said when a woman loves a man, her heart feels as though it would soar out of her chest. But my heart has turned to a lump of clay. It’s heavy and dull, and it will never soar.” She dissolved into more wild weeping. Aunt Hattie held her and patted her and let her cry herself out. Eventually the loud sobs faded to shuddering sniffles, and Tressa pulled back.

“Aunt Hattie, why must love hurt so much? I love Abel. But he can’t truly love me or he’d do as Cole did with Sallie and steal me away. Home or no home, money or none, if he genuinely cared for me he would find a way for us to be together.”

Aunt Hattie clicked her tongue against her teeth. She lifted her apron and wiped Tressa’s cheeks dry and then cupped Tressa’s face in her hands. “Darlin’, you can’t be judgin’ Abel for not doin’ what Cole would do. They’re two different men, an’ each has his own way o’ bein’.”

“But—”

“No. You thinkin’ ill o’ Abel for not bein’ like Cole is no better than Abel thinkin’ ill o’ you for comin’ from the same world as Amanda.”

Tressa jerked free of Aunt Hattie’s gentle hold. “I am
nothing
like Amanda! She made promises she refused to keep!”

“But you’re both from the East, so Abel figured you’d never fit in here.”

“That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard. Why, just because two people hail from the same area doesn’t mean they are similar in every way.”

Aunt Hattie raised one eyebrow. “You listenin’ to yourself? You just proved your own point. You can’t be condemnin’ Abel for not sweepin’ you away to some unknown future.” She smoothed the hair from Tressa’s face. “I’m not tryin’ to criticize Cole—he’s young an’ brash an’ acted in the only way he knew how to keep from losin’ the girl he loved. But Abel’s a man o’ deep convictions. Responsible. Those’re good traits, Tressa—things any woman’d want in a husband.”

“But his convictions might keep us apart!” New tears threatened, but Tressa sniffed hard and brought herself under control.

“Have you prayed about this?”

Tressa jolted, suddenly feeling guilty. “P-prayed?”

“Sure, prayed.” Aunt Hattie emphasized her words with a nod of her head. “Missy, God has a special plan for you, but it appears to me you’re runnin’ willy-nilly, tryin’ to fix everything yourself instead o’ trustin’ Him to lead you.”

Tressa toyed with a loose thread in the bed’s quilt. “But . . . but what if God . . .” She couldn’t finish the question, too fearful of the answer.

“Has somethin’ different in store than what we want?”

Tressa gave a quick nod, her head low.

“Well, this I can guarantee you: God doesn’t always do things the way we think they oughtta be done.”

Tressa’s head shot up, her gaze colliding with Aunt Hattie’s.

A soft smile warmed the older woman’s face. “He always does ’em
better
. An’ when we follow His lead, we discover what’s best for us. God doesn’t want you to hope only for second best—He wants you to find His very best.” She caressed Tressa’s cheek. “You gotta trust that, darlin’ girl.”

Tressa bit down on her lower lip, absorbing Aunt Hattie’s words. Even Abel had said Aunt Hattie was usually right. At that moment a high-pitched meow interrupted. Isabella leaped onto the bed and curled herself in Tressa’s lap. With a small laugh, she gathered Isabella beneath her chin and sighed into the cat’s fur. “I wish I were as wise and brave as you, Aunt Hattie.”

The older woman swept her hand down Isabella’s back. “An’ I wish I were young an’ beautiful an’ owned a flyin’ horse.” She chuckled, and Tressa smiled. “Truth is, darlin’, I’m not wise an’ brave. I just have faith. An’ I believe that you’re gonna see God’s very best worked out in your life.” She rose. “You stay up here for a while, cuddle ol’ Izzy-B—somethin’ soothin’ about runnin’ your hands over a purrin’ cat. An’ do some talkin’ with God. When you feel better, come down an’ give me a hand with supper. Brewster’s comin’, an’ Cole an’ Sallie’ll be joinin’ us, too, seein’ as how she doesn’t have a way to cook in that bunkhouse over at Abel’s. You’ll want to be free o’ those tears before they get here.”

Tressa waited until Aunt Hattie left the room. Then she transferred Isabella to the mattress and slipped to her knees beside the bed. “God, I’m sorry for not placing my hope in You. I want to be like Aunt Hattie—full of faith. Every time I’ve asked for Your rescue, You’ve come. So rescue me now, God. Take away my hurt and fear and help me find Your plan. Lead me to what You deem is best.”

Hattie listened to the cheerful conversations happening around her dining table. Every chair was filled; every face bore a smile—even Tressa’s, although her eyes were still red-rimmed from her crying bout. A feeling of satisfaction filled every ounce of Hattie’s frame.

She’d prepared a feast fit for a Sunday—roast beef with potatoes, carrots, and onions. The food and the crowded table turned the meal into a party, and it was fitting. She had reason to celebrate: Sallie’d returned, safe and sound; Abel was healing; each of her girls—save Tressa—was preparing to marry a good, godly man; and even she, old as she was, had been offered a second chance at love. God’s blessings were plumb overflowing, and Hattie couldn’t keep a smile from her face.

“You folks ready for dessert?” she asked. “Got a tall cake with a thick chocolate icin’, if anybody’s interested.” A rousing cheer rose, which Hattie took to be a yes. She bounced up. “I’ll go fetch it.” As she headed for the kitchen, someone knocked on the front door. She changed direction, calling over her shoulder, “Paralee, go get that cake an’ a servin’ knife, wouldja?”

With a happy bounce in her step, she reached the door and threw it open, then stepped back in surprise. Ethan Rylin stood on her doorstep. For long seconds they stared at each other, Hattie’s jaw slack with shock and Ethan as sheepish as she’d ever seen a man. Then she found her senses and snapped her mouth shut. “Ethan. Come on in here, son.”

Sweeping his hat from his head, Ethan stepped into the house. He fixed a sad gaze on Hattie. “Ma’am.” A burst of laughter carried from the dining room, and his face flooded with color. “Oh . . . I’m interruptin’. I’ll—”

Hattie captured his elbow. “You’ll join us.”

He pulled loose of her grasp. “No . . . no, I can’t. I just need to talk to you. Outside.” He dashed out the door before she could argue.

Hattie scuttled to Brewster and whispered in his ear, “Ethan’s on the front porch. Me an’ him are gonna have us a little chat.”

“Want me to come, too?”

Although she was capable of handling the situation alone, she discovered she wanted his support. She nodded, and he followed her outside. Ethan was waiting on a chair at the end of the porch, his hat hooked on his left knee. Hattie sat beside him, and Brewster leaned on the railing. She squeezed Ethan’s shoulder. “I’m glad you come back. We were worried about you, son.”

Ethan nodded, his face stoic. “I had to come back. I . . . I went by the Lazy S.” He shook his head. “Can’t believe all what Pa done. . . .”

Hattie took a deep breath. “Ethan, about your pa . . .”

He blinked rapidly. “He’s dead, ain’t he?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“How?”

“They found ’im in the house. The fire . . .”

For long seconds Ethan sat in silence, his jaw muscles twitching. Then he sighed. “At least I won’t see him hanged for rustlin’ an’ tryin’ to kill Abel.” He looked back and forth from Hattie to Brewster, his eyes wide. “I didn’t know any of what he was doin’. He kept givin’ me money—claimed he’d been roundin’ up strays an’ sellin’ ’em. Said to tuck the money away so’s we could buy our own little place. I believed him. I didn’t know he was rustlin’ from Abel’s herd. If I’d known, I’d’ve . . .” He dropped his head.

Hattie grabbed his hand. “Ethan, Abel’s worried about you.”

His head shot up. “He is?” Then he looked down again. “I can’t face ’im. Not after what Pa done.”

Brewster cleared his throat. “Abel’s gonna need some good hands to rebuild his ranch, an’ he knows you’re a good hand.”

Ethan kept his head low. “No. No, I couldn’t stay around here. Be too hard, with folks knowin’ about Pa an’ all. They’d always be whisperin’, watchin’ me . . . I gotta find someplace else to go. Start over. But . . .” He pulled a rolled wad of bills from inside his shirt. “All the money Pa gave me is here. I haven’t spent a penny of it.” He plopped it in Hattie’s lap. “Would you give it to Abel for me?”

His pleading gaze made Hattie’s heart ache. “Ethan, won’t you at least go see Abel? Let him know you’re all right?”

He shook his head and stood. “No, ma’am. Better for all of us if I just . . . go away.” His boot heels dragged as he scuffed his way off the porch, his head hanging. Moments later he swung into his saddle and pounded away without a backward glance.

Hattie turned to Brewster. He opened his arms, and she stepped into his embrace. Her cheek against his shirt front, she said, “This ain’t exactly a happy endin’ to my day, Brew.”

He rubbed his hand up and down her spine. “An’ I’m afraid the next days won’t be much better, considerin’ Gage’s trial is comin’ up next week an’ Abel’ll be comin’ home to a pile of black soot. At least my men’ve found nearly fifty head of his cattle. That’s somethin’ good.”

Hattie sighed, enjoying the security of Brewster’s arms. Been so long since she’d leaned into someone else’s strength she’d almost forgotten how pleasant it could be. She nestled closer. “Need to take this money in to Abel. He’ll need every penny he can find to get his ranch up an’ runnin’ again. He’s got a heap o’ work waitin’.”

Brewster took hold of her shoulders and peered into her face. “Seems to me that boy could use some prayers. Should we pray for him now?”

Tears stung behind Hattie’s nose. With his only son in dire trouble, he still had the heart to pray for a neighbor. “Brewster Hammond, I love you.”

He smiled. “Harriet Wyatt, I love you, too.”