A Hopeful Heart (35 page)

36

Tressa glanced around the small, crowded courtroom. Every seat was filled, and people stood three deep along the walls. It appeared most of the town of Barnett had turned out to see Gage sentenced. She, Aunt Hattie, and Mr. Hammond had arrived early, so they sat behind the railing that separated the defendant from the spectators. Gage was close enough to touch, but Mr. Hammond held to Aunt Hattie’s hands instead. Seeing the anguish in the older rancher’s eyes pierced Tressa’s heart.

God, I know Gage must be punished, but please don’t let them hang him. Please spare Mr. Hammond that pain.

The judge set aside the small pile of yellowed papers over which he had been poring for nearly half an hour. As his head rose, the entire congregation of people seemed to hold its breath. Silence fell, an unearthly silence that made the fine hairs on Tressa’s neck tingle.

“The defendant will rise.”

Gage flashed a frightened look over his shoulder before jolting to his feet. The chair legs screeched on the wooden floor, and Tressa cringed. The sound reminded her of opening a door with rusty hinges. Might the trapdoor of a hanging platform make a similar sound?

The judge cleared his throat and pinned a solemn look on Gage. “Gage Hammond, finding you guilty of aiding and abetting a known rustler, for deliberately selling stolen goods, and for giving those proceeds to a man other than the owner, I hereby sentence you to two years in the Ford County jail.”

Murmurs and disbelieving gasps broke out across the room. Someone yelled, “Only two years? For what he done? Should be
thirty
years!”

The judge banged his gavel and aimed a stern look at the crowd. He laid the gavel down and folded his arms on the high wooden bench. “You folks need to remember that
I’m
the judge, not you. Besides that, the man he wronged asked me to go easy on Mr. Hammond. If Abel Samms can forgive, then you people ought to be able to do the same.”

Another murmur came from the onlookers, but it held amazement rather than anger.

Tressa’s heart sang at the judge’s words. How difficult it must have been for Abel to choose to forgive Gage. Yet he’d done it. It seemed Abel had adopted a policy of releasing hurts rather than carrying grudges. And then a question winged through her mind:
And what about you? Will you forgive?

She sat up straight, startled, as she contemplated the question. What
about
her? Although she hadn’t viewed her feelings as a grudge, in those moments she realized she needed to release the resentment she carried toward her aunt and uncle. If Abel could forgive Gage and Vince for the harm they’d inflicted, then surely she should be able to forgive Aunt Gretchen and Uncle Leo for their cold treatment. Bowing her head right there in the crowded courtroom, she asked God to help her forgive her aunt and uncle.

The judge’s stern voice pulled her from her inner reflections. “Young man, you need to be aware that it is within my power to sentence you to hang. I could lock you away for the next fifty years. But I chose two years of incarceration—one year for each of those you engaged in unlawful activities against your neighbor.”

Gage hung his head, his meek pose so different from his former brash bearing.

The judge continued. “Along with Mr. Samms’ plea on your behalf, the fact that the money has been returned to its rightful owner and that you willingly admitted to wrongdoing influenced my decision. I believe there’s hope for you.” He removed his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You’re young, and you’ve got a lot of life ahead of you. Use the next two years to turn yourself around. When you return to Barnett, I’ll expect to see a reformed, law-abiding citizen.”

Gage nodded respectfully. “Yes, your honor. Thank you, sir.”

Tressa averted her gaze as Brewster leaned across the short railing and hugged his son. The pair clung, their fingers clutching handfuls of fabric. The agony expressed in the gesture nearly broke her heart. The sheriff strode forward and took Gage’s arm, pulling him from Brewster’s embrace. Brewster stood, silent and unmoving, until Gage disappeared behind a solid wood door. Then he reached for Aunt Hattie. “Let’s get out of here.”

They worked their way through the murmuring crowd and emerged onto the sunny boardwalk. Tressa nearly gaped in amazement. How could the day be so normal? Sun hanging in the sky, birds singing from bushes, people bustling in and out of shops . . . Shouldn’t the drama that had unfolded inside the courthouse be reflected on the outside, as well?

Mr. Hammond let his head drop back, and he released a heavy sigh. “Two years . . .”

Aunt Hattie slipped her arm around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder. “It could’ve been worse, Brew. Our prayers were answered.”

Mr. Hammond gave Aunt Hattie a one-armed squeeze and then turned his attention to Tressa. “An’ some other prayers’ve been answered, too.” A weak smile quavered on his lips. “Doc Kasper caught me this mornin’ an’ said Abel’s well enough to go home.”

Tressa’s heart skipped a beat. “H-he is?”

“Yep. An’ we’re gonna give ’im a ride. C’mon, ladies.” He looped one hand through Tressa’s elbow, curled his other arm around Aunt Hattie’s waist, and led them to the doctor’s office.

Tressa held back. “I’ll wait out here.”

“Nope, you’re comin’ in.” Mr. Hammond gave her a nudge that sent her through the doorway. “Got some things to tell Abel, an’ it’d be good for you to hear ’em, too.”

Tressa sent a puzzled look at Aunt Hattie, but the older woman just winked in return. Tressa followed Mr. Hammond and Aunt Hattie down the hallway to Abel’s room. When Mr. Hammond knocked, Abel’s familiar voice called, “Come in.”

Just hearing his voice caused her heart to flutter. Part of her wished to turn and run from the doctor’s office—to avoid adding more pain to her already battered spirit—but her desire to see Abel hale and healthy prevailed. She trailed Aunt Hattie into the room.

Abel stood beside the bed, buttoning his shirt with one hand.

His right arm hung in a sling, a reminder of his injury, but his face was freshly shaved and his cheeks held a healthy rosiness. Aunt Hattie bustled forward and planted a kiss on Abel’s cheek. Tressa wished she could do the same. Only she wanted to kiss his lips. Shocked by that brazen thought, she scuttled to the corner of the room and perched on a ladder-backed chair.

“Abel, good to see you on your feet.” Mr. Hammond slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and studied Abel.

“Good to be on my feet.” Abel’s gaze flitted to Tressa. A brief spark lit his eyes, and then he turned to face Aunt Hattie. “I’m grateful for the ride to the ranch. Doc says I shouldn’t try ridin’ a horse or drivin’ a team for a couple of weeks yet.” He released a rueful chuckle. “That’ll make it pretty hard to get any work done. . . .”

“Won’t be a problem,” Mr. Hammond declared. He pointed to the bed. “Sit down for a minute, Abel. We got some talkin’ to do.”

Abel’s expression turned wary, but he sat and gave Mr. Hammond his attention. “What is it?”

Mr. Hammond crossed to Aunt Hattie and slung his arm around her shoulders. “Harriet an’ me’ve been doin’ a lot of prayin’ an’ thinkin’ durin’ the two weeks you been holed up here. Now, we know you’re a growed man, but sometimes even growed men can use a little help.”

Abel started to rise.

Mr. Hammond held up his hand. “Hear me out. Then you can decide if you want to heed what we say or not. Fair enough?”

Abel offered a solemn nod. He sank back onto the edge of the bed.

“Your spread an’ mine are back-to-back, makin’ it easy for my men to take an extra swing across your property an’ keep an eye on your herd. They’ve rounded up a goodly number of your wanderin’ cattle, an’—with Cole’s help—they been rebuildin’ your fence to keep ’em in place till you got back.”

The man shifted, his boots scuffing the wood floor. “An’ seein’ as how our spreads are so close an’ I got a big house with lots of room, I’d like you to come stay with me until the men of town can come together an’ build you a house of your own.”

Tressa watched Abel’s face for signs of rebellion, but although he appeared uncertain, he listened without argument.

“Cole wants to stay on.” Aunt Hattie continued where Mr. Hammond had left off. “He an’ Sallie’ve been sleepin’ in the bunkhouse but eatin’ their meals at my place. Not very convenient. Seems like a person could build an addition on the back o’ the bunkhouse and add a . . . what do they call ’em?”

“Apartment,” Tressa contributed.

All three sent startled glances in her direction, as if they’d forgotten she was there. Then Aunt Hattie nodded, turning back to Abel. “That’s right. An apartment. Their own little place.”

“That’d still leave most of the bunkhouse open for you to bring on extra hands to replace Vince an’ Ethan,” Mr. Hammond added.

“You’re gonna need furnishings, too.” Aunt Hattie settled next to Abel on the bed and placed her hand over his knee. “Folks in town’ve been talkin’, an’ they’d like to give you a house-raisin’ an’ then throw a housewarmin’. Bring you things to at least get you started. Would . . . would you be acceptin’ of it, Abel?”

Minutes ticked by while Aunt Hattie, Mr. Hammond, and Tressa waited for Abel’s response. Tressa discovered she was clasping her hands so tightly her knuckles ached. She relaxed her grip, flattening her palms on her thighs. How she hoped Abel would swallow his pride and accept their help! She’d never heard more sincere offers of assistance.
Let him say yes, Lord, please!

Eventually, Abel cleared his throat and rubbed his finger under his nose. He shook his head twice, staring at the floor. Then he lifted his gaze to look directly into Aunt Hattie’s face. “You’re really some-thin’, you know that? All you got to do, all your own worries . . .” He included Mr. Hammond by swinging a grin in his direction. “An’ you’ve been frettin’ over me.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head again. “Really somethin’ . . .”

Aunt Hattie patted Abel’s knee. “But what do you say?”

Abel puffed his cheeks and then blew out the breath. “Aunt Hattie, I been layin’ in this bed for two weeks with nothin’ much to do except stew an’ pray. Gave up the stewin’ midweek an’ told God He’d have to see to things ’cause I just couldn’t. Asked Him to . . .” He gave a self-conscious chuckle. “To rescue me. An’ what does He do but send you.” A grin stretched across his face. “What I say is yes, an’ thank you. Thank you, Aunt Hattie . . . Brewster.”

Then his gaze fixed on Tressa. “An’ Miss Tressa?”

His softly worded query seemed to float across the room and coil itself around her with a blanketing warmth. The way he’d uttered her name—softly, with tenderness—made her breath catch. She heard love in the gentle timbre of his voice.

He stood, wavering for a moment before planting his feet wide. Bouncing a glance from Mr. Hammond to Aunt Hattie, he said, “There’re a few things I need to discuss with Tressa. Could you give us a moment of privacy?”

Aunt Hattie’s grin turned knowing. “Why sure, Abel. Take all the time you need.” She took Mr. Hammond’s hand and tugged him out the door. Tressa watched the pair disappear around the corner, her heart hammering so hard she feared it might explode. She shifted to look at Abel and discovered he stood a mere two feet in front of her chair, his brown eyes boring into hers with a look of adoration that nearly melted her into a puddle on the floor.

“M-Mr. Samms?”

Very slowly, he went down on one knee before her, reaching out to capture her hand. “Miss Tressa, I owe you an apology. I wasn’t fair to you when you was here last. I was thinkin’ of myself ’stead of you—thinkin’ of what I couldn’t give you ’stead of what I could. But I’ve had plenty of time to think while I been layin’ here healin’, an’ I know now I had it all upside-down.”

His thumb traced a lazy circle on the back of her hand, sending shivers of awareness all the way to her shoulder. She almost forgot to breathe.

“You see, Tressa, I was just a boy—seven, eight years old—when my folks packed us up an’ moved us to Kansas. I’d plumb forgot how there was nothin’ when we arrived. Nothin’ but empty prairie, far as the eye could see. No house waitin’, no big ol’ mooin’ herd of cows. No means, really, of carin’ for a family. But my pa an’ ma worked together an’ they built a house. Then a barn. Then they purchased a few cattle. They built a
life
together, Tressa. It was a good life, an’ they were happy.”

She nodded. “They loved each other very much, didn’t they?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Yep. They did.”

“So all the hard work was joy, simply because they did it together.”

Tears winked in his dark eyes, and sadness tipped his lips into a brief frown. Then he jolted to his feet, pacing the short length of the room. “That’s right. An’ that’s what I almost denied myself. The joy of buildin’—the joy of workin’ together.” He spun to face her, his shoulders heaving with a mighty sigh. “But God an’ me’ve been sortin’ things out in my head . . . an’ in my heart.” His expression gentled, turning boyish. “Right now, Tressa, all I got to offer you is me. But if you’ll have me, I’ll do my best to make you happy.”

A joyous giggle spilled from Tressa’s throat. She leaped from the chair, ready to throw herself into his arms, but she remembered his injury in time. Instead, she took his sun-toughened hand in hers and pressed her lips to its knobby knuckles. “And I shall do my utmost to bring you happiness, as well.”

He slid his fingers along the line of her jaw and gazed at her as tenderly as Papa had looked into Mama’s face. “You’ve already brought me plenty of happiness just by openin’ up my heart to lovin’ again. Thank you, Tressa.”

“Oh, Abel . . .” Tressa placed her fingers lightly against his chest.

“You’ve given me so much, too.”

He tipped his head. “I have?”

She nodded. “Yes. One thing you gave me is the freedom to forgive.”

Puzzlement creased his brow. “How’d I do that?”

Laughing softly, she guided him to the chair. When he sat, she took his free hand between hers and peered directly into his face. “In court today, the judge told everyone how you asked for leniency for Gage. You have every right to be angry and spiteful and to demand a severe punishment. But . . . you forgave him instead. And your actions gave me the courage I needed to forgive my aunt and uncle.”