Texas Angel, 2-in-1 (39 page)

Micah acknowledged his father’s greeting with a mere grunt. He then took a leftover johnnycake and sat at the table gnawing at it to tide him over until supper.

Benjamin took a breath before speaking, then lost his nerve and remained silent. He repeated this ritual three more times before finding his courage, reminding himself that he had never been one to shy away from a challenge—and Micah was becoming the greatest challenge of his life.

“I had quite an interesting trip,” he said lamely, but at least it was a start.

“I’m dying to hear,” Elise said gamely.

Benjamin opened his mouth, but before he could get any words out Micah lurched to his feet.

“I’m going out to . . .” Micah faltered, clearly with no immediate reason to make an exit. Then he grabbed the water bucket. “To get water.” He headed toward the door.

“Micah, I want you to hear this.” Benjamin’s voice held a quality of desperation.

“I don’t care to.” Micah’s voice was cold as he grasped the door latch.

“Why do you have to be so difficult?” Benjamin felt his old anger and frustration return. He wanted to strike the boy. Instead, he curled his fingers so tightly around the arm of the rocker where he sat that his hand began to cramp. “Stay, Micah, and hear me out.”

“Are you gonna make me? Maybe take me behind the barn if I don’t?” sneered the boy.

“I’ve been trying to give you a little slack, boy. The least you can do is the same for me. We’ve both got to live in this house. We ought to attempt to do so as peaceably as possible.”

“Who says I have to live here?” Micah retorted. “I can take care of myself. Maybe I’ll go find Uncle Haden—”

“If Haden had wanted you, he would have taken you before!” The words were out before Benjamin could rein them back. He regretted them the instant they had been leveled, but he couldn’t apologize for them because they were true.

“I’ll make it on my own then,” Micah intoned coolly.

“You’re a child. You’d perish out there,” Benjamin shot back.

“I’d take my chances.”

Benjamin jumped up. “I’m sick to death of your attitude!”

“I wish you would—“ Micah stopped, perhaps sensing that actually stating his wish would be more of a risk than even he was willing to take. His jaw tightening, the muscles working furiously, he glared at his father. “I’m just gonna get water. If you wanna make me stay—”

“Never mind!” The words came through gritted teeth. Benjamin was shaking inside with fury and defeat. He hated that Micah’s threat had taken hold. But if it took concession to keep Micah at home, then there seemed nothing else for it. “Get the water.” He spoke with the evenness of a sharp blade.

Micah left, and Benjamin slumped back in the rocker, letting his head loll miserably in his hands. In a moment, Elise was at his side, a slim hand on his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

He sliced his fingers through his hair. “Like in a battle,” he grunted, “defeats must be taken with the victories.”

“Would you care to tell me about your victories?”

He looked up at her, and his heart clenched. He’d seldom felt a greater need, and here she was to fill it for him and encourage him— just like a real wife. As much as he wanted to reach out and draw her to him, he also wanted to push her away. He feared needing her too much. There were just too many reasons why he couldn’t, why he shouldn’t. But, oh, how he ached with need!

“Believe it or not,” he said dryly, with enough cynicism to counter his neediness, “while I was away, I finally made my peace with God and with myself.”

She smiled sadly, seeming to truly understand his conflicted emotions. “Tell me about it.”

“Not now. Maybe some other time.”

She dropped to her knees before him so as to look directly at him.

“Benjamin, I think now is the time you most need to talk about it. It will be good for you to remember a victory.”

Taking a steadying breath, he told her everything that had happened on the trail, and as she predicted, remembering was a kind of healing balm. So was her rejoicing with him and even her tears of joy. He wept also when Isabel came close to listen to him, and when he finished, she laid her little hand on his arm and offered him a small smile, the first he had seen in a long time.

Impulsively he embraced both Isabel and Elise, his tears dampening their hair, his need receding from a stabbing ache to a whisper of hope.

CHAPTER

45

B
ENJAMIN GAINED GREAT SATISFACTION IN
watching the corn sprout in his field. By early June it was a foot high. If all went well—there were many crop hazards along the way—he’d have enough grain come fall to feed his family for the year. Caring for the crop would keep him sufficiently occupied until then, too. That, and hunting and chopping wood and maintaining the cabin. He also thought he ought to build an addition to the cabin. Sleeping in the barn in spring and summer was bad enough—come winter it would be intolerable.

He definitely had his work cut out. One afternoon while most of the children were napping, he took the notebook in which he used to write his sermons, found a blank page and, sitting at the table, began sketching a rough drawing of a possible addition.

Yes, he could keep quite busy caring for the needs of his family. And he thought he could be fairly content doing only that. Perhaps that was what he was meant to do after all. It could well be that his ministry had failed, in part at least, because he had never truly heard the call of God in the first place. Perhaps he had only convinced himself that he had because he had desired the glory and sense of power the ministry had offered.

Now he felt he could be quite content indeed as a nondescript, obscure farmer.

Almost.

He wondered if he could ever be truly content doing anything until he was certain it was time to close the door on his ministry. The only way to know that was to step back into the waters of ministry. He supposed he wouldn’t have to plunge in headfirst, though that might be in his nature, but even the thought of merely getting his toes wet was a bit frightening. It would mean facing his flock again, humbling himself before them, confessing his failures—which would make any proud man, even a broken man, cringe.

Before he did anything, though, he decided to take the problem to Elise. He was finding great succor in her gentle wisdom, her unassuming simplicity. They’d had many discussions about life since his encounter with the Indians and his personal renewal. Elise had a way of taking Scriptures that theologians had debated for years and distilling them down to their simplest truths. In matters of life in general, she had the same uncanny knack. He marveled in watching her with the children as she imparted simple truths to them in a natural, loving way.

Too bad Micah seemed not to benefit from Elise’s homey teaching. He seemed too scarred from Benjamin’s years of trying to hammer truth into the boy to listen to much of anything these days. If Benjamin’s new humility touched the boy at all, he didn’t show it.

Benjamin hadn’t heard Elise approach. He smelled the lilac first.

She had found a way to crush the leaves of wild lilac and mix them in her soap with quite pleasant results.

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” she said quietly.

“I don’t mind at all. In fact, I was about to seek you out.”

“Truly?”

“Please sit.” He gestured toward the place next to him on the bench so they could both look at the drawing. She seldom was ever this close to him. When her shoulder brushed his and the fragrance of lilac became nearly intoxicating, he decided it wasn’t such a good idea after all. But it was too late to do anything about it.

“Are you thinking about building on to the cabin?” she asked, nodding toward the drawing.

“Yes. Now that the corn is planted, I believe there will be time to get it done before winter. What do you think?” He tapped the drawing with a finger. “I’ve tried to make it simple. I’ll cut a door into the existing north wall of the cabin. A loft would fit nicely along the rest of the wall in the main cabin. By keeping the work confined to one area we can do all the bracing and such at once.” He paused, his brow quirking with skepticism at his own words. “The only thing I have ever built is part of that barn out there, and it leaks like a sieve when it rains. A stout wind—of which I’ve heard Texas is famous, though I’ve not seen a tornado yet—would doubtless blow it down.”

“Perhaps John Hunter will help you,” she suggested.

“He’s done so much for me already, and I have so little to give him in return.”

“I’ve never had the impression John expected anything for his help.”

“You are right, of course.” Leaning his elbows on the table, he propped his chin thoughtfully in his hands. “I want to make this cabin sturdy so that it will stand for a long time.”

“May I ask something? It may not be any of my business, but . . .” Her voice faltered.

He sensed her awkwardness, which most often occurred when she was about to cross into the gray areas their peculiar marriage had made for them. He nodded an encouragement for her to continue.

“Do you have a claim on this land or does your church?” she asked.

He chuckled dryly. “Actually, both I and the man before me were merely squatters. Because of the Mexican laws, the Methodist Church certainly could make no claim. Nor would ministers of that church, since it would mean converting to Catholicism to receive the prescribed league and labor.”

“League and labor? I’ve heard of that, but what exactly is it?”

“A labor amounts to 177 acres, and by the terms of the grant would be farmland. A league is about 4,500 acres of grazing land for cattle raising.”

“That is a lot of land.” She was clearly impressed.

“No wonder so many were willing to convert.” He smiled, remembering the issue he had made of this in the past. “I used to think Catholicism was among the worst apostasies imaginable.”

“Used to?”

“I talked to Father Murphy a bit on our wedding day and came to the conclusion that he was indeed a Christian man. I still disagree with many doctrines and practices of the Catholic Church, but perhaps there are some godly people among them after all. Of course, there is disagreement among the Protestant denominations also. Ah, Elise, you are fortunate to be innocent of all this sectarianism in the church. And I am fortunate to have had you to steer me toward what is truly important about faith.” He turned, focusing an earnest gaze upon her. “Fortunate indeed,” he breathed. Then, rather nervously, he jabbed his finger back at the sketch. “Well, I see the point you were trying to make about the wisdom of building more permanently upon land that does not belong to me. Yet . . . if I know nothing else, I know this is where I wish to put down my roots.” Suddenly a new concern struck him. “But I haven’t asked you . . .”

“You don’t need to—”

“Yes, I do!” His eyes darkened with intensity. “I dragged Rebekah out here against her will. I never
asked
. I
told
her it was God’s will, and that was that. I won’t make that mistake again—at least I want to try to be better this time. We may not have a true marriage . . . in every sense, but what we have . . . well, I want it to be different from my first marriage. I want you to be happy, content. What do you think of Texas?”

“You are forgetting, Benjamin, that I was dragged here against my will as a slave. But unlike Rebekah, I had nothing in my past to long for.”

“Nothing?”

She swallowed and momentarily looked away from him. “Nothing.” Swinging her gaze back to him, she added, “You have given me my life back, Benjamin. You have made me happy just by taking me and my daughter in. I ask for no more.”

“You deserve more.”

“Don’t you see? For a woman it is enough to have her home and family around her. It matters not in what place they are as long as they are with her.”

“It wasn’t enough for Rebekah.”

“Rebekah didn’t have you, did she? Not really.” Elise’s tone was quiet and gentle, absent of all rebuke.

“Neither do you,” he murmured. “Not really.”

“But I did not expect to. There’s a big difference.”

Feeling suddenly restless, Benjamin jumped up and strode to the window across the room. The rawhide drape was pulled back to let in the June sunshine. A slight breeze touched his face. He inhaled a deep breath. He had no right to feel so good about life. And no matter how lavish the grace of God, he would always feel his inadequacy.

Mistaking him, she said quickly, “I’m sorry, Benjamin. I didn’t mean to stir up difficult issues.”

He turned, confusion momentarily knitting his brow, then he realized she had misunderstood him. “You haven’t. But I realize I have much to learn about women, about wives. That is why I want to include you in my decisions. It is the one thing I
have
learned.”

“Then far be it for me to stand in the way of progress.”

He noted by her smile and the way the corners of her eyes crinkled mischievously that she was teasing him.

He came back to the table and sat, but this time on the bench opposite her, so he could look at her more easily, he told himself. “I would like to make my home in Texas. It is a good land now, but when we break from Mexico, it will become a land full of possibilities. I want to be part of that. If this suits you, then my only ambivalence comes in just
how
I will be part of Texas. Farmer, cattleman, teacher . . . or Methodist minister.” His chest tightened just saying the word
minister
. Was it because he could not let go of a lost dream, or because he feared it was a dream yet to be fulfilled? “I need help,” he confessed. “The ministry was all I knew, all I wanted. It was everything to me, and I sacrificed everything for it. I am not willing to do that again. I won’t do that again.”

“I don’t think God expects you to.”

“I am not sure I know how to find a balance, and that frightens me.”

“Is that the only thing keeping you from it?”

His head jerked up, taken aback. He hadn’t quite thought of it like that. “Yes, I think it is. That and a complete sense of inadequacy.”