Texas Angel, 2-in-1 (76 page)

“And I you, Reverend.” She meant her words, too, with all sincerity. No, she hadn’t expected her letter would have brought the man himself to her doorstep, yet now she was pleased that this had been the result, if for no other reason than that his presence seemed to bring her closer to Micah. That is, she would be pleased if his visit didn’t indicate something was wrong. “I must know, Reverend Sinclair, is . . . is Micah all right?”

“As far as I know, yes. I spoke with President Houston two days ago. I thought you might be interested in my news.”

“I am!” She tried to subdue her relief, but it was difficult when she only now realized what a burden she had been carrying in her fear for Micah. She set the pitchfork she had been holding in her other hand against the wall, then removed her second glove, laying both on the ledge of the stall.

“Please, won’t you come to the house,” she said. “I’ll fix something to drink. I’m sure you have had a long ride to get here.”

“I’d like that,” he said. “I am rather parched.”

She led him to the house and bid him to settle in the parlor while she excused herself to get refreshments, to clean up a bit, and to see if her father felt up to joining them. Juana took care of refreshments while Lucie went to her room and quickly changed her clothes and repaired her unruly hair. Then she spoke to her father, who seemed to perk up more than usual when he heard about the visitor.

“Yes, I want to meet that man!” he said enthusiastically.

Lucie laid out his clothes for him, then left while he dressed. These days he usually only rose from his bed for meals, insisting that he’d rue the day when he had to eat in bed. Two or three times a week he’d go to his office to do paper work, and on rare occasions he would venture to the stables to check on his favorite horse and simply inhale what he felt was the best perfume around. He seldom received visitors—not that there had been many since the trouble with Mexico. He had reluc.tantly joined Lucie and Grant for dinner the other evening and just as reluctantly let go of his animosity to give Grant permission to court his daughter, and that only because Lucie didn’t protest.

There was no reluctance now as he prepared to meet Reverend Sinclair. He was just as curious as Lucie had been.

Lucie was pouring tea for her guest when Reid came to the parlor. Lucie introduced the two men, and as they clasped hands, she noted how they appeared to size each other up, not in a hostile manner, but in the way of men gauging another’s merits and faults. She couldn’t tell for certain, but when they dropped hands, they both seemed satisfied with what they saw. At least they both relaxed and spoke in a friendly manner to each other.

“I hope your visit doesn’t indicate bad tidings, Reverend Sinclair,” Reid said as he took a seat in a chair opposite Benjamin.

“Not entirely,” answered Benjamin. “I was able to set your daughter’s mind at ease about that. I saw the official list of prisoners, and Micah’s name was on it. However, Micah and the other prisoners aren’t out of the woods yet, I’m afraid. They were initially marched to Matamoros, then to Monterrey. Now word has come that they are being marched once again to Saltillo, deeper into Mexico and further out of reach of help.”

“Not that Texas can mount a rescue expedition anytime soon,” Reid added.

“I am afraid not. President Houston is trying to use diplomatic channels. The United States and Britain have both made attempts to reason with Santa Anna.”

“They can’t keep them in prison forever, can they?” Lucie asked.

Reid and Reverend Sinclair exchanged looks. Lucie had seen such expressions often, though seldom from her father. They seemed to say, “This isn’t a matter for feminine sensibilities.” It must be ominous if even her father was reluctant to discuss it in her presence.

“What will they do with the prisoners?” she persisted.

“We must pray for their release,” Reid said.

“I have been praying.” Lucie didn’t much like being put off, but she relented because she suddenly was afraid to know more.

“Then you are doing the best thing possible for Micah and the others,” said Reverend Sinclair, who paused, though obviously he had more to say and was wondering how to proceed. After a few moments he spoke. “I want to say, Miss Maccallum, that I was most heartened when I received your letter. Over the years I have worried considerably about my son, so I was most pleased to see he had such a caring friend—a friend I now see is also a fine woman of faith. I want to thank you for reaching out to him.”

Lucie’s cheeks flushed but not so much at the compliment as because she knew her involvement with Micah went so much deeper than his father could imagine.

“Reverend Sinclair,” she replied, “it was no difficulty at all for me to . . . befriend Micah. He’s . . .” she paused, her cheeks heating even more. “He is a fine man. A good man. A . . . a . . .”

“Micah?” Benjamin’s brow arched.

It suddenly struck Lucie that both father and son must have perceptions of each other completely differing from reality. Micah saw his father as an unbending fanatic, a hard, unfeeling monster, while Reverend Sinclair seemed to see his son as a bad seed, an amoral rebel. The irony of it made Lucie’s heart ache for both of them.

Forgetting her previous embarrassment at her barely concealed feelings for Micah, Lucie lifted her eyes to meet the reverend’s gaze. “Micah is a man with a tender heart, Reverend, a gentle soul. That’s what I see, what I know is there despite how he tries to hide it under his swaggering, uncouth demeanor. Do you know he saved my life once? That is how we met. He was in the process of stealing my father’s horses, but he risked his escape to safety in order to rescue me from attacking Comanches. He was always kind to me and gentle and honorable.” She paused as a lump rose in her throat. And she was courting another because she’d lost her faith in him, perhaps even lost faith in the belief that God could and would claim him.

A long silence followed. The only sound was of the clock on the mantel ticking and Reid shifting in his chair. Lucie and Reverend Sinclair were both as still as a windless day. Lucie dropped her gaze to focus on the safer territory of her hands folded in her lap. She could not face Micah’s father. She did not want to confront his denial of her words. She did not want to think he had given up on his son. As she had?

“Miss Maccallum,” Benjamin said finally. “I can’t . . . that is . . .”

Lucie could not help risking a look at the man. His expression was a confusion of emotions. The muscles of his jaw twitched along with his lips, helpless, it appeared, to form the words he wanted to say. He released a ragged sigh.

“Dear God! I always knew in my heart Micah could not be lost completely. But I . . . I have seen Micah once in the six years since he left home, and that was only a few months ago when he was in jail—I believe it was for stealing your father’s horses. Over the years I have heard things, distressing things. I could never know how deeply his unsavory actions went to his heart. I tried never to give up hope, but I could never
know
. I suppose in six years I should have made a more concerted effort to find him and bring him to his senses. But a large part of me was afraid to find him, afraid that my worst fears would be realized, that my son was beyond help. When he was home, he was filled with such anger. I just did not know if that anger had finally consumed him.”

Benjamin stretched out his hands in front of him, gazing thoughtfully at his fingers. They were large hands, brown and work worn, with nails broken and perpetually stained with earth. They seemed to conflict with the refined formality of the man’s bearing, just as the man himself conflicted with all Lucie had heard about him from Micah.

Shaking his head, Reverend Sinclair continued. “I am afraid part of me gave up on him. Oh, I prayed for him and hoped he would turn around, but I was too afraid to believe. Yet here you are, a mere friend, and you have faith in Micah—”

“Please, Reverend Sinclair, I . . .” Lucie forced herself to look into the man’s eyes. “I gave up on him, too. Before he went to fight, I told him I could not see him again.”

“But you saw to the core of him and found him to be a good person?”

“Yes, I did. I still do. I don’t know what happened. I suppose I gave up on God as well.”

Benjamin returned a sympathetic look. He seemed to know exactly how she felt.

“It must not have been easy for you to maintain a friendship with one of differing beliefs”—he gave a dry chuckle—“with little or no beliefs at all, if I have a clear perception of my son’s spiritual values.”

“I was uncertain if I should,” Lucie said. “But I feel strongly that Micah has not completely abandoned God. It’s just that—” she stopped. How could she tell the truth, that Micah’s faith had been trampled by his own father?

Sinclair shook his head, a sad smile on his lips. “I know, Miss Mac-callum. I know I destroyed my son’s faith.” The man’s pain was palpable, despite the fact that Lucie sensed this was not a man to bear his inner soul to strangers. It spoke more than anything else about the true nature of this man, Micah’s father.

“I’m so sorry,” Lucie said gently.

“As am I.”

Reid shifted once again in his chair. Sensing he wished to speak, Lucie turned toward him.

“I, too, have had difficulty with my son,” Reid said, catching Benjamin”fs gaze and holding it. “Fathers and sons are such strange animals. Fathers tend to invest their hearts and souls in their sons, perhaps more so than with daughters, because they feel so much more is required of them. Sons, for their part, want to worship their fathers. Both are doomed to fail in attaining the other’s expectations. Accepting or laying blame is pretty futile in such a situation. It helps neither party.” He paused and took a breath.

Lucie could tell such a long speech was taxing him. But he continued.

“I have come to believe it is the heart of a man that matters. Certainly it is only the heart that God himself sees. How many times do we want only good for our children, and yet our actions to achieve this blow up in our faces like a touchy musket? And the worst of it is that our children are the last to credit our good intentions.”

“My father used to tell me, ‘Boy, the road to nowhere is paved with good intentions,’ ” Benjamin said.

“Ah yes . . .” Reid smiled. “But the road to perdition is paved with evil intentions. I would choose the former. And I would keep hoping that one of those good intentions would get me on a path to
somewhere
. Life, and especially child rearing, is essentially a guessing game. Just when you think you have the rules figured out, they change, or your children change on you. If we do the best we can, how can we do more?”

“I only wish I would have known these things when my son was young,” Benjamin said. “Unfortunately, I made rules for my children and my family, and the rules were like iron—no bending at all. Of course, something had to break if the rules would not. What broke was my son’s heart, his spirit, I suppose. He has every right to resent me, even if I have changed now.” Pausing, he glanced back and forth between Reid and Lucie. “I do not expect I will be the one to reach my son. Yet my faith has been greatly renewed by you folks. God has clearly shown that He is faithful to my prayers and to my son. He has brought you good people into Micah’s life, and that restores my hope.”

Lucie smiled. “My hope has also been restored, Reverend—by you! From all Micah has told me of you, I fully expected to meet a . . . uh . . .”

“A monster, Miss Maccallum?” Benjamin’s tone revealed a hint of wry amusement.

Lucie’s smile relaxed. “Yes, if you’ll forgive me for thinking such a thing. But I find that is not true at all. I doubt it ever was, even if you might have been a strict parent. I know now you always loved Micah, though he might not have perceived it. And because of that, I know with more certainty than ever that there is indeed hope for Micah.”

An hour later while Reverend Sinclair was washing up, Lucie went to the kitchen to help with supper preparations. Sinclair would sup with them and bide the night at Reid’s invitation. As Lucie cut up vegetables for Juana’s delectable rosemary stew, she felt absolutely buoyant. As never before, she had an assurance that Micah would be all right, spiritually at least. With a man like Benjamin Sinclair for a father and with friends like her and her father, Micah must eventually come to see the love of God.

There was still much uncertainty about her own relationship with Micah. But she knew she could not give up quite yet. How she would break the news to Grant, she did not know. But she did know she would not marry him now or ever. The visit with Reverend Sinclair had helped her understand her own father a bit better, and Lucie was now sure he would never ask or expect her to make such a sacrifice.

Still, Micah’s captivity created a pall over Lucie’s renewed spirit. Anything could happen to him in Mexico. Reverend Sinclair had not said as much, but Lucie had heard rumors that Santa Anna wanted to execute all the prisoners. That could not happen. She would not accept the possibility. God had plans for Micah. She knew it. Plans that did not include an early death in a Mexican prison.

CHAPTER

27

T
HE LAND BETWEEN
S
ALTILLO AND
the Rio Grande was a desert so barren, so desolate, it might have been forsaken by God as well as man.

The captives had known that much, but none had ever traversed it, so they imagined it could not be any worse than other deserts they had seen. At any rate, they had chosen to risk the unknown rather than suffer further at the hands of their Mexican captors. When the opportunity for escape had arisen, they had taken it. That chance had come in the spring of 1843 when they were to be moved from Monterey to Saltillo. They managed to overpower their guards on the road, capture some weapons and ammunition stores, and make a break. They had lost five men in the process, and only God knew how many more they would lose before they set eyes upon Texas again.

Jed stumbled over a rock and crumpled to his knees. Instead of pulling himself back up, he just sat on the dry, crusted ground, letting his head drop into his hands.