Texas Angel, 2-in-1 (87 page)

“It’s all right, Oliver, don’t worry, there’s more milk.” Elise, Micah’s stepmother, was bent over the table, her back to the door, a cloth in her hand mopping up obviously spilt milk.

“Mama,” Isabel said, “we have a visitor.”

Micah was both touched and inexplicably disturbed by his sister’s casual reference to Elise as “Mama.”

Elise turned, and a look of surprise was immediately replaced by a warm, welcoming grin.

“Micah! Oh, my goodness . . . Micah!” Sudden tears welled in her dark eyes.

“ ’Pears I haven’t changed much at all in nine years,” Micah said dryly.

Elise came up to him, took his hands in hers, and gave him a close appraisal. “Well, you’ve grown a foot at least. And my”—she let go of one of his hands and fingered the fringe on his buckskin coat—“you certainly have filled out the coat, haven’t you?” Her eyes briefly rested on the place on his shoulder where one of the bandito’s shots had penetrated and which he had clumsily patched.

“It’s served me well,” he said, suddenly wanting to turn away so she would not question the damage. But he forced himself to keep on facing her.

“I remember how you had to hitch a belt around you so it wouldn’t billow out like a tent,” she remarked.

“Yeah.” He tried to smile and not remember the life of violence his coat had seen since then.

“Well, you’ve met Isabel and Leah, now let me introduce you to the rest of the family.” She turned to the boy at the table. “This is your baby brother, Oliver.”

“Mama, I ain’t no baby!” Oliver said.

He was, by Micah’s reckoning, nine years old. His hair was light brown and straight except where it curled around his ears and collar. His eyes were blue-green and remarkably like their father’s. He now looked up at Micah with what might well be awe in those eyes.

“Papa says you are a ranger, that you’ve fought in wars with Mexico and against Comanches.”

“I’ve done some fighting,” Micah said uncomfortably.

“That a revolver?” Oliver’s eyes focused on the Colt tucked in Micah’s belt.

Micah now realized his oversight in not leaving the gun in his saddlebag. It had been wrong to come into this cabin armed. “Yes, it is,” Micah said.

“Can I hold it?”

“Not now . . . maybe later.” The boy’s eagerness disturbed Micah. Did the child with the name that meant peace take more after his brother than his father?

By now three other children had come into the circle, and though they were staring with unabashed curiosity at Micah, they were clinging to Elise.

Elise placed an arm around the oldest of the three. “This is Hannah.”

Hannah smiled, gave a little curtsey, but said nothing. She would be ten now, and she was even more pale and frail-appearing than Isabel. Micah returned the smile, and because the girl suddenly began to blush, he thought better of saying anything.

“And these two little darlings are your half brother and half sister,” Elise said. “Joseph is four, and Beth is two.”

They also smiled shyly but said nothing.

“I’m pleased to meet all of you.” Micah looked around the room.

“You got any more hiding in the corners?” he asked lightly.

Elise laughed. “Well . . . one where you can’t see it yet.”

Then Micah noted that Elise was in the family way. Her apron camouflaged it pretty well, but it was plain there was a slight bulge in her midriff. He quickly shifted his eyes away, cursing the heat he felt rising about his ears. He hadn’t been so young when his mother had gotten into such a condition not to notice how miserable she had been, especially with Leah and Oliver. But Elise was glowing. The new baby would make seven children for her to care for, even if they weren’t all hers. Yet she was still young-looking, even beautiful. It actually seemed as if she was thriving on her circumstance. Part of Micah resented this, yet another part for the first time in his life wondered if his mother had not somehow brought some of her misery upon herself.

No, it couldn’t be! His father had been a monster. He had heaped burdens and expectations upon his family that none could bear. Yet why did he sense none of that oppression now in this family?

“Micah,” Elise was saying, “we’ll be having supper in a couple hours, but would you like something to tide you over? I’m sure you’ve had a bit of a journey today.”

“I did skip lunch,” he replied.

Elise had him sit at the table, then she set a plate of cookies and a glass of cool milk before him. As he ate every cookie on the plate and had another glass of milk besides, they visited. Isabel joined them, but the younger children, except Oliver, who remained at the table as well, grew restless and were distracted by other activities.

In less than an hour Micah had heard all the news of neighbors he had known. He shared what little political information and news he’d heard. But the conversation waned, mostly, he realized, because he kept avoiding anything to do with his personal life. Finally he could bear it no longer and lurched to his feet.

“I better see to my mount,” he said. “He’s been on a long road today, too.”

“Oliver can take care of that,” Elise offered.

“No,” Micah answered quickly. “I mean, my mule is kind of temperamental, so I better do it myself.” He headed for the door. Whether Elise, who he recalled as being rather intuitive, understood his need to get away or not, she made no further protest.

She did ask as he reached the door, “You will be staying on for a few days, won’t you?”

“If . . . I’d be welcome.”

One did not require any special mental abilities to know exactly what he meant.

“I know you will be, Micah.”

He knew what she meant, and he hoped it was true.

CHAPTER

38

M
ORE MEMORIES FLOODED OVER
M
ICAH
as he walked Stew to the little stable. He remembered when he and his father and Uncle Haden had built it. He remembered the huge fight that the two men had over him. Haden had left that very day, not to return until the day he took Micah, his mother, and sisters away—away from Benjamin Sinclair.

Now that Micah thought of it, Uncle Haden had never said why he had returned. Benjamin had told him never to come back. But Haden had. And during all the time Haden and Micah had spent together afterward during the war, the subject had never come up. Now Micah wondered. Had Haden come to reconcile with his brother? Had he had a change of heart? One thing Micah did recall of the time spent with his uncle was that he had not once bad-mouthed Benjamin. He had even gently rebuked Micah when he would denigrate the man.

At the time Micah was far too filled with hatred for his father to hear any defense of the man. But now Micah didn’t know. He’d come home because he felt he had to, yet he had not consciously decided to forgive his father. He wasn’t certain he would, though he had no idea what he would do. Perhaps that was the place Haden had been in when he had returned. He didn’t know exactly why he was doing so, only that he had to do it.

Micah took his time with Stew. He removed his saddle and set it on a rack, then he found a brush and meticulously brushed the animal’s coat. When he finished, he tied Stew to a post. There was a horse, a different one from any Micah remembered, in one of the two stalls, and Micah figured the other stall would be for Benjamin’s mount. He was filling a bucket with some oats when he heard a sharp creak. His hand shot to the pistol still in his belt. Then he remembered there were no dangers in this place, none at least that need be faced with a gun.

“Micah” came Benjamin’s resonate voice.

Slowly Micah turned. “Pa.”

The two men eyed each other, both wearing impenetrable masks that were hauntingly similar. Micah had thought of a lot of things to say to his father on the journey up from San Antonio, but speech fled him now. Accusations, apologies, venom, sorrow, regret. It all seemed so empty and futile in the face of the man who must surely be Micah’s greatest enemy—and his greatest salvation.

It felt as if the silence would crack right down the middle. Then Benjamin spoke.

“I’m glad to see you, son.”

“Guess it’s time I came back.” Micah was yanking words, it seemed, from his very guts, past a lump in his throat as large as a boulder. “I’m glad I’m welcome.”

“You were always welcome. No one made you leave.”

“Didn’t you, Pa?”

Sudden tension sparked like flint striking rock. Then Benjamin smiled, a gesture both ironic and sad but devoid of ire.

“I guess there are ways of pushing a person away without actually doing so. I did make you leave, and I have never stopped being sorry for it.”

Micah did not know how to respond to that. He wanted to reach inside himself and find that anger and hatred that had sustained him for so long. But now he knew, if he hadn’t before, that he had not come home to stir old flames. God only knew, he could. He wouldn’t have to reach down too far to find them and fan them into a mighty conflagration. This man had hurt him—even Benjamin himself did not deny it. The wounds were deep and some even as tender as the arrow wound in his side. The past could not disappear in a word or a gesture.

Yet if Micah had learned nothing else from Lucie and from the painful realities of life, he knew it did no good to cling to the destructive forces of hate. He’d come home to make a start at least of quenching flames, not fanning them.

“We’ve both made mistakes, I reckon,” Micah said.

“You were but a child, and I made you learn to hate—” Benjamin’s voice broke with emotion. His eyes glistened.

“Don’t, Pa!” Micah softly entreated. “We don’t need to dwell on the past. Why don’t we just start over?”

“The past will always be between us, son. We can’t hide from it. Perhaps we don’t have to talk about it right now, but we will need to sooner or later. Nevertheless, Micah, I want you to know I love you. Did I ever tell you that . . . except when I was beating you into submission? May God forgive me for that! I love you and always have.”

Sudden moisture rose in Micah’s eyes. He blinked hard to push it away. Was this new path of his going to turn him into a blubbering idiot? He turned his attention to the bucket of oats, placing it where Stew could easily get to it. He rubbed the mule’s face.

In another moment, confident of his control, he said, “I guess we’re part of each other, Pa. We can’t change that or what it means, for good or ill. I’m sorry I refused to see the love that was always there. I’m sorry I never told you the same.” He looked at his father. Still, the words “I love you” were difficult to speak.

Benjamin seemed to understand that. He approached the mule and laid a hand on its flank. “So is this the famous mule that saved your life?”

“You heard about that?”

“Quite a bit after the fact, or I might have come to see you while you were ill. But by the time I heard about the exploit, you were on your feet, and I didn’t want to upset you by showing up.” He looked over the animal’s neck at his son. “You’ve become fodder for legends, Micah.”

“How much have you heard?”

“Enough.”

“I ain’t proud of any of it.”

“I don’t judge you, son. Honestly, I don’t.” They were silent for a few moments, then Benjamin added, “I think supper is nearly ready. Why don’t we get back to the cabin?”

In the next three days it was fairly easy for Micah to keep interactions with his father on a safe, light level. Six children offered ample distractions, and all wanted a piece of Micah’s time. And he was quite willing to give it. He wanted to get to know his brothers and sisters. He went on walks with them, swam in the creek, and joined them in their daily chores. Oliver, especially, wanted to dog Micah’s every move. He nagged Micah about his guns until Micah finally relented and let the boy handle them. That wasn’t quite enough, and he got Micah to take him hunting.

The boy’s fascination about these things disturbed Micah. Finally one evening after all the children had gone to sleep and he was sharing a quiet cup of coffee with his father and Elise, Micah broached the topic.

He tried to speak casually and lightly. “That Oliver sure has a powerful attachment to my revolver. I found him playing with it the other day, so I hid it up on a high rafter in the barn. It wasn’t loaded, but still . . .” His voice trailed away, for he didn’t quite know how to verbalize his disquiet.

“Thank you, Micah,” Elise said. “He is a bit young for such things.”

“I’ve tried to teach him a bit about guns,” Benjamin added. “But, if you remember, I am practically hopeless at shooting, or at least hitting a target. I manage to keep us in meat, but it isn’t easy.”

“You are better off that way,” Micah said grimly. “Sometimes I wish—” He stopped and shook his head. “It ain’t no use wishing for what’ll never be. I just wouldn’t want Oliver to follow in my footsteps.”

“I think it might only be that he is enamored with you,” Elise said. “He’s never had a big brother. And well, with three older sisters, I am sure he is simply in heaven to be around you. He’s heard about you. You are kind of a hero to him.”

Micah gaped at her with incredulity. “That’s terrible!” He jerked his gaze around to meet his father’s. His eyes were filled with sudden fire. “You can’t have told him about the things I’ve done! And I can’t believe you would have held them up as heroic! I’ve lost count of the people I’ve killed, and I certainly can’t say now if them or me was on the right side. And even if I thought I was right, no one—no one!— should be as proficient as I am at killing. I’m not a hero! Please tell him I am not a hero!”

“No matter what we tell him, he hears things,” Benjamin said. “I’ve tried to impart to him a sense of right and wrong. But, Micah, I am proud of you, of what you have become in the last few years, especially. It is good to hear that you don’t enjoy the taking of life, but you have been a protector of this republic. You have sacrificed greatly to keep this land safe for folks like me and my family here. Perhaps you have crossed some lines and had to deal with matters that were not always black or white, and I see clearly the toll it has taken on you. But because men like you faced these demons, men like me can live in peace. I thank you for that, and that is why you are a hero.”