Too Long a Stranger (Women of the West) (31 page)

He shook his head slowly, his eyes showing concern. But they soon brightened. "Sometimes it takes a good deal of bridge-building before one sees acceptance of the gospel truth," he said. "We just need to keep praying and sharing the Word—and leave the rest to the Holy Spirit."

Rebecca nodded—though she really didn't understand his words.

He continued to rub down the sweated black, just released from harness.

"If you wouldn't have come out—I'd have knocked," he admitted.

Rebecca looked surprised.

"I know that—that I really have no right to—to such—such—dreams, but—I've been wondering if—if you'd mind if I—I come calling," he said, giving her his full attention.

Rebecca could not believe her ears. Her face flushed and she dipped her head demurely.

"'Course I will ask your ma first," he continued quickly.

Fear filled Rebecca's heart. What if her mother said no? What if her mother told him about some of their recent discussions?

"I'm sure Mother will not mind," replied Rebecca quickly. "She—she thinks highly of you and—and besides—I am of age—I am allowed to answer for myself."

Rebecca was not sure that her statement was totally true. She had never tested such matters. Since their disagreement, her mother had been polite and gentle, but a strange tension had settled over the house.

The young man looked relieved.

"Tonight, then?" he asked politely.

Rebecca nodded. "Perhaps we can go for a walk," she said softly, not wishing to have Seth and her mother in the same room for an evening. Then she added quickly, "The evenings are so—refreshing this time of the year."

Seth nodded again. The arrangements were made.

***

It was a pleasant evening. Rebecca enjoyed the stroll to the nearby stream. She enjoyed Seth's company. He talked easily yet seriously about many things. Rebecca found herself admiring the young man more and more.

When they reached the spot where the stream narrowed and scurried hurriedly over outcropping rock, he removed his hat and casually dusted off a large rock for her to be seated. She laughed gaily as she accepted, and he took a place on the ground beside her.

"I love it here," he began simply. "I used to come here to think and pray when—when our family was going through all its turmoil."

"Turmoil?" asked Rebecca, turning to look at him in surprise.

"I've never told anyone about this before—but we moved here because—because of my older brother. He—he never did like to—to take orders—from anyone. Not from Pa—not from his teachers—and especially not from the Lord. He rebelled—against all authority—defied everyone."

He stopped and toyed with a small twig he picked up from the ground beside him.

"I loved him. Even—sort of—worshiped him," he went on, "but even I knew that he—he thought only of himself. Had to always have his own way. I used to beg him to—to think about Ma. She had a weak heart—we both knew it. But he wouldn't listen. I prayed and prayed that—that he'd change before—"

He stopped for a moment as though he wasn't sure how much he should reveal. "Well—eventually he got in a lot of trouble. Drinking. Fighting. Stealing. Both Pa and Ma were really worried but we just kept praying. And then it got even worse. He killed a man. Some said it was self-defense—others said no. The judge decided that it was murder. He was in jail waiting to be sentenced."

He hesitated again. Rebecca knew by his face and his voice that the memories were very hard for him.

"We're not sure how it happened. Or who did it. But there was a jail break—or an attempted jail break. They didn't make it. At least he didn't make it. He was shot and killed trying to escape."

He stopped again. "I'll never forget Ma," he went on at last. "She clung to him and sobbed and sobbed; then she wiped her tears and straightened her back and said, 'Thank you, Lord, that you took him before he could hurt anyone else.' Just like that. But it near killed her. Pa and I tried to be brave for the sake of Ma and the younger ones—but I know I cried every night when I went to bed. I often wondered if my pa did, too.

"It's a terrible thing to know that your brother is— lost. Beyond hope. Once you're gone—" He shrugged helplessly. Rebecca could feel the weight of the burden he carried.

There was silence for a long time. Each seemed to be thinking thoughts too personal to speak. At last Rebecca spoke.

"So—how—how can you seem so—so cheerful all the time?" she asked in a shaky voice.

He turned and looked at her then and the sadness left his face. "We moved here—that was supposed to help—but it took a while," he answered. "Took me quite a while to get beyond the hurt and the anger. At first I didn't seem to be getting anywhere. I prayed but I still felt—angry and—and betrayed, I guess. Finally—one day—here—I just asked God to take it all from my heart and give me joy in its place. You know— He did. I don't know how, but He did."

Then he continued. "I can't bring my brother back. I know that. But I can try to help others see the light before it's too late. I made up my mind that as long as I'm here in this world—surrounded by people who need to hear the gospel, I'd keep telling them and telling them every chance I got—in every way I know how—that God loves them and wants them to accept His love—not destroy themselves by seeking their own selfish ways. God will forgive all those who ask for His forgiveness and turn from their sin."

He seemed to shift his heavy thoughts. He stirred from his spot on the grass and held out his hand to her. She stood up slowly. He was standing close to her, looking at her in the soft light of evening.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to spill that all out. It's just—just you are the first one I've met who is—is—who I thought might understand. We moved here because Pa thought a fresh, new start would be good for Ma and the younger ones. I'm glad we moved. It's easier here for them. And besides—" He still held her hand, "I'd never have met you if we hadn't."

Rebecca felt her heart skip a beat.

"You're very special, Rebecca," he went on. "I guess you've sorta guessed how I feel."

Rebecca could not speak. She could not even meet his eyes. She stirred restlessly. He took her elbow and moved her gently toward the path that led to the town.

They walked home together through the gathering twilight. The talk returned to more casual things. They were almost at home before he spoke more seriously again.

"I hope—I hope my talking tonight about my family wasn't—wasn't taking advantage of our friendship."

"Oh no," replied Rebecca quickly. "I—I feel—honored that you spoke your heart."

He took her small hand in his strong, calloused one. Rebecca had never walked hand in hand with a young man before. She was surprised at the feelings it brought. As though they belonged together—shared something deeply personal and precious. She felt her heart racing.

"I wish I could help your mother more," he said softly. "She is—is a very special person. Folks here— all have a deep respect for her. She—she was trying so hard to save up money so that she could—get extra things—have things nicer for when you got back home. She could hardly wait for that, you know. Now I understand why."

The pressure on her hand increased and she saw him turn and smile at her in the soft darkness that encircled them.

"And now—just when she was getting back on her feet after paying for the new wagon—she needs this here next loan."

He seemed to bite his tongue.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "That's breaking confidence. I don't know if you know about that or if it's supposed to be . . . It just slipped out. It's—I don't even know why she needs the money or—"

Rebecca laughed softly. "It's okay," she said, feeling close to him and able to confide. "It's for my ticket."

"Ticket?"

Rebecca sobered. Now she had carelessly said something that she regretted.

She nodded slowly into the darkness, half hoping that the movement would be concealed.

"Ticket where?" he asked her.

"Back—back East," she managed to say, her heart beating even faster.

"Back East? Do you have to go?"

Rebecca swallowed. She wished she could withdraw her hand—distance herself before she had to answer.

"I—I wish to go," she answered, trying to keep her voice even.

"For how long? When will you be back?" He sounded deeply concerned.

"I—I'm not—not planning to come back," she managed to answer.

He was the one who released her hand. He put his hands to her shoulders and turned her slightly to face him so that he could see her face in the semidarkness.

"What are you saying?" he asked, his voice husky.

Rebecca tipped her head and tried to appear self-assured.

"I'm going back East," she said. "To stay. Mother is making the arrangements with the Fosters. As soon as their reply arrives I will be taking the stage back to the eastbound train. I expect to leave—"

"You can't," he said quietly into the stillness of the evening. "She's lived for the day when you'd be home."

"I can't help that," said Rebecca, tilting her head. "I don't fit in here. I don't like it. I'm going back."

He seemed to stare at her long and hard. Rebecca could see the muscles in his jaw working. She could feel the intensity in the dark eyes. She tried not to flinch under his scrutiny—then he stepped back. "If you do that—to her," he said slowly, "you are as selfish and uncaring as my brother."

Then he turned on his heel and left her to go alone to her house, the darkness gathering about like a shroud.

For one moment Rebecca wanted to run after him. To assure him that she had changed her mind. To plead with him not to be angry. And then her own anger took hold of her. They were all against her. All of them. She had to get away.

Without further thought she rushed toward the corrals. Ebony was there. He lifted his head and looked at her curiously. Rebecca slowed her step so she wouldn't cause him to bolt as she approached him.

Seth had said that he rode bareback. Well—she could ride bareback. She would flee this place where everyone condemned her and no one understood her.

Hurriedly she bridled the black, who seemed surprised but patient in being drawn from his feed trough as night was descending.

She climbed on the rail of the fence and flung herself onto the silky smooth back that Seth had curried a few short hours earlier, then turned the horse through the gate she had opened and not bothered to close behind her.

Out of town she rode, her skirts swirling in the wind, her hair loosening from its pins. Down the dusty road that led her toward the foothills she raced. She put her heels to Ebony's side and slapped him with a rein. She couldn't go far enough—fast enough. Tears whipped from her eyes. Was it the wind—or was she weeping?

On and on she galloped, the distance slipping slowly beneath the pounding hooves of the horse. Rebecca no longer knew if she was pushing the horse or if the black was running out of control. She did not care.

She could hear Ebony's breathing deepen and knew she was running him too hard. He was laboring from the fast pace. But she did not draw back on the reins. The night pressed in around them, but she urged Ebony on even though she could no longer see ahead into the blackness.

Suddenly she felt a terrifying jerk. Ebony was going down and she was being thrown over his head through the darkness. She screamed into the black silence that rushed to meet her. Then darkness totally engulfed her as she lay in a crumpled heap where she had fallen.

The Awakening

When Rebecca awoke later the moon was high in the sky. She came back to her senses slowly, puzzled at where she was and how she had come to be there. Gradually it all came back to her. She had raced away on Ebony to escape from them. Anger filled Rebecca's heart. "Now look what they've done. Look what they've made me do!" she cried in the eerie stillness of the night, fear and anger making her voice tremble. "Now look."

A strange thought followed. They hadn't done anything. She had fled of her own free will. Because she was angry—because she was selfish.

It was true. All that Seth had said. It was true. She had lived her whole life thinking only of herself. Her mother had tried to tell her. Uncle Boyd had tried to tell her. And then Seth had tried to tell her, and she had still determined to run away from the truth.

She was selfish. She had never considered others. She had been mean and spiteful to her mother. She had only wanted her own way—had not cared how cruelly she hurt the one who had loved her so deeply.

What had Seth said in his devotional? Pride—selfishness—deceit—arrogance. Rebecca knew about them all. Enough reason to be condemned. Enough? More than enough. God knew her heart and that she had never—ever—surrendered herself to seek His will. She had never allowed Him to be her Savior and had certainly never considered Him as her Lord. She had seen Him only as the God of the Bible—never as her God.

It was the first time Rebecca had fully faced the fact that she was less than perfect. It was the first time she had realized she had a heart full of sinful and wicked desires. It was the first time she knew she needed the forgiveness of God for who and what she was.