Angel's Embrace Page 26

  “Don’t start now, Billy. You and I had fine plans, but I don’t have those anymore,” she said in a ragged whisper. “You know dang well Daddy can’t farm the place anymore, and we can’t afford a hired man. I decided we had to be gone before another winter here drove me insane. It’s gotta be better somewhere else.”

  He gazed into her red-rimmed eyes—eyes a paler shade of blue than his, which had once sparkled and danced when Emma looked at him. Now he saw ice. Frigid, unrelenting ice.

  “I’m sorry, Emma. I—”

  Raking his fingers through his sleep-mussed hair, Billy looked at the four black-and-white dogs sitting in a half-circle, watching them intently. He recalled the day he’d let Emma and her mute cousin Gabriel choose their puppies from the litter in Judd’s barn—the way Gabe came out of his deep, silent shock when a furball of a puppy started crawling all over him, licking his face.

  Illinois. It was a long, long trek for four-legged friends when there was no room in the wagons.

  “You think Hattie and Boots’ll make it?” he murmured. “I mean, in this heat—and walkin’ all that way. They’re not the young dogs we used to herd Texas longhorns with, and—”

  “You want ’em?”

  Something in Emma’s tone made him study her face—the sturdy set of it, with cheeks more weathered than a proper lady’s would be. He saw the slightest quiver in those lips he’d kissed quite a bit this past year.

  “I’d be pleased to keep ’em for ya,” he said softly. “They’re my friends, too—and maybe Gabe’ll feel better, knowin’ they’re here with us. You—you told Gabe you were movin’ yet?”

  “He’ll never be back, now that he’s livin’ high in St. Louis,” came the tight reply. “Always thought he was a little better’n us, anyway.”

  Billy scowled, scooting back. “I’m sorry you feel that way—and more’n a little surprised at your attitude, Emma! Think how many days you’d’ve had nobody your age out there on that farm, if he hadn’t needed a family!”

  Her chin dropped to her chest then. She shook all over, looking defeated and pathetic in her worn blue dress. His first impulse was to reach for her, yet something about this whole episode sat wrong with him.

  “I’m sorry,” she sighed. “This is hard, and I didn’t want to cry. Again.”

  He let out a long sigh. “Yeah, seems like nothin’ much is easy these days. How ’bout if I tell Gabe you’re leavin’? Gotta write him about Wesley anyway.”

  She nodded, mopping her eyes with her sleeve.

  “And I meant what I said about keepin’ the dogs.”

  Emma sniffled loudly. “I—I was hopin’ you’d want ’em,” she said forlornly. “It’s a hard trip, like you said, and . . . and we don’t have enough to feed ’em, or water to—”

  “Don’t you go another step, Emma.” Mercy’s face was a mixture of pain and determination as she looked from the girl back to her father. “I’ll be right back, do you hear me? Come on, girls.”

  Billy watched three dresses fluttering around slim, strong bodies—the mother hen and her devoted chicks—and it occurred to him that they were the lucky ones, here on the Triple M. Somehow, despite drought and grasshoppers and a desperado twin setting fire to the stable, they’d thrived on the Kansas plains while neighbors hadn’t been so lucky. Or so blessed.

  “Don’t s’pose you’ll ever forgive me for lettin’ you down,” Billy murmured, “but I hope you’ll—”

  “We’ve been over this and over this, Billy. A blind woman could’ve seen how you wanted Eve and that baby, from the moment you laid eyes on ’em.”

  He blinked. Why was this attraction so obvious to everyone but him?

  “You know how you keep sayin’ God works things out his way?” she went on doggedly. “Well, for some reason you always end up with the sheep, and I’m just one of the goats, I guess. Maybe livin’ someplace else’ll change my luck.”

  “I—I hope that’s true, Emma. I want you to be happy.”

  Her lips pursed around a tart reply, but then she looked over her shoulder. “Now what’s this? I didn’t come here for no charity—”

  Billy turned, not a bit surprised to see Asa and Mercy carrying crates of tinned food from the cellar while the girls each grappled with lumpy sacks: more provisions, probably from the pantry. Behind them came Michael, pushing a wheelbarrow that held a barrel of rain water.

  “George? Emma?” he rasped, walking as fast as he could without sloshing the water. “If I’d known you were packing up, we could’ve—”

  The man on the buckboard behind them finally stirred, if only to raise his hand for silence. “Thank you kindly,” he said in a resigned voice, “but we’ll not be taking your—”

  “Hand those sacks on up to Billy, girls,” Mercy instructed firmly. “Asa, I think there’s more room in that back wagon for these tins.”

  “Yes’m, I b’lieve you’re right. You let me heft ’em up there, now.”

  Clark was having none of it. His eyes widened and he slid to the side of his seat as though he intended to start throwing punches. But Michael reached up with both hands to hold him, his expression full of regret.

  “George, there’s nobody sorrier than I am that things didn’t work out,” he rasped. “It’s been one misfortune after another for you two. But why just abandon your land? I don’t have ready cash, but I’ll certainly make you a fair offer for your place.”

  The man blinked, as though he hadn’t considered this angle. Then he sank back down. “We’re already on our way, all packed and headin’—”

  “Stop in town, then. You’re going through Abilene anyway,” Malloy urged. “I’ll follow you in and we’ll make arrangements at the bank. If my offer doesn’t suit you, you can at least let the land office know the place is for sale.”

  He wheeled the water barrel to the end of Emma’s wagon, so he and Asa could load it.

  “I tried to tell ’im that,” Emma said under her breath, “but there’s no talkin’ to that man. Daddy wanted to slip on by without anybody knowin’ we was gone—without sayin’ good-bye, even.”

  Billy cleared his throat, nodding. “That’s about the hardest word there is, Emma. You . . . you let us know where you’re stayin’—”

  “So we can tellya how Hattie and Boots’re doin’,” Solace piped up.

  “So we can send news and—and we’ll want to hear from you, too,” Mercy added. Her smile wavered, now that this situation was settling in on her. “Travel safely. We’ll keep you in our prayers, dear.”

  Billy heard his cue to climb down, but instead something propelled him forward to hug Emma, hard. For several moments, he pressed her against his chest, feeling her breathe—closing his eyes against nostalgic thoughts about things they’d done together as kids.

  Then he sighed and released her. Though Emma hadn’t pushed him away, she hadn’t hugged him back, either. It was a message even a sheep like himself could understand.

  “You’ve gotta get down now, Billy. We’ve got a lot of miles to cover.”

  With a glance back at her father, who sat up straighter, gripping the reins, she sighed. “Can’t thank you enough for . . . for the water and supplies. It was nice knowin’ you all. Mercy, you were my mother’s best friend.”

  “I—I miss her, too, dear. Please write and let us know when you get to your aunt’s.”

  The tight set of Emma’s mouth told him it was time to get out of her wagon—out of her life. Forever. Billy had the fleeting urge to kiss her cheek one last time, but she’d swat him for it. So he squeezed her shoulder and climbed down.

  “Spot and Snowy—come on over here,” he called to the dogs. His voice sounded high and tight.

  “Boots! Hattie girl,” Solace joined in, opening her arms. “You’re stayin’ with us now!”

  With a last look at them all, Emma clapped the reins and her horse started off.

  “I’ll be right behind you!” Michael called.

  Billy stared after her, then at George as his
buckboard rumbled by. Once again, a decade of his life was riding off to start over somewhere else—this time a scorned bride and a sorry old widower who took to the bottle when he had nowhere else to go for comfort.

  Mercy slipped her arm around his waist, and he felt her trembling. Grace and Lily stood in front of her, and Solace had come around to his side, placing one hand in his and the other on Spot’s head as they all watched the wagons disappear down the road. The Clark dogs whimpered, but they sat down when Solace called them back.

  “That’s about the saddest thing I ever saw,” Mercy rasped.

  Billy shook his head, knowing he should just look away—but he couldn’t. “I guess it’s all my fault. Guess I did the wrong thing by—”

  “Billy.”

  The woman beside him pulled him close, as she’d done when he was a lonely little kid watching his sister ride off to Agatha Vanderbilt’s academy. “You feel responsible, I know, but I just can’t think she was the right wife for you. Emma—”

  “She’s a sourpuss, that’s for dang sure!” Solace blurted.

  He caught the hint of grin on Mercy’s face, and felt better for it.

  “Let’s say she’s poor in spirit,” the woman amended, “and she’s had a hard time of it since her mother passed on. We need to keep her and George in our prayers. And we need to thank God for showing Billy a better way. A happier way.”

  He wasn’t so sure of that right now, but he felt relieved that Mercy Malloy had shared her feelings: Her vision had never been wrong. Even if he didn’t have any notion of what to do with himself next, he trusted her judgment.

  “Let’s go, Solace,” he said, turning toward the house. “We’ve left your daddy doin’ the chores all morning. Time we earned our breakfast.”

  He wasn’t much with fancy words, so that evening Billy dashed off a paragraph about the Clarks going back to Illinois before sealing his letter to Christine, and then said pretty much the same things in a letter to Gabe. How would Emma’s cousin feel, hearing—from him—that his family had left their homestead? He doubted they’d stop to see him when they reached St. Louis.

  And didn’t that prove again what Mercy had said? It was sad to think about, but Emma was no longer the optimistic, capable young woman he’d once known. And George Clark wasn’t much more than a shell. Maybe Gabe realized this, and had jumped at Miss Vanderbilt’s offer as his ticket out of a touchy situation.

  They’re all moving forward, making changes, Billy. How about you?

  All day and into the evening, these questions made him restless. Should he go, or should he stay? It wasn’t easy; he could see advantages on either side of his dilemma. Maybe he needed that last piece of Asa’s cherry pie to put things in better perspective. . . .

  He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, gazing at the familiar furnishings in the parlor. And then he saw it: the portrait Eve had painted of Lily sitting with her cat in her lap was now hanging above the fireplace. Michael must have made the frame and stained it, to match the mantel and the glossy plank flooring he’d put in this room.

  Billy stepped closer. Voices drifted in from the front porch, where the others were talking over lemonade, so he took this chance to study the picture when the three little girls weren’t all telling him about it at once.

  In the glow from the lamp, Lily’s blond ringlets shone like gold and her demure smile was so perfect he held his breath, expecting her to speak to him. The ginger kitty, sat proudly aloof in her lap, so lifelike he reached up to touch its soft fur.

  His finger caressed the signature in the lower corner instead: E. Massena.

  What’s she doing right now? Olivia must be sleeping—

  He shook those thoughts from his head—and when the light shone at just the right angle, he saw the little optical illusion she’d painted. Although the background of the portrait showed the wall of the dining room, with the Bible open on the sideboard, the brush strokes suggested the shapes of wings! As though their princess in pink was really an angel!

  His breath left him. He walked slowly toward the kitchen, his mind in a whirl as he passed through the dining room. Just like in the painting, the Bible lay open . . . and something drew him to it.

  The lamp glowed, so it illuminated Psalm 37, where phrases had been underlined, which Michael often did when he found something noteworthy during his studies. Right now, though, Billy had the overwhelming sense that Malloy had intended for these verses to leap out at him; that he was seeing what he’d overlooked in the chaos of these past several days.

  “‘Rest in the Lord and wait patiently for Him,’” Billy murmured. “‘Fret not because of . . . the man who bringeth wicked devices to pass . . . Cease from anger and forsake wrath; fret not thyself in any wise to do evil . . . for evildoers shall be cut off.’”

  Billy closed his eyes—saw his brother charging toward him with that sawed-off shotgun. Wes had always accused him of being weak. A sissy. Yet these verses reminded him that anger and vengeance were never the right responses to wrongdoing.

  “‘But those that wait upon the Lord shall inherit the earth,’” he continued in a thin voice. “‘The meek shall inherit the earth, and shall delight themselves in the abundance of peace.’”

  The meek shall inherit . . . the abundance of peace. That pretty well spelled it out, didn’t it? Maybe he’d mistaken his confusion and lack of direction—his meekness—for lack of faith, when he’d really been waiting for God to clear the proper path for him.

  His pulse quickened at the thought. Stranger things had happened.

  He continued into the kitchen—looking, as he always did, at Mercy’s quilt of their patchwork family. It was a portrait showing all of them in front of Mercy’s first house, right before she married Malloy—including himself and Christine. And they were being held, safe and secure, in Judd Monroe’s large, loving hands.

  Silently he lifted the pan with that last piece of cherry pie, and took it upstairs to his room. Then he sat on his bed, savoring every sweet, tangy mouthful, while looking at Eve’s painting of his boyhood home.

  The way suddenly seemed clear to him.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  As Michael said grace over their breakfast the next morning, Billy knew he had to jump in feetfirst with his announcement, before he lost his nerve.

  “—and we ask, Lord, that You hold Joel in Your mighty hand, and guide him safely home, if that be Your will. In Your son’s name we pray, amen.”

  “Amen,” went around the table—now less crowded and less lively, without Joel, Eve and Olivia. It occurred to Billy that his leaving would put another gap in this circle, where he’d had a place for half his life now. But he couldn’t let that sentiment sway him.

  Malloy passed him the biscuits, and Billy grasped Mike’s work-toughened hands with the plate still in them. “I—I’ve decided to go on back home.”

  The room stilled. Everyone gazed intently at him, yet Michael’s hazel eyes held a knowing look. His mustache flickered.

  “Why am I not surprised?” he asked happily. “You have the look of a man who’s made his peace and made his decision, as though both were divinely inspired.”

  “Nahhhh,” Solace teased, grabbing a fistful of bacon. “He’s goin’ back to take up with Eve and Olivia. He was just makin’ us all wonder. And wait. Billy’s real good at makin’ folks wait.”

  He blinked. Never thought about it that way, have you? What if you’ve made Eve wait too long—like you did Emma? What if—

  Temple beamed, while grasping Solace’s wrist to remind the girl of her manners. “Congratulations, Mr. Billy! I knew God would guide you, and I think you’ve made the right choice. But we sure will miss you!”

  Lily sat straight and still, focused on him from across the table. “It’s meant to be,” she pronounced quietly. “I knew it as soon as I saw that pretty stranger step into the back of the church. Desperation might’ve driven her there, but it was God’s hand that held the reins.”

  Once again
the room grew silent as the girl’s profound ideas sank in.

  “Well,” Billy said, basking in the love on their faces, “I’m sure glad you all knew how everything would work out. Wish you would’ve just told me—”

  “Oh, we tried,” Gracie said, her wispy hair drifting as she nodded. “It was as plain as the nose on your face, Billy. We girls just know these things.”

  Coming from this pixie of six, it was about the funniest thing they’d ever heard.

  Their warm laughter and good wishes made his heart swell. And as they ate, Billy gazed at each one of them to memorize their faces at this happy moment—saving up this feeling of glad anticipation and promise, for days when he’d eat his meals alone in a sad old house that so badly needed to become a home again.

  It was Mercy’s expression that made his heart clutch: she was acting happy, but the tears rolled down her face anyway—a face so full of a mother’s love, he almost ran to her, to feel the same strength and courage he’d drawn upon since he’d come here as an abandoned boy.

  But he was putting away childish things, wasn’t he? And her tremulous smile said she knew that, and she was proud of the man he’d become.

  As he and Malloy fed and watered the horses, as he’d done hundreds of mornings, it struck him that he was giving up one dream for another. Hadn’t he always dreamed of training fine horses on a successful spread like the Triple M? But Michael was quick to dispel his doubts.

  “It’ll all work out now, son,” he said as they pitched hay into the mangers. “You’ve had your share of trials—by fire and brimstone, some of them—and you’ve come through with a new vision. We’re nothing without a vision, Billy.

  “I’ve seen this day coming. Always believed you’d return to claim your birthright, when it was time.” Michael clapped his hands on Billy’s shoulders, his tawny eyes bright with both hope and sadness. “Go with God, son. I know how difficult this is—and how you want to be on your way now—so you might as well get this leave-taking started. It’s one of the hardest things we do, leaving the ones we love.”