Revealed (35 page)

The plod of hooves filled the interim void.

‘‘Yes . . . a couple of times.’’

She massaged her lower back, overweary of this wagon seat. ‘‘What did you think?’’

‘‘What do you mean?’’ Matthew secured the reins in his left hand and held his right arm close to his side. The set of his shoulders communicated a weariness that went far deeper than needing food and rest. She would have offered to guide the team but had sensed that he needed to have control over something at the moment.

‘‘I mean . . . what did you think about the service? The hymns? About Patrick’s sermon?’’

‘‘I don’t remember much about the hymns, but I remember what Patrick preached about. Or more rightly,
how
he preached.’’

He stared out across the prairie, and Annabelle got the sense he was recalling something farther back than Patrick’s sermons.

‘‘I remember he talked about forgiveness. But he did it in a way that made you think that forgiving people was part of God’s plan all along, not an afterthought once we’d messed things up.’’

Annabelle didn’t miss how he’d phrased his response.
‘‘Once
we’d messed things up.’’
Not after
people
messed things up, but
we
. He had included himself in that.

She nodded. ‘‘A lot of Patrick’s sermons were about forgiveness.’’ His head whipped around. ‘‘
You
went to church there?’’

The shock in his voice drew a laugh. ‘‘No. I haven’t been to church like that since I was a girl. But Patrick used to practice his sermons on me when Hannah was busy or just got tired of listening.’’ She giggled. ‘‘I bet that woman’s missing me about now.’’

They drove on in silence for another couple of miles. Matthew was choosing to make camp farther from town than he normally did, she noted.

Finally, he tugged on the reins with his good arm. ‘‘This should be a good place to stop for the night.’’ He set the brake and maneuvered his way off the buckboard, favoring his right arm. ‘‘Hannah will be glad to get that letter you mailed today.’’

Annabelle climbed down on her side, wondering if he was laying the groundwork to question her about the man in the post office. ‘‘Yes, she will. I’m glad the town had a post office.’’

He began unharnessing the grays. ‘‘That man . . . did you know him?’’

‘‘No, I didn’t.’’

‘‘You’ve never seen him before?’’

Disbelief weighted his tone. Maybe it would be best to get it over with right now, just admit to knowing about Matthew’s past.

Then she imagined his reaction at discovering she knew. He already carried enough guilt for them both.

‘‘No, I haven’t.’’

‘‘Just thought you might’ve . . . by the way you were talking to him.’’

She came around to his side and bent to help him. ‘‘I dropped my letter and he handed it back to me. We exchanged pleasantries, that’s all.’’ She stole a glance at him.

He unbuckled a strap and pulled it through. Even at this simple task, his breath came heavy. Perspiration glistened on his brow.

‘‘Matthew, let me do this.’’ She reached to help. ‘‘With your arm, you’re in no shape to—’’ He yanked the strap from her. ‘‘I can do it. You go start dinner.’’

She moved to the next horse, ignoring his stubbornness. Maybe if they worked together for a while they could finally talk things through. ‘‘At least let me help you—then I’ll start dinner.’’

‘‘I don’t need any help.’’ He reached over her and took hold of the buckle in her grip.

Trying to lighten the mood, she held on tight and smiled over her shoulder. ‘‘Stop being so stubborn, for goodness’ sake, and let me—’’ ‘‘I said I don’t need your help, Annabelle!’’

She stilled at the sharpness in his voice—then took a step back.

A muscle jerked in his jaw. ‘‘I prefer to do this on my own.’’

On my own
. A familiar phrase coming from him. And dangerous words for a man to pin his hopes on, she’d overheard Jonathan say.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Matthew that he could go ahead and unharness the grays by himself, and rip out every stitch in the process. But his thinly veiled anger stayed her tongue.

Because she saw through his anger, to what lurked beneath.

Through the years she’d learned that, like women, men wore masks too. Except theirs were all the same. Men weren’t supposed to cry—so they became angry instead of showing sadness. Men weren’t allowed to be scared—so they became angry instead of showing fear. She knew what Matthew was going through because she’d lived in that grip of fear for as long as she could remember. But no more. She’d been freed.

And she wanted him to experience that same freedom as well.

Clouds on the distant horizon lit up for a split second before going dark again, as though the sun had risen and set behind them in the blink of an eye. No thunder. No rain. Only voiceless lightning embracing the vast night sky. Matthew studied Annabelle’s profile as she watched the display, envious of the wonderment in her expression, while trying to stave off the hopelessness inside himself.

Since spotting the bounty hunter five days ago, Matthew had spent every day waiting for the man to catch up with them. His imaginings were getting the best of him, but part of him had actually begun to wonder if Annabelle had somehow learned about his past and was planning on turning him over to the bounty hunter for the reward. It was foolish, he knew. She’d never given him any indication that she even knew about the gambling debts, much less that she would ever betray him. But what if she’d seen a poster along the way and had never said anything?

‘‘Our first night in the Idaho Territory, and it’s like God’s putting on a show just for us.’’ She spoke softly over her shoulder, as if speaking any other way might somehow cause the display to cease.

He leaned forward and tore another piece of roasted meat from the skewer. He chewed slowly, watching the patchy tufts of clouds appear in the night sky, then quickly vanish again. He couldn’t help but remember how well she could play a role.

She turned to him and smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. She held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary before returning her attention to the celestial performance. Matthew knew then that fear was driving him down this path. Annabelle would never betray him that way. Not after what they’d been through. Besides, she would’ve come to him immediately if she’d found out about his gambling debts. She would’ve never let him live it down either, not with the way he’d treated her at first, bringing her past up at every opportunity. No, he was convinced she didn’t know.

A warm breeze rustled the prairie grass, leaving the faintest hint of moisture in its wake. He would miss nights like this—with her, out here, alone. Three days prior, they’d traversed South Pass, a gap in the Rockies that enabled travel farther west. No narrow gorge, South Pass was a valley measuring almost twenty miles wide. He expected they would meet up with Brennan’s group within the next couple of days—well in time for the July fourth celebration two nights hence.

‘‘Does your arm hurt?’’ she whispered.

‘‘Not too bad today. It’s getting better.’’ He matched the softness of her voice. Why, he didn’t know.

She looked pointedly at the meat roasting over the fire. ‘‘You could’ve waited, you know. Given the wound a chance to heal more.’’

‘‘We haven’t seen antelope in a week. No guarantee when we’ll see them again. Besides, I wanted fresh meat.’’ And she hadn’t had any in days. The doctor had said she should get plenty of rest, nourishing foods, and fresh air. Fresh air abounded, and he’d been doing all the work he could. Rising earlier to get a head start and encouraging her toward less demanding tasks, but that took some doing. The woman wasn’t easily redirected once she set her hand to something. ‘‘Do you think we’ll find her, Matthew?’’

Thoughts of Sadie never seemed far from her mind. While he still held out hope that they would find her, the farther north they went, the more doubt set in. ‘‘Yes, I think we will.’’

‘‘Thank you for not hesitating when you answered. Hesitation shows uncertainty, you know.’’ She gave him a look worthy of an old schoolmarm before lying down on her pallet. ‘‘Either that, or it means you’re lying.’’

‘‘I’ll try to remember that.’’ Smiling to himself, Matthew banked the fire and stretched out on his bedroll, his mind and body equally exhausted. Ever since the night the wolves attacked, he and Annabelle had shared a campfire, and they had settled into a routine. He didn’t mind it. Truth be told, he enjoyed it now. Closing his eyes, he drew his blanket across his chest and began the silent count, betting she wouldn’t make it past five minutes tonight before asking the first question.

The chirrup of crickets, the crackle of the fire, and a full stomach competed with his task, tempting him toward slumber.

‘‘Do you think God makes us pay for our sins, Matthew? Even after we’re forgiven?’’

Three minutes, twenty-one seconds. He wished his hunches at the gaming table had been this good. He couldn’t remember exactly what night the questions had started, only that he was growing to enjoy lying in the dark under the stars, talking with her. Reminded him of when he and Johnny were boys.

Matthew considered her question, knowing that the One who could answer her question perfectly was most likely listening at that very moment. ‘‘Yes . . . and no,’’ he answered quietly.

He heard her soft laughter. Her questions were never easy. Not that he had all the answers, or that she thought he did. He used to think he had things pretty well figured out, but now . . . So much of what he’d once been sure of, he was now sure he’d been wrong about.

He locked his hands behind his head. ‘‘I think we’re given room in this life to make choices, and that includes making bad ones from time to time. No matter how sorry we may be, we still have to pay the cost.’’ He stared at one constellation until the seven stars blurred, then merged into one.
Lord, if you can hear me, if you’re listening . . .
I’m sorry for what I’ve done
. He swallowed. ‘‘I don’t think that means God hasn’t forgiven us. It just means that we’re responsible for the choices we make. Both the good . . . and the bad.’’

‘‘Do you think He ever hurts us on purpose?’’ she whispered after a moment, her voice sounding smaller than before.

Verses Matthew had been compelled to put to memory as a young boy came back to him, but they would be of little comfort to her. Same as they’d been to him.
‘‘Many will say to me in that
day, Lord, Lord . . . And then will I profess unto them, I never knew
you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity
.’’ And
‘‘for by thy words
thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned.’’
His throat tightened as he recalled hearing those words preached week after week from the pulpit. With his father standing behind it.
‘‘For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.’’

He heard a sound and rose up on one elbow. Annabelle was lying on her side, blanket pulled beneath her chin. Even from across the fire, he could see the glistening on her cheeks, and the guilt lining her face sliced through him. She must have thought he had been talking about
her
bad choices. . . .

‘‘Annabelle, I was talking about me just now, not you.’’

She inhaled a ragged breath. ‘‘It’s just that I . . . I read a story about a man and woman who slept together when they shouldn’t have, and . . .’’ She pressed her lips together.

Matthew remembered seeing her off by herself earlier that evening, reading, but he hadn’t known what.

She sniffed. ‘‘The woman became pregnant with a child from . . . their union, and God wasn’t pleased. He forgave the man and woman and said that they wouldn’t die for their sin.’’ She paused, her composure slipping, her voice barely audible. ‘‘But that their baby
would
.’’

Matthew got up from his pallet and went to kneel beside her. ‘‘Are you having problems? More pain like you had in Willow Springs?’’

She shook her head. ‘‘But don’t you see . . .? If God took
that
child, Matthew . . . he might see fit to take mine and Jonathan’s too.’’

At the mention of his brother’s name, Matthew thought of Johnny and Annabelle, together, as man and wife. And for the first time, he looked upon the child she carried inside her womb as a part of Johnny. How could he not have made that connection before?

He sat beside her. ‘‘Annabelle, the story you read, was it about a man named David?’’

She nodded, her eyes closing. Tears pushed out from beneath her lids.

He reached out and touched her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

A shiver stole through her.

He leaned in to tuck her blanket closer around her body. But when their eyes met, he began to question the wisdom of his gesture. Not long ago this woman had been wholly unattractive to him. How had she changed so much in such a short time? He concentrated again on the answer he’d been giving. ‘‘What that couple did was wrong—there’s no arguing that. But there was a lot more involved in that situation than just their sleeping together.’’

She finally managed an unconvincing nod.

He noticed her hair then, spilled loose and dark across her pallet. He fingered a strand, wishing he could remove her doubt. He cradled one side of her face, and she released a soft breath.

‘‘You and Johnny . . . you were married. It was completely different between you.’’

The wrinkle in her brow voiced her skepticism, while hinting at a vulnerability he’d not yet glimpsed in her.

He traced the curve of her cheek and inched downward to the softness of her neck, struck again by how alone they were. His gaze swept the length of her body, lingering before returning to her face again. For a moment, they simply stared at each other. Desire moved through him. Not only physical desire for her, but a deep yearning to
know
her. His hand trembled. His thoughts went where they had no right to go, and vivid images filled his mind. He had no doubt she knew exactly what paths his thoughts were taking. But then again, of course she would.

She didn’t move. Her expression neither invited more nor did it condemn him for the liberties he’d taken so far.