To Dream Anew (41 page)

“What if we can’t find him, Uncle?” Jamie asked as they searched for Luke Selby.

“We will find him. We have to find him,” George replied. The last thing he could imagine was facing Dianne without Luke safely in tow. He would rather die than go back to her without the boy.

“But maybe we won’t. You said that sometimes God allows difficult things to come into our lives. Like this fire. You said this fire was not necessarily a bad thing.”

George ran a hand through his cropped black hair. “The fire will cleanse the land and new growth will come. Sometimes these things are necessary.”

“But I heard Uncle Cole say they will dig out fire breaks around the house and barns. I heard him say that unless we can stop the fire’s progress, it will burn down everything.”

George continued pushing forward in the smoky air. “That’s true.”

“How can that be God’s will for us? Does God not care that my father built this house? That this place is all I have of him?”

George stopped, hearing the sorrow in his nephew’s voice. “Jamie, the house is not the only legacy your father left you. He left a huge part of himself here,” he said, touching Jamie’s chest. “You have learned his ways. Your mother and cousin have shown you examples of your father every day. They have shown you his heart and desires—they’ve taught you his beliefs.”

“My father believed God was good—that He cared about each of us.”

“Yes, I can vouch for that. Bram was a good man. When my own father died, he was very good to me. He cared about my feelings and tried to comfort me. He loved your mother, my sister.”

“Would he believe God still cared about us even now, with the fire?”

George looked to his nephew. The boy’s dark hair and eyes could have been a gift from either parent, but the expression on his face was purely that of his father. “I know in my heart,” George said, putting his arm around the boy’s shoulders, “that your father would have trusted God’s love even now.”

“All right then,” Jamie said. “If he would trust God, then I must too.”

George nodded. “It’s the only way.”

Portia felt her bones break as the horse crushed down upon her. She was amazed she was still alive after such a horrible fall, and had she not been in desperate pain from the horse’s bulk lying partially atop her, she might have thought herself dead.

“She’s still alive,” Roy said as he and Jerrod made their way to where she lay.

“Well, just look at you,” Jerrod said, coming to stand directly in front of Portia’s twisted frame.

“Get this animal off of me,” Portia demanded, her voice raspy.

“I don’t think I can do that,” Jerrod said, squatting down. “You see, I figure this is all a part of God’s scheme. This way, I don’t have to kill you. God killed you for me.”

Portia pushed at the horse and felt a sharp, piercing pain rip through her upper body. She had no idea what type of injuries she’d sustained along with her broken bones, but she wasn’t about to give up and let Roy and Jerrod leave her for dead.

“They’ll blame you, you know,” Portia said as she ceased her struggles. “I have a letter to be given to your father should anything happen to me. I spell it out very nicely, letting them all know that you and Roy have been plotting to kill me for some time.”

Roy looked shaken. “She’s lyin’, right?”

“Don’t much matter,” Jerrod said softly. “She has no purpose to be down here.” He glanced up at the fire creeping down the mountainside. “The fire will take her. It’ll be easy enough to see that she fell and was trapped by the horse. You and me’ll be back on the ranch with those witnesses we paid.”

“You can’t leave me here,” Portia pleaded, feeling truly afraid for the first time. She’d never before found herself so completely trapped. If not for the horse, she would crawl out of here no matter the pain.

Jerrod got to his feet. “Come on, Roy. Fire’s headin’ this way, and we’d best clear out before our horses make a run for it.”

Portia screamed after them—at least she tried to scream. Her lungs hurt from the pressure of the animal, and very little air seemed to come into her—no matter how hard she tried to draw it.

She heard the boys’ horses gallop away and felt the dread of surrender wash over her. She’d once dreamed that R. E. Langford was leading her to the gallows. She remembered specifically the churning in her stomach and the hopelessness that left her breathless, almost dizzy. She felt that way now … that horrible feeling that the truth of what was about to happen could not be stopped.

Looking up the mountain, she saw the fire pushing ever closer. The smoke burned her eyes and throat. She could feel the heat against her face.

“Your wicked ways will catch up to you one day,”
she heard her father say.

The voice seemed so real, so clear, that for a moment Portia thought her father’s ghost had come back to haunt her—or to gloat upon her condition.

“It’s never too late to turn to the Lord,” Dianne Selby had once told her. “He will always hear you and forgive you.”

Portia laughed. It wracked her body with blinding pain. “God doesn’t exist,” she muttered, her sight failing her and blackness threatening to steal away her conscious thought. “God is dead, and so am I.”

“Do you think they’ll ever find her body?” Roy asked Jerrod as they neared the Walking Horseshoe Ranch.

“I don’t imagine—at least not for a while. Even if they did find her right away—say the fire shifts and she don’t burn to a crisp, it’ll be evident that the horse fell. No one can blame us for this one.”

“What about the Farleys?”

Jerrod laughed. “Selby already tried to spread that story. No, we’re Lawrences. No one is gonna better us—no one is gonna arrest us.”

“Pa was pretty mad at us when Portia told him we’d beat her. He might just stop protecting us and turn us in.”

“Naw, he won’t do that. He might’ve been mad, but he’ll get over it. Especially since she won’t be coming back to cause us problems.”

Roy laughed. “Just like Trenton Chadwick and Sam Brady, eh?”

“Just like them and all the rest.”

“It’s not the killin’ that bothers me,” Roy said as they approached their barn. “It’s the idea of being blamed for something I didn’t do. I don’t want to be accused of killing that witch.”

“Don’t worry. No one, not even Pa, is gonna care about what happened to her—not when he learns that the Selby ranch has burned to the ground.”

CHAPTER
29

T
O
D
IANNE, THE FIVE-MILE DRIVE TO
M
ADISON HAD NEVER
seemed so long. She continued to look back over her shoulder, hoping against hope that she’d find Luke running after her. But always there was nothing but the billowing smoke against the hazy horizon.

Pulling up in front of Ben and Charity’s small house, Dianne brought her horse to a stop. “Whoa,” she called, pulling back on the reins. She turned to Mara. “We’ll take refuge here. If nothing else, we can stay at the church.”

“Will they mind that I’m with you?” the girl asked.

Dianne shook her head. “No. They’ll be glad you’ve come.”

“But they know what my father and Portia have done to you and what they’ve done to others in the valley.”

“Yes, but they won’t blame you for the sins of your father. That isn’t right in the eyes of the Lord.”

“You really believe there is a God who cares about us?” Mara asked.

“I know there is,” Dianne said. But in her heart she was filled with questions. If God really cared, why was Luke lost somewhere back at the ranch? She jumped down from the horse as the front door of the house opened.

“We saw the smoke,” Charity said as she and Ben came out of their cabin. “Was it your place?”

“It was the forests to the south of our place. Very close to us,” Dianne answered. She reached up to take John from Mara and handed him to Charity. “The pines are going up like dried kindling.”

Mara stepped down and reached back up for Micah.

“Miz Charity,” Micah said in his boyish innocence. “Luke is in the fire.” He sounded impressed with his brother’s involvement with the blaze.

“What’s this?” Charity asked, looking to Dianne.

“Surely Cole isn’t having the boy help fight the fire?” Ben questioned.

Dianne’s eyes filled with tears. “No. Luke isn’t helping.”

Koko and Ardith and their children came up from the other wagon and took Micah and John in hand. “Come on, boys,” Koko said. “We’ll go look at Mrs. Hammond’s pretty flowers.” She led the children away from the wagons and up to the house.

“We cannot find Luke,” Dianne said as soon as Micah was out of earshot.

“What happened?”

“I sent him to get Cole when Mara showed up. I sent him to the corral, but apparently Luke misunderstood or became fascinated with the fire. I just don’t know. All I do know is that when we went to look for him, he was gone. Cole stayed behind to search for him. So did Koko’s brother and Jamie.”

“Oh, dear,” Charity said, putting her arm around Dianne. “Then we must pray.”

Ben bowed his head. “Heavenly Father, you know where the boy is and we’re asking that you would allow him to be found safe and unharmed. We ask, too, that you would give Dianne and her family peace of mind as we wait for Luke’s safe return, along with the return of the others. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

“Thank you,” Dianne said, feeling some reassurance from the prayer.

“Do you truly believe God heard that? Do you honestly believe He cares?” Mara asked, desperation in her voice.

“As I said earlier, I believe there is a God who cares,” Dianne told her. “I believe He hears our prayers and loves us.”

“But how can you believe that? So much has gone wrong in your life. My father’s actions alone have been so awful.”

“Yes, but God has kept us safe from your father.”

“Then what about the fire?” Mara asked. “The lightning no doubt set the blaze, but if God cares so much, He could have stopped that.”

“Yes, He could have,” Charity responded, “but sometimes He allows trials to come into our lives. We are on this earth to learn and grow. We are like gold in the fire, being purified for the perfect use God has for us.”

“My father told me that’s what people always say when they can’t explain or figure out the painful things in their life. He said people who are weak need something like God to hide behind when things get bad.”

“I don’t hide behind God,” Charity replied. “I hide
in
Him. There’s a big difference.”

Mara’s puzzled expression preceded her question. “How is there a difference?”

“Hiding behind God implies that we are somehow trying to use Him to our advantage. That we aren’t with Him, but merely using Him. It doesn’t show a relationship with God. He wants us to know Him so intimately that we can hide
in
Him—trust
in
Him.”

Dianne wondered if Charity’s words were given as much for her as for Mara.

“Are you familiar with the Psalms?” Charity asked the girl.

“Something in the Bible, right?”

“They are a collection of Scriptures—a book in the Bible,” Charity replied. “The psalmist speaks of trusting in God. Psalm eighteen says, ‘I will love thee, O Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower.’ See all the various ways the psalmist sees the Lord?” Mara nodded, and Charity smiled at Dianne.

“He continues and says, ‘I will call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised: so shall I be saved from mine enemies. The sorrows of death compassed me, and the floods of ungodly men made me afraid. The sorrows of hell compassed me about: the snares of death prevented me. In my distress I called upon the Lord, and cried unto my God: he heard my voice out of his temple, and my cry came before him, even into his ears.’ You see, He hears us, Mara. He truly hears us.”

“But what if Luke is never found? Can you trust in Him then?” she asked, turning to Dianne. “Will you still believe He hears you even if Luke is lost forever?”

Dianne met Charity’s eyes. She knew the unspoken question reflected there mirrored Mara’s spoken heart.
Will I still trust God even if Luke perishes in the fire?