“THERE’S A LETTER for you,” Jonas said, coming into the small cabin. He plopped down a cloth bundle, then reached back to close the door.
Peter had been working to build up a fire in the stove, but this news left him far too excited to worry about the growing cold. “Is it from Grace?” He picked up the bundle and began to explore the contents.
“Can’t say.” Jonas pulled off his fur cap and hung it on a peg. “I will tell you this much.” His voice came to an abrupt halt.
Peter paused and looked up at the older man. “What?”
Jonas shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over the cap. Turning, he eyed Peter quite seriously. “There’s talk that Martin Paxton is leaving town.”
“Who told you this?”
“When I was over to the railway office, I heard that he was planning to head south before winter got too hard. Ain’t recollectin’ who exactly told it, but he sounded like a knowledgeable fellow.”
“If he’s leaving, perhaps Grace is leaving with him,” Peter said, leaning back in complete dejection. “Maybe I should just hide out and follow him around.”
“Why don’t you give a look-see and read that letter first? Maybe it’s from Grace,” Jonas suggested.
But the letter wasn’t from Grace. It was nearly as good, however. Peter’s mother had penned a lengthy note full of information and good news. Peter’s father was on the mend, and Amelia Colton predicted it would only be a few days before he was out of bed. Even from his bed, Ephraim Colton had hired a good family friend to see to the legal matters of Paxton’s illegal action. Amelia again optimistically predicted that God would intercede on their behalf and let justice be done.
Peter didn’t resent his mother’s comment about God. In fact, over the passing weeks with Jonas, he’d taken on a whole new attitude toward such matters. After all, he had sunk down as far as he cared to go. Oh, he knew others had sunk further—sometimes giving themselves over to drinking and even crime. But for Peter, this lack of self-confidence and feeling that nothing was within his control was close to the lowest rung on his ladder. The last rung he reserved for the effects of Grace’s absence.
“So who’s it from?” Jonas questioned. He stood over the stove with the ingredients for their supper of oatmeal.
“It’s from my mother. She says my father is much improved.” Peter read on before speaking again. “She talks of being anxious to hear from Grace and Miranda.” He looked up. “That must mean they are together. But Paxton said he knew nothing of my sister.”
Jonas shrugged. “Don’t ’spect you can trust that critter to tell the truth.”
Peter nodded. Perhaps he had given Paxton’s words too much credence. “She goes on to say that she prays I will restore my marriage. She wants me to stop being willful and prideful and seek Grace out for forgiveness. Then her heart’s desire is that I would bring Grace home and settle down in San Francisco with them—to build a new future.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
Peter put the letter down. “It sounds like a wonderful idea, but Grace is nowhere to be found. Even if she were, she’d have nothing to do with me. I hurt her more deeply than even Paxton did.”
“Son, you keep comin’ up with excuses as to why you can’t fix this problem. Truth is, you can’t fix it no matter the excuse or the solution. Some things are only resolved through prayer and the good Lord’s divine meddling.” Jonas grinned.
“But I don’t know what to do,” Peter admitted. He looked at the letter, then folded it up. “I don’t know how to find her, when I can’t even find the right road for myself. I’m lost.”
Jonas stirred the pot of boiling oats and nodded. “At least you can see that much. Some folks take forever to see that. They just sort of wander in circles most all their life.”
Peter knew he had nothing left to lose. The most important elements of his life were gone: his family, his business . . . Grace. He’d let pride and arrogance dictate his path, and both had served him poorly.
“What do I have to do, Jonas?”
The older man pulled the oats from the stove and plopped the pan down on the table in front of Peter. “You have to repent of doing things your way instead of God’s way.”
Peter met his friend’s serious gaze. “Is that all?”
“Nope. You have to be willin’ to accept that you’re lost without Jesus. You have to accept that He died to save you.”
“Save me from what?” Peter questioned.
Jonas laughed. “From sin. From the devil. From yourself.”
Peter wanted to believe it was true. After all, he needed saving. If he let things go along as they had been, he might very well lose hope and give up. Then he’d never see Grace again—or his family.
“I’m as lost as a man can be,” Peter finally said. His voice was low, almost a whisper. “I can believe that Jesus died, although that He would die for me is a hard stretch.”
“More important, Peter, He lives for you. Jesus rose from the grave, and that’s the part that makes His gift special. Ain’t no simple matter of going to the death. Folks have done that for folks as far back as there have been friends. What makes Jesus’ love for us different is that He not only died in our place, He rose again to show us that with Him we don’t need to fear death. Death ain’t the end of things.”
Peter struggled against his old way of thought. To believe in the need for a savior—to believe and accept Jesus for himself—went against all the things he’d steeped his life in. He had built his world on a foundation that suggested he, Peter Colton, could accomplish anything. And now that foundation was crumbling around him.
“I want to believe, Jonas. I really do,” Peter said, tears coming to his eyes. “Do you suppose God knows how hard this is for me?”
Jonas put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “He knows, son. He knows your heart, and He’ll give you the strength to see this through. If your heart is willing, then all you need to do is pray and ask Him to forgive and save you.”
Peter drew a deep breath and wiped his tears with the back of his hand. “I’ll do it. I can’t bear the mess I’ve made of things. His way would have to be better than my own.”
Jonas smiled. “Then let’s pray.”
————
“Grace, how are you feeling?” Miranda questioned. Having seen that everyone else was busy at various tasks on the boat, she had crept into the tent to find her sister-in-law alone.
Grace sat up on the cot Adrik had fashioned for her and smiled. “I’m fine. Truly. I’m just a little spent.”
Miranda pulled a crate over and sat down by Grace. “Why didn’t you tell me about the baby?”
Grace smiled sadly. “I didn’t want anyone to know. Not you or even Peter. I think at first I didn’t even want to admit it to myself.”
“But why? I know you love my brother. Don’t you want children?”
Grace bowed her head and looked at her hands. “I would love nothing more than a house filled with the laughter and joy of children. But, Miranda, I can’t offer this child a happy home—much less a dwelling to live in. Your brother made it clear that I wasn’t welcome in his life.”
“But that was before. Once he knows about the baby, he’ll forget about the past and change his ways. He’ll want you back.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Grace said, lifting her head.
Miranda could read the pain in her sister-in-law’s eyes. “I don’t understand.”
Grace reached out and took hold of Miranda’s hand. “I don’t want Peter coming back out of obligation. I want him to come back because he loves me.”
“Sometimes,” Miranda began, “obligation is also important. Maybe Peter needs a dose of obligation.”
“And maybe I should be less romantic in my notions,” Grace replied.
“Perhaps. And that brings me to the other reason I’ve sought you out.”
“Pray tell?”
Miranda felt her cheeks grow hot as she remembered Crispin’s kiss. “I wanted to talk to you about Crispin Thibault.” She lowered her voice. “He has shown, with great dramatic flair, that he’s taken a liking to me. In fact, he calls it love, but I fail to see how that can possibly be the truth of it.”
“Why?”
“Because we’ve only known each other a few short months.”
“Yes,” Grace agreed, “but our adversity has certainly made it seem longer.”
Miranda shook her head. “He tells me he has loved me since the first moment. He kissed me,” she said rather abruptly. “He kissed me, and it warmed me through and through. Still, I cannot say that I love him.”
“Perhaps you should give it time,” Grace replied. “I’m a poor teacher in such matters, but I know that had Peter and I more time, we might have given more consideration to our like interests. If Crispin has no interest in what you hold dear—God and the Bible—then you should definitely beware of losing your heart. After all, look what that has done to me.”
“I’ve never heard him voice beliefs of one kind or another,” Miranda said thoughtfully. “Perhaps that’s where I should start. I’ll ask him when the opportunity arises.”
“Unless he shares your heart for God, Miranda, I fear you will never know a moment’s true joy or peace.”
Grace’s words stuck in Miranda’s heart long after their conversation. The winds had failed, and the party was forced to make for the shore of Lake Laberge before nightfall. Miranda helped to gather firewood and thought on her sister-inlaw’s counsel. Crispin’s love of life had drawn her to him, there was no doubt of that. As had his splendid appearance and attentive nature. Still, Miranda knew very little about the man. He spoke of family and of childhood memories. He spoke of travels around the world and of the people he’d met. Miranda couldn’t recall any stories related to past love affairs. If he’d shared his heart with any woman prior to Miranda, he gave no inkling of it.
When Miranda dumped a small armload of branches and kindling beside the fire, Jacob Barringer looked up at her with a smile. “I think we have enough for a while.”
He was already busy preparing their food, and Miranda thought it rather odd that he should be about the chores of supper. “I can help if you like,” she offered.
“That’s okay. I’m pretty good at this. My pa thought it was important for me to learn, and it’s served me well.” He went back to preparing the fish Adrik had managed to catch. Miranda didn’t recognize the type of fish, but there were two rather large ones—surely enough to feed them all. She could hear her stomach growling in anticipation.
Seeing that Leah and Karen were putting the finishing touches on the land tent, Miranda thought to offer her help. Then Crispin came into view. He carried a makeshift fishing pole and was headed down the rocky bank. Drawing a deep breath, Miranda decided to follow behind. Perhaps I can engage him in conversation, she thought. I need to know more about him before I let myself get carried away. Whispering a prayer, she slipped past Karen and Leah without a word and made her way in the direction Crispin had taken.
He walked a considerable distance from their camp, and when he seemed satisfied with the setting, he paused only long enough to bait the hook. Miranda had no idea what he was using for bait, but she took the moment as an opportunity to call to him.
“Mind if I join you?”
He looked up with an expression of pure delight. “I could never mind finding myself in the company of the most beautiful woman in the world.”
Miranda shook her head. “I do not know this woman, but perhaps you will accept my company instead.”
He smiled and gave her a sweeping bow. “You are most welcome here, m’lady.”
“Do you mind conversation while you fish? Or are you like my brother, who prefers absolute silence?”
He finished with the hook and cast out the line. “I must say I prefer the conversation and company of a lovely woman. I have never made a good fisherman, and I’m only here because Adrik bid me do so.”
Miranda considered his comment and opened her line of inquiry. “Have there been many women in your life?”
“Oh, positively hundreds,” he replied, seemingly unconcerned about such a declaration. “There are over ninety cousins in my lineage. Both my mother and father were from families of a dozen or more children, and all of them were wonderful in reproducing heirs.”
“What about women who were not cousins or aunts or sisters?”
He gazed heavenward as the wind blew off the lake and ruffled his black curls. “Are you asking if there has been another lady of love in my life?”
There was a part of Miranda that didn’t want to know the answer, but at the same time she knew she needed to know the truth to better understand who he was. “Yes,” she finally whispered.
“There were several times when I thought I was madly in love. But they proved false.” He looked back to her and smiled.
“How can you be so certain they were false?”
“Why, that, my dear, is quite easy. I recognize them as false in light of the truth. Comparing those ladies and those feelings up against what I have come to feel for you . . . why, they are only pale reminders of days gone by.” He stuck the end of his pole in mud and walked to where Miranda stood.
As he drew near, Miranda felt her heart begin to race. She could feel the blood pounding in her ears. There was no denying the feelings he stirred, but Miranda knew she could not rely on feelings alone.
“I know why you’re here,” he said in a husky tone. “You want the same things I do, only you are young and inexperienced and do not know how to ask.”
“That’s not true. I’m asking you questions,” Miranda countered, suddenly feeling very shy and nervous.
He stopped only inches from her. The heavy coat he wore made his shoulders seem much broader. The dusky twilight shadowed his face, but Miranda could still read the passion in his eyes.
As if frozen in place, she did nothing when he reached out to touch her face. His caress felt warm and soothing. He touched her neck and gently rubbed the knotted muscles that betrayed her weariness.
“You must love me,” he said softly, almost hypnotically. “You simply must.”
Miranda felt the worries and concerns she’d spoken of earlier with Grace disappear as he continued to rub her neck. When he slipped his hand behind her neck and pulled her forward to meet his lips, Miranda felt helpless to refuse.
He slanted her head ever so slightly and deepened his kiss. Miranda tried hard to remain calm and in control of her senses, while at the same time her body seemed to have a mind of its own. Crispin continued to kiss her while toying with her waist and gently massaging the small of her back. The rhythm was alluring—hypnotic. Miranda might very well have found herself swept completely under his spell, but he made the mistake of trying to pull her with him to the ground.
“Stop!” she said, pulling back in shock. She didn’t know with whom she was more surprised—herself or him. Panting, she looked at him and questioned, “What are you doing?”
“I thought you were showing me how much you cared,” he said without alarm. “I thought we were taking advantage of a quiet moment of privacy.”
“I came to talk.”
“Did you?” he questioned, his voice so smooth and low that it gave Miranda a shiver.
“Yes,” she replied. “At least that’s what I had thought. I cannot deny the physical attraction, Mr. Thibault, but I hardly think our behavior appropriate. I know very little of you, as I said before. I came here seeking to know more.”
He shrugged and walked leisurely back to his fishing pole. “Ah, ’tis my bad fortune. The woman I love has no interest in me.”
Miranda took several uncertain steps. “That’s not . . . what I said.” She stammered over her words, fighting the sudden urge to apologize. But for what? For defending her honor? For keeping an unseemly situation from becoming even more dangerous? Her emotions and logic were completely jumbled.
“So what would you like to know of me?” he questioned, pulling up the line. There was no fish on the end, so he cast it out again and this time bobbed the pole up and down.
“Everything,” Miranda said without hesitation.
“Everything?” he asked, looking to her with a grin. “Would you leave me no secrets? No dark shady past to remain forever hidden from view?”
“No, I’d rather know everything up front.”
“Starting with what?” He looked back to the lake and seemed completely at ease.
His lackadaisical spirit bolstered Miranda’s courage. She studied his profile for a moment, greatly admiring the aristocratic line. Somehow his pose seemed quite regal, as if he were surveying his kingdom from some lofty perch. Thinking of him as a king reminded Miranda of why she’d come here in the first place.
“Mr. Thibault . . . Crispin . . . what are your thoughts . . . your heart toward God?”
He laughed. “Oh, that’s easy enough. I have no thoughts or heart toward God. I don’t believe in any god. Life is complicated enough by all manner of superstitious nonsense. I know you have your beliefs,” he said, turning with a shrug. “It doesn’t bother me in the least. Just as Adrik’s devotion to such nonsense has never affected our friendship. Let each man be his own dictator.”
Miranda was speechless. She could scarcely believe what he was saying. Here was the man she had only moments ago allowed such an intimate moment with denying the very God she served.
“I . . . don’t . . . I never . . .” She halted, having no idea how to reply.
Crispin seemed to understand and turned back to the lake. “Give it no thought, my dear. It needn’t come between us. I’m perfectly content to allow you to go on with your practices. It doesn’t change my regard for you.”
Miranda could stand it no longer. “Well, it changes mine for you,” she replied and started to go.
“Wait, don’t leave. I know you’re confused,” he called. Once again he abandoned his fishing pole and came to her. He reached out to touch her, but Miranda pulled away. “Don’t let this come between us. Why should it bother you that I see no need for such matters? My educational training and life travels have proven to me over and over that there is no such thing as a divine being. And even if, on some remotely distant chance there is, I know He has no interest whatsoever in the daily lives of human beings. I mean, how very audacious of us to presume upon something like that.”
“How can you say that?”
He shrugged. “How can I not? I’ve traveled the world over and experienced many different religions and cultures. Everyone has some notion of spiritual matters. Americans certainly haven’t captured the market on it, if that’s what you think. Why, I have sat in the presence of many great men who expounded on issues of faith. I believe that such matters are better left to those who need them.”
“But we all need Jesus,” Miranda said, unfaltering.
He smiled. “My dearest, don’t you see? Everyone needs something. You won’t hear me say otherwise. Please don’t let it come between us that I have different ideas. Perhaps in time you will come to better understand my beliefs, but in the meanwhile you’ll get no umbrage nor disdain from me in regard to what you desire to believe.”
“I’m sorry,” Miranda said, shaking her head. “I have to go. I don’t understand you, and I don’t wish to continue this conversation.” “Give it some thought, my dear,” Crispin replied. “You’ll see. Life is much too short and sweet to worry over such conventions.”
————
It was nearly midnight before the camp grew quiet and the obvious sounds of sleep could be heard. Occasionally Leah coughed and Crispin snored, but otherwise gentle rhythmic breathing filled the air.
Karen, however, couldn’t sleep. Nestled there between Grace and Leah, she longed for her husband’s arms. This is my wedding night. I should be with Adrik.
They had already agreed to delay their consummation, given their travel situation. Had they managed to obtain a separate tent or had the nights been less cold, they might well have chosen otherwise. And Adrik had promised her they’d rent a room in Hootalinqua, but that was a whole day away.
Knowing trying to sleep was an exercise in futility, Karen slipped out of her bag and pulled on her boots. Without bothering to lace them, she pulled on her coat and unfastened the tent flap.
The crisp night air hit her face, but in the moon’s brilliant light, Karen could see Adrik standing a little ways from the fire, as if waiting for her to come to him. Eager to be in his arms, she hurried to cross the distance and tripped on her laces.
Adrik caught hold of her before she fell, but it threw him off balance and sent him onto his backside with a dull thump. He took Karen with him, pulling her protectively across his lap. Surprised, Karen looked up and smiled.
“You do have a way of getting right to the heart of things, don’t you, Mr. Ivankov?”
Adrik chuckled softly. “I wasn’t the one throwing myself at folks.” He pushed back her loose hair. “You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed of this.”
“What? Having me trip over my own feet?”
“Nah, I saw plenty of that on the trail. No, holding you like this is what I dreamed of.”
She sighed and nuzzled her lips against his neck. “Me too.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she added, “I couldn’t begin to sleep. It just didn’t seem right that I couldn’t be with you.”
“I know. I felt the same way.”
Karen lifted her face to his and leaned forward to kiss him. She had very little experience in such matters, but prayed that she might please him. Oh, God, she thought, I only want to make him a good wife.
She needn’t have worried, however, for Adrik’s low moan of satisfaction told her he was quite content with her forward action. She touched his chest, feeling his heart racing—the beat clearly matching her own wild pattern. How marvelous to know this feeling. How wondrous to share this kind of love.
“I don’t want to leave you,” Karen whispered against his lips.
“I don’t want you to go,” he murmured as his kisses trailed up to her ear. “But I think you must.”
She nodded even as he kissed the lobe of her ear. “I’ll leave in a few minutes.” Reaching up, she lightly massaged the skin at the base of his neck. His skin felt so warm and inviting. She blushed at the thoughts that ran through her mind.
In the distance a wolf cried out in lone adoration of the night. Soon other cries followed, and Karen startled. “They won’t bother us, will they?”
Adrik shook his head and smiled. “You have nothing to fear. I’ll never let harm come to you so long as there is breath in my body.”
She forgot about the wolves’ serenade and looked deep into her husband’s dark eyes. “I love you so much, Adrik. I didn’t know it was possible to love another human being this much.”
“I know,” he said nodding, “I feel the same way. I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”
“I want to be a good wife to you,” she said, toying with the hair around his ear. “I will try very hard to be obedient.” She kissed him again, slow and lingering. It was a habit she could very easily get into.
Abruptly, Adrik ended the kiss and surprised her by getting them both to their feet. “I really want you to stay,” he said, his breath coming quickly, “but I need for you to go back to your tent. We’ll both be better off for it in the long run.”
“I know,” Karen replied rather breathlessly. She turned to go, then paused and smiled. “Hootalinqua?”
He grinned. “Hootalinqua.”