by Linda Ford
Cora sobbed harder.
“Cora had left her bonnet off. She couldn’t get it before the young buck sauntered up to her, bold as brass, and said he’d like to make her acquaintance. I grabbed a branch, prepared to persuade him to leave us alone. But then he saw her face and changed his mind so fast he almost tripped over his feet getting out of here.”
Trace kicked dirt into the fire until it was buried.
Mandy pulled Cora into her arms and patted her back. But a suspicion grew in her mind. “Is this where you were sitting?”
Cora nodded.
“Trace, is that the branch you picked up?” She pointed to one a few feet past Cora.
“I should have applied it to his backside.”
“Did the young man come from up the trail or down the trail?”
“I suppose down. He stepped into the clearing over there and made his way to the fire.” Trace pointed.
“Oh, honestly, Trace.” A bubble of amusement rose to the back of her throat, but she feared her laughter would offend Cora. “Did you ever consider it wasn’t Cora’s scars he saw but a big, angry man with a fat stick in his hands?”
Trace scowled.
But Cora sat up, wiped her eyes, and sniffled into a hankie. She looked from the branch to the place where the man had stood. She glared at Trace, his face twisted in anger. “You scared him off, you big oaf.” She started to laugh.
Mandy could no longer contain her amusement.
Trace frowned at the pair of them, laughing hard enough to bring on tears. He stalked into the woods without a backward look.
Mandy scrambled to her feet and followed.
She found him deep in the woods, slamming his fist into a tree. She choked back a scream. Why was he throwing a temper tantrum? She stepped forward and grabbed his arm before he could hit the tree again. His knuckles were bloodied. Her own anger flared. “What is this accomplishing?”
He jerked his arm free and turned his back to her. His neck muscles corded. His shoulders pulled forward.
“Trace, it was a mistake. Anyone would have fled when they saw you approaching. I doubt it had anything to do with Cora’s cheek.”
“You can’t say that with any certainty.”
She glared at him. “Just as you can’t say with any certainty it was Cora’s scars that scared him away.” She crossed her arms, waiting for his anger to abate, but he remained as rigid as any of the logs he’d cut for the house.
“This is what I mean about hate poisoning everything. Including me. I am so angry I am on fire inside.” The words ground out so hard she wouldn’t have been surprised to see bits of tooth enamel accompany them. “I know it can consume me.” He strode away, resting one hand on a nearby tree, blood oozing from his knuckles. He let his head fall forward. “Until I find a way to erase it. . .”
She heard what he didn’t say. Until that time, he would not allow himself to love. And yet. . . She forced some patience into her voice and repeated an idea she’d expressed yesterday. “Perhaps the way to get rid of hate is to replace it with something.” She waited, but he gave no indication if he heard or understood her meaning. Pain or no pain, she had absolutely no sympathy for letting events control him. Enough was enough. “Look if you want to spend your life wallowing in your hurts, fine. But did it ever occur to you that maybe letting love into your heart can rid it of hate and anger?” She moved to his side and touched his arm, felt him twist beneath her palm. “Trace?” Was he ready to quit being an idiot?
He faced her, his eyes dark as still, deep water, his mouth drawn back into a thin line of despair. “Don’t you see,” he whispered. “I love you, but love hasn’t erased my hate.”
“You love me?” Did she sound as surprised and happy as she felt? Annoyed, too. This was not the moment he should have confessed his love.
“Forget I said it. I can’t love you, can’t offer you what you deserve until I do something about this.” He slammed his bloodied fist into his chest. “I don’t recognize myself when I’m like this. I don’t trust myself.”
Unbelievable. Part of her ached to tend his wounds—hold him close and assure him he was fine just the way he was. But she sensed he was as angry at himself and his inability to handle his emotions as he was about his past. She wondered if anything she said at this point would make a difference. Likely not. Besides another part of her wanted to shake him hard and tell him to look at what the future held for those ready and willing to forget the past. But what was the use? She shook her head. “Let’s go work on the house.” She headed toward the clearing.
With a heavy sigh, he followed.
They soon settled into a soothing rhythm of work.
Cora, Goliath in her arms, sauntered over to watch. “What are you going to do with Mandy’s house?”
“You mean the twig house?” Trace teased.
Relieved to see his normal good humor restored, Mandy pretended to get all defensive. “No wolf is going to blow it down. It will suit just fine for an outbuilding.”
“I don’t know.” Trace circled her little shack, touched each corner, and each time jumped back as if afraid it would come crashing down.
“Let’s see how hard you can blow,” she challenged.
His eyes crinkled at the corners in a hidden smile; then he blew and blew until he had to bend over his knees to get his breath.
“See, I told you.”
“I doubt if my little puffs will be the worst thing this shack has to endure. What about the winds, the rain, the snow?”
She went to his side and contemplated the building. Wasn’t much to look at, but she wasn’t going to confess it to him. “It’ll stand the winter.”
“Maybe. Then crumble into the soil.”
“Dying a natural death as all things do.” She cocked her head at Trace and added, “All things pass. . .even emotions. If we give them half a chance.”
He lifted his eyebrows skyward as he understood her message. “But this has the elements to wear it down.”
“And you have God’s love and forgiveness to wear down your hate.”
“Hasn’t helped much so far.” He wheeled around and bent over a log, notching it.
❧
Day after day they worked on the house. The roof would soon be finished. It was satisfying to see progress.
But despite Mandy’s reassurance that his emotions would change, Trace saw no progress in conquering his hate and lack of forgiveness. Every time he looked at Cora, he remembered Austin and the others. Even building this log cabin was a reminder. They’d once had a fine, big house.
Cora wandered around the interior of the cabin, which didn’t take more than a few steps. “Where will you put the stove?” she called.
He’d shown her before but went inside. “The stove will go here, so it can warm the whole room. The area closest to the door will be the kitchen and living area. The bedrooms will be on this side. I’ll build partitions so we can have privacy.”
“What will we do for furnishings?”
“I can make a table and some chairs. Maybe even a rocking chair.”
“I wish we had some of Mama’s quilts for the bed.”
Mandy joined them.
It no longer surprised him to have her appear suddenly and silently.
“I saw some nice fabric at the store,” she said. “You could make one for your bed.”
Cora’s eyes brightened. “That might be fun.”
Every nerve in Trace’s body fired up with awareness of Mandy in the confines of the cabin. His mind flooded with imaginations. Not for the first time, he thought of her residing here. Sitting in a rocking chair mending something.
He snorted. More likely she’d be out hunting. He tried to dispel the longing that clutched his throat. Because he knew she could cook if she wanted to. He’d seen her mend a tear in her pants with neat tight stitches that even his mother would have praised.
Cora took his sound of disbelief for criticism. “You don’t think I can make a quilt?”
“I’m quite certain you can.” He wondered how hard to push her. “Question is, will you go to town and select the fabric you like or ask Mandy to do it and settle for what she picks out?”
Mandy’s mouth flew open. She stared at him but remained silent.
Cora opened her mouth. Then she touched her cheek and turned away. “I expect we have enough bedding to do us.”
Mandy lifted one shoulder in a little shrug.
Trace strode from the house. What right did he have to try and change Cora? He couldn’t even change himself.
Mandy followed. “One day she will decide to go to town. She might learn no one cares about her burn half as much as she does. And you.” She stalked away before he could point out a differing opinion. In truth, he couldn’t find one. Understood the scar on Cora’s face was no more disfiguring or difficult to ignore than the hate weighing his heart.
Something landed on his neck. He brushed it away. It happened again. He rubbed at the spot, caught something in his finger, and pulled his hand forward to see a small piece of wood. Like one he’d chopped from a log.
Another hit his neck and then his shoulder. Several hit his head.
If he wasn’t mistaken, he heard muffled laughter from around the corner of the cabin.
So Mandy wanted to play, did she?
He brushed at his neck again and complained about the bugs. Then pretended to head toward the tent for something. As soon as he knew he was out of her sight, he changed direction and edged around the walls. He paused at the last corner, listening to her quiet breathing as she listened for him.
He gathered air into his lungs and eased around the corner.
She had her back to him, leaning forward, trying to see where he’d gone.
He tiptoed toward her. When she stiffened, caught some indication of him behind her, he sprang forward and captured her.
She squealed and struggled, but he wouldn’t let her escape. She squirmed until she faced him.
“Think it’s funny to play tricks on me, do you?” he asked.
A smile wreathed her face and flashed through her eyes as she nodded. Her smile softened as she gave a look so full of promise and longing he thought his heart would burst from his chest. Loving this woman would be such sweet joy. Every day would be full of fun and warmth.
As they considered each other, letting their gazes linger, the air shimmered with hope and possibility.
“Where did you guys go?” Cora called from inside the cabin.
The reality of his life erased the glow of the moment. He let his arms fall to his sides and stepped back. “We’re out here.”
Mandy reached for him.
He shook his head. “Don’t. I can’t.”
Her hand hung suspended between them, and her face filled with sorrow.
He hated that he was responsible. But he’d tried to replace his hatred with love. But hate poisoned everything.
With a grumble, he ground around and headed for the woods.
How was he to deal with this?
The answers were easy. Forgive and let God exact justice. Trust God’s ways. God’s ways were higher than man’s ways.
But knowing the answers and being able to do them weren’t the same thing.
He made no attempt to slip through the woods quietly but crashed past trees, glad of the noise he made, finding relief in bending branches out of his way and hearing them snap back.
He didn’t know how long he tromped on in that fashion, but he reached the side of a hill and looked out over the wide valley. The view reminded him of the one he’d seen soon after he’d met Mandy and how he’d called her to share it.
The beauty sucked at his insides.
“Oh God,” he yelled, “show me how to forgive.” But the words fell into the distance like pebbles dropped in a bottomless pit. Like every desperate prayer he’d uttered over the past days.
Would he never find a way to get rid of the curse of hatred? Would he be forever trapped in this pit? Never able to give his heart in complete, unfettered love to the woman he cared for?
THIRTEEN
A dozen days later, Mandy helped Joanna serve the evening meal. Glory was absent, helping Levi with something. Twenty men clustered around the table, eagerly scooping up generous helpings. Talk, as usual, consisted mostly of questions about the gold fields to the north.
Joanna answered as best she could. Mandy said little, her thoughts still back up the hill with Trace and Cora.
She loved Trace and knew he loved her. He’d said so, but then said love wasn’t possible.
But she wouldn’t entertain the word impossible. If he couldn’t make up his own mind, she’d make it up for him.
In the intervening days she’d prayed as never before. Borrowed Mother’s Bible from Joanna and read it, searching for answers. She’d found none that might help Trace, but something had been happening in her own soul. Hope and assurance of God’s love filled her, replacing her anger at Pa. She felt blessed. She wanted Trace to find the same thing.
Every day she told him of verses she’d read or how she felt. He always grew hopeful. Hunger filled his eyes. Then he glanced away, often toward the house, or Cora, and she knew the memories had come flooding back. He could not let go of his bitterness.
She could only take a deep breath, swallow her frustration, and continue to pray and love him, hoping at some point both would heal his spirit.
Something in the conversation around the table caught her attention, and she looked at the man who’d spoken. “Who did you say you are looking for?”
“Trace Owens.”
That’s what she thought. “What’s your business with him?”
“It’s of a personal nature, but it’s imperative I contact him.”
“And who might you be?”
Most of the others excused themselves and went outdoors, having no interest in a conversation that didn’t have the word gold in it. Joanna let Mandy do the talking, but her interest was also focused on this stranger who asked after Trace.
“My name is Austin Collins.”
Austin! The man who’d betrayed Trace. . .caused his parents’ deaths and Cora’s scars. She studied the man. As blond as Trace. As big. And every bit as sad and bitter looking. The way his mouth sagged, she wondered if he had any smile muscles in his face.
Two unhappy men. But she would not tell him where Trace was. Surely it would destroy Trace’s very soul to be faced with the man responsible for his pain.
“Sorry, can’t say I know anything about this man you seek.” She hadn’t told a lie. Didn’t say she didn’t know—just that she couldn’t say.
But Joanna’s look of disapproval warned Mandy she’d pushed the boundaries of right and wrong.
Austin thanked them for the meal and left the room.
The two sisters grabbed dishes and hurried to the kitchen, where they couldn’t be overheard.
“He’ll just ask someone else,” Joanna warned.
“He won’t hear Trace’s whereabouts from me.” And if she could stop him from searching further, she would. Maybe she could suggest he make inquiries farther north—like the gold fields.
As soon as the dishes were done she hurried outside. Glanced about the cluster of men. Austin went from one to the other, asking questions. If he decided to go up the street. . .
As if he’d read her mind, he left the men and stepped toward the heart of town.
She hurried after him and fell in at his side. “Seems to me the best place to look for someone would be in the gold fields. People only come here on their way north.”
“I’ll certainly search there, too. I am determined to find him.”
“Why is it so important to you?”
He pondered her question for several steps as she tried to edge him away from the houses and businesses up the street, but he continued doggedly on, peering from one side to the other. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business.” He flicked her a glance. “Ma’am.”
&nbs
p; “What if I make it my business?”
He snorted. “Why would you?”
She considered her response. “Let’s say, just for conver-sation’s sake, that if I happened to know this man you’re asking about—”
“Trace Owens.”
“Or someone like him. Why would I, or anyone, tell a complete stranger about it? You could be one of those lawless men who wander through town looking for easy gold. They don’t mind if they find it by panning or by robbing.” Did he understand that she cared about his motive in looking for Trace?
“I don’t want his gold or anyone’s. I just need to talk to Trace.” He slowed his steps enough to glance at Mandy. “We grew up together. We were great friends.”
“Humph. Seems if you were great friends you’d know where he was.”
“Something happened.”
Yeah. You turned out to be a traitor. Played a part in murdering his parents. “I expect it was something awful enough that this man doesn’t want to see you again.”
Austin stopped so abruptly that Mandy had to backtrack to his side.
“It was something very awful.”
“What did you do?” If she heard the story from his lips, perhaps she would get a clue that would help Trace overcome his pain.
Austin sucked in a long breath, let it out in a shudder. “It’s a long story. Not sure you want to hear it.”
“Try me.” They reached Glory’s shop. “Why don’t we sit a spell, and you can tell me.” She indicated the steps at the front door and almost sagged with relief when he sat down. She sat as well.
“I did something unforgivable.”
“Is anything ever that bad?” She wanted to hear how he’d justify his actions.
“Unfortunately, yes.” He buried his head in his hands.
Mandy felt no sympathy for him. The man deserved every bit of misery he felt.
“I’m from Missouri, as is Trace. The Bushwhackers are a strong bunch in that state. I once thought I agreed with them enough to join their cause, but I discovered I don’t like the way they get their point across. I’ve left the group.”
