Redeeming Love

by Francine Rivers

  “Yes, married.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. You sound real happy about it.”

  Paul winced. “Ah, Michael. You know I’m selfish.” They walked again. “How did you manage to find her, anyway?”

  “Just lucky.”

  “So tell me about her. What’s she like?”

  Michael nodded his head toward the cabin. “Come and meet her.”

  “Oh, no. Not like this,” Paul said. “One look at me and she’d be sure the neighborhood went to seed. What’s her name anyway?”

  “Amanda.”

  “Amanda. Nice.” He grinned wickedly. “Is she pretty, Michael?”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  She could be the plainest of women, but if Michael loved her, he would see her as beautiful. Paul didn’t intend to make any judgments until he saw her for himself. “Let me put up in the barn tonight,” he said. “I’m dead on my feet, and I’d like to meet your wife after I’ve cleaned up.”

  Michael brought him a blanket, soap, and a change of clothes. Paul was too tired to even get on his feet. All he could do now was lean back against the wall, feet outstretched. Michael came back again with a hot meal. “You should eat something, old man. You’re skin and bones.”

  Paul smiled weakly. “Did you tell her there was a filthy beggar in the barn?”

  “She didn’t ask.” He pitched hay. “Burrow into this with the blanket and you’ll be warm enough tonight.”

  “It’ll be like heaven after hard ground for so many months.” It was the first roof over his head in weeks. He tasted the stew and raised his brows. “You got yourself a good cook. Thank her for me, would you?” He wolfed down the rest and wilted into the hay. “I’m tired. I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired.” He couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. The last thing he saw was Michael bending down to cover him with a thick blanket. All the tension he had carried for months left him.

  Paul awakened to a horse whinnying. He was stiff and sore when he got up. Stretching, he went to look out the barn door. Michael was digging a hole for a fencepost. He leaned against the wall watching him for a long while. Then he went back to the hay and got the borrowed clothing.

  He bathed down at the creek so he wouldn’t offend Michael’s wife. He shaved off his beard. Shrugging into Michael’s red wool shirt, he went to help him.

  Michael stopped work and leaned on his shovel. “I wondered when you were going to wake up. You’ve slept two days clean through.”

  Paul grinned. “Just goes to show you panning gold is harder work than putting up fences.”

  Michael laughed. “Come on back to the house. Amanda will have breakfast ready.”

  Paul was beginning to look forward to a woman being around. He expected someone like Tess at the hearth, someone quiet and sweet, good-natured and devout. He came in behind Michael, eager to meet her. A slender girl stood before the fire, her back to them. She was wearing a skirt exactly like the one Tess had worn walking the Oregon Trail. The same shirtwaist, too. Odd. He frowned slightly. She bent to her cooking pot, and he was quick to notice she had a nice backside. When she straightened, he noticed her tiny waist and a long, thick golden braid that reached it. So far so good.

  “Amanda, Paul’s here.”

  When she turned around, Paul felt his stomach drop into his worn boots. He stared in disbelief, but she was there staring right back, that high-priced prostitute from Pair-a-Dice. He glanced at Michael and saw him smiling as though she was the sun and moon and all the stars in the heavens.

  “Paul, I’d like you to meet my wife, Amanda.”

  Paul stared at her and didn’t know what to do or say. Michael was standing beside him, waiting, and he knew if he didn’t say something nice real soon, things would go from bad to worse. Paul forced a stiff smile. “Sorry to gape at you, ma’am. Michael said you were beautiful.” And she was that. Just like Salome and Delilah and Jezebel.

  What was Michael doing married to a woman like this one? Did he know she was a prostitute? He couldn’t. The man had never set foot in a brothel in his life. He had never had a woman. Not that the chance hadn’t been presented often enough. Against all reason and natural drives, Michael had set his mind to wait for the right one. And now, look what he got for all his purity Angel!

  What story had the witch concocted? What was he going to do about it? Should he tell Michael now?

  Michael was looking at him strangely.

  Angel smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile. Her eyes were a gorgeous blue, but they had become deathly cold. She knew he recognized her, and she was letting him know that she didn’t care. And if she didn’t care, then it was clear she hadn’t married Michael for love.

  He smiled back. Colder than she. How’d you get your claws into him?

  Angel saw the world in one man’s eyes, and she felt every stone cast. Her smile tipped up a little more on one side. This man she understood. He probably had never had the dust to make it up the stairs. “Coffee, gentlemen?”

  Michael looked between them and frowned. “Sit down, Paul.”

  Paul sat and tried to keep his eyes off her. The silence stretched tight. What could he say?

  Michael leaned back slightly. “Now you’re rested, you can tell us about the Yuba.”

  Paul did talk, out of desperation. Angel served him a bowl of porridge and a mug of coffee. He thanked her stiffly. She was beautiful, too beautiful—a cold, defiled, alabaster goddess.

  She didn’t sit with them or speak. Paul figured she already knew more about the Yuba than he did. Only the men with the best strikes could have afforded her services. What was she doing here? What sweet little lies had she whispered in Michael’s ear? What would happen when he found out the truth? Would he throw her out? It would serve her right.

  Paul asked about the farm and let Michael do the talking for a while. He needed to think, or at least try to. He stole glances at Angel. How could Michael not know? How could he not suspect? What would a beautiful girl like her be doing in the gold country? It wouldn’t make sense to a thinking man.

  But then, one look into a pair of clear blue eyes like hers and a man could be lost. Michael wasn’t a philanderer. He was honest and loving. She could tell him anything, and he would believe her. A girl like her would make mincemeat out of him. I’ve got to tell him the truth. But how? When?

  Michael got up to pour himself more coffee, and Paul looked at Angel. She looked back at him, her chin tilted slightly, her blue eyes mocking. She was so sure of herself, he almost blurted the truth out right then, but the words stuck in his throat when he looked at Michael’s face.

  Angel took down her shawl from a hook by the door. “I’m going to get some water,” she said, picking up the bucket. “I’m sure you two have lots to talk about.” She looked right at him before she went out the door.

  It struck him like a blow in the face. She doesn’t even care if I tell him.

  Michael was looking at him solemnly. “What’s on your mind, Paul?”

  He couldn’t make the words come. He gave a hoarse laugh and tried to retrieve his old teasing manner, but he couldn’t do that either. “Sorry, but she took the breath right out of me. How did you meet her?”

  “Divine intervention.”

  Divine? Michael was in the black pit of Sheol and didn’t even know it. He had fallen head over heels for a devil with blue eyes and waist-length blonde hair and a body that would tempt a man into sin and death.

  Michael stood. “Come on outside and I’ll show you what I’ve done since you went off to seek your fortune.”

  Paul saw Angel washing his clothes. Nice touch. Did she think doing him a favor would keep him quiet? She didn’t look their way. He might not be able to spill the truth about her to Michael, but he sure wasn’t going to let her off easily.

  “Give me just a minute with your wife, would you, Michael? I’ve made a poor impression staring at her the way I was. I’d like to thank her for breakfast and for washing m
y clothes.”

  “Do that. Then meet me down at the creek. I’m building a springhouse. You can help.”

  “I’ll be along in a minute.” Paul headed for Angel. He looked her up and down again, and this time there was no mistake. She was wearing Tessie’s clothes. He felt hot fury all over. How could Michael give them to her? He walked up just as she finished shaking out his worn long johns. He expected her to turn around, but she didn’t. She knew he was there; he was sure of it. She was just ignoring him.

  “Hello, Angel,” he said, thinking that might bring her about quick enough. She turned, but her expression was cool and self-possessed. “Angel,” he said again. “That’s your real name, isn’t it? Not Amanda. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

  “I guess I’m found out, aren’t I?” She draped his long johns over the line Michael had put up for her. “Should I remember you?”

  Brazen hussy. “I suppose faces all begin to look alike in your business.”

  “And everything else.” She looked him over and laughed. “Hard luck on the streams, mister?”

  She was worse than he expected. “Does he know who and what you are?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “Doesn’t it even bother you what it’ll do to him when he finds out?”

  “Do you think he’ll fall to pieces?”

  “How did someone like you get your hooks into him?”

  “He trussed me up like a goose and brought me back here in his wagon.”

  “A likely story.” Her look of boredom infuriated him. “What do you think he’d do if I told him I’d seen you before, in a brothel in Pair-a-Dice?”

  “I don’t know. What do you think he’d do? Stone me?”

  “Pretty sure of your hold over him, aren’t you?”

  She picked up the empty basket and rested it on her hip. “You tell him whatever you want, mister. It doesn’t make a lot of difference to me.” She walked away.

  On the way to Michael, Paul made up his mind to tell him, but when he reached him, he couldn’t follow through with it. He spent all day working beside Michael and couldn’t get the courage up. When they headed back, Paul declined supper. He said he was too tired to eat. He went to the barn instead and ate the last of his jerky. He didn’t want to sit across the table from her. He couldn’t keep up the pretense that he was pleased his best friend was married to a deceiving harlot. He shoved his things into his pack, slung it over his shoulder, and headed to his own place at the end of the valley.

  Standing in the open doorway of the cabin, Michael saw him go. He rubbed the back of his neck and turned away.

  Angel looked at Michael and felt the tension building inside her again. She sat in the willow chair he had made for her and watched him close the door and come sit before the fire. He took up his boots and began rubbing beeswax into them to make them waterproof. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t have much to talk about tonight, and he hadn’t taken the Bible down to read. Clearly, last night was forgotten. “You’re wondering, aren’t you?” she said. “Why don’t you just ask?”

  “I don’t want to know.”

  “Of course, you don’t,” she said dryly. Her throat was tight and raw. “I’ll tell you anyway, just to clear the air. I don’t remember him, but then that doesn’t mean a thing in my business, does it? I didn’t remember you, either, even after a couple of visits.” She looked away.

  Michael knew it wasn’t the whole truth, but it hurt none the less. “Don’t lie, Amanda. Can’t you get it through your head I love you? You’re my wife now. Whatever happened before, it’s in the past. Leave it there.”

  The lull was over. The storm was on them in a fury.

  “Two weeks ago, you wanted to hear everything about me. Do you still want to know everything?”

  “Leave it be!”

  She stood up. Keeping her back to him, she ran a shaking hand along the mantle. “You still don’t understand, do you? Even if I wanted things to work, others out there won’t let it happen. Like your fine upstanding brother-in-law.” She smiled dryly and looked up at the wall. “Did you see his face when he recognized me?”

  “I’m sorry he hurt you.”

  She swung around, glaring at him. “Is that what you think?” She gave a short laugh. “He can’t hurt me. And neither can you.” She wasn’t going to give either of them the chance.

  Paul spent a day cleaning his cabin and thinking what to do about Angel. He had to go back and talk to Michael about her. He couldn’t remain silent. Michael had every right to know about her deception. Once he knew all the facts, he would do the right thing and toss her out. Like a cat, she would land on her feet.

  The marriage could be annulled. It probably hadn’t even been performed by a sanctified reverend, so it wouldn’t count anyway. Michael could put the whole bad experience behind him. With wagon trains pouring into California, he was bound to find another woman, one that would make him forget Angel.

  Michael came over and chopped wood with him. They talked, but it wasn’t the way it had been. Paul had too much on his mind, and Michael was strangely pensive. “Come on over for supper,” Michael said before he left, but Paul couldn’t stand the thought of eating with Angel across the table.

  Michael looked annoyed with him. “You’ve hurt Amanda’s feelings.”

  Paul almost laughed. Hurt? That hardened harlot? Not likely, but he knew exactly what she was doing. She was driving the wedge between him and Michael. She was out to destroy their friendship. Well, if she wanted to play rough… “I’ll be over tomorrow.”

  Angel was outside beating blankets on a line when he arrived. She paused and looked straight at him. She wasted no time flinging the gauntlet in his face. “He’s working down at the stream on the springhouse. Why don’t you get it off your chest before it eats you alive?”

  “You’re betting I won’t, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, I think you will. You can hardly wait.”

  “Do you love him?” he sneered. “You think you could make him happy? Sooner or later, he’s going to see you for what you really are.”

  Her hand whitened on the stick. Shrugging, she turned away.

  “You don’t care about anything, do you?”

  “Should I?” She began beating the blanket again.

  Paul wanted to grab her and swing her around so he could lay his fist into her arrogant face. “You’re just asking for it.” He headed straight for the stream.

  All the stiffness went out of her as Angel watched him go. She sat down weakly on a stump, refusing to acknowledge the feelings coursing through her.

  “You came just in time,” Michael said, straightening and wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. “Give me a hand with these planks, will you?”

  Paul helped him place the notched log, planed flat on one side. “Michael, I’ve got to talk to you about something,” he said with a grunt as the log banged into place. Michael gave him a dark look he could not decipher. The heat of his own anger made him plunge ahead. “It’s got nothing to do with what happened on the Yuba or why I can’t make up my mind whether to stay. It’s got to do with something else. It’s got to do with your wife.”

  Michael straightened slowly and looked at him. “Why do you feel you have to say anything?”

  “Because you have to know.” He could still see her arrogant face. “Michael, she’s not who you think she is.”

  “She’s exactly who I think she is, and she’s my wife.” He bent to his work again.

  She really must have gone to work on him the past day. Furious, Paul slammed the next log into place. He looked back across the yard at her. She stood in the doorway of Michael’s cabin. In Tessie’s clothes. He wanted to go over there and rip them off her. He wanted to beat her and chase her right out of this valley. Michael, of all people, tricked. Michael with his high ideals and strength of character. Michael with his purity. It was inconceivable. It was obscene.

  “I’m not going to leave it alone. I can�
�t.” Michael wasn’t even looking at him. Paul caught his arm. “Listen to me. Before she was your wife, she was a prostitute. Her name’s Angel, not Amanda. She worked in a brothel in Pair-a-Dice. She was the highest-priced soiled dove in the whole town.”

  “Take your hand off my arm, Paul.”

  Paul did. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” He had never seen Michael so angry.

  “I know all about it.”

  Paul stared at him. “You know?”

  “Yes.” Michael bent for another log. “Take the other end, would you?”

  Paul did so without even thinking. “Did you know before or after she got the ring on her finger?” he asked cynically.

  “Before.”

  Paul banged the log into place. “And you still married her?”

  Michael straightened. “I still married her, and I’d marry her again if I had it to do over.” A simple statement, calmly and quietly delivered, but his eyes were burning with wrath.

  Paul felt like he had been punched, hard. “You’re besotted with her. Michael, she has you fooled.” He had to try to reason with him. “It happens. You haven’t seen a woman in months and then you do, and she’s got pretty blue eyes and a beautiful body, and you lose your head over her. So enjoy her for a while, but don’t try and convince yourself she’ll make a decent wife. Once a prostitute, always a prostitute.”

  Michael clenched his jaw shut. Almost Angel’s own words about herself. “Stop judging.”

  “Don’t be a fool!”

  “Shut up, Paul. You don’t know her.”

  He laughed at that. “Oh, I don’t have to. I know enough. You’re the one that doesn’t know. How much experience have you had with women like her? You see everything and everyone through your own set of principles, but the world isn’t like that. She’s not worth the pain she’ll bring you. Listen to me, Michael! Do you want a woman who’s been with a hundred men being the mother of your children?”

  Michael stared at him. Was this what Angel had put up with all her life? Condemnation and blind hatred? “I think you’d better stop right there,” he said tightly.