Redeeming Love

by Francine Rivers

  They left at first light. Angel rode behind Michael, her hands tucked securely into his belt. He said little other than to ask how she’d made it to Sacramento. She told him in detail about old Sam Teal and his hard luck. He laughed when she told him about selling the pans at the mining camp. She laughed, too. “I didn’t think I’d be good at anything.”

  “I’ll let you handle business with Joseph next time we bring in a shipment of produce.”

  “Joseph’s a different matter altogether. He wouldn’t be so easily blinded.”

  “He likes you, you know.”

  “He does?” She was oddly pleased. “I thought he let me stay as a favor to you.”

  “Partly. He said he knew God had his hand on you when you walked in the door that day.”

  Angel didn’t answer. She didn’t think God had his hand on anything that had to do with her. He had washed his hands of her long ago. She slid her arms around Michael’s waist and leaned her head against his strong, broad back. She was perilously close to crying. Shaking, she fought a nebulous fear gnawing at her. Michael sensed it but waited until they stopped for a rest to talk about it.

  Dismounting, he lifted her down from the horse. Tipping her chin, he searched her eyes. “What is it, Amanda?”

  “It was pure luck that I found Joseph when I did, Michael.”

  Michael knew it was far more than that, but telling her wouldn’t make her believe it.

  Angel didn’t want to think of what might have happened if she hadn’t found the storekeeper. She was so weak. It was a loathsome thing to face about herself. One day on her own, and she would have walked back into a brothel. One day. Maybe not even that long. “You saved me again,” she said, striving for lightness. Embarrassed by her vulnerability, she looked away.

  Michael tipped her face back. Oh, his eyes. So full of hope. So full of love. “I’m only a tool, beloved. Not your Savior.”

  When he took her in his arms, she went willingly. They remained until dusk and rode the rest of the way home in moonlight.

  Michael set to work on the fields, making the final preparations before planting. Angel helped by toting stones and breaking up clods in the grainfields. When the day came to plant, Michael loaded the seed and Angel onto the back of the wagon. He told her how to sow the wheat, then drove back and forth over the ground. She cast the seed, doubtful anything would come of it.

  Planting the corn was more work. Michael trapped fish and chopped them into large chunks to be buried with the kernels. It took from dawn to dusk to get the field planted, but when she looked out at the rich ground, she felt satisfied. The next morning, she saw a flock of birds in the wheat field. Dropping the water bucket, she ran into the field to chase them away.

  Laughing, Michael rested his arms on the corral fence he was fixing and watched. “What are you doing?”

  “Michael, those horrible birds! What are we going to do? They’re eating every seed we planted.” She threw a clod at another bird, and it fluttered off, perching in a nearby tree.

  “Just leave them be. They won’t take more than their share.”

  She marched back. “Their share? Why should they have any?”

  “In fair payment. They’re the guardians of the land.” He pointed. “The swallows, swifts, and hawks guard the air, filling themselves on insects that would otherwise overload it. The woodpeckers, creepers, and chickadees feed on the grubs and beetles that would destroy our trees. The warblers and flycatchers feed on insects that attack the leaves. Grouse and prairie hens eat the grasshoppers that would devour our crops.”

  “What are those pecking out there?”

  He laughed. “Blackbirds.”

  “Well, they’re good for nothing, aren’t they?”

  “They guard the surface of the soil, along with the help of crows, thrushes, and larks. Snipes and woodcocks eat the bugs that burrow under the surface.” He tugged her braid lightly. “Spare the birds, Amanda, or we’ll lose our crops. Besides, I’ve got other things for you to do.” He swung over the fence and swept her up in his arms.

  “Michael, what if it doesn’t rain?”

  “It will.”

  “How do you know it will?”

  He set her on her feet again. “You’re worrying about things you can’t control. Just take things one day at a time.”

  It did rain in the weeks that came, softly moistening the earth. “Michael, come and see!” Green sprouts came up, and Angel walked up and down the corn rows with uncontainable excitement. The plants were so small and fragile. One hot day would wither them, but Michael didn’t worry. He repaired the corral fence, finished building the springhouse, and went hunting. He shot a buck and showed her how to dress it. They hung the meat in the smokehouse.

  Sometimes, when Angel least expected it, Michael would find her at her chores. “Let’s find a nice place in the sun,” he’d whisper, putting his arms around her. “Come away with me and be my love.”

  They were lying in the hayloft one day when Angel heard Miriam calling. “Oh!” she said, mortified. Michael laughed, caught her around the waist, and threw her playfully back into the hay. “Where you going?”

  “What’s she going to think? You and me up here in the middle of the day?”

  “Maybe she’ll think we’re pitching hay.”

  “Miriam is a very bright girl.”

  He grinned. “Well, then maybe she’ll go away.”

  “No, she won’t.” She jumped up and plucked hay from her hair.

  “Tell her I’m out hunting and you were taking a nap,” he said, getting up and kissing the nape of her neck. Blushing, she pushed him away.

  Miriam came into the barn and saw Angel descending the ladder. “Oh, there you are.”

  “I was just napping,” Angel said, flustered and pushing wisps of hair back.

  Miriam’s eyes twinkled. “Your fields are planted, too, I see.”

  Angel cleared her throat. “Yes.”

  “And growing nicely.”

  “Shall we go into the cabin? I’ll fix some coffee.”

  “That sounds nice,” Miriam said and burst out laughing. “Michael! Papa wants you and Mandy to come for dinner. We’re going to celebrate our first planting.”

  Michael’s answering laughter drifted down from the loft. “Tell him we’d love to.”

  Miriam took Angel’s hand as they left the barn. “Mama’s always flushed when she comes back from a long walk with Papa,” she said. “The way you are right now.”

  Angel blushed. “You shouldn’t talk about it so freely.”

  Miriam pulled Angel to a stop and hugged her hard. “I’ve missed you so much!”

  Angel hugged her back, her throat tight. “I missed you, too.”

  Miriam drew back, eyes flooding. “Well! That wasn’t so hard to admit, was it?” She looked very pleased.

  The Altmans’ own planting was finished, and Miriam said she had more time for herself. The children were fine. They had seen Paul several times. He helped them dig their new well.

  “Let’s take our coffee outside and sit under that apple tree,” Miriam said. Michael was chopping wood. Angel called out, asking if he wanted coffee, but he called back no.

  “Mama’s in a family way,” Miriam said as they made themselves comfortable in the shade. “She always blooms when a baby’s coming.”

  “How’s your father taking it?” Angel asked, thinking of her own.

  “Oh, he’s very smug,” Miriam said. She smiled impishly. “Are you and Michael working on a family?”

  The question sent a sharp pang through Angel. She shrugged and looked away.

  Miriam took Angel’s hand. “Why did you leave? We were all so worried.”

  “I can’t explain,” Angel said.

  “Can’t or won’t? Do you even know the reason yourself?”

  “Partly.” She wouldn’t explain further. How could she and make this naive girl understand? She was so open, so free. Angel wished she could be like her.

  �
�We never told Ruthie,” Miriam said. “We just said you and Michael were very busy and we couldn’t come for a while.”

  “Thank you,” Angel said. She watched Michael stacking firewood, her heart aching.

  Miriam smiled. “You’re terribly in love with him, aren’t you?”

  “Terribly. I’m consumed with it. Sometimes he only has to look at me—” She stopped, realizing she was speaking her most private thoughts aloud.

  Miriam looked at her. “Isn’t that as it should be?”

  “I don’t know. Is it?”

  “I hope so,” Miriam said dreamily. “Oh, I really hope so.”

  Miriam brought Ruth the next time. Angel left her gardening when she saw the child racing down the flower-strewn hillside. Dashing the dirt from her hands, she came through the gate and took a couple of running steps to meet the child.

  “Mandy! Mandy!” Ruthie cried joyously, and Angel swept her up in her arms and hugged her.

  “Hello, darling,” she said huskily, kissing the child on both cheeks and her nose. “Have you been a good girl since I saw you last?”

  “Yes!” Ruth said, squeezing Angel around the neck again as though she had no intention of ever letting go. “Why did you run away? You were gone so long. Paul said you always run away and Michael just keeps going and finding you and getting you back again. He said Michael’s a fool because you like your old life better than being a farmer’s wife. What’s your old life, Mandy? I don’t want you to go back to it. I want you to stay here.”

  Angel set her down very slowly. Her stomach had dropped as soon as Ruth began parroting what she had obviously overheard. We didn’t tell Ruthie. She couldn’t look at Miriam when she came up to them.

  “What’s the matter?” Miriam asked. When Angel didn’t speak, she looked at her baby sister. “What have you been saying?”

  Angel touched Ruthie’s dark head tenderly. “I love being a farmer’s wife,” she said very quietly, “and I don’t want to go back to my old life.”

  Miriam’s mouth fell open, and her face went dark red.

  Ruthie nodded and hugged her around the legs. Angel looked at Miriam coldly.

  “What’s she been saying to you?” Miriam asked.

  “Just what she’s heard.”

  “Ruthie. Just what did you hear?”

  “You and Paul,” she said, muffled against Angel’s skirt.

  “Never mind,” Angel said bleakly. “Just leave her alone, Miriam.”

  “I will not! You were eavesdropping, weren’t you?” Miriam said, arms akimbo as she stared down at her little sister.

  Ruthie peered at her. “Mama sent me.” Her lower lip protruded. “She wanted me to fetch you.”

  “When was this?”

  “When Paul was over. She said you were gone too long and she wanted you to come into the cabin.”

  Miriam blushed furiously. “And?”

  “He was talking, and you were mad. I could tell ’cause you got all red in the face like it is now. You told him to take his stories home with him, and he said—”

  Angel put a shaking hand to her brow, her face very pale.

  “Never mind,” Miriam said quickly, silencing her sister. She looked up, tears in her eyes. “Amanda…”

  Angel shrugged, trembling.

  Miriam pulled Ruthie away and gave her a light pat on the bottom. “Go say hello to Michael, Ruthie.”

  Ruthie chewed on her lower lip, tears building in her eyes. “You’re not mad at me?”

  She bent down. “I forgive you, now go on.” She kissed her little sister. “We’ll talk about it later, punkin. Go see Michael.” When Ruthie reached Michael, he swung her up onto the fence.

  “I’m sorry.” Miriam was distressed. “Say something, Amanda. Don’t look like that.”

  What was there to say? “Would you like some coffee?”

  “No, I don’t want any coffee.” When Angel started walking toward the cabin, Miriam fell into step beside her. “I was not gossiping about you. I swear it.”

  “Neither was Paul,” Angel said. “He was just telling you the way he sees things.”

  “How can you defend him?”

  “I’ve hurt Michael more than once, and Paul knows it.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’ll hurt him again.”

  “It doesn’t mean I won’t.”

  Miriam and Ruthie stayed most of the afternoon, and all the while Angel couldn’t get it out of her mind. Could she change? Was she different just because Michael loved her? Or was this just the quiet before the real storm?

  Michael knew something was wrong. A month of blissful happiness and he could feel her drawing away from him again. He was afraid. Lord, don’t let her pull away from me again. Help me hold onto her.

  “Come here,” he said, putting a blanket before the fireplace. She came willingly enough, but there was something somber and secret in her eyes. What was tormenting her?

  Angel leaned back against the solid comfort of Michael’s broad, muscular chest. She loved his hands on her.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, nuzzling her neck. “Something’s been eating at you all evening. Did Miriam or Ruth say something to upset you?”

  “Not on purpose.” She didn’t want to tell him about Paul. She didn’t want to tell him how much words hurt. She had denied their power all her life, but each name cut. “It’s just that I’m so happy,” she said, her voice shaking. “I can’t get over feeling that I don’t deserve this.”

  “And you think I do?”

  “What have you ever done to be ashamed of in your life, Michael? Not a blessed thing.”

  “I’ve committed murder.” He felt the shock go through her at his admission. She drew away from him and turned, eyes wide.

  “You?”

  “A hundred times. When I came back for you the first time and saw what Magowan had done to you. And Duke. I’ve killed him a hundred times in a hundred ways, each worse than the last.”

  She relaxed, understanding. “Thinking about doing something wrong isn’t the same thing as doing it.”

  “Isn’t it? Where’s the real difference? The same desire is there, feeding on itself and me.” He tugged her braid lightly. “Don’t you see? Neither of us deserves this. It’s got nothing to do with whether we do or not. Every blessing comes down from the Father, not in payment for good done, but as a gift.”

  Michael saw that her eyes flickered at his first mention of God. He felt her growing resistance. God, the foul word. God, the being that had no meaning in her life other than retribution for sins committed, some not her own. She believed God was wrath and that he would continually punish her for living a life she was forced into by a seedy old drunk who didn’t know what he was doing. God was unmerciful and enjoyed inflicting pain.

  How could he make her see that God the Father was the only escape she had from living in hell when the only father she had ever known had wanted her ripped out of her mother’s womb and thrown away?

  “Show me this Father of yours, Michael,” she said, unable to keep the edge out of her voice.

  “I am,” Michael said quietly.

  “Where? I don’t see him. Maybe if he stood before me, I’d believe he existed.” And she could spit in his face for everything that happened to her and her mother.

  “He’s in me. I’m showing him to you every hour of every day, the only way I know how.” And clearly not doing a good enough job.

  She saw she had hurt him and softened. He was so sincere. And he loved her so much. She loved him, too, though she had fought so hard against it. He had made her love him just by being Michael. But that had nothing whatsoever to do with God. Did it?

  “Love isn’t enough,” she said, touching his beloved face. “If it was, I should have been enough for my mother, but I wasn’t. I won’t be enough for you, either.”

  “No, you won’t. And I won’t be enough for you, Amanda. I don’t want to be the center of your life. I want to be part of it. I want to be your husband, not y
our god. People can’t always be there for you, no matter how much they want to be. And that includes me.”

  “And God is?” she said derisively. “God was never there for me.” She moved out of his embrace and stood, retreating to the bed. He watched her loosen her hair. She looked at him and went very still. “I’m glad you like blondes,” she said mildly.

  She wasn’t going to put him off that easily. “Your looks may have had a little to do with why I first noticed you,” he admitted, standing up. He tossed the blanket over the back of the chair.

  “Only a little?” she said without conceit. Until Michael, she had always looked upon herself as fodder for a man’s lust.

  “A little,” he repeated firmly. When she raised her eyes, he gave her a solemn look that belied his mood. “Actually, I think it was your even temper, your willingness to adjust to my way of life, your constant desire to please me.…” He crossed the room as he spoke and sat on the bed beside her as she laughed.

  Her defenses dropped at his disarming smile. “So,” she said, “you’re just another bloke who rises to a challenge.” Her smile faded even as the words came from her lips. Why did everything she say have to brand her with her past? She looked away again and continued to unbraid her hair. His hand rested comfortingly on her thigh. Even that light touch made her melt inside. “What do you feel now that I’m soft clay in your hands, Michael?”

  “Joy,” he said. “Pure joy.” He saw how the pulse raced in her throat and pressed a kiss to it. He heard her soft intake of breath and felt the answering warmth spread swiftly through him. He wanted her. He would always want her. And, praise God, she wanted him as well. He felt it every time he touched her.

  “Beloved,” he whispered, feeling an overwhelming tenderness at the look of uncertainty in her blue eyes, “if anyone knew how or why people fall in love with one another, they’d bottle and sell it off to one of those traveling medicine wagons. It wasn’t how you looked. It isn’t that you smell and taste so good to me now. You know it isn’t,” he said, kissing her.

  “It’s part of it,” she said with a sigh.

  “God knows that’s true, but it’s something beyond just that. Something unseen. You cried out to me that day when you walked by, and I couldn’t do anything else but answer.”