The Ways of Heaven

by Lindsey Barlow

  He stroked Daisy’s hair aimlessly, “I am not asking for forgiveness or compassion. Maybe just a little understanding about why I hurt you.” His eyes moistened. “I am sorry.”

  Rose sat down on the bed, her face tense. “I do not want any more apologies, Cade. I want change.”

  He nodded. “So do I.” Then he turned and left, leaving Rose to put on her robe.

  Thirty

  Cade walked outside under a young oak tree. The shade and play of shadows and sunshine pleased Daisy, and she began to coo.

  “What are you saying, huh?” Cade asked. Daisy looked at him as if she was just realizing someone other than Rose was holding her. Without warning, she sunk her fingers into his cheeks grabbing his flesh.

  Cade’s eyes widened. “That is a strong grip little one.”

  Daisy did not let go; instead she clutched harder, laughing as he crossed his eyes.

  “And quite the attitude,” he laughed, peeling off her little fingers. She reluctantly let go and was soon distracted by a chirping sparrow.

  Cade inhaled deeply; his blood had slowed when Rose spoke. He tried listening, really listening. He had never done that before in their marriage, and he understood why: it hurt. It hurt to hear the truth, to see his wife’s disappointment. To know why she did not want his touch, his support, or anything to do with him.

  Cade looked up at the dancing shadows and sunlight among the leaves. “Lord,” he said softly, embarrassed that someone, even God Himself, might hear. “I don’t know how exactly I get to know you. Jeffries says I need to ask you why I started gambling. My wife says that Christ can heal me. I suppose I have a lot to say, but … well, I guess I am asking for you to help me. Whether it is knowing Christ, having discipline, or figuring out what I need to do with my life. Just, help me. Please.”

  Daisy giggled at something and Cade looked at her pale green eyes. Such a beautiful girl: so small, so unaware of the trials that would face her. She did not feel as if she was his child yet, but it was clear that she was now Rose’s child, and therefore his responsibility. If he couldn’t protect her, who would? And if he could not help himself, how could he help her? “Please,” he whispered. “Please! Help me.”

  /

  Meg felt like she couldn’t breathe anymore. Her skin was cold and her heart was beating so fast she thought it would burst out of her chest. “It is just shadows,” she told herself, “nothing more.” She had felt strange the last few days, although Meg couldn’t exactly put a finger on it or even describe the constant goose bumps on her skin. It was just a feeling, a feeling of being watched. Wiping away the moisture from her neck, she suddenly heard Charles in her mind.

  /

  “Such a pretty neck.” Charles slid his thumb down her throat cupping the nape of her neck with his large fingers. “The female neck is so delicate, so fragile under the wrong hands.”

  Meg glared and shoved the hand away. “You disgust me,” she spat, tensing her body. She would not allow him to see her shake. He wanted her afraid, wanted to see her tremble under his touch.

  He lifted his hand faster than a blink, and his grip tightened around her neck. “Do you want to feel how fragile your neck is? Feel the little bones break?”

  “You need me too much,” Meg croaked under his grip. “This hotel is known for its cuisine. If I die, or leave, your hotel fails.”

  An amused smile spread across his lips. “Leave?” He barked out a laugh. “Oh my, dear Meg, were you to leave you would not last.” He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear. “I would make sure of that.”

  Meg closed her eyes. Don’t do it, don’t. He was stronger, and so much bigger. He would hurt her as he always did. Don’t do it!

  Ignoring every demand she gave herself, Meg, with all her might, shoved her knee up while pulling his torso down. She was not quite sure where her knee made contact, but she knew Charles cried out and released his grip. Meg ran for the door, but not fast enough before her hair was grabbed and yanked back.

  /

  “Mama Meg,” it was Bill tugging at her shirt. “You alright?”

  Meg nodded, forcing the memory out of her head. “Yes, Bill, I am alright. Did you fellas start the muffins?”

  He nodded. “We wanted to know if you needed some hot cocoa. You have been looking mighty sad, and we thought it would help.”

  Meg smiled walking over to Bill and linking arms with him. “Hot cocoa is just what I need, Bill, thank you.”

  Bill proudly led her to the warm kitchen that perpetually smelled like bacon and hot bread.

  “Is it true Doctor McPherson is coming today?” Frank asked, turning the butter tray so it was straight. “You told us on Sunday that he was.”

  Meg bit her bottom lip and shrugged.

  “I like Doctor McPherson,” said Frank. “He helped me when I had an earache and gave me a piece of candy, too.”

  Meg chuckled softly. She could only imagine how excited Frank would be for a piece of candy.

  “I remember the girl he loved so much. She used to deliver babies.”

  Meg nearly dropped the strips of dough for a lattice over a cherry pie. “Girl?”

  Frank nodded. “Real pretty girl and very nice with a little boy who was always with her.”

  Meg’s lips parted. “Oh,” she said disingenuously. She glanced at the shiny metal pan near her. Brown eyes, brown hair, brown skin, brown freckles. She looked away—it was silly to worry about frivolous things, wasn’t it?

  Luckily the workers began pouring in and for an hour Meg was busy serving coffee and flopping down fried potato cakes with hot gravy and chunks of ham with honey glaze. She was grateful for the boisterous noises and Jeffries’s smooth voice as he laid out instructions for the day.

  “I need some more vegetables, boys. Would you mind going to the garden and filling up the vegetable baskets for me?” She sighed when they just stood there. “You two will be fine without me.”

  “But you always go to the garden with us,” Bill said with confusion.

  Meg bit her lip, trying to figure out a way of encouraging them to be a bit more independent without offending their tender feelings. “You are right Bill, and I love picking berries and pulling out vegetables with you two, but let’s see if you two can do it alone every now and then. One day I may be sick, or sprain an ankle and you two will be the head chef’s for a day or maybe a week.”

  “You are going to get sick?” Frank did not like that thought.

  “No!” Meg walked over to them. “I do not plan on getting sick, but you two are very talented and very smart. So I know you can do this alone. If you need help, all you have to do is come get me. Alright?”

  That seemed to reassure them, and they left, albeit reluctantly. Meg was left alone to knead dough for rolls that she was serving with a chunky vegetable stew. She said a little prayer, for the twins, the dead bird, for Rose and Daisy, for herself. She liked praying now. It was like lancing a boil. Doubts and fears could be expressed to someone who cared more about her than she did herself.

  A soft tap on the door was followed by Rose’s cheerful face peeking over the oak panel. “Knock, knock,” she grinned.

  Meg wiped off her hands and ran over. “How are you? Have you bludgeoned your husband yet?” she teased.

  Rose rolled her eyes and embraced Meg. “No, not yet,” she pulled back and shrugged. “He’s been with Sheriff Ben since yesterday afternoon. I saw him briefly before that when he was working on a fence, and then he was back with the sheriff again.”

  “Where is Daisy?”

  “With my mother who claims a few weeks of seeing Daisy every day has made one day’s absence feel like an eternity,” Rose laughed. “Besides, I love holding that bundle of sweetness, but my arms are killing me.”

  Meg nodded to the table, “Are you going out with your mother and me later this afternoon?”

  Rose shook her head. “I would love to, but I am feeling the need to fix up my new home. Right now my life feels so disorgani
zed and chaotic. I need order in the house.” She shrugged again and forced a bright smile. “Besides, you may want me away so you can enjoy the company of someone else?” Rose winked.

  Meg shook her head. “I doubt he’ll come. If he does, it will be to see you.”

  “I doubt it. And remember, I am a married woman.” Rose held up her wedding ring with an emphasized frown.

  Meg shot her a compassionate smile. “Do you realize that most girls groan over not being married and here we are moaning over a marriage?”

  Rose nodded. “True. Although I would think that every woman at one time looks at her marriage and is disappointed that it is not perfect.”

  “Do you think women demand too much perfection?” Meg asked. “Not that you did, but in general?”

  “I know what you mean.” Rose began gliding her finger in slow circles on the table. “I think as human beings we intrinsically want perfection because God is perfect and we are His children. As such, we experience disappointment because we are not perfect and cannot be perfect. Still, we crave it.”

  Meg nodded and checked the rising bread, her cheeks slightly sucked in. Rose tilted her head, her finger pausing on the table. “What are you thinking, Meg?”

  The cook gave a nonchalant frown. “Oh, nothing important. It is just … I still jump at any sudden noise. I can’t help thinking Charles Lars is waiting to pounce. I see his face most nights. I pray that those dreams will go away, but his presence is still so strong that … I know it is silly, but it feels like he is here.”

  “Let me talk to Jeffries and have him pay close attention to anything odd around the dairy, any extra person or sign of such. I don’t know if that will help reassure you, but it couldn’t hurt.”

  Meg sighed. “Do you think I am crazy? For still being afraid of him?”

  Rose stood up, “All it shows is that you have a good head on your shoulders. Any person who was constantly beaten by someone will naturally be afraid.”

  Meg looked down at her shoes. “But I still don’t know the reason why I stayed when I was so miserable. I told myself it was because I had no other choice, but I also wonder if I was simply too scared.”

  “I do not believe you to be paralyzed out of fear. If you stayed it meant that it was your only option at that point.”

  Meg looked doubtful and Rose gripped her hand. “Listen Meg, you were completely willing to escape that hotel when I offered you a position here. Had you left the hotel before then, who knows what would have happened? Trust me, you are not a scared, timid girl, but rather the complete opposite.”

  Meg looked up at the faint knock on the door. To both her delight and surprise, Jonathan McPherson came in holding a bouquet of wildflowers. He grinned at Meg and walked through the doorway.

  “If I say these are for you,” he addressed Meg, “you promise not to slap me?”

  Rose suppressed a laugh when Meg turned beet red. “Meg, dear,” Rose tossed her a wink, “I am going to find Jeffries.” She looked over at the doctor. “Jonathan,” she said in simple greeting.

  He nodded, “Rose.” Holding the door open for her, he took his eyes briefly away from Meg who quickly pinched her cheeks and prayed she did not smell like soapy water.

  “You may regret giving me flowers after I teach you today. I am not my friendliest or most compassionate when it comes to cooking.”

  The doctor laughed and walked forward holding out the flowers. Meg took them, wondering if she was supposed to smell them, kiss him on the cheek, or thank him again.

  “I love wildflowers,” she said. “Do you often give wildflowers to others?” A transparent question she instantly regretted. Of course she wanted to know if this doctor enjoyed flirting and giving little romantic mementos to other women, but she did not have to express it so boldly.

  The doctor seemed pleased with the question. “Would you be upset if I did?”

  Meg shrugged. “It is no matter to me,” she smiled and went to place the flowers in a pitcher, missing the downcast expression on Jonathan’s face.

  He swept his eyes over one of the counters. “That is a lot of dough.”

  Meg looked over. “I need to put those in the oven right now, actually. They are for the coal miner’s clinic in the mountains. I do not have time to visit, so the least I can do is send you off with bread and cookies.”

  Jonathan walked over to where Meg was standing on her tiptoes reaching for a pitcher. He touched her arm, lowering it, then took down the pitcher himself and held it in front of him, looking at Meg curiously.

  Close. He was so close. His torso nearly touched her own. She could see the individual black eyelashes around his dark eyes and feel the warmth of his skin.

  “Tell me, Miss Meg,” he said slowly, “do you often make bread for other men?”

  Meg’s heart stopped. He was turning her own question on her. Not only that but he had tilted his head, lowering it so he was inches away from her mouth. She looked at his lips: soft, pleasing. His sheer presence pulled her in, and she did not want to resist. She wanted to feel the exhilaration of having his mouth on her own; she wanted to be pressed so tightly in his arms that her breath stopped while her heart beat fiercely against his own.

  “Well, Miss Meg?” he asked again.

  Meg swallowed and took a step back. She could play his game. “Would you be upset if I did?” she grinned. She expected him to laugh, but he didn’t.“Very,” he replied. “I would feel undesired.” He paused, his face still, waiting for a reaction.

  Meg took another step back and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Forcing a smile, and an absurd giggle, she said, “You are such a tease.”

  Jonathan looked disappointed. The corner of his lips pulled up briefly, but did not extend to his eyes. “So what are you teaching me today?”

  “Eggs to start with.” Meg nodded for him to follow her to the stove. “When people want to learn cooking, they always want to start out with something impressive and fancy. They don’t realize that before soufflés and braised meats you should at least learn how to make a decent egg.”

  “Medical school was similar. Students were eager to learn surgery before knowing how to prescribe a remedy for a simple cough.”

  Meg pulled out two eggs and some salt. “What made you decide to become a doctor?”

  Jonathan took one of the eggs Meg offered. “My mother and father always encouraged it. My mother was studying to be a nurse when she met my father. He runs a flour mill on the border of the valley. She loved being a mother, but I think she always hungered a bit for the medical education she never finished. My eldest brother is a surgeon in Los Angeles.” A melancholy smile passed his lips, “My parents miss him terribly, especially my father, which is another reason why I left New York. I could not do the same to them.”

  Meg nodded. “Crack the egg gently, then slowly pull back the shell and let the yolk drop into a perfect circle by holding it close over the skillet.”

  Jonathan did as instructed, and Meg nodded approvingly. “Do you ever regret being a doctor?”

  Jonathan shook his head. “Not for a minute. I love it, especially with all the advances being made. It really is miraculous.”

  Meg handed him something that looked like a large flat spoon. “Don’t rush the egg. We let it cook slowly. I’ll tell you when to flip it.”

  “What about you?” Jonathan asked. “When did you know you wanted to be a cook?”

  She shrugged, her eyes darkening slightly. “Cooking chose me. I was always good at it. I learned to read by reading recipes.”

  Casually, Jonathan said, “So did you like working at the Red Bear?”

  “When my mother ran it, but after my father left I—” she stopped, her face motionless as she realized what she had revealed. “You remember me,” she said too softly. It was not a question.

  Jonathan grinned sheepishly. “Well, you are a hard woman to forget. Either that, or the doughnuts were hard to forget. I haven’t decided.”

  She smile
d at the joke and forced a shrug. “I’m sorry that I was untruthful. I was embarrassed at my behavior.” And you have no idea what I went through, why I am not the untouched princess that you deserve.

  Jonathan leaned on the counter. “Why? For being kind? For making me forget my troubles for a moment?” He was leaning on his elbows and Meg could not help but notice lean muscles strain against the cotton of his sleeves.

  She cleared her throat, feeling warm. “For being forward.” She was not about to tell him the things that Charles Lars tried, the words that were said to her, the hands she had to slap away over and over.

  He grinned. “How were you forward? I mean, if you were just being kind then there is nothing to be ashamed about. Unless, you were being more than kind.” He pressed almost as a teasing taunt.Meg blushed. He was enjoying this, and so was she. “For flirting with you,” Meg exclaimed stamping her foot. “There, I said it. I flirted with you.”

  Jonathan laughed a rich, deep laugh that radiated through the air. “I knew it. You thought I was handsome.”

  Meg shook her head wanting to die. “I—”

  “You made me doughnuts because you needed an excuse to look into my eyes and see if I was as dashing as you thought.”

  Meg wanted to disappear. “That is not true.” She tried to look angry but a stupid smile appeared on her face instead. Jonathan shook his head, “You thought I was a fine specimen of a man,” he chanted.

  If it were possible to melt with blushing, Meg knew she would be a puddle right now. She raised an egg threateningly. “One more word and I will show you another good use for an egg.”

  Jonathan stopped laughing and took a step forward. His long fingers closed around her hand, the egg, all of it. Meg felt her heart stop as he lowered her threatening gesture. Keeping his fingers clasped around hers, he said, “I came back, you know. I asked where you were. I said I was looking for the beautiful girl with the golden eyes.”

  Meg’s lips parted, her eyes flickering to his mouth. So soft, so welcoming. “Beautiful?” Her voice was hoarse. Oh he was close, and why did she not realize before how tall he was? His hand completely enclosed hers and she imagined his body could wrap around her without a lot of effort—and without a lot of protest on her part. Meg told herself to step back, but the need for touch kept her in place. The pulse in Jonathan’s wrist began to race against her own, beating against each other in frantic unison.