Rekindled

by Tamera Alexander

  Kathryn stared, speechless, at Maudelaine and then at the white cottage trimmed in gray to match the main house. It was perfect, and far more than she’d anticipated.

  “But, dear, if you’d rather stay in the main house, I can have a room fixed up for you.”

  “No, it’s beautiful!” Kathryn said after a pause. “I just didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

  Miss Maudelaine’s smile conveyed her pleasure. She extended her hand and raised a brow in question. Kathryn nodded in approval, and the woman laid a hand to her swollen belly.

  “You’re small for bein’ as far along as you told me. You must be carryin’ that little one close to your heart, lass.”

  Kathryn smiled, warming at the truth of that statement.

  Maudelaine hesitated. “Might I ask you a personal question, dear? And please don’t be takin’ any offense in my askin’ it. I have a reason for my pryin’, I assure you.”

  Unable to imagine what the question might be, Kathryn told her to go ahead.

  The woman smiled softly. “Would this be the only dress you have to wear during your mournin’ time?”

  Looking down, Kathryn smoothed a hand over the dusty skirt of the black dress she’d worn every day since Larson’s funeral, noting the obvious wear along the hemline and sleeves. “Yes, ma’am. I made it myself and would’ve sewn another, but I’ve had other obligations to meet, and . . . Well, I’m sorry if it’s not—”

  The woman gently touched her arm. “Don’t you dare be sayin’ you’re sorry to me, dear. I told you there was a reason for my pryin’. My younger sister, God rest her soul, was about your size, and after her husband passed on . . . Well, let’s just say she wore the widow’s color for a long time, and she was with child too. If you’re willin’, I’ll go through some of her dresses and pick a few for you to make good use of. They’ve been packed away for years but have plenty of wear left in them, to be sure.”

  For a moment, in the company of such generosity, Kathryn found herself too moved to speak. “That’s most kind of you to offer. Yes, I’d appreciate that very much. Thank you, Miss Maudelaine.”

  The older woman made a tsking noise. “Oh, there’ll be no ‘Miss Maudelaine’ for me, dear. I’m Miss Maudie here at Casaroja. That’s what all the servants and ranch hands call me.” She turned and led Kathryn toward the cottage. Pulling a key from her pocket, Miss Maudie continued, “Even Mr. MacGregor calls me that.” Kathryn slowed at hearing the name. “Mr. . . . Donlyn MacGregor?”

  “Yes, dear. He owns Casaroja, and you’ll meet him soon. He meets everyone who works on his ranch. It’s a strict rule of his to know his employees.”

  While picturing her meeting with her new employer, Kathryn took in the magnificent surroundings again. Larson had never mentioned Casaroja or even the name MacGregor for that matter, but something didn’t make sense to her. Why would a man like MacGregor, who had all of this, want more land?

  “Are you all right, child?” The older woman looked back from the cottage’s small porch.

  Kathryn nodded and joined her. “Have you known Mr. MacGregor long, Miss Maudie?”

  “Oh my, yes.” Her voice grew quiet and her expression indicated she might say more, so Kathryn waited. But then Miss Maudie turned and made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “Mr. MacGregor has done very well for himself. He built all this from nothing, I’m proud to tell you. I dare say that not one thing he’s set his cap to has remained out of his reach.”

  Kathryn followed Miss Maudie inside the cottage, wondering at the hint of motherly pride in the woman’s voice. The cottage was pristine in every way. From the shiny oak paneled floor to the yellow and white flower print curtains adorning the windows. The kitchen sat off to the right with a separate sitting area opposite it, and a bedroom ran along the back. It far exceeded Kathryn’s expectations and needs.

  “Miss Maudie, this is lovely! Are you sure this is included in our agreement? I fully expected to be sharing a room with at least one other woman.”

  The older woman put up a hand. “Nonsense, this has been sitting empty for some time now and needs to be used. In fact, Mr. MacGregor insisted that you have it. There’s even a water closet off the bedroom there.” She chuckled. “And if memory serves right, that should come in handy in the wee night hours.”

  “So you have children, then?”

  A shadow crossed Miss Maudie’s face, and she cleared her throat. “No, actually . . . I don’t. None of my own, but I was very close to my sister when she was with child.”

  The light in her eyes dimmed despite the smile on her face, and Kathryn wished she could take the question back.

  “Well, it’s time to be gettin’ dinner on.” Maudie turned. “We feed fifty-seven ranch hands morning, noon, and night around here, and I can sure use another pair of hands.” She glided a fingertip along a side table, then held it up for inspection before rubbing her fingers together. “You take an hour to get settled, Mrs. Jennings, and then come help me in the main kitchen. We’ll go over your specific duties after dinner in the study.”

  Kathryn stepped forward. “Please, Miss Maudie, call me Kathryn.”

  “Kathryn it is, then,” she said, her eyes softening. “And may I add . . . I’m thankful you’re here, lass. You’ve a brightness about you, despite what you’ve endured of late. I’ll enjoy watchin’ the wee babe grow within you, and I’ll be here to help you when your time comes.” She gave Kathryn’s hand a squeeze. “Now get some rest, then meet me in the kitchen at four o’clock. I’ll have a man tote your trunk here later.”

  The coordination of dinner in the main house that night was a sight to behold. Miss Maudie ran a tightly scheduled crew. Everyone had a job, and though Kathryn understood her basic responsibilities as housekeeper, she quickly learned another important duty—to do everything Miss Maudie said, exactly when she said it. A poor girl by the name of Molly dawdled once too often during the evening and paid the price dearly. Miss Maudie never raised her voice, but her disapproving expression earned immediate respect and a swift change in behavior. Kathryn vowed to never be on the receiving end of that unpleasant look.

  Expecting to see Donlyn MacGregor during the course of the evening, she discovered with relief that he was away on business. No doubt their meeting would come soon enough, and she didn’t look forward to it, nor did she particularly like the idea of being in his employ. But this job seemed like a godsend, and to think of it in any other light left her feeling selfish and ungrateful. She thought again about MacGregor’s offer to help her and wondered what it would mean being indebted to the man.

  Returning to the cottage later that evening, well after dark, she made it through the darkness and to the bed before collapsing on top of it. Her hands were chapped from washing stacks of dirty dishes, and her legs ached from standing so long in one place. Plus the amount of cooking she’d done before that! And to imagine, this happened three times a day! Despite her exhaustion, Kathryn thanked God for His provision of this job and a much more suitable place to live.

  She didn’t have to wonder what Annabelle and Sadie were doing at that moment, and she hurt because of it. Lord, please be with them, and the other women. I wish I could have made more of a difference in their lives while I was there. Keep chipping away on Annabelle’s heart, Lord. She’s got such a soft heart beneath it all. . . .

  As Kathryn lay there, loneliness crept over her. She pulled the music box from her pocket and lifted the lid. Unable to see the inscription in the darkness, she ran her fingers over the words she knew so well. For all your heart’s desires. In slow arching circles, her hand moved over her abdomen, caressing their unborn child. But you were my heart’s desire, Larson.

  She turned the key three times and the simple tune filled the silence, sprinkling it with soft tinny notes. Over and over the song played, repeating itself, until finally it slowed to intermittent chimes, then nothing. A familiar pang tightened Kathryn’s throat, and she turned onto her side. Father, it feels as though half m
y heart has been ripped away. I have so many questions about what happened to him. And no answers.

  A rapping on the front door brought her head up. She sat slowly to avoid the dizziness that was becoming less frequent, then picked her way through the darkness. She looked out the side window first.

  A man stood on the porch, with what looked like her trunk at his feet. Smoothing her hair and dress, she went to open the door.

  Larson had recognized the trunk immediately, and he’d wanted to tell Miss Maudie to ask someone else to take it to the cottage. But from the ranch foreman’s frank appraisal days ago, Larson knew he was at Casaroja by God’s will working through that woman’s kind nature. And he aimed to please them both.

  As he stood on Kathryn’s front porch, waiting for her to answer the door, a bead of sweat trickled between his shoulder blades and inched down his back. She hadn’t recognized him before, and it had been daylight then. He had little to fear now. So why did his heart race?

  He adjusted the smoky-colored spectacles he’d purchased before leaving town from the same old peddler who had sold him the music box. He didn’t know if they would keep Kathryn from seeing who he was, but they did help mask the pain he felt every time someone stared at him. He still saw their shock, but at least they couldn’t see how deeply it wounded him.

  He heard footsteps and fought down the panic rising in his chest. Again, he questioned God’s wisdom in his coming to Casaroja. He was so close to Kathryn here. But wasn’t that why he’d taken the job? To be close to her?

  Yes, but not this close. He backed up a step.

  That put him in the moonlight, so he shifted again. Kathryn opened the door, and for an instant, Larson thought he’d gotten her out of bed.

  “Miss Maudie asked me to bring this to you.” His voice came out raspy, and he swallowed.

  Slivers of pale light shone through the cottonwoods and fell across the threshold, enabling him to see her face. She looked at him briefly, then glanced away. The cottage behind her was dark, especially through his glasses. Her hair was mussed, beautifully so. Something stirred inside him.

  She smiled and pulled open the door. “Thank you for carrying that up here for me. If you’ll just put it over there, please.” She pointed to a space by the cold hearth. “I can carry the clothes to the bedroom later.”

  Larson walked inside, keenly aware of his limp. He tried to compensate, but he’d worked especially hard that day and his body ached. Kathryn had swung the door open wide and left it that way, purposefully so, as though suddenly fearing for her virtue. As if she had any left. A metallic taste filled his mouth at the thought.

  The curtains were open, and shafts of light gleamed off the polished wood floor in the moonlight. Larson easily made out the path to the bedroom and carried the trunk on back.

  “Sir, I said you could—”

  The bedroom was nice. Much nicer than the one they’d shared for ten years. Larson set the trunk below a window and slowly turned to look at her from across the bed—a feather mattress at that. Not stuffed with straw like the one they’d shared. He saw the rumpled blanket and the imprint on the bed where she’d been. She had been asleep, or at least lying down.

  She stood in the darkened doorway, watching him, her hands gently clasped over her illegitimate child. Larson winced at the harshness of his thoughts. Then he saw the glint of something on her left hand. Her wedding ring. No doubt she thought it lent credibility to her situation.

  His boldness to look at her surprised him. But then again, it was dark and the moon was at his back. Did she even recognize him from their brief encounter last week? Part of him hoped she would, while the greater part of him preferred to remain in the background, unnoticed.

  She motioned toward the trunk. “Thank you for bringing it in here. That was very kind of you, sir.”

  Larson heard the smile in her voice. The same smile he’d seen her give to countless other ranch hands during the course of dinner earlier that night. Though meals were served beneath the stand of cottonwoods behind the main house, he chose to eat closer to the stable, alone. His second day here, he’d worked that out with Miss Maudie, with surprisingly little exchange between them.

  Miss Maudie possessed an intuitive nature that encouraged his trust on one hand, while making him wary on the other. Not that he thought she was dishonest. Far from it. But the woman saw into people in ways most others didn’t. And Larson couldn’t afford her doing that with him.

  “I’m sorry about . . .” Kathryn’s voice was soft. She glanced away. “About running into you the other day.”

  So she did remember. Why should that silly fact matter to him? And why were his hands shaking? In the veil of darkness, Larson looked his wife up and down, rapidly ticking off the reasons why he should walk out that door and never come back. But no matter how many of Kathryn’s sins he piled on the scale, he couldn’t make it tip in his favor. Some unseen hand seemed to stay the balance. The same hand tightening a fist around his heart right now.

  He walked out of the bedroom, intentionally breathing in her scent when he passed. “Good night, ma’am.”

  He didn’t hear the front door close behind him. Larson felt her watching, but didn’t turn. After a few strides, his right leg gave out. He stumbled and nearly fell. His body went hot thinking that she might have seen. Not looking back, he gathered his right pant leg in his hand and dragged his leg forward with each stride, gritting his teeth.

  Back in the stable, he took off his dark glasses, threw a blanket on the straw, and sank down. Wishing for one of Abby’s warm mineral baths, he peeled off his pants and shirt and poured the last of the precious brown liniment into his hands. He rubbed it into the taut muscles of his legs and shoulders, then lay back. His body welcomed the reprieve, but his mind was too full to sleep.

  After a while, he picked up his Bible and limped back outside, past the rows of bunkhouses to a spot where lamplight still burned in a window. Voices drifted out to him from the open windows. He sat down beneath the window and leaned against the side of the building, holding the Bible up at an angle. He began reading where he’d left off the previous night, in Peter’s first letter.

  Another week and he’d have read through the entire Bible for the first time. He sighed, thinking of how proud Isaiah and Abby would be of him. For a minute, he wished he were back with them, safe in the cabin, cared for, even loved. Kathryn would have been proud too, but she would never know.

  Larson’s eyes tripped over a phrase, and he suddenly realized he hadn’t been paying attention. He backed up and read the verses again. His throat tightened as he mouthed the words silently.

  Though now for a season . . . ye are in heaviness through manifold temptations: That the trial of your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire. . . .

  Tried with fire.

  He ran a finger over the words, unable to feel the smoothness of the page beneath his seared flesh. He’d heard this Scripture somewhere before. Most likely Kathryn had read it to him one night as he’d halfheartedly listened. His heart devoured the words as his eyes moved down the page.

  For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth . . . but the word of the Lord endureth for ever.

  He didn’t understand everything he read, but some of the verses sounded like God had meant them just for him.

  Laying aside all malice, and all guile, and hypocrisies, and envies . . . desire the sincere milk of the word. . . . He continued to the bottom of the page. Christ also suffered for us, leaving us an example, that ye should follow his steps . . . Who his own self bare our sins in his own body . . . by whose stripes ye were healed.

  The beginning of chapter three left a bitter taste in his mouth, and Larson knew that during their marriage, he hadn’t treated Kathryn as a fellow heir to the grace of life. And it had hindered his prayers. Hers too, no doubt. He kept reading to chapter five.

  Humble yourselves t
herefore under the mighty hand of God, that he may exalt you . . . Casting all your care on him; for he careth for you.

  When the lamplight in the window above him extinguished some time later, Larson quietly got up and made his way back to the stable. He lay down and, for the first time in months, slept the night without waking.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  HANGING LAUNDRY THE next morning, Kathryn saw him again from a distance. The man who had delivered her trunk. She recognized him instantly—the knit cap pulled tight over his head, the scruffy beard. And though his scars had been obscured in the shadowed half light, she could never forget them.

  As he led a horse from the stable to the fenced corral, Kathryn watched him, staring at the reason why sleep had eluded her the night before. How did a man communicate so much while speaking so little?

  Last night she’d gotten the distinct impression that he didn’t want to be in the same room with her. It still puzzled her. Something about him drew her, as it had that first day. Compassion most likely, or at least that’s what she’d originally thought. But as she’d lain awake considering it, remembering his darkened silhouette against the moonlight, she’d figured out what it was.

  He reminded her of Larson.

  Not so much physically, she decided. It was more his . . . presence. And the way he looked at her.

  The man tethered the buckskin mare to a post, then turned her direction and adjusted his spectacles. He stilled.

  Kathryn’s eyes went wide. She felt like he’d caught her spying. She managed a half smile, but he chose that moment to turn. If he’d seen her, he didn’t acknowledge it. She hung another sheet over the line and watched him furtively from behind its folds.