Rekindled

by Tamera Alexander

Truth arrowed through Larson’s chest. He lowered his face. His heart pounding, no words rose within him in defense of his past sins—sins that were covered now in Jesus’ blood, completely forgiven by God. And that Kathryn had willingly forgiven years ago.

  Thankful for the darkness and the noise of the wagon wheels over the prairie, Larson searched the night sky. Forgiveness was a strange gift. One that had to be shared in order to be kept. He might not understand everything the Bible said, but God’s Word was clear on that point.

  Gabe returned to the stable about an hour later, and Larson helped Kathryn down from the back of the wagon. He plucked pieces of straw from her hair.

  Her eyes shimmered. “Thank you, Jacob. This was a wonderful evening.”

  Larson’s gaze went to her mouth, and the urge to draw her close to him was nearly overpowering. But the memory of his scars and the fear of how she would surely react swiftly doused the reckless desire. He cleared his throat. “Well, it’s not quite over yet,” he said, enjoying the crinkle of her brow.

  “Refreshments are served,” Gabe announced with a flourish and then threw open the stable doors.

  Kathryn covered her mouth in surprise, a giggle sneaking past her fingers.

  Larson offered his arm, and she slipped her hand through. As Gabe cut slices of a cake that Miss Maudie had made at Larson’s request, the three of them talked, sitting on bales of hay huddled around an old crate.

  “Did I do it right, Jacob?” Gabe whispered after a minute.

  Larson laid a hand to his massive shoulder. “You did very well, my friend. Thank you.”

  Kathryn leaned over and placed a kiss on Gabe’s cheek. Larson smiled at the sweet gesture and the blush it drew from Gabe. “Thank you both, but how did you know?”

  Larson attempted a look of nonchalance. “Know about what?” he asked, the surprise in his voice almost convincing himself.

  “That August ninth is my birthday.”

  Gabe’s sincere look of shock clinched it, and Larson was glad he’d kept it a secret from him. This way, Gabe was party to the fun and not the well-intentioned deception.

  A while later, Larson escorted Kathryn back to her cottage. “I’m sorry for getting you home so late. Time got away from me.”

  “Oh, don’t you dare apologize for anything, Jacob. This evening was perfect. It was the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

  The sincerity in her voice told him it was true. The evening had turned out far better than he’d planned. He wished he could have done more, something fancier, perhaps, but he hoped it had made her feel special.

  They fell in step beside each other again, and without provocation, Kathryn placed her hand in the crook of his arm. Larson covered her hand with his, silently loving her with a passion that ran deeper and wider than he’d ever imagined possible.

  How much longer could he work and live this close to her without revealing who he was? Without her discovering it for herself?

  When they reached her porch, Kathryn turned and looked at him. “Oh, I almost forgot. I made something for you.” She pulled the gloves from her pocket and held them out.

  Larson looked at them, then back at her, not sure why she was giving him a gift—much less gloves in the middle of August!

  “It’s not fancy, I know. But . . . I thought you could use another one.”

  He took what was in her hand, then realized what it was.

  His eyes burned with emotion. “Thank you,” he rasped, fingering the knit cap in his hands. How had Kathryn described him to Matthew Taylor the other day? “A good friend”—that’s what she’d called him. How could Larson remain merely good friends with Kathryn—and still be an honest man? The cost of the truth was great. Was he ready to risk it?

  “Kathryn, I—”

  A scream split the night.

  She stepped closer. “What was that?”

  They heard it again, more muted this time. Larson shoved the cap into his shirt pocket, then put a hand to Kathryn’s arm. “Stay here. I’ll go see what’s going on.”

  Thinking the screams might have come from a supply building next door to the bunkhouses, he tried the side door. Unlocked. When he pushed it open slightly, a pale slice of moonlight illumined the inside of the building.

  He heard a hard slap, then a thud.

  The opening of a door on the opposite wall let in a second brief wedge of moonlight. Whimpering, like that of a child, sounded from a far corner. It was a pitiful cry, and it stirred a mixture of anger and protectiveness inside him. Larson felt his way along the shelves, then heard a shuffling noise.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly, realizing the child was trying to hide. “I’m here to help you.” A crate toppled from a shelf directly in front of him. He easily avoided it. Cautiously, he rounded the corner and spotted a young girl cowering in the corner.

  “Get away from me,” she hissed.

  Even in the pale light, Larson recognized the long dark hair, and he had heard the voice before. “Are you hurt?” He took a step forward.

  “I said stay away from me!” she screamed. Her face contorted as she pushed her body against the wall. Only then did Larson notice her dress. It was ripped across the shoulder and down the front. Her hands clutched the pieces, holding it together.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. I want to help.”

  The girl screamed at him in a language Larson had never heard before. He heard a door opening.

  “Jacob?”

  “We’re over here.” Intentionally keeping his voice calm, he met Kathryn in the aisle. “There’s a girl in the corner. She’s from the brothel in town. I think she’s been—”

  Kathryn pushed past him. “Sadie!” she gasped, going to her.

  The young girl fired a rapid response in the foreign tongue, switching to English intermittently, but this time her voice came out broken and raw. The girl clung to Kathryn until Kathryn finally ended up on the floor beside her. Larson watched as the two held each other, the girl holding her arm in an awkward-looking position. The older cradled the younger against her chest, nodding at whatever it was the girl whispered between sobs. Kathryn rocked Sadie back and forth, stroking her hair like a mother would her child.

  Watching the scene, Larson was struck with a difficult truth. All the things he’d desired to give Kathryn through the years, all the earthly goods he would’ve lavished on her if he’d been able—they all fell away in a moment’s passing. The one thing Kathryn had wanted most was the one thing he had not given her. And never could give her. Another man had done that, and that other man deserved to watch his child grow. Matthew Taylor could give Kathryn the life that she deserved. Larson’s chest heaved. Taylor could give his wife the desires of her heart. In truth, he already had.

  “Can you help me with her?” Kathryn’s voice was hoarse with emotion.

  Wishing he could help, Larson raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “She won’t let me get near her.”

  Kathryn gently drew up Sadie’s chin and stroked her cheek. “This is Jacob. He is a good man. He won’t hurt you. He won’t try to touch you like that; I give you my word.”

  Sadie looked from Larson back to Kathryn. “He is like the man you told me about?”

  “Yes,” she said, a sob escaping her, “he is like that man.” With effort, she stood. “I think her arm is broken, Jacob.”

  Larson approached slowly. It was clear from Sadie’s posture that she didn’t trust him. What held her there was her trust in Kathryn. The girl winced and went stiff when he tenderly gathered her into his arms.

  “It’s okay, child,” he whispered as he carried her out of the building. She looked at him but said nothing.

  Kathryn caught up with them. “Sadie needs a doctor. She told me she was running to catch the wagon heading back to the brothel when someone grabbed her from behind and dragged her in there. She told me she’s not hurt badly on the outside, but I’m not sure about . . .”

  Larson nodded, understanding.
“I’ll take her into town to see Doc Hadley.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, Kathryn, you’re not. I’ll be gone most of the night, and you need to rest.” And he didn’t need to be with her right now. The knowledge that he would never have her again was killing him. “I’ll take care of Sadie—I give you my word.”

  He carried Sadie behind the stable to the wagon filled with hay and laid her in the back. Fierce distrust sharpened her dark eyes as she backed away from him. He quickly hitched the team and made to leave. Kathryn covered the girl with a blanket, whispering to her in low tones, which the girl answered in her own whisper.

  Before Larson could climb to the bench, Kathryn put a hand to his arm. “Sadie says she’s seen you before in town . . . at the brothel.” A clear question rang in her voice.

  The irony of the sudden role reversal might have seemed comical to Larson earlier, but not now. “I wasn’t at the brothel for that reason, Kathryn. Ask Sadie yourself.”

  “I did. She said you were there asking about me.”

  His mouth went dry. God, is this your way of forcing the truth from me? I’m not ready yet. I’m not ready. He searched for a way to answer—and avoid—her question. “It’s true. I was there asking about you.” His mind raced. He wished he could see Kathryn’s face better in order to gauge her reaction. “It was after I’d met you here at Casaroja. I’d heard that you worked at the brothel in town, and . . .”

  “And you wanted to see whether it was true or not.”

  He cringed at the cool edge to her tone. “Yes,” he finally answered.

  “And what have you discovered?”

  He shook his head. “Sadie wouldn’t tell me anything that day.”

  Kathryn stared at him for a long moment, and Larson would have given much to see her eyes. “I know that, Jacob. Sadie told me she turned you away.” Her tone softened and her question was clear. “But what I’m asking you right now is . . . what have you discovered since then?”

  Larson knew what she wanted him to say—the same thing he’d said to her back in the stable that day about leaving MacGregor’s bedroom. That he believed in her innocence, completely and without reservation. But he couldn’t lie to her, not again.

  He swallowed against the tightness in his throat and measured each word, wanting to get them right. “I’ve discovered that it doesn’t matter to me if you worked there before or not. God has . . .” His voice broke as truth filled him. “God has forgiven me a debt I can never repay,” he whispered. “Who am I to demand payment from someone else after having been forgiven so much?” Larson wanted to touch her face, just one last time, but he didn’t dare. “So you don’t owe me any explanation, Kathryn. Instead, I owe you an apology. I’m sorry.”

  When she didn’t answer, he bowed his head. It wasn’t the answer she’d wanted, but it was the truth. Well, part of it anyway. He started to climb up to the buckboard but stilled at the touch on his arm.

  He stood speechless as Kathryn reached up, drew his face down next to hers, and gently kissed his scarred cheek.

  “Bring Sadie in here,” the red-haired woman said, keeping her tone soft. “The other girls have just now gone to sleep.”

  Cradling the sleeping girl against his chest, Larson followed down a second-floor hallway. Pale pink dawn peeked from beneath a curtain drawn closed at the end of the narrow corridor. The house was quiet. He passed door after door, then waited in the hall as the woman turned back the ornately trimmed bedcovers.

  He’d left Casaroja shortly after midnight and, an hour later, had awakened Doc Hadley. The doctor didn’t hesitate for a moment to offer his help—not even when Larson told him who he would be treating. “We’re all God’s creatures, no matter what we’ve done” was all the doctor said before grabbing his bag and meeting them in the clinic.

  “Okay, put her down here.” The woman motioned to the bed.

  Larson felt the woman staring at him but didn’t look at her. He gently laid Sadie down, careful of her bandaged arm. She stirred but didn’t waken. Doc Hadley had given her something for the pain in her body, but Larson wished there was something he could give her for the pain he’d seen in her eyes. Especially the distrust—she reeked with it. And why wouldn’t she?

  He’d been raised in this environment as a boy, but she had grown up living it as a girl. His scars were nothing compared to hers.

  Sadie’s eyes fluttered, and he backed up a step, not wanting his closeness to frighten her when she wakened.

  “Sadie, honey, it’s Annabelle. I’m here with you.” She leaned over the bed. “This man told me what happened to you last night.” Annabelle cursed none too softly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to take care of you. I should’ve gone out there with you.”

  Sadie shook her head. “I’m okay.” But her voice sounded flat and lifeless. She blinked and then focused on Larson. “Jacob,” she said softly, “look at me.”

  He slowly did as she asked, not sure if this was her or the drugs talking. She beckoned him forward with a tiny brown hand. Larson couldn’t explain it, but he felt a command in the simple gesture and obeyed.

  “Let me see your eyes.”

  He shook his head. He knew neither Sadie nor this Annabelle woman would recognize him—they hadn’t known him before the accident—but the skin around his right eye made him especially self-conscious. In healing, the scarring had pulled at an awkward angle and gave his eye a sloped look.

  Larson clenched his jaw at the shame pouring through him. “I’m not really worth looking at, miss.”

  Sadie laughed in her throat. “I’d like to decide that for myself, mister. If you don’t mind.” Her tone sounded too old for her age. “Take off your glasses.” Her smile faded. “Please . . .” she added, the simple word holding a pleading quality.

  Slowly, Larson reached up with his right hand and removed the spectacles, wishing the early morning light from the window wasn’t so bright on his face.

  “Come closer,” she whispered.

  He did, his heart hammering. She took his hand and pulled him down. Larson went to his knees beside the bed. Her dark eyes shone as her fingers traced the disfigured mask he knew only too well. The skin around his eyes was still sensitive, but her touch was feather-light.

  Sadie smiled. “You were a handsome man . . . before this.”

  Larson gave an uneasy laugh, not knowing how to respond to such honesty.

  “But I wonder,” she continued, “were you as kind?”

  His throat tightened. He let out a quick breath as her tiny hand tightened around his—as though she were comforting him.

  “Thank you, Jacob.” She blinked heavily, the laudanum apparently taking effect. “Kathryn is right to look at you . . . the way she does. You are . . . good man. You are like . . . the man she . . . told me about.”

  “Kathryn?” Annabelle asked, her voice both excited and wary. “You know Kathryn? How is she?”

  Larson stood. “I work with Mrs. Jennings at Casaroja. She’s doing fine.”

  Annabelle briefly touched Sadie’s hand, then motioned Larson into the hallway. She closed the door behind her. “Her baby. Has Kathryn had her baby yet?”

  “Not yet, but the time isn’t far off.”

  The intensity of the woman’s gaze deepened, making Larson uncomfortable. “I bet she looks wonderful, all big and glowin’.” Annabelle laughed and the hard lines of her face softened. “Oh, I’d love to see her again. What a fine woman she is.”

  “Yes, ma’am, there’s none finer,” Larson said quietly, putting his glasses back on.

  Annabelle stared at him briefly before leading him back down the hallway. “Thank you for seeing to Sadie’s hurts. I try to take care of her, but I can’t always be there.” Her tone hinted at frustration, and deep regret.

  “She’s young to be in this business,” Larson said more to himself than to her, looking around the small front parlor and then following Annabelle back through the kitchen. No matter which part of the
building they were in, it all smelled of cheap perfume, stale smoke, and depravity.

  So much of this building, this life, felt painfully familiar to him. Even so, strangely he wasn’t repulsed at being inside like he’d imagined. The sickening feeling he’d expected had been filled instead by a dull ache in his chest. One he could only describe as . . . compassion. He looked at Annabelle’s hair, at the revealing cut of her dress. Then he tried to see her through God’s eyes. It was a stretch for him, but deep down he knew that the love that had saved him was the same love God offered to this woman.

  Annabelle stopped at the back door, her hand poised on the latch. “So, Jacob, how long have you worked at Casaroja?”

  He shrugged. “A few months.”

  “You new to this territory?”

  “No, not really. I’ve been around.”

  Larson suddenly wondered how close this woman had been to Kathryn. From Annabelle’s earlier response at discovering he knew Kathryn, Larson guessed they’d known each other fairly well. Most likely, Annabelle would be able to answer every question he had about Kathryn, if he still had any worth asking. But he’d laid those questions to rest at the foot of the cross and he determined, again, to leave them there.

  “You’ve never been here before, have you? To the brothel, I mean. I would have remembered you, even before all this.” Annabelle studied his face. “Sadie’s right, you know. I bet you were a real fine-lookin’ man once.”

  Something in her expression stirred Larson’s discomfort. He cleared his throat, suddenly eager to leave. “Well, I’d better be getting back. I’ve got work to do.”

  She didn’t move. “How long have you known Kathryn . . . Jacob?”

  Larson stared at Annabelle’s hand on the door latch, and a slight tremor passed through him. There was something in the way she was looking at him. . . . He tugged on the right side of his cap, pulling it down a bit farther. “Like I said, I’ve gotten to know Kathryn at Casaroja.”

  Annabelle’s bottom lip slipped briefly behind her front teeth. “Do you and Kathryn have some sort of understanding? I mean, Sadie mentioned something about the way Kathryn looks at you.”