Rekindled

by Tamera Alexander

  “A whore,” Annabelle supplied in the barest of whispers, and seeing Kathryn’s nod, Annabelle looked away.

  “Yes. I never knew his mother. She died when Larson was sixteen. I share this with you to say that staying here, seeing this place, seeing this life,” she added gently, “has revealed a part of my husband’s heart that I’d never glimpsed before. That he never would let me see. And with good reason.” Kathryn shook her head, trying to make some sense of it all. “I don’t know if things would’ve ever changed for me and Larson or if he could’ve ever learned to trust me completely. Marriage takes trust, pure and simple. Trust is something that’s difficult to earn in a relationship, and once broken . . . it’s even harder to regain.” She let out a breath as tears rose to her eyes. “But the time has come for me to stop looking back on what my life was and to start looking forward to what it will be.”

  Annabelle seemed to weigh this for a moment, then nodded.

  Kathryn briefly considered whether she should share her next thought or not. “There is a man I’ve met who I’ve grown to care for very deeply. I’m not sure how he f—”

  “Is it Jacob?” Annabelle asked, her voice sounding tight again.

  “Yes,” Kathryn answered after a moment, wondering how Annabelle knew. “Don’t get me wrong. Jacob’s never given me any indication that we’re anything more than friends to him. Truth be told, I’m actually surprised by my feelings.”

  “Have you told him?”

  Kathryn’s eyes widened. “Of course not, and I won’t. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  Annabelle stared at her for a moment. “What about Matthew Taylor?”

  Kathryn couldn’t help but smile. “You’re so full of questions today, Annabelle. It’s not like you.” When Annabelle didn’t say anything further, Kathryn shrugged her shoulders at the question.

  “Matthew Taylor is a very nice man, and he’s been so kind to me during all of this. I know he has feelings for me—he’s made that clear. I do care for him. . . .”

  “But do you love him?”

  Kathryn started to answer, then stopped herself. Did she love Matthew Taylor? She certainly felt affection for him, she was grateful for his help and the way he desired to care for her, but love him . . .

  “No, Annabelle. I don’t love Matthew Taylor. My affections for him don’t extend that far. Matthew is an honorable man and will make a fine husband. No doubt, God is already preparing a special lady to be his wife someday.”

  A wounded look slipped into Annabelle’s gaze before she turned away, and if Kathryn hadn’t known better she might have guessed that something she’d said had hurt her. Then a picture flashed in her mind—the night Matthew Taylor had been at the haberdashery with the news of Larson’s body being found. Annabelle had been there and had commented on how attractive Matthew was. Kathryn thought she remembered a spark of interest on Annabelle’s part. But as she recalled, and understood to a certain degree, Matthew’s reaction to Annabelle had been far less enthusiastic. Outwardly cordial, but with an unexpected coolness that surprised her, and that spoke to something much deeper than a moment of social unease for Matthew. The following morning, right in front of Annabelle, he’d insisted she not accompany them to the undertaker’s office, advising that Kathryn shouldn’t be seen with a woman like her.

  Not knowing what to say, what else to do, Kathryn reached over and drew Annabelle to her. Surprisingly, Annabelle fully returned her embrace. Lord, would you redeem Annabelle’s life from the pit, like you’ve redeemed mine? Help her to surrender her heart to you.And would you bring a man into her life who would love her like you love your church? A man after your own heart who would gladly give his life for hers and cherish her beyond words. Who will forgive her debt because of the great debt he’s been forgiven.

  Conviction suddenly pricked Kathryn’s heart as she realized she was describing a man just . . . like . . . Jacob.

  By the time Larson neared the edge of town, his breath came heavy and the bay mare’s coat was slick with lather. Miss Maudie’s words kept playing through his mind. “Kathryn’s gone into town to visit a friend.”

  The look Annabelle had given him that morning still pierced him. He couldn’t get it out of his head. Reaching town, he reined in the mount and prayed he wasn’t too late.

  After leaving the brothel earlier that day, he’d taken the opportunity to buy supplies, but in reality he’d needed time to try to figure out what to do next. On his way back to Casaroja, ranch hands had enlisted his help in rounding up some strays, and by the time he arrived back, Kathryn was gone.

  The brothel came into view, and Larson rode around to the back. When he saw them together on the back porch, and Gabe waiting by the wagon, time slowed to a crawl.

  Both women looked up at the same time. Annabelle’s expression was as he remembered—disapproving and defensive—and Larson knew in that moment that he was too late. She’d already told Kathryn everything.

  He dismounted, barely able to hold a thought in his head, much less try and piece together an explanation for Kathryn. His legs felt as though they might buckle at any moment.

  “Jacob!”

  Hearing the name, seeing Kathryn’s smile, Larson’s heart started beating again. She called me Jacob. The enthusiasm in his wife’s voice, the joy in her expression at seeing him, acted like a balm. He turned his head slightly, hoping Annabelle would know he was looking at her. The woman’s expression was a mask, with her emotions safely tucked behind it. He nodded to her, but her eyes revealed nothing. She hugged Kathryn, then walked back inside and closed the door.

  Holding onto the railing, Kathryn carefully descended the steps. “What brings you back to town so soon?”

  “I came to check on Sadie.” Kathryn nodded, but her transparency at being so happy to see him forced Larson’s honesty. “Actually, Miss Maudie told me you’d come into town and I figured I’d find you here.”

  Her eyes sparkled at the admission, and Larson wished he’d been truthful from the start. He wished he’d been truthful about so many things, but it was too late for that now.

  “So what did you come to see me about?”

  He opened his mouth with a ready reply—one born from months of practiced deception—but then he caught himself. Both coveting and loathing the anonymity he’d worked so hard to create, he looked into Kathryn’s face, her sepia-brown eyes so full of life and hope. Her lips, partially open, a smile teasing their full curves. “I came to see you, Kathryn. I just came to see you.”

  A blush swept her face, and Larson wondered again how, in all the years of living with this woman, he could have missed so much about who she was.

  “Thank you again for last night, Jacob. It was the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

  He nodded, remembering that she’d said that to him last night but this time experiencing a keen mixture of pleasure, and pain, at her statement.

  He helped her into the wagon, where Gabe was now seated, and then swung up onto his mount. As Gabe maneuvered the wagon down the alley, movement from a second-story window drew Larson’s attention. Annabelle was staring down.

  He hesitated, then raised a hand.

  She didn’t move. He prodded his horse to follow the wagon’s path and looked back before they rounded the corner. Annabelle’s palm was pressed flat against the windowpane in silent answer.

  He didn’t know what had compelled Annabelle to keep his secret, but Larson thanked God for her and for her love for Kathryn. Annabelle knew what was best in the situation, just as he did.

  Now if he could only love his wife enough to let her go.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  LARSON URGED THE TEAM to a faster trot as he turned on the road toward Casaroja. Snowy peaks to the west gleamed deep amethyst against a sunset of crimson, and golden rays shot straight up into the sky. He removed his glasses to better appreciate the colors. August’s last sunset was a beauty.

  He could easily imagine the clouds above rolling back to reveal a mig
hty warrior on a white horse, like he’d read about in Revelation the night before. Sometimes the heart of heaven beat so strongly inside of him that this life seemed more like a shadow now than his home. He sighed, knowing this perspective was influenced by his deepening relationship with God, but also by his having to give up Kathryn.

  Larson tugged on the reins and brought the wagon loaded with supplies to a halt in front of the stable. He glanced toward the main house. He’d already missed dinner but wondered if Miss Maudie might’ve saved him a plate. He spotted a distinct silhouette pass by the kitchen window, and a smile tipped his mouth. Over the past two weeks, he’d seen Kathryn on occasion. They’d even shared a few evening walks together, but he welcomed another opportunity to be with her. Larson put his glasses back on, set the brake, and climbed down.

  Knocking on the back door, he hoped Kathryn would answer. The door opened.

  “Well, Jacob, it’s good to see you.” Miss Maudie pulled the door open wide. “I’ve kept your plate warming on the stove. Why don’t you come in and keep an old woman company for a spell?”

  Larson stepped inside and looked around. “Thank you for keeping dinner for me. I’d appreciate a chance to visit.” A twinge of guilt chided him at that not being his first priority.

  “Here. The plate’s hot.” Using a towel, she set it on the table before him. “Be careful not to burn your hands—” She stilled, and Larson watched discomfort slip into her smile.

  Before she could apologize, he covered her hand resting on his shoulder. “Roast beef, my favorite. And an extra portion at that. You’re always generous with me, Miss Maudie, and I appreciate it.”

  Gratitude quickly replaced her remorse as she took a seat beside him. “Kathryn made another pie today. Peach,” she said, pulling a covered tin toward her. “I’ll slice us each a piece.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Is Kathryn around tonight? So I can thank her?” He watched to see if Miss Maudie reacted to the question.

  “Yes, she’s here.” She cut the pie and scooped out two pieces. “She’s meeting with Mr. MacGregor in his office right now. People often meet with him for advice. He’s quite business savvy, but surely you know that by now.”

  Larson concentrated on chewing. Savvy wasn’t exactly a word he’d attribute to MacGregor, but he nodded. The pride in Miss Maudie’s voice was unmistakable, and puzzling. “Have you been with Mr. MacGregor long, ma’am?”

  “Oh my, yes, I’ve known him since he was a boy.” Her voice took on a doting quality. “My youngest sister, God rest her soul, died when her son was only five, shortly following her husband in death. So I took Donlyn in . . . Mr. MacGregor,” she amended, “and raised him myself. My sister would be quite proud of the man her son grew to be. He’s had his share of hardships though. Lost his wife and only child in childbirth years ago. He’s not been the same since.”

  Suddenly, the older woman became clearer to him. While Larson didn’t share her opinion about his employer, it gave him valuable insight into her perspective. He wondered what advice Kathryn could possibly be seeking from MacGregor. Their land was scheduled to go to auction soon; he’d seen the notice in the paper himself a while back. There was no practical way she could pay off the loan, and no doubt, MacGregor would be first in line to bid for the land.

  Losing the land stung, but Larson had come to grips with it. It didn’t consume him like it once had. Land could be bought and sold . . . and lost. Isaiah had taught him that. Larson was concerned over losing something far more precious—something that could never be replaced.

  Miss Maudie picked up the empty plates and took them to the sideboard. She moved to lift the wash bucket.

  “Here, let me get that.” Larson grabbed the pail and primed the pump until the water gushed and his shoulder burned.

  “You’re wincing, Jacob. Is your shoulder paining you?”

  He waved off her concern. “On occasion it does. I overdid it today, that’s all.”

  “I have a liniment for soreness and discomfort. I could rub some into your shoulders tonight and see if it makes a difference. I’m sure it would help.”

  Miss Maudie’s concern touched him. “Kathryn told me you were good at mixing liniments. And yes, ma’am, I’d like to try it, but I can rub it in myself.” Other than Isaiah and Abby, no one had seen the scarring on his chest, back, and arms. He hadn’t even seen his back since the fire. Looking in a mirror wasn’t something he’d been eager to do.

  “Nonsense. How are you going to reach those muscles? Now you go on in the back room there and take off your shirt. I’ll rub it in for you.”

  “Really, Miss Maudie, I—”

  “Jacob.” She spoke his name like an austere schoolmarm. “I’ve seen many horrible things in my sixty years, but the man standing before me now could never be one of them.” She smiled and waved her arm at the door behind him. “Go on now. I’ll get the liniment.”

  Miss Maudie’s touch was every bit as firm as Abby’s, if not more so, and Larson winced as she worked the salve into his shoulders and back. By the time she was done, his muscles ached, but in a good way. Reaching for his shirt, he started to stand, but Maudie pressed him back down.

  “Sit here for a minute and let the salve work itself in. I’m going to wash this off my hands. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Larson straddled the wooden chair again and propped his arms across the back. The woman hadn’t said anything about his scars. Even when he could see her expression, she’d shown no shock, no pity. She was a good woman, however misguided on MacGregor’s character. Love often had a way of blinding a person to someone’s true side.

  He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then slipped the glasses back on. The door opened and his head shot up.

  Kathryn’s eyes went wide. “Oh, Jacob, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were in here.” She glanced down at his body, then quickly looked away.

  Larson stood and grabbed his shirt from the table beside him. He tried to pull it on, watching to see if she was looking, but the cotton material stuck to the moist liniment still covering his skin. Embarrassment scorched him and he swore softly.

  She kept her gaze down. “You finally came to see Miss Maudie about the liniment.”

  “That’s rather obvious, isn’t it,” he said too harshly. Despite having known Kathryn intimately before, he’d never felt so naked in front of her. Managing to tug his shirt on, Larson held the front of it closed.

  “Well . . . I . . . hope it helps you.” Head still bent, she turned to leave.

  “Kathryn, I’m sorry,” he offered, but his voice came out calloused and hard. “I didn’t mean to speak to you that way.”

  Her back was to him, her hand on the open door.

  Struck by a reckless impulse, Larson suddenly wanted to cross the room, take his wife’s face in his hands, and let her see who he was. The man he was now. But the possible outcome of that decision made him go weak inside. Even if he could somehow find a way to give Kathryn all that her heart desired, all that she deserved, would her eyes ever hold the love they once had?

  In bed at night, she used to trail a finger along his jaw and study him in the shadows, as though trying to set his features to memory. Would she trace the jagged curves of his disfigured face and set them to memory now? Larson looked down and squeezed his eyes tight. The ache in his chest wove its way up to his throat.

  “Kathryn,” he whispered hoarsely. “Look at me.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jacob. I shouldn’t have come in.”

  “Please, just turn around.”

  She turned in his direction, her focus still pinned to the floor.

  Oh, God, she is so beautiful. And she is my wife. My wife, Lord!Why did you take her from me? His memory allowed him clearer vision than did his eyes, and he saw her body—every curve and arch, beautifully fashioned, glowing with life, once having fit his perfectly. He remembered what it was like to be with her as her husband, and he clenched his eyes tight to quell the power of t
he memory.

  A silent directive from within demanded that he look at her again.

  Larson slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was her hands, small and feminine, clasped protectively over her child. They trembled, and she gripped them tighter. The tremble seemed to travel up her arms until her whole body shuddered. She seemed frightened. But of what? Of him? Why would she be afraid of him? He looked closer. Or was it something else? He saw the quick rise and fall of her chest. Her eyes flitted to his, then away again.

  Did he dare hope . . .

  Larson crossed the room, and though Kathryn didn’t look up, he sensed her tension build with each step he took. Standing before her, his hands were shaking as badly as hers. Is there a chance she could care for a man who looks the way I do? Who can offer her so little? There was only one way to find out. And again, that same fervent plea inhabited everything he was.

  God, let her still want me.

  Standing inches from her, their faces so close, watching her tremble, he reached up to take off his glasses.

  “No, Jacob.” She turned away, shielding her lips with her hand.

  Larson felt the air being sucked from his lungs. She’d thought he was going to kiss her? He took a step back, stunned.

  “I’m sorry, Jacob. I . . . I thought I could, but I just can’t,” she whispered, finally lifting her gaze.

  Larson saw the certainty of her desire—or lack of it—confirmed in her eyes. She found his touch loathsome. At least his glasses hid the raw pain of her rejection. The truth of it had been there all along. He’d only hoped for more. While he could be Kathryn’s friend, he would never again be her husband, her lover.

  The latch tumbled into place as Kathryn closed the door behind her.

  Minutes later Larson walked back to the stable, to the farthest corner, fell to his knees in the dark, and wept.

  The next morning, Kathryn stood in front of the Willow Springs Bank. A brisk wind whipped around the corner, and as she took in the breadth and width of the building, she couldn’t help but feel as though she were reliving a moment from the past. Last March seemed like a lifetime ago.