Rekindled

by Tamera Alexander

  She tried again to open her eyes. “My eyes . . . I can’t open my eyes.” Her voice came out raw.

  “It’s the smoke. Don’t try to open them yet. Give it a few minutes.” Larson cradled her face with his hand. “But you’re not burned—you’re all right.” He started to rise. “I’ll go soak this cloth again and—”

  “No, don’t leave me.” She clung to him, fisting his shirt in her hands. “That man. Where is that man?”

  “He can’t hurt you anymore, Kathryn. He’s dead. He didn’t make it out.”

  Her face twisted. “He said he . . .” She wept, her words growing indistinguishable.

  Not understanding, Larson gently cradled her against his chest, feeling her body shudder against him. Unexpectedly, she reached up to touch his face, and Larson couldn’t believe the name she was whispering. It wasn’t Matthew Taylor’s. It wasn’t even Jacob’s. It was his.

  Suddenly Kathryn arched her back and groaned, then wrapped her arms around her middle. “The baby—”

  She cried out when Larson lifted her. Her body stiffened in protest as he carried her into the cottage. With one hand, she cradled her abdomen. With the other, she dug her fingers into his shoulder until Larson was certain her nails were drawing blood. He laid her on the bed, and she immediately rolled onto her side, moaning.

  He got a cup of water from the pump in the kitchen, freshened the handkerchief, and returned to the bedroom. As he draped the cool cloth over her closed eyes, he realized his own were exposed and quickly slipped his glasses back on.

  “Don’t leave me again,” she whispered, reaching for him.

  Larson caught the unexpected command in her tone and couldn’t help but smile. He leaned close and cupped the back of her neck, then lifted the cup to her lips. “I’m not leaving you, Kathryn.” Not ever again. “But I do need to get ready to deliver this baby.”

  “Stay with me for a minute first.”

  Larson sat down on the bed and took her hand. Her grip turned viselike.

  After several minutes, the contraction apparently subsided, because Kathryn relaxed, her breathing evened. Larson knew enough about the process to know that there was no telling how long this reprieve might last. It could be minutes, could be hours.

  She turned her face in his direction, her eyes still draped with the damp cloth. “Have you ever been married . . . Jacob?”

  Larson stared at her for a moment, wondering if he’d imagined the slight inflection she’d given his name. “Yes, I have.”

  She nodded, her lips absent of the least smile. “May I ask you a question?”

  “Anything,” he answered, his pulse kicking up a notch. The longer it took her to ask, the more nervous he became. He heard the crack of timbers and looked out the window. The stable still burned, but the fire was contained—the cottage wasn’t in danger. Surely someone had seen the smoke by now. Others would soon come.

  “Will you tell me about your wife? What she was like? I’ve talked—” Her voice caught. Larson lifted the cup of water back to her lips, thinking she was thirsty, but she refused. Kathryn drew in a quick breath and briefly pressed her lips together. “I’ve talked enough in the past months about my husband to you; I’d really like to hear something about your wife.”

  He decided to take the safe road. “I’ve enjoyed listening to you talk, Kathryn. I’ve learned a lot from the things you’ve told me.” He covered their clasped hands with his other one, but Kathryn suddenly drew hers away. The reaction took him by surprise.

  “You’ve learned a lot about me or about my late husband?”

  There it was again, that strange trace of . . . hardness in her voice.

  “Both,” he whispered, while something inside him told him to tread carefully here. It suddenly felt like the tables had been turned and that Kathryn knew something he didn’t. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling. She frowned, and he shifted uncomfortably, glad he couldn’t yet see her eyes. He feared he might crumble beneath their scrutiny.

  A distant thought provoked his memory. In reading the Old Testament, he’d learned that God likened himself to a lover, and the people of Israel to His lost love. Lord, I love this woman with all my heart, and I’m willing to do anything to have her back. But I want to follow your lead. You know all about pursuing something that’s lost, don’t you, Lord? Would you help me win my wife’s heart again?

  He started softly. “My wife was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. She was everything I’d always wanted to be, in so many ways. The moment I saw her, I loved her.” His throat suddenly felt parched. He took a drink from her cup. “But I didn’t love her fully, not in all the ways I should have. I wish I’d taken the time to know who she really was, to know what she wanted before I lost her.”

  When Kathryn didn’t say anything, doubt flooded him. Doubt about his actions since he’d returned to Willow Springs, doubt at how he should proceed now.

  “Go on.” It wasn’t a request as much as a demand.

  “I always knew that my wife wanted more from me, but I was afraid. Afraid she wouldn’t want me once she saw who I really was. I know it’s hard to believe, but I think the first thing she liked about me was the way I looked.” He smiled to himself at the irony. “It didn’t bother me at the time because I wanted her so badly I would’ve done anything to make her mine.”

  With that admission, Larson felt a barrier inside him coming down. To the extent he’d disguised himself from Kathryn before, he now prayed for the strength to lower his mask and let her see him again, let her see the man he’d become.

  “Then after we were married, as we got to know each other better, I realized what a special woman she was. She deserved more than I could give her. She deserved a better man, better than I could ever hope to be.”

  Kathryn removed the cloth from her eyes, blinked a few times, then closed them again and rubbed them gently. “You said you’d lost your wife. Did she leave you in some way, Jacob? Or . . . did you leave her?”

  Awareness hit him like a blast of frigid wind. Oh, God, she knows! He was sure of it. Heart hammering, Larson kept his head down. His thoughts reeled.

  Answering her question unleashed a dam of regret. “I . . . lost my wife many years ago. To my pride, my own selfishness. . . . Trust is something I learned later in life—and something I never learned with her, until it was too late. Something happened to me, and I became a different man. At first I thought I wasn’t even a man anymore, but since then I’ve learned that . . . what a man is on the outside doesn’t necessarily reflect who he really is.” God, let her still want me. “I want to be the man God intended for me to be, and whatever He needs to do to make that happen, I ask Him to do it. He’s the Potter; I’m the clay.” He studied the palms of his hands, scarred as they were and refashioned by the flame. “I’ve also learned that God uses fire to refine a man’s faith, and sometimes to refine the man.”

  Kathryn began to cry. Tears slipped down her sooty cheeks. Larson reached over and tentatively touched her hand. Oh, Kat . . .

  She took his hand and held it against her chest, drawing him closer. Larson could feel the solid beat of her heart, and it gave him strength to let his mask slip ever lower.

  “In time, I got a glimpse of who I was becoming on the inside, and I knew God was finally making me into the man He wanted me to be, and the husband my wife always wanted me to be. Only problem was . . . I was certain she wouldn’t be able to see past what I had become.”

  She let out a sob. “But why?”

  He didn’t understand and leaned closer. “Why what?”

  She opened her eyes, blinking as they gradually adjusted to the light, then finally she turned to him. Raw pain filled her eyes. “If your wife was so wonderful to begin with, why did you think she wouldn’t be able to see past what the fire had done?”

  Larson started to speak but couldn’t. He had no answer.

  Reaching up, Kathryn slowly traced the jagged lines of his face as though trying to memorize them all ove
r again. Sensations moved through him as her fingers passed over his lips, up his cheek, and then hesitated at his temple.

  Larson covered her hand with his and brought it away. This was something he needed to do.

  “Take them off,” she whispered. “Let me see you, please. . . .”All hardness gone, her voice was now beseeching, and bathed in hope.

  Slowly, Larson removed the last barrier separating him from his wife.

  For a moment Kathryn said nothing, then a stifled cry threaded her lips as she whispered his name. “Everyone said you were dead, but I knew you were alive. I felt it, in here.” Taking his scarred hand, she kissed it and laid it over her heart.

  With his other hand, Larson cupped her cheek. “Kat . . . I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His voice would hardly come. “Can you love a man who looks the way I do? Who has so little, again, to offer you?”

  She touched his face—gently, reverently—and Larson knew her answer before she even spoke. “How can you not know this already? I desire you more than any man I’ve ever known. More so now than ever before.” She pulled him down beside her on the bed and kissed his mouth, his cheeks, and his eyes before finding his lips again.

  Larson cradled her to him. “I’ve always loved you, Kathryn, but . . . this time I’ll love you the way God intended.”

  She whispered his name against his chest, over and over. Larson couldn’t see her face, but he thought he detected a smile in her voice.

  “All this time I felt so guilty because I was falling in love with Jacob while my heart still belonged to you. I was so sure—”

  Kathryn suddenly let go of his hands and clutched her belly. Her eyes clenched tight, and when Larson heard her groan, fear cut through him.

  She curled onto her side, her hands spread across her abdomen. “I think our baby . . . is coming,” she panted.

  Larson left and returned minutes later with clean cloths, fresh water, a knife, and most of the other things they needed. As he helped Kathryn undress, he heard riders coming up the long road leading to Casaroja but knew their efforts to save the stable would be too little, too late. He only hoped Miss Maudie was on one of the first wagons, and that Donlyn MacGregor wasn’t.

  Turning back to his wife, he promptly forgot whatever it was he thought he knew about this process. His wife’s body was nothing short of a miracle, and the life inside her—the life they had made together—was determinedly making its way into the world.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  KATHRYN LAID A HAND to Larson’s arm as he cradled their son against his chest. God had answered her prayers beyond anything she could have ever asked for or imagined. The love in her husband’s eyes made her breath catch. It always had, always would.

  She listened as he told her about the night he’d been ambushed, the stranger at the fire, and then the explosion. He talked of Isaiah and Abby and promised to take her to meet them one day. She had so much to share with him too. So much to tell this man whom she’d loved for so long and with whom she had found love with again, however unexpected.

  What a gift God had given her—the chance to meet and choose her husband for a second time.

  Kathryn smiled when thinking of the senseless guilt she’d endured over desiring the gentle man named Jacob, only to discover that her desire was finally centered where it always should have been—in the true heart of her husband.

  “There’s something in the pocket of my skirt I want you to see.” She touched Larson’s arm again, simply because she could. “Would you get it for me, please?”

  He laid their child in her arms and picked the skirt up off the floor. He sat on the bedside and felt through the folds until he located the pocket opening. Kathryn’s anticipation grew as he reached inside.

  He looked over at her, then back at the music box in his palm.

  “My husband gave me that for Christmas last year.”

  He ran his fingers over the top and shook his head. A wry smile tipped the left side of his mouth. “Doesn’t look like it cost him very much.”

  Kathryn laughed softly. “It’s the most precious gift I’ve ever received. And the most costly.”

  Her pulse quickened as her husband—always her mate, and now her lover and partner in every sense—leaned close. His eyes shone with a tenderness she was certain she’d never seen from Larson before. But she had felt that tenderness there when she knew him as Jacob.

  He brushed his scarred fingertips across her skin and kissed her mouth with a delicate, slow intensity that aroused a passion too long latent, making her feel cherished and desired. When he finally drew back, Kathryn found it difficult to breathe, and from the look in his eyes, he was pleased by her reaction.

  She nodded toward the box in his hand. “When did you buy that for me?”

  “I bought it from an old peddler on my way to Denver that day.” He recounted the story, then lifted the lid and gave the key on the side a twist. He waited. After several seconds, when no music played, he looked back and smiled. “See, I told you it was cheap.”

  Loving the sound of laughter from this man God had fashioned just for her, Kathryn laughed along with him. Sorry as she was about the music box having broken, she didn’t need to hear the music to make her feel close to him anymore.

  Larson gathered the baby from her arms and placed a kiss on his forehead. “Isn’t it time you read that?” He pointed to the letter on the nightstand beside her.

  Hesitating, Kathryn picked up the envelope and stared at her name on the front. The scrawl didn’t even resemble what she remembered of her father’s crisp handwriting. Taking a deep breath, she opened it and slid the letter out. The handwriting inside matched that of the front of the envelope, and the length of the letter surprised her. Her father had always prided himself on his economy of words.

  My dearest Kathryn,

  This letter is long in coming in some ways, and with little time left in others. How often I have wished I could reclaim what I so carelessly neglected. I have been a foolish man most of my life, but my faults as a father far outweigh all my other regrets.

  I ask your forgiveness and somehow know that you will grant it. Not because I am worthy, but because you always were, and no doubt remain, your mother’s daughter. I imagine even now that Elizabeth’s love and enduring faith live on in your heart. That very thought has sustained me in these last days with a peace that passes understanding.

  Childers has vowed to find you and deliver this letter, and I have every confidence that he will succeed. He has been a steadfast friend to me through the years. As he has no doubt told you by now, I have little of earthly wealth left to give you, Kathryn. My next desire, before I die, would be to leave you a legacy of faith. But again, a man cannot bequeath that which he does not possess. My faith in Christ is fragile and new, yet it is the strongest bond I have ever known. If I could leave you anything of lasting worth, I would leave a path for you to follow in His steps. But I trust you are already walking that road.

  I pray that the untamed Colorado Territory, which seems an entire world away from Boston, is all that you were dreaming it would be. And I pray you’ve found a fulfilling life there. Which leads me to another grave failing on my part.

  I could tell that day in my study that Larson Jennings was a man of a most determined nature and one not easily swayed. By my standards he was a ruffian and far from the sort of gentleman I had envisioned would form a connection with you, my daughter. I insisted to him that you deserved better, someone of greater wealth and import, who could give you the life you deserved. His answer to me that day, especially in the face of my most severe and personal insult to him, has never left me. With all solemnity he pledged that he would work to be the man you deserved and that he would give you a name you would be proud to have. I have no doubt, my dearest Kathryn, that Larson has kept true his pledge. Far better than I have done.

  I am signing this missive with my own hand and have asked the young man who transcribed it to sign below mine. He has been a s
trength to me in recent weeks and speaks of heaven in such a way that makes me yearn to see my eternal home. On that count, I do not think I shall have long to wait.

  Until I see you again, I will hold you in my heart.

  Father

  Kathryn brushed her fingers across her father’s scrawled signature, then wiped a straggling tear. Reading the name below her father’s, her breath caught.

  The signature simply read Gabriel.

  EPILOGUE

  OUR SON IS FINALLY asleep. Hurry up and come to bed.”

  Larson looked up to see his wife standing in the bedroom doorway. Soft light from an oil lamp silhouetted her form, and he suddenly found it difficult to swallow. The glow of firelight on her face gave her skin the appearance of fine porcelain. Her freshly brushed hair fell across her shoulders in curtains of gold.

  “I’m coming, I promise.” Larson’s voice lacked the convincing quality he’d hoped for.

  Kathryn tossed him a knowing look. “Don’t try to peek at your present. You have to wait till morning.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of peeking.” He playfully eyed the tree in the corner of the cabin, loving the smile it drew from her.

  “Really, Larson, don’t be long. I don’t want to spend my wedding night alone.”

  The desire in her eyes mirrored his own, except that she didn’t look the least bit apprehensive. He wished he could say the same about himself. “I was there for the first one, and I’m not about to miss our second.”

  With a promising look, she turned.

  Larson stared at the Bible in his hands and knew he’d never be able to concentrate again after seeing his wife in that gown. Truth be told, he wanted to be in their bedroom with her now, but so much had changed since the last night they had been together.

  He fingered the band of gold on his left hand. The ring caught the firelight and reflected it back into his eyes. The wedding had actually been his idea, but Kathryn had loved it from the start. After little William was born, Kathryn had moved in with the Carlsons— at Larson’s insistence—and he had taken a room nearby in town, until moving out to the homestead to prepare for Kathryn’s return. He’d courted his wife properly this time and marveled every day at the precious son God had made from their love.