D.C. sniffed, blew his nose in his handkerchief, then pulled himself up straight. “There’s one more thing. I wondered … would you take Sam?”
“Sam?”
“The dog.” D.C. fondled the shaggy brown ear.
Quillan looked at the animal. Cain’s words echoed in his mind. “You gotta get you a dawg.” Again tears stung. Not this way, Cain! He squatted down and took the dog’s head between his hands. He’d never asked Cain the animal’s name. Sam.
“It’s actually Second Samuel. The first Samuel died and Daddy named this one Second Samuel, after the book, don’t ya know.” He said it just like Cain, unintentionally, but the familiar phrase sucked away Quillan’s resistance.
“I’ll take him. If you think he’ll sit in the box.”
The dog laid his muzzle on Quillan’s knee.
“I imagine he’ll sit better than I did.”
Quillan shrugged. “He doesn’t have to go far for that. Preaching will suit you better.”
D.C. managed a grin. “You know me and hard work.”
“You might find it harder than you know. Especially with boneheads like me.”
D.C. squatted down and circled the dog’s neck with his arms. Sam licked his face, then returned his nose to Quillan’s knee. D.C. looked at the grave. “Daddy believed you’d come.”
Quillan didn’t answer. He looked at the gravestone. For your sake, Cain, I wish I could.
D.C. stood. “Well, the reverend and I got some things to figure out.”
He was trying too hard to be strong, but Quillan didn’t say so. He’d been there himself. He nodded, stroking the dog’s head. He stayed after D.C. left. He’d never felt so alone.
The rasp of the shovels, the gruff murmurs, even the dragging of the bodies didn’t rouse him from his graveside stupor. The dog settled at his feet, and Quillan sank from the squat to sit with his knees loosely wrapped by his arms. He remembered sitting that way at the grave of his dog. What had he been, eight, nine years old? It was an old stray. Mrs. Shepard had ordered it shot when it killed a chicken. “Once a chicken killer, always a chicken killer. You can’t change what he is.”
Quillan forked his fingers through his hair and rested his forehead on his palms. What was the point of trying if he could never change what he was? Whatever he did would go wrong. Just look at Cain. Quillan stared at the mounded earth. His wedding had put Cain there. He dropped his forehead to the crook of his arm across his knees. What could he do about it now?
Carina longed for the violet eyes to open. Dr. Felden had dosed Mae heavily, but Carina wanted to thank her, to beg her forgiveness, to show her relief that the bullets had not killed. She had kept bedside vigil before, but it chafed her.
She wanted the healing now. She wanted forgiveness and reconciliation. She wanted Mae to know she loved her. Carina watched the coverlet rise and fall with the motion of Mae’s ample chest.
Oh, Signore … A sense of His mercy filled her. Dio, you are faithful. Working all things together for good. She thought of the journal, Quillan’s mother’s final despair. If only Rose could have known. But perhaps she did. Perhaps in her last moments, in Wolf’s arms, she found the peace she so desperately wanted. Surely God would have mercy on two such wounded souls?
And good had come of it. Quillan had come of it. He hadn’t perished in the fire because Rose’s selfless act had saved him. His mother had loved him more than her own life. And Carina loved him, too.
Sliding to her knees beside Mae’s bed, she folded her hands. Grazie, Signore, for your grace which has saved me, for Quillan and Mae and Èmie. Make me worthy of their love and help me to love well in return. She caught Mae’s hand up to her mouth and kissed her fingers.
The door opened, and Quillan entered. With the day’s growth of beard and his shirt soiled and open at the neck, he looked weary and grieved. He must ache for Cain. Could he see beyond the pain? Did he know that even in this God was working, pouring out His grace, His mercy?
“May I speak with you?” His voice was flat.
She stood up and followed him out the back door. The sun was high overhead and it shadowed his face beneath the hat, just as it had the first time she saw him.
He waited until she closed the door behind her, then spoke. “In a couple days D.C.’s leaving Crystal. You can go with him.”
She searched his face. “Go where?”
He removed his hat and shook back his hair. “Anywhere. Home. To Flavio.”
Her breath escaped in a rush. “Flavio?”
“We’ll make an end to this travesty. Then you’ll be free to—”
It hit her like a punch to the stomach. “But I don’t want …”
His face was so cold it froze her. “I should never have married you. What happened between us was a mistake.”
A mistake? Her love for him a mistake? His tenderness, his awakening her, a mistake? “Is our marriage not legal?”
He looked away. “It can be undone.”
He would divorce her? Carina burned with shame and horror. It hurt. More than Flavio’s betrayal it hurt, and she wanted to hurt back. But this time she knew. There was no peace in that. She swallowed her injured pride and the pain of rejection and humbled herself. “I don’t want it undone.”
There. She had groveled. But she loved him. Even now she loved him. Their eyes met and held, his hard and bleak, hers holding her heart. He must know, must see. “I am Mrs. Quillan Shepard. You gave me your name.”
His jaw tensed. “It wasn’t mine to give.”
“Then call me whatever you like. We made a covenant.”
He puzzled her sternly. He must see she meant it. He would not be rid of her so easily. So he was not happy with his bargain. She would make him happy. So he disdained the daughter of Angelo Pasquale DiGratia. She would be simply Carina. Like Rose accepting Wolf, she would accept his son.
“Carina …”
“Are you saying you don’t want me?”
“It doesn’t matter what I want.”
“You have no feelings for me?” She saw the crack in his façade. He did care, and her heart quickened.
He released a hard breath. “Have it your way.” He put the hat back on his head. “I’ll pay Mae to keep you.”
Could he be so stubborn? Well, so could she. Carina raised her chin. “Where will you be?”
He didn’t answer.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll wait.”
His face softened again. “Carina …”
“As long as it takes.”
He dropped his chin, fighting with himself, it seemed. Which part would win? The one who had held her, whose strength she trusted, or the one who hurt, who lashed out when someone came too close? Her stomach knotted into a hard ball inside her.
He lifted only his eyes. “You’re wasting your time.”
“I don’t think so.”
He looked up and frowned. “Do you always get what you want, Carina?”
She raised herself to the fullness of her stature. “When I know what I want.”
His eyes narrowed. She could see the fight in him. He would not give in easily. Buono. Neither would she.
He tucked his tongue between his side teeth and held her eyes, then shook his head and walked away. She knew his stride. He was determined, set on this course. As he called to Cain’s dog, her heart wavered. But he didn’t turn back, and there was nothing more she could do. Quillan must find his own way back to her.
It was out of her hands, but God was bigger than she, bigger than Quillan. He would have His way, in spite of them. For her part, she would wait. Signore? She looked up into the blue bowl of sky. The hurt of rejection stung, then eased with fresh hope. Even this would work together for good. She would wait. And she would have God’s grace to do it.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have the strength for everything through him who empowers me.
Philippians 4:13, NASB
I gratefully acknowledge my dependence on the Lord my Savior
and the Holy Spirit, through whom all things are possible.
Thanks to Sarah Long and Barb Lilland, my fine and committed editors
Thanks to Gerry Deakin for assistance
Doug Hirt and Mary Davis for feedback
and Jim and Jessie for endurance and extraordinary love
The Rose Legacy Page 46
