A Promise to Believe In
Page 16
The house was painfully quiet. Outside, the wind had calmed and the rain had ceased, but in spite of this, Gwen found it impossible to sleep. She got up and sat on the side of the bed, hoping her movement wouldn’t wake Lacy. There was no sense in stirring the whole house just because she couldn’t rest.
She lit a candle, hoping the dim light wouldn’t be a nuisance to her sister. Lacy slept on as though dead to the world. Gwen couldn’t help but wonder what was going to become of her youngest sibling. Lacy seemed to attract trouble, just by the nature of her being. She wouldn’t allow people to tell her she couldn’t do something.
Lacy’s obvious disgust with Dave Shepard had made the evening difficult. Gwen had tried to get her to talk about it when they’d come to bed, but Lacy would only say that the day had been particularly trying and that Dave had been the bulk of the problem.
Poor Lacy. She couldn’t really remember their mother, and it haunted her. From time to time, she would ask Gwen questions about her, and it almost seemed as if Lacy were desperately trying to remember something—anything—that would offer her comfort and connect her to the past.
Taking up the candle, Gwen moved to the small desk by the window. The Shepard house held a coziness that Gwen appreciated. There were homemade curtains at the window and handmade quilts on the bed. Even the rug upon which the bed stood had been braided by Patience. Mrs. Shepard had often said that her daughters wouldn’t appreciate the homemade articles once they found luxury in the East. She had always known that her daughters were given to wanting more than the West could offer.
Raindrops remained on the window, causing Gwen to reach out as if to touch them. The pane of glass was cold, making her grateful to be spending the night indoors. Almost against her will, she thought of Hank Bishop. He was Harvey’s beloved Aloysius. That amused her to no end. It also gave her new hope in Hank’s character. Harvey had spoken of Aloysius as if the man could walk on water. He had told her that, next to her and Jesus, Aloysius had been his best and most beloved friend. For some reason, to know that it was Hank comforted Gwen a great deal.
She hugged her arms against her body. The chill of the room was enough to send her back to the comfort and warmth of the bed, but Gwen continued to wrestle with all she’d learned about Hank and her husband. If Hank spoke the truth about who he was and why he’d come, then there had to be some explanation. The stock certificates had to be somewhere. She retraced their steps, thinking of actions years earlier as they moved from Virginia City to the mining camp at Norris and then to Gallatin House. Harvey never mentioned anything about stocks or wealth. She’d never seen any pieces of jewelry and could only presume he’d used them to pay for his life prior to coming to Virginia City.
Oh, Harvey, why did you do this? Why did you put your family in this bind and cause so much grief? You were such a good man when I knew you, but obviously there was another part of your life I knew nothing about.
Gwen then thought of Hank and how he’d changed since coming to stay at Gallatin House. He had arrived with such rage and anger that she’d been afraid of him. His declarations and comments had been frightening, for they always managed to shake the foundations upon which she took comfort.
It was hard to imagine Harvey as Hank had described him, but perhaps even more troubling was Hank himself. Gwen couldn’t keep from thinking about him. She remembered with great embarrassment how he’d held her the night she’d had the nightmare about Lacy—could still feel his arms around her.
Moving the candle to one side, Gwen put her head on the desk and imagined what it would be like to be in his arms again. Hank was older than Harvey, and his features were completely different. He had a serious nature that matched her own, yet he also had a humorous streak.
“He’d make a good husband,” she whispered.
The idea so startled her that Gwen jumped up. “Husband?”
She heard Lacy moan and held her breath. She hadn’t meant to be so loud. Turning back to the table, Gwen was just in time to see the overturned candle set fire to the curtain. For a moment, she could only stare as flames quickly climbed up the length of the window.
What have I done?
She put out her hand as if to extinguish the flames, but they were already well beyond her reach. There was nothing to be done but call for help. If she didn’t hurry, the entire house would be aflame.
Smoke quickly filled the room as Gwen went to the bed to awaken her sister. “Lacy!” She groped for her sister’s form and battled the stinging burn of the smoke in her eyes. “Lacy, wake up!”
“Hmmm, what?” her sister murmured and rolled over.
Gwen shook her hard and coughed. “Wake up. There’s a fire. Hurry. We have to get help.”
Lacy sat up and coughed against the acrid air. “What happened?”
“I’ll tell you later. Come on. I’m going to get Patience and Jerry.”
Gwen ran for the door and opened it. The fire seemed only to grow with this action, sucking greedily at the new draft of air. Knowing Dave was just across the hall, Gwen pounded on his door first. “Dave! There’s a fire!”
Dave could be heard fumbling around and within seconds was at the door. His groggy appearance passed quickly as he seemed to take in the situation all at once. “Get my folks up. I’ll get Hank.”
Gwen did as he told her. She was crying by this time. “Oh, Patience,” she said as the woman came to the bedroom door, “I’ve set fire to your house.”
Lacy ran for the water pitcher almost as soon as Gwen exited the room. She knew there wasn’t much chance that it would put the fire out, but she hoped it might slow things down.
She poured the water into the bowl, thinking it would afford her more coverage as she threw it. This proved to be the case, and Lacy felt confident that this had been the right thing to do. Next she grabbed the quilt and climbed onto the chair by the desk to pound out the fire.
“What are you doing?” Dave asked, coming up behind her.
“Having tea, what’s it look like?” She coughed hard and continued to swing the quilt at the flames. She was making good headway, and soon the fire would be out.
“Get out of here,” Dave said, grabbing her by the waist. He whirled her around off the chair and took the quilt from her. “Get out!”
Hank came into the room. “Let me help.”
“I was . . . doing . . . just fine,” Lacy declared between fits of coughing.
“Get her out of here,” Dave said, taking over where Lacy had left off. Hank led her from the room as Jerry Shepard arrived to aid his son.
Lacy coughed all the way outside. She found Gwen sobbing in the arms of Mrs. Shepard and heard her sister’s confession.
“I hadn’t meant to startle. I knocked the candle over. It’s all because I’m cursed.”
“That’s nonsense, Gwen, and you know it. It was just an accident,” Patience countered.
“I could have killed us all. I could have burned the house down to the ground.”
“But you didn’t. Now calm yourself. See, there’s Lacy, and she’s just fine. The boys will soon have the fire under control.”
Gwen looked at Lacy and in a broken voice asked, “Are you . . . are you . . . all right?”
“Yes. The smoke . . . got to me . . . that’s all.” Lacy’s struggle to speak only caused her sister to cry all the more.
Lacy felt the icy air blow through her borrowed flannel gown. It wasn’t much protection against the cold. The feeling of having no air in her lungs continued to leave her weak. Her throat burned from the smoke’s irritation.
“The fire is out,” Hank announced from the doorway. “The place is plenty smoky, though. We should probably open everything up, despite the cooler temperatures.”
“We’ll get to it,” Patience said. “Come along, Gwen; you can help me.”
Lacy watched her sister dry her tears and follow after the woman like a small child with her mother. Hank waited for them at the door, then joined them inside.
“Here, drink this.”
Lacy didn’t even bother to look up. It was Dave, and he’d no doubt come to give her a hard time about fighting the fire. Goodness, but men could be so silly. If she hadn’t started fighting the blaze, things might have gotten much worse. Surely he could see that.
“Lacy, I have some water here. Ma said to drink it.”
She straightened and looked at him for a moment. Taking the glass in hand, she did as he’d instructed. The water felt cool and cleansing against the smoky taste in her mouth. Lacy felt better almost immediately.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Her throat felt raw, so she drank again.
“Are you all right?” he asked softly. He sat down beside her and slipped something around her shoulders. Lacy quickly realized it was his coat.
“I’m fine.”
“Not burned anywhere?”
She looked at him oddly. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
Lacy felt her defenses rise. He always made her feel like she was a little child. Well, not always. There was the kiss . . . She shook that memory away. “I’m fine. Do you want to check for yourself?”
Dave surprised her by grinning and getting to his feet. “You sound more like your old self now. That was quick thinking up there. Thanks for saving my folks’ house.”
“Not exactly a ladylike thing to do,” she countered.
He shrugged. “Maybe not, but exceptions can always be made for emergencies.”
She nodded. “Why are you being so nice to me? I thought you hated me.” She coughed a bit, took another drink, then got to her feet.
“I don’t hate you, Lacy Gallatin. In fact, I find you kind of amusing, like a runt pup we used to have. He went around with the rest of the litter, but he had to try ten times harder than any of the others to get attention. You’re kind of like that, too.”
“A runt pup? You kiss me, then call me a runt pup?” Lacy’s anger was building by the second.
He laughed out loud at this and headed back for the house. “If it’s any consolation,” he called over his shoulder, “I kissed the pup, too.”
“Look, I know it’s late, but I want to share something with you before you head back to bed,” Patience told Gwen. “You have to understand that you aren’t under a curse—nor are you a curse.”
Gwen shook her head. “I’d like to believe that, but the old fortune-teller told me I was and that death would be my companion. Look at all the loss I’ve suffered—all the folks who’ve died. She was right about death following me, so why not assume she was right about my being cursed?”
“But people die all the time. Look at all the people born.”
“Not in my family.”
“Gwen, God doesn’t work that way.”
“But there are all sorts of people in the Bible who were cursed.”
“True, but they were folks without Jesus to save them from their sins. Listen to this.”
Patience opened the Bible. “It says right here in the third chapter of Galatians, verse thirteen, ‘Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us: for it is written, Cursed is every one that hangeth on a tree.’ Don’t you see, Gwen? Jesus became a curse for us. We can’t be cursed if we are in Him.”
“Hank told me there was a Bible verse that said as much,” Gwen admitted. “I just don’t know what to think about it. For so long now I’ve believed this to be my burden to bear.”
“But it’s not. No one stands to gain anything positive by such thinking,” Patience told her. “Only Satan is served by continuing down such a path. He wants you to feel defeated and hopeless. He wants you to focus on yourself instead of on Jesus. On the cross, Jesus took your curse and bore it in your place, while He gave you salvation.”
Gwen pulled her shawl close. “Then why has there been so much death in my life? Mama and the baby she carried, my aunt, my grandparents, my husband . . . my father. They’re all gone.”
“They were all older or had circumstances that often take lives. I would imagine if you look at folks around you, you would see there are more similarities than not. You have had your share of sorrows and loss—there’s no doubt about it. But you aren’t alone, and it certainly wasn’t due to some curse upon you.”
“I’d like to believe that.”
“Then do,” Patience said with a smile. “God has freed you from such things. Don’t let yourself be taken into bondage because of a lie.”
“But I’m afraid. I worry about Lacy and Beth. I could have killed Lacy tonight. I could have killed you all.”
“The fire could have done that, but it didn’t. God was with us and watched over us every second. The fire damage was minimal, and now everyone is safely back to bed. Except for you.”
Gwen shook her head. Exhaustion was claiming her strength by the minute. “You should go to bed. Morning will come soon enough.”
“We should both go to bed,” Patience said with a smile. “Gwen, I care deeply about you and Lacy. Beth too. You girls are like breaths of fresh spring air to me. I miss my girls so very much, but with you and your sisters nearby, I at least feel useful. Don’t be deceived by the prince of lies. He wants you to doubt your value—your usefulness. He wants to steal your joy. Don’t let him, Gwen.”
Gwen nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
Later as she snuggled into bed, ignoring the scorched scent, Gwen thought of the verse Patience had shared with her. Surely it was true—it was, after all, Scripture. But how did it apply to her? Wasn’t it possible for a person to still bear a curse, even if Jesus had become one on their behalf?
She tossed and turned for what seemed to be forever, and it wasn’t until she opened her eyes to the hint of light in the room that Gwen even realized she’d fallen asleep. Lacy rolled over and moaned.
“Are we burning daylight?”
“Don’t talk to me about burning,” Gwen said, looking at the damaged wall. Black soot lined the edges of the window. “I still can’t believe I set fire to the house. But to answer your question, no. It’s not even really light yet.”
Lacy yawned and sat up. “There’s not that much damage. Patience said she’ll be making new curtains, and it will give her something to do. She said she’ll make Dave paint the room.”
“I should be the one doing all of that. I’m the one who caused the mess to begin with.” She got out of bed and reached for her clothes.
“What happened, anyway?” Lacy asked, helping Gwen to dress.
“I startled and knocked the candle over.”
“But why were you even out of bed?”
Gwen shook her head. “I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking of how Harvey had lied so convincingly to me all those years. I thought of how Hank . . .” She fell silent and looked at her sister’s quizzical expression. “Never mind. I really shouldn’t think of him at all.”
Lacy nodded in agreement. “We shouldn’t think of any man. They’re just trouble. One minute they’re being all nice to you, and the next, they’re yelling at you.” She pushed back the covers and stretched. “Men are just too hard to figure out, so you might as well not even try.”
Gwen had no idea what had prompted this from her sister, but she couldn’t help but laugh. Lacy made a very valid point.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Hank hadn’t meant to listen in to Patience’s discussion with Gwen the night before, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d been on his way upstairs to bed when he heard the women talking softly in the dining room. Patience referenced a verse in the Bible. It was the very verse he mentioned to Gwen. The verse that had haunted him since his father's death.
“For it is written, Cursed
is every one that hangeth on a tree.”
As a child of twelve, only weeks after his father had been brutally murdered by the lynch mob, Hank had gone with his mother and brother to church. He hadn’t wanted to be there. He didn’t feel like being out in public knowing how everyone felt about his father—a horse thief and murderer.
He knew what people thought, what they were saying. His father was a no-account, and he deserved to die. Hank could accept that. He’d never quite understood his father’s lack of concern for his own wife and children. Hank had never figured out why gambling and prostitutes held more interest, but he figured it had to do with his own failing rather than his father’s.
What Hank couldn’t accept, however, were the whispers of how the Rivers boys would probably follow in their father’s footsteps. There were cruel comments made by the adults. They spoke in hushed tones that were just loud enough to guarantee that Hank might overhear, yet still look accidental.
But it had been no accident when his Sunday school teacher, Mr. Weatherbee, chose that verse of the Bible from which to teach. He had been staring at Hank for half of the morning, and when it came time to teach the young men their Bible lessons, the man demanded Hank come and sit close to the front of the gathering.
“God has cursed everyone who hangs on a tree,” he remembered Mr. Weatherbee saying. “Cursed them for their sins. Do you know what this means?” He had looked directly at Hank, as if trying to force an answer, but Hank had merely looked away. Someone else had answered the question, however.
“It means they’ll never go to heaven; they’re going straight to hell.”
Hank had known his father was a lowlife, but to think of him going to hell, condemned for all eternity . . . well, it was just too much. So, too, was the implication that if Hank followed in his father’s footsteps, he would also be condemned—cursed. He’d stormed from the room and vowed never to go to church again. And he’d pretty much kept that promise.
And those were the thoughts that had haunted him through the night. They were with him even now as he made his way downstairs. He’d slept very little and hoped there might be some strong coffee ready to help him face the day.