“That isn’t an easy thing for a man to come to terms with.”
Cole shook his head. “Now I’m terrified of seeing her again. What if she tells me to leave and never come back?” He looked past George to the cabin where his wife and children were living.
George pushed him in the same direction. “She’d sooner cut off her arm,” he said before turning to greet the other travelers.
Cole didn’t bother to waste any time. He made a dash for the cabin and threw open the door without bothering to knock. The startled faces of his children greeted him in stunned wonder. Then as they recovered their shock, each of the children jumped up and ran to his embrace.
“Papa!” they cried in unison.
“I knew you would come,” Luke said, wrapping himself around Cole.
Cole fell to his knees and hugged them close, words failing him. How he had missed them. It seemed they had grown up in his absence. Even Lia was taller and so pretty. Just like her mother.
“Are you going to live with us again?” Lia asked as Cole lifted her into his arms.
“Yes,” he replied, ignoring the hurt it caused to have to face such a question.
“Only for a little while?” Micah asked. “Or is it forever?”
Cole felt his heart nearly burst with love and regret at the same moment. “Now and forever,” he said tearfully.
He glanced past the children to see Dianne standing in the doorway to one of the other rooms. He couldn’t take his gaze from her. He’d just pledged to his children that he would stay forever, but what if Dianne didn’t want him to stay? George might be wrong. It was a moment that Cole knew would decide his future.
“You children stay here and play. I need to talk to your Mama.”
“Mama’s been real sick,” Lia told him.
“Yes, I know.”
“Why weren’t you here?” John asked in an almost accusing tone. “Our brother died.”
Cole rubbed his son’s head. “I should have been here, but we’ll talk about it later. Right now, I need to be with your mama.”
John eyed him almost suspiciously. “She’s been real sick,” he repeated, as if a warning to his father.
Cole put Lia down and got to his feet. Walking to where Dianne stood, he pulled the hat from his head. “Please forgive me,” he said in greeting.
Dianne shook her head, and his heart nearly failed to beat. “Forgive me,” she murmured.
He tossed the hat aside and pulled her into his arms. Tears blinded him as he buried his face in her hair. “I’m so sorry. For everything. Sorry I couldn’t see what my mother was doing. Sorry about the baby. Sorry that you were alone.”
She cried softly in his arms. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I acted completely out of order. A Christian woman should never have left her husband’s side, no matter how ugly the situation.”
“Hush,” Cole said, pulling away enough to see her face. “You were right to go. It was the only thing that helped to clear my thinking. I couldn’t see what my mother and sisters were doing, but when you left it was as if the Lord opened my eyes to see the truth.”
“Why didn’t you come sooner?”
“Mother kept your letter from me. I never even knew you’d written. I never knew about the baby until George telegrammed me.”
“George sent a telegram? But until just a short time ago we were buried in snow and the storms were quite fierce. How could he have ever sent a telegram?” she questioned. “He would have had to …” Her voice fell silent.
“He would have had to risk his life in order to do so,” he finished for her. Once again George’s love for Dianne, and even for Cole, seemed clear. Cole felt shamed by the man’s unfailing loyalty to Dianne. I couldn’t give her the same thing, he thought, the sorrow of it binding his chest, making it hard to breathe.
“I came as soon as I heard,” Cole told her. “If I’d known about the baby, I would have come last fall.”
“Truly?” she asked him, her eyes searching his for the truth.
He thought only for a moment. “I would have come. I can’t bear it that you went through this alone. I’m so sorry about the baby.”
Dianne’s tears spilled again. “I was so sick, I didn’t even know he had died for a time. Then when Koko told me what had happened, I wanted to die too.” She pulled Cole into the bedroom and closed the door before continuing. The look on her face was one of grief mingled with guilt.
“I didn’t want the baby—not like I’d wanted the others. I thought you were gone for good and that this child would only be a reminder of sorrow and loss. I couldn’t bear to think about it. I just know that my lack of love caused him to die.” She walked away from Cole and sat down on the edge of the bed.
He could see her sorrow ran deep. She didn’t blame him for the baby’s death as he’d feared she would; she blamed herself. That was ten times worse as far as he was concerned. He sat down beside her on the bed.
“You didn’t cause the baby’s death.” His words were gentle but firm. “The devil wants you to wallow in self-pity and misery. He wants you to blame yourself for something you couldn’t make different.”
“I want to believe that. George said I loved the baby…. But I’m not sure the baby knew I did or that I loved him enough. I feel so empty inside when I think about it all. I just want him back, Cole. I want to hold him in my arms—I want my baby.” She sobbed uncontrollably.
He had no idea what to say or how to comfort his wife. He put his arm around her and prayed silently for her, asking God to ease her burden.
For several minutes they sat there until finally Dianne lifted her head. “I’m sorry … for everything. Nothing has been right since the fire.”
Cole tenderly turned her face to his. “We don’t need to live in the past. It’s gone—behind us. We need to focus on what’s here, right this minute. I know that now.” He cleared his throat, knowing that he wanted to confess his fears to her for the first time. “I wronged you in keeping you from the ranch. I knew you wanted to be here, but my fears kept me from coming back.”
“Fears?” She sniffed back tears. “What fears?”
Cole dropped his hold. “Fears of everything. Of failing to rebuild the ranch to its former glory. Failing you and the children. I was completely consumed by it.”
“I didn’t know.”
He got up and shrugged. “I couldn’t face it myself. I couldn’t talk to you about it. I knew what you’d say. You would have told me that it didn’t matter what I did or didn’t do so long as we were together as a family on the ranch. But I couldn’t see it that way. It’s your uncle’s ranch—even your ranch—but it’s not really mine. Then when George and Jamie kept coming out here to work, it truly became their ranch—Jamie’s ranch, as it always should have been. I had no heart for it, and I’m sorry.”
Dianne wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. I thought you just didn’t want to be here—that you’d decided city life was more to your liking.”
“I could never love the city as I do this countryside. There’s something about this land that gets inside of a man and never lets go.”
She smiled for the first time. “It happens to women too.”
Cole knelt in front of her. “We’ve so much to overcome—to work through. So much needs to be done, but I don’t want to do any of it without you by my side.”
“I don’t want to be anywhere else,” she whispered.
“Can we start again?”
“Yes,” she agreed, “only you pick the place. It doesn’t have to be here. I had plenty of time to realize that while I love this place, it’s not the same without you. It’s not the same anyway, but it’s unbearable without you.”
He put his head on her lap. “I feel exactly the same.” He sighed and realized for the first time in his life that home wasn’t a place. It was a matter of heart.
“It reminds me of the old days,” Charity said, noting the Vandyke cabin. “You’ve managed to make it cozy and comfortable,
and that’s what is important.” Ardith glanced around. It was an agreeable little house.
“It served us well through the coldest parts of winter,” Koko replied. “George and Jamie built it well.”
“That’s easy to see,” Ben said, taking the coffee Koko offered him. “So how is our Dianne?”
Ardith perked up at this. “Yes, how is she?” Ardith and Ben and Charity had decided to spend the evening with Koko and her family, giving Cole plenty of time to be alone with his wife and get reacquainted with his children. Winona and Susannah were at the table as well, silently observing the adults.
“She’s not recovered from losing the baby,” Koko said. “I wasn’t even sure she had a desire to go on—to live. She was so very sick with a high fever. It left her with little strength and a lack of interest in life. She had the children, but I feared that had it not been for them, she would have given up. Maybe now she will want to live.”
Ardith knew how hard it could be to find that kind of strength. “It isn’t a strength you get from yourself,” she murmured.
“What was that?” Koko asked, offering Charity and Ardith a mug of coffee. They both accepted, and Koko retrieved her own cup before sitting opposite Ben.
Ardith felt uncomfortable but spoke nevertheless. “I was just saying that the will to go on with life isn’t something you get from yourself. There’s no possible way for a human being to muster that kind of strength. I know that now.”
Ben smiled. “We try so hard to wrestle life in the flesh. We strive against all odds, fighting ourselves, our loved ones, and God. It isn’t an easy lesson to learn.”
“Well, I’ve learned a great deal while being away from home,” Ardith said softly. She looked at her daughter, who was sitting next to her. Winona hadn’t even bothered to hug her when Ardith had appeared at the door. She’d been helping Koko with supper and instead of throwing herself in Ardith’s arms, she had turned away, frowning.
Ardith continued. “I’ve learned that you can’t fill the emptiness inside. Only God can do that.” Ben and Charity nodded knowingly. “And I learned that nothing is as important as family. I missed Winona more than I can put into words.”
“Life can be very hard to bear—especially alone,” Charity said, smiling at Ardith. “So, Winona, I’ll bet you’re glad to have your mother home.”
Winona looked at Ardith, then got up from her chair. Calmly she looked at the adults. “I’m not glad. I hate her and I don’t want her to be here!” She ran to one of the bedrooms and slammed the door shut behind her.
Ardith felt the full weight of what she’d done to her child. “I’m sorry.” She lowered her gaze to her hands. “This is all my fault—I know that. I didn’t consider the consequences before I acted.”
Charity reached over and patted Ardith’s hand. “You’ll have to give her time. You’ll have to prove to her that you won’t leave her again. Trust was broken, but that doesn’t mean Jesus can’t mend the tear.”
“But I don’t deserve for it to be mended,” Ardith replied and looked up into the faces around her. “I was selfish and made a wrong decision. I know that now, but it doesn’t mean that I can undo what’s done.”
“Winona loves you. That’s why she’s angry,” Koko said with a smile. “You will have to win her over. You will have to put self aside and seek her out. Just like Charity said, trust must be earned, and you will have to convince Winona you are worthy of her trust.”
“But maybe I’m not.”
“Nonsense,” Ben declared. “You’re her mother. You need each other.”
“She does love you,” Susannah Vandyke said. “She spent long hours telling me all about you—all the things she admired and missed. She will forgive you if you ask her.”
“That’s it,” Charity said. “You should ask her forgiveness. Let her see that you acknowledge your mistake. It will mean a great deal to her.”
Ardith rose from the chair. “I know you’re right.” She looked to the closed door. “At least I want you to be right.” She smiled weakly.
“It’s right because it’s what we are called to do. To humble ourselves and seek the forgiveness of those we’ve wronged,” Ben said.
Ardith drew a deep breath. There was much work to be done, but it had to start here. She knew it as well as she knew her own name. She had wronged her child and now she needed to make things right.
Going to the door, she paused and looked over her shoulder.
“Pray for me?” Their nods gave her the strength to go to her child.
She opened the door and found Winona sitting on the bed. “I know you’re angry at me,” Ardith said as she went in, “but I need to talk to you.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.” There was a catch in Winona’s voice, as if she might start crying at any moment.
“I know.” Ardith closed the door behind her and stood silent for a moment. Her child had been so wounded, partly by her own hand. “I’m sorry, Winona. I’m sorry for leaving you.”
Winona didn’t even bother to look up. She kept her head bowed, even as Ardith drew up a chair and sat down right in front of her. Ardith wondered if she would ever be able to reach through the child’s protective walls.
“When your papa died, I felt like a part of me died too. I’d never loved anyone but you as I did him. Even so, it’s a different kind of love between a man and woman, and I knew in my heart I’d never have that again. Levi was such a special man.”
Winona looked up and met Ardith’s gaze. She watched her mother warily. Ardith continued, pushing aside the years of pain and regret. “We were so blessed to have him in our lives. He was a good father to you and a good husband to me. He didn’t care that I’d been a prisoner of the Sioux. He didn’t care that you were half Indian. He just loved us for who we were. That meant a lot. I didn’t figure to ever have that with anyone but family.”
Ardith closed her eyes for a moment and leaned her head back against the chair. “Levi loved you from the very first moment. He was gentle and kind—showing us both the utmost respect and care. He pursued us, but not to harm us as others had. Rather he pursued us to love us.”
Ardith opened her eyes and smiled. “I know you don’t understand all of this, but I felt it important to tell you. I couldn’t talk about him before, because I couldn’t handle the memories.
I thought they would always hurt me, so I avoided them as much as I could. But when I left here, I realized there was nowhere I could go to outrun the pain. I tried to lose myself in my music. I tried to pretend I was happy with all the attention people were giving me. But everyone wanted more than I could give, and the one thing I desperately needed to have back … was you.”
Winona looked at her as if she were trying to assess the truth of that statement. Ardith’s eyes welled with tears. “I don’t blame you for being angry at me, but I want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you before I left, and I’m sorry I hurt you in leaving. I was wrong, and I’d like you to forgive me. Maybe not today—but soon. I want us to start over and to have a good life together. We can’t do that with hate and anger between us.”
Winona finally spoke. “But you’ll just go away again.”
“No, I won’t. Not unless you’re at my side.”
“But I don’t want to go away,” Winona said firmly.
“Neither do I, Winona. I want to stay here and be with you—raise you to be a fine woman who knows she’s loved with an everlasting love. Will you give me another chance?”
Winona hesitated, then nodded. “But I’m afraid.”
The words cut Ardith to the core, but she knew she deserved them. She knew too that this was the very thing she would have to overcome. “I’m afraid too,” she admitted. “Afraid you’ll never trust and love me again.”
Winona threw herself off the bed and into Ardith’s arms. “I’ll always love you, Mama.”
Ardith stoked her daughter’s hair for a moment, then took hold of Winona’s face and gently lifted it
to meet her gaze. There was such hope, such desire in the child’s eyes. “And I will always love you, Winona. I won’t always make the right decision. I’ll make mistakes, because that’s what people do. But if we work together—forgive each other—love each other … we’ll make it through.”
Jamie helped his uncle put away the horses and clean off some of the mud and muck from the wagon. It wasn’t the most pleasant work, but Jamie had noted something in George’s mood that made him want to help.
Ever since Dianne had fallen ill, things had been hectic and out of place around the ranch. Jamie felt the tension every day, knowing there was little he could do to help or alleviate it. Now he felt as if the truth were clear. Having watched his uncle earlier when Cole returned with the others, Jamie finally felt he understood.
“Dianne was the woman you loved, wasn’t she?” he asked softly.
George stopped brushing the horse he’d been working on and looked at his nephew in disbelief.
Jamie toyed with the hayfork before sending another pile of straw into the stall. He put the fork aside and came to where his uncle stood. George refused to say a word but watched Jamie with an intensity that made the boy uncomfortable.
“Tell me the truth.” Jamie saw the pain in George’s expression. “You loved her … you still do.”
George went and sat down on an overturned bucket. He moved the brush back and forth between his hands. “Yes,” he finally said with a sigh.
Jamie went to his uncle and leaned back against the stall fence. “How did it happen? When did you fall in love with her?”
George gave a croaking laugh. “She was just a girl—like Elsa. She was terrified of me and my Blackfoot friends when we showed up here at the ranch. We were on the run, hiding out from our pursuers. She thought we were here to attack, but she tried hard to be brave. I’d never met anyone like her.”
Tracie Peterson - [Heirs of Montana 04] Page 28
