The end of December still felt like such a long way off, but she wasn’t at all eager to wish away the coming months. Doubt tugged at her resolve every time she thought about being a mother to this child. Yet from continued experience with God, she was learning to trust that He would provide what she needed, when she needed it.
She heard a stirring and rose up on one elbow. Sadie lay nestled in a blanket nearby, her eyes closed. Annabelle looked across the fire at Matthew, unable to see his face, but the telling rise and fall of his chest told her he was still asleep. She stoked the waning fire and watched the flames flicker and draw new breath.
A tide of emotion swept through her that she could only describe as profound gratitude. Her breath caught in her throat as she thought back on the afternoon when she and Matthew had ‘‘just happened’’ to see Sadie walking down the street in the company of Mason Boyd. The odds of finding the precious girl had been stacked against them. Apparently stacked odds didn’t intimidate the Almighty—and neither had the events of her past life.
The night air trembled around her. She lay back down and closed her eyes. Tears crept from their corners. None of the men she’d been with had ever apologized to her—not that she would have expected them to. Even though she’d left that life behind, she realized in that moment what a burden of unforgiveness she’d been carrying around inside her—both for them and for herself.
Emptying her lungs of air, she breathed in deeply again, filling them until she could hold no more. Her chest tingled with cool, and she felt a touch of lightheadedness. Wiping her tears, she pulled the blanket up closer around her chin.
If God could forgive someone like her of so much, surely she could do the same.
Annabelle awakened refreshed, and following breakfast she repacked the crates. A ticklish sensation flitted inside her stomach every time she imagined seeing Jonathan’s land later that day. She was certain Matthew shared her eagerness. He’d been up before the sun and had worked quickly to harness the grays.
She spotted him across camp. Remembering how he and Manasseh used to sail across the range most mornings early on in their journey, she figured Matthew might welcome the chance to ride again. Especially today. When she asked him as much, he admitted that he would, so she and Sadie climbed up into the wagon and followed his lead.
Images of the ranch that Jonathan had planted in her memory kept springing to mind, and Annabelle shared them with Sadie as the morning drew on. Jonathan had been right—Idaho resembled Colorado in many ways. The mountains spanning the plains and valleys, along with the sprinkling of evergreen and pine, made her feel as though she hadn’t traveled that far from home. Yet the closer they got to the town of Sandy Creek, and to her new home, the more tightly wound her nerves became.
They made Sandy Creek by noon, but as she and Matthew had previously agreed, they bypassed the town in favor of locating the ranch before nightfall.
She called to Matthew riding just ahead. ‘‘How much farther, Matthew?’’
She could tell he was smiling by the curve of his cheek.
‘‘If I had a dollar for every time you’ve asked me that on this trip, I’d be a much richer man.’’
‘‘Just get me and Sadie to that ranch and you will be a much richer man.’’
He turned in the saddle and looked back at her. ‘‘You know, I’d almost forgotten about that.’’
She knew by the tone of his voice that he hadn’t but decided to test him anyway. She gently nudged Sadie with her leg. ‘‘As soon as we arrive, Mr. Taylor, I’ll pay you the remaining third of the money you’re due.’’
She heard his deep chuckle.
‘‘Yes, ma’am. You do that. And I’ll take the other third in gold.’’
She laughed at his response, but even more at Sadie’s chuckle beside her.
After they’d ridden a good hour north of Sandy Creek, Matthew stopped and motioned to his left across a narrow valley cleaved by foothills. Annabelle spotted the road veering off. She followed its path to where it disappeared in a curve shadowed by a stand of towering evergreens. She pulled the wagon beside him and reined in. The mountains rose in the distance, breathtakingly beautiful.
‘‘Is this it?’’
He surveyed their surroundings. ‘‘We’ve come about the right distance. According to Johnny’s directions, this is it. But I don’t see much. I’m tempted to ride on ahead and see what’s down this road before taking the wagon.’’
Annabelle shook her head. ‘‘No. I want us to go together.’’
He tipped his hat. ‘‘Yes, ma’am. I guess that’s the way I’d prefer to do it too.’’ He winked at Sadie, then prodded the gelding forward.
Annabelle slapped the reins. The road dipped and curved, but the path was wide and gave ample room for her to maneuver the rig.
When Matthew reached the bend in the road, he moved to the right and waited for her to catch up with him before prodding Manasseh forward again. ‘‘You said you wanted to do this together.’’
Annabelle glimpsed her own anticipation, and nervousness, in his face.
The air beneath the canopy of evergreens was noticeably cooler and sweetened with a pungent scent. Annabelle found her hands shaking as she guided the wagon beneath the tunnel of branches.
‘‘Just in case I haven’t told you, Mr. Taylor, thank you for everything you’ve done for me, and for seeing me safely here.’’ She was unable to imagine what it would be like to not see him every day, to not share his laughter.
His smile came on gradually. ‘‘It’s been my sincere pleasure, Mrs. McCutchens.’’
When they broke into the bright sunshine again, Annabelle raised a hand to shield her eyes from the brilliant light. As her sight adjusted, she could hardly comprehend what lay before her. Surely she and Matthew had made a mistake.
CHAPTER | THIRTY - FOUR
SO MUCH MORE . . . were the words that came to Annabelle’s mind as she guided the wagon down the road into the sheltered valley. She regarded the scene, feeling as though she were studying a landscape from a picture book. A landscape amazingly similar to the one Jonathan had painted in her memory.
To the west, prairie grass gleamed golden brown in the slant of the afternoon sun. A breeze from the north blew across the valley, and the grasses bowed in its wake, as though a giant hand were skimming the tips of their blades. Cattle dotted the landscape. Maybe as many as three hundred head, but it was hard to tell at a glance. A barn with two corrals was positioned off to the east. Ranch hands milled about.
Then her attention was drawn to a cabin, set back into a cove of the valley, with two floors—if the dormer windows atop were real. Tears rose to her eyes. Jonathan should have been there. He should be sitting beside her right now, sharing this. He had built it all, and it didn’t seem fair that he was gone while she, and their child, remained.
She felt a hand cover hers, and her eyes burned. Sadie’s fingers were cool to the touch.
‘‘All of this belonged to your Jonathan?’’
‘‘Your Jonathan.’’ She nodded, remembering when Patrick Carlson had used that same phrase. She looked past Sadie to see Matthew astride the gelding. As though sensing her attention, he turned. Her own bundle of emotions was mirrored in the tight set of his jaw. She detected sadness, regret, and unmistakable yearning in his expression. And she couldn’t help but wonder if part of his yearning was for home.
For what he couldn’t recall of his mother. For what he’d missed with his brother. And for what he’d never known with Haymen Taylor.
With a simple nod, Matthew encouraged her to precede him down the road.
Even from a distance, Annabelle spotted an occasional ranch hand looking up. A worker would pause, then return to his task. But as they drew closer, the men stopped what they were doing and followed the wagon’s progress toward the cabin. Annabelle nodded to them, feeling more than a little conspicuous. She brought the wagon to a halt in front of the cabin and set the brake. She moved to climb down
, surprised to find Matthew already there, waiting to help her.
‘‘Thank you,’’ she whispered, wanting to say more about the moment but unable to find the words. She felt the same from him.
Sadie climbed down behind her, and Matthew caught the girl’s hand. Sadie moved to stand close beside them.
At the sound of a door opening, they all turned toward the cabin.
A young woman walked out onto the porch and to the edge of the stairs. ‘‘How might I help you fine people?’’
Annabelle took in the woman’s pleasing features and stepped forward. ‘‘Forgive me for asking like this, but is this Jonathan McCutchens’ place?’’
The woman studied the trio for a moment, and then her lips parted in a smile. ‘‘You must be Annabelle.’’ Spoken like a statement, a question shone in her sun-kissed complexion.
‘‘Yes, I am. I’m . . . Jonathan’s widow.’’
The woman descended the stairs with the grace that Annabelle would have expected, even without knowing her. ‘‘Welcome,’’ she said, taking both of Annabelle’s hands in hers. ‘‘We’ve been waiting for you. My name is Shannon.’’
Annabelle detected a hint of an Irish heritage in the faint lilt of her voice, which perfectly companioned her thick red curls. Movement in the doorway caught her eye, and Annabelle spotted an older gentleman toddling toward them, his gaze trained on the porch steps as though they were a thing of delight.
Shannon turned and raced back up the stairs. But Matthew beat her to it. He gained hold of the elderly gentleman just before he took that first step, which, from the relief showing in Shannon’s expression, would have been ill-fated at best.
‘‘Oh . . .’’ Shannon sighed. ‘‘Thank you. I can’t turn my back for a minute.’’ She lovingly brushed the thinning gray hair from the man’s temple. ‘‘I thought you were still napping.’’
‘‘I was. But then I woke up and couldn’t find you.’’
The old man’s voice was distinctive, deeply resonating, and seemed inconsistent coming from such a frail body.
Annabelle heard a gasp.
Matthew took a half step back, his face paling.
‘‘Matthew? What’s wrong?’’ she asked.
But he didn’t answer. He only stared at the elderly man still safe in his grip.
‘‘Matthew? Matthew Taylor?’’ Shannon’s eyes widened. ‘‘You’re Mr. McCutchens’ younger brother?’’
‘‘Yes, ma’am,’’ he whispered, his voice hoarse.
The young woman’s rosy complexion slowly lost a bit of its color as well.
Annabelle looked from Matthew to the man beside him and back again—and instinctively she knew. In Matthew’s expression was a pain so deep she felt the blade of it in her own chest.
‘‘This man . . .’’ he finally managed, his voice a harsh whisper, ‘‘is my father.’’ The muscles in his jaw clenched tight. ‘‘This is Haymen Taylor.’’
CHAPTER | THIRTY - FIVE
MATTHEW LOOKED DOWN AT THE frail man in his grip, unable to quell the anger rising inside him. Haymen Taylor was supposed to be dead. He had gladly buried his father’s memory long ago—wishing he could have been there to bury the man physically.
Annabelle’s face reflected both shock and compassion. Sadie’s did too. But he only shared one of those emotions. He turned back to Shannon. ‘‘Johnny told me our father was gone.’’
‘‘Johnny. Johnny . . .’’ His father mumbled the name as though trying to place who Johnny was.
Haymen Taylor’s brown eyes were dimmer than Matthew remembered, and absent of their usual harshness. His father lifted his hand, and Matthew instinctively clenched his jaw. How many times had he cowered in fear when he’d seen this man’s hand coming at him?
The man ran a trembling hand over Matthew’s stubbled cheek.
‘‘Are you Johnny?’’
Matthew briefly looked to Shannon for explanation, but she only shook her head, unshed tears rimming her eyes.
He cleared his throat, his own eyes watering. ‘‘No, sir, I’m not.
I’m . . . I’m Matthew.’’
His father stared at him for the longest time, and Matthew waited for recognition to move into the man’s vague expression, dreading the moment it did, because he knew what he would see— familiar disappointment, and another reminder of what a failure he had been in his father’s eyes.
Haymen Taylor’s blank expression mellowed. He smiled pleasantly and patted Matthew’s chest. ‘‘Well . . . you look like a good boy.’’
Stunned, Matthew couldn’t think of a reply.
His father took a step back toward the door. At Shannon’s nod, Matthew let go of the feeble old man.
‘‘Why don’t we all go inside and see what—’’ His father paused, a frown creasing his forehead.
‘‘Shannon . . .’’ the woman supplied softly.
‘‘Ah yes. And we’ll see what Shannon is making for dinner.’’
He shuffled back inside, his steps slow and measured. He left the door standing wide open behind him.
Keeping close watch on his father as he went through the entryway, Shannon put her hand on Matthew’s arm. ‘‘Whatever Mr.
McCutchens told you, Mr. Taylor, he was right when he said that your father was gone. He didn’t die, but he finally left us, just the same, about two years ago. And when he did, this kind gentleman came to live with us in his stead.’’
Matthew listened, still trying to comprehend that his father was alive. And so drastically altered.
Annabelle climbed the porch stairs, bringing Sadie with her. ‘‘When did all of this start?’’
‘‘I began coming here to help take care of your father-in-law about five years ago. He was already suffering from some memory loss. Mr. Taylor would repeat himself. Ask the same questions over and over again. He couldn’t remember dates or people, and once he got lost on the property. Thankfully we found him down by the creek in the back, unharmed. Over time he became more agitated, suspicious. He started to see and hear things that weren’t real.’’ She checked on the man through the open doorway again. ‘‘He gradually worsened and could no longer feed or dress himself. Or take care of his other needs,’’ she added quietly. ‘‘It got to be more than your brother could handle during the hours I wasn’t here, so he asked that I move to the ranch and see to Mr. Taylor’s needs full time.’’
Matthew moved to see his father standing in the hallway, gazing at a picture on the wall. He couldn’t imagine Johnny having taken care of Haymen Taylor that way. Not after what the man had done to him. All they’d talked about as boys was the day they would take off and leave the old man behind.
But Johnny never had.
‘‘Your brother was a fine man, Mr. Taylor. I’ve not met a more kind or generous soul.’’ She paused. ‘‘Part of this . . . illness that your father has used to make him ramble. He’d talk for hours about the past, about your mother and both of you boys. Most of the time, none of it made much sense.’’ She looked down briefly, then back to him. ‘‘But at other times, a great deal of it did.’’
Understanding softened her expression, and a sense of shame moved through him. Not that this woman knew about his childhood but that he hadn’t been here to help Johnny bear this burden through the years. Johnny had suffered the greater abuse. He wasn’t even Haymen Taylor’s son, and yet he’d stayed. Matthew lowered his head, unable to bring himself to look at Annabelle, certain she was thinking the very same.
After dinner that evening, Matthew stood at the large window in the main room on the cabin’s first floor and stared across the valley to the open plains. This was exactly the kind of ranch, and home, he and Johnny had talked about having when they were kids. It was as if his brother had traveled the West and finally found a setting that matched the wild-eyed dreams of those two young boys.
Why had Johnny not told him about all this when they saw each other last fall? He sighed. Thinking back over the conversation, he realized that Jo
hnny had. He simply hadn’t been willing to listen.
‘‘Mind some company?’’ Annabelle asked, joining him at the window. For a moment, they said nothing. ‘‘It’s so much more than I imagined.’’
He nodded, watching the sun as it raced toward the western horizon. ‘‘It’s just like he described. I thought Johnny was exaggerating when he told me about this place, like he’d done with so many other things when we were kids.’’ He focused on a spot miles out on the prairie. ‘‘He always had that way about him, seeing things, and people, as they could be, not like they were.’’ And it was that very trait that had enabled Johnny and Annabelle to be together.
He heard Annabelle’s soft sigh.
Johnny had seen in her what no other man had looked deep enough to find. Johnny had taught him so much in life, and it seemed that Matthew was still learning from his older brother, even now.
She moved closer. ‘‘How are you doing?’’
He knew what she was asking and shrugged. ‘‘Just trying to make sense of it all. I can’t believe my father is still alive. He’s so different.’’ He struggled, not knowing what to do with the years of anger stored up inside him. Anger at a man who no longer existed. How did a person begin to forgive someone who had done them so much wrong? Especially when that someone had never asked for forgiveness in the first place?
He recalled watching Shannon with his father during dinner that night. She looked at Haymen Taylor with an affection that Matthew had never felt for the man in his entire life, and it left him strangely bereft inside.
‘‘What’s on your mind, Matthew?’’
Annabelle wove her fingers through his, and surprised by the gesture, Matthew tightened his hand around hers, thankful to have her beside him. He bowed his head, trying to put it into words. A part of him wished they were back on the prairie together, just the two of them, sitting by the fire with miles of nothing around them.
He looked down at her. ‘‘Would you like to take a walk?’’
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