by Renee Ryan
The thought brought some comfort. But they had a long way to go to become a “both of you, together.” For one, Beau wasn’t on board with the “both of you, together” part. But he would be. And she would be.
And, together, they would be—
A hard clearing of a throat jolted her out of her thoughts. “The prodigal daughter returns.”
Hannah froze.
With panic clawing at her throat, she pivoted around to stare at the man who had banished her from his home five years ago.
There was no mistaking this was her father. The harsh features and unyielding expression in his eyes were the same as always.
He still judged her.
After all these years.
Why, Lord? Why?
Numb from too many emotions surging through her blood, she blinked up at him.
He looked older. Thinner. More haggard.
And so very, very sad. She’d never noticed that sadness before. It made him seem more approachable. Yet all the more distant.
“Hello, Father.”
He didn’t acknowledge her greeting, merely cast his gaze around the platform. “Where is your sister?”
“She—”
“What’s happened? What have you done to her? What—”
“Reverend Southerland?” Beau cut him off in midsentence.
Hannah didn’t know where Beau had come from. Or when he had joined them. She hadn’t realized he could move so quickly and without any sound.
Then again, she couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of her pulse rushing in her ears.
“Reverend O’Toole.” Her father’s gaze collided with Beau’s and his eyes sharpened to thin slits. “What, may I ask, are you doing here?”
“I am escorting your daughter, sir.”
Beau held the other man’s gaze, but he didn’t explain any further.
Why not? Hannah wondered.
Her father’s chin rose a mere fraction of an inch, but it was enough to indicate his genuine displeasure. His brow scrunched into a disapproving frown. Hannah was familiar with the look. She’d been on the receiving end far too often.
“You traveled with Hannah?”
Beau nodded, but still he kept silent on the particulars.
“Alone?”
Beau lifted a shoulder.
In that moment, Hannah realized this was some sort of standoff between the two men, a masculine battle of wills she didn’t understand.
“You’re not helping matters,” she whispered to Beau. “Tell him the rest.”
Beau kept his gaze locked with her father’s.
“Beau, please.”
He didn’t budge. Not one single inch.
Nor did her father.
Hannah sniffed her impatience at them both.
Did they have to be such…men?
“Father,” she said. “Reverend O’Toole was good enough to accompany both Mavis and me on our journey.”
Her father’s quick eyebrow flick was the only measure of his surprise. “And who might this Mavis be?”
Hannah resisted the urge to tug on her collar and straighten her skirt. She ran her tongue across her teeth and pointed to Mavis, who chose that moment to adjust her chamois strap and shoot out a stream of spit between her front teeth.
Sensing inspection, she looked up and gave them her trademark gap-toothed grin. The gesture was pure Mavis Tierney, with a bit of an imp thrown in for good measure.
“Ah.” Reverend Southerland dismissed Mavis with a grunt and returned his attention to Beau. “I would have expected you to be in Greeley by now, working with the committee on the plans for the new church building.”
Beau’s shoulders relaxed. With a hard blink, he wiped his features of all expression. “I was called to Denver on a personal matter, sir. A family friend was in need.”
“That’s where I met Reverend Southerland,” Hannah said. “In Denver.”
She wanted to say more, but she was jostled by someone walking by, reminding her they weren’t alone on the platform.
When she stumbled, Beau rushed to her aid. He steadied her with one hand on her back and the other on her arm.
Her father frowned at them both, but Beau didn’t release her until she found her balance.
“Where is your sister, Hannah?” His gaze traveled across the platform, then darted back to her. “What have you done with her?”
“That’s why we’re here,” she said. “To tell you of Rachel’s…fate.”
Shock and worry traced a hard line along his forehead. “Is she hurt? Ill?”
His concern was so familiar, so painfully genuine, that it broke Hannah’s heart. Her father had never, never, worried about her like that. “She is well.”
“I don’t understand.”
Hannah sighed. “I know. And that’s my fault. I—”
“So you haven’t changed.”
At the disappointment she heard in her father’s tone, her stomach knotted. She wanted to toss Rachel’s letters at him and run. But Hannah wasn’t that impetuous, angry little girl anymore. She was a woman, a mature woman of independent means. God had brought her to this point in her life to end the lies of the past.
She would not cower now.
“No, Father, in that you’re wrong. I have changed.” She lifted her head and stared Thomas Southerland in the eyes. “In more ways than one.”
But whether the change was for good or evil was all a matter of perspective.
Beau could not stand the pain on Hannah’s face any longer. But he had to show respect to her father, for her sake. Starting an argument now would only hurt her more. He’d already made matters worse with that silent battle of wills of a few moments ago. Yet how could he show respect when all he wanted to do was slam his fist into the other man’s nose?
Didn’t Thomas Southerland see how much pain he was causing his daughter? It was one thing to threaten Beau with his future in Greeley. That was man-to-man. But what sort of parent had such little regard for his own child as to treat her so coldly and with such lack of affection?
“Reverend Southerland,” Beau said, clearing his throat of the resentment he heard in his own tone. “I think we should find another, less populated spot to speak further. I assure you, we will explain everything.” Beau didn’t add that the explanation would not be to the reverend’s satisfaction.
As though yanked out of a trance, Reverend Southerland shook his head and began moving toward Mavis and the baggage.
Mavis stood, winked and then offered her hand. “I’m Mavis. And I say any father of Hannah’s is a friend of mine.”
He gave a noncommittal grunt and completely ignored her outstretched hand.
She sighed, rolled her eyes to heaven and stepped aside so he could lift the largest of the pieces of luggage off the top of the pile.
Beau followed his lead and began hoisting bags, as well.
They were a silent group as they left the train depot and loaded their belongings into the reverend’s smart carriage. It wasn’t until they were in the heart of town and stopping in front of a hotel that Beau realized the good reverend was not going to open his home to any of them.
As healing old wounds went, it was a vile start. For Hannah’s sake, Beau hoped this obvious slight was merely a temporary show of distrust on the reverend’s part and not the start of worse things to come.
Chapter Nineteen
“I respectfully disagree, Reverend Southerland,” Beau said, lowering his voice so the other diners in the hotel restaurant wouldn’t hear the angry edge in his tone. He was glad Hannah was still up in her room, changing into fresh clothing. She didn’t need to hear this conversation. “You don’t know either of your daughters very well.”
“Might I remind you exactly who you are talking to?” The older man leaned forward. He kept his voice equally low, but his anger was just as evident as Beau’s. “I have the power to pull the Rocky Mountain Association’s support from your new church. One word in the right ear is all it w
ould take.”
Beau acknowledged the threat with a low growl. He held back from open defiance. Giving in to his temper now would be nothing more than a dangerous indulgence, so he forced a bland expression on his face. “Nevertheless, you have misjudged both women.”
With predatory slowness, Reverend Southerland sat back, rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and then steepled his fingers under his chin. “You dare judge me?”
Beau blew out a tense breath that scalded his throat. He wanted to give his anger free rein, wanted to let it spread, but that would only hurt Hannah in the end. So he rubbed a hand down his face and relaxed his shoulders. “I’m only speaking the truth as I see it.”
“Ah, truth.” The reverend spoke with a perfect mix of challenge and scorn. “You sit there, with your youthful arrogance and bold words of truth, yet who are you to speak of such matters? You, who spends his time in brothels, mining camps and saloons. You once came to me and said you wanted out of that life, yet I wonder. Do you enjoy living amongst sinners, Reverend O’Toole?”
Beau bristled. How many times had Beau heard this same accusation from men who should know better?
Jesus himself had lived and eaten among tax collectors and sinners. Beau was only trying to model his life after his Lord and Savior. “Sinners are in need of the love of Christ as well as the righteous, perhaps more.”
The older man’s cold, black eyes swept over him. Hesitation flickered over his harsh features, softening them for a tense moment. He looked as if he fought an internal battle. And lost. “What you say is true enough, to a certain extent. But our association has a strict doctrine that must be obeyed. Without exception, members are to be excluded from the church for the sins of intoxication, disorderly conduct and living in adultery, to name only a few.”
Beau felt the other man’s annoyance. And wondered at it. Yet he couldn’t stop himself from defending the Jane Goodwins, the Megans and even the Matties of the world. “The covenant also states that exclusion can be rescinded if the sinner appears at the next church service, confesses and asks for forgiveness.”
“Which they never do.”
The clear sign of defeat in the other man’s eyes took Beau by surprise. Determined to have his say, he placed his palms on the table and pressed forward. “What of those excluded? Do we just let them live damned forever? What of the parable of the lost sheep?”
“A pretty ideal, O’Toole, but in my experience most are happy in their sin.”
Beau should have been outraged at the observations, but he saw the genuine disappointment in other man’s eyes, the lost hope that the world could never be different. Sadly, Reverend Southerland had given up and taken the easier path of excluding those who needed him most.
Beau couldn’t let such a tragedy pass without comment. “Perhaps it’s time for a change in how the Association ministers to the lost,” he ventured.
Reverend Southerland’s expression instantly closed. “Young people put too much emphasis on change.”
In that moment, Beau’s confusion disappeared. Right then. Right there. The answer he’d been seeking had been there, waiting for him, in Isaiah 1:17. Learn to do right! Seek justice, encourage the oppressed. Defend the cause of the fatherless…
Yes. Beau would go where God was leading him, right to the spot where the Heavenly Father was already working.
“It’s time for a real change,” Beau whispered aloud.
A snort was the reverend’s immediate response. “When young people say change what they mean is rebellion. Take my Hannah, for example.” The lack of grief and defeat in his eyes was as unexpected as it was unbearable.
Beau shifted in his seat. “You’re wrong, Reverend Southerland. Hannah doesn’t need to change. She is the most kindhearted, Christian woman I have had the pleasure of knowing.”
“She is an actress.” And with those four simple words, the angry, closed-minded pastor returned.
“She is so much more.” A sense of urgency swam through Beau’s mind, thundered in his chest. “Yes, she is an actress, but one who follows the same Almighty God you introduced her to when she was a child.”
A tiny spark of hope lit in Reverend Southerland’s eyes, right before it was doused with a bold slash of skepticism. “You know this about her? How?”
Beau took a deep breath and began regaling Reverend Southerland with every glorious detail of the daughter he never knew, starting with her work at Charity House.
At precisely an hour after arriving in Colorado Springs, Hannah went in search of her father and Beau. She’d left Mavis with strict orders to stay in their hotel room and consequently out of trouble.
Mavis had responded with the same saucy wink she’d tossed at Hannah’s father on the train platform. But then she’d given Hannah her word and a swift, bone-rattling hug of encouragement.
Mavis had become a genuine friend.
The thought gave Hannah comfort as she made her way across the lobby. With nerves fluttering in her stomach, she barely took note of the expensive decor, hardly eyed the rose-patterned wallpaper.
The only sound she heard over the beat of her heart was her heels clicking along the marble-tiled floor. Click, click, click. Like a clock marking time.
This would be the hardest meeting in her life, far harder than that first night backstage of the theater. Unpleasant memories assailed her. She let them come. Desperate, alone and full of shame from her father’s words of condemnation, she’d joined a traveling troupe headed to New York the very night of her banishment.
Instead of punishing her for her sins, God had protected her on that initial journey toward independence. Her outer beauty had opened the door to an immediate position in the troupe. Once in New York, God had led her straight into the loving world of Patience and Reginald O’Toole.
Thank you, Lord.
As prayers went, it was one of her shortest. As passionate intent went, it was one of her most fervent.
Click. Click. Click.
Her heels hammered against the marble, echoing through the cavernous lobby. Each step took Hannah closer to her father and one final confrontation. This time, however, she would face him as an adult. She would tell him about Rachel, hand over the two letters and then confess her own sins. No matter his reaction, Hannah would be free.
It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.
This was it, then. Her chance to stand firm.
A quick burst of fear stole her breath. The resulting pain was repulsive, like sharp, needle-thin icicles stabbing in her chest.
Lord Jesus, please fill me with Your courage.
Drawing in a tight breath, she stuffed her gloved hands in the pocket of her skirt. Her fingers connected with Rachel’s letters, and the air hitched in her throat again.
Almost there.
Pasting a smile on her lips, Hannah negotiated the final corner then circled her gaze around the dining room. At the height of the noon-hour rush, most of the tables were full. She continued searching for her father.
There he was, in the back left corner. Sitting at a table with Beau.
Her smile slipped.
From their body language, she could tell that they were in a heated discussion. Even from this distance she could see that they each kept their voices in check.
However, both had an identical look of intensity in their eyes. Both leaned forward, neither backing down from the other’s heated words.
They were so similar. Why hadn’t she noticed that before? Why hadn’t she acknowledged the parallel?
She waited for the rush of antagonism from the sudden insight. It never came. And then she knew. She wasn’t angry at her father, had never been so.
She was hurt. She was sad. And yet, she was…hopeful.
Oh, Lord, do I need his approval that badly? Am I that weak?
Maybe she was. Maybe when it came to her father, she was that weak.
Shattered. Everything in her felt like it was shattering into tiny pieces.
Is t
his what it feels like to have a heart break, Lord? I love my father and I need his love in return, but he doesn’t love me. Not enough.
As if sensing her presence, Beau glanced up and quickly rose from his seat to gesture for her to come closer. As she wove a path between the tables, the drone of the other diners drummed in her ears. Her head grew dizzy from the effort to focus on Beau. Only Beau.
So much strength there.
With each step she took, her pulse slowed, while everyone around her seemed to speak and move at a quickened pace.
At last she drew alongside the table, and her father finally rose, as well.
Beau touched her arm and smiled at her. The support in his gaze made her want to smile in return, but she couldn’t make her trembling lips obey.
For courage, she retrieved Rachel’s letters and clutched them in her fist.
Still smiling, Beau held out his chair for her then dropped his head close to her ear. “Remember, you aren’t alone. I’m with you. God is with you.” He straightened and then spoke loud enough for her father’s ears. “I’ll leave you two to speak privately.”
Her hand shot out and gripped his arm. “No, please stay.”
Gently pulling her hand free, he pressed on her shoulder until she sat down in the empty chair. “It will be all right, Hannah. Your father is willing to listen to the truth now.”
“I—”
“I’ll be across the room if you need me.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.
Her father’s gasp alerted Hannah to his opinion of Beau’s public display. She refused to cringe.
“I’ll wait for you,” Beau said. His eyes told her he meant more than merely waiting for the end of this conversation.
Did he return her feelings, then? Was there a chance for them to be together?
Her father cleared his throat. In a single sweep, Beau lifted his hand off her shoulder and walked away.
Needing a moment to gather her courage, she watched him go.
“That young man certainly thinks highly of you. If half of what he said is true, I’ve misjudged you.”
