The Brides of Chance Collection

by Kelly Eileen Hake,Cathy Marie Hake,Tracey V. Bateman

  “I haven’t given her a reason to stay.”

  “So give her one.”

  “I can’t. She’s not a believer, Dan.” Paul watched as Dan shook his head. “You just don’t understand.”

  Dan’s head jerked up, and he spoke fiercely. “Now you listen and listen good, Paul Chance, because I know a lot more than you understand. A good woman is a gift from God, someone who completes you and gives you joy.” His voice almost cracked as he continued. “When you find that, you’ve got to hold on to it with both hands before He takes it away again. You have to fight for her with everything you are, or you’ll lose her. You haven’t got what it takes to go through life wondering if there was anything else you could’ve done. You don’t have a reason to keep on going.” Paul knew Dan spoke of his daughters.

  “You don’t really believe all that, Dan.”

  “More than anything else,” he swore fervently.

  “Then prove it,” Paul challenged. “If Delilah and I do get married, you’ll be the one to walk her down the aisle. None of this not attending the wedding.”

  Emotions warred on Dan’s face. “All right,” he spat out gruffly before he got to his feet and stomped away, leaving Paul to his thoughts once more.

  “When you find that, you’ve got to hold on to it with both hands before He takes it away again.” Dan’s words echoed in Paul’s mind, resonating in his heart.

  Lord, is she being taken away by Thee?

  No response came.

  Maybe I should listen to Dan and ask her to marry me. I’ve seen Thee stirring in her soul, and I know Thou wilt bring her to the fold.

  Grim determination took hold of him. She’s my match, Lord! Thou knowest that! Why shouldn’t I keep her for Thee?

  As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he knew the answer in his heart. I wouldn’t be keeping her for Thee. I’d be keeping her for myself. Paul straightened his shoulders. Still, we belong together as man and wife.

  “And two souls shall become one.” The scripture Miriam had read at her wedding crossed his thoughts. He struggled to accept what his heart told him.

  No. The Lord still holds my soul. I’ve already given it to Him. This way I’ll just be bringing Delilah to Him, as well. Even as he reasoned his case, he knew the truth: A man and wife stood together as one in the eyes of God. If he married a nonbeliever, that could not be. He’d never find peace because he’d forever be torn between the Lord and his wife. That was no way to raise their children.

  Lord, please let her stay. Help her to see Thy love and accept Thee so that I can take her as my bride. How can I choose between the two things most dear to me in the world?

  Even as the prayer went up, Paul knew the awful truth. There had never been a choice.

  Delilah opened her folio and put in the watercolors she’d worked on this last week. The sheer number of them showed how hard she’d tried to keep her mind off Paul and her disappointment over how he hadn’t spoken to her once since that awful day.

  All the better. She blinked back another onslaught of tears at the thought of leaving him behind her. At least I can remember Chance Ranch.

  She shut the folio and began pulling her clothes from the wall pegs, leaving aside the traveling set she’d worn when she first arrived. Her heart clenched as she folded the forest green day dress Alisa had given her, then altered for her.

  I will have a studio of my own, she reminded herself. A home where I can work on my paintings in peace without feeling dependent on anyone else. It’s just what I’ve always wanted. I should be happy.

  Then why aren’t you? a tiny piece of her heart demanded as she held the jewelry box Miriam had given her for her birthday.

  Because I hoped Paul would ask me to stay, her heart cried, but he didn’t say a word.

  She glanced out the window, spying the tender green shoots of the garden they’d planted together. She gathered her resolve. From the start, I’ve said I couldn’t stay here forever.

  “I am happy.” She spoke aloud, shooing away her doubts.

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Miriam and Alisa came through the doorway.

  Not certain what to say, Delilah shot them a smile before opening the drawer on her washstand.

  “I can’t believe you’re leaving this afternoon! It seems like you just got here.” Alisa pulled Delilah into a spontaneous hug.

  “Here. We finished it last night.” Miriam held out a cloak made of the soft wool they’d bought from Reba not so long ago.

  “We couldn’t let you go traveling without it, even though it’ll be summer soon.” Alisa folded it up and laid it in Delilah’s satchel.

  Touched by their thoughtfulness, Delilah fought a fresh onslaught of tears.

  The women helped her finish packing, and Delilah picked up her satchel. Noticing how much heavier it was than when she’d arrived, she walked up to the waiting buckboard. She gave one last look at the homestead and realized the weight of that valise couldn’t compete with the heaviness of her heart.

  Paul numbly watched as everyone at Chance Ranch said their good-byes to Delilah. When she reached him, he took her hand in his, looked into her golden eyes one last time. “May God be with you, Delilah.” His final words were a fervent prayer, one last plea for her to change her mind about everything. About God. About being his wife. About leaving for San Francisco.

  “Good-bye, Paul.” Her voice caught. When she drew a shaky breath and tugged her hand out of his grasp, he knew he was letting her go…possibly forever. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat but couldn’t speak as she climbed onto the buckboard and drove off.

  Lord, I chose Thee. Now what wilt Thou choose to do with each of us?

  Six days later, Delilah let loose a sigh of relief as she unbuttoned her shoes and curled her toes for the first time all day. She stretched and smiled as Shortstack pounced on a tattered ball of yarn in the corner.

  The Munroes had been as good as their word. Founders of the San Francisco Art Society a mere year before, they’d set her up in a clever little cottage and introduced her to the artisans of the city.

  Today they’d unveiled her first display at their gallery, and she’d heard so much praise, her head felt as though it would burst. One thing was certain: She’d find no shortage of patrons here. As a matter of fact, she’d best get some sleep. Tomorrow she’d need to paint enough to replace the pictures sold today.

  Shortstack curled up at her feet as Delilah snuggled into bed only to find her mind too active for sleep just yet. This had been happening ever since she left Chance Ranch. In the short span of time she’d been in San Francisco, she’d found herself so restless, she’d been working rather than sleeping. Pushing aside the covers and ignoring an indignant meow from Shortstack as she scrambled out from under the pile, Delilah padded across the room and began lighting lamps. She passed by the small round mirror on the washstand and caught a glance of dark purple shadows under her eyes.

  Well, I may not be getting my beauty rest, but at least I haven’t been idle.

  She sank her toes into the large braided rug she’d made over the last week and ran her palm over the quilted coverlet she’d begun with Miriam and Alisa but finished alone. She made her way toward the window, wanting some fresh air. Deciding against opening it at night in a town still too strange for comfort, she fingered the curtains she’d stitched and hung, trying to make the cottage her home.

  These would be so charming in my cabin back at Chance Ranch. I always wanted to decorate with a splash of color. I would have loved to hang some of my landscapes on the wall. I’d put one right over the foldaway desk. She closed her eyes and imagined how different the cabin would seem with paintings resting against the freshly whitewashed walls, her first quilt cushioning the bed, and the sprigged curtains fluttering in the warm summer breeze while Shortstack batted the edges. And if I looked out the window, I’d see the garden in full bloom.

  She shook the thought away. She had a new life now—a home of her own and independe
nt means. She purposely strode over to her desk and picked up her sketchbook.

  Settling into a nearby chair, she began flipping through the pages, setting aside those she thought would make the best paintings. The various landscapes of Chance Ranch tugged at her heart. There was the homestead as it stood when she left, her garden beginning to blossom. Here she’d given her imagination free rein, depicting lavish blossoms amid a sea of green.

  Sorrow engulfed her as she set that one aside. Putting up that portrait for sale would be like selling her dreams. Maybe I can go back someday to visit Miriam and see Caleb. Somehow that thought only made her more aware of how she’d be missing Caleb’s birth.

  What if something goes wrong, and I’m not there to help? Fear washed over her. There’s nothing I can do all the way out here. She wanted to cry at the very thought of not being there for Miriam, who’d given her so much.

  Paul always prayed. I could, too. For the first time, Delilah didn’t push the thought away. What harm could come from it if she tried? At best, she’d gain God’s blessings for her cousin and some comfort for herself. At worst, it wouldn’t work and she’d feel just the same as she did now—helpless and alone.

  She took a deep breath and plunged in. “Lord, I know I have no right to ask You for anything when I’ve denied You for so long. To be honest, I’m still not sure I can trust You, but I’m not asking this for myself. Please be with Miriam and Caleb while I can’t. I’m not free to go to them.”

  The thought of Paul’s stoic expression as she’d waved good-bye stung her deeply. How could she face him when he’d made it clear she hadn’t made the choice he wanted her to?

  I still can. Didn’t I just pray? Doesn’t that mean something? Plagued by her thoughts, Delilah pulled open her dresser. Surely if she began painting, she’d exhaust this restless energy. She reached into the drawer and saw her mother’s Bible resting beside a folder of her very first sketches.

  Maybe the answer won’t come from my hands, Delilah realized. There’s no shame in admitting I might be wrong. She picked up the Bible, her fingers sliding over the leather, worn smooth by her mother’s hands.

  Trembling, she clasped it to her, hugging it tight. She hadn’t opened it since Mama died. Crawling back in bed, she laid it on the pillow beside her, letting it fall open.

  “ ‘If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us,’ ” she read.

  I never said I had no sin, Delilah protested, but her gaze stayed riveted to the page. The words seemed strangely familiar, and she remembered Paul quoting this passage the morning he’d broken his arm and taught her to gather eggs.

  “ ‘If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.’ ”

  I haven’t confessed them, she admitted. But since I have sinned, even if I did repent, why would He be faithful and just to forgive me?

  Shortstack hopped onto the bed, reaching out a dainty paw to bat the frayed edge of the ribbon Mama used as a placeholder. Gently pushing the kitten away, Delilah flipped over to the bookmark and found a marked passage in John 3.

  “ ‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ ”

  I remember learning this when I was little. That’s what was niggling in the back of my mind when Paul spoke about living forever! Excitement mounting, she kept reading.

  “ ‘For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. He that believeth on him is not condemned: but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God.’ ”

  That’s me. This is what Paul was trying to tell me. Because I don’t believe in God, I’m condemned. But I don’t feel lost in despair because Mama died. She believed in this. And it’s not too late for me to believe, too. But can I trust Him?

  That thought brought her up cold, until she remembered what Miriam had pointed out. “If you give Paul your hand, you’re trusting it to God in a way.”

  “I do trust Paul. I trust him because he’s not like Papa.” For the first time, she allowed herself to make the comparison. “He won’t put an insubstantial dream above my feelings.”

  But Paul put God before my feelings. The realization took her breath away and made her head whirl. And I trust Him enough to put Miriam and Caleb in His hands. When did God stop being some vague notion and an important part of my life?

  “When you let Me.”

  Tears trickled down Delilah’s cheeks as she prayed long into the night, thanking God for His unfailing love and forgiveness and finally accepting her need of them.

  Chapter 18

  Paul corralled the last steer and walked Speck over to where Logan and Bryce rested on their mounts, deep in conversation.

  “No question about it.” Logan’s somber pronouncement made Paul uneasy. “It has to be done.”

  “What has to be done?” The way the two of them jumped hardly offered any reassurance. “What’re you two scheming now?”

  “I’m calling a Chance vote, that’s what.” Logan’s bravado wavered somewhat when he snuck a glance at Bryce for confirmation.

  “About what?” Paul walked Speck a step closer, pleased that his younger brothers stood their ground, but irritated nonetheless.

  “You’ll find out along with Gideon, Titus, and Daniel. There’re on their way over now.” Bryce pointed to three men on horseback.

  Paul shifted in the saddle, anxious to find out what was afoot and suddenly eager to get back to work.

  “What’re y’all lollygagging around for?” Daniel grumped as soon as they all stood within earshot.

  “Logan and Bryce”—Paul jerked a thumb in their general direction—“are calling a Chance vote.”

  “About what?” Titus and Gideon seemed just as wary as Paul felt.

  “Well,” Logan said, straightening in the saddle, “no offense to Miriam and Alisa, who do their best around here, we know, but seems as though things around here are on the decline.”

  “Yep. We’ve gotten used to certain…comforts,” Bryce interjected. “So basically, what we’re saying is—”

  “We want to eat good food again!” Logan abandoned any attempt to make their cause seem lofty.

  “Miriam needs her rest.” Gideon glowered at the upstarts. “She’s due this month!”

  “Aw, anyone can see she’s ’bout ready to pop, Gideon,” Bryce soothed. “We wasn’t talkin’ ’bout her.”

  “Well, Alisa hasn’t been well, either,” Titus groused.

  “You don’t get it,” Logan grumbled. “We ain’t complaining about your wives; we just have a solution. A way of making sure they’re not overworked and we’re not underfed.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Paul barked as soon as he saw where this entire debacle was headed.

  “Oh, yes, they do.” Daniel’s habitual scowl disappeared into a cheeky grin. “All in favor of bringing Delilah back?”

  Only Speck backed up Paul’s nay, and even that was more of an equine whinny than anything else.

  “And we know how Miriam and Alisa would vote if they were here. Motion passed. Now I vote Paul goes to fetch her.” Daniel leaned back, pleased as punch to see Paul outvoted once again. “That settles it. You’re going.”

  Less than an hour later, Paul sat on the buckboard, driving toward Delilah. Lord, I have to say I have my doubts about this. I’m not sure if I can bring her back and not aim to keep her. Please give me strength to do Thy will. Please watch over my love.

  As he passed through town, he pulled up in front of the mercantile. He clomped toward the back, his heavy footsteps suiting his mood.

  “Hello there, Paul. Let me just grab my bag, and we’ll get to Miriam straight away!” Reba bustled through the curtain before he could get a word out.

  “Not yet, Reba!”

  She poked her hea
d out and peered at him. “No?”

  “No. But Miriam sent this with me.” He thrust a letter toward the older woman. “She said it might be her last chance to write her parents before the babe comes.”

  Reba clucked her tongue. “And to think you had me all riled. Couldn’t it have waited until next Sunday?”

  “Probably,” Paul allowed, “but I was heading through anyway.”

  “Where you headed?”

  “San Francisco.”

  A knowing glint shone in Reba’s eyes, and Paul hastened to correct her. “Miriam and Alisa need the help, that’s all.”

  “Sure it is.” Reba swapped him a handful of peppermint sticks for the letter. “For your trip.”

  Paul chuckled as he left the store, certain she’d intentionally given him peppermint rather than black licorice because she thought there might still be a future for him and Delilah.

  Lord, I hope she’s right.

  Delilah hummed happily, if a bit off-key, as she walked back to her studio from the Munroes’ place.

  The fledgling city bustled almost nonstop; from boots clicking on boardwalks to buildings being built, one could never escape the sounds. Since the establishment of the San Francisco Bar Association, businesses had sprung up seemingly overnight, relying on Joshua Norton’s plan to bridge the bay between San Francisco and Oakland. As prosperous and energetic a place as this was, she would gladly trade it all to be sitting by the fishing hole at Chance Ranch.

  Thank You, Lord! They still want my paintings even if I have to ship them from Chance Ranch. Now…

  Her jaunty step slowed as she contemplated what she planned. Please give me the courage to go back. I don’t know if You will bring me and Paul together or not. If not, it’ll break my heart.

  Fresh doubts flooded over her. No, no, no! I am putting my faith in You, Lord! Even if I don’t stay at Chance Ranch, the Munroes have been so kind as to assure me of a place here. Still, I do wish there were some way I could be sure I’m doing the right thing.

  She turned onto the walkway to her studio and halted when she saw someone peering into her window. Despite her instinct to leave immediately, something held her fast. Those broad, powerful shoulders, the brown hair curling beneath the brim of a well-worn hat—Delilah’s heartbeat quickened.