The Shepherd's Betrothal

by Lynn A. Coleman

  Ian put the jar back on the table. He would use it as a reminder not to get lost in unrealistic hopes and dreams. Hope was right—they would never blend.

  So why had he been unable to stop himself from saying “I want more”?

  * * *

  “Mum, I don’t know what to say. There isn’t a relationship developing between us. At least not a pleasant one.” Hope stood up and started to pace. “We seem to bring out the worst in each other. We can’t share more than a couple of sentences without the other saying some thing to offend, even when trying to be careful.” Hope sat down again.

  Her mother paused for a moment. Her gaze seemed to penetrate deep into Hope’s soul. Hope glanced away. Her mother grabbed her hand. “Ye have forgiven yourself. I can tell.”

  Hope grabbed her mother’s hand with the other. The warmth and strength she felt in her mother’s grasp surprised her for a moment. “Yes, I’ve forgiven myself. I didn’t fail Hamilton Scott’s business. And while it was wrong for me to go behind your backs in writing to Ian to cancel our betrothal, I have forgiven myself for that, as well.”

  Her mother nodded and smiled. “And yet, there is something between you two.”

  The color in Hope’s cheeks brightened when she realized how much her mother knew. “He’s behaving in such a confusing manner. One moment he’s…” Hope trailed off, not ready to tell her mother about the kiss.

  Her mother squeezed her hand. “Come, let’s go to the parlor. There’s something I’d like to share with you.”

  Hope allowed her mother to take her by the hand and bring her to the front parlor. They sat together on the small settee, with its high, curved back and arms, which gave the impression of an intimate embrace. Many deeply personal conversations between them had been had on this couch.

  “When my mum informed me that I was to marry your father, I was quite upset, in much the same way that ye were.”

  Hope narrowed her gaze.

  “Your father and I both felt the obligation to go through with the marriage but it took a month after we were married before we truly started to open up with one another. Getting to know your father, allowing him to be the man he was meant to be, allowed me to open me eyes. I would read the passage from 1 Corinthians 13 over and over again, and I would see how each day I was not loving my husband as I should.”

  “But you didn’t know him.”

  “And that be my point. I don’t know for certain if Ian is the man for ye. I do know that there is a spark of interest between ye. He cares about ye, even if he can’t express it. I’ve watched him look at ye when he thinks no one else is looking. He cares deeply how ye feel about him, too.”

  Hope shook her head. “I don’t know, Mum.”

  “No, ye do not. Tell me, darlin’, when was the last time ye prayed for your spouse?”

  Hope sat back. When was the last time? When she was sixteen and was told about her betrothal? For years she had prayed for him, not knowing who he was but trusting him to God’s care and protection. “I hate to admit it, Mum, but it has been many years.”

  Sally tapped Hope’s knee. “Then that be the place to start. If Ian is to be your spouse then everything will fall into place. If he is not…well, then ye will just have to wait a bit longer.”

  “When did you and Father start to love one another?”

  A slow smile grew. “It was that day I mentioned, a month into our marriage. We carried on in a horrible fight. Ugly words were said, not worth repeatin’. But as we let our tempers calm we started to open up with one another. We discovered we had a lot in common. And yer father isn’t hard on the eyes.” Her mother winked.

  Hope chuckled. “I love you, Mum. Thank you.”

  “Ye are welcome, darlin’. Now go to your room and freshen up a bit. Your father is takin’ us out to dinner tonight.”

  Hope stood and gave her mother a heartfelt hug. She made it up to her room, each step a bit harder to climb. Had it really been five years since she’d prayed for her would-be spouse? Would she have written to Ian if she had continued to pray? Would she know whether or not Ian was meant to be her spouse if she’d been praying for him all these years?

  Dear Lord, how can I have been so stubborn and self-absorbed?

  Chapter 12

  Ian fingered the hair from his face and rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t slept well and there was only one reason for that—it had something to do with a certain redhead who stirred his emotions. What was worse, he was feeling guilty over his refusal to have her be his wife. Betrothal or not, he came to America determined not to have anything to do with her, and yet she’d been nothing but kind to him.

  His evening devotionals had brought him to 1 Peter 4:8. “And above all things have fervent charity among yourselves: for charity shall cover the multitude of sins.”

  And Ian knew he had not been charitable to Hope. He’d been rude. That had him flipping over to the thirteenth chapter in 1 Corinthians. His charity—or rather his lack thereof—stood out like the St. Augustine Lighthouse, which was slipping into the ocean, inch by inch. His charity was drifting out to sea when it came to Hope Lang. He needed to mend fences once again, and to stop doing things like kissing her, and then telling her she wasn’t right for him, and then telling her he wanted more.

  Somehow he’d need to control his emotions and be clear, and not…not what? Assume? Was he assuming too much when it came to Hope? Ian scanned his humble cabin. “Could she ever be comfortable here?”

  Ian turned to see if Gabe would suddenly appear as he had before. Thankfully, Gabe was not there. Ian got up, fed the dogs and prepared his breakfast. He looked forward to the day when he would have an icebox and could keep milk. Instead he crunched on dried granola and drank down some lukewarm tea. He drafted a note of apology, put Conall out to patrol the land and checked on the recent additions to his flock from Ireland.

  He found the ram in just about the same location munching on the hay. The ewes were huddled together in their pen. He wondered if they were already impregnated. The captain said he’d had them all in the same pen on board the ship, which could mean his first lambs would be born a month before the others. Ian smiled. “Good, that will give me a practice run to make certain everything is prepared for the birthings.”

  After his morning chores he cleaned up and headed toward the city. He wanted to speak with Hope, or at least make arrangements to speak. His fingers traced the folded paper he’d put in his pants pocket. At the very least she’d have his written apology.

  He walked up to the Langs’ home. It stood proud with its two stories and upper and lower porches. White scrollwork glistened in the sun, accenting the clapboards. It was a beautiful house. Ian took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then marched up to the front door and knocked.

  A moment later Mr. Lang came to the door. “Mr. McGrae, how can I help ye?”

  “I’d like to speak with Miss Lang.”

  Drake Lang, dressed in a three-piece business suit with a gold chain that draped from the button on his vest to the small pocket for his watch, leaned back on his heels. The man’s attire spoke volumes of the difference in net worth between himself and Ian. “I’m afraid she is not here this morning. She’s out scouting some possible locations to rent.”

  “Rent, sir?” Ian couldn’t believe Hope would move out of her parents’ home.

  “She’s undertaking her own business. It’s really quite a remarkable plan she’s put together. She and I were discussing it last night. Can I give her a message for ye?”

  “Yes, please.” Ian handed Hope’s father the note. Mr. Lang took it and slid it into his pants pocket. “Thank ye, sir.”

  Drake Lang nodded. “Have a good day, son.”

  A tumble of footsteps came down the stairs behind Drake, drawing Ian’s attention. “Ian, what are you doing here so early?” Gabe asked.

  “I had a message for yer sister.”

  “I’ve been going over your figures. Do you have a few minutes?”

&nb
sp; Ian nodded, pulled off his hat and stepped inside the house.

  “Let’s discuss it in the dining room. I haven’t eaten yet and mother doesn’t like it when I hold up her plans.”

  “I heard that,” Sally Lang’s voice floated back from the kitchen.

  “How’s yer sister’s arm healing?”

  “Fine, fine. She can move all her fingers. There will be a scar, but not too bad.”

  “I still have nightmares seeing her arm open like that.”

  Gabe shuddered. “Don’t get me started. Have a seat. Have you eaten?”

  “Yes.” Ian looked over the array of pancakes, syrups, eggs and bacon, and his stomach grumbled.

  Gabe laughed. “Mum, can we have another plate for Ian?”

  “Coming right up.”

  “Thank ye, Mrs. Lang. I haven’t eaten like this since I left the Seaside.”

  Ian sat down. Gabe sat in the chair beside him, and Drake took his place at the head of the table. “I’ve been going over the figures you gave me concerning the amount of grain your sheep will need,” Gabe began. “I know your plan is to grow what you need next year, but I was thinking about the needs for this year, and was wondering if you might be interested in trading your ram’s services for some hay.”

  “I’m not sure. From what I saw of the sheep in the area, I’m not sure I’d want to put the ram at risk. Keeping me stock healthy is very important to me and there is still so much I don’t know about this land, the insects, the dangers to the sheep…everything. I’d rather wait for another year, then I might consider it, once I know the land better.”

  Gabe nodded. He forked some pancakes and sausage onto his plate and passed the platters to Ian. “I understand.”

  “Ye should speak with Jackson Hastings,” Drake interjected from behind his newspaper. “He’ll be able to give you sound advice about the insects and such. I know his business is cattle but he’s known for keeping his herd healthy.”

  Ian agreed, mumbling around a mouthful of pancake.

  The front door opened and closed. A woman’s heels clicked on the hardwood floor.

  “Mum, I’m…” Hope’s words trailed off as she came into the dining room and saw Ian sitting there with her father and brother.

  Unfortunately, she looked none too pleased about it.

  * * *

  Hope stood with her mouth agape. She closed it as her father turned toward her, putting his newspaper down on the table. “Mr. McGrae came to see you this morning and your brother tagged him with some business questions.” Her father reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “He gave me this note for you.”

  Ian stood up, wiping his mouth with the linen napkin. “May I speak with ye, Miss Lang?” He took the note from Mr. Lang, then looked back and forth between her brother and father. “In private?”

  Her father looked over the rim of his glasses.

  “I only have a couple of minutes. I forgot my notes and came back to…” Hope stopped herself. It was so easy to speak with Ian. He’d made it clear—and yet he was here. With a note. “Sure, in the parlor. I’ll be there in a moment.”

  Hope headed toward the kitchen and turned to see Ian walk into the parlor. She entered the kitchen, closed her eyes and counted to ten. Her mother came up beside her and placed a loving hand on her shoulder. “Shoo! Go put the man out of his misery.”

  With a nod, Hope spun around and went to the parlor. Ian stood at the window overlooking the front yard. “What would you like to speak with me about, Mr. McGrae?”

  He turned and smiled. She kept her expression neutral. She wouldn’t allow herself to be pulled in by that smile, not again. Not now.

  “I’m afraid I’ve come to apologize once again. It seems I’ve not treated ye with Christian charity. I had a long night with the Lord and He made me examine meself, again. I have no excuse. I don’t know why…” His words trailed off. He slipped the note into his pocket.

  “Ian,” she whispered and stepped a bit closer. “I, too, have been in error. I was rude to you at the mercantile.” Ian shook his head. “We be quite a pair, ye and me.”

  “Like water and oil,” she quipped.

  “I tried that.”

  “What?”

  “I mixed water and oil. If ye shake it real hard tiny bubbles appear and the two seem to mix. But when the liquid settles the oil and water separate. Slowly at first, but in the end, they become two separate liquids.” Ian paused and walked back to the window. “Yer father said ye were looking for property to rent for a business?”

  “Yes, I’m exploring the possibility of opening my own dressmaking business.”

  “Did ye make yer dresses?”

  “Most of them. I’m not a fan of some of the styles that come from France and England. Of course, some of them are far too thick and layered for Florida heat.”

  “Me mum never had the luxury of wearing high fashion. Simple dresses and skirts for her and me sisters.”

  “How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

  “There be five boys and three girls in me family. I’m number five. I have a brother and two sisters younger than me.”

  Hope motioned for him to take a seat. “I really can’t stay long but I need to share something—something my mother and the Lord helped me to realize last night. It seems since I learned of our betrothal I stopped praying for my spouse. I had been praying for him since I was twelve and mother first spoke to me of such matters. In any event, I believe if I had continued to pray for my spouse I might not have written the letter.”

  Ian sat back. “I don’t believe I ever prayed for me spouse. Of course, I’ve known about me betrothal since I was a lad.” He played with the hat in his hands then looked in her eyes. “Interesting concept.”

  Hope chuckled. “My parents were betrothed in an arrangement similar to ours.”

  “Gabe told me,” Ian admitted.

  Just how close had Gabe and Ian become? she wondered. “Mum said she and Father had to get to know one another before they started to love one another.”

  Ian reached out and took her hand. “Hope—”

  “I know what you said before, and I took offense at it. You judged me before getting to know me.”

  “Aye, I am guilty. But look at yer home, the furnishings ye grew up with.”

  Hope smiled. “And do you remember what you said when you challenged me about living a simple life in that cottage?”

  Ian cocked his head. “I’m not sure.”

  “You said you weren’t interested in expanding the house. I can’t see any wife living in that cottage with children. Where would you all fit?”

  “I see yer point.” Ian got up and walked back to the window, then turned and faced her once again. “I want to know ye, Hope.” Ian smiled. “Can we take a walk along the shore, spend some time getting to know one another?”

  “Yes, that would be nice.”

  With quick strides Ian made his way across the room and swooped her into an embrace. “I shall pray, too.”

  Joy soared in Hope’s heart. Goodness, she could get lost in those wonderful blue eyes. The creak of a floorboard outside in the hall brought her back to the present as she wondered which of her family members had been eavesdropping. “Good day, Mr. McGrae.”

  “Good day, Miss Lang.”

  As she watched him leave, she was already anticipating their walk. Perhaps it would be a way for them to start with a clean slate. The thought made her happier than she’d been in quite some time.

  * * *

  Ian raced out of the house knowing they’d been overheard for at least part of their conversation. Of course, the Langs weren’t blind. It was obvious that he and Hope were entertaining the idea of a courtship.

  Courtship! All of that would have been unnecessary had they followed through with the betrothal. Now they were dancing around one another, trying to get to know each other and still not feeling comfortable at all.

  Ian knew one thing: Hope’s embrace ce
ntered him. He felt more at peace in her arms than anywhere else. Her comments about the house and the assumptions he’d made about her convicted him again. He hadn’t even given her the option of building additions for children. Admittedly, if it was only him, he’d be content. But if he had a wife and children, the cottage would be too small. No wonder she told him she’d only be content in the cottage for a while.

  He walked back to the ranch, thinking and rethinking everything that was said and not said. Father, I’m praying for me spouse. If it be Hope, help us work through our differences. Help us to listen to one another better.

  As he approached the barn he noticed the sheriff. The stern look on his face meant something wasn’t right. The sheriff greeted Ian. “Mr. McGrae, there seems to be a problem concerning the ownership of your land.”

  “How is this possible, Sheriff? The land belonged to Mr. Sanders, who’s owned it for the past forty years. Me lawyer spoke with a judge. This is makin’ no sense.”

  Sheriff Bower leaned back against his horse. “Let’s go speak with the Sanderses.”

  Ian walked the sheriff up to the Sanderses’ farmhouse and knocked. Mrs. Sanders greeted them with an open door. In no time at all, William Sanders had all the paper-work out and proved what Ian had stated.

  Sheriff Bower scratched his beard. “I have a court order here to remove you from your land, Mr. McGrae. Because the house and livestock are on the land, they belong to this owner, according to the court papers.”

  William leaned forward. “Sheriff, is it possible these papers are forged?”

  “I’d say they require some further investigation. I’ll return to town and speak with the judge who wrote the order. May I bring your copies with me?”

  William glanced over to his wife. She shook her head. “Mable and I think we’d better keep these originals with all the problems going on.”

  “Fair enough. Would you care to join me and speak with the judge?”

  “Certainly. Let me change my attire. Ian, would you ready the wagon for me and the missus?”