Charlene appreciated his evident enjoyment and willingness to participate. She didn’t, however, appreciate the curious looks cast in their direction by other members of the congregation. To take her mind off them, she turned her attention back to the sermon.
“Spring is my favorite season,” Brother Jenkins was saying. A broad smile covered the lower half of his square face. “It’s the season of hope, of new life. It’s the time our Lord chose to show us the most powerful example of new life—the Resurrection.
“Every year, I watch as we make preparations for Christmas. Even out here in our remote area, we plan get-togethers and try to think of gifts we can share with our loved ones. It’s a special season, and we spend a good bit of time getting ready for it.”
Brother Jenkins leaned across the rough-hewn pulpit and peered intently at the worshipers. “We spend plenty of time remembering the joy of Jesus’ birth… but what do we do in remembrance of His great sacrifice for us, giving up His own life so we might have life eternal?”
His gaze roamed over the attentive congregation, and Charlene felt he could see straight into her heart. “I would like to challenge each one of you. Each one of us,” he corrected.
“As we approach Easter, let us plan to give a gift to our Savior. As we remember Jesus’ sacrifice, may we prepare our hearts, striving to live our lives free from sin, in gratitude for what He has done. Make a special effort to live during these coming days as we should endeavor to live every day… pure and consecrated to Him.”
Charlene, whose spirit soared with thankfulness at the reminder of Jesus’ great gift of love, felt the joy of the day dim at these final words. She saw Matthew bow his head for Brother Jenkins’s closing prayer, and she hurriedly ducked her own. The words she heard, however, were not Brother Jenkins’s benediction, but her own tortured self-condemnation.
With her whole heart, she felt herself respond to the pastor’s call to commitment. But how could she do it? A life free from sin, when she was deliberately living a lie? Lord, I don’t want to dishonor You. I know I have to tell Matthew the truth. Please show me the right time to do it, and give me the courage I’ll need.
She had better do it quickly, she realized. Not only was Easter almost upon them, but Matthew had been with them for several weeks already. He could go home anytime, and she wanted—needed—to have the matter cleared up before then.
The awareness that Matthew might indeed decide to return to Baltimore before long hit Charlene like a blow to the stomach. What was wrong with her? She ought to be relieved that her life would once more be back on an even keel.
Then why did that knowledge leave her feeling as cold and empty as an abandoned hearth?
The scrape of chairs and murmur of voices alerted her that the last “amen” had been spoken. and the congregation had started to mill around, visiting with one another. She opened her eyes to find Matthew staring at her quizzically.
“Are you all right?” His dark eyes shone with concern.
Charlene nodded, not trusting herself to speak in her present state of confusion. She threaded her way through the crowd without talking to anyone and waited for Matthew in the wagon.
Several times during the day, she opened her mouth to blurt out the truth about Charlie Matkin. Each time, words failed her and her mouth closed of its own accord. She knew Jed, after giving her permission to wait until she was ready, expected her to carry through on this. Even more, she knew the Lord expected her to be truthful.
She had every good reason in the world to own up to her deception. Then why was she so reluctant to get on with it?
It wasn’t just the money anymore, she confessed to herself in the privacy of her room that night. Knowing Matthew as she did now, she couldn’t see him refusing to use her stories. Even if he did, God had taken care of her and Jed before, and He would continue to do so.
No, the reason for her reluctance was that she didn’t want to see the look of disappointment she knew would appear in Matthew’s eyes. He might agree to use every Charlie Matkin story she ever wrote, but she couldn’t bear the thought that he might turn away from her in disgust when he learned of her duplicity.
And why should that matter? The annoying little voice in her head goaded her relentlessly.
“Because we’ve become friends and I don’t want to lose his respect,” she muttered.
Are you sure that’s all?
“Yes. No. I don’t know!” She let out a moan, throwing herself across her bed and burying her head under her pillow.
But she did know. Her feelings for Matthew had gone from cautious reserve to friendship, and from there had deepened into something she didn’t care to explore.
“You’re an idiot to feel like this,” she rebuked herself. “He’ll be heading back east soon, and you’ll be staying here. There is no point in letting your heart get involved with a man you’ll never see again.”
But it was too late. Her heart was already involved, with or without her consent, and it was going to hurt terribly when Matthew left.
“This is ridiculous!” she scolded herself. “You only met him a few weeks ago. You can’t possibly know him well enough to love him.” She knew she was right, knew it made perfect sense.
But her heart argued with that logic.
Chapter 6
Are you going to tell your old grandpa what’s wrong?” Jed pushed his rocking chair gently with his good leg and stared at the snow-capped peaks in the distance.
Charlene ceased her restless pacing along the front porch. She plopped into the chair next to him and pressed both hands against her temples. “I guess there’s no point in telling you there’s nothing wrong,” she mumbled.
“Oh, I suppose you could.” His tone was as imperturbable as the mountains that held his gaze. “Expecting me to believe it, though, that’s another matter.” He rocked on in silence and slanted a shrewd look at Charlene. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with our guest, would it?”
Charlene threw a frantic look over her shoulder as if expecting to see Matthew standing right behind them.
“Take it easy.” Jed patted her hand, chuckling. “He’s still in town getting the lumber he wanted for fixing up the barn roof. Now, what’s going on?”
“I’m… having trouble finding the right time to tell him about Charlie.”
“Mm-hm. And that’s all?”
“What more could there be?” Charlene eyed her grandfather suspiciously.
Jed pursed his lips. “Hmm. How about the fact that you’re head over heels in love with him?”
Charlene gaped at him in astonishment. She opened her mouth to deny it. Closed her mouth and opened it again for another try, but could form no words to contest what they both knew was true.
“Well?” Her voice trembled with frustration. “Aren’t you going to tell me how crazy this is? I’ve only known the man a few weeks.”
Jed spoke slowly, his sober tone contrasting with the merriment in his eyes. “I’ve been wondering how long it would take you to figure it out,” he said. “I’ve known it from the moment he showed up at our door.”
“You couldn’t possibly have known anything of the sort. Things like that only happen in fiction. Why, I wouldn’t put something so ridiculous in one of my stories.”
“Ridiculous? Hogwash! I saw the look on your face when you opened the door to him. The first time I met your grandmother, she had that same thunderstruck look. We both did. Sometimes love creeps up on you slow-like. Other times, it just leaps out and grabs you.”
He rocked steadily, eyeing the distant mountains. “In our family, it tends to leap out and grab.”
“That’s utter nonsense!” Charlene catapulted out of her chair and stalked off toward the chicken coop, muttering. The brisk spring air fanned her cheeks as she strode along, sweeping the cobwebs from her mind and allowing her thoughts to fall into order.
Scooping cracked corn into her apron, she scattered it with wide sweeps of her arm, watching the birds ch
ase the grain as it fell, pecking eagerly and sometimes taking up gravel instead of corn in their haste.
“Look at you!” she scolded. “You’re no better than I am. You want the right thing, but you’re going about it the wrong way.”
She sank down onto an empty crate outside the door and buried her face in her hands. What was she going to do? Her grandfather had just confirmed what her heart had been trying to tell her—she loved Matthew Benson. Matthew Benson, who, in a short time, would be traveling back to Baltimore, a continent away.
As if the wrench of parting wouldn’t be hard enough, she had to tell him the plain, unvarnished truth about Charlie Matkin, and tell him soon. Almost a week had passed since Brother Jenkins made his challenge to the congregation.
Charlene pictured the moment when she would confess to Matthew. She could see herself twisting her fingers nervously, forcing herself to utter the words that would forever change the way he felt about her.
In her mind’s eye, she saw his horrified expression when he realized the charade she had carried out. The Charlene of her imagination clasped her hands together, pleading with him to understand, to forgive. But Matthew made a repudiating gesture and turned away with an expression of distaste.
Charlene let out a cry of despair, startling two hens pecking at the grains of corn that had fallen from her apron. To have discovered love at last, only to lose it as quickly as she found it! When Brother Jenkins talked about sacrifice, he hadn’t known the half of it.
Charlene heard Matthew drive the wagon past the house and back toward the barn while she measured the ingredients for a dried-apple cake. She could hear him unloading the lumber for the barn roof while she beat the batter. Knowing Matthew, she could picture him sorting it into neat piles as she poured the batter into a pan and slid it into the oven.
She licked a dab of batter from her finger and busied herself cleaning an already clean kitchen, knowing it was only a matter of moments before Matthew would walk in the door, and knowing she was only cleaning to keep her mind occupied.
Jed sat at the table, cradling a steaming mug of coffee in both hands. After their confrontation on the front porch, he hadn’t said a word. Neither had Charlene. She had reached a turning point, one from which there would be no going back.
She was just pulling the cake from the oven when the back door opened and Matthew entered the room, eyes shining from the exertion of unloading the lumber. What a picture he made! Charlene tried to fix his image in her memory for all the long, lonely years that lay ahead.
“What a glorious day!” he exulted. “Jed, with your permission, I’d like to borrow your granddaughter for a while. It’s too beautiful a day to waste working on that roof. I’ll get to it first thing tomorrow.”
Charlene watched him, emotions warring within her, as he awaited Jed’s answer. Matthew looked so exuberant, it nearly broke her heart. What she would give just to revel in his company today! Instead, she had something to tell him that would wipe that joyful look from his face.
Jed took a slow sip of coffee and didn’t look at either of them. “I reckon that depends on what Charlene wants to do.”
Matthew turned to Charlene, his face alight with boyish eagerness.
She wouldn’t see him smiling at her like that after what she had to say. The knowledge smote her with a pang. She drew a deep breath. “All right, Matthew. I’ll go.”
Matthew let out a low whistle. “I don’t know how you do it. Every time we visit a new place, I’m sure you’ve brought me to the most beautiful spot on earth. Then you manage to find one even better the next time.
“But this—” He swiveled his head to take in the full panorama. “This has to be the absolute best.”
Charlene managed a small smile, gratified by his reaction. Matthew had asked her to guide him to a place where they could enjoy spring in all its splendor. The spot Charlene chose was her favorite, one she had used as the setting for several Nick Rogers stories. It was a breathtakingly beautiful location at any time, but now, just awakened from its long winter sleep, the setting was especially magnificent.
Small clumps of aspens, pale trunks gleaming in the sunlight, made a stark contrast to the darker pine trees. Underfoot, springy green grass sent out tender shoots that cushioned their steps.
Charlene led Matthew to an open spot next to a stream fed by the melting snows, wondering if she had made a mistake bringing him here. Normally, seeing this place in the spring filled her with a sense of promise, of hope. Today, she felt only dread.
Matthew settled himself comfortably next to the stream while Charlene took up a spot several feet away on a cushiony hummock of grass.
He leaned back on one elbow and feasted his eyes on the scene. Columbines of varied hues lent spots of color to the glade, and emerald green moss clung to the time-worn rocks that lined the icy stream. High up in this mountain pass, spring was slow in coming. Patches of snow still lingered here and there. Everywhere he looked, nature’s incomparable glory lay before him.
And then there was Charlene.
Matthew watched her trail her fingers in the water, then trace light patterns on the velvety moss. She seemed a natural part of this setting, at one with its beauty, and apparently oblivious to his presence.
His heart constricted. He had asked her to come out with him on impulse, spurred by the freshness of the day. He knew that now was the time to speak, before he lost his nerve. But how to start?
“You’re as lovely as one of those columbines.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them, and he sat frozen, waiting for her reaction.
Charlene stared at him incredulously and shook her head slightly, unable to speak. Not knowing what else to do, she turned away and began plucking columbine blossoms from their stems, hoping he didn’t notice the way her fingers trembled.
“I didn’t know you had such a poetic streak in you.” She tried to keep her tone light to mask the emotion that washed over her at his words. Could it be that Matthew had feelings for her, too? She nearly groaned aloud at the poor timing. Why here? Why now? If only things were out in the open between them so they could explore their feelings freely!
She heard Matthew shift on the grass as he sat up. When he spoke again, his voice sounded closer. “I’d say you were the one with the poetic streak.” His breath stirred the hair at the back of her neck, and she closed her eyes, trying to control the tingly sensations that flooded her being.
“This place is just the way I pictured it from reading about it.” His husky voice swept over her like a caress. “You described it perfectly… Charlie.”
Caught up in the struggle to govern her feelings, Charlene didn’t catch his meaning at first. Then his words registered on her brain and she froze, trapped in a moment when time seemed to hang suspended.
She turned slowly, dreading what she might see, only to find Matthew’s face glowing with compassion… and a glimmer of laughter in his eyes. “How did you know? When did you know?”
“I didn’t figure it out right away. At first, I believed your grandfather had written the stories, just as you wanted me to.”
Charlene winced and he smiled, taking her hands in his and holding them lightly, stroking the backs of her hands with his thumbs.
“In spending so much time listening to him reminisce, it was clear he knew the stories, all right. But he didn’t use the same vocabulary. Jed can spin a good yarn, but he doesn’t have the gift for painting a picture with words that Charlie Matkin has.”
Matthew’s smile broadened. “So I began to wonder. Then little things began to add up. I’ve seen Jed’s handwriting and I’ve seen yours, and yours is definitely the handwriting on the manuscripts.”
Charlene looked at him, surprised.
He laughed. “Yes, I’m very familiar with ‘Charlie’s’ writing. I’ve made it a point to have the manuscripts come straight to me before anyone else reads them. I thought for a while that Jed might have you copy the stories for him, since your handwriting
is obviously much easier to read. But again, the language wasn’t Jed’s. It was yours.”
His voice grew rough with suppressed emotion. His gaze locked onto Charlene’s and held it fast. “You truly have the soul of a poet, and you use it to make poetry of this incredible land.”
Charlene tried hard to make sense of what he was saying. “Do you mean—you aren’t angry about the way we deceived you?”
Matthew shook his head slowly, and his eyes clouded with something that looked like apprehension. “I understand why you did it. Besides, it would be very wrong of me to be angry about that when I’ve practiced a deception of my own.”
Charlene felt her eyebrows soar upward. “Deception? You?” Maybe he was married as she had feared. Her confusion grew, and she pulled her hands away, bracing herself for the words he would speak next.
Matthew moistened his lips and took a deep breath. “My name is Matthew Benson.” He spoke steadily, never taking his eyes off her. “But it’s Matthew Benson, Junior. My father is actually the one who purchased the paper. I merely run the day-to-day operations.”
Charlene struggled to breathe as she tried to sort out the implications of this news.
“I love the newspaper business,” he continued, “but I loathe city life. I have for a long time.” He leaned forward, as if willing her to understand.
“Your stories stirred something deep inside me and whetted my appetite to see the places where they happened. I could hardly allow myself to hope the reality might be even a tenth of what you described. I never dared to believe it might be so much more.”
“But I don’t understand. Why not tell us who you were from the start?” She flinched as she spoke the words aloud. Who was she to talk when she hadn’t been truthful herself?
“If your beautiful West lived up to my expectations, I hoped to stay and start a newspaper right here. The territory is growing, and more people are sure to come. The railroad will be here soon, and with it, the timber and cattle industries will flourish.
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