The snow reached above his ankles but wasn’t deep enough to impede his progress. With every step his fury grew until by the time he reached the carriage house, it threatened to explode out of him. He pounded on the door with his cane. Inside, he heard the scrape of a chair’s legs, the hushed murmur of female voices and light footsteps. None of it dulled his anger.
The door opened, and there Anna stood, more beautiful than ever, her eyes liquid in the dim light of late afternoon. She’d been crying.
His anger faltered.
“Brandon.” Her voice sounded oddly strangled. “I was headed to the house to talk to you.”
She’d read the article.
Embarrassment stuck its ugly talons into him. A hundred defensive statements rushed to his lips, yet one look at her, and he could not utter a one.
She stepped aside. “Please come in.”
The room glowed with the golden light of oil lamps and candles. He’d forgotten that welcoming warmth after living with electric lamps for so long. The cozy room smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg.
Mrs. Simmons rose, a broad smile enlivening her rosy face. “Please have a seat.” She motioned to her chair by the fire.
“Thank you, but I prefer to stand.” He couldn’t speak his piece in front of Anna’s mother. “I wanted to speak with Anna.”
“Of course, of course.” The woman beamed. “I was just going to the bedroom to put on another sweater and wash up before dinner. Please take your time.” She toddled into the bedroom, leaving the door open. No doubt she would listen. No doubt she expected words of love.
He motioned to the chairs by the fire and farthest away from Mrs. Simmons. “Would you care to sit?”
Anna looked pale, as if she knew what he was about to say. “I’ll stand.”
“Very well, Miss Simmons.” He had to keep this impersonal or lose his nerve.
At first she started at the formality, but that surprise was soon followed by concern. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
He had to focus on the embroidered tablecloth. “I must ask to see the contents of your apron pockets.”
“What?” Her concern flickered into confusion. “My pockets?”
“I understand you have something that belongs to me.”
Dismay danced into place, but she didn’t deny his accusation. “I found an article in one of your books.” She pulled out the loathsome thing. “In fact, I wanted to talk to you about it.”
He gripped the cane with all his might. “I am not interested in talking with someone who is working against me.”
“What do you mean? I would never work against you in any way.”
“Are you or are you not searching for the treasure that’s supposed to be buried on the property and that I told you not to seek?”
She swallowed but again did not deny it. “I wanted to help you. I saw how badly the bookstore was doing. I—I believed the fortune was still here, and if I found it, you’d be able to keep the store running.”
“Very altruistic,” he said, not believing for one moment that she was telling the truth. “No one hands over a fortune, especially not someone who needs the money. Oh, I know what you were thinking. You’d find the fortune and then turn the tables on me. After all, I’m the one who took your house from you. It would only be fair to punish me by taking the money.”
“That’s not true. I would never—”
He bulled past her protests, the angry words flowing faster and faster. “I suppose you’ve already found it and squirreled it away.”
“No, I didn’t. All I found was the crawl space, which you’ve seen, and some meaningless scribbles in an old journal. Nothing more. You have to believe me. I would never hurt you.”
He turned away. He’d heard that before. Mother claimed to love him but showered her affection on Reggie. Father only acknowledged his existence if he did what Father wanted. His commanding officer claimed superior knowledge, but not after getting his hands on a bottle of liquor. Vows of truth invariably turned to lies.
“Lies.” The word shot out of him like a stone from a slingshot.
Anna reeled backward and grabbed a chair for support, but he couldn’t seem to stop. All the frustration that had gathered over the years spilled out on her, culminating with the most hateful blow of all.
“You are hereby relieved of your housekeeping duties. I suggest you find other lodging as soon as possible.”
* * *
Anna couldn’t breathe. What had happened to Brandon? The red-faced, angry man before her bore no resemblance to the kind and loving Brandon she’d come to love. And all over a silly article. He might be embarrassed, upset even, but throw her out? She thought he cared for her. Was their time together a lie?
Clearly, she’d placed her hope in the wrong man.
So be it. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he’d hurt her.
She snatched her coat off the peg and faced him one last time. “Rest assured, Mr. Landers, I will leave your property at once.”
Without waiting for him to answer, she darted outside and slammed the door behind her. The snow was falling heavily, and she struggled to don her coat before racing toward the gate. The afternoon light was dimming as twilight approached. She dug in her pockets for gloves but found none.
No matter. Anger would keep her warm.
She would let a room at the boardinghouse. If Terchie didn’t have any rooms available, she’d go to Hendrick and Mariah. She and Ma would not stay one more night where they weren’t wanted.
Oh, that man! How rude. How insensitive. How utterly unlike himself. Anna buried her hands in her coat pockets and scurried past the gate and onto the quiet street. No one was foolish enough to drive in the swirling snow, but she could make her way easily enough by foot. The snowfall barely came to her ankles.
He’d called her a liar. Anna did not lie. She certainly hadn’t lied to him. Yes, she was searching for the lost fortune, but it was all for him. Why couldn’t he see it? She did everything for him.
A sob bubbled to the surface, and she wiped away the tears with her coat sleeve, which only made her face wet since her coat was crusted with snow.
“Fool,” she cried out, releasing her anger into the swirling snow, though she wasn’t sure which of them was the bigger fool. She’d believed in him. He should have believed in her.
Ma’s words popped into her head. He needs our prayers.
Pray for Brandon after what he’d just done to them? Anna couldn’t. She just couldn’t. He’d thrown them out for the second time. What man would do such a thing?
A man who’s hurting.
She had no idea where these thoughts were coming from, but it gave her pause. An hour ago, she’d understood why he’d turned away from God. The death of his men had wounded him far more deeply than a lost toe. He deserved compassion, yet she’d let his retaliation hurt her. Like a wounded animal, he’d merely lashed out in fear. He didn’t know what else to do.
Her steps stilled. Jesus had been falsely accused many a time, yet he did not strike back. In fact, he insisted his followers accept a second blow to the other cheek.
Before Brandon arrived, she’d intended to help him. Pray, yes, but she would also act, no matter the consequences.
Off to her left, the lights at the Neidecker house glowed through the falling snow.
She wouldn’t let hurt alter her course. Whether he hated her or not, she would help him.
* * *
Brandon stared at the slammed door. Anna had walked out on him. In the heat of anger, he hadn’t quite realized it would end this way.
Mrs. Simmons stepped out of the bedroom. “Where did Anna go?”
The last bubble of anger popped, leaving him cold and empty. Anna’s mother waited calmly for his answer. Sure
ly she’d heard every word, but she didn’t hurl accusations his way. No, she treated him with the same kindness as always.
Regret filled the vacuum left by anger’s departure, just as surely as it had the day his men died. Anger was easy. Blame someone else. But the truth was never that clear. Doubts crept in. Even if Anna was looking for the fortune without his knowledge, she didn’t deserve to be thrown out.
Mrs. Simmons waited. Calm, compassionate, kind. The opposite of him.
He swiped at his mouth. “I’ll fetch her. She can’t have gone far.”
Above all, he had to escape. He grabbed the doorknob, but the elderly woman put a stop to his retreat with a hand to the door.
“We need to talk.” It was not a suggestion.
Brandon felt like a boy caught in bad behavior. Like a boy, he tried to get out of the punishment to come. “Aren’t you worried about her?”
“She’ll come around. Like her father, she has a quick temper, but it cools just as quickly.”
“That’s not what I meant. She’s out in the storm.”
“Don’t worry about Anna. A little fresh air will do her good.” Mrs. Simmons patted his arm. “Let’s sit before the fire. My hands are chilled.”
He felt even worse for keeping an elderly lady in a cold bedroom while he castigated her daughter.
“Come.” Mrs. Simmons took his arm, expecting him to lead her to the chair by the fire.
He did his duty and settled her in the chair closest to the fire, but he had no intention of joining her. “It’s snowing harder. She might get lost.”
“She’s been out in worse.” Mrs. Simmons pointed to the chair opposite. “Sit. What we have to discuss is more important.”
His nerves snapped and crackled with the fire, so he tried to make amends. “I deeply regret what I said to Anna.”
“You’ll need to tell her that.”
“I know.” He stared at his large hands. Ineffective. What use were strong hands when they couldn’t help a person? What use was a quick mind when it dreamed up insults and slights?
Mrs. Simmons got straight to the point. “You think she lied to you.”
He sucked in his breath at the bald cruelty of his words. How foolish he’d been, but the impenitent boy inside couldn’t admit fault. “She took the article.”
“I grant you that she shouldn’t have taken it with her, but the question you should ask is why. What could she possibly gain?”
He hung his head. “Nothing.”
“Has she taken anything else from the house?”
He had to acknowledge she hadn’t.
“Then why take an old newspaper clipping? It has no value.”
“Except to me.” The words came without thinking. He stared at the blazing fire, which hurt less than her piercing gaze.
“Why is it important to you?”
Brandon broke under her inquisition. Surely no sinner had faced worse. “It’s not something...I’m proud of.”
She nodded. “We all have done things that torment us. Why should you care that Anna saw it?”
“Because—” He fiddled with the lacy arm cover that Mrs. Simmons must have made. Because he cared for her. Because he didn’t want Anna to know he’d made the worst mistake a man could. Because he didn’t want to lose her.
Oh, the bitter irony! He brushed away the truth and dwelled on the hurt he’d experienced when Reggie told him what she’d done. “Because I trusted her.”
“And you don’t anymore?”
His face beaded with perspiration. “I’m not certain.”
“In everyone’s life there will come times when we lose faith with someone we trust and love.”
A shiver ran through him at her words. Did he love her? Is that why this betrayal hurt so deeply?
“The true mark of character is how we deal with that loss of faith,” she said. “Do we turn our backs on that person or do we forgive?”
“You make it sound easy.”
She sighed. “Forgiveness is never easy. Let me tell you a story, something I haven’t told anyone and never intended to tell anyone, but I think maybe it will help.”
She leaned back, her eyes glittering in the firelight and her thoughts far away. “My husband was a wonderful man. That’s not to say we didn’t have our disagreements. I saw things one way. He’d see them another. It’s inevitable when two strong-willed people come together. Anna is rather strong-willed, if you didn’t happen to notice.”
“I did,” he admitted.
She didn’t seem to hear him. “Harold could work miracles with his hands. He was always inventing something or other to make things work better. Did you know that?”
Brandon couldn’t see how this had anything to do with him and Anna.
“One day he invented a new type of jack, one that would raise heavy vehicles higher, and he took his idea to your father.”
He could imagine where this story was headed. Father had made a fortune off automotive jacks. “My father stole it, didn’t he?”
Mrs. Simmons smiled sadly. “Harold was never a businessman. He loved to share his ideas. Your father made the idea a reality. At first Harold was angry that he didn’t get more money from your father, but he didn’t dwell on it for long.”
Something was left unspoken. “But you did.”
“I was ashamed of myself, and I tried hard to forgive. I must have prayed a thousand times for God’s help to forgive your father, but that anger wouldn’t go away. Then Harold died.”
Brandon wanted to bolt from the place, to go anywhere but to hear the rest of this story.
“The jack—his jack—had collapsed, and the truck crushed him.”
“I’m sorry.” Brandon fought the narrowing of his throat. “You must have hated my father.”
“At first. Then the checks started arriving.”
“Checks?” Brandon recalled the unexplained payments. “Guilt money.”
“He told me it was the profits he’d earned from the patent on the jack. He paid us every month until just before his death, when the amount was paid in full.”
“I never knew,” he whispered. “I saw the entries in the ledger but I never knew why.”
“Guilt is a hard taskmaster, Mr. Brandon. It is never satisfied. All your father had to do was accept forgiveness.”
He looked up, surprised. “You would have forgiven him?”
“I already had.”
He couldn’t suppress a wave of irritation. “Then why didn’t you tell him?”
Her smile was kind, patient. “Would he have believed me?”
He had to acknowledge Father wouldn’t have. Neither would he in such a circumstance.
“Only when we ask can we truly receive.” She touched his hand with fingers callused by years of labor. “The Lord works miracles in our hearts, doing things we could never do on our own. You see, I’d forgiven him years ago. I told him so, but he could never forgive himself.”
“So he paid off the debt.”
“He thought that would erase the wrong.” She sighed. “How I prayed for him. I hope he found his way in the end.”
“I doubt it.” Father was too stubborn to turn to anyone—even God. Mother had discovered that.
She shook her head sadly. “I hope you’re wrong. Forgiving yourself is the most difficult thing of all to do. Yet, we must if we are ever to move on.”
Brandon had an uncomfortable feeling she wasn’t talking about Father any longer. He slipped from her grasp and watched the fire. Flames licked the logs, occasionally shooting upward in tongues of gold.
“I should know,” she continued. “You see, even after I forgave your father, I still blamed myself for Harold’s death. I told myself that I should have pushed him to file the patent. I should have broug
ht him lunch that day instead of pouting because he had to work through the dinner hour. Oh, the mind can think of a million ways to affix blame, but we can never know peace until we learn to forgive.”
The fire had died down a bit, so he threw another log into the blaze before rising to take his leave. He understood full well what she was trying to tell him, that he had to forgive himself for losing his men, but it wasn’t that simple. He was to blame. He had caused the deaths of his entire platoon.
“I must be going,” he said.
This time she did not attempt to stop him. “Good night, Mr. Brandon. I’ll keep you in my prayers.”
That didn’t ease the pain. In fact, it made him feel worse. He stepped out into the storm and was stunned to see the snowfall now reached to his knees.
Anna was out in this. Despite her mother’s confidence, she could be in trouble. What if she’d fallen or lost her way? He could barely see the light from the house, and that was only a hundred feet away. His pulse raced, beating a steady thrum on his eardrums.
The dust and debris of the shell’s explosion had been like this, blinding him so he couldn’t see his men. When he’d finally stumbled forward, he’d tripped over the first lifeless body.
He had to find Anna before it was too late.
Chapter Twenty-One
Anna rapped the brass knocker against the cold wooden door. The sound rang out like a gunshot, but no one answered. Light filtered through the sheer drapes. Clearly someone was home. Perhaps she hadn’t knocked hard enough.
The wind howled around the corner of the porch, and she scrunched farther into her coat. The brass felt like ice against her bare fingers. Once, twice, three times she knocked. Then blew on her hands to bring the feeling back.
Please let me in. Please listen.
Of all the people that might have held the answer to Brandon’s past, why did it have to be Mrs. Neidecker? Anna’s stomach fluttered. Evelyn Neidecker had every right to refuse to speak to her. After all, Anna had stormed out right before her Christmas party. She’d acted like a child. If Mrs. Neidecker would see her, an apology must come first.
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