“How could it not make a difference?” Dori asked herself a dozen times while riding through the forests and back down to the Diamond S. “If I live to be an old woman, I’ll never forget Seth’s blazing face and the words that poured out of him.” A boulder-sized lump of regret rose to her throat.
“Lord, Stancel is guilty of not believing in You. I’ve been guilty of taking Your Son’s sacrifice lightly, even though I knew better. In Your eyes, I must be guiltier than Stancel, the scoffer.”
The voice of truth that had so often risen to condemn her and been drowned out by her refusal to heed it would not be silenced.
You’ve flitted through life seeking pleasure like a butterfly searching for nectar. Matt and Solita’s attempts to rein you in have been in vain. You’ve been sullen and angry with Matt without just cause. You’ve whined and complained and done everything but stomp your feet because your brother is making you finish your schooling: a far lighter punishment than you deserve for your behavior at Brookside.
Dori squirmed. The indignity of being made to do lessons like an unruly child still rankled. “Young ladies shouldn’t be forced to study if they don’t want to,” she sputtered in self-defense.
The voice continued. Young lady? Sarah and Katie and Abby are young ladies. You’re nothing but a spoiled child who is determined to have her own way, no matter what the consequences are. What happened to your grandiose plan to impress Seth by helping Sarah and Solita teach the Mexican women and children to speak English? You ran at every opportunity and left the teaching to Sarah, Solita, and now Katie.
Dori drooped in the saddle and allowed Splotches to fall behind the band of travelers. Everything the little voice said was true.
Have you forgotten so soon how God saved you from the river?
The forest around Dori faded. Memory replaced the oaks and pines with a deadly, rushing stream. She shuddered in spite of the warm day. But for the grace of God, she would be dead. How had she repaid Him? By hanging on to the desire for revenge and putting Stancel, then Seth and Matt, in terrible danger.
Never before had Dori so felt the enormity of her offenses. The crushing knowledge caused her to plead, “God, forgive me. Jesus, please be my Trailmate and Guide, as You are Matt’s and Sarah’s and Seth’s. . .” Words failed her. Reining in Splotches, she slid to the ground and fell to her knees beneath the widespread arms of a huge oak tree. Scalding tears fell.
“Jesus, you told Peter to forgive seventy times seven. You forgave him even though he denied You three times. I’ve never denied You in words, but through my actions. I’m so sorry. Please, help me to start over and be what You want me to be.”
Dori stayed under the tree for a long time, searching her soul for any hidden wrongdoing. When she finally remounted Splotches, an indescribable peace filled her heart. She patted the pinto’s neck and whispered, “I feel pounds lighter. And clean. Clean and forgiven. Now I have to find Stancel and apologize.” Dread of having to humble herself before the prim and proper Englishman filled her, but a scene from the past came to mind.
“Solita, I don’t feel like saying my prayers.”
“Perhaps it is because you have anger in your heart at Señor Mateo for not taking you with him to Madera.”
“I don’t see why I couldn’t go.”
“Señor Mateo had an important meeting. He had no time to watch out for you.”
“Why does that make me not want to pray?”
“It is always so, querida. Prayer is our gift to God. The Bible says that before we bring gifts to Him, we must first make things right with others.”
Alone on the hillside, Dori smiled. She could still remember running barefoot down the stairs and flinging herself into Matt’s forgiving arms. “I sure won’t fling myself into Stancel’s arms, but I’ll try to make amends,” she told Splotches. “I humiliated him publicly, so I need to apologize the same way.” She clucked to her horse and started down the long trail to find the others.
That evening around a blazing campfire, Dori waited until conversation dwindled. Then she took a deep breath, held, and released it. “Stancel, you wouldn’t know it from my actions, but I became a Christian when I was a little girl. Sadly, it didn’t keep me from wanting revenge for”—she faltered—“for what happened in Boston. I deliberately brought up the subject of riding the flume. Deep down, I figured you wouldn’t really do it when you saw what it was like. I wanted you to back down so I could show you up in front of everyone and crow over you.”
Dori curled her fingers into the palms of her hands so tightly the nails bit. “This afternoon I asked God to forgive me. I know He did. I hope to forgive myself when that awful incident stops haunting me. I need one more thing. Will you forgive me?” Dori’s pulse drummed in her ears, but she never took her gaze off Stancel.
After what seemed like an eternity of shocked silence, he mumbled, “That’s awfully big of you, my dear.” Stancel waved a dismissive hand. “Think no more about it.” He cleared his throat and gave his own offhand apology. “I may have been a bit to blame as well.” Then he awkwardly got up and said, “May I speak to you privately?”
Dori’s heart sank. Oh dear, is he going to propose again? She rose to her feet and slowly followed Stancel out of hearing distance at the far edge of the firelit circle, dismayed by what must be the final showdown between them.
Stancel cleared his throat again. “Since the matter of the flume ride is settled, it’s time for you to stop this nonsense about not marrying me. We need to get on with our plans. We’ll have a jolly time in Boston and go back to England often. Not, of course, until you have instruction in proper etiquette concerning castles, riding after the hounds, and all that. When you’re properly trained, I will present you at court, but only after I know you are ready and won’t disgrace me.”
Had Stancel learned nothing during his time in the West? Dori fought the urge to laugh in his face, breathed a prayer for help, and replied, “I can’t marry you. Not now. Not ever.”
Stancel peered at her through the flickering light. His voice turned cold. “It’s because I’m not a Christian, isn’t it? If you were my wife, I might someday put aside my beliefs and become one.”
Dori knew she must sound a death knell to that line of thought. “You must never become a Christian for such a reason, Stancel. Besides, it wouldn’t make any difference. I don’t love you. I never have. It’s as simple as that.”
His colorless gaze sharpened. “I say. Is there someone else?”
Dori felt herself tingle from the toes of her dusty boots to the top of her curly dark head. “You have no right to ask such a question.”
“I have every right,” he stubbornly persisted. His mouth pursed so tightly the words came out like buckshot. “Dolores, I have done you the honor of laying my heart and hand at your feet, but you continue to trifle with me. I demand to know: Do you fancy yourself in love with some blighter out here?” He grabbed her wrists. “That’s it, isn’t it? Who is he? One of the cowboys? Young Anderson, perhaps?”
His jeering laughter grated on Dori’s nerves. She jerked free. Only one answer would get through his thick hide. “Yes,” she snapped, “but you’re not to say a word to anyone, you hear?”
Stancel’s mouth fell open. “Surely you can’t believe I will disclose your folly in choosing a California ruffian when you might become a Worthington.” He tucked his chin into his neck and added in the condescending tone Dori hated, “My dear girl, the day will come when you will look back to this moment. You will realize what you gave up and regret it for the rest of your life.”
His arrogance loosened Dori’s unruly tongue. “Don’t hold your breath waiting,” she muttered before she could stop herself. Then she turned and headed back to the campfire. “Well, Lord, I did it again. Will I ever learn to control my temper? On the other hand, being a Christian doesn’t mean I have to stand for Stancel Worthington III’s insults.”
“My Son took the worst kind of abuse and didn’t open His mo
uth in reproach.”
Dori swung around and returned to where Stancel still stood in the shadows. His long arms were crossed over his chest, and a bitter look covered his face. “Mr. Worthington, once again I apologize. The Bible says all things work together for good. Perhaps this will convince you that I could never be the kind of wife you want.” Pity overrode contempt and softened her voice. “Go back to Boston. Marry Gretchen and be happy.” Dori summoned all the courage she possessed. “I wish you well and hope you’ll remember what Seth told you at the flume.” She held out her hand.
Stancel looked at Dori’s hand as if it were a poisonous snake. “I shall certainly consider your suggestion—the one about Gretchen, that is.” He stalked off.
Dori sighed. She’d done what she could. Now it appeared the travelers would have to put up with a fit of the sulks by the rejected suitor for the remainder of his stay.
Her prediction proved accurate. Stancel remained unapproachable during the time it took him to sufficiently recover from the cattle drive and announce that the sooner he got back to Boston the better.
On the day he left, Dori wavered between bidding him good-bye at the ranch and going to town when Matt drove him in. Still hoping for some kind of reconciliation, she decided to go.
I may as well have stayed home, she thought when the visitor refused to respond to Matt’s and her efforts to rouse him on the way to Madera. Stancel gave no sign of compromising his dignity other than stiffly saying, “Thank you for your hospitality, such as it was.”
Dori’s heart sank. Did she dare say anything that might help the seeds of Christianity Stancel had witnessed during his stay stir his parched heart and grow? Or would speaking out do more harm than good?
Matt evidently held no such reservations. Just before Stancel stepped onto the eastbound train, Matt grasped his hand and said, “We realize this hasn’t been a happy vacation for you. I hope you will overlook our brand of humor and remember what Seth told you about God and Jesus.”
For a moment, Dori feared there would be no relenting. Then an unexplainable look stole into Worthington’s eyes, and he gruffly said, “Tell Anderson I will think about it.” He swung up the steps of the train without looking back.
Dori wanted to applaud. “Godspeed,” she called to her troublesome swain, meaning it with all her heart. The train whistle sounded. Dori watched Stancel Worthington III chug out of her life, torn between tears, laughter, relief, and the desire that he would one day find salvation.
Twenty-two
Two weeks later, Dori halted Splotches under a giant oak tree on a knoll above the Diamond S and slid from the saddle. Matt had ordered her to stay within sight of the ranch house when riding alone, due to rumors about unsavory-looking strangers being seen on the range. Now she sank to the ground. If she didn’t let out her pent-up feelings she’d burst.
“I don’t understand, Lord,” she said in the direct approach that made God her trailmate, as well as her Savior. “I’ve repented, groveled, and apologized. I’ve studied until my head ached to make up for ducking out on my lessons earlier. Unless I’m sadly mistaken, I did well on my final examinations. I’ve helped teach the Mexican women and children, been nice to Abby when she comes to visit, and done everything Matt tells me. Yet things are worse with Seth than ever.”
Splotches nickered and nudged Dori’s shoulder with her nose.
“What do you know?” she asked. “You’re only a horse. Sorry, girl. If I didn’t have God and you to talk to, I’d be sunk. I told Solita if my life were a storybook, Seth would recognize I’ve turned over a new leaf—now that Stancel’s gone. We’d have a grand reconciliation scene, and the book would end with us living happily ever after.”
She groaned. “Know what she said?” Dori mimicked the housekeeper’s voice. “ ‘Life isn’t a storybook. This is only the end of a chapter. Dios will show you what comes next. Trust Him and wait. He knows what is best for you and Señor Seth.’ ”
Dori sprang to her feet. “Lord, I don’t want to wait. Seth is as polite as can be but the biding-my-time look in those blue eyes is driving me crazy. Why can’t he see I’m sincere?”
The autumn leaves do not change color overnight, but gradually. Seth needs time to be shown that you are not the same Dolores Sterling.
All the fight went out of Dori. Her voice of conscience was right, as usual. But what would it take to convince the man she loved that she had truly changed?
A horrid thought came. “Abby is hot on Seth’s trail. He’s also mighty friendly with Katie. If she’s in love with Curly, like Solita says, why was she whispering with Seth on the porch the other evening? What if God knows I’m not the best mate for Seth?”
Splotches had no answer beyond another whinny, and the little voice that sometimes plagued and at other times comforted Dori remained silent.
She swung into the saddle and turned toward home, so lost in misery that even the western sky flaunting red, orange, and purple banners failed to raise her spirits. Seeing Seth talking with Katie by the corral didn’t help. He appeared to be pleading with her, but as Dori drew closer, she saw Katie shake her head and heard her say,
“Faith and mercy, has that spalpeen Curly been for getting your help to argue his cause? ’Twill do him no good.” Laughter rippled. “We’ll wed when I say the word, and not one minute sooner.”
Dori’s despair over Seth changed to joy. One down, one to go, she exulted. With Katie marrying Curly, that just leaves Abby for competition. She grinned and called, “Grand evening, isn’t it?” then dismounted and led Splotches into the corral. Her heart thundered while she removed the saddle, rubbed Splotches down, turned the mare loose in the pasture, and headed for the house. Thankfully, she reached the privacy of her room without encountering anyone.
She sat down by her window and stared into the growing night. Katie had disappeared, but Seth still stood by the corral, face turned in the direction of the house. Dori’s hands flew to her burning face. How could she face him—or anyone—blushing like tonight’s sunset? Surely they’d see the love she’d tried so hard to hide.
Sterling pride won out over Dori’s dismay. She changed from her riding clothes into a red-checked gingham dress with a white collar and cuffs and ran downstairs. The family was gathered in the sitting room as usual, along with Seth, Curly, and Solita. Conversation stopped when Dori entered. She chose a chair where her face would be in shadow and asked, “Am I interrupting something?”
“Not at all,” Matt said. “In fact, we were talking about you.”
Dori sat up straight. “What did I do now? I thought I’d been pretty good lately.” She hated the quaver in her voice. Was Matt, as well as Seth, questioning her sincerity?
Matt’s laughter boomed. “I’ll let Katie tell you.”
Dori took heart. It didn’t sound like she was in trouble. “Katie?”
Her teacher’s eyes sparkled. “You’ve been for studying so hard recently that you’ve passed your final examinations with highest honors. Congratulations.”
Dori sagged with relief, but Katie wasn’t finished.
“Being here has been a blessing, one I’ll be for remembering long after I’m gone.”
Curly raised one eyebrow, and his eyes twinkled. “I don’t think you’ll be for movin’ on any time soon,” he drawled.
Katie turned rosy red and sent a quick look at Seth, who said, “That’s for sure,” and smiled at Dori.
She felt the telltale blush she hated crawl into her cheeks. Best to get away before she betrayed her feelings. She yawned. “Excuse me, folks. I think I’ll turn in.” She stood up and started for the staircase, but Seth’s voice stopped her.
“Now that you’re finished with your studies, maybe we’ll have time to ride again.”
Dori gulped. “I thought my lessons were over.”
“Really? I may still have a few things to teach you.”
The twinkle in Seth’s eyes made Dori feel she’d stepped onto shaky ground. Drat. He’d alway
s been able to see right through her. Had he caught the relief in her face that Katie wasn’t a candidate for his affections? She gathered her wits and raised her head.
“Why, of course.” Dori forced herself to slowly walk upstairs when she longed to run. She wanted to ride with Seth. Yet doing so meant giving herself away, and refusing would bring down a storm of questions on her hapless head. Before falling asleep, she pounded at the gates of heaven, asking for a reprieve.
❧
If Dori had ever questioned whether God had a sense of humor, she’d have tossed the notion to the four winds the very next day. A buggy pulled up to the ranch house. Abby Sheridan stepped down.
“Howdy, everyone. I have a few days off.” Abby’s pretty face shone with excitement. “I’m taking the stage trip up to Big Tree Station. Anyone want to go along?”
“Where’s Big Tree Station?” Sarah wanted to know.
“In the Yosemite Valley,” Matt told her. “You stay overnight and the trip is quite an experience.” He grinned. “Remember when we went, Dori? You couldn’t believe that a tree could be big enough for a stagecoach to drive through.”
“It was, though.” Dori added, “I also remember the endless forests and canyons and snow-capped mountains. You’ll love them, Sarah. Guess what: Even former president Ulysses S. Grant took the trip.”
Sarah’s eyes glowed. “It sounds like just this side of heaven.”
Abby clapped her hands and giggled. “What’s good enough for a president is good enough for me.” She paused and dramatically added, “Besides, we may be held up.”
“Held up? Does that happen often?” A little worry line creased Sarah’s forehead.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Abby reassured her. “Holdups are so commonplace that the tourists almost hope they will happen. The robbers are usually real gentlemen. They hold up the stage, relieve passengers of their valuables, politely thank them, and ride away without harming anyone.” Abby beamed. “We’ll outsmart them. We’ll leave our valuables at home and enjoy being held up without losing our possessions.”
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