But vengeance against whom? Sophie saw the anger on Clay’s face, and even though she’d already had a few arguments with him, she sensed Clay was capable of anger far deeper than she’d suspected.
She’d had the impression he was a very Western man in his philosophical acceptance of bad luck—like his horse dying. And she’d noted a certain glint in his eyes when he was challenged that told her Clay could be dangerous. But this rage frightened her. Clay hated someone. Hated him or her deeply and wanted revenge. Just like Sophie did. She tightened her grip on his hand and turned back to face the parson, with stubborn dislike of the chosen topic.
Parson Roscoe had been talking for some minutes while Sophie paid attention to her new husband. Now the parson asked, “How many of you are afraid to ride the roads around Mosqueros at night?”
Sophie knew the parson himself was afraid. The self-appointed lawmen were dangerous.
“We have vigilantes working around here. Men bent on vengeance. Men who have gone too far, taking the law into their own hands.”
Sophie got it. The parson wasn’t talking about her and her thirst for vengeance. It was her own knowledge of the wrongness of her hatred that had made her take the parson’s words personally. Yes, she knew it was wrong to hate so passionately, and she’d keep working on it. But no one, not even a loving God, would ask her to forgive the men who killed her husband. The parson was talking about the renegade lynch mob and the need to stop them. Sophie agreed completely.
“They have hurt too many people. Killed honest men. Killed guilty men who, in this country, are promised a fair trial before a judge and jury.”
Sophie relaxed and her heart rose. The parson agreed with her. The parson knew that crowd of murderers needed to be hunted down and. . .
Parson Roscoe jabbed his finger straight at Sophie, then swept his hand across the entire congregation and roared, “You have to let go of your hate!” Then his voiced dropped nearly to a whisper. He said with a voice so kind it was heartbreaking, “You have to let go of your hate.”
All in the church visibly leaned forward, so enthralled were they by the challenging sermon. “ ‘Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it: Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.’ To harbor hate, even against men as fearful as those who ride these hills in the night, is a sin. Do you think you harm them by sitting in your home and raging in your heart against their evil? Do you think you make the world a better place or bring a single person to believe in the Lord Jesus by gossiping about how deserving the vigilantes are of death? No! The anger only harms you!”
He pointed right at her again. “The hatred only keeps you away from God. There are only two commandments according to the scripture. Not ten. Two! If we obey those two we obey all the others. Love God. Love your neighbor. We have to find it in ourselves to love everyone.”
No! Sophie didn’t cry out, but everything in her rebelled against the parson’s words. God could not ask her to love the men who killed her husband. He didn’t ask His followers to look the other way while people were being killed.
“That doesn’t mean you should be foolish. It doesn’t mean that these men don’t deserve prison. It doesn’t mean we should let ourselves be killed while evil walks the face of the earth.”
Sophie breathed a sigh of relief. He was giving his blessing, after all, to her desire for—she knew better than to call it vengeance now— justice. She’d call it justice. That was better.
“But He does call us to love. Yes, even love those who persecute us. Don’t fool yourself that you can walk through life harboring hatred and still call yourself a believer in Jesus Christ. Love is what Jesus demands of us. First! Last! Always!” He looked right at her and finished his sermon in a voice full of tenderness and kindness. “First, love. Last, love. Always, always, love!”
It wasn’t the ferocious demand that had begun his sermon. It was a prayer. His words washed over Sophie’s restless soul and offered her, for the first time in a long time, peace.
“Dearly beloved,” the parson said quietly, “avenge not yourselves. Leave room for God’s wrath. For it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’ ”
The parson then led the congregation into a rousing chorus of “Rock of Ages.”
“Rock of Ages cleft for me. Let me hide myself in Thee.”
Her whole body trembled as she stood to sing along. Sophie heard the words of the faithful old hymn. She had spent the last two years hiding herself, literally. But had she hidden herself in God? Had she depended on Him?
The song ended, and only then did Clay release her hand. And only when he released it did Sophie realize they’d held hands tightly through the whole service. The parson swept up the aisle. Mrs. Roscoe followed.
Clay and Sophie had a second as they stood alone in the front pew of the church. “I don’t think it was right,” Clay said curtly, “for the parson to pick out a scripture and use it to scold me the first day I attend his church.”
Sophie stumbled. Clay caught her. She looked sideways and couldn’t quite stop a smile from flickering across her face.
“You think that’s funny?” Clay growled.
Sophie glanced forward. In just a few steps they’d have to shake the parson’s hand, so she didn’t have time to say much. She tucked her hand through Clay’s elbow. “I thought he was preaching it at me, not you.”
Clay’s eyebrows rose in astonishment. “You? What do you need revenge for?”
The girls surrounded them: Mandy with Laura, Sally holding Clay’s hand, and Beth just a step behind. Sophie didn’t want to get into her hatred in front of them. She said quietly, “Cliff.”
Clay stopped so abruptly, Beth bumped into his back. “You reckon everyone in that church figured the parson was aiming his words at them personally?”
“If God blesses his words, I imagine they do.”
Clay let a small, humorless grunt of agreement escape his lips, then he stepped forward and shook the parson’s hand. “Excellent message today, Parson.”
Sophie didn’t think Parson Roscoe gave her a look more stern than usual. So his sermon hadn’t been for her—or Clay. It was God who’d made her think that. The peace she’d felt earlier deepened and settled on Sophie’s heart as she considered that. It was God who chastised her, not the parson.
She could say honestly, “I enjoyed the service, Parson.”
He shook her hand and moved on to Sophie’s girls. Sophie and Clay walked toward the horses.
“You wanted to tell me something on the trail?” Clay asked.
Sophie glanced over her shoulder. The girls were coming right behind. She said quickly, “I didn’t tell you about the men who came to the cabin in the thicket after we pulled you out of the creek. They were hunting you. They were the same men who killed Cliff. Or at least one of them was.”
“Did you. . .” Clay cut off his question when Sally came around front of them.
Sally asked, “Can I ride double with you again, Pa?”
Sophie murmured to Clay, “We’ll talk later.”
Clay nodded at Sophie, then turned to Sally and said, “I reckon it’s Beth’s turn, darlin’.”
Sally pouted something fierce. But after a nice long visit with their fellow believers and a stop at the general store, whose owner was kind enough to fill their order on Sunday, the McClellen family headed home, with Beth taking her turn.
N I N E
Sophie was so excited about all the food they had in the house, she almost forgot men were trying to kill her husband.
It had been so long since she’d had choices. She didn’t have to try and contrive bread; she had the ingredients to allow her to choose between making rising bread, biscuits, or corn bread. She didn’t have to hunt for whatever greens were growing; she had canned vegetables and fruits of every kind. Clay bought a ham and a side of bacon. He had also purchase
d flour, sugar, baking powder, yeast, potatoes, carrots, and onions. They’d hitched up their horses to the wagon the Roscoes had driven home and filled it with wonderful, delicious, precious food!
It took some doing for Sophie to remember how to cook with it all, but it came back to her, and they had a feast for their Sunday dinner.
Sophie told Clay she’d like to go for a short ride with him after lunch. They went alone, despite the wailing of the three older girls. It was good luck that Laura was taking a nap, or no doubt she’d have joined in with the other banshees. Sophie had to bite back a smile when she thought of the terrified look on Clay’s face every time one of the girls started crying.
Before they’d ridden a hundred feet, Clay said, “We don’t dare go out of sight of the ranch. We’re far enough they can’t hear us. Now tell me about those men who were hunting me.”
Sophie told him everything. The parson’s words rang in her ears, and she wondered if it wasn’t a sin to pile her own list of enemies onto Clay’s shoulders. She was inviting him to hate along with her.
“Judd was his name?” Clay asked. “That’s all you heard? No last name?”
“Just Judd and Eli.”
Clay’s eyes flashed with anger.
Sophie tried not to join with him.
“And J BAR M,” he said with grim satisfaction. “That should be registered. It should be a simple matter to track down the owner of that brand.”
“Unless the horse was stolen, Clay,” Sophie reminded him, afraid he’d act rashly.
Clay nodded. “It might have been stolen by Judd from someone from the J BAR M. Or maybe someone else stole it and the vigilantes caught up with the thieves.”
“So even if we find who owns that brand, we still might not know anything,” Sophie said forlornly.
Clay sighed. “It might lead to a dozen dead ends.”
They rode around a small stand of trees, thin enough they didn’t block the view of the house. Sophie pulled her mount to a halt and leaned forward, resting her crossed arms on the saddle horn. “Clay, what did you think about Parson Roscoe’s sermon this morning?”
Clay looked at the skyline, and Sophie realized that he had been sharply alert the entire time they’d been riding, much as he had been on the ride to town this morning. It made her feel safe. Sophie tried to remember the last time she’d felt safe. They were sandwiched between the thin clump of oak trees that had sprung up by a little spring, and a vast woodland that stretched up into the rugged hills which surrounded the ranch house on two sides.
“I thought he was aiming it right at me.” He gave her a sheepish grin.
Sophie smiled back. “Me, too.”
“So do you think he wrote the whole sermon with the two of us in mind?” Clay teased her.
Sophie shrugged. “He could have.”
Clay moved his horse. Sophie knew he was checking all around them, watching for danger.
Without ever letting his eyes rest, he said, “I guess everyone in the place might have felt like we did. It’s not just the vigilantes either. I reckon every man and woman alive carries anger around and wishes for revenge for something or other.”
“I have hated that man who lynched Cliff for so long my hatred is almost like an old friend.” Sophie realized she was looking around, too. And it wasn’t just Clay’s heightened awareness that was making her do it. She had learned all the hard lessons the West had to teach.
“I don’t want to give it up.”
Clay nodded. “I heard that my brother was dead and all I could think of was revenge. I rode down here hunting his killers with no thought except to even the score. To pay them back for what they did to Cliff.”
“I’ve prayed every day to stop the anger in my heart,” Sophie confessed. “I’ve always known hatred was a sin. But to give it up seemed like a betrayal of Cliff. And those men are dangerous. How do we love them when there’s a very good chance that, one of these days, they’re going to come riding onto this ranch and kill you, just like they did Cliff?”
“I don’t want to wait for that day either. I have been fully intending to hunt them down.”
“And kill them?” Sophie asked.
Clay lapsed into silence for such a long time that Sophie had her answer. Finally he focused on her and said quietly, “I’ll turn them over to the sheriff instead. That would be justice, not revenge.”
Sophie raised her eyebrows, and a quirk lifted the corners of her mouth. “That might be okay. But what do we do about the hate?”
“I’ve been using the hate to keep me inspired,” Clay said grimly. “It pushes me to never give up.”
“But it’s wrong,” Sophie reminded him.
“It’s not that I don’t agree that vengeance belongs to God. I just don’t see why we can’t both have a turn.”
“Both?” Sophie asked.
“Yeah, God and me—both.” With a little grin, Clay said, “First I can have a crack at ’em, then God can punish ’em eternally in the fire.”
“Clay!” Sophie interrupted. “I don’t think that’s quite what Parson Roscoe had in mind.”
“I reckon not.” Clay shook his head and looked away from Sophie to scan the woodlands and flatlands. “What the parson has in mind is to give it up to God, I s’pose. So far I’m not having any luck. I don’t even want to let it go. I’ve never prayed, like you have, to quit hating. I’ve never prayed to catch up to ’em either. I figured when I got my hands on ’em, I’d kill ’em. And I guess, even without the parson’s words, I knew God wouldn’t want to hear a prayer like that. I think, sweetheart, that you’re one step farther along the way to doing it right than I am.”
He’d called her sweetheart. It actually made her heart feel kind of sweet. “Well, then maybe we can pray for both. We’ll pray for me to quit hating and for you to want to quit hating.”
“Okay. I won’t go after ’em.” Then Clay added playfully, “Anyway, I don’t have time. I got me a wife and four daughters and a ranch to watch out for. I only got time to hate ’em part-time these days.”
Sophie smiled at him, then her smile faded and she said hesitantly, “Clay.”
“Huh?”
“I want us to do what God wants, but I don’t want you to be hurt. Those men might not have seen you enough to know who they were chasing that night, but we can’t know that for sure. They might still be looking for you.”
Clay leveled his blue eyes at her. “I’ve lived a long time in a hard land, Sophie. I’d take a lot of killing.”
He had eyes exactly like Cliff ’s and yet so different. They were identical, and yet she knew them apart. His eyes were the reason she’d never really believed he was Cliff, even when he was just regaining consciousness, even when he couldn’t remember his name. She could take one look at the confidence in Clay’s eyes and never get the two of them mixed up.
“We’d better get back to the house,” Sophie said with some regret. She’d enjoyed this time with Clay. He’d actually done a little talking. In fact, this might be the first time he’d strung two sentences together. She’d like to stay and ask him questions about his life growing up in the mountains and his pa—her girls’ grandfather.
Clay turned his Appaloosa toward the ranch. Just as Sophie wheeled, a wild boar burst out of the dense undergrowth in the small grove of trees about a hundred yards away from them. Sophie jerked her Winchester off her saddle and shot the boar before it could run ten feet. She dropped her rifle back into its sling, clucked to her horse, and turned back for the boar. Clay reached out and grabbed her arm.
She held up on the reins before he pulled her out of the saddle. She tugged on her arm. “I’ve got to bleed him.”
He didn’t let up his hold. If anything, it tightened. “Where did you learn to shoot like that?” he asked faintly.
Sophie took her eyes off the hog she’d brought down. “I taught myself, mostly. Adam showed me the basics.” She looked at Clay, pleased with her shooting, although the boar was certainly a large
target. She was surprised to see the incredulous look on Clay’s face.
He kept looking from Sophie, to the boar, to her rifle.
Finally she said defensively, “What? It’s a good shot. I caught him just ahead of his front leg. A clean shot through the heart. I didn’t damage the hams, and there won’t be powder or bone fragments in the headcheese.”
Clay’s grip slipped a little. “You mean you even took the time to pick a spot to hit him?”
Sophie was flustered by the question. “Well, sure.”
“No woman knows how to handle a gun like that,” he said flatly.
Then Sophie saw what was bothering him. She couldn’t believe it. “You mean you’re all ruffled because I’m good? That doesn’t make sense.”
“I’m not ruffled!” Clay growled. “Men don’t get ruffled!”
Sophie bit back a grin. Then she remembered the deer from last night. “If it ruffles your manhood to see a woman whose aim is fast and true, then why don’t you prove how tough you are by butchering that boar? You do know how to do it, don’t you?”
“Of course I know how to do it.” Clay narrowed those eyes at her, like he’d done time to time, and her heart sped up just a bit. He ignored the jab at his masculinity and got right to the heart of her insult.
“If you wanted me to clean that deer for you last night, you shoulda said yes when I offered to do it.”
Sophie met his gaze with the coolest one she could muster. She had the feeling that many a man would back down under that look in Clay’s eyes, but she had no fear of him. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
A flicker of surprise passed over Clay’s face. Sophie wondered when the last time was that he’d been sassed.
Then he did something that took her completely by surprise. He closed the few inches between them and kissed her. He pulled back. “See that you don’t.”
The kiss had been over almost before it began, but it had still left Sophie’s lips tingling. She had to hold herself from leaning toward him again. Then he let her arm go and turned his horse toward Sophie’s catch.
Petticoat Ranch Page 10
