Wherever You Go

by Tracie Peterson

  “But not you. You’re made of sturdier stuff,” Chris replied. “I’m glad you aren’t sick.”

  Mary met his gaze. “So am I. I might not have had this opportunity otherwise. In fact, I’m rather glad the rest of the passengers have chosen to remain elsewhere. I hoped it would work out this way.”

  He looked at her with a grin. “Wanted me all to yourself, did you?”

  Mary wanted to tease him, but at the same time she was losing her nerve. If she didn’t tell him now what she’d come to say, she might never get it said. “A lack of audience makes this a little easier.”

  He sobered and led her from the entrance toward a stand of potted palms. “Sounds serious. What is it?”

  Mary fingered the folded piece of newspaper she’d tucked into her glove. Should she show him the article, or just bring up the fact that she knew what he’d been trying to hide? For the briefest of moments, she heard Lizzy telling her to let Chris share the truth in his own timing, but she couldn’t wait. She didn’t want to return to America with this still standing between them.

  “I want to talk about . . .” She stopped and shook her head. This was much harder than she’d thought it would be.

  “About?” he questioned.

  She met his blue-eyed gaze and felt encouraged by the amusement in his expression. “About us.”

  He smiled. “I see. And what about us would you like to discuss?”

  “The future.” She paused and drew a deep breath. “And the past.”

  She saw the doubt in his eyes and put her hand on his arm. “Chris, you know that I have feelings for you. In fact, I care very deeply.” She paused in frustration. She was used to blurting out what she felt, but now it seemed the words were stuck in her throat. Then, without meaning to at all, she said the one thing she hadn’t meant to say yet. “I know about your father and brothers.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Now that it was out, she had no choice but to continue. “Your father’s name was Hiram, wasn’t it?”

  Chris gave a slow nod.

  Mary countered with a more rapid one. “I’ve known for some time now but didn’t know how to bring it up. I found this.” She pulled the newspaper clipping from her glove. “I know all about them and what they did. I want you to know that I don’t care.”

  He looked at the piece of paper in her hands as if it were a snake about to strike. “You should.”

  “Why? Because someone else might find out and comment on it? Because it’s an embarrassment to have an executed father and brothers in your lineage?”

  “But it is my lineage.”

  She shook her head and put the paper away. “Your name wasn’t mentioned anywhere in that article. You weren’t one of the offenders. You weren’t one of the condemned, so why do you make it out like you are?”

  He stared at her gloved hand for several long moments before finally answering. “The sins of the father.”

  “Are not the sins of the son,” she countered. “Chris, you are a different man. Your father and brothers chose their way, and you took another path. I don’t care what your father and brothers did. I only care about you. I love you.”

  Just then a group of passengers strolled by. One of the women in the party looked at Mary and held out her arm to stop the man at her side. “Wait! Aren’t you Mary Reichert—the sharpshooter?”

  Mary wanted to deny it. She’d just declared her love to Chris. She wanted to know what he thought of that and whether he felt the same, as she was almost certain he did.

  She looked at him apologetically, then turned to the woman. “I am,” she forced herself to answer.

  “Oh, how exciting. I told my husband at dinner last night that I was certain you are the woman we saw shooting in London. How amazingly you master that rifle. I swear, when you shot at that man backward using that mirror, I nearly fainted. What if you had missed?”

  “Then I suppose he would have been wounded,” Mary replied, feeling a growing sense of frustration.

  “Have you ever missed?”

  “Of course.”

  The woman drew out a fan and began to wave it furiously. “While shooting at another person?”

  “No. When I first began doing that trick, I used a straw dummy. I practiced it no fewer than five hundred times before introducing a real person into the act.” Mary smiled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my friend and I have business.” She looked toward where Chris had stood only a moment ago, but he was gone. She frowned. “Or we did.”

  Where did he go? She looked down the path back to the door and then in the other direction. There was no sign of him anywhere.

  Chris heard Mary’s declaration of love echoing over and over in his head. Not only that, but he also heard her acknowledgment of knowing about his father and brothers. He didn’t know which was a greater shock. He supposed the latter, because he’d already had an idea of the depth of her feelings for him.

  He made his way to the promenade deck and walked for a time to clear his head. The seas were fairly calm, but the wind was chilly, so he made his way to the stern where he could watch the wake and consider what he should do. Had she told anyone else? Would she?

  “You look deep in thought.”

  Chris turned to find Wesley DeShazer sitting in one of the deck chairs. “What are you doing out here alone?”

  “Lizzy still feels a little seasick, so she decided to keep to her cabin. It hit her pretty hard. I guess it doesn’t matter how nice the accommodations are or how exotic the food is when the boat is rocking like it has been.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, but not sorry to have your company. How’s your brother?”

  “Sober, I think. He’s been better since we left the Adler estate. I think the servants there made it their job to give him liquor. I think it was entertaining to them to make fools of the Americans.”

  “Maybe so. It sure put Oliver in a bad way.”

  “Yeah. I know Lizzy is terrified he won’t make it home.” Wes shook his head. “He hasn’t been the same since he lost his brother. Brothers have a way of blessing our lives or leaving us feeling at a complete loss.”

  “Yes, that’s something I know well enough, and I guess I’m wondering if you have time to help me with it.”

  “With your brothers?” Wes got to his feet and joined Chris at the railing. “I’m not sure I’ll be much good, but I’ll do what I can.”

  “Then take a walk with me and hear what I have to say.” As they started toward the bow of the ship, Chris took a deep breath and began. “From my earliest memories I knew my father and brothers as cold, heartless men. My father was especially cruel. He ridiculed and harassed anyone who crossed his path. I never knew exactly what my father did for a living until years after going to live with my grandmother. When I was ten, I asked her about him, and she told me quite honestly that he was a vicious criminal who supported his wife and children by stealing. As the years went by, he became more and more violent in nature and encouraged my brothers to follow his example. I never wanted anyone to know about them because . . .”

  “Because you figured you’d be judged by what they’d done.”

  “Yes. Because I have been. You have no idea.” Chris saw a group of people walking their way. He frowned.

  “Why don’t we go below to my cabin?” Wesley suggested. “I’m sure Phillip is off playing cards or seeing to the horses.”

  Chris nodded and followed Wes down several decks. They made their way through the ship’s passageways until they came to Wes’s cabin.

  He opened the door and motioned Chris inside. “We shouldn’t be interrupted here.”

  The room wasn’t overly large, but there was a small sitting area and a nice window that let light stream in onto the carpet of green and gold. A side door no doubt led to the bedroom.

  “Thanks. I . . . well, you can understand why I don’t want anyone else to overhear.”

  “Of course. Have a seat and go on.”

&nb
sp; Wes was so encouraging that Chris couldn’t help but do exactly that. He felt a strange kinship with the cowboy.

  “I went back to my hometown last year, and when people saw me, they knew who my father was. I look very much like him. They accused me of being there to cause trouble. Some of the people who were wronged by my family even went so far as to demand retribution. The sheriff paid me a visit and told me I wasn’t welcome there.” Chris gripped the arms of his chair. “I was six years old when my father and brothers went to jail. I was younger than that when they robbed their first bank, but these people acted as if I were part of the gang, the same as my older brothers.”

  “People can be cruel,” Wes admitted. “Especially when they’re afraid.”

  “I just don’t know what to do. I want to be rid of this guilt I feel.” Chris turned to him. “Do you understand what I mean? I feel . . . weighed down . . . dirty. I feel guilty of all their wrongdoings.”

  “But you aren’t. You’re only guilty of your own sins, Chris. And you don’t even have to bear those anymore. Remember what I told you before about Jesus going to the cross. Imagine what you’re feeling, only a thousand—no, a million times worse. Jesus was weighed down with the sins of the world when He went to the cross. He bore the guilt and shame, the dirtiness of all the sins that had been committed and all those that would be committed. He did it so you wouldn’t have to.”

  “How could He? Why would He?” Chris felt a lump in his throat, and tears came to his eyes. “Why would He die for me?”

  Wes touched Chris’s shoulder. “Because He loves you.”

  “I don’t deserve His love. I’m the son of Hiram Williams, a killer.”

  “Forget about your earthly father and what he did. You are a sinner in your own right. You’ve made your own mistakes, and those will be counted against you . . . unless someone else pays the price for them. And, Chris, Jesus has already willingly done so. You don’t have to keep carrying this.”

  Chris tried to fight the overwhelming hopelessness he felt. “I’ll still be Hiram Williams’s son. I’ll still be thought of as a bad seed—a worthless man.”

  Wes shrugged. “You can’t be unborn to Hiram Williams, but you can be reborn to Jesus Christ. The choice is yours, Chris. It has always been yours. No one else can answer for you.”

  Chris looked at Wes for a moment and realized that the words made sense somewhere deep within his soul. It was as if a small sliver of light had broken through a vast, deep blackness. “And if I ask for this . . .”

  “Forgiveness?”

  Chris nodded. “If I ask for forgiveness, God will give it . . . just like that?”

  “Just like that,” Wes said, nodding.

  “And then what?”

  Wes smiled. “Then you’ll belong to God.”

  “And the pain will go away? The guilt will leave me?”

  Again, Wes nodded. “It will. It might take time, as you grow to fully accept that God’s gift of salvation is real, but it will come.”

  “I want to believe that. I need to believe.”

  “There will still be moments when the Devil tries to remind you of all the bad. He’ll do his best to heap the pain back on you so that you doubt God’s ability to take it. But if you keep your eyes on Jesus, if you keep taking it back to Him, He’ll bear it all and then some. You’ll never be alone again.”

  Chris felt a warmth spread through his heart and across his chest. He thought of all the pain and misery, all the years of guilt associated with his past. No matter the price, he wanted that peace—that freedom—that cleansing.

  He looked at Wes. “Will you help me pray? Will you show me the way?”

  Wes closed the door to his cabin after Chris left. He smiled at how God had put him in the right place at the right time, just when Chris needed someone to walk with him to the cross. Wes thought of all the times he had prayed and asked God to use him for whatever would bring Him glory. Most of the time Wes couldn’t see that anything he did made much of a difference, but this was different. This time a man’s entire life was changed, and Wes was privileged to have been a part of it. It was a wonder, to be sure.

  “Do you really believe that stuff you told him?”

  Wes whirled toward the bedroom door. Phillip stood there, looking at Wes as if trying to figure out the truth. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  “I came down to take a nap. I woke up hearing you two talk.”

  “I hope you’ll have the decency to keep what was said to yourself.”

  “You know I will. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

  It was one of the rare times Wes had seen Phillip so serious. “And what was that?”

  “Do you really believe that stuff you told Williams? That stuff about God?”

  “I do. You should too. You were raised on it.”

  Phillip shrugged and sat on the arm of the overstuffed chair. “Seems like a lot of nonsense to me. Someone else dying for our sins. Someone else being willing to die in our stead. Makes no sense.”

  “It makes a lot of sense when you see it through the eyes of love. Maybe if you tried turning to God instead of whiskey, you’d see it too.”

  Wes could see the confusion in Phillip’s expression. There was so much pain inside his brother, and yet Phillip wouldn’t share it—wouldn’t let anyone know the reason.

  For the briefest of moments, Wes thought Phillip might want to discuss it further. And then the moment was gone.

  Phillip got up and strolled across the room, the pain once again safely hidden by a mask of boyish charm. “Well, enough seriousness for today. I’m off to find some less sobering company. I heard there was a good game of cards to be had in the King’s Lounge.” He left without another word.

  Wes knew all he could do was let him go, but his heart ached for his brother. “God, he needs You, and I don’t know how to help him. Maybe You’re gonna have to send someone else to show him the way. He doesn’t seem able to receive it from me.”

  twenty-one

  I can’t believe I just blurted it out without warning him,” Mary told Lizzy and Ella.

  “How can you warn someone that you’re going to tell them you’re in love with them?” Ella asked with an impish grin.

  “Besides, Chris isn’t without sense,” Lizzy countered. “You told me he kissed you twice. He knows you have feelings for him. I doubt his shock over that was as great as the shock over you knowing about his family.”

  “I feel so stupid. I know you suggested I wait and let him tell me, but I felt certain he would never do it. I worried that he would continue to carry that burden around and it would become an obstacle to our love.”

  Lizzy scooted up in the bed and patted the mattress beside her.

  Mary sat down. “I’m sorry to bother you both with all this. I know you aren’t feeling well.”

  “We were just mentioning that we felt much better. We’re definitely well enough to discuss this matter with you.”

  “It’s just that I haven’t seen him since, and that was well over twenty-four hours ago. I even sent him a note, but I’ve had no response. I think I did more than shock him. I think I offended him.”

  Ella sat on the opposite side of the bed. “If he’s offended by love, then you don’t want anything more to do with him. If a person is either offended or defensive in regard to love, how can they possibly be the right mate for you?”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Mary gave a long sigh. “It’s just that I really do love him. I’ve never felt this way about anyone else. I mean, I loved Owen, but as a brother. I still love him. He’s family. But I’ve never wanted to know everything about a man—and have him know everything about me—until now. Chris means the world to me, and if I’ve pushed him away . . .”

  “You haven’t,” Lizzy interjected. “I think he probably just needs time to think and figure out how to proceed. He cares about you—at least to some degree. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who would toy with your affections.”


  “He does seem sincere,” Ella agreed.

  “I’ve never known anyone to be more so,” Mary admitted. “But you know how outspoken I am. Not everyone can accept or approve of that.”

  Lizzy took her hand. “Honesty is never wrong when given in love. Lies are Satan’s tools, and they always complicate matters. You spoke the truth in love. You didn’t go with the intention of using the truth to hurt him, as some with that knowledge might. I only suggested you wait until he felt comfortable saying something himself because I thought it would make it easier for you both.”

  “I know, and now I wish I had listened to you. What if he never speaks to me again?”

  Lizzy shook her head. “That’s not going to happen. I think he just needs time to consider all that has happened. You should just enjoy the voyage and rest. When we reach New York, you can seek him out.”

  “Maybe.” Mary was unconvinced.

  “Look, Wesley plans to visit me later. I’ll ask if he’s seen Chris and maybe encourage him to talk to him. Meanwhile, why don’t you spend some time in prayer. Read the Bible. You can borrow mine.” Lizzy reached toward her nightstand and handed Mary her well-worn Bible.

  “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” Mary accepted the book and gave her friend a smile. Lizzy had been such an encourager over the years, and she always believed that God was the answer to all of her problems.

  “Mary, remember, these things often take a long time to resolve. Look at how long I’ve loved Wes. For most of that time, he didn’t return my love, and even now we have difficult moments. I don’t say that to be discouraging but rather to remind you that God’s timing is everything and relationships take work. As far as I know from what you and Wes have told me, Chris isn’t a believer, and if that’s the case, then he would hardly make a good companion, much less a good husband. You believe in Jesus as your Savior, Mary. You don’t want to be unequally yoked.”

  “No, I don’t, and believe me when I say that though I love him, I’m hardly ready to walk down the aisle with him.” Mary grew thoughtful. “I’m not nearly so worried about his feelings for me as I am concerned about how my knowing his past has upset him.”