Stancel Worthington III was strangely silent on the long trip home. He kept to himself for much of the way, riding apart from the others in the party and only speaking when spoken to. For the first time in Dori’s acquaintance, she saw uncertainty in his eyes. Had what she privately called “Seth’s Sugar Pine Sermon” pricked Stancel’s vanity and begun to make a difference in his life? She fervently hoped so.
“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 Trail-mate 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 Senor Mateo for not taking you with him to Madera.”
“I don’t see why I couldn’t go.”
“Senor 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 mouth 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.