Tristan watched the swirl of the river as it tested, and then shook off the chains of its banks. It crept tentatively at first, caressing the grass with gentle exploration. Then it became greedy, gathering up its brethren falling from the sky and building its ranks.
He took a step back, and then another. The river would swell, and do what it had always done. The river was not like men. It could not be contained, or broken. It could do only what nature, what God himself, had commissioned for it to do. It did not fail, it did not sin, and it did not carry a conscience for its destruction.
But Tristan did.
Forgive me.
The water lapped his boots, causing him to retreat. He didn’t dare look at the house, which succored Opal from him. What did she do now? Did she see how hopeless he was? Did she now realize that even a slimy blowhard was a more favorable option than…?
He shivered. Than what? Him? When had he even begun to let himself think that would be an option? He deserved no such goodness in his life. Not after the man he had been, or the things he had done in war. He should have defied his father’s wishes and freed his family’s slaves when he had the chance. But he had been too set in the old ways…a coward.
If he had done things differently, then Millie would have never tried to help Pat run. Then she would have never been out there…alone….
Pain constricted in his chest. He should have been there. He should have put his own foolish pride aside and done what was right. Millie had paid a high price for his stubbornness. Rain coursed through his hair, washing the scar that remained from an injury he didn’t even remember receiving. He only remembered finding out about the loss of his home and then waking up with more pain.
Pain that Opal had tried to bind, just as her gentle sweetness had tried to wash and bind the pain in his heart. He turned to look at the house, and for a moment, wondered if he could ever throw aside the past and start anew. Could he find redemption in saving Riverbend and dedicating his life to the woman who saw into his darkness and still reached for him?
But he could never offer her this battered heart, or a shell of a man too heavy laden with all he had done and all he had lost to ever be whole again.
Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden.
The thought pressed itself upon him, and he drew a quick breath. He looked around, but no sounds greeted him beyond the rush of water and the steady pelt of rain that obstructed his vision and clouded his senses.
I will give you rest.
He didn’t deserve rest. He didn’t deserve happiness. He didn’t deserve anything more than to let the waters sweep him away. Water dripped from his lashes and mingled with the moisture pricking his eyes.
For the wages of sin is death.
Pain lanced through him, as sharp and sure as shrapnel. Tristan had sinned in abundance. He deserved the river, even as now it came for him, sucking at his ankles and twisting itself around his feet.
Christ also suffered for us….who bore our sins in his own body on the tree…by whose stripes ye were healed. As far as the east is from the west, so far hath he removed our transgressions from us. God’s mercy is the cause, the removal of sin the result.
Where did these verses, so long buried in his soul, come from? He had not set himself to memorizing them and had not laid eyes upon scripture since he left for war.
He’d been young when he’d asked the reverend to pray for him; a youth who did not understand what it meant to offer himself in service. He had accepted the gift of salvation, but had failed in aligning himself under orders.
He’d been glad for the gift, but hadn’t really wanted to surrender to the giver. And where had that gotten him? It had taken him far from the light, a light he now could barely remember. Tristan hung his head. He had wandered, but he could not, would not, let the darkness take him.
Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: the old things are passed away; behold, all things become new.
New. He did not have to be the youth consumed with pride. He did not have to be a soldier doused in misery. He did not have to be a ghost of misfortune set to float through the world and never live in it again.
Tristan lifted his face to the cleansing rain, feeling a great weight lift from him even as the river pulled at him. He’d asked for forgiveness, and it had been granted. He was made new. It was time he started acting like it.
The waters surged, tugging on his legs and pulling him off balance. Had he waded into the river? Tristan blinked, coming out of his stupor.
The river!
It had swept out of its banks, through the yard, and now lapped at the foundation of the house! Water wrapped itself around his waist, trying to unmoor him. Any moment, it would push up onto the porch and seize the house. He had to get inside and warn the women. He set his feet into motion, each step causing his muscles to strain.
“Tristan!”
He looked up, hoping he had only imagined the panicked voice. “Opal! Do not leave the porch—”
She clutched a column, her face a mask of fear. “Tristan! It is Mama!”
He set his teeth and tried to move faster, but it took all of his effort to keep his feet underneath him in the churn of the water. It surged, pushing against his back. He stumbled.
“Tristan!”
He thrust his arms out to his sides, regaining his footing. Now, if he could only get….
Opal screamed.
In a flash of fabric and flailing arms, Opal’s skirts caught the current like a sail in the wind. She dipped beneath the surface of the muddy water, and he lunged. The swollen river snaked around him, seeming as desperate to keep him from his destination as he was to obtain it. He fought against the force of the current, struggling to get to the house even as the water strained to carry him away from it. He kicked his feet, trying to reach where she had gone under just off the porch.
Eddies swirled, and the water lapped at the house, but he saw no sign of Opal. He twisted, franticly seeking a splash of yellow fabric or a splay of cinnamon hair. How could she have disappeared that quickly?
There!
Her head bobbed up again and she sputtered, just out of reach. Tristan lunged away from the house, letting the desires of the current pull him toward her. “Opal!”
Tristan reached, his fingers grasping at fabric, but slipping free. She swept farther away, the river taking her with it as it galloped across the yard. If he didn’t reach her before the water struck the woods….
He pumped his arms, slicing his body through the water. Something struck his back, sending a surge of pain down his spine. Still he kicked, fighting water more furiously than he ever had the enemy, until he finally grasped a handful of fabric. He gave a mighty yank, and her body snatched toward him.
Opal screamed, but the terrified sound was choked off and dissolved into a spasm of coughs. She threw her arms wildly, smacking him and making it difficult to get a hold on her.
“Stop!”
She paid no heed to his command and continued to fight against the waters. She coughed, and then slipped beneath the surface. His arm shot out and wrapped around her, and he pulled backward. She broke the surface, sputtering, and then went limp.
Tristan pulled her against him, setting her head against his shoulder. Her body floated up to the surface, the water splaying her skirts like a yellow ribbon on a canvas of muddy brown. Tristan groaned and began to swim backward, hampered by her weight and only having the use of one arm.
He kicked and fought against the current, a desperate battle against a foe that never wearied. Moment by moment, and inch by inch, Tristan hauled her back toward the house. He would not let the river take them.
Behind him, Shadow barked frantically. Fatigue pulled at him, his muscles burning. Still Tristan fought until his shoulders hit against something solid. Praise the Lord! He’d reached the house. He turned, thankful that he could get his feet underneath him this close to the foundations. He shifted his body, using the waist-high bricks of the house to keep him steady as he struggled to lift Opal to safety.
She groaned as he hefted her head and shoulders up onto the safety of the rear porch. Then he braced himself against the bricks and set his feet against the tug of the water. Ignoring the burning and trembling muscles in his arms, he slowly worked the rest of her body out of the river. Then with what little strength still clung to him, Tristan hauled himself out of the water and crumpled beside her, heaving.
Opal turned her head, her chest burning. Her lungs heaved, bringing up a mouthful of dirty water. She coughed, then inhaled a blissful breath of air. She gulped it in, thankful to be free of the waters. With a groan, she rolled to the other side, finding Tristan beside her.
Alarmed, she bolted up and grabbed his shoulders, flinging him onto his back.
“Tristan!”
His eyes popped open, and she let out a protracted breath. He was alive.
She remained leaning over him, her hands pressed into his shoulders and her face hovering above his. He studied her, and something about his eyes seemed…different. She leaned closer, and he grinned.
“Are you going to kiss me?”
She gasped and leaned back, but didn’t move away. “What a thing to say!”
He chuckled. “Seems a fitting reward for saving your life.”
Opal blinked at him a moment, then allowed an impish turn of her mouth. “Is that so?”
Tristan started to nod, then his forehead crinkled and the playfulness left his gaze. “Why did you get in the water?”
Heat crept up her neck. “I saw you start to fall and….” Her heart lurched. “Oh! We have to get Mama!”
She struggled to her feet, her dress a heavy mass of soggy fabric. Tristan mumbled something, but seemed to be gaining his legs as well. Opal glanced behind her, amazed that the river now flowed at the very edges of her home. She sucked a breath, and with it released a prayer. “Don’t let it take us.”
A hand settled on her shoulder, and she looked up into Tristan’s tired face.
“You shouldn’t have tried to jump in for me. Can you even swim?”
She bit her lip and shook her head. It had been foolish. She hadn’t even been thinking. “Mama has fainted. I need your help.”
He followed her inside, the two of them leaving trails of water and mud like oversized slugs. Mama lay right where Opal had left her at the front door. She scrambled over to her and lifted Mama’s head, relieved she breathed slow and easy.
“Mama?”
Mama remained still even as Tristan put his arms under her and lifted, his face revealing some of the strain he obviously tried to hide. He puffed out his cheeks and hauled Mama into the parlor, gently setting her on the settee.
“What happened?”
Opal twisted her fingers. “She just fainted, and fell to the floor. I fear she may have bumped her head.”
Tristan stood there dripping on the floor, watching her. “What happened to Mr. Weir?”
“I….” She glanced toward the window. “I don’t know. He left, Mama fainted, and I came to get you….”
Tristan followed her gaze. “He left during this storm?”
She nodded. “I do hope he didn’t get caught in the waters.” And she did. No matter what kind of scoundrel he was, she didn’t wish for him to come to harm. She merely wished for him to leave her and Mama alone. But at the same time, it was a pity, since now he expected her to marry him and would soon return. She just hoped she could keep him at bay when he did.
“Go and get yourself into something dry. I will sit with her until you return.”
Opal nearly refused, but something about accepting the gentle offer of his aid seemed right. Mama should awake soon, but if she didn’t Opal would send Tristan to fetch Sibby. The intrepid woman always seemed to have something to help. Opal whispered her thanks, cast Mama another glance, and then hurried from the room.