Michael’s face hovered an inch above a pile of fish bones and eyes, fascinated with the gore.
“Take a bite Michael; I am sure it is delicious,” Joseph prodded teasingly. Michael scrunched up his face and shook his head as he made a “yuck” sound. Joseph laughed, casting a warm smile at the boy. Michael was at the age where he found everything amazing; his wonder was contagious and Joseph saw himself seeing things through Michael’s eyes: the fishing was amazing, the fish guts were awe-inspiring, the freezing cold stream was hilarious. All in all, Joseph couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such fun.
A memory flashed back at him when he himself was sixteen; his stepfather had nervously asked to take him fishing, then hunting, riding, many things. Each time Joseph refused. Jefferson had treated him awkwardly for the first few years of being a stepfather. Joseph had interpreted that awkwardness as a lack of caring; after all, how could Jefferson care for a boy who was not his own? Now here he was feeling tenderness toward Michael and even a protectiveness, jumping any time Michael slipped in the stream or walked out of his sight. He wondered if Jefferson had cared for him. Maybe it took a while to know what to do with a young boy still mourning for his father. Joseph had not been like Michael, quick to love and accept a man who was not his father. No, Joseph had been reserved and standoffish. Perhaps Jefferson was being delicate with him, not wanting to rush Joseph or scare him. Perhaps that was why it had taken a few years before Jefferson tried active bonding, but by then, Joseph had already formed a strong opinion about their relationship and would not let it change.
I must write to Jeff, Joseph told himself as these thoughts paraded through his mind. He had been putting it off, unsure of what to say. Still, he needed to ask about the ranch and maybe express some sort of gratitude… not a lot. Joseph was a grown man after all. Even so, Jefferson deserved some form of thanks for what he had done.
“Are we going to cook these?” Michael asked, wandering over to Joseph’s side. “I hardly ever have fish,” he said with a contemplative flex in his voice as if the fact just occurred to him.
“Your momma doesn’t cook fish often?” Joseph asked. Maybe she didn’t like it.
“No, she prefers beef I think.”
Joseph smiled; he knew he liked the woman. “Beef, huh, but no fish?”
“She tried to take me fishing one time, but it didn’t work out so well.”
Joseph cut open the last trout. “What happened?”
“I didn’t listen to my momma and went too far out in the water. Momma had to swim out and get me before I drowned.”
“She saved you?” Joseph was now much more interested in the story.
Michael nodded. “I told her I would never go near the water again, so the next day she took me back and taught me how to swim. She took me every day until I could swim as well as her,” Michael said with pride. “Now I am no longer afraid of the water.”
Joseph smiled: Esther was a good mother. He imagined her in the water, laughing and letting down her long hair, wet and carefree. Joseph suddenly shifted, feeling mighty warm. He quickly stood and nodded to the basket of fish.
“You want to carry the rods or the fish?” he asked Michael.
Michael took the fish and fell in step with Joseph who was wondering if Esther would be back soon. Not that he minded spending time with Michael; in fact, he realized he loved spending time with Michael. As if reading his thoughts, Joseph suddenly felt a warm little hand slide into his own. He looked down to see Michael’s smile beaming up at him. A lump formed in Joseph’s throat. He smiled back and squeezed Michael’s hand gently.
“Hey, that is what my mom does,” Michael laughed, swinging their arms together in rhythm with their steps. “Joseph,” he said quietly and with a hesitation that made the man slow his steps and look at the young boy.
“What is it, kid?”
Michael took a deep breath, “I love you,” he exhaled.
Joseph’s lips parted as he stared at the eager blue eyes hungry for attention and love from a father. Joseph’s own heart seemed to melt like a pool of butter. It was obvious in Michael’s face that he wanted those words said in return, but should Esther refuse him, how could he lead Michael to believe he loved him and then return to Texas? How could Michael love him after such a short time? But wasn’t that hypocritical when Joseph himself knew that he was in love with Esther from the moment he saw her?
At Joseph’s silence Michael’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I said I love you,” he repeated with a catch in his voice.
All walls and inhibitions dropped. Joseph blinked back his emotion and grinned at Michael. “Love you too, kid,” he said, his heart flip-flopping at Michael’s jubilant smile. The two fell back into an easy pace. Joseph held tightly to Michael’s hand. He didn’t care what he had to do—there was no way in heaven or hell he would be leaving Tall Pine without Esther or Michael.
/
Esther had to be the most frustrating and alluring woman who ever walked the earth. She returned looking tired, stressed, and so dang good. A goddess in cotton who would not even acknowledge Joseph; in fact, she seemed keen on ignoring him. When she returned she inquired how Michael was, and then abruptly began to take him home. Joseph had looked pleadingly at Abby who skillfully insisted that they stay for dinner.
“Oh, thank you, but you have helped me enough for today.”
“Please Esther, it’s nothing special—just rice and beans and the fish Michael and Joseph caught—but it would be awfully nice to cook with another woman, and I am making an apple pie from that recipe you gave me,” Abby pleaded. Michael, who had discovered Abby’s orange kitten Killer, was now gleefully paying with him as the ball of fluff pounced all over the giggling boy. Esther finally consented, not sparing Joseph a moment’s glance as she brushed past him. Brooding over her obvious aloofness, Joseph sat outside the kitchen pretending to read a book, although he found himself reading the same sentence over and over as his ears strained to hear the conversation of the two women.
“You put butter in your rice?” Abby asked, tilting her head in awe. Everything about cooking now amazed her: the way bread rose, the crackling noise of meat fried in oil.
“Only a little. Just remember everything tastes better with a little butter,” smiled Esther.
“How is Mary Higgins doing?” Abby asked. She was a specimen of worried gossip among the church-going women of Tall Pine, all worried about her while also being disgusted and fed up with her stubborn adoration towards a no-good husband.
“There is a lot of swelling,” Esther said, her voice grave. “Too much swelling often means complications for the mother.”
“Meaning death?” Abby asked, lowering her voice to a whisper.
Esther nodded, “Possibly. It is as if the body poisons itself, which can kill the mother unless she has the baby early, and at that point, it is a question of either getting the mother to move in order to speed up labor or have her rest because the body is doing an okay job fighting the poison. The body is left with no energy to fight, and there can be bleeding, long labors, and so forth.”
Esther didn’t speak like other doctors or nurses that Abby had met; good people who seemed to look upon their patients with a more scientific and detached perspective. Esther’s whole face looked worn from the weight she seemed to carry as if it was completely her responsibility to assure the safety of whomever she helped.
“I’m sure you’re doing all you can,” Abby said, touching her arm. Esther paused and gave Abby a thoughtful look that turned into an embrace of gratitude.
“Thank you, Abby,” Esther said as she pulled away. “I do all I can, but sometimes I fear it is not enough. I begin to understand my uncle’s frenzy for new research, his obsession for medical advances. There is so much we don’t know, and, God willing, I hope the knowledge to save more lives comes soon.”
Abby nodded as a strange feeling of helplessness settled over her. Back in Texas she had known there was sufferings, sickness, and hardship in the world, but the desire to fix it never overcame her as it did now. She suddenly felt so small, so inadequate to help, and yet she had a great desire to do something.
“My mother always says that a good woman feels constantly guilty for not being able to do more,” Abby muttered, feeling a buried gratitude for her mother. Now she understood—her mother had saved her from being one of those silly women who speak of their youthful glory days for years to come. “I suppose though I would rather feel guilt and pain and have substance to my soul than to live a life of superficial ease and have nothing to me… no soul as it were.”
Again Esther gave Abby a pensive look. The little schoolteacher had come to Tall Pine as a child, a young girl stuffed with giggles and lace. Frivolity now seemed to have been replaced by wisdom. “I wholeheartedly agree,” Esther said, feeling the heaviness lift.
“How was Toby with you? I can’t stand the man.” Abby shivered and began seasoning the beans.
“Well, I had to bribe him in order to have Mary come to my house when she goes into labor,” she began before telling the story, although she left out Eliza. There was no need to share her friend’s battles. When she retold Toby’s suggestive comments, which she modified, she heard a thud from the living room as Joseph threw down his book and rushed into the kitchen.
“That low-life bastard said what to you?” he roared.
Both Esther and Abby blinked in surprise. “Joseph Silver, watch your language. And, more to the point—were you eavesdropping?” Abby asked. Her mouth twisted in a mixture of surprise and amusement.
“I was sitting in the living room, Abby! That could hardly be classified as eavesdropping,” he bellowed before pinning Esther with his gaze. The magnitude of his concern was vivid in his piercing eyes and clenched jaw. So vivid that Esther found herself getting… warm? Not afraid, nor anxious, nor smothered? She tried to look away but found she couldn’t. Had she not already belittled herself when she discovered that the thought of Joseph had comforted her in Toby’s presence? She did not want a man. She did not trust them. She would not allow a handsome face or even kindness to her child to seduce her away from her resolve. Yet, if this were true, then why couldn’t she look away? Why did her cheeks feel flushed?
“You are not to go to that man’s house again,” Joseph demanded, his chest heaving.
In an instant Esther’s emotions fired into resentment. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Silver,” she said with a pronounced arch of her brow.
“It’s Joseph—and I said you are not to go to that man’s house again. Not when he is speaking to you in such intimate terms,” Joseph growled.
Esther tilted her head with a half-smile. “Intimate is hardly the word I would use… inappropriate, yes. Intimacy implies two parties whereas with Mr. Higgins, the suggestive nature was from him and not me.”
“Still, you should not, will not—”
“I will go and do as I please,” Esther said kindly with her tone rising only slightly. “I appreciate your concern, but maybe you did not hear that there is a pregnant woman who is completely incapable of caring for herself, let alone her unborn child. I would not deserve to call myself a midwife if I did nothing.”
Joseph glowered; he didn’t know how to answer. “And helping means you going there every morning?”
Esther lifted her chin and folded her arms, “Yes. It does,” she said firmly.
Joseph looked away. He had not met this Toby Higgins, but anger and aggression swelled within him. He had seen many terrible things in his time as a Ranger, and he’d learned to develop a sort of numbness to them. Meeting Esther and Michael had stirred emotions long buried. Abby whispered something to him about calming down, but he did not hear it. He needed to go do something before he spoke out in anger. Outside. He needed to go out and cool off. Firewood! Surely more firewood needs to be chopped. Storming off without a word, Joseph walked fiercely into the cool evening air.
He took several deep breaths before walking to the back of the house where the firewood was kept. How he wished he could meet this Toby Higgins and punch him in the face. Had not Abby said that the young pastor did something similar? Perhaps Will was a better man than what Joseph had given him credit for. Grabbing a large log Joseph set it in front of him, picked up the ax, and swung it clean through the log. He did another and another; he didn’t know how many logs he’d chopped, but he swung until his muscles burned and sweat dripped from his brow.
How much of his life had been spent as a Ranger when he could have been preparing a home, a place for him and Esther? Would that have even mattered? Would Esther ever give him a chance, or would she refuse him and send him off with shattered hopes and a broken heart? How he longed to grab her, press his body against hers, and call her his. Yet, just when his hopes started to rise, Esther would shut them down. Joseph had always believed that if he was relentless in his pursuit, he could obtain whatever he wanted. Esther was filling him with doubt.
He placed another log in front of him and swung. He thought of Michael’s hopeful face when he had told Joseph that he loved him. He thought of Esther’s beautiful and methodical ways, making the most mundane chore seem more like an elegant dance. He could not abandon his quest to win her over, but he now doubted he would ever be successful.
Pray. His mother’s words echoed in his mind. Joseph blew a lock of hair out of his eyes. He never prayed—did not need to. He was perfectly fine on his own.
Pray. The word repeated itself again. A smile hinted on Joseph’s lips. He could never escape his mother’s words: pray, be strong but gentle, save yourself for the one woman who will matter; be kind but not weak; when in doubt, when in need, always pray.
Joseph swung the ax again, and again.
“Dear Lord,” he said with a gruff voice. He swung again, “I don’t know exactly what to say,” another swing. What should he say—that he had no idea what to do with Esther? Why would God even care about that?
“Joseph?” A gentle voice surprised him. Lowering the ax he turned to see Esther.
Well I’ll be. Lord, that was quick. “Yes, Miss Esther?” he asked. He felt both confused and elated that she had come to see him.
She nodded toward the house, “Supper is just about ready,” she said, taking a step forward. Joseph stared at Esther quizzically. He liked how she carried herself with ease, no need to chatter or move abruptly. Her natural serenity in expression, voice, and movement showed a strong assurance in herself. Yet, right now she looked different. After the long day, her hair was falling from its done-up form, allowing soft tendrils to fall along her neck and making her look more youthful. Her cheeks seemed flushed, her gaze, usually steady, glanced away every few seconds. As she approached he noticed that a small constellation of freckles danced over the bridge of her nose. Esther was always stunning, but there was a barrier that surrounded her, making her seem untouchable. Only in his mind could he embrace her, kiss her. In this moment, as she continued walking towards him, she seemed more girlish, more approachable. What was different now?
/
Esther felt bad as soon as Joseph left. His sudden explosion and impudence in telling her what she could and could not do had flared her anger. No man would control her, even if he meant well. Yet when Joseph had stormed off, she could not help but feel a bit flattered that he cared so much. Still, she did not need a protector; for so long she had looked after herself. Her uncle had come to her aid, but even then it was she who had cleaned up the old house, chased off wolves, looked after the property, stayed up with Michael during feverish nights, taught herself how to shoot and shoot well. Not only could she take care of herself, but she was capable of taking care of others.
Joseph seemed bent on helping her, and the thought made her feel, well, soft and almost elated. She had a sudden urge to giggle. Shaking her shoulders to clear her mind, Esther had tried to focus on the rice and beans. Men were naturally beasts, save a few, such as her uncle. She would not allow herself to let go of her distrust and anger. It was those feelings that would protect her, and more importantly they were feelings that would protect Michael from getting stuck with an unloving stepfather. Esther would not bereft herself of the lessons she had learned seven years ago.
Try as she might, she could not focus on the meal at hand or on the comforting chatter of Abby. The thought gnawed at her that she had possibly offended Joseph when he was merely showing concern for her. The feeling that she should make amends pecked at her brain until finally she put down her wooden spoon and dismissed herself to go check on Joseph.
Esther expected to find Joseph brooding. When she heard the wood cracking she hurried to the back and then froze when she saw him. His thin shirt was damp with perspiration and clung to his swelled and taunt muscles. The dark brown hair hung loosely over blazing eyes. He looked powerful, manly, and so very handsome. Esther almost turned to go back inside. What was wrong with her? Was she really admiring the raw form of a particularly fine man? She was stronger than this, had more will power than this. She should go, continue to ignore him, ignore this mixture of emotions between fear and admiration. Esther tried to turn, but she could not; she stood transfixed watching him work. It was no secret that there was little about men she admired, but as she watched the tall broad figure work with such strength, it was like watching a wild mustang run in the fields or a wild cat stalk its prey; it was natural, wild, and in some primeval way, beautiful.
Recognizing that it would be awkward should he look up and see her staring at him, Esther called out his name. When he looked at her, she felt her cheeks flush. Reminding herself of her indifference towards him, she walked forward. She told him that dinner was about ready knowing that it appeared as a weak excuse to come see him.
“Actually, Joseph,” she said with a slight quiver in her voice, “I came to—to apologize. I recognize that you were simply being an honorable man who would defend and watch out for any woman. I thank you for your concern and hope that I didn’t come across as ungrateful.” Her lips twitched and her hand brushed back a loose strand of hair falling across her face.
“Any woman, huh?” Joseph dropped the ax and walked forward until he was only inches away from her. The woman was so darn composed, an attribute that he both admired and one that also drove him mad. How he wanted to touch her, although from experience he wondered if she would pull away. The impulse to touch was overwhelming. To gently touch her fingers, entwine them with his. His glance moved to her hand, long-fingered, elegant despite the hard work she obviously did. He could hold her hand, stroke it, kiss it, hold it to his chest, and then pull her in for a dizzying kiss.
What would she do?
Smack him?
Fight him? Or melt into his body with an equal fervor to the passion he was feeling.
Esther withdrew her hand from her side, crossing her arms. She was used to men leering at her body or simply admiring her face. The way Joseph was staring at her hand made her skin prickle with a feeling that she couldn’t name. It was if her skin were hungering for something, but she did not know what. He was close—too close. She felt uncomfortable, but not fearful. It was more like an anticipation. She cleared her throat and lifted her chin to meet his gaze. It was a mistake. His eyes captured her in an instant, holding her like a vice, demanding silently that she stay put.
“You think,” Joseph said, his voice husky, “that I would get so riled up over any woman?”
Esther shifted her weight. An icy autumn breeze raked down her arms, so why did she feel so hot? “Yes, any woman, or any woman at least whom you considered a friend.”
Joseph laughed more out of frustration than humor. “A friend?” he asked. “You think I would want to beat a man senseless for being suggestive to a friend?”
Esther raised her eyebrows, as her lips parted, “Yes, Joseph, after all that is what you said we are—friends.”
Joseph felt the angry twitch in his jaw. He knew very well Esther was not reminding him of his words so much as she was telling him what they were—friends. He looked away for a moment wishing to kiss her, yell at her, drop to his knees and ask, no, demand her to be his bride. But he knew he would just frighten her away, which continually begged the question as to why she was frightened. Why would a woman of intelligence and faith be so afraid of a man? She was not intimidated or spooked like some wide-eyed horse. No, she was more like a female wolf guarding her young, her territory. Joseph looked back at Esther realizing his mistake. He had seen Esther, wanted her, known she was for him, and gone after her without proper investigation. Most women were keen on telling their life story, naming off a list of lovers, offenders, hopes and dreams. Esther was different—she was sealed tight and full of mystery. Esther’s eyes were too wise, and she had too much confidence to have had a life of ease and clarity. It was evident to him now that she had a story, a story that was prohibiting her from letting down the wall around her heart.
“Of course, Miss Esther,” he finally exhaled. “We are just friends.”
Esther didn’t trust the look on Joseph’s face. His eyes were filled with an unsettling understanding, as if he had realized a secret. She also knew by his tone of voice that he thought the title of friendship was ridiculous when it came to them. Esther eyed him warily for a second before taking a step back.
“Are you coming?” she asked, her voice a bit too high pitched.
Joseph nodded her to go on. “You all start without me. I’ll need to wash up first.”
Esther’s shoulders began to turn, but then she stopped. Cocking her head to the side she smiled shyly. “When I came out were—were you praying?”
Joseph felt his windblown cheeks warm up.
Am I blushing? The thought horrified him.
“No, well, I began to but… you know, I am just not the praying type.”
Another tilt of the head to the left. “Hmm, you know, Joseph, when Samuel Colt invented the majestic pistol he did so with prayer. The design came to him in a dream after praying.”
Joseph’s lips parted. The woman knew who Samuel Colt was? He truly was hopelessly in love. “Is that really true?” he asked, cocking a brow.
Esther laughed. “I have no idea, but wouldn’t it be wonderful if it was?”
Joseph chuckled, having no reply to give.
Esther gave him one last curious glance before turning away. Somehow there had been a change just now, she towards Joseph and he towards her. She realized that Joseph was the first single man who did not repulse her or scare her. She still felt uncomfortable with him, but this time when she had seen him she felt—attraction? The word stung Esther. She was not supposed to be attracted to a man. Esther clenched her jaw. She was not attracted to him. She was tired, confused, and worn out. Glancing behind her, Esther expected Joseph to be gathering the chopped wood, yet as fate would have it, he stood straight staring directly at her. When they made eye contact Esther quickly looked away, but not before seeing the victorious smile of Joseph.
She had looked back! Heaven be praised, she had looked back. Abby always told him that if a woman was interested, she looked back upon departure, and Esther had just done that, with her piercing eyes and flushed cheeks. She had looked back. He would find out her story and would court her even if it killed him. He would win her heart.
Abby was surprised at how good the rice and beans were, especially with the fresh fish fried to perfection. Esther hardly ate, although she assured Abby it was because of fatigue and not because the food was not good. Michael ate with as much gusto as usual, and when Joseph finally arrived, hair wet from bathing, he too helped himself generously.
“I was just telling Esther that I am determined to learn how to knit. In fact, I wanted to know if you could take me into town tomorrow so I could buy some yarn,” Abby said to Joseph.
“My little sister is cooking and now knitting. What will be next?” he teased, taking a large bite of rice.
“Hopefully, a garden in the spring. Will is supposed to be a great gardener—maybe he can help me,” Abby said, blushing slightly.
Esther suppressed a smile. Abby and Will definitely had a spark between them. What a wonderful couple they would be. “Will is a great gardener Abby; he knows when to plant and what to plant. I would definitely ask him for his advice,” she encouraged.
Joseph wanted to growl. What did he have to do to receive a compliment from Esther? He was as good as this pastor. “Miss Esther, just curious to know, are you from these parts? Born and bred in Colorado?” he asked, turning his attention towards her. The question must have surprised Esther because she almost dropped her spoon.
“Uhh, no, I am not.”
Joseph knew he would have to dig for details. “Where are you from?”
“Back East,” she said. She focused on her plate though she merely twirled the beans without taking bites. Noticing Joseph’s inquiring look she sighed and looked up while pushing away her plate. “Boston to be exact,” she said, glancing at Michael who was feeding Killer tidbits from his plate.
“A city girl!” Abby exclaimed. “I never imagined you were a city girl. You handle the roughness of Tall Pine so well.”
Esther laughed nervously. “To me the city is rougher than the country. At least that was my experience.”
Joseph was not satisfied, “And your parents, they still live in Boston?
Again Esther glanced at Michael whose little ears had perked up. “Yes—yes, they do.”
Abby now looked interested and confused. She had never seen Esther look so uncomfortable. She shot Joseph a warning look to stop talking, but he ignored her.
“Do your parents ever visit?” he asked.
Before Esther could reply, Michael spoke up: “Momma’s father came a year ago. I was five almost six, but he was not nice and he told me—”
“Michael!” Esther stood up, jerking the table an inch forward. Her face was red and her hands shook slightly, Joseph would not have noticed had he not been sitting close to her. She looked at Abby and Joseph apologetically. “I am so sorry; we must go.”
Michael looked heart stricken. “But what about the apple pie?” he wailed.
Esther shook her head and held out her hand to him. “Michael, I am serious. We need to go, now!”
Abby now was on her feet. Joseph followed. “Esther is everything alright?” Abby asked full of concern.
“Yes I—I am not feeling well,” she said too quickly as Michael began to protest with angry tears. Abby attempted to comfort him by wrapping up a slice of pie to send home with him.
Joseph walked Esther out. “Let me hitch up the horse,” he offered.
She shook her head walking quickly, “No, thank you Joseph, please go finish your meal. I am quite capable.”
She reached out her hand for the horse’s reins, but was stopped when Joseph placed his hand on hers. He expected her to pull away, but instead she froze, staring at their touching hands. Joseph felt her pulse quicken, her skin sprout tingly bumps. She swallowed, still not moving. Joseph closed his fingers around her hand, slowly lowering it away from the reigns and down to her side.
“Esther,” he said gently, “let me help you.”
Esther nodded, stepping away and slowly pulling her hand from his.
Joseph did not push the physical contact any more. He turned and began assembling the cart and horse with experienced skill. After a few seconds of silence with only the faint talking of Abby and Michael in the distance, Esther came beside him.
“Listen Joseph, a year ago my father came to visit. He met Michael and me in Denver. I can’t give you details, but I can say that is was a heartbreaking experience for us. I beg you to not bring it up with him; for that matter, please do not ask any questions about my parents or my past,” she pleaded. “Please Joseph—please no questions.”
Joseph nodded as Michael walked out holding a covered plate of pie; his cheeks were tear streaked and his nose red. Joseph looked at Abby who mouthed helplessly, “I tried.”
“You ready to go, sweetheart?” Esther asked her son sweetly. When she reached out for him, Michael jerked away from her, glowering. Esther politely ignored his attitude and allowed Joseph to lift the upset boy into the cart.
“Michael, I got something to tell you,” Joseph whispered as Esther said good-bye to Abby.
Michael looked up curiously. “What is it?” he asked in a quivering voice.
Joseph leaned in closer, “I need to go into town tomorrow, so I was thinking how about I pick you up a present and give it to you on Sunday?”
Michael’s lips parted into a cherub-like smile. “Really? You’ll get me a present?”
Joseph nodded. “A good present, I promise.”
“Promise what?” Esther asked, taking up the reigns.
“I promise that I will see you and Michael on Sunday,” Joseph replied with a knowing half wink to Michael. Esther gave him a “sure you did smile” before making a clicking sound and leading the horse away.
Abby and Joseph stood watching the fading cart until it disappeared. When it did, Abby spun around to Joseph. “Alright Mr. Inquisitor, why were you relentless in asking Esther about her parents? It was obvious she did not want to talk about it, and yet you persisted.” She shook her head with a sigh, “And, I thought you wished to win her over.”
“I do,” Joseph said firmly. “But that woman has a past, a hidden one from what I can tell, and there is no way I will reach her unless I know what I am dealing with,” he said and began to walk back to the house. “Luckily, I know a detective back East with whom I corresponded for a time over a case. I am going to write to him and have him find out what happened with Esther Callen.”
Abby blinked incredulously before catching up with Joseph. “Wait—wait!” she called out, grabbing his arm in haste. “Did I hear you right? You are going to hire a detective to find out about a past which she is desperately trying to keep hidden?”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures, Abby, and time is one thing I don’t have right now.”
“But Joseph, do you not see how wrong that it? Esther is an intelligent woman, and if she is not speaking of her past, then there is a good reason why. Besides, things have a way of revealing themselves without anybody’s help. If you force it…” she bit her lip thinking of an analogy. “Well, remember you told me that no Ranger was able to catch that crazed killer, Cut-Throat Nick? You said it was because he’d barricade himself in until it caused the Rangers to force their way to him… they all ended up dead or injured. You caught him by waiting three days until he came out. Now Esther is certainly no Cut-Throat Nick, but the same concept applies. I promise you, Joseph that if you go behind Esther’s back and pry into her past, nothing good will come of it and you will never win her.”
Joseph sighed, rolling back his neck and looking at the star-filled sky. “Goodness Abby, you should have been a lawyer. You do make a good case.”
“That’s because I am right. Just let Esther be for tonight and come have some pie; otherwise, I will eat the whole thing myself,” she said, nudging him playfully.
Joseph nodded, glancing over his shoulder one last time. What did Esther have to hide? Would she ever tell him? Did it have to do with Michael? Joseph felt sorry for the disappointed kid. He would make sure that tomorrow he found Michael the finest cowboy hat there was—and maybe a slingshot, too.
/
Michael was silent during the ride home. Esther tried talking to him, but each time she spoke, he huffed and would look away. Once they were home Michael began running to his room, but Esther caught his shoulder.
“Hang on mister, we need to talk.”
Michael pulled away. “Why did we have to leave? We were going to have pie and play,” he cried.
“Michael, you can’t spend all your time with Joseph, and besides, you know why we left. You were about to tell our secret.”
Michael’s eyes swelled with tears, “You mean that my dad was a bad and evil man like your dad told me.”
Esther, too, felt the sting of tears pooling. She sat down holding out her arms to Michael, but he did not come. “Michael, the man who got me pregnant is not your dad. A father is someone who loves and protects you and the man who hurt me was bad, but then God sent me you to make it all better. You are special… you are my miracle,” she practically pleaded with him, wanting to take away his pain and disappointment.
“But you promised me a father, remember? And you told me what he would be like—that he would be like Joseph.” Michael’s tears streamed down his face. “Why can’t you marry Joseph, Momma? Then we can be a family.”
“We are a family,” Esther cried. “You and I are enough. We don’t need a man.”
“But why? Why can’t I have Joseph as a father?”
“Because men are terrible, Michael,” Esther blurted out. “They are cruel and bad.”
Michael went very still, his face written with devastation. “But Momma… I am a man.”
Esther felt a stab in her heart as the realization hit her. She had wounded her son, damaged his hope and self-worth. “Michael, I didn’t mean you. You are still a boy, my sweet boy. You are different.”
“But I will grow up to be a man. Does that mean I will be terrible, cruel, and bad?” His lips trembled.
Esther stood up reaching out to him. “Michael, listen—” she began.
“No!” Michael shouted and ran from her. “I hate you!” he sobbed before slamming the door to his room.
Esther sank down onto a chair, her head falling into her hands as she allowed pent-up tears to fall freely. What a horrible thing she had done. Her own fears were scaring her son, denying him a father, and making him feel bad about himself. Was she being selfish holding onto her fears thinking that they would keep her safe, justifying them by telling herself she was keeping Michael safe? What kind of woman was she if she could not let her past go for the sake of her son?
“Dear Father in heaven,” she pleaded through sobs, “I know I have wearied you with my prayers and surely seem ungrateful when I ask for help after all that you have given me, but Lord I know the sacred nature of parenthood, and I know you hold it close to your heart, so I beg of you—help me, heal me from my past that cripples me like a disease. I have thought I was enough. I believed that I was sufficient to take care of all Michael’s needs, and yet I see a void in him needing to be filled with the love of a father. But, dear God and perfect Father, I hate men. I distrust them and fear them. Please heal me of this prejudice and dislike. I do not want to be filled with hatred when my son needs so much love. Please help me.” Her words were muffled in sobs and her shoulders sagged as her body shook. After several minutes Esther sat up and took a long steadying breath to calm herself.
“Dress,” she told herself. She needed to finish the red dress for the barn dance. She needed to do something, for although she felt calmer after praying, she was still shaking and seized with guilt. She walked to her room and began hemming the bottom of the flame-red dress. As her hands fell into a pattern, her mind cleared. She worked for a solid hour before feeling the effects of a long day. Just before she finished the hem and was ready to cut the string, a staggering image filled her mind and it almost made her cry out. The image was of Joseph carrying her laughing son on his back, his face lit up in genuine delight as he played with her son. The image faded into another. This time of Will dripping with sweat as he plowed a sick man’s crops for a whole season and then used his own money to buy shoes for the children. Then a scene of Sheriff Ben organizing a charity donation for a widow whose husband had been killed, husbands praying on their knees that their wives would live through labor, and fathers rushing sick children to Uncle Tim as they pleaded with tear-soaked faces for their child’s life. The baker who handed out free samples to the poor, the bookstore owner who saved picture books for Michael, her own uncle who had welcomed her into his home when she had nowhere to go. Memory after memory of good, honest, and hardworking men filled her mind until she had seen almost a lifetime in but a few moments. The images faded, leaving her feeling warm and peaceful. She felt the familiar sting of tears, but not of sorrow; this time they were from a joyful realization that God had spoken to her, answered her prayers. After seven years of hate and anxiety, He seemed to have healed her in a matter of minutes by showing the good that existed among men. There was still the fear of touch, the fear of being controlled, but the crippling hate was gone.
Esther set down the dress and stood tall. Esther, she told herself, there are good women out there and bad women. There are bad men, but there are also many good men. You are wrong to hate them. You are wrong to mistrust them. It is time to grow up and move on. You may not want to marry or need to marry, but it is wrong of you to hate any of God’s children, including men. She bowed her head reverently. “Thank you Father—thank you so much,” Esther whispered, her heart filled with a newfound peace. She then washed her face, braided her hair, and tiptoed into Michael’s room. The perfect little body lay deep in sleep on his narrow bed tucked under the thick quilt she had made him. Esther went and sat on the bed, stroking the angelic face that she loved so much. Michael stirred and opened his eyes.
“Momma?” he croaked.
Esther leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I’m here love,” she whispered, kissing him again.
“Do you still love me?” he asked in a whimper.
Esther lay down next to her son and pulled him close, “Michael, I love you so much and will always love you. There is nothing you can do to stop me loving you.”
“But I said I hate you… I didn’t mean it.”
Esther smiled and nuzzled her face into his hair. “I said some things I did not mean as well. How about we both start over?”
Michael nodded. “I think that is a good idea,” he said before relaxing fully into her arms. His breathing slowly turned into a light snore and Esther scooted herself fully onto the bed and fell asleep.