His bandaged foot wouldn’t fit into a stirrup, so Myles decided to ride Cholla bareback. A wool blanket protected his clothes from her sweat and hair, and he laid his walking stick, a gift from Cyrus Thwaite, across her withers. “Take it easy, girl,” he warned, gripping a hank of her mane in one hand as he sprang to her back and swung his leg over. “I’m running on one foot, so to speak.” The swelling had receded and the vivid bruising had faded to pale green and purple, but Myles could put little weight on the foot as yet.
“Myles, you be careful,” Virginia called from the front porch as he passed. “Visit your friend and the barber and come straight home. Do you hear?”
“I hear.” Reining in the fidgeting mare, Myles grinned at his grandmother. He could endure her motherly domination for the sake of her good cooking and excellent housekeeping skills—abilities he had never before known she possessed. “You’re quite a woman, Gram.”
“Away with your flattery,” she retorted, not before he glimpsed her pleasure.
Cholla trotted almost sideways up the drive, head tucked and tail standing straight up. Its wispy hair streamed behind her like a shredded banner. “You’re a loaded weapon today, aren’t you?” Myles patted the mare’s taut neck. “Sorry; no running. The roads are too icy.”
A few miles of trotting took the edge off Cholla’s energy. She still occasionally challenged her master’s authority, but her heart was no longer in it. Myles felt her muscles unwind beneath him.
Although it was good to be out in the open again instead of cloistered in his stuffy room, fighting the horse drained much of Myles’s strength. When he dismounted in front of Miss Amelia’s boardinghouse, he lost hold of his walking stick. It clattered to the frozen mud. Cholla shied to one side, and Myles landed hard. His bad foot hit the ground. Clutching Cholla by the chest and withers, he gritted his teeth and grimaced until the worst pain had passed.
“Steady, girl,” he gasped. Balancing on one foot, he scooped up his stick. It wasn’t easy to tether Cholla with one hand, but he managed. Hopping on one foot, using the stick for balance, he made his way to Amelia’s porch.
“What on earth are you doing, Myles?” Amelia said, flinging open her front door and ushering him inside.
“I came to see Boz,” Myles gasped. “Isn’t he here?”
“You come on into the parlor and sit yourself down.” Amelia supported his arm with a steely grip. “That’s where Boz keeps himself.” She lifted her voice. “You got a visitor, Sheriff. Another ailing cowboy on my hands. Just what I needed. You two sit here and have a talk. I’ve got work to do.” Leaving Myles in an armchair, she brushed her hands on her apron, gave each man an affectionate look, and departed.
Boz drew a playing card from his deck, laid it on a stack, and gave Myles a crooked smile. “How’s the foot?” His right shoulder was heavily wrapped, binding that arm to his side.
“Mending. You don’t sound so good.” Myles shifted in his chair.
Boz did not immediately reply. “I ain’t so good, Myles,” he finally wheezed. “Bullet nicked a lung and severed a nerve in my shoulder. It kinda bounced around in there. Doc did his best, but he doesn’t expect I’ll regain the use of my arm.”
Myles blinked and stared at the floor.
“I know what you’re thinkin’,” Boz said. “Not much good in a one-armed sheriff. I reckon God has other plans for my future.”
Myles met the other man’s steady gaze. Slowly he nodded, amazed by Boz’s cheerful acceptance of his fate.
“Amelia says I can work for her. She’s been needing to hire household help, and she cain’t think of anyone she’d rather have about the place.”
“You?” Myles stared blankly until he caught the twinkle in his friend’s eyes. “Boz, are you joshing me?”
The former sheriff’s face creased into a broad grin. “She reckons it wouldn’t be proper for me to stay here permanent-like, so she proposed marriage.”
Myles began to chuckle. Boz put a finger to his lips. “Hush! Let the woman think it was all her idea, at least until after we’re hitched.”
Myles sputtered with suppressed merriment, and Boz joined in. Soon the two men were wiping tears from their faces. Boz groaned, holding his shoulder and wheezing. “Stop before you do me in.”
The door opened, and Amelia backed into the room carrying a tray. “I brung you coffee and cakes.” Her sharp eyes inspected their faces. “Doc says the sheriff needs quiet. Hope I didn’t make a mistake by letting you in, Myles.”
“He’s all right, Amelia. Laughter is good for what ails a man. What you got there? Raisin cookies?” Boz perked up.
“Yes, and snickerdoodles. Mind you don’t eat more’n is good for ya, Boswell Martin.”
Nearly an hour later, Myles grinned as he heaved himself up on Cholla’s back. “Next stop, the store, then on to the barbershop.” The horse flicked her ears to listen.
Thank You for leaving Boz with us here on earth, Lord, Myles prayed as he rode. And thank You for giving him his heart’s desire. He’s waited a long time for love, but from the look in Amelia’s eyes while she fussed over him today, he’s found it.
Myles picked up his mail at the general store. There was a letter addressed in strange handwriting. Curious, he paused just inside the doorway, balanced on his good foot, and ripped open the letter.
Dear Myles,
Antonio tells me what to write, and I do my best.
Antonio pray for you every day. He say have you dropped your burden yet? I hope you do, Myles. We want your best for you.
You can write us here in Florida. We stay until summer season open. We want to visit you, but have not the money.
Antonio want to know if the bear was found. He feel bad about keeping it secret. Our circus, it was bought by another man when the owner was put in jail. He cheat one man too many, Antonio say. Things better for us now, but we want a home that does not move.
Antonio speak much of settling down to open a bakery. Is there need for a bakery in your town?
God bless you.
Antonio and Gina Spinelli
Myles determined to write back at his first opportunity. Antonio would be pleased to hear news of his mended relationship with God, and if any town ever needed a bakery, Myles was certain Longtree, Wisconsin, did.
As Myles rode past the parsonage, someone hailed him. He reined in Cholla and waited for the pastor to approach. “Hello, Reverend.”
David Schoengard’s ruddy face beamed as he stood at Cholla’s shoulder and reached up to shake Myles’s hand. “Good to see you about town. We’ve been praying for you. From all I hear, yours was a serious injury.”
“Thanks for the prayers. God has been healing me…inside and out.”
David’s eyes gleamed. “Ah, so the lamb has found its way home?”
“More like the Shepherd roped and hog-tied an ornery ram, flung it over His shoulder, and hauled it home. I’m afraid I was a tough case, but He never stopped trying to show me the truth.”
The pastor chuckled. “I understand. Are you ready to profess your faith before the church?”
Myles tucked his chin. “Is that necessary?”
“Not for your salvation but it would be a wonderful encouragement to other believers to hear how God worked in your life. I’m also hoping you’ll honor us with a song someday soon.”
Staring between Cholla’s ears, Myles pondered. “I do need to ask forgiveness of people in this town. Guess this is my chance. I’ll do it, if you think I should, Reverend.”
“I appreciate that—and please call me Dave, or at least Pastor Dave. I’m no more ‘reverend’ than you are.” He patted Cholla’s furry neck.
Myles nodded. “All right, Pastor Dave. Do I need your approval on a song?”
“I’ll trust you to choose an appropriate selection. And thank you. Caroline will be excited when I tell her you agreed to sing.”
“How is she doing?”
“She has a tough time of it during the last weeks before a baby arrives, but she handles it well. My mother is at the house to help out. She and Caroline are great friends.”
David cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind me asking, how are things between you and Marva? Or is it you and Beulah? Caroline and I were never sure.”
Myles scratched his beard and took a deep breath. “Marva and I are friends. There never was more between us. And Beulah isn’t speaking to me at present. I…uh…let’s just say she got a glimpse of Myles Van Huysen at his worst, and she didn’t care much for what she saw.”
“I see. Have you apologized?”
“Not yet. I haven’t spoken with her since God…since He changed me. I don’t know how to approach her. I mean, she pretty much told me to leave her out of my future plans.”
“The change in you could make a difference, Myles. Faint heart never won fair maiden.”
“Yes, I need to figure out a plan. I’d better be on my way. I’ve got orders not to dawdle.”
“Your grandmother?” David stepped away from the horse. “I enjoyed meeting her last Sunday. Quite a lady.”
Myles nodded. “Beulah is a lot like her. Feisty.” He smiled. “If you think of it, I could use a few prayers in that area, too. You know, for wisdom and tact when I talk to Beulah.”
“Every man needs prayer in the area of communication with women,” David said with a straight face. “See you Sunday.” With a wink, he turned away.
Myles squirmed in the front pew, elbows resting on his knees, and rubbed one finger across his mustache. His chin felt naked, bereft of its concealing beard. His heart pounded erratically. Lines of a prepared speech raced through his head.
Marva Obermeier played the piano while the congregation sang. She never once looked in his direction. Myles could not sing. He knew he would be ill if he tried. Why had he volunteered to sing so soon? He wasn’t ready. It was one thing to entertain a crowd for profit and another thing altogether to sing in worship to God while other believers listened.
“Relax, Myles. The Lord will help you.” Virginia leaned over to pat his arm.
He nodded without looking up.
Was Beulah here, somewhere in the room behind him? Would she change her mind when she saw how God was transforming his life, or had he forever frightened her away? With an effort, Myles turned his thoughts and heart back to God and prayed for courage and peace. This is all new to me, Lord. I feel like a baby, helpless and dependent. Can You really use me?
His foot throbbed. He needed to prop it up again. Pastor David was making an announcement. Myles tried to focus his mind.
“A new brother in Christ has something to share with us this morning. Please join me in welcoming Myles Trent Van Huysen into our fellowship of believers.”
Myles rose and turned to face the crowd, leaning on his crutch. Expectant, friendly faces met his gaze. He swallowed hard. “Many of you know that I have been living a lie among you these past few years. Today I wish to apologize for my deceit and ask your forgiveness.”
There was Beulah, seated between her mother and Eunice. Her dark eyes held encouragement and concern. She pressed three fingers against her trembling lips.
“My grandmother, Virginia Van Huysen, has prayed for me these many long years. She never gave up hope that God would chase me down. I stand before you to confess that I am now a child of God, saved by the shed blood of Jesus Christ. My life, such as it is, belongs to Him forevermore. I do not yet know how or where He will lead, but I know that I will humbly follow.” His voice cracked.
Marva sat beside her father in the fourth row. Although her eyes glittered with unshed tears, she gave Myles an encouraging smile.
“I’m having difficulty even talking—don’t know how I’ll manage to sing. But I want to share my testimony with a song.”
He limped to the piano. After leaning his crutch against the wall, he settled on the bench. This piano needed tuning, and several of its keys were missing their ivories. One key sagged below the rest, dead. Myles played a prolonged introduction while begging God to carry him through this ordeal.
Lifting his face, he closed his eyes and began to sing Elizabeth Clephane’s beautiful hymn:
“Beneath the cross of Jesus I fain would take my stand…”
Myles knew that the Lord’s hand was upon him. His voice rang true and clear. The third verse was his testimony:
“I take, O cross, thy shadow for my abiding place—
I ask no other sunshine than the sunshine of His face;
Content to let the world go by, to know no gain nor loss,
My sinful self my only shame, my glory all the cross.”
The last notes faded away. Myles opened his eyes. His grandmother was beaming, wiping her face with a handkerchief. He collected his crutch and stood. Someone near the back of the room clapped, another person joined in, and soon applause filled the church. “Amen!” Myles recognized Al’s voice.
Pastor Schoengard wrapped an arm around Myles’s shoulder and asked, “Would anyone like to hear more from our brother?”
The clapping and shouts increased in volume. “ ‘Amazing Grace.’ ” It was Cyrus Thwaite’s creaky voice.
“ ‘Holy, Holy, Holy,’ ” someone else requested.
Pastor David lifted his hand, chuckling. “This is still a worship service, friends. Please maintain order and do not overwhelm our new brother.” He turned to Myles. “Will you sing again, or do you need rest?” he asked in an undertone. “Don’t feel obliged, Myles. There will be other days.”
Myles stared at the floor, dazed by this openhearted reception. He smiled at the pastor. “It is an honor.” He returned to the bench and began to play, making the ancient spinet sound like a concert grand.