Chapter 13

For days after his unexpected encounter with Emmalyne, Tavin wrestled with his conscience. He should never have treated Emmalyne so poorly. He honestly hadn’t meant to, but seeing her again sent all of his thoughts reeling back to the days when they had been so deeply in love . . . and all that had been lost by her decision to follow the tradition. Her scent, the way the sun glinted on her hair, the blue of her eyes—they all haunted him like nothing he’d never known.

Even now, as his father and Luthias Knox tried to figure out the production numbers, Tavin could think only of Emmalyne and the dreams they once had.

“I think if we can get another couple of men,” his father was saying as he looked over the paper work, “we’ll be just fine. Losin’ Angus’s help will definitely cause some problems, but not as much as if we’d lost an experienced cutter. I’ll find some lads to hire who can work as common laborers. Mebbe there’ll be a man or two down on their luck and just out of the state reformatory. They have ’em quarryin’ over there to build the prison walls. Could be we might find men already well trained.”

“Aye,” Luthias said, nodding his agreement. “The deadline cannae be ignored. Angus’s sickness need nae set us back.”

“Father, can I have a word?” Gillam asked from the office door.

“I’ll only be a minute,” Robert told Tavin. “Wait here.”

The last place Tavin wanted to be was alone with Luthias Knox. The older man hated him, and Tavin was only too glad to return the sentiment.

Tavin tried not to think about his terrible rage toward the older man. For many years he’d worked hard to forget that Luthias Knox even existed. For a time, he thought drink would help him drown his memories, his anger. But it wasn’t long before Tavin realized that alcohol wasn’t his friend. The memories and all the emotions surrounding them were always there, waiting for him after the booze had lost its power to make him forget. So then Tavin tried to throw himself into work. He would work such long, hard hours that he’d fall into bed exhausted at the close of each day. Even deep sleep couldn’t keep the dreams away, however.

“I donnae like yer bein’ here,” Luthias said, pulling Tavin from his contemplation when Robert MacLachlan stepped out the door.

He threw the man a hard look. “I don’t care for you being here, either.”

Luthias flicked away a fly. “Ye stay away from ma Emmalyne. It can bode nothin’ guid.”

“Believe me, I have no intention of being near your daughter. You made your feelings quite clear eleven years ago, when you ruined my life and hers. I doubt you care what you did, since you were thinking only of yourself, but what’s done is done. I won’t be seeking to repeat it.”

For a moment Luthias looked surprised. But just as quickly he gave a growl and hurled a string of curses at Tavin. “Yer a thorn in ma side. Yer the one that thinks only of hisself. I wiltnae have ye stirrin’ up Emmalyne’s feelin’s. She’s done jest fine these years without ye. Leave her be. Leave us be.” The last words cut at Tavin like shards of glass.

Tavin could see the older man was livid with anger. Luthias maintained his distance behind the desk, but his hands were balled into fists that Tavin had no doubt would slam into him if the man dared.

Shaking his head, Tavin crossed his arms. “Ever the tyrant.”

The old man’s eyes narrowed. “What say ye?”

Louder. “I said you’re a tyrant, and so you are.”

“Ye should learn to respect yer elders.”

“When my elders are due respect,” Tavin spat out, “I show them a great deal of it. And to be truthful, I have shown you a lot of respect these last eleven years. I didn’t come and set matters straight when I should have.”

“I give ye my word, ye’ll regret crossin’ me,” the older man hissed, his face growing more red by the moment.

“Your word means very little to me.” Tavin shook his head again. “You broke your word, and as my father would say, ‘Ye must drink the breest ye’ve brewed.’”

“Then yer faither would be wrong. There be no consequences for me to bear.” The man’s face and voice held a sneer.

“Donnae be so sure,” Tavin replied in as strong a brogue as Luthias’s. He paused, then said, his voice straight as an arrow, “You gave me your blessing to marry Emmalyne, then took it back. You are not a man of honor, Luthias Knox. If you were, you would have honored our agreement.”

The older man looked thunderstruck. Tavin knew this had hit a nerve, since the man had always prided himself on maintaining his honor.

Deciding he’d said enough, Tavin moved toward the door just as his father returned. He could see from the look on his father’s face that something was wrong.

“Is there a problem?”

“Aye.” His father looked at Luthias and then back to Tavin. “There’ve been some shenanigans goin’ on around the quarry. Gillam and others believe it to be the union men tryin’ to get our attention.”

“What kind of shenanigans?” Tavin asked.

“Some thefts. Some damage to two of the ladders. One man nearly broke his leg when one of the ladders’ rungs gave way. ’Twas clearly because of tampering.”

“What can we do?” Luthias put in.

“Bide the stour,” Robert replied, shaking his head.

“But in order to bear the struggle,” Tavin interjected, “we need to know what the struggle is. If our problem is with the unions, then we should figure out our next step.”

“Do we give in to ’em?” Tavin’s father crossed the room and hit the wall with his fist. “It’s nae that I cannae see the good in unions, but I resent bein’ forced. If they cannae treat us as equals, why should I be givin’ ’em the time of day?”

“Perhaps you could go and speak to the union leaders. Let them know that you won’t be bullied.”

“Aye, mebbe I will, and take a rifle with me.” His father’s words grew more menacing. “Mebbe they should know a taste of their own medicine. See how they are likin’ it. We’ll send an even stronger message than they have.”

Tavin knew from the past that when his father was in this frame of mind, there would be no reasoning with him. It was best to let him pour out his anger, then later, after the worst of it had passed, they could talk rationally about what should be done.

“I need to get back to work,” Tavin told his father. “We’re setting off powder charges, and I want to make sure the young lads do it right.”

“Be sure no one has tampered with the powder,” he answered gruffly. “Ye sure donnae want to end up like poor Sten. Yer sister is a ghost of a woman for the loss, and I’ll nae have ye mither goin’ the same road.”

His mother’s letter about the tragedy had hinted that his father considered Tavin’s brother-in-law’s death to be more than just an accident. The entire matter smacked of an underhanded threat gone awry. Sten had been an expert in the use of explosives. He’d learned to handle powder and dynamite from his own father and wouldn’t have made such deadly mistakes. Of course, no one could prove anything—at least that was his mother’s summation. No one could even say for certain what had happened to cause the explosion to go off sooner than it should have.

“I’ll be careful, Father. Maybe it’s time to post some of the men as guards, or hire some new men to watch over the quarry.”

His father’s face grew as red as Luthias’s had. “Mebbe it’s time to teach those troublemakers a lesson.”

Tavin could see that Luthias was unaffected by the discussion. He was sitting at his desk, rummaging through a stack of papers.

Tavin looked back to his father and chose his words carefully. “Maybe so, but you’d not want Mother to bear the possible consequences of that tactic either. No matter if you set the men straight at the end of a gun or they reinforce their beliefs on you . . . Mother will be the one who suffers.”

His father obviously calmed himself a bit at this. “Aye.” He released a heavy breath. “It’s prayin’ that we should be doin’, not threatenin’.”

“Well, I’m not convinced that will help, either,” Tavin said, “but at least it won’t break the law or leave anyone worse for the wear. So I’ll leave you to your praying and get back to my drilling.” Tavin gave his father a nod and exited the building in search of his tools. There were still a good number of hours left in the day and rock to be blasted. With any luck at all, he could use the work to help him forget about Knox and his lovely daughter.

Tavin gave a harsh laugh. “But then, if I were the lucky sort, I wouldn’t even be here now.”

“You look madder ’n a wet hen,” Gillam said, stepping up to walk in perfect stride with his brother.

“Leave me be, Gillam.”

He only laughed. “You’re in a fine mood. Old Mr. Knox get under your skin?”

Tavin said nothing and continued walking. Gillam couldn’t seem to take the hint and said, “I suppose he found out that you’d seen Emmalyne. I don’t know how the man could expect it not to happen. They live less than three miles down the road.”

“Gillam, shut up.”

Still the younger man refused to stop. “You haven’t said much about your encounter, even if it was over an attack of the measles. Is she still as beautiful as you remember, or has she grown into an old hag?”

Tavin stopped and looked straight into Gillam’s face. “You would do well to let the subject go. I find my patience has run out.”

Gillam gave a nonchalant chuckle and pushed his hat back. “My, aren’t we testy today. A body would think you were still in love with her.”

Tavin put his fist into Gillam’s face without so much as a word. Blood spurted from his brother’s nose, but the younger man remained standing. He looked utterly shocked by Tavin’s actions, and in truth, they had surprised Tavin himself. Even so, he wasn’t going to admit to it.

“I said . . . let it go.”

“Reverend Campbell, it was so good of you to come by and visit,” Emmalyne said, offering the man another piece of shortbread. “Your sermons were always some of my favorite.”

The man smiled, shook his head, and waved off the plate. “Thanks, but I’d best not have a second delicious piece of that shortbread,” he said with a chuckle. “You are kind, Miss Knox, to remember my sermons from that long ago. And I remember your family well. You’re quite welcome to join us on Sundays. We’d be glad to have you and your family back with us.”

“I would be glad for that, too,” Emmalyne said softly, putting the plate aside. “However, it would be difficult to get to town. We have but one wagon, and my father is generally using it.”

“Would he not take time out on the Lord’s Day to accompany you and your mother?”

“No, I’m afraid he wouldn’t.” Emmalyne offered no explanation, and the kindly reverend did not ask for one.

“Perhaps there are others in the area who might offer you and your mother a ride. The MacLachlans, for example. They live just to the west of you, and I’m sure they’d be willing once they are out of quarantine and can resume their usual attendance.”

The last thing Emmalyne wanted was to ride to church on Sunday with the MacLachlans and Tavin. They used to attend church together . . . back in the good days. They both felt church not only their duty, but their privilege. They had enjoyed the fellowship of other believers and had experienced great comfort in attending. They had praised the Reverend Campbell’s sermons, discussed them on occasion, and thought him a wonderful pastor.

“I can’t say at this point,” Emmalyne finally replied. She sipped her tea and shrugged. “With our own quarantine, it’s hard to say when we might be able to come to town. I know Mother will be grateful that you visited, however. I’ll let her know of your invitation when she wakes up. She’ll be sorry to have missed you.”

“I’m sorry, too. Sorry to hear there has been so much trouble for your family.” He looked at her in his gentle way and smiled. “You know, Emmalyne, God may seem far away in times of trouble, but He isn’t.”

“Yes . . . at times it certainly feels like it.” She didn’t want to pour out the details of her life to the pastor, but at the same time Emmalyne sensed Reverend Campbell would truly understand.

“It can feel quite difficult,” he commented quietly.

She tried to smile. “Life used to be so much better than this, Reverend. I thought it would always be so, because I belonged to God. I believed all the things the Bible said, and I tried hard to live by the Word of God. I really didn’t think He would allow bad things to come my way.”

“You certainly never heard me say that it would be so,” the elderly man replied, slowly raising his eyebrows.

She shook her head. “No, I suppose I didn’t. Call it girlish whimsy if you would.” Emmalyne smoothed her skirt and lifted her face to the ceiling. “I just somehow had it in my mind that Christians were protected from such things. And I suppose that was how my life had been up until . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence.

“I think God’s care for His children is often misunderstood. But we must remember that God ‘spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all.’”

Emmalyne nodded. “That’s from Romans eight, verse thirty-two. I know it well. Even so, the rest of the verse says, ‘. . . how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?’”

“But has He refused you all things?” the pastor asked. “Is God keeping good things from you?” His expression betrayed just a hint of amusement.

“Well, He’s certainly refused me a good number of them,” Emmalyne replied, feeling slightly irritated.

The old man nodded knowingly. “Still, my dear, the entire eighth chapter of Romans offers great insight. Think on this. ‘For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.’ That’s verse eighteen.”

Emmalyne nodded and admitted a bit sheepishly, “‘Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.’” She and Tavin had once memorized the entire chapter of Romans eight. They had declared it would be their life chapter.

“Ah, verse twenty-six.” The reverend leaned forward as if in a debate. “And twenty-seven tells us, ‘And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God.’”

Emmalyne sighed and eased back in her chair. “‘According to the will of God,’” she repeated. “But I’m not always sure what His will for me might be. Just when I think I understand it, something comes to vex me and steal away my peace.”

“Such is the way of the world,” Reverend Campbell replied. “You must go back up to verses five and six. ‘For they that are after the flesh do mind the things of the flesh; but they that are after the Spirit the things of the Spirit. For to be carnally minded is death; but to be spiritually minded is life and peace.’”

She drank in the words as if water for her parched soul. The reverend’s gentle instruction finally broke through the brittle façade she’d tried to keep around her wounded soul. “Yes. I must set my mind on spiritual matters. That is where I have strayed.” She looked at him and felt the burdens of her life ease a bit. “I’m so glad you came here today. I have been putting my mind on the wrong things, and with this visit, you have helped to set my mind right again.”

He got to his feet and handed her his teacup and saucer. “I am glad we could speak of such things together. Putting one’s mind right is the larger part of such battles.”

Emmalyne nodded. Now if she could just get her heart to follow suit.