No matter how hard he tried to distract himself with work or how much he tossed and turned at night, in the three days since Toby’s birthday, Tate had been unable to banish Sophie from his thoughts. It was insanity. He’d been helpless to keep from embracing her, and now the memory of her silky hair, her light floral scent and her soft body yielding in his arms was pure torment. Couldn’t he have governed his emotions? Resisted a need that rose in him like an unquenchable flame? He admitted he was vulnerable with her in ways that both surprised and unnerved him. Never before, certainly not with Ramona, had he revealed details of his childhood or been so aware of his need for approval.
He assuredly had spooked Sophie. So far this week when she’d come to tutor his boys, her greetings to him had been impersonal and professional. This afternoon that had changed. The boys, oblivious to any tension, had challenged the two adults to a checkers match—Sophie and Marcus versus Toby and Tate. So here he sat watching Marcus and Sophie formulate strategies while Toby squirmed beside him, awaiting their turn at the board. “We’re gonna beat them, right, Papa?”
Tate tousled his son’s curls. “‘Triumph’ is our middle name.”
“Really? I thought mine was ‘Philip.’”
Tate laughed softly. “And so it is.”
“But we will triumph, I hope.”
“It’s all about strategy, son.”
But what strategy was there to deal with the feelings he experienced each time he looked across the table at Sophie? Sun streaming through the open window highlighted the gold strands in her hair, and he longed to touch the faint freckles on her cheeks. He stood and walked away from the table as if a few feet of distance could protect him from her appeal. Even if he could act upon his attraction to her, he wouldn’t. Too much was at stake: a relationship with Sophie could risk scarring his sons if it didn’t work out. That settled, he returned to his seat, vowing to enjoy Sophie as a tutor and friend and nothing more.
Toby pointed to the checkers board. “Our turn, Papa.”
Once his decision about Sophie had been made, Tate relaxed into the playfulness of the afternoon, which ended with singing. There was no reason why he couldn’t enjoy these pleasant times after the boys’ lessons were finished. Besides, Sophie wouldn’t be their tutor forever, and it was up to him to learn how to interact with them in a more positive way.
As Sophie was tying her bonnet in preparation to leave, she approached him, though he noticed she kept several feet between them. “Do you recall on the occasion of my employment when I requested use of a horse and cart from time to time?”
“I do.”
“I ask your permission to bring the boys to my cabin this coming Friday afternoon, where I plan to keep them overnight until I return them Saturday around four o’clock.”
“Why would that be necessary?”
“I would like them to learn gardening and the uses of plants, as well as some rudimentary knowledge of baking and cooking. That is more easily achieved at my place.”
Tate mulled over her unusual suggestion. “Would they be safe?”
“I assure you they will be. Don’t forget that I know how to protect myself.”
He remembered not only her boasts about marksmanship, but her quick thinking when faced with an angry bear. “I plan to be working in the high pastures those days. You would alert Bertie or Sam to any problems, if necessary?”
“Naturally.” She hesitated before adding, “The boys could profit from a change of scene and some education in practical matters.”
For the life of him, he couldn’t come up with a sound reason to refuse her. “Come for the midday meal Friday, and one of my men will have a horse and cart waiting for you afterward.”
Then she smiled, and all his good intentions where she was concerned nearly went up in smoke. Controlling himself, he nodded curtly and walked away, determined to keep their relationship businesslike.
* * *
After lunch on Friday, Sophie loaded the boys into the cart and checked to be sure Bertie had packed a change of clothes, coats and nightwear for each of them. Pancho harnessed a small mare called Sallie to the cart and tied Ranger behind. It was a day of blinding blue skies and warm temperatures, perfect for the lessons Sophie had in mind. Toby couldn’t stop asking questions and even Marcus looked happy. Wondering if the boys had ever been away from home, Sophie asked if they were looking forward to spending the night. “I’m excited,” exclaimed Toby.
Marcus gave a more reasoned answer. “We left home when we moved to Colorado and then again when we left Central City to come here.”
“But you’ve never left just for fun?”
Both boys shook their heads. “I thought Papa would say no,” Marcus added.
“Why is that?”
Marcus frowned. “He thinks we’re babies. That we’ll get hurt or something.”
“Yeah, he’s a scaredy-cat, Miss Sophie.”
“He loves you both,” Sophie explained. “He doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
“He doesn’t want anything to happen to us at all,” Marcus muttered. “I’m sick of it.”
Sophie sighed. Already this adventure had hit a sour note. “Your father wouldn’t have given his permission if he didn’t think our outing was something you’d enjoy.”
Toby snuggled closer. “I like being with you, Miss Sophie. And I never spent a night in a cabin.”
“It’s not fancy, you know.”
“We know,” Marcus said. “But you’ll make it interesting.”
Later when the three of them were kneeling on the ground in her garden, she thought she had succeeded in engaging their curiosity. Sophie demonstrated the difference between root vegetables and those grown from seed. “You mean some plants grow under the dirt?” Toby asked, incredulous.
“They do. Some of those have to be planted in the fall.”
Marcus looked up from the onion he held. “Don’t they freeze in the snow?”
“Not if they’re buried deep enough. Think of the bulbs as being like bears hibernating in the winter.”
Toby stood up and moved to a different row. “Why are these vines climbing poles?”
“Those are beans and they would fall in a heap on the ground and rot if we didn’t help them.” Sophie handed each boy a basket. “Why don’t you pick some and we’ll cook them for dinner.”
When they returned to the cabin, Sophie set the beans to boil, throwing in some onion and salt pork for seasoning. Then while they waited for supper to cook, Sophie pulled a botany book from a small shelf and handed it to Marcus. “See how many of the plants we discussed today you can find. After you read about them, maybe you could tell us what you learned. And, Toby, we are going to need to double the cookie and bread recipes we’ll be making tomorrow.” She passed him a sheet of paper, a pencil and two recipes. “You are getting very adept with numbers. Can you compute how to change the recipes?”
It was sweet how conscientiously each boy went about his assigned task. Their eagerness to please her touched a place deep in her heart. After a rollicking supper during which the boys couldn’t stop chattering about the differences between their house and the cabin, they adjourned to the front porch just in time to watch the sun dip behind the mountains. Darkness fell quickly, and soon the sky was spattered with pinpoints of starlight. “I would like to know more about stars,” Marcus said quietly.
“The study of stars is called astronomy, and if you would like, we can add that subject to your studies.” Sophie laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “But there is mystery as well as science in the stars.”
“What’s mystery?” Toby asked.
“That which is so beautiful or moving it is beyond our power to explain. Look there.” Sophie guided his arm to a point in the sky where an especially bright star shone. “Do we have any idea how far away that is? Or how a single star can shed such brilliant light for us to see? And even if we wanted, we couldn’t count all those stars.” She let a silence fall. “The unknown—that is the nature of mystery.”
Toby snuggled closer. “You’re really smart, Miss Sophie.” He tilted his head back and gazed at the heavens. “I like this adventure.”
It was late when she tucked the boys into the pallets she’d prepared for them. Marcus did not look pleased. “I’ve never slept on the floor.”
“We’re like soldiers, right, Miss Sophie?”
“Snug as bugs in a rug, gentlemen.” She knelt between them and, holding their hands, murmured, “Dear God, watch over these Your children that they may be protected through the night and find their rest in Thee. Amen.”
Toby smiled, but Marcus looked uncomfortable. “We don’t pray at bedtime.”
“Never?”
“We just go to sleep.”
“Who tucks you in?”
Toby tugged at her sleeve. “What’s ‘tuck in’ mean?”
Sophie fought tears that would only confuse the boys. “It means this.” She pulled up the covers around each child, then leaned over and kissed each precious forehead. “Sweet dreams, you two, and roses to your pillows.” When she stood to go to her bed, she added softly, “That’s what it means to be tucked in.”
* * *
Tate rode the ridge, surveying the landscape for stray cattle. The morning was overcast and the air hung unusually heavy. He would meet up with his hands and head for home as soon as he satisfied himself there were no motherless calves in the nearby box canyon. He glanced once more at the sky, hoping the rains would hold off until Sophie returned the boys this afternoon. Ever since he’d given permission for them to visit her and spend the night, he’d had misgivings. Her reason for inviting them was valid, yet it was one more tie the boys would have to her. The balance between her effectiveness as a teacher and their growing emotional attachment to her was worrying him. He had never seen his sons so happy and productive nor had he ever seen them cotton to a woman with such enthusiasm and affection. However, the likelihood of Sophie’s enduring the winter here was slim. He didn’t expect her to stay in the valley after her fantasy of independence played itself out. As for her determination to climb Longs Peak? For reasons that escaped him, she seemed intent on proving herself in a man’s arena, despite the danger involved.
Glancing toward Longs, he noticed that in just a few minutes it had been obscured by a cloud cover of nimbus formations. On the horizon jagged streaks of lightning speared the distant mountains. He wheeled his horse and galloped toward Curly and the other hands, who were engaged in counting the herd. As he neared them, he hollered and waved his hat. “Leave off. Storm’s coming.” Ordinarily he would have insisted they hunker down and weather the storm, but he didn’t like the looks of this one. From past experiences with storm runoff rampaging down streambeds, Tate did not want to be stranded in the high country.
It was only as they took off at a gallop for the ranch house that his thoughts turned to Sophie and the boys. A stream ran close to her cabin. Would they be safe? Yet as the first fat raindrops fell, he knew his chances of crossing the river before it swelled with rushing water and reaching Sophie’s cabin were infinitesimal. Even as he spurred his horse to greater speed, the boom of thunder drowned out his cry of frustration. All he’d ever wanted was to keep his sons safe. How could he have let Sophie remove them from the solid ranch house built to withstand precisely such a cloud buster? Her cabin was a mere reed in the wind, but it was all that protected those he loved. Then as lightning forked less than a mile away, a stunning thought blazed across his consciousness—those he loved just might include the headstrong Sophie Montgomery. His “No!” was lost in another roll of thunder echoing across the valley.
* * *
At the first sound of thunder bellowing from mountain to mountain, Sophie had understood two things. She must get Ranger and the cart horse into the barn with plenty of food and water. At the same time she had to prevent the boys from panicking. This was no ordinary thunderstorm. Everywhere she looked, she witnessed nature unleashed. Rugged pines shook in the gusts of wind ushering the front toward them. Angry gray clouds scudded across the sky as if driven by a malevolent power. Ordering Beauty to stay, she settled the boys with drawing paper and pencils, before racing to the barn to secure the animals. The crack of thunder deafened her, and the horses’ eyes rolled in alarm. The first raindrops hit her in the face as she ran back to the cabin. When she opened the door a violent wind wrenched it from her grasp and banged it into the wall. The startled expressions on the boys’ faces conveyed their terror. She secured the latch and drew a deep breath, willing herself to a calm she didn’t feel.
“Is it raining, Miss Sophie?”
No sooner had Toby voiced the question than a deluge descended, howling around the house and pelting the roof and windows with curtains of water.
Marcus stared down at his brother. “What do you think, dummy?”
Sophie stood over Marcus, sensing the fear that had motivated his barb. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she said, “There’s no need for belittling your brother, Marcus. In stormy times, it’s more important than ever to be kind to one another.”
Toby sniffled.
“Sorry,” Marcus mumbled.
A roar of thunder seeming to come from directly above made the boys jump. Toby looked up at Sophie, his eyes wide. “I’m scared,” he said in a thin voice.
“It is, indeed, a gigantic storm, but we are snug and warm. We have plenty of food and, most important, we have each other.” She moved a chair so that she could sit between them. “Now, then, let’s forget the rain. I have an idea.” She handed them each two pieces of paper. “Take the scissors and cut these into strips. Marcus, on each strip, write a verb.”
He nodded and went to work.
“Toby, remember what a noun is?” He nodded. “You are to write a noun on each strip.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see shortly.”
While they worked, she moved to the window, almost totally obscured by slashing rain except when lightning illuminated the dismal scene outside. Kansas had ferocious storms, but she didn’t know when she’d seen one as unrelenting as this. She shuddered to think what would happen to the river unless the rain let up soon.
She hoped the humor of the word game she had in mind would relieve some of the tension. “Turn your nouns and verbs facedown. When I pause and point to you, pull one from your pile and read it.” She fought off her concerns to proceed as normally as possible. “Once upon a time a large, old—” She pointed to Toby.
“Elephant.”
“—was lost in the woods and didn’t know what to do. Finally he decided to—”
She smiled at Marcus, who said, “Dance.”
Once the giggles began, they continued throughout the duration of the story.
“Let’s do it again, please?” Toby had apparently forgotten about the storm outside. “I have some good ideas for words.”
Marcus shot her a look, wise with understanding of the necessity for diversion. In this fashion the afternoon passed. Finally Toby raised the question she’d been avoiding. “We’re not going home today, are we?”
“No, dear. We will have to wait for the storm to pass.”
“So we get to spend another night with you?” He beamed. “Yippee.”
After a cold dinner of biscuits, ham, cheese, pickles and the sugar cookies the boys had made earlier in the day, they huddled by the woodstove, blankets draped over their shoulders. Beauty lay on the floor, her head resting on Marcus’s feet. “Tell us a story about when you were little like us,” Toby said.
“Yes,” Marcus agreed. “It’s important to know a person’s history.”
Sophie put her arms around each boy and drew them closer. “Once upon a time, I lived in Missouri near a big river. My father owned a gristmill, where he ground grain into flour with a huge millstone. I used to love going there and listening to the rumble of the wheel as the weight of the stone ground the grain. I was the youngest child. My two older brothers, Seth and Caleb, were heroes to me. They could ride, shoot, climb trees and fish. So when I was just a little girl, I decided I wanted to be like them.”
“Girls don’t do that stuff,” Toby said.
“Maybe most girls don’t, but I did. I knew I could do anything I set my mind to. My brothers thought it was funny that I wanted to tag along, but they took me anyway and taught me all kinds of things.”
“That was nice of them,” Marcus observed.
“It was. But I did nice things for them, as well. I cooked, cleaned the house and washed and ironed their clothes.”
“Wait. Even when you were a little girl, not like a, uh, woman?” Toby looked perplexed.
“Yes, even when I was barely tall enough to reach the pump and the stove.”
Toby grinned. “That’s really little. Younger maybe than me.”
Marcus furrowed his brow. “But where was your mother? Didn’t she do all those things?”
Sophie paused to gather her thoughts. She didn’t want to upset the boys. “I had no mother.”
“No mother?” Toby exploded. “How did you get borned, then?”
“My mother died right after she gave birth to me.” Her throat clogged, and she was unable to continue.
“That’s quite sad,” Marcus said. “You never even knew her, right?”
“Not in person, but I knew a great deal about her from stories my father and brothers would tell. They told me she was a wonderful mother. I’m sorry I never knew her.”
Toby patted her hand. “You’re kind of like us. We don’t got a mother, either.”
The steel in Marcus’s voice took Sophie by surprise. “Oh, we have a mother, Toby. She just doesn’t want us. I’ll bet Miss Sophie’s mother would’ve wanted her. I’m glad our mother left. I don’t care if I never see her again.”
While Sophie ransacked her brain for a meaningful reply, Toby hung his head. “Sometimes I don’t remember exactly what she looked like. Was she pretty?”
Marcus rolled his eyes. “I suppose, but what difference does it make? She’s gone now.”
“Growing up without a mother is difficult,” Sophie began. “All three of us would like to have known a mother who told us stories and fussed over us. For some of us, life just doesn’t turn out the way we think it’s meant to.”
“Sometimes I get very angry,” Marcus said quietly.
“I don’t blame you. It must’ve been so hard when she left.”
Marcus wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I don’t understand what I did to her.”
She had never heard a more forlorn remark. “My dear boy, it wasn’t your fault.”
Toby leaned closer, but she had eyes only for Marcus. “Then why did she leave?”
“I betcha you were naughty,” Toby suggested.
“No, Toby, neither you nor your brother bears any responsibility for what happened. When you are older, you will understand that relationships between adults can be complicated. Sometimes one person has a dream, but the other person cannot share it. God intends us to live our lives as the best person He created us to be, but sometimes we put ourselves in situations where it’s hard for that to happen. I think perhaps your mother had to leave to find herself.”
“I miss not having a mother,” Toby said, snuggling even closer. “Maybe you could be our mother, Miss Sophie.”
Sophie’s heart plummeted. She could not give these hurting little fellows any hope of such an outcome. “It’s a little late for that, dear. What matters when one is disappointed is to go forward trusting that God will bring us to an even better place.”
“How can God do that when He took our mother away from us?” Marcus’s tone was bitter.
Sophie gently took his face between her hands and guided it close to hers. “God did not take your mother away, nor does He punish anyone with such cruelty. Instead, it is God who has been with you two and your papa so that you can make a better life. God was present with my family through the years, and with the love of my father and brothers, I never felt alone.”
She could barely hear Marcus when he finally whispered, “I think Papa blames God.”
Sophie felt as though her heart had cracked in two. Such misunderstanding and pain for ones so young...and for a man still embittered by betrayal.
Even late into the night the rain beat down in torrents, but neither that sound nor Beauty’s snores could silence her rioting thoughts. Her heart ached on behalf of these darling boys and the father who loved them so. Finally the downpour changed to a gentle drizzle. In the sudden lull she whispered to the God she hoped was listening. Bless, O Lord, these innocent boys and their father that they may come to a place of peace, secure in their knowledge of Your love and care.
* * *
Brilliant sunshine and cloudless blue skies greeted Sophie when she woke the next morning. She dressed quietly, stoked the woodstove and mixed up pancake batter. Just as Marcus sat up, looking around and rubbing his eyes, Beauty raced to the door, and with a single yip alerted them just as a loud knock sounded. “You all right, miss?”
She’d know that loud, raspy voice anywhere. Grizzly. She opened the door, her arms raised in welcome. “My, you are a sight for sore eyes.”
“You’re not the first woman to tell me the ‘sore’ part.” He reached down to hold Sarge. “You get through the storm all right? I notice the water came up close to your privy and barn.”
“Who’s there?” Toby padded barefoot across the wooden floor.
Grizzly threw back his head and laughed. “Well, what have we here, little fella?”
Toby clung to Sophie’s skirt. “Me and Marcus, we spent two nights here with Miss Sophie.”
Marcus, now dressed, came up to stand behind his brother. “My father knows you.”
“That he does. Tate Lockwood is a good man.”
“Please come in, Grizzly. We’ll eat shortly and you’d be mighty welcome.”
As he stepped across the threshold, Beauty slipped past Sophie to join Sarge in the yard. Then after wolfing down their pancakes, the boys hurried outside to play with the dogs.
Only then did Grizzly lean forward and speak confidentially. “The river is way up. Some folks are stranded on the other side until the water recedes.”
“Tate?”
“Yes, miss. I figure those little ones will be a mite anxious when they learn that news.”
“And Tate will be beside himself.”
“I figure you could use a little outing today, so here’s what I propose. I’m not much of a churchgoer myself, but I reckon after that gully washer, I could use a dose of the Almighty. How about I escort you and the boys down to the Tylers’ for services. I notice you’ve got a cart out there.”
“I do.” She thought over the proposition. If the boys were still unable to go home, she needed to forestall their worry, and the church gathering, including other children, might be a useful diversion. Besides, she was anxious about her neighbors’ well-being.
Later, after helping the boys wash up, Sophie picked up Sallie’s reins and followed along behind Grizzly. It was fortunate that her stream had come no higher, but when they came alongside the river, overflowing its banks, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Brush and limbs washed over the rocks, slowed only by large boulders or man-made barriers.
“Look, Miss Sophie.” Marcus pointed upstream to the wooden bridge that led to their home. “It’s underwater.”
“How will we get home?” Toby’s lower lip quivered.
“The water will subside, although it may take a day or two.”
“How can Papa get to us?”
Marcus straightened up. “Toby, he’ll find a way. Maybe he’ll have to cross at another point. We’re safe with Miss Sophie.”
“But I want to see Papa.”
Before Sophie could say a word, Marcus put an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Papa will come for us. You’ll see.”
Sophie allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction. Apparently Marcus had registered her remark about the necessity of kindness. Yet in Toby’s voice was proof of his anxiety.
She hoped the church service would get his mind off his worries. He was such a little boy to carry so much concern. At least he verbalized his. With Marcus, she was never sure what wounds festered beneath the surface.
* * *
Awake at dawn to survey the storm damage, Tate paced in a frenzy from window to door to window. Tree limbs scattered the earth, and in the distance he spotted debris hung up on the small portion of the bridge that was still above the waterline. The roar of river was audible even behind closed doors. He’d barely slept, worrying about Marcus and Toby. He knew Sophie would do everything in her power to keep them safe, but what did she know about the ferocity and unpredictability of mountain cloudbursts? As soon as it was feasible, he would find a safe place to cross the river and get to them. He had to assure himself that his sons were safe. The thought of losing them filled him with terror. What if they’d been playing near the streambed when the flash flood came? What if Sophie’s cabin had been inundated? He couldn’t bear imagining how terrified they must’ve been in a strange place during a wild deluge.
Over breakfast, Bertie had looked at him sympathetically. He didn’t want her pity. “Fret not, sir. Miss Sophie will have known what to do.”
Miss Sophie. She could ride like a man, handle a firearm, discourage a bear and scale mountains. But did that qualify her to keep two frightened boys from panic? He sincerely hoped so.
Finally, after helping Sam and the others settle the animals and begin clearing the land, he saddled his strongest horse and set out upriver shortly after noon, noting with irony the serenity of the sky in contrast with yesterday’s violence.
At the first point of entry into the river, seething waters discouraged him. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he realized he would have to ride even farther upstream, thus delaying his reunion with Marcus and Toby. Finally he came to a place where the river normally meandered through a flat stretch. Today there was no “meandering,” but riding up and down the water’s edge, he decided this was his best chance of crossing. At first his horse balked, but with urgent spurring and guttural commands, Tate succeeded in getting his mount into the swirling waters. Once the horse realized his hooves could make contact with the riverbed, he valiantly fought the currents, resorting to swimming for only a few yards before again finding solid footing. As if sheer verbal exhortation could propel his steed forward, Tate leaned over his neck and let loose a string of commands—“Easy, fella” and “Go!”
Finally the horse emerged on the opposite bank, snorting and shaking off the icy water coating his body. “Good boy.” Tate exulted, halting long enough to catch his breath. Shivering, he reached in his pocket for the ham sandwich Bertie had pressed on him. “Now don’t you go doing anything foolish,” she’d said to him as he left for the barn. He crammed a bite into his mouth and followed it with a long drink from his canteen. Then, figuring his horse had had sufficient rest, he nudged him forward in a steady trot until they reached a trail west of the Harpers’ and Tylers’ places. He calculated it would take him a little over an hour to reach Sophie’s cabin.
Approaching his neighbors’ small settlement, he was dumbfounded to see a number of horses, carts and buggies assembled in front of Jackson Tyler’s place. Had there been a tragedy of some sort? Nearing the home, strains of music floated on the air, and he made out the words of “Our God, Our Help in Ages Past” and was immediately transported to the hard-backed pews of his childhood where his father’s sharp elbow prodded him into wakefulness and the preacher’s voice rained down jeremiads liberally laced with words like sin, eternal punishment and hellfire. In his boyish helplessness, it always felt as if he, a defenseless child, were being pounded by the preacher’s oratory into worthless bits of flesh and bone.
His stomach tightened. He shook his head to dispel the distressing memories. Then he saw it. The cart. Hitched to Sallie. He abruptly halted his horse. Were the boys safe? Surely Sophie had not taken them to the Sunday services he’d heard talk of. Relief warred with dismay. She had no right to bring them here.
Paralyzed by the impossibility of such a thing, he roused only when people streamed from the building, the sound of their excited chatter setting his teeth on edge. And then, bursting from the crowd was Toby, racing toward him. “Papa, Papa!”
Dismounting, he knelt on the ground, his arms open in welcome. The next thing he knew Toby had leaped on him, holding him tight around the neck. “I knew you’d come,” his son whispered.
“I’m glad you’re safe, son.” He swallowed back the tears threatening to embarrass him.
Over Toby’s shoulder he saw Marcus rapidly approaching followed by Sophie and Grizzly. He lifted Toby with him when he stood, making one arm available to embrace Marcus, who, though normally undemonstrative, clung to him. “Miss Sophie knew you would come for us,” the older boy said.
“I wish I could have gotten here sooner.”
“Guess what, Papa?” Toby took his cheeks between his hands. “We learned about Noah. Did you know God told Noah a big flood was coming, so Noah built a boat and loaded all these animals and birds and floated on the flood for many days and then he let loose a dove and—”
“Enough,” Tate said.
“But don’t you see? God saved Noah from the flood and he came to dry land and lived happily ever after. And God saved us, too, and so we gave Him thanks this morning and—”
“I don’t want to hear about it,” Tate said.
Marcus looked up, his face contorted in a frown. “But we haven’t finished the story and it was really interesting and made me think about God. Why don’t we ever talk about Him like Miss Sophie does?”
Barely controlling himself, Tate carefully set Toby down and asked them to wait for him at the cart.
Sophie stood beside Grizzly, both of them looking stunned.
Tate took a step forward, his mind churning with unpleasant memories of his childhood church experiences. “I am grateful to you, Sophie, for keeping my boys safe. However, you had no call to bring them to services without my permission. God is a convenient myth. Someone to blame when things go wrong. Someone to inspire false hope. Scriptural fairy tales have no place in my home.”
Grizzly scratched his head. “Now, son, aren’t you being a bit harsh?”
Sophie still had not spoken, but the stricken look on her face threatened his resolve. “God may be a presence in your lives, but I can’t see that He’s ever done much for me, so I’ll thank you not to involve my sons in religious teaching or observances.”
Sophie looked straight at him, her eyes full of tears. “Oh, Tate, how can you possibly say God has never done much for you when you have the proof right in front of you?”
“Where?” he barked, louder than he’d intended.
“There,” she said, pointing to Marcus and Toby. She paused a moment before stepping forward and placing a hand on his chest. His breath caught. “I’m sorry you aren’t able to open your heart to God. Perhaps that will come with time. Meanwhile, I shall endeavor not to influence your boys in matters of religion.”
“I’m sure you meant well, but...” He couldn’t finish the sentence. He started toward the cart, but then turned back. “Thank you for keeping my sons safe during the storm.”
“They were very brave,” she said softly.
He couldn’t look at her further and stand accused by her eyes, brimming with compassion. He didn’t need her pity. Didn’t need anything. Except his boys.
So why did the word liar consume him all the way home?