Six

When Aden and Rebekah pulled out heading north, the Sharp children were all solemn, some even crying as they lined up on their tall steps to see “Miss ’Ebekah and Doc” off. Tom, whether amused by his sisters’ tears or not knowing anything better to do, laughed nervously behind his hands. Even little Grady sobbed into his mother’s skirts.

“Hush up, Grady!” his father commanded.

“Aw, Idus, he’s scared with all his sisters cryin’ like they are,” Amanda whispered to her husband. But Mr. Sharp grabbed Grady up and said he’d stop his sniveling or else.

The last Rebekah saw of them, Amanda was cuddling her lap baby while waving the woven square Rebekah had just given her. Maggie, Mary Beth, Molly, and Sarah, blond heads bright in morning sun, waved with frantic vigor, using free hands to swipe at their noses.

Tom, standing on the ground to one side of the steps with his legs crossed as if he needed to run to the outhouse, stopped snickering long enough to yell, “Are ye comin’ back?”

Aden called back cheerfully, “You never can tell!”

Rebekah waved until they rounded the curve to turn onto the main road. Then she had to dig out her own handkerchief.

“It’s hard making friends and then leaving them behind,” said Aden gently.

“Then why do you do it? Why don’t you stay in one place?” she asked, unable to hide the squeak in her voice.

He grinned at her and reached out to wipe away a tear she’d missed where it streaked down her tan cheek. Almost invisibly she pulled away, and he grimaced as he attached both hands to the reins.

“The Lord told me to start traveling, and until He tells me to quit, that’s what I plan to do.” He answered her question with an added twist of stubbornness in his tone.

She didn’t bother to respond. There was no use. She really didn’t care anyway. He could travel all he wanted to. When she was ready to go home, she’d go, when she’d found a way to get hold of some cash. She looked back at Banner following the wagon with a puzzled look, as if he didn’t understand this new arrangement, freedom only as far as his tether allowed. She’d get down before long and ride him alongside the wagon or maybe not so close.

❧

Aden had visited Banner’s former owner before leaving and had offered again to square away his bill in some other way, but the man was adamant that Aden should take Banner. He insisted Aden had saved his life, and giving him this horse was the least he could do. Whether or not he deserved it, Aden was glad to have the spare horse and happy to see Rebekah enjoying him. I’m counting on you, Banner, old boy. Maybe you can win her over for me.

In Perry, Aden found a lot of work. They set up camp on the edge of town one evening, and he rode into town on Jake the next day. It didn’t take much to persuade the proprietor of the drugstore to allow him to set up there. Rebekah became more adept at holding tongues, mopping out cavities after Aden had mined around with his hand drill, and handing over the right instruments. She knew now when Aden started to pull a tooth that he’d want either the ominous heavy forceps or an extraction key, according to how difficult it was. If he were preparing to fill a tooth, she could often guess which excavation instrument he wanted or at least be able quickly to hand him the chisel he asked for. She also knew better how to talk to those waiting, how long certain jobs would take, what they could expect. She was always glad when it was possible for the waiting patients not to be in full sight of Dr. Robards’s chair with its current occupant.

“Children will work themselves into a frenzy while watching,” she said to Aden.

“And adults are even worse,” said Aden, flashing her a smile.

“I guess we—adults—have seen and experienced enough that we know how to be really scared.” She put her own hand to her mouth with a shudder.

Aden laughed. “Your teeth are in such good shape—you have no idea what my patients go through. You know, it would probably make it easier to be sympathetic and helpful if—”

“Oh, no, you don’t! We’ve been through this before!” exclaimed Rebekah, sealing her lips shut; her brown eyes were alight with mischievous challenge.

Aden put his hands on his hips and stepped closer to her. She moved back a step. Suddenly he reached out in an incredibly quick step and clasped one very strong arm around her like a vise. “Let me see if there’s not an old molar or wisdom tooth that needs to go,” he said, his face twitching with controlled laughter as she squealed and squirmed.

She applied her elbows and was gratified to hear his grunts and a sharp “Ouch!” or two. But somehow in the process of thrashing for freedom, she landed more firmly in his grasp than ever, this time encircled in his other arm. He put a big hand up to cup her jaw as he supposedly prepared to examine her mouth. She screamed in agitation, twisted hard in his arms, then suddenly found herself face-to-face, nose-to-nose with this man she’d married. His eyes sparkled with laughter and mischief, and something else spellbinding in its intensity compelled her attention. She tried to turn her head, not to look, but she couldn’t avoid his laughing blue eyes, which drew her farther and farther under his spell. She knew what he was going to do before he lowered his mouth to hers. She knew but could not do anything about it. He kissed her, and she couldn’t resist. For an eternity packed tightly into one short minute, she was in another world where everything was all right and good. The trees tumbled upside down; the sky became a smooth, perfect lake; and, far away, birds’ songs created a sweet concert.

Then Aden pulled back and looked down at her with such—was it triumph in his eyes? Anyway, a rush of fury shot through her. She had no more sense than a wild horse finally penned. Breaking away, she ran into a nearby wood and would not respond to Aden’s call. She knew she was stubborn and unreasonable. After all, no matter what, she had married the man, and he had every right to kiss her. And she had even liked it! That was just it. She was far from willing to give up her own dreams of owning Thornapple to follow a dentist wherever he went. He knew that from the start, and he’d have to keep on knowing it. She would never let herself love that man!

Several times after that episode, she noticed warmth emanating from Aden’s smile, even a certain electricity in his touch as their hands met in the exchange of instruments. But she would not look him in the eyes. She avoided his touch carefully. They could talk. That was safe as long as she was on her guard.

In camp sometimes they had long, comfortable talks when the day was done, the horses fed, and supper put away. As long as she had some space and didn’t feel threatened, she was more and more willing to talk. She was glad she and Father had kept up with current events because now she could talk with Aden about Henry W. Grady’s agricultural ideas for the emerging South and speculate as to what would become of Star Route Criminals, post office and stagecoach officials accused of stealing millions of government money.

She noticed how eagerly Aden perused the Macon Telegraph whenever he could get hold of it and was glad he left it lying for her to pick up and enjoy. Many conversations sprang from stories they’d both read. But one of their main subjects for discussion was Banner. Though Rebekah had been slow to accept him initially, now she often bragged on this big brown horse with the white blaze almost as enthusiastically as she ever had raved about Firefly.

❧

“How are your parents getting on at your aunt’s?” Aden asked Rebekah one afternoon as she stowed a rare letter in her apron pocket.

She shrugged one shoulder, then peered around a curtain to see if any patients were showing up.

“Business is slow this afternoon,” said Aden. “Might as well rest a few minutes while you can. Come, Rebekah—sit down. How is your mother?”

Remembering how understanding he’d been of Mother, Rebekah broke her own resolve not to talk about family and explained that she didn’t think Aunt Constance was being very patient. “Father doesn’t say much. He wouldn’t want me to worry. But it’s what he doesn’t say that bothers me. He never mentions Aunt Constance getting up in the night with Mother or taking her for a walk or even helping her dress. He did say that Mother doesn’t like Aunt Constance’s parrot and that Aunt Constance has tied an elaborate knot on the door of its cage to keep Mother from letting the bird out.”

Aden smiled. “I can get that picture.”

A howl of fear and dismay brought Aden and Rebekah to their feet simultaneously. Two women dragging a young boy struggled into the room. The boy’s mouth was bleeding profusely, so Rebekah grabbed clean rags immediately. Aden began crooning a silly song to pacify the child while he picked tooth after broken tooth out of his small mouth: “’Possum up a hollow, rabbit in a tree, shaking down a dollar, for you and me.”

Rebekah mopped blood as fast as she could. She thought she’d seen some pretty bad sights, but this one topped any yet. “What happened?” she asked as the child’s howls subsided somewhat into gurgling sobs.

“Fell out of a tree,” said the boy’s mother, taking a quick swipe at her own sweaty forehead and managing in the process to smear blood on her face.

“He’s the littlest one in a group of boys as was a-playin’,” explained the other woman, “an’ the big boys dared him to climb to the tippy top of a sapling oak. They egged him on till he went one limb too high and the tree spilled him, dumped him prob’ly fifteen feet. Wonder he didn’t break more’n his teeth.”

“He crashed into a limb or two on the way down, looks like,” murmured Aden. “Appears to be baby teeth, though. You’re going to be fine when it feels better,” he assured the little boy with a big wink. “In the meantime, you’re going to have to drink a lot, not eat. You like milk?”

“Oh, he can drink milk like cows was goin’ dry tomorry,” his mother assured them. “I done told them big boys to leave this one alone. He thinks he’s big as they are, can do anything an’ everything they do an’ then some.”

Aden had left the little boy and, putting a finger to his lips, slipped quietly over to the curtained doorway. With a sudden sweep, he pulled the curtain back as he said, “Next patient, please.” A cluster of dirty little boys gasped and jumped backward, each one clamping a hand over his mouth. Aden laughed jubilantly. “I declare this little one the bravest of you all,” he said.

During the ride back to camp that afternoon, Aden said to Rebekah, “You should see yourself. There’s hardly a scrap of that gray dress that hasn’t been spattered with blood.”

“Thanks a whole lot,” she said, making a face. “I’ve never seen so much blood at one time. How a small mouth like that could make that much blood, I don’t know.”

“You dealt with it very well,” said Aden, flashing her one of his big smiles.

“Not that it was easy,” she answered, steeling herself not to get all fluttery over his fantastic smile.

“I think blood is beautiful,” said Aden. “It’s the color of life, you know.”

“I suppose,” said Rebekah doubtfully.

“But it is. Without the red blood racing through our veins, we’d be laid out in the churchyard, you know. And without Jesus’ blood shed for us on the cross, we’d have no hope for eternal salvation.”

Rebekah bit her lip. “How can you be so sure? Of God’s promises, I mean. How can you believe all that about eternal life when you can’t see, feel, or smell God?”

“Oh, but I can.” Aden laughed.

“Can what?” she asked, wondering how they’d gotten onto this subject again.

“Can smell, hear, and feel God. Remember the smell of lightning after a storm?” he asked. “Well, that was God’s power. I saw it; I heard it; I smelled it and even felt it once when I was standing in water. Thought I’d end up in heaven right then, but when I opened my eyes, I was just standing in the rain right on. Yes, ma’am, I’ve felt God’s power, feel it every day in some way or another.”

Rebekah decided it was time for a good run and spurred Banner forward. Soon the two were racing their horses along the country road, and, as usual, it was obvious Banner was going to win. Rebekah forgot momentarily about the fence she’d erected around herself and laughed as merrily as a child when she rode into camp three full horse’s lengths ahead of Aden.

The Fourth of July found Aden and Rebekah still camped on pancake-flat land near Perry. “Get ready to go to the celebration,” said Aden that morning as he finished his cornmeal mush. Rebekah hurried to clean their bowls while Aden got the horses ready to go. It would be nice to see how these folks observed Independence Day. She remembered once long ago going to LaGrange for their celebration. They’d stayed at Aunt Constance’s then and sat on her porch to watch a raggle-taggle parade go by.

Here in Perry, several men had dug out their confederate uniforms and paraded through town with a band that was funnier than it was good. Guns were fired at noon, but the highlight seemed to be sausages on a stick sold by a Mr. Gosnell. It was from him they learned the sobering news.

“You read the Telegraph?” asked Mr. Gosnell, passing Aden two sausages.

“No. What’s the news?”

“Man shot the president two days ago.”

“Shot President Garfield?” Rebekah’s hand flew to her mouth. “Is he—?”

Mr. Gosnell shook his head. “He’s not dead. But it’s really bad.”

“Have they any idea who did it?” asked Aden.

“Paper says he was some kind of Republican, but not the same as President Garfield. You’d think a Republican could just be a Republican and be done with it. Anyways, this man was mighty mad about not getting a government job he thought he should have. Shot Garfield, and him only president since March.”

“That’s a sick man would shoot a president, even if he is a Republican,” said the next sausage customer at Aden’s elbow.

Aden gave the fellow a stern look. “It’s a sick man who would shoot anyone, especially a president, whether Republican, Democrat, or anything else.”

The man shrugged his shoulder. “Don’t have to get so stirred up,” he said, his hands twitching in his pockets, his gaze following the vendor’s hands as he worked his sausages.

Rebekah’s thoughts whirled with the magnitude of the news they’d just heard. “Maybe the paper’s wrong,” she said, taking a cautious bite from the end of her sausage. “It seems so incredible that when we started out today we thought the president was safe and sound. Yet even right then he’d already been shot, and we didn’t know anything about it. It seems so strange.”

“A lot of things are strange. Some we can’t help. Some we can,” said Aden in a distant sort of way, as if he were talking about other things suddenly.

Rebekah looked up, then turned to follow his gaze. The man had drifted over to his family and apparently was explaining to his thin wife in her limp dishrag-colored skirt that the sausages cost too much. But what could Aden be thinking? Hadn’t the man just now displayed a poor attitude concerning the president’s assassination? Surely Aden wouldn’t—but, yes, he would.

“Give me three more of those sausages, please, Mr. Gosnell,” said Aden with brisk determination.

“Sure, Doc. Thank you, Sir.” Mr. Gosnell’s small eyes twinkled knowingly in his shiny, broad face.

Rebekah ambled toward a shade tree while Aden performed his mission. The sun was so hot, it felt as if she were roasting like her sausage. And the sausage now somehow wasn’t as tasty as before. It became even less tasty as she saw Aden, after handing sausage sticks to all three children, push his own into the hands of their mother. The woman stared at the sausage in her hand, then up at her husband, still not taking a bite.

The man scratched his nose vigorously, then shoved his hands in his pockets and hung his head, which must have been some kind of approval since the woman took a quick bite, then held it up for him to sample also.

“Did he say thank you?” asked Rebekah when Aden returned to her side.

“No. Guess he didn’t know how.”

Before she could open her mouth to comment, a man in confederate grays with pins where all the buttons should be came hobbling up. “Ain’t you the tooth drawer?” he asked, laying a hand gingerly against a swollen jaw.

“Something like that,” agreed Aden with a grin.

“Well, Doc, I wondered—reckin you could take a look at this here tooth? It’s a-jumpin’ like a frog in a fryin’ pan, an’ I’m plum wore down with the pain.”

Aden put a hand on the man’s shoulder to stop him from setting his mouth agape right then and there. “Step a little farther from the sausage stand. We don’t want to hurt Mr. Gosnell’s business, do we?” He winked at Rebekah and whispered, “I’ll be back.”

That night around their campfire Rebekah asked, “Did that man pay you for looking at his tooth?”

“I didn’t just look at it. I pulled it for him. He was in such misery; it was pitiful. And, no, he didn’t pay me. He didn’t have any money. But he listened to me while I told him about God.” Aden chuckled. “That was good enough pay to me.”

“How can you keep doing that? You should be paid for your services,” she said, a tone of belligerence creeping into her voice.

“Rebekah, I’m not out here just to make money. If I were, I’d be beating on every door, I guess, for business. Or I’d be set up in a respectable office somewhere. But I’m out here to help, first and foremost.”

“And when you’ve helped everybody and have nothing left yourself?” she asked too quickly.

“I’ll always have what I need,” he said steadily. Adding another stick to the fire and watching sparks fly upward, he said again quietly, “We’ll always have whatever we need. And more.”

He was so definite. There was no space for argument. Yet she felt argumentative. If she only had the money owed to this overgenerous dentist, she could buy several acres of Thornapple and a horse or two also, as well as that new guano she’d so looked forward to using. Squeezing her eyes shut, she listened to crickets making their up and down waves of sawing sounds, the same concert she would hear if she were at Thornapple. But there she’d hear Father’s footsteps in the hallway instead of leaves rustling from an unknown forest creature. She’d hear water boiling in the teakettle instead of horses shifting their weight. She slung her braid over her shoulder and gazed again into the fire. There was no use dwelling on things lost right now. In due time she’d figure out a way to get Thornapple back.

“President Garfield has five daughters and two sons,” she said as if that had been the subject of all her thoughts. “I didn’t know that until today.”

“I hope he pulls through,” said Aden, standing up and stretching. “Hey, did you hear that? Someone’s shooting a cannon. Or that’s what it sounds like.”

“It’s still July Fourth,” she said wistfully.

❧

One afternoon later in July, when they were camped outside Macon, Rebekah cut herself when she attempted to unscrew a rusty cap from a bottle of disinfectant and the bottle’s neck broke in her hands. Aden chided her for not seeking his help, and she snapped back that it was better she cut her hand than for him to. Little help he’d be as a dentist with a bummed-up hand. To which he replied with a smug grin that he wouldn’t have cut himself.

“Does it hurt much now?” he asked as he completed her bandage by tying a neat knot of cloth strips at her wrist.

She was so aware of his nearness, his warm breath against her hair as they both inspected her bandage. She grimaced as she raised her hand to relieve the throbbing and stepped back to put some distance between herself and Aden.

“No, not much. Did I spill all the disinfectant?”

“Doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it,” he said cheerfully. “I guess you know you’ve earned yourself a vacation.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t hold tongues, cleanse instruments, and mold amalgam with that big bandage hampering you. You’ll have to stay in camp a few days. Or just sit and watch,” he added, collecting shards of glass into the jagged bottle and turning a big smile her way.

“Oh. Well, I suppose I could use some time in camp to—” She hesitated. What exactly would she do? Riding Banner, washing clothes, and weaving cloth strips would all be difficult. But not impossible. And how good it would be to have the freedom, the camp to herself. Actually, that could be very good indeed.

“You’ll figure out something,” he said. “You might even read a book. The very best book of all time, past, present, or future, is at your fingertips in the wagon anytime, you know.”

“I suppose you’re talking about the Bible.”

“None other. ‘Thy word have I hid in my heart that I might not sin against God,’ ” he quoted with obvious cheer.

She leaned against the door facing of the lean-to room loaned them at Crane’s General Store. Still nursing her hand, she cocked her head to one side, watching him put his instruments to soaking for the night.

Just then Mr. Crane appeared with a blackberry pie baked golden brown with purple juices congealing around the edges. “Thought you could use this,” he said with such marvelous pride. “My Sarah says even dentists need sweets sometimes.”

“Oh, this dentist takes sweets whenever he can,” said Aden, leaning over eagerly to take an appreciative sniff of the pie.

❧

Rebekah was already disgusted with her own idleness by the second day of being banned from dentistry work. The freedom gave her too much time to think about her own hopeless position. And too much time to consider her proximity to Aden’s cash box. If only she didn’t know it was there! But she would not steal; whatever she did, she wouldn’t do that. She found riding Banner pretty awkward with her hand so sore. She had read everything in sight except Aden’s Bible, even several chapters of an awesome dental textbook. She’d walked the countryside and awkwardly picked a few grapes and even some peas a nearby farmer’s wife offered her. Now she’d managed to build a fire for roasting four ears of corn and for cooking the little handful of peas she’d shelled with such discomfort. It wasn’t time for Aden, and she didn’t know what else to do. She stood looking into the wagon, eying her basket of cloth scraps then her bandaged hand.

As she gazed into the wagon’s dark interior, she suddenly became aware again of the little upside-down table, its curved legs sticking up like odd pillars. Ever since she’d joined Aden, she’d been curious about that table.

Oh, he’d explained it was just something he’d bargained for one day, that it wasn’t a family heirloom, at least not from his family. But why had he kept it all this time? Why would a bachelor living in cramped space hang onto something that belonged only in a fine parlor?

“So why did he keep you?” she wondered out loud to the little red-grained table. “But—since he did keep you—” she continued, heisting herself with sudden energy from what they called her “stepping stump” into the wagon. She plopped to her knees and began to remove a tidy cloth bag of ginned cotton and a box of books cradled in the table. “Since he saved you, why not use you? I’m sure you’re quite tired of putting your feet up. Yessirree, you’re going to be our banquet table for tonight.”

Turning the table right side up and sliding it to the edge of the wagon, Rebekah climbed back down and wangled it to the ground. It wasn’t easy, but she tugged and pulled until she had placed it under a big gum tree. She looked down at her hand and bit the side of her lip. “Jumping like a frog in a frypan,” she said, mocking the little man in his own pain at the parade. “No matter, I’m going to serve a delicious, elegant dinner. And I know where some beautiful blue spiderwort is blooming. They’ll be perfect in an empty medicine bottle.”

She didn’t stop to think too much about why she was making a banquet. She certainly didn’t consider why it became so exciting to see what new details she could add. She dragged out a couple of her own dainty handkerchiefs to use for napkins. Mrs. Crane’s pie would do extravagantly well for dessert, and she’d serve it in their tin coffee cups. They would have the roasted corn, those peas, and some beef jerky for meat. She thought briefly of the smokehouse at Thornapple as it used to be, hanging with rounded hams. “But beef jerky it is this time,” she said with a sigh, adding some candles to the small table.

She had never felt any shyer than she did when she heard Jolly’s hoofbeats and knew Aden would be riding up in just a minute. Impulsively, she stood in front of the table and spread her skirts out to hide it.

❧

Aden could hardly believe how much he’d missed Rebekah these two days. Could he dare to hope that she might have missed him, too? He certainly had noticed changes in her attitude lately. She’d talked to him much more, for one thing. And she hadn’t seemed as cheerless. He’d been thrilled whenever she’d posed a question that allowed him to explain his faith in any detail at all. Now as Jolly’s hooves pounded him closer and closer to “home,” his anticipation of seeing Rebekah once more grew to a wonderful ache in his heart and soul. How had she spent her day? Would she give him one of those rare, shy smiles he so loved?

Better not be too eager. Rushing her was the worst thing he could do. He pulled on Jolly’s reins instinctively as if slowing his horse would help him also to go slower in his relationship approaches to Rebekah. The memory of that kiss thumped in his heart, but he knew there wouldn’t be another anytime soon.

He rode almost sedately into camp. And there she was! But what was this? She was obviously hiding something. He forced himself to speak calmly as he slid off his horse, but he couldn’t keep his gaze from swinging her way. She almost had stars in her eyes and was trying her very best to keep from smiling. About what? Could she be trying to surprise him?

When she moved aside and he saw the beautifully set table, his own very special little table, he let out a spontaneous whoop. It was all he could do to keep from picking her up and swinging her around in his joy, but he saw her shrink back involuntarily and knew that wouldn’t do.

“How did you do all this?” he blurted out.

“With my one hand, thank you,” she answered primly, almost as if she were trying to prove something to him.

“Well, if you can do this with one hand, I’d like to see what you can do when you have both of them again,” he challenged. “Let me feed the horses right quick, and I’ll join you. Something sure smells good!”

“Maybe it’s the roasted corn,” she said, letting her grin light up her face.

“You just wait, Lady, until I get back. Please let me rake those ears out of the coals,” said Aden.

Aden rolled Rebekah’s stepping-stump over to serve as his seat at dinner. Rebekah sat in their one chair. He not only raked the corn out of the coals but peeled the charred shucks away, too, exclaiming over each ear’s plump beauty as if it were a gift he’d unwrapped.

“I guess the reason you’re so delighted with the corn is that the imperfect rows of kernels keep you from missing those many, many teeth you can’t gaze at again until tomorrow,” said Rebekah, pulling a long face.

“Oh, no!” he said when he could at last stop laughing. “Rebekah, you are incredibly funny. Underneath all your bristle and reserve, you have a spicy sense of humor.”

Rebekah’s face only twitched slightly with a controlled smile as she sat with her hands in her lap. She bowed her head silently, waiting for him to say grace.

“Lord Jesus, Son of God,” prayed Aden, speaking slowly in his deep voice that trembled a little with a hint of leftover laughter. “Thank You for this day, this time, this place, and for this delicious food and for—the hands that have prepared it.” He paused in audible prayer as he sought in his heart to pray for his girl. He finished so quickly it was almost one long word. “In Jesus’ name and for His sake, amen.”

As the meal progressed, they were unusually quiet. It was as if they were visiting in someone’s house and were afraid they might hold a fork incorrectly or commit some other faux pas. He didn’t know what to say. He who, in Amanda Sharp’s words, could “talk the horns off a billy goat” now could not think what topics to bring up. He felt he should hold his breath to keep everything as wonderful as it was these minutes. Yet if he was afraid to open his mouth, then perhaps it wasn’t as wonderful as he hoped.

Suddenly she spoke.

“What on earth does it really mean when you say that—what was it?—at the end of your prayer. ‘In Jesus’ name and for His sake’?”

He lifted his eyebrows in pleased surprise. Dusk was coming on, and the candlelight flickered, making shadows on her face. She nibbled daintily at her corn, then laid it down and looked at him, ready for his answer. Oh, Lord, here’s another chance!

“Jesus taught His disciples to pray that way—using His name. It’s like—having a very excellent lawyer when you’re in trouble, a lawyer who will defend you no matter how guilty you are and will guarantee you receive your requests no matter how poor you are.”

A whippoorwill called from deep in the forest. Not far away another one answered. A moth flew into their pool of light and began circling one of the candles until Aden flipped it away. In the process, some hot wax splattered on his fingers. Impulsively, she reached out with her good hand to help him. He smiled and assured her it was all right. She blushed and, hugging herself, looked off into the darkness for a minute. Now she will forget what we are talking about, he thought. But he was wrong.

“And the next phrase?” Rebekah asked, looking back at him. “ ‘For His sake’? You don’t really mean that, do you? We ask for what we want, and it isn’t for His sake at all. I suppose we say that to make ourselves feel less greedy somehow.”

He finished his second ear of corn and picked up a strip of beef jerky to gnaw on. Staring at the candle flames a minute, he then dared look into her beautiful dark eyes. “When I pray, I’m always making mistakes. I can’t keep my mind focused always on God and be able to pray as He’d want me to. But my desire is to please Him, to ask for things He’s taught me to want—wisdom, patience, love for mankind, longsuffering for those who try to harm me. My underlying desire is to please God, and so I pray for His will to be done, or in honor of Him, ‘for His sake,’ meaning whatever isn’t right for me I want Him to please strike off.”

“And you’d really mean that, something you really wanted, even thought you needed, you’d say ‘strike through it’ just because it didn’t please God?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I would!” he declared. Then, seeing her troubled disbelief, he suddenly dropped the subject and said, “Do we get the pie now? I’m guessing we eat our pie before we get water to drink since we’re using cups for dessert dishes.”

She stifled a relieved giggle. “That’s right. Mrs. Crane’s blackberry pie. It reminds me of my mother’s pies. She used to make the most wonderful pies—my goodness, Aden, what is the matter?”

Aden had suddenly jumped up from his stump so quickly he almost overturned a candle. Now he was feeling in all his pockets. “I’ve a letter for you. From your father. Here. Here it is. I’m so sorry I forgot it. You had everything looking so pretty—I forgot all about it until you mentioned your mother’s pies.”

“It’s all right,” she said, taking the wrinkled envelope. “I doubt a few minutes will make any difference in my reading Father’s letter. He probably wrote it weeks ago. Come now and eat your pie. And tell me again why you’re keeping this little table when you’d have so much more room in the wagon without it.”

“But you see what an elegant thing it is. Surely you wouldn’t want—”

“I didn’t say anything about throwing it away, Aden. I just wondered. That’s all.”

“Is it in your way?” he asked suddenly as that possibility hit him.

“No, it doesn’t matter to me,” she said with a nervous laugh. “It’s your table and your wagon. You can do whatever you please.” There was no mistaking the thorny prickle rising in her voice.

He cleared his throat.

“Rebekah, of course it’s your table, too, your wagon and your table.” He leaned toward her, saw her look down at the envelope in her bandaged hand. When she looked up, it was with the firm, controlled gaze to which he’d become so accustomed, very removed from the laughing, almost teasing girl who’d set this tasteful table, who rode Banner so happily as if all were right and good. Would things ever really be right and good for them? Oh, Lord, I have to hope! She had set the table, and she had sparkled with the fun of it. But she had no idea that to him this table was symbolic of the home he wanted to establish—with her!

“I’ll put things away while you read your letter,” he said, standing up carefully so as not to send candles and flowers spinning.

“Oh, no, I’ll read it later,” she said quickly.

But he was already behind her, placing firm hands on her shoulders, pushing her back down into her seat. “You will read your letter right now before it grows a minute older.”

She turned her face up to give him a brief smile, then eagerly peeled open the envelope.