A Texan's Promise (18 page)

"I never admitted to you how poorly I did in the hospital tent. When the surgeon started talking about saws, I burst into tears like a baby. The war and the fighting had taken everything from me—even my dignity."

Clayton knew he would've fought tears, too. "You're lucky you got to keep that limb."

Merritt glanced at his arm, covered in flannel. "It still has a ragtag maze of markings marching across it. When I arrived there, Corrine pulled off the bandages and almost swooned."

Clayton felt he should defend her. "You had to know—"

"I knew that my arm was infected and smelled to high heaven. What you might not know is that she squared her shoulders, brought in water so hot it nearly blistered her skin, and bathed me." He shivered. "And like a fool, I cried again.But this time not because I felt despair, but because I'd found salvation. Her hands became my lifeline, her voice the reason I stayed sane. Her soothing whispers were the only way I could go to sleep. God brought me to Corrine Proffitt. She, in turn, saved me."

Clayton felt humbled. "I never knew. I just remember what I witnessed when I saw you two together."

"Love and lust?"

"Something to that effect. I recall that when she entered the room, you could hardly speak."

"She took my breath away."

"I'd found it hard to believe—you were one of the toughest soldiers I'd ever known."

"I had tried. But war and killing wasn't all there was for me.I desired something softer, prettier, more fine."

"Corrine."

"That's a fact. I liked her gumption, liked her laugh. I needed her. I needed her tender touch. I needed sweetness and something beautiful in my life."

Clayton grinned at that, though he knew what Merritt meant. He'd stood transfixed the afternoon he'd spied Vanessa stringing daisies—the vision was so peaceful and innocent.

They walked farther, the biting cold making itself known, jarring both of them, reminding each man how harsh life was, how full of promises and regrets it was. Merritt spoke. "Land sakes, Clayton. I sure hope you know what you're doing. A good woman is hard to find, harder to keep hold of. When you find one who's willing to be yours, it's a crying shame to throw her away."

"I'm not throwing her away, not at all. I'm just doing what I promised." Lowering his voice, he said. "I need to be the type of man who pushes aside his wants in favor of what is right."

"You already are that kind of man."

"Your worst memories are of hospital tents and scares and fears. Mine are of dropped promises. Of promises to my pa to take care of my brother and sister. Of promises to the Lord to put myself behind others, to be the type of man I can be proud of." After a pause, he added, "I remember fighting and being happy that I still lived while men—boys—in my charge needed to be buried."

"You weren't alone in that. We all said prayers of thanksgiving after battles. And we've all felt guilty for being glad we were the ones digging graves instead of being placed in them."

Clayton couldn't dispute that. He couldn't dispute anything his good friend said. So, instead, he begged. "Help me keep a vow. Help me give Vanessa time."

Merritt snuffed the end of cigar in the hard dirt. "All right.Come with me, then, and we'll tell your sister together."

Vanessa waited for the tears to come as she watched the red dust fly up from Lee's hooves. But as her man guided his horse into a trot down the entrance of the ranch, all she noticed was that he never looked back.

So instead of crying, she felt numb.

Fact was, she'd felt dead from the moment Clayton had brought her to Corrine's fancy back parlor, the one the girls weren't supposed to step into except on special days. It was the same place where she'd entered with Clayton when they'd first arrived. Then, she'd been full of nervous excitement, anxious to get acquainted with Corrine and Merritt.

During their latest conversation, the room had felt small and stifling— filled with too many things, too many people, and not enough air. Especially since she and Clayton weren't alone.

In no-nonsense terms, Clayton had informed her that he was going away for the next two months and that she needed to stay. She'd felt abandoned.

Oh, Clayton had tried to pretty it up. Kind of. Sort of.After saying he'd admired her grit and determination, he'd gotten down to business, and spoke plain and succinctly.

And lied.

"I need to earn some money, Vanessa. I need to make sure Price isn't still after you—after us. I can't do all that from the Bar M."

She'd known there was far more to it. He was guilt-ridden about her news. He was upset with her for not being completely honest with him from the start. Because of both of those things, he wanted time and space.

Vanessa didn't know which hurt worse—Clayton's abandonment or the fact that he couldn't tell her privately that he was leaving. No, he'd had to bring in reinforcements. As if they were no more than a casual courting couple getting to know each other.

She'd been so all-fired mad that she'd glared at him, at his nerve. After everything they'd been through—riding for hours, eating fish and jackrabbit and beans for days—he was moving on.

She sat rigid and shocked as Clayton talked more about nothing than he had in the entire six years she'd known him.For a man who'd always been opposed to idle chitchat, he could sure do it well. She bit her lip, doing her best to keep her composure, to remain calm and serene. Not daring to argue with Merritt's harsh expression. Holding desperately onto what little control she still had left so she wouldn't dissolve into a fit of tears.

She'd shaken her head when Clayton asked if she had any questions. After all, what else did they have left to say? What else did she need to know?

Her husband was leaving, and once again she was going to be alone.

As the last echoes of Clayton's departure faded, Vanessa straightened her shoulders and walked back into the house.The pity party had to be over. It was time to hold her head up high and do what she could to help for the next few weeks. At least then she would feel useful.

Both Corrine and Merritt turned when she entered the dining room. "Is he gone?" Corrine asked, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy.

"Just left." After a pause, Vanessa added, "He said he'd write."

Corrine rolled her eyes. "That'll be the day."

Corrine looked so bitter, Vanessa couldn't help but apologize."I'm sorry. I feel so responsible. If it wasn't for me still being here, why I'm sure—"

"If it hadn't been for you, Clayton wouldn't have come at all," Merritt interrupted.

"His leaving isn't your fault," Corrine added.

"I'm afraid it is. I know he's leaving because of me."

"He's leaving because of vows he made to your father. But more important, he's leaving because of some promises he made to himself."

Merritt wiped a tired hand across his face. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying he made the right decision. In my opinion, he picked the wrong vow to keep. But, I do have to admire a man who sticks to his principles, even when they're difficult to adhere to."

"When do you think he'll change his mind? When enough time has passed?"

Merritt looked toward Corrine who shrugged her shoulders."Maybe. Or maybe when he's finally at peace with himself. I fought by his side. I'd trust him with my life. Matter of fact, I have trusted him with it on more than one occasion. But he's not infallible. None of us are."

"Those war years changed all of us, don't you see?" Corrine added softly. "In a lot of ways, we all grew up so quickly; we've forgotten that we're all works in progress. In the midst of that tumultuous time, it was too hard to say that we didn't know what to do. So we learned to pretend we did. Maybe he's still doing that."

"Maybe Clayton doesn't know all the right words yet," Merritt said.

"Or actions," Vanessa replied. Thinking of the lengths he'd taken to avoid her.

"Or actions. But we don't either." He clapped his hands lightly and looked over the top of his fingers. "In the meantime, don't give up. Remember the book of Matthew when you get blue, Vanessa. "
With God all things are possible."
Keep praying, and those prayers will be answered."

Merritt's words gave her hope. How many times had she watched Clayton read from his Bible when he was alone? More than she could count. She hoped he would read the Word and realize that he alone couldn't solve all their problems.

Jesus could help him—and so could Vanessa. "Those are fine words, I think. Good and meaningful."

Merritt scuffed his foot. "I hope you know that we're glad Clayton married you and we're certainly happy to have your company now."

"We mean it," Corrine said earnestly. "It's terribly lonely out here. The spread's so big, during roundup and market I don't see Merritt for weeks at a time. Added to that, there's not too many other women about, especially since José and Pearl like to keep their distance and Rosa speaks little English.I'd love to have the opportunity to chat with another woman.I'll appreciate your company, and your help, too." She patted her stomach. "This new baby is going to take some getting used to."

"I'll be honored to help with the baby and anything else you might need." Vanessa meant every word. But, well, she knew she had to make the best of things at the Bar M, too. Truthfully, there was nowhere else to go. She couldn't go home nor could she follow Clayton around. She had no money. She was completely dependent on the couple in front of her. Vanessa knew it as clearly as she knew the sun would rise again.

Merritt's chair scraped back as he rose to his feet. "Don't worry about Clayton. He'll come around in time. He's always been stubborn."

"Stubborn? Is that what his demeanor is called?" Corrine asked after the girls grabbed their dolls and went into the main room. "I was thinking more along the lines of bullheaded.Obstinate."

Vanessa knew Corrine was exasperated with her brother.She was maddened by his actions, too. But in her heart, Vanessa knew something more than mere stubbornness guided him. Tentatively, she whispered, "I think it's honor that guides him, not sheer mulishness. Clayton Proffitt is the most honorable man I know."

"Well, you've pretty much just described him in a nutshell, Vanessa," Corrine said as Merritt kissed her cheek and left them. "My brother is once again trying to do his best without realizing that there's an easier way—a better way—to do things. Without fail, he always seems to take the road less traveled."When they were alone, she looked straight at Vanessa."So, do you love him?"

"I do."

"Have you told him?"

"Not in so many words," Vanessa admitted. "Every time I try to talk to him, things get clouded and confused. I end up losing my nerve."

"One day you're going to need to find your gumption. The only thing harder than telling someone your thoughts is living with the guilt of keeping your silence."

That would be a horrible situation, indeed, Vanessa reflected. It would be awful if something happened to Clayton before she'd found a way to truly let him know how much she cared for him. "I hope he comes back soon so I can tell him how much I care. In the meantime, I guess all we can do is pray for his safety."

Corrine smiled softly. "Hey, I like that idea." Holding out her hand, she reached for Vanessa's and closed her eyes. "Dear Lord, please be with Clayton on his journey. Please help him work through everything he needs to, but be aware at all times that we are with him, for always. Please be with everyone who loves Clayton, too. Loving someone takes patience and strength. Please help us find both over these next few weeks.In Your name we pray, Amen."

Already Vanessa felt lighter. "Thank you, Corrine.Sometimes I forget just how much I need the Lord's help right now."

"I'll pray with you as often as you'd like." After a moment she added, "But maybe you should think about writing to Clayton as well. John knows of a couple of stops he's going to make. We could post the letters to arrive at those places."

"I'm not quite sure what a written letter could accomplish."

"I found that sometimes the written word works better than hours of conversation."

As she remembered all the things she wished she'd said to Clayton but never had the nerve, Vanessa nodded. "Maybe I will write to him."

"Merritt used to say my letters were almost like being home."

Vanessa didn't quite understand. "Even though your home wasn't his?"

Something soft and melancholy lit Corrine's eyes. "Oh, Van. Don't you know? Home is where your mind goes when the night is black and your heart is hurting. Home is where you go when things are happening that you can't control but you wish you could. Home is where the person you love is waiting for you." Reaching for Vanessa's hand, she continued."That's what letters are, really. They're your heart, your feelings . . . your love."

Vanessa felt stunned. Corrine's words had reached inside of her and pulled tight. They'd given her a new purpose—and a new way of looking at Clayton's leaving.

Perhaps their separation was all part of God's plan, after all.Maybe they needed space apart in order to become closer.

Time to heal and to be honest.

It was time to go back home, to her heart, even if she was likely never to go back to the place where she used to live.

It was time to share her love with Clayton. At least then, she'd have no regrets.

When she was done, she folded the letter and slipped it in an envelope. That evening, when she heard José was going into town, she asked him to mail the letter.

When it was out of her hands, she breathed deep. She had begun. What she was doing was little enough. But it definitely helped.

Who knew what he would think when he saw her declaration of love! But as she recalled how she'd felt when she'd prayed with Corrine, Vanessa realized she at least did know that answer. The Lord knew. He always knew.

The following day, after giving Corrine a cooking lesson and helping sort baby clothes and polishing and shining the crib, Vanessa sat down, picked up her quill and ink, and wrote again.

Two days later, she wrote again.

"Do you feel better, Vanessa?" Corrine asked late one evening."You seem more content."

"I feel more at ease with how things are, I suppose. I've stopped trying to guess what Clayton is thinking, and stopped wishing the past was different. I can only deal with what is in front of me. That does give me comfort."

Corrine wrapped her arms around her middle. "I imagine you're right. Now if I could just get comfortable, things would be a whole lot better." Then her eyes widened. "Oh, Vanessa, I just realized why my back's been hurting me so much today."

Vanessa hopped to her feet. "Yes?"

"It's the baby. It's on the way."

"You sure?"

"Oh, yes. This is baby number three. I'm sure." With a grimace, she wrapped her arms around her middle again. "I think this baby isn't going to wait long. Go find Merritt, will you?"

Vanessa reached for her sister-in-law, snatched her hand back, then reached out again. "Do you need help?" Maybe Corrine needed help getting to bed? Some towels? Water?

In between gritted teeth, Corrine unwrapped one arm from her middle and pointed to the door. "Get. Merritt. Now."

Vanessa tore out of the room like it was on fire.

Two hours later, she was wiping Corrine's brow as Aaron Jackson Merritt made his way into the world.

Though they were on their way back to Texas, things were slow going. Now that revenge wasn't fueling his blood, Price was finding that he was in no special hurry to return to the ranch.

He'd denied Miles's request to travel on his own, saying any lone man traveling in Indian country was no better than a fool, and Price was most certainly not that.

Therefore, they stopped often, at almost every town they could. Price seemed to draw fallen women, gamblers, and drinkers like flies to molasses. When he'd disappear, Miles would either sleep as much as he could or take to sketching in the notebook he'd bought on a whim at the general store back in Santa Fe.

Just after crossing the Texas border, Price left for longer than usual. He'd found a handful of renegade men from the Confederacy and had somehow convinced them that he'd fought, too.

When Price didn't return by nightfall on the second day, Miles was left to cool his heels in a makeshift camp nearby. He drew and planned and almost left a time or two. It was only the very real warning about traveling alone that made him wait. Couples and families came and went. Some still carried the dewy glow of optimism; others just looked plain tired.

Some were foreigners. The thick accents, the struggle with English words, the exotic languages the men and women resorted to when speaking among themselves caught Miles's attention. Most everyone got cheated fairly and squarely by the depot operator.

That should have given Miles a bit of satisfaction. In actuality, he was far better off than most of the poor people who had dreams of farming in Nebraska or of seeking gold in the mountains of Colorado. Miles, at least, had land to go back to.

But still, he felt worse than usual. Dissatisfied and annoyed with himself. A better, stronger man would have managed Price better. A better man would have a woman by his side to share his burdens. Instead, he had no one.

Pulling out his notebook and charcoal pencil, he settled next to a dried-up creek and sketched the outlying area. In the distance, a snake sunned itself, blending in with the elements so well that it took Miles a moment after spotting him to realize what it was—a rattler.

That's where Jacob Power found him. "You look like you could use some sustenance," he said as he climbed the butte."I saw you here, looking into the distance, and you caught my interest."

"No reason I should have. I'm just sketching."

After clambering over a pile of rocks, the man walked right over and peered over Miles's shoulder. "Ah. Snakes. Never cared for them much myself, though I suspect I should. They're God's creatures after all. Not their fault they go through life on their stomach." Before Miles could say a word about that, the bearded man unrolled some dried beef from a rectangular red bandana, crouched by his side, and offered Miles a chunk."Care for some? I'm Jacob Powers, by the by."

"Miles Grant." Because the beef jerky looked good and he had no reason to say no, Miles pulled off a portion. "Much obliged."

"You're right welcome." As Miles picked up his pencil and shaded in some of the background, Jacob watched and chewed. After the silence stretched on, he said, "So, have you been on the trail long?"

"Long enough."

"Me, too, I'll tell you that." His eyes crinkled. "'Course, I guess just about anyone around here would say that. I've always found West Texas to be smack dab in the middle of nowhere."

In spite of himself, Miles smiled. That was the truth.Noticing that the rattler still hadn't moved, he filled in a bit of the outline.

Jacob chewed some more. "So, where you headed?"

"Home."

"Lucky you." Jacob tore off another piece of jerky and bit into it hard. "The plains, they're my home now," he said, chewing something fierce. "These open spaces are all I need, to tell the truth. Well, space and a bit of food and water now and then." He cackled. "And a bit of conversation."

Miles looked around. All he saw was miles of rough terrain and the promise of renegade attacks if a man wasn't careful."You don't miss civilization?"

The other man raised a bushy gray eyebrow. "Is that what town is to you? I'm not too sure about that myself. I've found all kinds of problems in the best of places, and much of it far from civilized. You ever been up east?"

"I can't say I have."

"Lots of those immigrants arrive in New York City all prepared to see openness and space. Instead, they get put in homes hardly big enough for a single man, let alone a whole family. The rooms have no windows. No water. The owners charge too much. People look down on 'em 'cause they're different.It's a terrible situation."

Miles swallowed. He'd been so focused on his own troubles, he'd never thought about others' situations. "I never thought about those places," he admitted. "I never gave much thought about where those foreigners have been."

Instead of judging, Jacob just shrugged. "No reason you should have, I suppose. It just made me think, though. How we're all stuck in one place and trying to get somewhere else."

Miles set his sketchbook aside. Pictures of the landscape weren't as interesting as the man beside him. "Except you."

"That's right. Except me. Me, I'll take wandering every time. That way I don't have to worry about where I'm trying to get to or where I've come from." He gestured around him, a look of wonder on his face. "These plains are plenty civilized for me. Nature has a way of doing things that cut through jealousies and hate. If that rattler eats a field mouse, it's just his way. I mean, even a snake's gotta eat."

"I suppose there's truth to that," Miles said. When Jacob offered more jerky, he pulled off another chunk. Their conversation was starting to feel almost comfortable.

"One of the things that helps me never feel alone is my mission," Jacob said after a while.

"What is that?"

"I feel mission-sent to preach the Gospel. That's what got me started, you know. I had a dream one night, a clear, perfect dream. In it the Lord told me that he knew I was a True Believer. And because of that, He asked me to share what I know with others."

"How did you know that was the Lord talking?"

"I just did," Jacob said. Giving Miles a sideways look, he whispered, "You ever felt like that? Have you ever heard the Lord speaking to you, like he'd just come for a chat? Just like the way you and I are sitting here?"

Miles wanted to disbelieve him. He wanted to feel uncomfortable and shake his head and tell Jacob Power that he'd never heard so much nonsense spouted in his life. But something in the man's earnest tone of voice got to him.

Or, maybe it was the situation. If they'd been surrounded by other people, Miles would have felt self-conscious. Maybe he would have been reminded of too many other things to worry about such proclamations.

"Have you, Miles?" Jacob asked, his voice low and earnest."Have you ever felt so close with the Lord our God that you developed a friendship with him?"

"I have not."

Jacob stretched out his legs in front of him. "The land's awful vast when not another soul is around to talk to. Who do you talk to if not Jesus?"

Miles couldn't even bear to lie and say his stepfather. "I don't know," he admitted softly.

"That's a right shame." After another pause, the man spoke again. "Son, are you a Christian?"

Miles had been wondering that very thing himself. "I don't know."

"Do you believe in a higher power?"

"Maybe." Then, when the man kept looking at him, Miles thought about his trip. About how he'd somehow managed to keep them from finding Vanessa. He thought about his conversation with Sammy, that waitress who'd let him sleep in her barn. About Lacy, who should've been bent and broken but instead looked as if she was at the top of the world.

He'd thought about those immigrants he saw, and about how he had someplace to go home to even though he'd never done anything to deserve the honor.

He realized then that everything hadn't been a series of accidents.

"I mean, I think I do."

"Good!" Jacob's smile was full of encouragement. "Good for you."

"Are you a preacher?"

"Not officially, no."

That made Miles feel better. If the man really had been a man of the cloth, Miles was afraid he'd shock him. "Actually, I want to be a believer, but I don't know if God wants me."

"God wants everybody."

"There's things I've done that I don't think would be thought of as Christlike."

That earned him a smile. "In my faith, I've found it to be true that Jesus will always forgive, as long as you are truly repentant. After all, we are all sinners. Do you feel sorry for things you've done?"