A Family Found (13 page)

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?

Chapter Ten

A
week passed, during which the waters ebbed and Sophie went about restoring order to her garden. Just this morning Pancho had brought word that the Lockwood bridge had been repaired and it was safe for her to resume the boys' lessons. It was just as well some time had elapsed. Tate's rebuke outside the Tylers', so obviously born out of disappointment with and misunderstanding of God's purpose, had left her stymied. Even as she fumed, she admitted that she herself had questioned God on occasion, especially after Charlie was taken so cruelly from her. In fairness, Tate had known loss, too. Yet his inflexible position concerning religion not only vexed her but, far more important, concerned her. He was limiting the boys' knowledge of God and imprisoning himself in his disbelief. She felt helpless in the face of such obstinancy, even as she ached for the deep hurt the man must've experienced throughout his life. Could they ever regain the easy camaraderie the four of them had enjoyed on occasion?

Approaching the ranch house this Monday morning, Sophie had no idea what kind of welcome awaited her. Setting aside her trepidation regarding Tate, she had missed Marcus and Toby and was eager to see them. From now on she would stick to the business of education and disregard any fancies she had permitted herself concerning her charges' father. Her mind set, she knocked on the door, hoping she would not come face-to-face with Tate. Bertie answered with a huge smile. “Do come in. We've missed you here. The boys are eager to see you.”

Almost before Bertie finished her sentence, Toby and Buster came running around the corner. “Miss Sophie! I knew you'd come.” He pulled on her arm. “I gotta show you what I did.”

Trailing him into the library alcove, Sophie knew that whatever her relationship with their father, she couldn't abandon the boys. Marcus rose when she neared the table. “You are most welcome. I fear the direction of my studies has suffered without you.”

Toby produced a full two pages of addition and subtraction problems he'd worked on in her absence. After she'd assigned him a new story in his primer, she turned to Marcus. “Where are you having difficulties?”

“I've been studying about plants in one of my father's botany books, but even though I know some of the scientific names, it would be good to study Latin so I would know the meaning of those names.” He looked at her with hope in his eyes. “Do you know Latin? Could you help me?”

“I'm no expert, but when I studied back East, Latin was among my subjects. I will ask your father to order a few Latin grammars.”

Marcus eyed Toby as if to assure himself he would not be overheard. “I'm sorry for what happened.”

Sophie waited, unsure about the meaning of the boy's comment.

“Papa shouldn't have spoken to you like that.” His chin jutted forward. “Besides, it's my business what I think about God, not his. I'm interested in knowing more.”

“I can help you with Latin, but you heard your father. He has requested I not discuss matters of religion with you or Toby.”

Marcus folded his hands on the table. “Well, then. I'll do it myself. In this library are books about theology—is that the right word?” She nodded. “And a Bible. Nothing can prevent me from studying on my own, right?”

Sophie groaned inwardly. Marcus was putting her in an awkward position—not openly soliciting her help with such studies, but making her privy to information of which Tate would disapprove. Yet she couldn't discourage the lad, not given the resolve shining from his bright eyes.

“You are your own person, Marcus.”

There. She had neither encouraged nor discouraged him. His wide-ranging intellect had once more proved itself. If only he could release some of his inhibitions.

The day passed swiftly with a review of previous lessons and the introduction of new skills. Just as she was preparing to depart, Marcus came to her side. “Before you leave, will you ask Papa, please? About the Latin books?” She faltered, knowing she couldn't disappoint the boy.

“Very well. Is he in his office?”

“Yes. I'll go with you.”

Did he intuit the awkwardness of her meeting with Tate, or was he merely eager to obtain the means to study Latin?

Tate answered Marcus's knock, then did a double take when he noticed Sophie. “What do you want?”

“I'm sorry to interrupt you, Papa, but we have come to ask about getting a book. Miss Sophie will explain.”

Then the boy fled, leaving her alone to face Tate. With a gesture of surrender, he bade her take a seat. He stood in front of her, leaning against his desk, arms folded across his chest. She noted the set of his jaw and the bags under his eyes. “What's this all about?”

Tersely, Sophie explained the need for Latin primers.

“They will be ordered,” he said when she'd finished.

She made as if to stand, but he stopped her with one word. “Stay.”

She was not a dog to be ordered about, but the look in his eyes implored her to remain. Her throat was dry, but she managed to speak. “For what purpose?”

He pulled a chair near hers and sank into it. “I need to apologize to you. You have done nothing but try to take care of my sons to the best of your ability. Grizzly told me it was his idea for you to take them to services.”

“Perhaps so, but I might well have thought of it myself.” So...he was absolving her of the motivation, but not the actual experience.

“The service must've made quite an impression. The boys cannot stop talking about it.”

“I don't imagine you are disposed to listen, however.”

“I wish to put this as gently, yet clearly as possible. I cannot permit my boys to nurture belief in a God who fails them.”

“Like He failed you?”

“What do you know about it? Yours seems to be a glib and easy faith.”

She stood up, glowering at him. “What knowledge do you have about the trials I've experienced? There has been nothing either glib or easy about the fact that I've come to recognize I'm nothing without God. And you would do well to arrive at that understanding, too.”

“You didn't have a cold childhood or see the looks on your children's faces when their mother killed their spirits.”

“No, I did not. But let me tell you something. You can either spend your life in bitterness and, dare I say it, loneliness, or you can come to realize that in and of yourself you are powerless without God.”

“And what's He done for you?” Behind his sarcasm, she sensed he truly needed her answer.

She sat back down. “If you are serious about that question and will do me the courtesy of listening without comment or derision, I will tell you what I have rarely confided in anyone. I ask only that you listen with an open heart and promise to think about what I will say.”

Moments passed, during which Tate steepled his fingers under his chin and stared at her as if weighing her comments. Finally he sat back and, with a deep sigh, folded his hands in his lap and said quietly, “Begin.”

* * *

Tate had known Sophie was feisty, but he'd never seen such indignation spark from her eyes as when she leaped up to confront him about his assumptions concerning her faith.
Faith.
The very word made him cringe. He'd had faith once, too, if not in God at least in his wife, and look what had happened there. Beyond that, how had faith ever helped him as a child? If God was supposed to embody love, why had he experienced only tepid tolerance and rejection? He gripped the armrests of his chair. A man made his own destiny, so enough of his self-pity. But God? He'd had no experience of Him. And yet...that day in front of the Tylers', Sophie had offered his children as evidence of God's gift to him. And he was powerless to deny their importance.

“You must think I've led a charmed life and that faith is as natural to me as breathing.” Sophie's head was bowed as if to study her hands, which lay gracefully in her lap. “Perhaps for the fortunate few that may be what faith is. But steel is forged by fire, and I think our lives are no different. It is the very trials we endure that help us see God's hand in our lives and deepen faith.” At that moment she looked up. “You are not the only one to be tested.”

He sensed she was getting to the crux of the matter and hoped she would spare him the kind of sermonizing he'd so often heard from his overbearing father,
Spare the rod and spoil the child
being one of his favorite texts. He shouldn't look at her. The conviction in her eyes was undeniable. But he'd agreed to hear her out, and so he must.

“Each story is different, but here is mine. I grew up in a home filled with love, even though there was always the regret of what might have been. My father and brothers at least had the comfort of memories of my mother. I had none. Only a few faded daguerreotypes and their stories of her. Do you suppose it was easy when I went to school to be taunted as an orphan, even though technically I was not? Or that I enjoyed staying home from the church mother-daughter picnic? My eighth-grade graduation dress was one of my mother's I had clumsily altered—nothing like the beautiful gowns of my friends. Listening in church to the preachers, I decided I had done something to offend God—that it was my fault He'd taken Mother. Yet all around me I heard the platitudes about God deciding He needed her in heaven. God needed her?” Sophie's voice rose. “
I
needed her.”

“I had no idea,” said Tate quietly.

“Of course you didn't. That was all a long time ago. As I approached womanhood, I came to recognize that God doesn't rain down punishment on the innocent, act capriciously or abandon His children. We are human and therefore subject to human joys and sorrows. What I thought I had learned as time went by was that God was not a distant, indifferent being, but a companion who walked with me and held me up. In essence, God loved me.”

“You said you ‘thought' you had learned that kind of faith?”

“Yes, it's easy to get complacent where God is concerned.”

“Something happened.” Tate waited for what he suspected was the worst of her story.

“I'd lost my mother and had finally arrived at a sense of peace about that.” Suddenly Sophie rose from her chair and went to the window, seemingly transfixed by the view of the mountains. “Yet my testing was far from over. When the new courthouse was being built in our town back in Kansas, a young stonemason from the East came to supervise the cutting and placement of the Flint Hills rock. Charlie Devane. Handsome, fun-loving, passionate about his work—he burst into my heart with fireworks and roses.”

Tate fidgeted, unsure if he wanted to hear more.

“What he saw in me, I'll never know, but from the moment I met him, I was besotted. All I could think about was Charlie. I longed for those times when we could be alone together. To my everlasting amazement, he saw me as his soul mate, just as I regarded him as mine.” She turned around as if to assess his reaction.

Tate hoped his conflicting emotions were not visible in his expression. He envied her that kind of love even as he recognized the jealousy raging in his heart. How could she possibly know the extent of his fantasizing that she might be such a sweetheart for him? Yet he couldn't hope to compete with the kind of love glowing on her face. He'd agreed to hear her out, but to what end now? “So what happened?”

She paced in front of him. “If you wanted to, you could say God had other plans. Charlie and I agreed to be married. No two people could have been happier. When he had the offer of a lucrative job in Chicago, we agreed to postpone our wedding until he finished that work.” She withdrew a handkerchief from her pocket and turned aside, seemingly overcome with emotion. When she faced him again, she had composed herself enough to continue. “In short, a rope snapped and Charlie's scaffold fell to the ground. He was killed instantly.”

The mental picture she'd created for Tate was one that would remain seared in his brain. “
Sorry
seems inadequate, but I regret that you ever had to face such tragedy.”

“Thank you.” Now she took the place he'd formerly occupied, leaning against his desk, arms folded across her chest. The intensity of her gaze pierced him. “So don't talk to me about God's absence from your life. Nor His seeming irrelevance. I've been there. Do you think you're the only one who ever raised a fist and shouted at God, ‘Why me?' When I lost my Charlie, I had no voice loud enough to scream out my questions. Whatever faith I had leaned upon growing up proved ephemeral. I raged at God and blamed Him for my loss.”

Tate rose to his feet. “So why are you arguing with me about faith and insisting I'm wrong to have turned my back on God?”

“Because it is the sinful human part of us that has to find a scapegoat for the bad and ugly things that happen in our lives. And God is handy for such purposes.”

“So how did you recover your faith?”

“Not having it locked me in the prison of my own unhappy thoughts. Slowly I recognized that others around me were tending to me, encouraging me, sitting with me as I mourned. And in them I ultimately found acceptance. Through them I came to understand that they were the agents of God. That far from abandoning me, He had been there all along. Few of us escape pain and disappointment in this life. But when we look around, we can always find evidence of His consoling presence.”

“Like Marcus and Toby for me.”

“Exactly like that. We can wallow in the past and in our perceptions of injustice, or we can embrace our humanity and find God all around us—in nature, in people, wherever.”

“You make a powerful case...for your experience.” He couldn't voice his continuing doubts about his own faith.

She approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Let me give you a story to consider. In Jerusalem there was a pool at Bethsaida where many invalids came to bathe in the healing waters. These included a man who had been there every day for thirty-eight years awaiting the arrival of someone who would lift him into the pool. Then one day Jesus appeared and realized what a long time the man had been lying there. He said to him, ‘Wilt thou be made whole?'”