Argosy Junction (27 page)
“Okay, so how about a happier song huh?” Lane’s voice was huskier than ever belying her cheerful demeanor. “What about a nice love song with a happy ending?”
The audience thundered with applause. Tad cocked an eyebrow at Lane as though questioning which song they’d sing. She took the guitar from him and plucked painfully at the strings. Tad covered his ears and begged for the return of his instrument.
“I just thought I’d give those fingers a rest before I put you through ‘California Joe!’”
“Oh man! Well since ‘California Joe’ takes place near where we live—” The incredulous look of disgust on Lane’s face stopped him. “Oh, all right, so maybe it doesn’t, but Powder River is in Montana! It’s not my fault they didn’t put Fort Reno there too!”
The story began. Matt immediately recognized that they told stories with music in the same way that he did with poetry. The ballad was the story of one of the early scouts of the west. He and Jim Bridger rescued an orphaned girl from an Indian raid around 1850 and then said goodbye as her uncle took her to live with him. Along with the rest of the room, he inwardly cheered as Maggie threw her arms around Bridger after a thirteen-year separation.
At the conclusion of the final song, the audience demanded an encore. Stunned, Lane and Tad looked at one another confused. Lane finally turned to the audience and shrugged her shoulders. “I—thank you.” She waited for the applause to die down before trying once more. “We’re not professional singers, people. We didn’t come prepared for this! How about ‘Yankee Doodle’ or—”
Tad saw Matt chuckling behind his hand and pointed it out to Lane. Memories of the past months flooded her thoughts, and the realization of what would happen when she refused to make her peace with God wrenched her heart. She knew what to do and leaned to whisper an idea to Tad.
His eyes widened and then he nodded. Lane smiled at the audience through unshed tears. “Have you ever wanted to say something to someone, but knew you couldn’t? I’m in that place right now. Difficult days are coming, and I’m hoping this song lingers once I’m gone.”
The guitar strings sang their song, Tad and Lane harmonized, and the audience sat captivated as the final words drifted through the room. “
… your sweetheart waits for you—out on the lonely prairie, where skies are always blue
.”
Matt sat in stunned silence as his friends left the stage quietly amid the applause. He knew what Lane was telling him. All the prayers, the hopes, and the confidence he’d grown to have in her eventual return to the Lord was gone. While the rest of the room exited, Matt sat in his seat and worked out the ramifications of Lane’s words in his mind.
The tears, he simply willed not to surface.
~*~*~*~
Warren and Tad flew to Spokane early Saturday morning, and Matt’s parents spent the day at his Aunt Judy’s house leaving Matt’s apartment empty for the big discussion. They both wandered aimlessly through the living room and kitchen, avoiding the topic at hand. Finally, Matt brought in his laptop, opened his email account, and handed the machine to Lane.
“I got that email from your dad, Lane. He didn’t think I should show you—he thought you’d be angry, but I think you’d be angrier if I didn’t, so I’m hoping I’m right.”
Lane grew more and more agitated as she read the long email. Every confession of her father’s felt like a dagger to her heart. She refused to accept that he had any responsibility for the restrictive and invasive direction that the
Brethren
took over time.
“It’s very noble of him to try to take responsibility for this, but it isn’t all his fault. Daddy loved those people, and they stabbed him in the back over a pair of Wranglers. That’s just sick.”
Matt took the laptop from her and set it on the coffee table. He took her hands in his and struggled to find the words that might soften her heart. “Your father still loves the Lord, Lane. He’s not blaming God for the failure of His people. He’s hoping his family can see the difference as well.”
“The crusades, the Inquisition, the martyrdom of the Reformers, the holocaust, and half the wars in history can be traced to the Almighty God of the Bible. I want nothing to do with Him. I won’t deny His existence. I’m not an idiot—”
“Could have fooled me.”
“What!”
Matt’s pained face kept Lane from storming away from his apartment and out of his life. “Lane, what I mean is that anyone can see what a brilliant man your father is—”
“Even the most intelligent of men can make a mistake. Dad will come around again.”
“You’re so bitter…”
Lane held her hand up and took a deep breath. “I knew where this conversation would go. I think we both know that we’re not going to budge on our position, so I’m going to ask a point-blank question.”
“Fire away.” Matt wanted to beg her not to ask it. He wanted to avoid it at all costs.
“What happens to us now?
Is
there an us? Can there ever be an us if I do not embrace your faith?”
Swallowing hard, Matt tried to speak several times, but couldn’t. Finally, he shook his head miserably and choked, “I can’t, Lane—”
She showed more strength than she felt. Lane nodded tersely and gave him a watery smile. “I understand. I’m going to go pack now. Can I get you to lead me back to that rest stop? I hate to ask—”
He nodded. “Of course. Just call when you’re ready—”
“Ok. It’ll take me a couple of hours to get back, get the car packed and be ready to go.”
“Never mind—I’ll be in the lobby when you call for the valet.”
She shut the door quietly behind her and walked resolutely down the stairs and out to the street. Matt watched, his heart in his stomach, as she rounded the corner and walked out of his world. He’d known it was coming, but he hadn’t been prepared for the intensity of the pain.
~*~*~*~
“Can I still write you?” Matt knew he was asking too much of her.
“Will you understand if I can’t always respond?”
“Of course. I’d like us to find a common ground of friendship somehow. I’ll miss you, Lane.”
She looked into his eyes and nodded. “You mean that. Can I ask my own selfish question?” She hesitated and then whispered, “Will you still write me letters that you don’t send?”
He swallowed hard. He’d written one just minutes after she’d left. Something in her eyes told him what she’d really asked. Matt nodded. “I already have.”
“Nothing’s changed, really.”
A protest formed on his lips and died. She was right. Nothing had changed. Their hearts had been intertwined from afar, and now they still would be. There was still no chance for them just as there hadn’t been a few weeks ago. “I guess not. I still love a girl I can’t have.”
She turned to walk away, but couldn’t. He caught her in his arms as she flung herself at him one last time. “I love you too, Matt. I wish I could—I wish God—”
“Shh— I know.”
Against all better judgment, Matt kissed her. He stood, hands crossed over his chest as she backed out of her parking spot and pulled out, the blinker winking mockingly at him as she rounded the corner and drove away from him. The rest stop was mercifully empty allowing Matt to drop to the ground as great sobs ripped through him.
Eighteen
From:
[email protected]
Subject:
Broken Pieces
Dear Sir,
Please ask your daughter to send back the broken pieces of my heart. I find I can’t get by without them. She’s on her way and she’s hurting. I tried but failed. Please forgive me.
Alone,
Matt
Warren read the words and swore. It wasn’t a habit he indulged in frequently, and immediately, he glanced around the office to see if anyone heard him. His conscience mocked him, reminding him that God heard him, but at that particular moment, Warren didn’t care. Though he’d returned to a nodding acquaintance with the Lord, he was still rebellious enough to relish the freedom of thought and speech that came with a break with the
Brethren
.
He read Matt’s words once more. What they didn’t say spoke louder and more powerfully than what they did. Matt’s pain was deep, and Lane’s would be as well. A fresh wave of regret washed over him. If only he hadn’t been a part of the
Brethren
. If they had only stopped with suggestions and encouragement, his daughter would have met a good man, visited him, and probably married him. She’d be happy. If only.
From:
[email protected]
Subject:
I’ve heard of this Great Physician
I hope you go to Him and give Him a chance to heal you. I’m so sorry, Matt. This is my doing.
I will be selfish, however, and ask what you and your pastor discussed. I was sorry not to get to talk to him while I was there. I do need guidance.
I was so happy to meet your parents. I can see in both of them how you became the man you are. Lane says a teacher of yours had much to do with that as well.
Yes, Lane is home. She drove straight through. Twenty-seven hours. We’re fortunate that she didn’t kill herself or someone else. She’s sleeping now.
Please continue to write. Write to all of us. You do something for us that we can’t explain, but we do need.
I will try to pray for you,
Warren
Several emails filled the inbox as Warren typed the email that would do little to encourage Matt. Hank Miner sent a note of appreciation and assurances of payment for Tad and Lane’s performance. Included was a request for permission to give out their phone number to others that wanted to hire the unusual duet. A quick glance at the inbox showed three emails from ranchers who found their website and used the contact information to request their “services.”
This was an unexpected development. Warren didn’t want his children traveling all over the country. How would Lane keep up her correspondence with Matt if she wasn’t home to receive it? Their family felt fractured enough with Carrie gone and Kyle living in California.
He thought again of Matt and his family in Rockland. How hypocritical of him. He’d been perfectly happy to think of Lane married and settled in Rockland if that is where they wanted to live. Once again, his desire for control was going to harm his family. He wouldn’t let it happen. Not this time.
~*~*~*~
“I am going to church this Sunday.”
All forks but Lane’s dropped onto plates, making a loud racket. Lane took another bite as though her father had said nothing. “Tad, will you pass me another roll, please?”
Her studied courtesy told everyone at the table that Lane was upset. Warren glanced at her before wiping his mouth with his napkin and continuing. “I’ve thought long and hard about it. I even tried to pray about it—”
Lane stood abruptly. “Excuse me. I think I’ve eaten too much. I feel sick. Goodnight.”
After a deep breath, Warren tried again, ignoring the retreating back of his daughter. “I need to ask the
Brethren
’s forgiveness.”
“Will we go with you, Daddy?” Patience’s face was a comical mixture of excitement and dread.
“No, Ima. We won’t be returning to that church.”
“Then why go?” Tad asked the question on everyone’s mind.
“Because I did wrong. I harmed those people with my actions, and I need to ask forgiveness for that.”
Tad stood dropping his napkin on his seat. “Dad, I think I understand. I really do. I just want you to remember that the entire burden of the mistakes of the
Brethren
does not rest on your shoulders alone. You aren’t the only one who did the things you did. The other men are equally to blame. Apologize if you must, but don’t let them lynch you for their sins. We all have enough to pay for without taking on everyone else’s as well.”
Tad slipped from the room and found Lane at the computer. She barely glanced at him as she clicked through the process of purchasing a laptop, travel bag, and airline tickets to Tulsa. “I decided that if we’re going to do this, I need a way to keep in touch with everyone. Got our tickets too.”
“Are you sure you want to?” Lane hadn’t been as eager to accept invitations to perform as Tad had been. To Tad, it was a chance to see the world, or at least a little of the country, but Lane wanted nothing more than to be home nursing her heart.
“I can’t stay here and watch this. It’s spiritual suicide. You wanted to go, so I accepted four of the offers. I turned down the midweek ones and left open every other weekend so we’re busy for the next two months, but it’s not going to be all that overwhelming.”
Tad clicked through his emails and pulled up one of Matt’s. Lane rubbed her temple as she read, her other hand unconsciously twirling a strand of hair around her index finger. “Recording, huh. I think that’s a bit premature.”
“He says you can rent studios and do a print-on-demand thing for CDs. For the engagement party, that wouldn’t be something we’d want, but two of those places offered us a booth as a perk.”
She whirled on the desk chair. “Did it occur to you that maybe I can’t handle going to Rockland again anytime soon? I’m barely able to read and reply to his emails. It’s over. Do you get that? Over. He wants someone I can’t be, and I hate what he wants. I’m not going there.”
Her spunk was returning. Tad, as unhappy as it made him to see her hurt, was thrilled to see her strength and personality resurfacing. “Hey. Did it occur to you that places like Tulsa and Chicago might just have recording studios as well? Maybe even Spokane. I just thought it was a good idea.”
~*~*~*~
Matt read the email with mixed feelings. They were going to Tulsa, Chicago, San Antonio, and Bakersfield. One was an engagement party, one a rodeo, but two were conventions similar to the one in Rockland. Perhaps they’d be back. Her emails would be even fewer and farther between.
