Texas Angel, 2-in-1 (21 page)
“I don’t know. . . .”
“Haden, if I don’t leave, I know I will kill myself. I already planned to do it as soon as the baby was born.” There, it was said! Even if he wanted to deny it, he had the evidence of his own eyes to confirm her earnestness.
“Oh, Rebekah . . .”
“I will, Haden. It is no empty threat. I have decided. I cannot bear another minute here. The only reason I have held off this long is because of the baby.”
Haden concentrated on his coffee for a long moment, taking a thoughtful sip. “You know, even if my taking you is perfectly innocent, he will think the worst. He knows I have always loved you. He’ll probably kill me.”
“Benjamin would never do such an unholy act.”
“He’d find a way to sanctify it.”
“Leaving is my only hope.” She clutched her hands together, imagining once more the feel of the knife slicing the life from her.
Perhaps he saw the cold certainty in her tone, perhaps he thought that if he did as she asked, there might yet be a chance for him to have her. Whatever his reasons, he finally said, “Can you leave in the morning?”
She nodded, a slow smile forming on her lips. She knew leaving her husband went against all she believed to be holy, but then, so did taking her own life. She had only unholy choices left.
And she could not deny that however ungodly her plan, it gave her hope and a reason to live.
R
IDING HIS CIRCUIT, BENJAMIN FOUGHT
the image of that proud woman in San Felipe. He tried to deny her intriguing nobility nearly as staunchly as he denied her lithe body and her dark exotic beauty. He could still see her slim shoulders hitched back, thick waves of sable hair swinging against her back, giving her rodlike strength a certain inexplicable vulnerability.
“God, forgive me!” he prayed again, as he had many times since leaving San Felipe.
He was deceived indeed to attribute nobility to such a woman. She was nothing more than a harlot. Even the term “soiled dove” was too kind to attach to a woman such as she. She was practiced in tempting innocent men such as he, especially married men who had been denied by their wives for months on end!
The more he thought of it, the more he knew this attraction he felt was an attack of Satan upon a man of God. The woman called Liz was nothing but a tool of Satan. And Benjamin refused to be used by that device.
He spurred his horse on, resisting the temptation to race over the final few miles to his home. If for no other reason, he needed a reminder of who he was. But for other reasons as well, he was actually looking forward to spending an extended period there. He had decided that with less than two months to go before the birth of their fourth child, he would remain at the cabin the entire duration and even for a couple of weeks after the birth. He would help plant the garden and perhaps put in a small crop of corn. It would be good for Micah to learn farming, since it seemed a small hope that the boy would follow his father into the ministry. Of course, the only problem with his plan was that Benjamin himself had little experience in the ways of farming. But he had brought from Boston a couple of books on the subject. That, with the help of God, should be sufficient.
Beyond this, Benjamin also anticipated spending time with Rebekah. She had grown so cold lately, and though he could barely admit it, this attitude had begun long before coming to Texas. He supposed after fourteen years of marriage such a circumstance was to be expected. But he could not remember the last time she had expressed words of love to him. And, to tell the truth, it was getting harder and harder for him to do the same. Their love seemed to have grown cold by his absences and her complaining. But he would fix that in the next few months. All a woman really needed was a little attention. He felt certain they had no problem so serious it could not be simply repaired. He would dote a bit on his wife, and she would change her attitude.
As he neared the cabin, a disturbing sight greeted him. On that chill, spring afternoon, no smoke rose from the chimney. This was too strange an occurrence to be discounted lightly. Something was wrong. Had Rebekah begun her labor early and somehow gone to one of the neighbors? But how could she have done so? He had taken the spare horse with him on this trip with the intent of getting supplies. Perhaps John Hunter had come for her.
If not that, then what? Had one of the children taken ill? Perhaps Indians had attacked—though everyone said the Indians in this area were not hostile. Yet who could really tell about such things?
“Giddyup!” he urged his mount.
In the yard of the cabin, he jumped from the horse before it had come to a full stop and raced to the door. A sudden sense of dread made him pause there. He might well find the bodies of his entire family strewn inside.
“Dear God, please don’t let it be.”
He gripped the latch, finding the latch string out, not knowing if this meant well or ill. Pushing open the door, he was greeted by a cold, uninhabited cabin. It reminded him of when he had first arrived here last year, except now there were disquieting signs of the recent inhabitants. Isabel’s doll lay on the floor. One of Rebekah’s shawls hung over the edge of a chair, and the colorful cloth Rebekah had put over the rough table was still in place. Benjamin thought it odd how much more deserted the cabin seemed now than when they had first found it occupied by wild animals. He shivered involuntarily.
Where was everyone?
Closing the door behind him, he stepped further into the eerie place and walked idly about. Dirty dishes were on the sideboard, so unlike Rebekah to leave. Then he noticed a layer of dust on various surfaces. This place had been unoccupied for some time . . . days, perhaps even a week or two.
He was trying to decide what to do—ride to the Hunters to see if his family had gone there or to the tavern in Cooksburg to see if Mr. Petty knew anything. Petty usually knew everything that went on in the area. That’s when Benjamin saw the paper tucked under the china sugar bowl Rebekah kept on the table. Of course! She had left him a note. It would explain all. He picked up the paper and began to read.
Dear Benjamin,
It pains me greatly to write this letter, yet I am left with no other
choice. My heart is breaking, husband. My very soul teeters on the
edge of destruction. I am desperate with loneliness. I don’t know how
I can make you understand when I can barely do so myself. I realize
only now how much I thrived on my life in Boston—my friends and
especially my family. I need all that desperately. I am empty and lost
without it. That is why I have decided to do what I am doing. I have left
you, Benjamin. You, of course, will not believe this, but I think it was
God’s providence that Haden showed up at the peak of my despair. He
is taking me back to Boston. You may think what you will, but I must
quickly add that the situation is completely innocent between Haden
and me. He is merely acting as my escort.
I ask, no, I implore you not to attempt to follow me. I will not come
back if that is your intent, not now at least. I must see my family. I will
have our baby in Boston. When I recover from that, perhaps I will be in
a better frame of mind to return to Texas. In the meantime, Benjamin, I
want you to continue with your ministry. I do not wish to be the cause of
its failure. Moreover, I do not want you to end up hating me for making
you quit as I hate you for making me come to Texas. Though you may
now consider me to be a heathen reprobate, I believe God’s work to be
important. I will not stand in its way.
Forgive me, Benjamin, for not being the strong woman of God you
deserve. Forgive me for . . . for everything. I guess there is nothing more
to say. Perhaps someday it will be right again between us, but even you
must admit it has not been so for years. Texas was only the proverbial
back-breaking straw. We have had no real marriage for a long time, and
right at this moment I have little hope we ever will. I can only say that time
will tell. Until then, serve God. It is what you do best. God only knows
what heights you will reach unencumbered by a millstone such as I.
I’ll say no more, Benjamin. God be with you.
Always,
Rebekah
Before the letter tumbled from Benjamin’s hand, he saw perhaps the greatest affront it held. Clearly the word
Always
at the end had been changed from another word. Rebekah had first written
Love
, then had darkly scrawled
Always
over it, as if she thought he might not be able to tell.
Taking a sharp breath, he clamped his mouth so tightly closed that it began to hurt, but the pain was oddly welcome. He stood still by the table for a while, resisting the temptation to retrieve the fallen letter and read it again. The cold began to penetrate his body and make him shake, but still he stood unmoving, his mind blank except for a white flame inside his head, which he knew was the beginning of rage.
Part of him knew he should quell that rage before it grew stronger, but another part wanted to give it full vent. Finally, it was the latter that won out.
How dare she to do this to him? The selfish, foolish vixen! And how could she write such gibberish? She’d made it sound as though their marriage was a huge disaster. All marriages had a few problems, but she had blown theirs all out of proportion. Was she demented? No, the words on that page had not been those of insanity. She had given them much thought, perhaps even agonized over them. But she was thinking only of herself—as always.
She cared neither for him nor for God, as she tried to claim. She’d always cared only for her own comforts. He could not remember a day in the last year when she had not whined about Boston. She had never given Texas a chance. She had scorned his holy call from the begin.ning, and now she was two-faced enough to say she believed the work of God to be important! The work of God meant nothing to her and neither did he, God’s servant. She relished destroying him in this way, thrusting a knife into his heart and twisting it vilely. And the most vile twist of all was her running off with Haden! What a pitiful attempt she had made in trying to couch it in innocence.
Innocence, indeed!
His wife had run off with his brother!
Thus Benjamin raged for the next hour. He grabbed Rebekah’s precious sugar bowl, the one her mother had given to her as a special going.away present. He flung it against the rough logs of the cabin wall. It shattered, spilling expensive and hard-to-come-by sugar all over the floor. Benjamin reveled in the broken china, shattered like his wife’s shattered marriage vows.
And she had the nerve to think he might chase after her! Ha! He would no more do that than he would give up his ministry. Let her crawl back to him. Not that he would take her back after she had defiled herself so.
Nearly blinded by fury, he grabbed something else to throw, a piece of crockery on the sideboard. Then he saw her wedding rings lying together side by side. He knew she had never before taken them from her finger. Until now. The horrible finality of what had happened gripped him stronger than rage, stronger than fury or righteous indignation. The realization came that she was gone, his children were gone, the life he had so cherished . . . gone. It assailed him like a blow to the gut. It sent bitter, burning bile up his throat.
“Oh, God!”
His knees gave out and he crumpled to the floor, crying like a child. Great choking sobs exploded from his being. The reaction surprised him, even angered him further, but he could not quench it. The tears just kept coming. And the white flame of rage turned darkly black as his soul descended into despair.
Until the moment he found the note under the sugar bowl, he’d thought he had a perfect marriage, a perfect family. There were a few problems, as any marriage of length encountered, but he’d been so certain they needed but a small fix. Even now he found it hard to believe they could have been so serious. Could he have been that wrong? Yes, he had known Rebekah was not happy with their move. But “teetering on the edge of destruction”? Surely he was not so blind that he could have missed it. Had he known . . . had he known . . . what then? What would he have done? What could he have done? Even she had acknowledged the importance of his ministry. Did she expect him to give it all up for her happiness?
No, she did not. So she had left on her own. Did she not realize that act in itself had the potential to be just as destructive to his ministry as his leaving it? He hardly dared think of the repercussions. Yet they crowded into his distraught mind in spite of himself. How could he be accepted as a leader of his parish if he could not handle his own family?
Would he then become an object of scorn? Oh, how Rebekah would enjoy seeing that. She had on occasion pointed out what she perceived to be his arrogance, but which he defined as righteousness. Regardless of the semantics, she would love to see him shamed before his flock.
Shamed! How can I bear it, dear God?
He dropped his head into his hands as fresh tears assailed him. Then he reached out and gathered Rebekah’s letter into his hand, crumpling it into a ball. With a few words, his life was ended. All that mattered was crushed as certainly as he crushed the paper in his hand.
The sound of a horse’s whinny in the yard momentarily arrested his attention. Devastated as he was, the common tasks of life called. In his earlier panic he had left the horses to themselves, one still loaded with supplies.
Taking a steadying breath, he started to rise. At that moment, he heard footfall on the doorstep. He could hardly ignore the knock on the door. Whoever it was would know, with two horses roaming in the yard, that someone was home.
B
ENJAMIN RUBBED HIS HANDS ACROSS
his face. His first instinct was to act as if all was normal. Swallowing back the lump in his throat, he rose as a muffled knock struck his door. But even as he stepped toward the door, he wondered if he could ignore it.
