Tracie Peterson (14 page)

“I don’t know what you mean.” She got to her feet and brushed off the dirt and leaves that clung to her skirt.

Logan jumped to his feet. “That’s it. It’s really a matter of you being afraid.”

Amelia bit at her lower lip again and looked at the ground. “I need to get back. They’ll have missed me at breakfast.”

Logan crossed the distance to stop her. Putting his hand out, he took hold of her arm and gently turned her back to face him. “God can fill that void inside, Amelia. He can wrap you in comfort and ease your burden. He can be all that human folks fail to be.”

Amelia pushed him away. She was, for the first time in a long, long time, frightened. Not of Logan Reed, but of what he represented. “I have to go.”

“In a minute,” Logan said softly. “First tell me why you were crying.”

Amelia shook her head. “It was nothing. Nothing of importance.”

Logan reached out and before Amelia could move, he smoothed back a bit of hair from her face and stroked her cheek with his fingers. “It’s important to me.” His voice was barely a whisper.

Amelia stared up at him and found herself washed in the flood of compassion that seemed to emanate from his eyes. Her mouth went dry and her heart pounded so hard that she was sure Logan could hear it. She struggled with her emotions for a full minute before steadying her nerves to reply. “I don’t want to be important to you.”

Logan laughed. “Too late. You already are.”

Amelia balled her hands into fists and struck them against her side. “Just leave me alone, Logan. I can’t do this.”

Logan looked at her in surprise. “Do what?”

Amelia opened her mouth as if to speak, then quickly shut it again. She had nearly said, “Love you.” Now, standing here in the crisp freshness of morning, Amelia knew beyond doubt, that Logan understood exactly what she’d nearly said. “I can’t do this,” was all she could say.

Logan backed away. “I have an idea. Why don’t you come on a hike with me tomorrow? Your family and friends will be on an overnight hunt; I heard Jonas telling Mary all about it after you left the kitchen. We could spend the whole day gathering your samples and I could spend all evening telling you what they are.”

“I don’t think—”

“Don’t think,” Logan said with such longing in his voice that Amelia couldn’t ignore his plea.

“All right,” she said quickly, hoping that if she agreed to his suggestion he’d leave her alone. There’d be plenty of time to back out of the invitation later. Later, when she was calmer and could think more clearly. Later when the warmth of Logan’s green eyes didn’t melt the icy wall she’d built between them.

Logan’s mustache twitched as it always did before his lips broke into a full smile. “I’m holding you to it.”

Amelia nodded and headed back down the mountain. Two things deeply troubled her. One was Logan’s words about God. The other was Logan, himself.

L
ogan had spent a restless day and night thinking of what his hike with Amelia might accomplish. He saw the desperation in her eyes. He knew she longed to understand what was missing in her life. But how could he lead her to the truth about God when she didn’t believe in the validity of God? Usually, whenever he witnessed to someone, Logan knew he could rely on the Scriptures to give them something solid that they could put their hands on—the written word of God. That seemed to be important to folks. With Amelia’s disbelief in God and her position that the Bible was nothing more than the collective works of men from the past, Logan felt at a loss as to how he could proceed without it. His mother and other Christians he’d known had assured him that all he needed was a faith in God and in His word. And even now, Logan believed that was still true. But what he couldn’t figure out was how to apply it all and show Amelia the way to God. Somehow, he felt, he must be failing as a Christian if this simple mission eluded him.
How can I defend my faith in God and show Amelia the truth, when it is that very truth that makes her run in the opposite direction?

Logan took up his Bible and sat down to a self-prepared breakfast of smoked ham and scrambled eggs. He opened the book and bowed his head in prayer. “Father, there’s a great deal of hurt inside Amelia Amhurst. I know You already see her and love her. I know You understand how to reach her. But I don’t know how to help and I seek Your guidance and direction. I want to help her find her way home to You. Give me the right words and open her heart to Your Spirit’s calling. In Jesus’ name I pray, Amen.”

Logan opened his eyes and found comfort in the Scripture before him. “The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God,” he read aloud from the eighth chapter of Romans. A peace came over him and he smiled. God’s Spirit would speak for him. It wasn’t Logan Reed’s inspirational words or evidence that would save Amelia; it was God’s Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit would also show her the validity of the Bible. He needn’t compromise his beliefs and put the Bible aside. Neither did he need to go out of his way to defend God. God could fully take care of all the details.

He almost laughed out loud the way he’d taken it all on his own shoulders. It was typical of him to rush in and try to arrange things on his own. But now he didn’t have to and God had made that quite clear. Amelia Amhurst was here for a reason. Not for her father’s matrimonial desires or Chamberlain’s financial benefits in joining with her. Amelia was here because God knew it was time for her to come to the truth. The Holy Spirit would bear witness to Amelia that not only was God real but also she had a way to reconcile herself with Him. With a lighter heart, Logan dug into his breakfast and prepared for the day.

Logan whistled a tune as he came into the lodge through the kitchen. He found Amelia bent over a sink-full of dishes and paused to consider her there. Her blond hair was braided in a simple fashion to hang down her back and the clothes she wore were more austere than usual. She no longer appeared the refined English rose, but rather looked to be the descendant of hearty pioneer stock.

“I see you dressed appropriately,” he said from behind her.

Amelia whirled around with soapy hands raised as though Logan had threatened a robbery. In a rather breathless voice she addressed him. “I borrowed some clothes from Mary.” Gone was any trace of her agitation with him the day before.

“Good thinking.” Logan felt unable to tear his gaze away from her wide blue eyes.

“She gave me some sturdy boots as well.” Amelia’s voice was a nervous whisper as soap suds dripped down her arms and puddle onto the wood floor.

“You gonna be much longer with those?” Logan asked, nodding toward the sink, but still refusing to release her gaze.

“No. I’m nearly finished.”

“I can help,” he offered.

“No. Why don’t you have a cup of coffee instead? I can see to this.”

Amelia was the one who finally turned away. Logan thought her cheeks looked particularly flushed, but he gave the cookstove and fireplace credit for this and took a cup. Pouring rich, black coffee, Logan nearly burned himself as his glances traveled back and forth between Amelia and the coffee.

“How’d the quilting lesson go yesterday?” he asked.

“My stitches were as big as horses,” Amelia admitted, “but Mary told me not to worry about it. She said it was better to work at consistency and spacing.”

“Mary should know. She does beautiful work.”

“Yes, she does.” Amelia finished with her task and dried her hands on her apron. “I don’t suppose I’ll ever do such nice work.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. Look how quick you took to making doughnuts. When you reach Mary’s age you’ll be every bit as good at making quilts as she is.”

“I seriously doubt that,” she replied and Logan thought she sounded rather sad. “You see, once we return to England, I know it will hardly be acceptable for me to sit about making quilts and frying doughnuts.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go back.”

The words fell between them as if a boulder had dropped into the room. Sensing Amelia’s inability to speak on the matter, Logan changed the subject. “Well, I have a knapsack full of food, so if you’re ready—”

Amelia nodded and untied her apron. “Let me get my coat.” She hurried over to a nearby chair and pulled on a serviceable broadcloth coat. The jacket was several sizes too big, obviously another loan from Mary, but Logan thought she looked just right.

Smiling, he nodded. “You look perfect.”

“Hardly that, Mr. Reed, but I am … well—” she glanced down at her mismatched attire and raised her face with a grin, “I am prepared.”

He laughed. “Well, out here that suggests perfection. A person ought to always be prepared. You never know when a storm will blow up or an early snow will keep you held up in your house. Preparation is everything.”

The sun was high overhead before Logan suggested they break for lunch. Amelia was secretly relieved and plopped down on the ground in the most unladylike manner. The scenery around her was hard to ignore. The rocky granite walls were imposing and gave her a powerful reminder of how little she knew of taking care of herself.
What if something happened to Logan? How would I ever return to Estes without his assistance?

“You up to one more thing before I break out the chow?

Amelia looked up and hoped that the weariness she felt was hidden from her expression. “I suppose so.” She made a motion to get up, but before she could move Logan reached down and lifted her easily.

“You look pretty robust,” he said, dropping his hold, “but you weigh next to nothing. I’ve had dogs that weighed more than you.”

Amelia thought it was a strange sort of observation, but then remembered back in Greeley when her beauty had been compared to a polished spittoon. “And I’ve had horses more mannerly than you,” she finally replied, “but I don’t hold that against you and I pray you won’t hold my weight against me.”

“You pray?” he said, acting surprised.

“It’s a mere expression, I assure you. Now please show me what you had in mind and then feed me before I perish.”

Logan took hold of her hand and pulled her along as though they traveled in this manner all of the time. He walked only a matter of ten or twelve steps, however, before drawing Amelia up to a frightening precipice.

“Oh, my!” she gasped, gazing over the edge of the sheer drop. She clung to Logan’s hand without giving thought to what he might think. “How beautiful,” she finally added, gazing out beyond the chasm. A tiny ledge of rock stuck out some six or seven feet below them, but after that there was nothing but the seemingly endless open spaces below. Beyond them, the Rocky Mountain panorama stretched out and Amelia actually felt a lump form in her throat. There were no words for what she was feeling. Such a rush of emotions simply had no words. It was almost as if this country beckoned to her inner soul. She felt something here that she’d never known anywhere else. Not in the Alps with all of their grandeur. Not amongst the spicy, exotic streets of Egypt. Not even on her father’s estate in England.

Her eyes scanned the scene and her mind raced with one pounding sensation. When her eyes settled on Logan’s face, that sensation was realized in a single word.
Home. I feel,
she thought,
as though I’ve come home.