Chapter Thirty-Two
“IS THIS a joke? Some sort of nasty trick?” Gwynn lifted the bag onto her lap and pulled out another wide, rolled-up wad of money. She slipped the twine free. The bills unfurled to reveal a large-size 1923 US one-hundred-dollar bill rolled around a stack of deteriorating Confederate paper currency. “Is Confederate money even worth anything anymore?”
“Not in that state, it’s not.” Cash untied two more wads, each arranged in the same layout—an antiquated US bill wrapped about several Confederate bills, most of them in poor condition.
Gwynn’s stomach threatened to eject her lunch. “Who did this? Who took the time to conceal defunct currency and then bury it?”
“Details lost to history, unfortunately.”
She picked up a flaking bill. “Our parents died over someone’s warped idea of a joke!”
“No.” Cash kneaded his neck, his eyes pained. “You said it yourself—they died over the love and greed of money.”
Gwynn popped open the lid to the palm-sized tobacco tin. A moan escaped her. “No handful of gold nuggets. Just one nugget and a smattering of gold flakes.”
Cash took the nugget and held it to the light. He sighed. “It’s pyrite. Fool’s gold.”
“How do you know?”
He looked at her, eyebrows rising. “We live in an old mining town, Gwynn. Our teachers drilled into us how to discern the differences between real gold and fool’s gold.”
“And yet our fathers didn’t see it.”
“People see what they want to see sometimes.”
“You sound like Aunt Maude.” She threw the tin back into the bag. “Unbelievable. Our parents died for nothing. You, yourself, wasted countless hours searching for nothing .” She stood and paced in front of the fireplace. “If only I’d examined the ‘treasure’ for myself years ago, I wouldn’t have been duped. Or if your dad had inspected it when he first found it on our land, he would’ve tossed it back in the ground. Then Alex wouldn’t have had anything to steal and—”
“Gwynn.”
Cash’s soft tone drew her gaze. His Adam’s apple bobbed once. “We can’t play that game. It’ll drive us mad. It’s what I did after you disappeared years ago. If only I’d arrived sooner. If only I hadn’t let you run off. If only I’d tried to stop Dad before he left. It won’t help our situation.”
“But this is stupid.” She gestured to the bills splayed on the cushion. “Almost all of those bills—useless. Worthless.”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“I wanted to return your treasure, but all I did was get your hopes up.” Discouragement built in her chest as she lowered herself to the couch again. “You’re still a struggling craftsman, and Ainsley won’t get her chance at college.”
Cash placed the money and twine back into the bag. “God provides. And He’ll help me figure things out with Ainsley.”
Gwynn pushed against the ache behind her breastbone. “Why aren’t you upset about this?”
“Not a day goes by when I don’t wish my folks were alive, but I’m not upset about the money. I’d decided before coming here that I wouldn’t accept it, even if you tried to force it on me, so I’m no worse off than I was an hour ago.”
“But I am.” She took a shallow breath. “My heart feels like a ship caught in a storm, first wrenched one way, then wrenched another … I’m about to capsize.”
Cash framed her face, his gaze rock steady. “Then let God take the wheel, Gwynn. And let me help you man the sails.” His thumbs moved over her cheeks, and he gave her a small smile. Standing, he reached for his hat and tipped the bullet from his brim into his hand. “You want this?”
She shook her head.
He pocketed it and tugged her to her feet. “C’mon, let’s go for a walk. We could use some fresh air … and a fresh perspective.”
* * *
They walked in silence, the sun shining in the brilliant blue sky even as tiny snowflakes floated lazily about them. The crusted snow glistened across front yards and evergreen trees, a sparkling contrast to the wrestling match going on inside Gwynn. Judging by the tic in Cash’s jaw, he did his own wrestling.
Their meandering brought them to Bentley Park, and Gwynn sank onto a belt swing. The cold seeped through her jeans. Lifting her face to the sunlight, she inhaled. “Alex used to say that when our insides feel lousy, beautiful days are like a slap in the face.”
Cash relaxed against the crossbar of the swing set’s metal A-frame. “I say they’re God’s way of giving us a hug when we need it the most.”
Gripping the swing’s chains, Gwynn rotated toward Cash. “That’s what I always appreciated—and envied—about you. Your ability to see the silver lining in almost anything. To bring out the charm in a knotty piece of pine.” She pushed away in a slow arc. “Or recognize the masterpiece beneath the scribble.”
His lips twitched. “The way God works, I’m guessing scribbles are part of the masterpiece.” He patted his coat and withdrew a red envelope from an inside pocket. “Speaking of scribbling, I was planning to give this to you earlier, before the whole money debacle.”
She walked the swing closer to him. “What is it?”
“A letter.” Cash passed it to her.
Santa Claus ~ North Pole was scrawled across the envelope in teenage penmanship.
Her teenage penmanship.
She sucked in a breath. “Where’d you get this?”
“’Member I had a story to tell you? I got a flat tire on my way home from Miles City. The company truck didn’t have a spare, so I was stuck in the canyon with no cell service, wondering what to do next when a jolly old man in a 1940s Ford pickup came along and helped me.” Cash flipped up his coat collar. “I think.”
“You think he helped you?” Gwynn turned over the envelope. Its seal was broken.
“Well, I don’t recall him changing my tire, but before he arrived, it was flat, and before he left … it wasn’t.” Cash frowned at the ground. “He wore a red and black plaid coat, so I reckon he’s that same Santa-dude from before.”
“You saw Meister K!” He’d gotten the letter to her, after all.
“Is that what we’re calling him now? Anyway, we had the most topsy-turvy conversation. He’s the one who told me I’d find you at the ranch. Said you might be in trouble.”
She looked up. “How could he have known that?”
Cash shrugged. “He handed me the envelope and instructed me to give it to you. Apparently, he was supposed to deliver it himself, but ‘it’s crunch-time at the Workshop.’ When I tried to coax further information from him, he said, ‘Life doesn’t wait for pokey boyfriends, and Christmas doesn’t wait for Santa.’” Cash folded his arms. “Are you following any of this? Do you know what he’s talking about?”
“Kinda? But you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I’m not even sure I’d believe me.” Gwynn stood and walked over to the dome-shaped steel jungle gym as she took two folded sheets of paper from the envelope, one yellowed and old, one crisp and new. She unfolded the old one first.
It was the letter she’d written to Gramps almost a decade ago.
How had Meister K gotten his hands on this?
She climbed onto a horizontal bar and read her young words, several key lines jumping out at her.
Cash is an amazing guy and comes from an amazing family, and he deserves to be with an amazing girl.
He thinks I’m that girl, but deep down, I know I’m not.
… the truth of who I am, what I am, would only end up staining the unblemished canvas of his life.
This is where you come in … All I want for Christmas is for you to help Cash find a new girl. One worthy of his love, one he won’t regret having chosen when he’s old and gray …
Gwynn blinked away her blurred vision. What a lost soul she’d been—and still was in many ways, for hadn’t she prayed along similar lines just the other day?
“Forgive me,” she whispered, “for demeaning myself when I am Your unique creation.”
Shifting on the jungle gym, she unfolded the second piece of paper, a half sheet written in swirly handwriting.
Dear Gwynn,
I trust you see now why I’ve taken so long to answer your letter (apologies for having misplaced it the other day!). In my defense, you never set a target date, and neither of you were ready until recently for the level of commitment marriage requires. But you have always been the “amazing girl” for Cash. If we had to prove ourselves worthy of another’s heart before earning their love, I suspect the human race would have died out long ago.
I also trust your memories have been released, and you’re in the beginning stages of healing. Therefore, my Christmas wish for you is that you’ll leave your teenage burdens in the past and not allow your fears of the future to overshadow the present. I know too many lives shriveled by regret, a prayer on their tongues that they’d done things differently.
So, take risks. Fail. Get back up and try again.
Fall in love. Have quarrels. Forgive and receive forgiveness.
Rinse and repeat, as they say. ;)
May you be blessed, my dear girl, and may you be a blessing.
Merry CHRISTmas ,
Santa
Gwynn swiped a tear, letting the words soak into her soul. Had the Lord inspired him? There was freedom in his words. Freedom to live. Freedom to have adventures. Freedom from fear.
For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love, and of self-discipline , Scripture said.
For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works.
There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.
No condemnation.
Freedom.
Cash came to stand before her, propping one boot beside hers on the lowest bar. He nudged her knee with his. “You okay?”
Smiling, she dabbed at her eyes before her lashes froze. “God is good.”
“Amen to that.”
“No, really.” She stuffed the letters back into the envelope. “Despite everything I’ve learned and remembered this past week, despite the things that look messy and feel unpleasant, I can take comfort in the promise that God is in control of it all. And He only ever operates out of His goodness.”
She tucked her hands holding the envelope between her knees and gazed at the snow-covered mountains rising in the distance. “God’s not petty or mean or manipulative. He’s compassionate and merciful, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness, and forgiving wickedness, rebellion, and sin. His ways are just. He’s our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in times of trouble.” A smile spread across her lips, her spirit encouraged by the beautiful qualities she’d rattled off.
Cash put a hand to his chest. “A woman who knows her Scriptures, be still my heart. Now she is worth far more than rubies.”
Gwynn ducked her head. “That was for my benefit, not yours. A reminder of the truth, no matter my conflicting emotions or circumstances.”
“And evidence that you’re pursuing the Lord, not running from him.” Cash leaned forward and grasped the bar on which she sat, sandwiching her between his gloved hands. “I’m sorry I hurt you with my careless words this past week. It wasn’t my intent.” His gaze turned pleading. “Please know that you are the treasure I want by my side, Gwynn, not money. You’re courageous, talented, honorable, humble—I want you in my life. Give me the chance to earn your trust … and your heart.” He leaned closer still. “And if your heart is set on Boston, then I’m willing to move there too.”
Her eyes flared. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” His gaze darted between her eyes and her mouth, and he whispered, “Whatever it takes to prove myself to you, I’ll do it. Please tell me I have a chance.”
Take risks. Fall in love. Forgive .
How many more signs did God have to arrange before she abandoned her worries and teenage fallacies and accepted Cash as a worthy suitor? She’d spent almost a decade missing this man—she would not spend the rest of her life in the same manner because she’d bent the knee to fear.
Gwynn hooked her fingers into one of his coat pockets. “Of course you have a chance. Though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t trust you already. But can you first forgive me for mishandling the rift between our fathers? For being stubborn and blind even now? I’m sor—”
“Done.”
His mouth covered hers in a hungry kiss. She squeaked, momentarily losing her balance on the bar, then grabbed his collar and returned his kiss with as much enthusiasm as he gave.
After a moment, he murmured against her lips, “I don’t deserve you.”
“Nor I, you.” She linked her arms about his neck, his hand at her back persuading her off the jungle gym and into his embrace. “But maybe it’s less about what we deserve, and more about what we choose. What we commit to. To whom we choose to commit.”
Cash’s blue eyes glinted under the brim of his Stetson. “I’m committed to spending the rest of my life convincing you to choose me.”
“I don’t think it’s gonna take that long.” And she lifted her face to receive another kiss.