Chapter Twenty-Three #2
Pastor Luke’s words remained with Henry for the entire journey home.
The afternoon sun hung lower now, casting long golden shadows across the prairie.
Buck picked his way steadily along the familiar road, his hooves sending up little clouds of pale dust that drifted lazily in the still air.
Meadowlarks perched upon the fence posts, and in the distance a small herd of cattle grazed quietly beneath the wide Texas sky.
“Sometimes the greatest act of love isn’t solving another person’s burden. It’s simply reminding them they don’t have to carry it alone.”
He turned the words over again and again.
Perhaps that was where he had gone wrong.
He had been so determined to uncover the truth that he had forgotten Ruth might have good reason to fear it.
Whatever burden she carried, he had tried to force it from her instead of giving her a place to lay it down willingly.
He tightened his grip on the reins. When he returned home, he would not ask questions. He would simply be present and if she wished to speak, he would listen. If she remained silent, he would wait. Trust, Pastor Luke had reminded him, could not be hurried.
The ranch came into view as Buck crested the final rise.
Henry smiled almost unconsciously. The vegetable garden stretched neatly behind the house, its rows flourishing beneath Nora’s careful tending.
Laundry stirred gently on the line beside the kitchen, white sheets billowing in the afternoon breeze like sails upon a quiet sea.
Then he noticed something else, an unfamiliar horse stood tied to the hitching rail in front of the house. A powerful dark bay gelding with expensive tack and a polished saddle unlike anything owned by the neighboring ranchers.
Henry frowned. He had not been expecting visitors.
As he rode into the yard, a man stepped out from the shade of the porch.
He was well dressed despite the dust of the road, wearing a dark frock coat that fit him perfectly and boots polished to a shine.
His hat was of finer quality than most men on the frontier could afford, and there was an ease about him that immediately put Henry on his guard.
The stranger smiled pleasantly. “Mr. Foster, I presume.”
Henry swung down from Buck but did not remove his hand from the reins. “That’s right.”
The man stepped forward and extended his hand.
“Forgive the intrusion.” His voice was smooth, almost refined. “My name is Gideon Walker.”
Henry accepted the handshake out of courtesy, though something about the man’s smile unsettled him. “What can I do for you, Mr. Walker?”
Walker released his hand and glanced briefly around the yard as though admiring the ranch. “A fine place you’ve built.”
“It’s been in my family a long while.”
“So I’ve heard.” There was the slightest pause before Walker continued. “I’m searching for a young woman.”
Henry waited. “Her name is Ruth Turner.”
The name struck him like a sudden gust of cold wind. Turner. His thoughts flew immediately to the Bible. Sarah Turner. For a fraction of a second, he simply stared at the stranger. “I’m afraid no one by that name lives here.”
The smile upon Walker’s face widened ever so slightly. “No?”
Henry shook his head. “No.”
Walker gave a thoughtful nod, as though considering the answer. “That is... interesting.”
Something in the man’s tone caused the hairs on the back of Henry’s neck to rise.
Before he could speak again, Walker took one unhurried step to the side and lifted a gloved hand toward the far edge of the property.
Henry followed his gaze. Beyond the barn, where the narrow path wound through the cottonwoods toward the schoolhouse, two familiar figures emerged into the afternoon sunlight.
Lola skipped happily along the trail, swinging her school satchel with careless delight.
Beside her walked Nora. She carried the child’s bonnet in one hand while listening attentively to whatever story Lola was telling.
Every now and then, she laughed softly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear as they crossed the little footbridge over the creek.
Neither of them had noticed the men standing in the yard.
Walker observed them for a moment. “That’s her.”
Henry looked from Walker to Nora, then back again. “No, it isn’t.”
Walker raised an eyebrow.
“That is my wife, Nora.” There was a firmness in Henry’s voice that surprised even himself.
Walker regarded him with an almost sympathetic expression. “I can understand why you’d think that,” he said. “It is clear Ruth lied to you in order to coerce you into marriage. But the difficulty, Mr. Foster, is that Ruth is promised to me.”
Just then, he reached into the inside pocket of his coat and Henry’s muscles tightened instinctively. Walker withdrew not a weapon but a neatly folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it with deliberate care. “A marriage agreement.”
Henry did not take it. Walker glanced down at the document.
“Signed by Jacob Turner.”
The surname struck Henry again. Turner, not Smith, Turner.
Walker folded the paper once more. “Her father accepted my proposal a month ago.”
Henry’s thoughts raced. The Bible, the letters, all those inconsistencies. He had known there was a secret, just not this one.
Walker continued in the same calm, measured voice. “Imagine my surprise when I discovered she’d disappeared.”
He smiled faintly. “Her father has been terribly concerned.”
Henry heard the words. Yet, somehow, they rang hollow.
Concern. The man spoke of it easily enough. But there was something missing. His voice held no relief or joy at finding her safe. Only possession. As though he were discussing livestock that had wandered through a broken fence.
Henry looked again toward Nora. Lola had stopped to show her something in the grass.
The two of them had crouched beside the path, entirely absorbed in examining a wildflower blooming between the stones. Nora smiled at the child with such open affection that Henry’s chest tightened. Whatever else might be true, that smile was real, and her love for Lola was genuine.
Walker followed his gaze. “I see she’s made herself comfortable.”
Henry’s jaw tightened.