The Shepherd's Voice (10 page)

“Your breakfast is ready, Simon,” his wife called from the kitchen.

Should he let the man pray in peace or go to him?

“Dear?” Violet stepped into the parlor. “Did you hear me calling? Your food is growing cold.”

Feeling a sudden sense of urgency, he made his decision. “I’m going to the church.” He reached for his Bible and his hat.

“But you haven’t eaten.”

“I’ll eat later.”

“Simon, whatever —?”

He met her gaze, and her objections immediately ceased. After forty years of marriage, she’d learned to read him well.

“I’ll say a prayer,” she said after a moment.

He gave her a gentle smile. “Thank you, dear.”

Simon whispered his own words of supplication as he covered the distance between parsonage and church, not knowing what awaited him inside.

The door creaked as he pulled it open. Anemic morning light filtered through the stained-glass window above the altar. Simon pushed his glasses up on his nose while his eyes adjusted to the shadowy interior. The man stood at the front of the church, staring up at the large wooden cross on the wall. He didn’t turn, gave no indication of hearing Simon’s arrival.

After a moment’s hesitation, the reverend slid into the back pew and waited.

No matter what you believe, you’ve never been alone, Gabriel Talmadge. Not even in your prison cell. Jesus went there with you.

Twenty years ago, he’d asked Jesus into his heart, but before the week was out, he’d denied Him. He’d wanted his father’s love and approval more than God’s. He’d feared his father’s anger more than he’d feared God’s wrath. There was no forgiveness for that. How could there be?

Nothing can separate you from the Father’s love.

Gabe had spent his youth doing whatever he could to get Hudson’s approval. When approval didn’t come, he’d done whatever it took simply to get his father’s attention, even if it meant living for the devil himself. He’d known the things he did were wrong. He hadn’t needed anyone to tell him so.

A man can endure a sick body, but who can bear a crushed spirit?

Gabe sank to his knees. He lowered his head to his chest, feeling crushed and broken. “O God.”

Do you think the Almighty was surprised by what you did?

God was God. He had to know everything. But it was also true that vengeance belonged to Him. Gabe had to be punished, for he’d chosen all the wrong things. He’d known the Truth, and he’d turned the other way.

Isn’t it arrogance of the highest order to believe your sins are somehow greater than God Himself?

Gabe sucked in a breath as he raised his eyes toward the cross once more.

He’s the God of second chances
,
Gabriel Talmadge …

The God of second chances …

Second chances …

“Jesus,” he whispered, “I want another chance.”

SEVEN

By noon, Akira was in the hayfield, mowing alfalfa that was in full bloom. Sweat trickled along the sides of her face as the sun beat down with brutal fierceness upon the crown of her straw hat. Her back ached and new blisters had formed on her hands, despite her leather gloves, but she kept going. The work wouldn’t wait.

At the end of the row, she turned the horses and mowing machine. Then she caught a glimpse of Big Red, with Gabe astride, coming over the rise. Her heart fluttered. Her breath caught in her throat.

He’s back!

She slipped the reins over her head and left them trailing on the ground as she hurried across the new-mown field.

Gabe had already dismounted and was standing beside Big Red when Akira came around the corner of the house. Their gazes met, and she halted.

He held out the reins, as if offering them to her. “I brought back the horse. I didn’t steal him.”

She shook her head. “I knew that.”

“I went to see Reverend Neville.”

He’d made his peace with God. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice.

“Thanks, Akira.”

She didn’t ask for what.
Thank You, Jesus.

He smiled, a look both joyous and tender.

She felt suddenly lightheaded and weak in the knees.
Too much sun,
she rationalized as she fought to regain her equilibrium.
It must be heatstroke.

Gabe tipped his head toward the hayfield. “Looks like you could use some help down there.” He turned. “I’ll put up the horse, then give you a hand. It’s time I started earning my keep.” He led Big Red into the shadowy recesses of the barn.

The instant he disappeared, Akira’s sense of balance began to return. She took a few slow, deep breaths. Yes, that was definitely better. A drink of chilled lemonade from the icebox and a few moments seated in the shade and she would feel herself again.

She strode toward the house, sweeping off her straw bonnet as she went. Inside, she hung the hat on a peg near the door. She crossed to the icebox, drew out the pitcher of lemonade, and poured the sweet-tart beverage into a glass. Then she tipped back her head and drained the contents without drawing a breath between gulps.

Much better.

She set the glass on the counter as her gaze shifted to the window. She saw Gabe walk out of the barn, stop, glance toward the house. That confounded weakness in her knees returned.

Maybe she’d better have another glass of lemonade before she returned to the mowing.

The green scent of new-cut alfalfa filled Gabe’s nostrils as he walked toward the hayfield. It was a heady odor, but he liked it. For that matter, he liked everything he saw. Today, even the relentless heat couldn’t dampen his joy.

Smiling to himself, he sat in the shade of a tree at one end of the field and waited for Akira.

He stared into the distance; where granite mountain peaks met the pale blue of a cloudless sky. The verse Simon Neville had read to him came to mind: “For the mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed; but My kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of My peace be removed, saith the L
ORD
that hath mercy on thee.”

Gabe thought about how the mountains had stood as sentries over this valley for thousands of years. No man could destroy them, not even with all the dynamite in the world. They could cut holes in them, burrow deep mines into their sides. They could blow away portions and cut down trees. Yet ultimately, the mountains would prevail. They would stand against the efforts of man.

But those same mountains would crumble before God’s kindness, mercy, and peace would depart from Gabe.

Incredible but true.

“Men have complicated the things of God down through the centuries,” Simon had told him. “But God’s way is easy. All you need do is ask Christ to rescue you, to forgive you, and He will. The Word says all who call upon the name of Jesus will be saved.”

Gabe had started to protest, had tried to explain about all the wrong he’d done, but Simon hadn’t let him finish.

“Even the thief on the cross was forgiven in the last moments of his life. He had no time to do good works, no time to make amends. Yet Jesus promised him they would be together in paradise that very day … simply because he asked Christ to remember him.”

So simple.

So awesome.

Gabe glanced toward the ranch house and saw Akira’s approach, her stride long, fluid, and sure. He remembered how she’d said
God had brought him here for a purpose. He hadn’t believed it at the time, but now he knew how right she’d been.

Thank God.

He got to his feet.

“Sorry I was so long,” she said.

“I didn’t mind the wait.” He grinned.

Her eyes widened slightly, reminding him of a startled doe caught in a beam of light. She looked … nervous. Not like the Akira he’d come to know. Was it something he’d said or done?

She glanced away. “We’d better get to work. Are you sure you feel up to this?”

“I feel up to everything.”

She met his gaze again, and this time she offered a tentative smile of her own.

He couldn’t guess what was going on inside her head, but at least her smile told him he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“I assume you’ve never mown hay before,” she said as she led the way toward the mowing machine.

“No, I haven’t.”

“But you can drive a team of horses.”

“No. Sorry.”

That caused her to look at him again. In the shadow of her broad-brimmed straw hat, he saw her eyebrows lift in an expression of disbelief.

“The Talmadges didn’t have carriages or buggies. We always had automobiles.”

“Ah.”

He was glad he hadn’t added,
and chauffeurs.
For some reason, it would have made him feel less in her eyes.

“Well,” she said, “you have plenty to learn, then.”

He glanced toward the mountains—strong, sure, immovable. “Yes. I’ve got plenty to learn, but I’m ready.”

They worked hard for the remainder of the afternoon, talking little except for Akira’s answers to Gabe’s infrequent questions. She found him quick to understand and willing to follow directions.

Around and around the field they went, the sharp blades of the mower leaving layers of fragrant cuttings behind them. Sometimes the alfalfa was so thick and tall it bound the sickle. Whenever that happened, Gabe stopped the horses and Akira pulled the pile of matted alfalfa aside. By the time the last row was cut, the first rows had been dehydrating in the sun for several hours. The mowing machine was put away and the team was hitched to the hay rake. They followed the same route around the field a second time, raking the hay into rows and bunches. And when that was done, the cuttings were tossed onto the hay wagon with pitchforks.

Cheat and weeds sifted out of the drying alfalfa, covering Gabe and Akira, sticking to their sweaty necks and arms, working beneath their shirt collars and up their pant legs, chafing and poking and torturing. The irritating dust made their eyes smart and their lungs burn.