The Shepherd's Voice (12 page)

Akira was blinded by her tears.

“Max found me at the lumberyard. We’d gone there a lot, the two of us, over the years, and he knew where I’d be. We got drunk on Hud’s whiskey and plotted how we were going to leave Ransom together.” His voice lowered. “Max climbed onto the logs and shouted something about what Hud could do with his money. I grabbed for a rope to pull myself up. I wanted to shout a few things
myself. Then the logs started to shift. The rope broke and I fell. When I got up, Max had disappeared.” He paused, stooped to pick up more stones, and began tossing them into the river.

Akira rose but didn’t move toward him.

Gabe looked at her. “A log had rolled on top of him. When I found him, I tried to move it, but I couldn’t. He died before I could go for help. I remember there was blood in the corner of his mouth. He looked at me and tried to say something. Then he was gone.”

“Oh, Gabe,” she whispered.

He didn’t seem to hear her. “Hud had me arrested.”

“It was an accident. Didn’t you tell him that?”

“He said I’d killed Max on purpose because I was jealous and wanted to inherit everything myself. He said I got him drunk so it would look like an accident. And that was good enough for the jury. If my own father believed it …” His voice trailed into nothingness.

“But it was an accident,” she repeated.

He closed his eyes. “Didn’t matter. Max was dead, and it was my fault. And maybe Hud was right. Maybe I was jealous. I didn’t understand half of what had happened. I just knew it was my fault. If I hadn’t been so rebellious, if I hadn’t lost my temper so easy, if I hadn’t been drinking … There were plenty of what-ifs for me to think about over the next ten years, but none of them brought Max back. Nothing could undo what I’d done.”

Before Akira could reply, Cam released a sharp bark, then raced up the trail. A moment later, the sound of a motorcar reached their ears. Both Gabe and Akira turned toward the road.

When she saw the Duesenberg, her heart sank. “It’s your father.”

But it wasn’t Hudson who waited for them at the ranch house.

It was Rupert Carruthers. He disembarked from the long black automobile as soon as they walked up the drive a short while later.

“Mr. Talmadge sent me,” he said without preamble. “He wants to see you.”

Gabe felt an odd tumble of emotions roll through him—anger, helplessness, ragged insecurities, the fear that if he didn’t immediately obey an order, punishment would follow.

Rupert motioned toward the car. “I came to drive you into town.”

Two weeks earlier, Gabe had returned to Ransom, seeking Hudson’s help. More than that. He’d been seeking reconciliation, perhaps even a welcome. He’d been denied both. He no longer needed a job or a place to stay, and God had healed the desperate corners of his soul.

But what about his father? Was there any chance for amends between them? What was the right thing to do?

Jesus
,
show me Your will!
The prayer had scarcely formed before calm settled over him. He didn’t know
how
he knew. He simply
did
know what his answer must be.

He met the secretary’s impatient gaze and shook his head. “I can’t go with you today. I’ve got work and can’t spare the time.”

Rupert stiffened. It was obvious that he rarely—if ever—heard someone refuse one of Hudson’s commands.

“Tell him,” Gabe continued, “that if he still wants to see me, I can come on Sunday. That’s the next time I’ll be in town. I could drop by after church.”

“Church?” Rupert nearly choked on the word.

Gabe couldn’t remember a time when Rupert hadn’t been his father’s yes-man. He supposed, since Hudson was an atheist, that Rupert shared the same viewpoint. He wouldn’t dare do otherwise. Not if he wanted to keep his job.

“Mr. Talmadge isn’t going to like this,” the secretary muttered.

Somewhat amazed by the self-confidence he felt, Gabe couldn’t help his wry smile. “No, I don’t suppose he will, but it’s the way it’s going to be.” He glanced over his shoulder at Akira, who stood behind him. “I’ll see to the repairs on the corral now.” He looked one last time at Rupert. “Sorry if this causes you any trouble, Carruthers.” Then he strode toward the barn.

NINE

Nora Wickham was feeling a good sight better now than when Charlie had driven the old truck up this drive more than two weeks before. At that time, she’d thought she might be dying, but plenty of rest and no men to tend to had worked wonders.

Shortly after nine o’clock in the evening, Nora settled onto a rocker on the small porch in front of her new home, a bit of mending in her lap, a lantern—already lit, though it was yet daylight—on a stand to her left. The night was warm, but not uncomfortably so. The air was rich with the fragrance of honeysuckle.

It was evident Akira Macauley loved flowers. They bloomed everywhere on Dundreggan, both those she’d carefully planted and cultivated and those that grew wild, like the dark blue forget-me-nots near the steps of this very stoop.

Squinting, Nora slid thread through the eye of a needle, then picked up one of Mark’s socks and began to darn the heel where it had worn through, her thoughts remaining on Akira.

Since returning to live with her grandfather back in ’25, the young woman had been a sporadic churchgoer, attending when weather allowed, which meant she was seen in town mostly during the summer months. There were some who considered Akira an oddity of sorts, a pretty young woman choosing this difficult,
solitary life when everybody knew she could sell to Hudson and come out richer in the end. Nora glanced across the barnyard toward the main house. Akira wasn’t odd, she thought, catching sight of her through the kitchen window. Kindhearted. God-fearing. Free-spirited. Perhaps a bit too independent for her own good. But not odd.

A sound drew Nora’s gaze toward the barn. Gabe Talmadge leaned against it, to the side of the doorway, one of the newborn pups held against his chest. He was staring off toward the mountains, his expression pensive, his hand idly stroking the pup’s coat.

Nora recalled her secret fears about staying on this ranch without Charlie to protect her from a convicted murderer. If she hadn’t been so ill at the time, she would have insisted her husband put their belongings back on the truck so they could leave. She’d had no desire to be killed in her bed by the man living in the cabin next door.

She looked down at the sock and took another stitch.

Nora remembered the trial, of course. She, Charlie, and Mark—who was only a youngster at the time—had been new to Ransom. Charlie hadn’t worked at the mill more than a few months when Max Talmadge was killed. Folks had said Gabe was a troublemaker, smart-mouthed and rebellious. Max, on the other hand, had been liked by every person in Ransom. Pity, it was said at the time, that it hadn’t been Gabe who was killed by that log.

The result of the trial had been a foregone conclusion, and talk of it had filled every conversation for months, both before and after.

Now she wondered about all she’d heard, all she’d thought was true.

He was a hard worker, she’d give him that. Kept to himself. Didn’t talk much. At least not around her. And he was always polite.

Of all the things she might think of him, one stood out—he was not at all like his father.

The door to the main house opened with a creak, drawing Nora’s gaze from her mending a second time. Akira stepped through the opening. In her hands she carried a tray with a pitcher and glasses on it.

“Care for some lemonade?” she called to Gabe.

He held up the pup. “I’ll put him back with his mother.”

“Join me at Mrs. Wickham’s,” she replied, then strode toward Nora. When she reached the porch, she smiled and said, “Beautiful evening, isn’t it?”

“Indeed. Not so hot, for a change.”

“I brought you something cool to drink.”

Nora nodded.

“Gabe’s going to join us in a bit, but we won’t wait for him.” Akira squatted and set the tray down, filled all three tumblers with lemonade, and handed one of them to Nora. Then she took one for herself, stood, and leaned against the rail before taking a sip. “Ooh.” She puckered her lips and squinted her eyes. “A wee bit on the tart side. Could have used more sugar.”

“I like it tart,” Nora said, then took a drink. “Yes, just the way I like it.”

Akira looked toward the barn. “We’re going into Ransom for church on Sunday. You’re welcome to join us if you feel up to it.”

Nora considered the long drive to town. Charlie’s truck still needed repairs, so they’d have to go in Akira’s wagon. The going wouldn’t be so hard in the morning, but they’d be returning in the worst heat of the day. Still, it would be nice to see her friends. Simon and Violet Neville, Jane and her brother, Zachary Sebastian, and others …

“Yes,” she said, her decision made. “I’d like to go with you.”

From within the darker recesses of the barn, Gabe observed the two women on the porch. Their voices—though not their words—carried to him, the sound a pleasant one. He supposed it was an ordinary way to spend an evening, but it still seemed extraordinary to him.

For some reason, he thought of his stepmother Harriet Smith Talmadge. Gabe had been five when Hud married her, but if his father had cared for her, had even said so much as a single kind word to her, Gabe couldn’t remember it. He supposed it was nothing short of amazing that Leon had been conceived at all.

Poor kid. Hud had been hard on Gabe, to be sure, but he’d ignored Leon, which might have been worse than getting hit now and again. Gabe wondered if Leon and his mother had ever longed for an evening on a porch, visiting with friends, talking over the simple events of the day. Had they longed for love and approval as he had?

He would never know. Both of them had died while Gabe was in prison—Leon, at the age of fifteen, from pneumonia, and Harriet the following year from a stroke.

“I wish I’d been nicer to them both,” he said, regret washing over him.

Pauline Talmadge, at the age of thirty-four, was still a beautiful woman. Certainly she didn’t look her age. She ate little, determined her waistline would never expand beyond its current eighteen inches—a fact of which she was quite proud. After all, how many women who had carried two babies to term could say the same? She used all the latest beauty products to keep her skin soft
and free from wrinkles. She tried never to frown, not because she hadn’t plenty of reasons to but because doing so formed permanent creases in a woman’s forehead.