The Shepherd's Voice (2 page)

Gabe watched her go, her dark red braids swaying against her back, her collie trotting at her heels. Her stride was long and easy, a sign of a person accustomed to walking great distances. She was slender as a reed, but her build was deceiving; she possessed enough brawn to drag a grown man from the road to this tree.

Akira. She was as strange as her name, more than likely.

A strong man of God,
she’d called him.

If he’d had the energy, he would have laughed aloud.

But he had no energy, no strength, no courage, no hope. So he closed his eyes and allowed the threatening darkness to move toward him once again.

When he next awakened, Gabe was no longer lying beneath the birch tree. He was in a room. In a bed. Between two
sheets!
He ran his fingers over the soft fabric.

What a luxury something so simple could be, he thought. Amazing.

Sounds from the next room reached his ears. He rolled his head
on the pillow, searching until he found the entrance. He couldn’t see anyone, for the door was only slightly ajar. Delicious odors wafted to him through the opening, causing his mouth to water.

He raised himself on his elbows. The room swam before his eyes, but this time he kept a tenuous grip on consciousness.

The door swung open, revealing Akira, a tray in her hand. “Ah, you’re awake.”

“Yeah.”

“I’d begun to wonder.”

He glanced around the room, then back at her. “How long was I out?”

“A few hours.”

“Did you bring me here all by yourself?”

“No.” She smiled; her voice softened. “I always have help when I need it.”

Gabe couldn’t say why, but there was something about her answer that irritated him. He wanted to lash out, which made no sense at all. Not even to him. Maybe because he wasn’t used to being treated with kindness.

“I brought you something to eat.”

“Smells good.” The words came grudgingly.

She approached. “It’s only chicken broth. You’d best see if you can handle that first.” Reaching the bedside, she stopped.

He stared at her in silence, noting the smattering of freckles that spilled across her nose and high cheekbones, the blue-green color of her eyes, the fullness of her mouth, the hot-ember highlights in her dark hair.

She was pretty, he realized. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed it when she first came to his rescue. Maybe because he hadn’t really looked at her. Or maybe he’d long ago stopped noticing anything that was good or pretty. Maybe it was because he only saw what he
expected to see—the dark side of this world, the evil of one man to another.

“Can you sit up more?” she asked, that ever-present gentleness in her voice.

He scowled. “You’re awfully trusting, bringing me into your home.” With effort, he straightened, leaning his back against the headboard. “You don’t know anything about me. Maybe I’ll rob you blind.”

The gentle smile she’d worn faded from her lips. “I don’t believe so. Besides, you’re welcome to whatever I have that you need.”

“Maybe I’m a dangerous man.”

“The Lord is the strength of my life. Whom shall I fear?”

Whom should she fear? He could tell her.

He heard the cell door slamming shut. Cold steel against cold steel. Cold, like his heart.

He heard it slamming again …

And again …

And again.

Oh yes. He could tell her whom she should fear.

She set the tray on his lap. “If you tolerate this broth, I’ll serve you something more substantial later.” She closed her eyes, bowed her head, and blessed the food in a low voice.

But Gabe wasn’t listening to her prayer. All he could hear was the slamming of that cold steel door.

Hudson Talmadge stood as straight and tall at the age of sixty-five as he had when he was in his twenties. An imposing man with granite-gray hair and beard and piercing blue eyes, he used his physical appearance to his advantage, ruling his empire with an iron fist. He brooked no questioning of his authority and was unashamedly merciless.

Mercy, in his opinion, was a sign of weakness, and Hudson was not a weak man.

“You’ll be gone from the house by tomorrow,” he said as he stared out his second-story office window.

“But, Mr. Talmadge, the boy meant no harm. He —”

“You heard what I said, Wickham. By tomorrow. You and your family.”

Charlie Wickham was silent awhile before saying, “We’ve nowhere to go, sir, and my wife’s health isn’t good.”

“That isn’t my problem.” Hudson turned. “The house you live in is company owned, and you and your boy are no longer employed by the mill.”

“I’ve worked for you for nearly fifteen years, Mr. Talmadge.”

“And now you don’t.”

Charlie Wickham obviously saw the futility of arguing—his shoulders sagged as he turned away. “We’ll be out by tomorrow. Just as you say.” He departed, cloaked in an air of despair. His eighteen-year-old son, Mark, followed after him.

“See that you are,” Hudson said before the door closed again.

Hudson turned toward the window, his gaze rising toward the pine-covered slopes of Talmadge Peak.

He felt no spark of remorse over what had transpired moments before. Young Mark Wickham had cost the mill a day’s production with his carelessness, allowing the engine on the number-three saw to run low on oil. Granted, production wasn’t as important now as it had been in the prosperous twenties. There was little building going on and few orders for Talmadge lumber. But Hudson never tolerated foolish behavior. If it cost him a penny, it cost him too much. The Depression couldn’t last forever. One day this country would recover, and when it did, he planned to be even wealthier than before.

The squawk of the intercommunication system broke into his thoughts. “Mrs. Talmadge is here to see you, sir.”

He frowned. He disliked Pauline coming to the mill. It was bad enough he had to spend his evenings in her company.

He returned to his desk, pressed a button, and said, “Send her in.”

A few moments later, the door opened, and his wife, the third Mrs. Hudson J. Talmadge, entered his office. An attractive woman in her midthirties, buxom and dark-haired, she was impeccably dressed, as befit her station as wife of the town’s patriarch.

“What is it you want, Pauline?” There had never been any pretense of devotion between them, although at one time they had at least been congenial. Now even that was gone.

Hudson had married the former Miss Hinnenkamp to provide a Talmadge heir; she had married him for his money. He’d kept his part of the bargain, but after seven years of marriage, she’d failed to keep hers. Twice she’d miscarried early in pregnancy. Twice she’d been delivered of stillborn girls. After the birth of the second daughter, the doctor had warned that another pregnancy could endanger Pauline’s life. She’d locked Hudson out of her bedroom from that day on.

He couldn’t honestly say he cared.

“Only a moment of your time, Hudson,” she answered him, drawing his attention as she settled onto one of the chairs opposite him, opened her handbag, and withdrew an envelope. “We’ve been invited to a ball at the senator’s house in Boise. I assumed you would want to know.”

He took the invitation. “A ball.” He hated those things, but he knew he would have to go. Plenty of deals were made in smoking rooms, and the senator had promised to help him with his land acquisitions.

“It’s in two weeks,” Pauline continued. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go early so I can visit my parents.”

“Why would I mind?”

She smiled with false sweetness. “I knew that’s how you would feel. I’ll have Eugene drive me down in the morning. That will give me time to shop for a new evening gown.”

“Another gown?”

“Would you have me appear as if we hadn’t any money? The women will notice if I wear something they’ve seen before, and they in turn will tell their husbands.”

He scowled. Unlike most people, he’d done well since the crash of twenty-nine. When people had been forced to sell off their land and businesses, Hudson had been there to buy them out. Paying as little as possible, of course.

He was a powerful, wealthy man, but he had greater ambitions still to achieve. He’d learned that perceptions were as important as reality.

“Fine. Buy whatever you need.”

She stood. “I will.” Without another word, she left his office.

Hudson sank onto his desk chair, leaned back, closed his eyes. Then he muttered a curse. Whatever mistakes he’d made in his life, Pauline was definitely one of them.

Akira worked the pump handle until water gushed from the spigot.

Lord, the weather’s been cruel, and this drought’s been hard. If it be Your will, I’m asking that this well not dry up.

She glanced toward the house.

And, Lord, about Gabe. That man’s got a terrible hurt inside him. I know You’ve got Your reasons for sending him here, but I can’t say I understand what they are. He was hungry and thirsty, and I fed him
and gave him something to drink. He’s a stranger
,
and I took him in. But now what
,
Lord? Is there more I’m to do?

She moved the bucket, then gave the handle one more vigorous push. She cupped her hands beneath the flow of water and splashed her face with the cool liquid.

Maybe later, after the sun set, she’d go down to the creek. It was running low, but there was enough water to get good and wet all over.

She dried her face on her shirt sleeve. As she straightened and turned, bucket in hand, her gaze swept over the surroundings.

Sheep grazed peacefully in the gently rolling valley, a valley sheltered by pine- and aspen-covered mountains. Purple wildflowers bloomed in defiance of this season of drought, laughing at the clear, cloudless skies.

A feeling of joy welled in her heart as she gazed at the valley the Macauleys had called home for three generations. She set down the bucket, raised her hands toward the sky, and began to twirl about in circles while singing, making up the melody as she went along.