The Shepherd's Voice (24 page)

It was possible, he supposed, the lass hadn’t made a mistake in marrying Gabe.

But only possible.

Akira prayed for Pauline as the automobile disappeared from view, leaving a cloud of dust lingering in its wake.

She’s so lonely, Father. Let her know she’s not alone, no matter the circumstances. And forgive me for all the unkind thoughts I had toward her when we first met.

“Pauline wants something,” Gabe said, coming up behind her.

She looked at him, then followed his gaze toward the road. “Everyone wants something.”

“She’s seeking you out for some reason. I’d like to know why.”

“God must have His reasons for sending her here.”

Disapproving silence was his answer.

Strengthen Gabe’s faith
,
Lord. He looks through a glass darkly. Help him see things with Your eyes and not the eyes of the world.

“Well,” he said, “I’d better get to my chores. It’ll be time to leave for the Candleberry farm in a few more hours.”

“My word!” She looked at her wrist, but she wasn’t wearing her watch. She glanced up again, meeting his gaze. “It can’t be that late.”

“It’s past two-thirty.”

“I’ve a dozen things to do before I can go. Maybe —”

He grabbed her by the shoulders, drawing her to him. “Don’t,” he said, his voice deep and low. “Don’t even suggest we forget going. I mean to dance with my wife.” His kiss was brief but oh-so-sweet.

Dizziness swept through her, and she was thankful for Gabe’s strong hands, still holding her by the shoulders.

The lightheaded sensation almost made her giggle. Who’d have thought she would become the sort of woman who swooned when kissed by her husband? Not her. Not even in a million years.

SEVENTEEN

The Candleberrys were a large, boisterous, close-knit family of ten—Weston, Ursula, and their eight grown sons, ranging in age from twenty-nine down to twenty: Wadsworth, Dickens, Byron, Tennyson, Keats, Clemens, Butler, and Kipling. Saddled with such names, the Candleberry boys had been involved in plenty of schoolyard fights when they were youngsters. Much to their mother’s dismay, none were inclined toward literary endeavors as had been her hope.

Since the start of the Great Depression, the Candleberry boys had scattered across the western states, leaving the valley each February, riding the rails, working wherever they could find jobs, sending home what money they had to spare. They returned again every fall at about this time. To help their dad with the harvest was the official reason, but everyone in the valley knew it was because that was how Ursula wanted it. And none of the boys intentionally disappointed their mother.

Until this year.

The Wickhams and Talmadges had scarcely disembarked from the old truck before the juicy gossip was passed along to them in hushed, excited voices.

“You’ll never believe it,” Irene Hirsch said to Nora. “Woody”—
as Wadsworth was called—“brought home a wife, and she’s big as a barn with child. Nary a phone call or a letter saying he was getting married, let alone about to become a father.” She turned her gaze toward Akira. “
Claims
they’ve been wed since last February.”

“Ursula’s beside herself,” Lilybet Teague chimed in. “Just beside herself.”

Akira smiled, pretending not to understand their implications. “Well, of course she is. This will be her first grandchild. We must go give her our best wishes.” She slipped her arm through Gabe’s. “If you’ll excuse us.”

They walked toward the barn, leaving the Wickhams to Irene and Lilybet.
Poor Charlie and Nora.
Akira felt a twinge of guilt for deserting her friends. But only a twinge. She was certain she would have said something she oughtn’t if she’d remained.

Music spilled through the large open doorway of the barn, along with light, laughter, and an overflow of people. The crisp evening air was cloaked in the fragrance of new-mown hay and home cooking.

Gabe’s footsteps slowed. “Ever wonder what those two battle-axes must’ve said when they heard we were married?”

“You shouldn’t call them names.” Actually, she’d thought worse than that about them, but she didn’t want to admit it.

“Do you?” he persisted, ignoring her admonishment.

“No.” She tilted her chin. “Women like that only find the worst to say, no matter what.”

In the dusky evening light, she saw him frown.

“Akira? Are you happy?”

“Happy?”

“With me?”

“Oh, Gabe,” she whispered. “Don’t you know?” She touched the side of his face with the palm of her hand. The time had come to tell him she loved him.

“Gabe. Akira,” Jane Sebastian said as she walked into view. “I thought maybe you weren’t coming.”

“We just arrived,” Gabe answered, turning toward her.

“Have you heard the news about Woody?”

Akira replied, “We heard. Mrs. Teague and Mrs. Hirsch met us when we arrived.”

Jane’s expression soured. “Those two. I’m sure they had nothing good to say.” She motioned for them to follow her. “Well, come inside and meet the bride. She’s a lovely girl. Shy as a church mouse and overwhelmed by all the hullabaloo, but lovely all the same.”

Akira took hold of Gabe’s hand, squeezing it briefly. Her declaration of love would have to wait a little longer.

Gabe felt more than a little sympathy for Celia Candleberry, Woody’s unexpected—and very expectant—bride. Her complexion was chalky white, making her eyes seem overly large in her face. She sat on a chair, her husband standing beside her on the right, her mother-in-law seated beside her on the left. Gabe recognized a person who felt trapped when he saw one.

But then Akira took Celia’s hand as they were introduced and spoke softly to her, smiling all the while. It was like watching a miracle take place right before his eyes, the way Celia’s tension visibly eased.

How does Akira do it? What did she say to her? It’s like she brings sunshine into any room she enters.

Just as she’d brought it into his life.

Akira turned toward him. “This is my husband, Gabriel Talmadge. He was raised in Ransom, but he’s been away for many years. He understands how overwhelming it is to feel like a stranger. Don’t you, Gabe?”

“That I do,” he said, nodding at Celia. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Candleberry.” He lifted his gaze. “Good to see you again, Woody. Congratulations on your marriage.”

Gabe and Woody hadn’t run with the same crowd when they were teens. For one thing, Gabe was three years older. For another, the Candleberry boys, while a fun-loving bunch, hadn’t participated in the sort of shenanigans Gabe had been known for as a youth. If they’d gone home pie-eyed on hooch or been caught smoking cigarettes, their father would’ve hauled them to the woodshed for a licking, and their mother would’ve had them scrubbing the big farmhouse from floor to ceiling for a month of Sundays. Gabe couldn’t recall for certain, but he suspected he’d ridiculed them, thinking them “duds” because they’d obeyed their parents.

He wondered what Woody had thought of him back then.

He wondered what he would think of him now.

“I’d heard you were back.” Woody held out his hand. “And I guess congratulations are in order for you, as well.” He glanced at Akira, then back again.

Gabe took his hand and pressed it firmly. “Yes. Thanks.”

He recognized Woody’s expression. A bit of skepticism, a healthy dose of doubt. But Gabe didn’t turn away from the look as he would have at the start of the summer. He was grateful for that—and a bit surprised too. He’d been anxious about tonight. No doubt about it.

He felt as if he’d passed the first test.

Akira slipped her hand around his arm. “I think you promised a dance to me, Mr. Talmadge.”

“I think I promised you all of them.”

She smiled, and he felt something soften inside him.

He’d told her he wasn’t a good dancer, which was the truth. And yet, as he took her in his arms and they moved in time to the
music, he felt like Fred Astaire in
A Gay Divorcée.
Last winter, cold and wet from an endless drizzling rain, he’d used a precious dime to get into a movie theater. What he’d been after was a brief period of warmth, not entertainment. But now he remembered watching the actor as he’d twirled around on the screen, and he could almost believe himself capable of the same.

“What?” Akira asked.

He raised an eyebrow.

She grinned. “You’re wearing a strange smile. What are you thinking?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He drew her a bit closer, tightening his grip on her right hand.

What he’d like to do was kiss her. Soundly kiss her. Right there for every Tom, Dick, and Harry to see. Why shouldn’t he want to? She was his wife … and he loved her.

I love her so much it scares me
,
Lord. What if I fail her? What if I can’t measure up? She trusts me. I see that in her eyes. She has no reason to. Not really. There’s plenty in this room who only see an ex-con when they look at me. But not her. Not Akira.

He was sorry when the music changed from the more romantic melody of “I Only Have Eyes for You” into a rousing rendition of “Happy Days Are Here Again.” He didn’t let on, however, as he gamely twirled her around the dance floor, pretending he knew what he was doing. She released a peal of laughter, a joy-filled sound, her gaze locked with his, and he figured Fred Astaire’s days were numbered should he, Gabe Talmadge, ever decide to head for Hollywood.

They were both winded when the song ended.

Still laughing softly, Akira fanned herself with her hand. “Oh, my. I thought it was cool when we got here, but I was wrong.”

“Want to sit one out?”

She nodded.

“I’ll get us some punch.”

Her eyes sparkled in the lantern light.

“You look for a place to sit. I’ll find you,” Gabe said.

She nodded again, squeezing his hand once before letting it slip from her grasp.

Grinning, feeling pleased with the world, Gabe made his way through the crowd toward the refreshments. He didn’t mind the looks of disdain from a trio of men standing beside the ladder to the loft. He didn’t mind the two women whispering behind their hands while casting suspicious glances toward him as he walked by. Tonight he was a better dancer than Fred Astaire; he was richer than Daddy Warbucks; he was flying higher than Charles Lindbergh. Who cared what others thought as long as Akira was happy?

And she is happy.

He stopped, turned, looked through the crowd for a glimpse of her shiny red hair.

She’s happy with me.

“Good evening, Gabe.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat before turning toward Simon Neville. “Good evening, Reverend.”

“Fine party, isn’t it?”