The Shepherd's Voice (34 page)

“If my Ned was livin’, he wouldn’t sell none of those cars.”

“Mrs. Jones, I’ll pay you thirty dollars for the green Tudor Sedan.” He pointed. “The one over there. And I’d need to take some parts from the black one by the creek. Those would be included in the purchase price.”

“Thirty dollars?”

“Yes.”

“That’d see my young ’uns had provisions for the winter. I reckon Ned’d approve o’ that.” She leaned forward in her chair. “All right, Mr. Talmadge. You bring that money and take what you need. It’s yours for the thirty dollars.”

He put his hat on his head and turned to go. But something stopped him. He glanced back at the woman. “Mrs. Jones, are you all right?”

“All right?”

“Is there something …
anything
… I can get for you?”

She made an odd, strangled kind of sound in her throat. Then she said, “Ain’t nothin’ you kin do for me, Mr. Talmadge, but I thank you kindly for askin’.” She turned her head, staring into a corner as she released a deep sigh. “Been a long time since anyone cared enough to ask. Long, long time.”

The wind never let up throughout the day, continuing its mournful melody long into the moonless night.

Inside the house, in the safety and warmth of their bedroom,

Akira lay in bed, listening as Gabe read aloud from the Bible. She supposed she should be concentrating on the words, but instead, she was lost in the pleasant timbre of his voice. It had a soothing quality. It made her forget the brewing storm outside. It almost made her forget there was anything beyond these four walls.

Gabe suddenly closed his Bible and set it on the bedside table. “Akira, I need to find a doctor.”

It took a moment for understanding to work through her slumberous thoughts. When it did, she sat up. “Why?” She closed her hand around his arm, trying to quell her alarm. “Are you ill?”

“Not for me. For Mrs. Jones. Something’s wrong up there. It’s been nagging at me ever since Brodie and I left her place.” He narrowed his eyes and shook his head slowly from side to side. “I can’t explain it. I just know it’s important I get a physician to see her.”

“The nearest doctor’s over the pass, up in Lovejoy. I don’t know his name but George Edwards would know. You could try calling Lovejoy from his place.”

Gabe nodded. “I’ll ride over at first light.”

“There may be snow by morning,” she said as she glanced toward the window.

He took both of her hands in his. “Then we’ll have to pray hard that it’s not so much the doctor can’t get through.”

TWENTY-FOUR

“I can’t save the leg,” Dr. Kirkland told Gabe. “And it’s questionable whether or not she’ll survive, even after it’s amputated.”

Gabe glanced toward the cot in the far corner of the cabin where the girl, Fern, sat beside her brother, a boy of about eleven or twelve. Ethan, his mother had called him. The boy had one arm around his sister’s shoulders, and Gabe could see he was trying hard to comfort her while pretending he wasn’t afraid himself.

“I reckon it’s me you oughta be talkin’ to, Doc,” Lindy Jones said in that gravelly voice of hers.

Dr. Kirkland held Gabe’s gaze a moment longer, then nodded, and returned to the woman’s bedside. He spoke softly to her, and Gabe knew the physician was doing his best not to be overheard by the children.

Amputation.
He shuddered.

He glanced around the one-room shack with its dirt floors and tarpaper walls. He looked at the frightened, unwashed, painfully thin children. Then he turned his eyes upon their mother, lying on her bed, her putrefying leg elevated on a pile of rags.

It had been many weeks since he’d felt the darkness of despair himself, but he still recognized it. He knew it pursued Lindy Jones.

“I cain’t leave my young ’uns. They ain’t got nobody ’sides me t’look out for them.”

“Mrs. Jones,” the doctor said firmly, “if you don’t have the operation, having no one is precisely what will happen to them. You
will
die without the surgery.”

Fern began to cry. Ethan gathered his little sister in his arms and patted her back.

O God
, Gabe prayed,
what would You have me to do?
Instantly, he knew the answer.

“The children can come to Dundreggan. They can stay with my wife and me until you’re able to care for them again.”

“We don’t take charity, Mr. Talmadge. ’Specially not from strangers.”

Filled with compassion, Gabe knelt beside the bed. “Mrs. Jones, I
am
a stranger to you. That’s true. But I’m no stranger to pain and fear.” He hesitated a second before adding, “Maybe that’s why God sent me here. Not to buy an automobile but to help you in your time of need.”

She closed her eyes and didn’t answer.

“I think it was.” Gabe tightened his grasp. “Mrs. Jones, I promise you, your children won’t be in want. They’ll be cared for … no matter what happens.”

Tears trickled down her cheeks.

“We don’t wanna go with him, Ma,” Ethan said with all the belligerence of a boy trying to be a man. “We wanna stay with you. I kin take care o’ you. And Fern, too. We been doin’ all right up t’now.”

“Mrs. Jones?” Gabe whispered.

She opened her eyes. “You’ve got no reason t’help us, Mr. Talmadge.”

He glanced toward the children. He remembered what is was like to be twelve and motherless. He knew the awful feeling of being unloved and unlovable.

Then he thought of Akira, kneeling in the road beside a starving,
unwashed tramp. He thought of how she’d reached out to him, even after she knew who and what he was, never judging him, never condemning him. He remembered how she’d shared God’s love with him long before she’d learned to love him as a woman loved a man. He thought of how God had used Akira to draw him back into the arms of the Father. He remembered the boundless grace, the unmerited forgiveness, the faithfulness of God despite his own faithlessness.

“You’re wrong, ma’am.” He leaned toward her. “I have more reasons to help you than anyone will ever know.”

Hudson stared at the report with a growing sense of panic. Another bank had closed, and this one had taken a sizable chunk of Talmadge money with it.

“Didn’t we have any warning?” he barked at Rupert.

“Yes sir.”

“Well?
Why didn’t you
tell
me?” His voice rose with each syllable.

The man blanched. “I did tell you, sir. I cabled you in Washington.” He pointed. “And … and I brought that file to your home upon your return. Remember?”

Fury pounded at his temples, nearly blinding him. His world was spiraling out of control.

Everything he’d wanted.

Everything he’d worked for.

It could all be lost.

“Get out,” he murmured.

Rupert didn’t reply. He just left.

His eyes closed, Hudson rubbed his temples with the tips of his index fingers.

How could so many things go wrong all at once? At the
beginning of the summer, all had been well. He had weathered the worst of the Depression. He’d added to his properties. He’d cut jobs, cut salaries, hiked prices in all the stores that belonged to him.

He swiveled his chair around, rose, and stepped to the window, gazing out at the pewter-toned day.

If he owned all the land south of Ransom, if he controlled the water rights to the better part of two counties, then Senator Fortier would start taking his calls again. How dare that sniveling weasel of a man think he could ignore Hudson Talmadge? Hadn’t Hudson put him in office? Didn’t he
owe
Hudson for his position of power?

He swore violently as he slammed his fist down onto the window sill.

Gabe. Gabe and that Macauley woman. They were the reason for all of this—their stubborn refusal to sell.

He would have that land, and he didn’t care what he had to do to get it. He would own Dundreggan, and he would see Gabe back in prison where he belonged.

Hudson Talmadge never lost.

Never.

Akira looked at the two children—the boy sullen, the girl frightened—and her heart went out to them.

“I didn’t know what else to do except bring them here,” Gabe said softly.

“Of course you brought them home. Poor dears.”

“I doubt Ethan’ll care much for your sympathy. I get the feeling he’s been taking care of his mother and sister for a good share of his life and figures he’s man enough to keep right on doing it.”

Akira nodded as she looked into the boy’s wizened eyes.

She drew in a quick breath, saying a silent prayer for wisdom,
then walked slowly toward the children. “I’m Mrs. Talmadge. I’m glad you’ve come to visit. Would you like something to eat? You must be hungry.”

Fern looked at her brother, as if seeking permission.

“I reckon it wouldn’t hurt nothin’,” Ethan muttered.

Fern looked at Akira again and nodded rapidly.

“Good.” Akira smiled. “Come right over to the table. I’ve got a pork roast, fried potatoes, creamed peas, and fresh baked bread just waiting to fill you up.”

Lord
,
please let me have prepared enough for these extra mouths. I wasn’t expecting company. Multiply my loaves and fishes so there’s plenty for these hungry children to eat.

“Ethan, why don’t you and your sister wash up at the sink and then sit there.” She pointed toward two chairs.

The children looked confused by her suggestion. Akira wondered if anyone had ever asked them to wash their hands before eating.

Gabe must have had the same thought. “If you don’t mind, I’ll wash up first.”

He strode to the sink, picked up the bar of soap and, adding a little hot water from the kettle on the stove to the cooler water in the basin, worked it into a lather. After rinsing his hands, he dried them on a towel.

It was obvious to Akira that he did it all slowly so the children would be able to emulate him when he was through.