The Shepherd's Voice (35 page)

Glancing over his shoulder at them, he said, “Your turn.” Then he looked at Akira. “What can I do to help you?”

She wanted to kiss him for his thoughtfulness.
He’s going to make a wonderful father.

“Akira?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” she said, smiling at him, loving him more by the
minute. “Would you mind taking the roast from the oven? I’ll get the vegetables.”

Later, as day drew to a close, Akira made beds for the children on the floor of the living room.

“We had a couple of dogs once,” Fern said as she was tucked in. “They died.”

Akira followed the girl’s gaze to where Cam lay on the rug before the front door.

“They was hounds for huntin’.” Ethan’s tone was derisive. “Workin’ dogs.”

“Oh, don’t let Cam’s pretty looks fool you. She’s a working dog. She’s the best on the ranch. But she’s also one of my best friends, so I like to keep her near me.”

The boy grunted.

“Well, one thing’s for certain.” Akira suppressed a smile as she straightened. “Nothing gets in or out of this house without going by Cam. So you two don’t have to worry about sleeping in a strange place. Cam will keep you safe.”

“Don’t need no help from no fancy dog. I kin keep me ’n Fern plenty safe.”

“I’m sure you can, Ethan. I’m sure you’ve taken great care of both your mother and your sister since your father passed on. But it’s okay to accept help now and again too. This is one of those times.”

The boy muttered something unintelligible, then turned his back toward Akira and jerked the blankets up over his head.

God, bless them and keep them. And, Lord, keep their mother in Your tender care, as well.

The kerosene lamp on the table near the bedroom door had been turned low. It cast a pale circle of light, enough for Gabe to see the children lying beneath blankets on the floor when he came in from his evening chores.

He gave Cam a pat on the head. “Keep an eye on them, girl,” he whispered. Then he walked silently toward the bedroom.

Akira, clad in a white nightgown, was standing before the mirror. She caught sight of his reflection and turned toward him as he closed the door.

“Did they go to bed without trouble?” he asked.

“Yes, but Ethan’s angry about being taken from his home. He’s trying so hard to prove he’s a man. And Fern … Well, she’s frightened.”

“I doubt she’s been off that mountain in her entire life. And from the pallor of her skin, I’d say it’s been a long while since she spent much time outside the four walls of the shack they live in.” He shook his head. “Maybe Lindy Jones really is looney. She should’ve sent for help long before now.”

His chest felt heavy as he recalled the squalor he’d seen, as he remembered the look of despair in the woman’s pain-filled eyes.

He walked across the room and took the hairbrush from Akira’s hand. With a gentle pressure on her shoulder, he turned her away from him. He’d discovered a couple of months ago how much she enjoyed having him brush her hair, but if truth were told, he found equal pleasure in it. It soothed him somehow.

Tonight, he felt a great need to be soothed.

“Don’t worry,” Akira said softly, closing her eyes as he stroked her cascading tresses. “God will show us what to do.”

He pressed his forehead against the back of her head. “I’ve known that kind of hunger, Akira. I’ve known that same kind of fear.” He released a ragged breath, then straightened and resumed
his brushing. “But I wasn’t a kid when it happened to me. It’s got to be a hundred times worse for them.”

“They won’t go hungry now.”

“No.” He sighed a second time.

“You’re still worried.”

He finally voiced the question that had been nagging him for most of the day. “What if their mother dies? The doctor didn’t seem to think —”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Gabe.” She turned toward him, gazing up into his eyes.

“But you didn’t bargain for this when I went off to buy an old car. You didn’t bargain for two possible orphan kids sleeping on your floor.”

“No, I didn’t.” She smiled gently. “But then, I never bargained on finding a husband when I was out walking last summer either, and yet here we are.” She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest. “For all you know, you’ve brought home a miracle. Let’s trust God and see what happens.”

Pauline couldn’t sleep. The night seemed too dark and ominous. The house seemed too cold. Her head was too filled with worries and fears.

She reached for her dressing gown, then sat on the side of her bed, sliding her feet into her house slippers before rising. She crossed to the fireplace and, leaning one forearm against the mantelpiece, stared for a short while at the glowing embers.

Hudson had been in a strange mood at supper tonight, she thought. It had been something worse than anger, worse than rage.

Involuntarily, she touched her face where he’d hit her four days
before. The bruise had faded enough that she could hide it with the artful application of cosmetics. A few more days and all traces would be gone.

That was a lie.
All
traces would
never
be gone. The bruise would remain on her mind and soul.

“O God,” she whispered.

That was it. That was her whole prayer. It was all she could say. She wondered if it was enough.

The Bible
, she thought, straightening.
I wonder if we have one in the house.

She doubted it, knowing the way Hudson felt about religion. But if there was a chance she might find a Bible, to read for herself, if there was a chance she might be able to find some answers …

Akira said a person could always find the answers in God’s Word if she looked for it with an open heart.

Taking up the lamp, she hurried out of her room, moving as silently as possible along the corridors and down the staircase. The library was at the back of the house, a room she’d rarely entered since the house was built. There’d been little reason to. She didn’t care much for reading.

With the library door closed behind her, Pauline turned up the lamp, throwing its golden light over the dark cherry wood bookcases that lined three walls of the room. She hadn’t realized there were so many books. Hundreds of books. Ceiling-to-floor books. Books of all types and sizes.

Where would she begin? Was there any rhyme or reason to their placement? Perhaps it was useless to try.

She gave her head a shake, mentally chastising herself. She was going to look. She
had
to look.

Resolutely, she moved to the nearest bookcase. Holding the
lamp in her right hand, she ran the fingertips of her left slowly over the spines of the books, reading the titles. First one shelf. Then another. And then another.

“What are you doing in here?”

She gasped and whirled about. “Hudson!”

“Well?” He stepped into the room.

“I—I was looking for something to read.”

“You?”

She stiffened, retorting before she could think better of it. “I
can
read, you know.”

“Can you?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps I can help you.” He moved closer. “What exactly are you looking for?”

Her mouth was dry. Her knees were weak.

“Pauline?”

“I … I was looking for a Bible.”

“A Bible?”

“Yes.”

His voice was as cold as the November night. “And why would that be?”

“Well, you see”—she drew back against the bookcase—“Reverend Neville said something the last time I was at church that confused me. I was hoping to look it up for myself.”

The lie came to her lips so easily, but on its heels came shame. She wasn’t supposed to tell lies. She was sure of that. Lying was wrong. A sin.

“Hudson,” she whispered, “that isn’t quite the truth.” She looked at him, hoping for understanding, for a shred of some sort of caring.

What she found was hatred, loathing, and …

Madness.

TWENTY-FIVE

George Edwards brought news from Dr. Kirkland on Friday morning, two days after the amputation was performed on Lindy Jones at the small hospital in Lovejoy.

“He says to tell you she came through the operation, but it’ll still take a miracle for her to survive.”

“I believe in miracles, Mr. Edwards,” Akira replied. “We’ll keep praying for her. And for her children.”

Lord knows
,
we could use a miracle with those kids
, Gabe couldn’t help thinking as he watched George drive away from the house a short while later.

Yesterday, Ethan had set out on foot, his little sister in tow, headed back to their home on Bobcat Mountain. Gabe wouldn’t soon forget the mixture of anger and relief he’d felt when he found them traipsing along the road, Fern clutching the baby doll Akira had given her. Judging by the boy’s unrepentant attitude, both then and since, Ethan was likely to try leaving with his sister again. Next time they might not be so easily found.

How do we get through to him?
Gabe wondered as he drove the team toward Ransom later that morning, a list of items to purchase, written in Akira’s neat hand, tucked in his coat pocket.
We’re trying to help, and he’s acting like we’ve kidnapped him and his sister.

Maybe it was Ethan’s age that had Gabe so concerned. He didn’t want to make any mistakes with the boy at this critical stage. When Gabe was twelve, the choices he’d made had altered the course of his life forever.

He frowned, thinking of his father—or at least the man he
believed to
be his father—and wished he had the answers to all of life’s dilemmas, both large and small.

“Only, if I did,” he said aloud, looking up at the wintry sky, “I guess I wouldn’t need faith in You, would I, Lord?”