Worthy of Riches (36 page)

First the baby whimpered, then sputtered, and then cried. “That's the way. Cry, baby, cry.” Ray held up the little boy whose blue tinge was fading. The baby cried harder, and his skin began to turn pink. “He's going to be all right,” Ray said, handing the little boy to Jean. “Here's your grandson.”

He cut the cord, and Jean laid the baby in Laurel's arms. “Here's your son,” she said, tears spilling onto her face.

Ray hurried out of the room. He stopped at the sink and scrubbed blood off his hands and arms, then pulled on his coat and headed for the barn. He needed to be alone.

He ran out into the first light of the day and stumbled toward the barn. Pushing through the doors, he ran for a stall in the back and leaned against the gate. Panting, he felt anguish and horror, as if it had just happened. It was all so near—his wife's suffering, their dead son, and then Ellie's death. Tears made paths down his face, and he gulped in cold air, wishing he were dead too.

JEAN STOOD BESIDE THE BED AND GAZED AT HER SLEEPING DAUGHTER AND grandson. Little William was chubby and perfect. She tucked the quilt around the infant and planted a kiss on his cheek. He turned his face toward her.
If only Will were here. He would have been a wonderful grandfather,
she thought, blinking back tears. The little boy's mouth turned up in a dreamy smile.

Miram stood at the kitchen sink, hands immersed in soapy water. “How are they?” she asked when Jean walked in.

“Just fine—sleeping.”

Miram rinsed a cup and set it on a strainer. “I've never been part of anything like that.” With a look of wonder, she added, “I can't wait to be a mother.”

Celeste dried the cup. “I can. I'm not so sure I want to go through all that.”

Fatigue settling over her, Jean dropped into a chair. “Seems to me I heard Robert wants a big family, a whole house full. Are you two as serious as you look?”

“Very.”

“Well then, you'd better have a talk about the size of your family.” Jean grinned.

A frown creased Celeste's brow. “I'm sure he didn't really mean …
lots
of children.” She picked up a plate and ran the towel over it.

Jean glanced into the front room. “Where did your father go?”

“He went outside.”

“I think he's upset,” Miram said. “He looked distressed.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“At least half an hour.” Miram washed the last dish and handed it to Celeste.

“You really think he's upset?” Jean asked, remembering how unsettled Ray had seemed earlier.

“Yes. In fact, he seemed very troubled.”

Jean pushed to her feet. “I think I'll check on him. The cows need milking anyway.” Pulling on a coat and gloves, she started for the barn. Morning sunlight touched a clear sky. The storm was gone, leaving behind a pristine world of white. Fresh powder squeaked under Jean's boots, and frigid air burned her lungs.

Pulling open the barn door, she stepped inside. A quiet dark world enveloped her. When her eyes adjusted to the shadowy interior, she walked toward the back stalls and spotted Ray leaning on a gate, watching a cow. “I was wondering what happened to you.”

Ray turned and looked at her. His face and eyes were red. His stance reminded her of a wilted fruit tree, like the ones they'd left behind in Wisconsin. “You all right?”

“Yeah.” He wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve.

Jean knew something was wrong. Should she try to help or leave him be? She took a step closer. “Are you really all right?”

Ray shook his head and shifted away from Jean.

“I'd like to help.”

“You can't. No one can.”

Jean tried to think of what to say.

“I can't talk about it.”

Jean rested a hand on his arm. “Sometimes talking helps.”

Gripping the top rail of the gate, Ray cursed under his breath, then walked to a back window. Unlatching it, he threw the wooden shutter open and gazed out.

Jean waited.

Finally ending the silence, he said, “It's not that simple. Talking won't make this better.” He turned tortured eyes on Jean. “Being in there with Laurel brought it all back. It's been years, but it felt like yesterday.” He wiped away fresh tears. “I watched my wife and my son die, and it was my fault.”

His pain was palpable and took Jean's breath away.

“They're dead because of me.”

“Life and death are in God's hands,” Jean said.

“I'm the one who insisted we live in this wilderness. Ellie didn't want to come. She was afraid, but I had to have my way.”

“I thought you said she loved it here.”

“After a while she did.” A smile touched Ray's eyes. “She became a real sourdough.”

The torment returned. “When Ellie went into labor with Celeste, it took a long while, but Celeste came out pink and crying. With our son, it was different.” Ray returned to staring outdoors. “By the time we knew something was wrong, it was too late. No doctor was around to help.” He balled his hands into fists and hit the barn wall.

“Ray,” Jean laid a hand on his shoulder.

He took a shuddering breath. “A neighbor tried to help … but it wasn't enough. The baby was dead—the cord was wrapped around his neck.” Ray's voice had gone quiet. “Ellie had worked so hard … and the bleeding wouldn't stop.” Ray's eyes were haunted.

“You couldn't have known.” Jean gently squeezed his shoulder.

Ray worked his jaw.

“As awful as last night must have been to you, I'm thankful you were here. God knew we needed you. If it weren't for you, William would be dead.” Reality hit Jean, and she pressed a fist to her mouth. “Without a doctor …”

“Yeah, without a doctor. That's my point. Out here you never know what'll happen.” He looked straight at her. “We shouldn't be here, none of us. My wife, my son, your husband, your son—they'd still be alive.”

Ray's declaration stunned Jean. If anyone belonged here, Ray did. “What happened to your wife and baby wasn't your fault, and what happened to Will wasn't your fault. And this valley neither gives nor takes lives. Life is uncertain no matter where we live.” She grabbed his hands. “There are no guarantees, Ray.”

Ray looked at their hands, then disengaged his. “What Luke said to me last night made sense. When it comes down to it, I'm no good. When Will showed up for that hunt, I could have made him leave or made sure he had a partner.”

“I thought you'd let go of all that. You couldn't have kept Will from going, and whether he had a good man with him or not, we can't know what the outcome would have been. God allowed it, and he used it.”

Ray was quiet. “I hated Will. I hated most everybody, including myself. Maybe I wanted him to die. Most of my life I've done what was right for me and only me.”

“That can't be true. Look at Celeste. She's kind and thoughtful. She didn't get that way all on her own.”

A smile touched Ray's lips. “Celeste has always been special, easy to love.” He nudged a bale of hay with the toe of his boot. “The minister says God loves me.” He plucked a piece of hay. “I believe him, but I know I'm not worthy of anyone's love, 'specially not God's.”

Jean leaned against the gate. “We can't measure God's love against ours. No one
deserves
his love. We're all wicked. God chooses to love us anyway.”

“In my head I know that's true, but—”

“No one deserves his love and forgiveness. It's only Jesus' sacrifice that makes us worthy of God's riches.” She met Ray's eyes. “Stop doubting God, Ray. Trust him.”

“I know you're right.” Ray took a deep breath. “But when I think about all that's happened … Ellie and Will would still be alive.”

Jean was beginning to lose patience, and her tone grew firmer. “You don't know that. And have you forgotten the lives you've saved? Not just William last night, but what about Adam? You pulled him out of the river, remember? And Luke, we might have lost him that day.”

Ray pursed his lips.

“Laurel and Adam certainly haven't forgotten, and they have even more to thank you for now.” She took his hands. “You are respected in this valley because of the man you are and what you've done for the people over the years.”

Ray gazed into Jean's eyes. “I wish I could be like Will. He was always cool-headed, steady.”

“Will was Will,” she said, trying to keep her tone light but suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “And you are you. That's how it should be.” She released his hands and stepped back.

“If I was more like Will, do you think you could love me?”

The question took Jean by surprise. What could she say? “Will was a wonderful man. I loved him. I still do. And you're a good man, Ray, just the way you are. You're not supposed to be Will. God created you to be Ray Townsend.”

A wry smile touched Ray. “Even when I hated him, I wanted to be like him. He was the kind of man people looked up to. I admired his faith.” Ray glanced out the window, then at Jean. “I still want to be like him.”

“You're strong and steady in your own way.” Jean smiled. “A little loud from time to time, but God's given you faith. All you need to do is grab hold of it.”

Ray nodded thoughtfully, then asked, “And what about the rest of my question?”

Jean stared at him.

“Do you think you could ever love me?”

Jean glanced at the barn floor, then looked at Ray. “I can't answer that. I'm not ready to love anyone else yet. I might not ever be ready.”

“I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry.”

“No, it's all right. I love Will. Sometimes I forget he's not here, and I expect to see him come in from the barn with the milk. Or sometimes Brian or Susie will do something funny or special, and my first thought is to tell him …” her voice trailed off. “He's still here.” Her eyes filled with tears.

“I understand. Not a day goes by that I don't think of Ellie—even after all these years.” Grief lined his face.

Jean's heart ached for Ray. She knew what he was feeling and wished she could ease his pain. In an effort to comfort him, she hugged him lightly.

Suddenly Ray was wrenched out of her arms.

“Get away from her!” Luke spat, shoving him.

“Luke!” Jean grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”

Ignoring his mother, Luke yelled, “You stay away from my mother!”

Keeping his voice calm, Ray said, “Settle down. Nothing's going on here.”

“Nothing? You call what I saw nothing?”

“What you saw was friendship. Your mother was comforting me.” His voice had an edge to it.

“
You
need comfort?” Luke sneered.

“Take a step back and calm down. You're making more of this than it is.” Ray attempted a smile, but it came off more as a smirk.

Luke's face reddened. “Don't make fun of me. Never make fun of me. I'm not a boy.” He threw himself at Ray, shoving him against the wall.

Ray didn't retaliate.

His face only inches from his adversary, Luke yelled, “You haven't changed. Oh, you put on an act so people will think you're better, but you can't fool me. The man who hated outsiders and who murdered my father is still here!” Luke thumped Ray's chest with his index finger. He turned on his mother. “Did you want my father out of the way so you could have him?”

Jean felt as if she'd been slapped. “No! Never! How could you even think such a thing?”

“Enough, son. You've said enough.” Ray's voice was hard.

“You want to lay into me?” Luke taunted. “Well, maybe you should. I'd say it was time we had this out.”

“Luke, I've been patient, but I've had just about enough. I don't want to fight you. I just want to go on my way.” Ray looked at Jean, who stood just out of his reach. “There's no reason for any of this. It's only hurting your mother.”

“Were you thinking about her when you killed my father?” Luke grabbed a pitchfork and thrust it at Ray. “You won't be part of this family!”

Ray lifted his hands in a sign of surrender. “I can't change what's happened.” He backed away. “I'm not a murderer. I've done things I'm not proud of, things I'll regret all my life, but I never meant for your father to die.” He stood squarely facing Luke. “Every day I think about what happened and wish I'd done it differently. Then maybe your father would be alive. I wish he were.” He dropped his arms. “I don't want to fight you. Put down the pitchfork.”

Luke glared at Ray. “You're gonna fight. It's your turn to pay.” He lunged at Ray, but the bigger man easily avoided his assault. The red in Luke's face deepened. “I've never hated anyone, but hate isn't a strong enough word for what I feel for you. The sooner you're out of our lives, the better.” He lunged again.

Ray avoided the sharp tongs. He stared at the boy and the impenetrable rage in his face.

Luke waved the pitchfork menacingly.

“You can come at me, but I'm not moving. If you really want me dead, then do it and we'll be done with it.” Ray let his arms hang loosely at his sides.

“Luke, please,” Jean said. “Stop this.”

Luke didn't seem to know what to do. He glared at Ray.

“We don't have to be friends, Luke, but we've got to find a way to settle our differences.”

“There's no way to settle them. There's only one way to make sure you never set foot on this property again.” He lunged, but Ray didn't move. The pitchfork ripped through the larger man's coat, slashing through his shirt and piercing his skin. Ray looked down at the wound, seemingly unperturbed.

Staring at the blood seeping into his adversary's shirt, Luke stepped back and dropped the pitchfork, then ran from the barn.

“PRETTY,” SUSIE SAID, POINTING AT AN ICE-ENCRUSTED WINDOW SPLINTERED by sunlight.

“Yes. Very pretty,” Jean said, settling her daughter into bed. “You go to sleep now.”

“Brian doesn't have to take a nap. Why do I?”

“He's at school. Big boys don't take naps.” She pulled a quilt up under her daughter's chin and kissed her forehead.

“Please read another story.”

“I've already read two. I'll read you another one tonight.”

“I wish I could read. When can I go to school?”

“Two more years, then you can go. I'm not ready for you to go off to school yet. I'd be lonely without you. It's hard enough that I have to leave you when I work.” Jean pressed her face against the little girl's chest.