Road To Forgiveness Read online

  Copyright

  ISBN 1-59310-542-8

  Copyright © 2005 by Carol Cox. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

  One

  Tucson, Arizona Territory—March 1898

  A cloud of dust mushroomed over the top of the rise ahead. Jacob Garrett spurred his horse up the low slope. Dust didn’t billow up like that on its own on a windless day. A shrill whinny mingled with a man’s frantic yells, heightening Jacob’s sense of urgency.

  ❧

  He topped the rise and took in the scene at a glance. A calf lay on its side in the sandy dirt. A rope stretched taut from the calf’s neck to the saddle horn of a sweat-soaked dun who backpedaled, eyes wide and nostrils flaring, putting all his effort into breaking away from the dead weight that anchored him to the spot.

  On the opposite side of the calf, a cow shook her horns and pawed another puff of powder-fine dust into the air. A man crouched behind the calf, using it as a living shield between himself and the cow. She made a quick sidestep to the right, then the left, as if sizing up her intended target.

  Jacob jerked his rope from his saddle and began to build a loop while he circled behind the threatening animal. With a quick flip of his wrist, he pitched the loop and turned his horse as the rope caught the cow’s right hind leg. He spurred his horse forward and jerked the cow off her feet.

  The steel-dust gelding pulled back to keep tension on the rope, and Jacob sprang from the saddle and hurried over to kneel on the cow’s neck.

  “Afternoon, Gus.” He nodded to the gray-haired rancher, on his feet now and slapping the dust off his chaps. “If there’s something you needed to do to that calf, you’d better do it quick, while I have his mama on the ground.”

  “I already finished doctoring him.” Gus yanked the piggin’ string loose. The little calf staggered to his feet and trotted over to his mother. “All I needed to do was smear some salve on a cut to keep the flies off. I was ready to let him up when she pitched her fit. No patience at all. Ain’t that just like a woman?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind pulling my rope off her leg, I’d like to get up pretty soon. She’s getting a mite testy.”

  Gus hobbled over to the cow and loosened the rope. “Give me a minute to get back on my horse, will you? I’m not as spry as I used to be.”

  Jacob held the struggling animal’s head while Gus mounted the dun, then jumped back and raced for his own saddle.

  The cow scrambled to her feet and gave them a belligerent glare before checking her calf for signs of ill-treatment.

  “Whew!” The grizzled rancher pulled a dark blue bandanna from his hip pocket and swiped his forehead. “That was closer than I care to come to eternity anytime soon. Glad you happened along when you did.”

  “Glad I could save you from being stomped into the dirt. I was just out riding; I didn’t expect to get a chance to play hero.”

  Gus grinned and settled his hat on his brow. “Want to come back to the house for supper? Martha’s fixing your favorite tonight.”

  “I wish I could, but I need to talk something over with my folks.”

  Gus raised a white tuft of an eyebrow. “It must be something pretty important to lure you away from Martha’s pot roast.”

  “You could say that.” Jacob stared off toward the Rincon Mountains. He might as well confide in Gus, after all the man had done for him. He slid an envelope from his vest pocket. The letter felt unaccountably heavy in his hands. “I got this today.”

  Gus studied him but said nothing.

  “It’s from Dan O’Roarke. Remember him?”

  “O’Roarke? Isn’t that the fellow from up Prescott way? The one you brought by my place last year?”

  “That’s him. The one with the ranch up near Coyote Springs. I’ve known him all my life. His parents and mine have been friends for years.” Jacob tapped the envelope on his saddle horn. “He’s asked me to come up and work for him.”

  Gus’s pale blue eyes gleamed. “That’ll be a fine opportunity for you. Even if it means I’ll be losing your help. I have to admit I’ve gotten kinda used to you coming around every now and then.”

  “If you hadn’t taken me under your wing when I was a green kid, I wouldn’t have known a heifer from a steer. You taught me everything I know about livestock.” Jacob’s voice thickened. “As a matter of fact, knowing I learned from you is what made Dan decide I knew enough about working stock to be a help instead of a hindrance.”

  “I’d have made you the same kind of offer if I thought you’d take me up on it.” Gus leveled a knowing look at Jacob. “But I have a feeling your heart isn’t set on staying around Tucson.”

  Jacob grunted assent. “You’re right about that. My folks don’t know it yet, though.” He slid his thumb along the edge of the envelope. “I guess it’s time I told them.”

  ❧

  Jacob listened to the saddle leather creak in time with his horse’s footsteps as the steel-dust ambled along. He resisted the impulse to touch his heels to the gelding’s flanks and urge him into a lope. Instead, he settled back in his saddle and took note of the desert that stretched out for miles around him.

  Some might describe the balmy Tucson weather as paradise on this early spring day. But this was March. In another couple of months, the temperatures would soar up to a hundred degrees and more, making it seem less like paradise and more like living next to the blast furnaces at one of his father’s mines.

  “I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.” The verse from the fourth chapter of Philippians sprang into his mind without warning. The apostle Paul had found contentment, even in the midst of persecution and imprisonment. Why couldn’t he do the same? His parents could certainly make the same statement.

  How had they managed to adjust to the searing heat after spending their early years in the cool forestlands of Colorado and northern Arizona? Jacob never could figure that out. But adapt they had. They both loved it here. He rocked along, taking note of the different types of cactus within his view: the saguaro, the deceptively fuzzy-looking cholla, the spindly ocotillo. Everything around here has thorns. But his mother would find beauty in each one, and because she did, his father would see the beauty, too.

  Jacob appreciated the majesty of his surroundings when his mother pointed them out to him, but in his eyes the landscape rolled out as a vast barrenness, something like the wasteland his soul had become of late. For twenty-five years, he’d tried to live the life his parents had built up and loved. But that was their life, not his. More and more, he knew he needed a change. Now he just had to convince them of that.

  The house and barn came into view all too soon. On any other day, the sight would have calmed his spirit. Today, though, he carried news that made him feel like a traitor.

  Jacob took his time unsaddling his gelding, brushing him down, and tossing him some hay. Cap munched greedily at the brittle green stems. Long before Jacob was ready, he heard the call for supper.

  “Better get this over with,” he told Cap. The steel-dust pulled at another mouthful of hay. Jac
ob slapped him gently on the withers and turned toward the house with a twinge of envy. At least one of them would enjoy their supper tonight.

  ❧

  “Seconds, dear?” Jacob’s mother held out the steaming platter of roast chicken.

  Jacob served himself, then passed the dish to his father at the head of the table. Truth be told, he had no interest in a second helping of chicken. Or string beans or even some of his mother’s fluffy rolls. But the longer he dragged out the meal, the longer he could put off springing his news.

  His father helped himself and set the platter on the table. “Everyone in town seemed to be talking about the situation in Cuba today. If you can believe what’s in the newspaper, those people down there are being grievously mistreated by the Spanish.”

  His mother’s fork clinked against her plate. “Is there more talk of war with Spain? President Cleveland always insisted that would never happen.”

  “True enough,” his father agreed. “But McKinley is being pressured to take a different stance. I’d say it’s only a matter of time.”

  Jacob chewed slowly, grateful for the diversion. He dawdled as long as he could before lifting the last bite to his mouth.

  His father took a swallow of water and leaned back in his chair. “So what’s on your mind, Son?”

  Jacob nearly choked on his chicken. He reached for his water tumbler and took a hearty swig to help the bite go down, then coughed into his napkin until he recaptured his breath.

  He shot a rueful smile toward his father. “I guess there’s no point in asking what you mean, is there?”

  Jenny Garrett looked at her son and gave a soft chuckle. “We’ve raised two children, Jacob. We know the signs. And I once owned a restaurant, remember? Of all the meals I served, I never once saw anyone trying to sop up gravy with his green beans until tonight. I’d second your father’s guess that your mind is somewhere else.”

  Jacob held up his hands. “All right, I give up. Guilty as charged. I have something to say, and I’ve been trying to figure out how to break it to you. I thought I was keeping a pretty good poker face. Evidently, I didn’t do such a good job of it.”

  He drew a deep breath and removed the envelope from his pocket. Pulling a sheet of paper from the envelope, he spread the letter out on the table. “I got this today. From Dan O’Roarke.”

  His mother clapped her hands. “How nice. Did he say anything about his parents? We haven’t heard from Elizabeth and Michael in ages.”

  Jacob cleared his throat. “Actually it’s more than just a friendly letter. Dan asked if I wanted to come work for him.”

  His mother beamed. “I think that’s a fine idea. Don’t you, Andrew? You’ll enjoy spending the summer up there. I know how you hate the Tucson heat.”

  “Actually, Mother, it would be more than just this summer.”

  She studied him more closely and seemed to read something in his expression. “You mean you’re thinking of leaving here for good?”

  Here it comes. Jacob took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “I’ve done my best with every job Dad’s given me to do in the mines, and I’ve tried to make a go of it.”

  A puzzled look shadowed his father’s face. “You’ve done far more than try. You’ve learned the business well. As a matter of fact, I’ve been gearing up to put you in as manager of the new copper mine we’ll be opening down by Bisbee. I hope you don’t think I haven’t been pleased with your work.”

  “No, Dad. That isn’t it at all.” He clenched his fists under the table. They weren’t going to like what he had to say, not one bit. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking for ore in the desert. That isn’t where my heart lies. I grew up hearing the stories about how you and Mother and Red Dwyer started the Silver Crown and built it up into the mining company you have today. How finding a strike is one of the most exciting things in the world for you.” He shook his head, feeling like the worst kind of deserter. “But that isn’t the way I’m made. I get that same feeling spending my days outside on horseback, not on the business end of a pick.”

  His father nodded slowly. “I can understand that, Son. If ranching is what you want to do, your mother and I would be happy to set you up with your own place down here.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad. If I thought it would work, I’d jump at the chance. But there’s something in my soul that needs trees instead of cactus, green hills instead of brown desert. And I really want the opportunity to get out on my own and find out what I’m made of.”

  His mother and father exchanged a glance full of meaning. After a long silence, his mother sighed. “We went our own way; we can’t very well ask him not to, can we?”

  “That’s what I love about you, Jenny. You always seem to know what I’m thinking.” Jacob’s father turned to him. “We know you’ll do your best, Son. I believe God has some mighty plans for you. You need to go out and discover what they are.” He gripped Jacob’s hand in a firm clasp. “You have our blessing. And you know there will always be a place for you if you ever decide to come back here.”

  Jacob returned his father’s grip, grateful beyond measure for their support. “Thank you. Both of you. I’ll have to hurry to pull everything together in time. Dan wants me up there next week.”

  Two

  Lonesome Valley, Arizona Territory

  “Hallie! Where are you, girl?” Burke Evans’s bellow broke the stillness of the spring afternoon.

  Hallie Evans scrambled down from her perch on the water tank catwalk and hurried toward the weathered ranch house. When her father roared like that, he expected immediate response.

  Inside, she paused a moment to smooth her skirt and give her eyes time to adjust to the relative dimness. “I’m here, Pa.”

  Her father’s heavy footsteps clumped across the plank floor. “Edgar Wilson stopped by on his way home from Prescott. Get us some coffee, would you?”

  “I’ll be right there.” A glance out the front window showed her Mr. Wilson’s sorrel mount tethered to the rail. How did I miss hearing him ride up? She ducked into the kitchen, where she checked the contents of the coffeepot on the back of the stove. Her father insisted on having a steady supply of coffee at the ready throughout the day. If he hadn’t gotten into too much of it since lunch. . . Good, the pot was still nearly full.

  Hallie set the coffeepot and two mugs on a tray, glad she wouldn’t have to keep the men waiting. Edgar Wilson had even less patience than her father. Two short-tempered men in need of coffee would not make for a pleasant afternoon. For good measure, she opened the pie safe and added two servings of dried apple pie to the tray. From the ominous tone of the voices rumbling from the front room, those two could use all the sweetening up she could give them.

  “Where have they gone, and who’s taking them? That’s what I want to know.” Wilson’s harsh words rolled over Hallie when she pushed through the swinging door. The neighboring rancher stood before the empty fireplace, every line of his bearing shouting outrage.

  “Here’s your coffee.” Hallie set the tray down on a low table and slipped back through the swinging door, then through the kitchen, and back outside. It wasn’t wise to be around when Wilson and her father got started. She propped the back door open so she could hear if he should call her again. A week ago, they would have had the house shut tight against the late winter chill, but the past few days brought warmer, almost balmy weather. The fresh air would help chase away the stuffiness after being closed up for months.

  How far could she go and still be within earshot? The catwalk beckoned, her favorite spot from which she could view the length of Lonesome Valley like a princess from her high tower. But if her father called, it would just mean rushing down the ladder again. She settled for dragging a sturdy chair across the packed earth and setting it beneath the raised platform the tank sat on. That would still provide a degree of privacy and relief from the sun’s glare, but she could jump and run as soon as her father summoned her.

  Despite his brusque, heav
y-handed ways, she loved him dearly. Since her mother’s death eight years before, it had just been the two of them. Some fathers might have lamented being saddled with a lone daughter, but not hers. The lack of a son never seemed to bother Burke Evans. If anything, he seemed to treasure their relationship as much as she did.

  Hallie drew her feet up onto the wooden seat and folded her arms atop her knees. Resting her chin on her arms, she stared out across the rolling valley. Fawn-colored hills stretched out in a broad sweep to the mountains in the near distance, Mingus Mountain to the east, the Bradshaws to the south. Their solid bulk surrounded her valley like a pair of mighty arms, shielding the range her father had claimed as his own—the Broken Box Ranch, the only home she had ever known.

  This land was a part of her, its texture intimately woven into the very fiber of her being. For as long as she could remember, she had watched its many moods unfold. And for as long as she could remember, its familiarity never failed to calm her, to fill her with a sense of peace and satisfaction.

  Her land. Her home. And yet. . .

  A vague longing surfaced, one that filled her consciousness more and more often of late. Why didn’t the majestic panorama provide the same satisfaction as before? What had changed? It couldn’t be her beloved mountains. Their solid bulk stood just as imposingly as it had for untold centuries. The foothills, the valley—they remained the same as they had always been. No, if there was a difference, it must be within her.

  A soft sigh escaped her lips. “What’s the matter with me?”

  A shadow fell across her lap and a voice grated near her ear. “Not a thing that I can see.”

  Hallie started and whipped her head around to see who had invaded her private moment. All her peaceful feelings scattered to the winds like dandelion fluff at the sight of Pete Edwards, her father’s top hand, standing behind her. She fought to untangle her legs from her skirt and struggled to her feet.

  Pete watched her with a slow smile that made her bring her hand to her neckline to make sure the buttons of her bodice were fastened. He spread his legs wide apart in a bold stance and folded his beefy arms, obviously enjoying her discomfort. “Need a hand?”