the

Scarlet Thread

Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

Wheaton, Illinois

Visit Tyndale’s exciting Web site at www.tyndale.com

Check out the latest about Francine Rivers at www.francinerivers.com

Copyright © 1996, 2004 by Francine Rivers. All rights reserved.

Discussion Guide section written by Peggy Lynch

Designed by Alyssa Force

Interior map copyright © 1996 by Kirk Caldwell. All rights reserved.

Cover photograph copyright © 2004 by jimiallenphotography.com. All rights reserved.

Author’s photo copyright © 1999 by John Teague. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations are taken from the New American Standard Bible, © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968,

1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.

Scripture quotations used in the Discussion Guide are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living

Translation, copyright © 1996. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton,

Illinois 60189. All rights reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of

the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author

or publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Rivers, Francine, date

The scarlet thread / Francine Rivers.

p. cm.

ISBN 1-4143-0495-1 (sc); 1-4143-0495-1 (hc) ISBN 1-4143-0495-1

I. Title.

PS3568.I83165S28

1996

813′.54—dc20

96-3721

To Sue Hahn, Fran Kane, and Donzella Schlager . . . my traveling companions.

A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S

Three very special people helped bring this story into being:

Sue Hahn, Fran Kane, and Donzella Schlager, adventurers all,

who shared a dream with me of traveling the Oregon Trail.

With the blessings of our husbands, we took off in a Suburban

and drove from Sebastopol, California, to Independence, Missouri. From there we followed the Oregon Trail to The Dalles,

Oregon. Over five thousand miles together. We saw the beauty

and vastness of our country, stopped at every historical landmark (and rest stop) along the road, visited every museum we

could find (small town and large), and collected enough information to keep us reading for years to come.

Thanks, gals. It was one of the best times of my life.

When do we do the Lewis and Clark trail?

Many thanks as well to Ryan MacDonald, for sharing his

expertise in computer games and trade shows.

1

The Call

HE ALL

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shaking. Her stomach was quivering. Her head had begun throbbing with a tension headache the moment Alex had told her the

news.

She hadn’t had a headache like this since prom night during

her senior year of high school. Alex had come to pick her up in his

father’s beat-up Chevy three minutes before her father turned

into the driveway. It was the first time in her life her father had

come home early from work. She might have known it would be

on that night. She could still remember the look on her father’s

face when he saw Alex—a drop-dead handsome, long-haired

Hispanic boy dressed in a rented tuxedo—standing on the wide

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porch of her family’s Mathesen Street Victorian. As if that

wasn’t bad enough, Alex was reaching forward to pin an orchid

to the front of her fancy prom dress. When Sierra heard the slam

of her father’s car door, she almost fainted in fear.

The headache had started then and was only compounded by

the inquiring look on Alex’s face. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

What could she say? She had told her father about Alex; she just

hadn’t told him everything.

Words were exchanged, but, fortunately, her mother was

there to intercede and calm her father down.

In the end, Alex escorted her to his borrowed car and helped

her in while her father stood on the front steps glaring at him.

Alex didn’t so much as look at her as he put the Chevy in gear

and pulled away from the curb. They were halfway to Santa

Rosa before he said anything.

“You didn’t tell him who was taking you to the prom, did you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Yeah, right. You just left out a few important details, didn’t

you, chiquita?” He had never called her that before, and it boded

ill tidings for the night ahead. He didn’t say anything more on the

drive to the expensive restaurant in Santa Rosa. She ordered

something cheap, which made him even madder.

“You think I can’t afford to buy you anything more than a

dinner salad?”

Her face aflame, she ordered the same prime rib dinner he

did, but he didn’t look any happier.

Things got worse as the evening wore on. By ten, Alex wasn’t

speaking at all, not to her, not to anyone. She ended up losing

the nice dinner he bought her in the bathroom of the Villa de

Chanticlair.

She’d been crazy in love with Alejandro Luís Madrid. Crazy

being the operative word. Her father had warned her. She

should have listened.

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Sierra’s eyes smarted with tears now as she drove along

the Old Redwood Highway, which linked Windsor with

Healdsburg. For all of its turmoil, she preferred clinging to the

now-romantic past rather than facing the uncertain, terrifying

present and future.

Prom night had been such a disaster. When most of her friends

were going to all-night parties in Santa Rosa, Alex took her

home well before midnight. The front lights were turned on, and

not discreetly. Her father had probably changed the 60-watt

bulb to a 250 while she was gone. Even the inside lights were on

that night.

There was plenty of light for her to see how angry Alex was.

But his expression revealed something deeper than just anger.

She could feel the hurt that lay hidden behind the cold, remote

expression on his face. She thought he’d just walk away then.

Unfortunately, he didn’t intend to do so before he had his say.

“I knew it was a mistake to ever ask you out.”

The words struck like a shotgun blast to her heart. He wasn’t

finished. “I’m not some character in a Shakespearean tragedy,

Sierra. I’m not Romeo to your Juliet. And I didn’t ask you out

because I wanted to play around!” He turned away with that and

almost reached the steps before she could speak past the tears

choking her.

“I love you, Alex.”

He turned around then and looked at her. “What’d you say?”

His eyes were dark and hot, still mad at her—with good cause.

She hadn’t considered what her silence would cost him. All she

had thought about was avoiding a confrontation with her father.

Alex stood waiting.

“I—I said I love you.”

“Say it in Spanish,” he told her in the same tone he had used

when tutoring her.

She swallowed, wondering if he only meant to humiliate her

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more before he walked out of her life. “Te amo, Alejandro Luís

Madrid. Corazón y alma.” She started to cry then, hard wracking

sobs. He caught hold of her and poured out his feelings in Spanish. Though she didn’t fully understand the words, she saw in his

eyes and felt in his touch that he loved her.

Infrequently over the years, he had fallen back into his first

language during times of powerful emotions. He had spoken

Spanish when he made love to her on their wedding night and

again when she told him she was pregnant. He had wept and

spoken Spanish in the wee hours of the morning when Clanton

had pushed his way into the world, and again when Carolyn was

born. And he had spoken Spanish in tears on the night her father

died.

But that night on the porch, they both forgot about the lights.

In fact, they both forgot everything until the front door was

jerked open and her father ordered him gone.

She was forbidden to see Alex. At the time, it didn’t matter to

her father that Alex was ranked number four in a class of two

hundred students. What mattered was that Luís Madrid, Alex’s

father, was “one of those beaners” who worked as a laborer in

the Sonoma County vineyards. Her father didn’t care that Alex

was working a forty-hour week at a local gas station to save

money to put himself through college.

“I wish him luck,” he said, and it was clear that luck was the

last thing he wished Alex.

She reasoned, cajoled, whined, and begged. She appealed to

her mother, who promptly refused to take her side. In desperation, she threatened to run away or commit suicide. She had

gotten their attention with that.

“You so much as talk to that beaner on the phone and I’ll call

the police!” her father had yelled. “You’re fifteen. He’s eighteen.

I could have him arrested!”

“You do and I’ll tell the police you’re abusing me!”

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Her father called her aunt in Merced and made arrangements

for her to spend a few weeks there “cooling off.”

Alex was waiting when she returned, but he proved less malleable than her male parent. He had a few succinct Spanish

words to say about her idea of meeting him in secret. Alex was a

fighter who preferred facing wrath head-on. She had never

expected that he would deal with the situation on his own. He

just showed up at the house one day five minutes after her father

had come home from work. She learned later from a neighbor

that Alex had been waiting down the street for more than an

hour. Her mother, sympathetic to their plight, invited Alex into

the foyer before her father got to the porch and could order him

off the property.

Clutching the steering wheel of her Honda Accord, Sierra remembered how she had felt that day, seeing Alex standing in the

front hallway between her mother and father. She had been so

sure her father would kill him or at least beat him to within an

inch of his life.

“What’s he doing here?” She could still hear the anger in her

father’s voice as he dumped his briefcase on the floor. Sierra had

been convinced he was only freeing his hands so he could get

them around Alex’s neck.

Alex stepped around her mother and faced him. “I came to ask

permission to see your daughter.”

“Permission! Like you asked permission to take her to the

prom?”

“I thought Sierra cleared it with you. My mistake.”

“You’re right about that! A big mistake. Now get out of here!”

“Brian, give the young man the chance to—”

“Stay out of this, Marianna!”

Alex stood his ground. “All I ask is a fair hearing.” He didn’t

even notice her standing above them on the stairs.

“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

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They were like two dogs with their hackles up. “Daddy, please

. . . ,” she said, coming down the stairs. “We love each other.”

“Love. I doubt that’s what he feels for you.”

“You don’t understand!” she wailed.

“I understand plenty! Get back to your room!”

“I’m not going anywhere but with Alex,” she said, reaching the

hallway and taking a position beside her boyfriend, and she

knew in that instant that if her father came at him, she’d do whatever she had to do to stop him. She had never been so furious!

Alex clamped his hand on her wrist and firmly pulled her

behind him. “This is between your father and me. Stay out of it.”

The whole time he spoke, he never took his eyes off her father.

“Get out of my house.”

“All I want is a few minutes to speak to you, Mr. Clanton. If

you tell me afterward to back off, I’ll back off.”

“All the way to Mexico?”

“Brian!”

As soon as her father uttered the words, his face turned beet

red. Alex, with his own prejudices, had no intention of letting

him off easily.

“I was born in Healdsburg, Mr. Clanton. Just like you. My

father took his citizenship test ten years ago. Not that it makes

much difference. He passed with flying colors. Red, white, and

blue. He’s never taken a dollar of welfare in his life, and he works

hard for what he makes, probably harder than you do in that

plush real estate office you have downtown. We don’t live in a

Victorian,” he said with a swift, telling look around, “but we

don’t live in a shack either.”

His little speech hadn’t made anything better.

“You finished?” her father said, embarrassment burned away

by anger.

“You might enjoy knowing that my father and mother disapprove of Sierra as much as you disapprove of me.”

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Her mouth fell open.

“Disapprove of Sierra?” her father said, insulted. “Why?”

“Why do you think, Mr. Clanton? She’s white and she’s

Protestant.”

“Maybe you ought to listen.”

“I do listen. I’ve got a lot of respect for my parents, but I’ve got

a mind of my own. The way I see it, a bigot is a bigot, no matter

what color he is.”

A long, hot silence filled the foyer.

“So,” Alex said bleakly. “Do we talk or do I walk?”

Her father looked at her for a moment and then back at Alex

with resentful resignation. “We talk.” He jerked his head toward

a room off the hallway. “But I doubt you’re going to like what I

have to say.”

They spent the next two hours in the small office at the front

of the house while she sat in the kitchen with her mother, alternately crying and raging about what she’d do if her father

wouldn’t let her go out with Alex. Her mother hadn’t said much

of anything that day.

When her father came into the kitchen, he told her Alex was

gone. Before she had time to scream recriminations, he informed

her she could see him again, after she’d agreed to follow the rules

the two of them had established. One phone conversation a

night, no longer than thirty minutes and only after her schoolwork was finished. No dates Monday through Thursday. Friday

night she was to be home by eleven. Saturday night by ten. Yes,

ten. She had to be well rested for church on Sunday. If her grades

dropped a smidgen, she was grounded from Alex completely. If

she missed church, same consequences.

“And Alex agreed?”

“He agreed.”

She hadn’t liked any of it, but she had been so much in love she

would have agreed to anything, and her father knew it.

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“That boy’s going to break your heart, Sierra.”

Now, fourteen years later, he was doing just that.

Wiping tears from her eyes, Sierra drove across the Russian

River bridge and turned right.

She knew her father had hoped things would cool off if he

gave the relationship time to develop cracks. He hadn’t

known Alex then, nor did he see the determination and drive

that burned in him. Alex graduated with honors from high

school and entered the local junior college. Sierra had wanted

to quit school and marry him, thinking it would be romantic to

work and help put him through college. He squashed that

idea. He told her in no uncertain terms that he intended to finish college on his own, and he sure didn’t want a dropout for a

wife. He completed two years of work at Santa Rosa Junior

College in a year and a half and transferred to the University

of California, Berkeley, where he majored in business, with an

emphasis in computer technology. She finished high school

and entered a local business college, counting the days to his

graduation.

As soon as Alex returned to Healdsburg, he found a job with

Hewlett-Packard in Santa Rosa, bought a used car, and rented a

small bungalow in Windsor.

When they couldn’t get their parents to agree on the kind of

wedding they should have, they eloped to Reno. Nobody was

very happy about it.

They had been married ten years. Ten wonderful years. All

that time she’d thought Alex was as happy as she was. She never

suspected what was going on beneath the surface. Why hadn’t

she realized? Why hadn’t he told her straight out that he was

dissatisfied?

Sierra pulled her Honda into the driveway of the Mathesen

Street Victorian and prayed her mother was home. Mom had

always been able to reason with Daddy. Maybe she could help

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Sierra figure out how to reason Alex out of his plans for their

future.

Unlocking the front door, Sierra entered the polished wood

foyer. “Mom?” She closed the door behind her and walked back

along the corridor toward the kitchen. She almost called for her

father before she caught herself.

With a sharp pang, she remembered the call she and Alex had

received at three in the morning two years ago. She had never

heard her mother’s voice sound that way before. Or since.

“Your father’s had a heart attack, honey. The ambulance is here.”

They had met her at the Healdsburg General Hospital, but it

was already too late.

“He complained of indigestion this morning,” her mother had

said, distracted, in shock. “And his shoulder was aching.”

Now, Sierra paused at his office door and looked in, half

expecting to see him sitting at his desk reading the real estate

section of the newspaper. She still missed him. Oddly, so did

Alex. He and her father had become close after Clanton and

Carolyn were born—amazing the way grandchildren seemed

to break down walls between people. Prior to her pregnancy,

she and Alex had seen little of her parents. Her father always

found some excuse to turn down dinner invitations; Alex’s

parents were no better.

All that changed when she went into labor. Everyone was at

Kaiser Hospital the night she gave birth. Alex had kissed her and

said maybe they should name their son Makepeace. They had

settled on Clanton Luís Madrid, forging both families together.

By the time Carolyn María arrived a year later, the Clantons and

the Madrids had had plenty of opportunity to get to know one

another and find out they had a lot more in common than they

ever thought possible.

“Mom?” Sierra called again, not finding her in the kitchen.

She looked out the window into the backyard garden, where her

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mother often worked. She wasn’t there either. The Buick Regal

was in the driveway, so she knew her mother wasn’t off on one of

her many charity projects or at the church.

Sierra went back along the corridor and up the stairs. “Mom?”

Maybe she was taking a nap. She peered into the master bedroom. A bright granny-square afghan was folded neatly on the

end of the bed. “Mom?”

“I’m in the attic, honey. Come on up.”

Surprised, Sierra went down the hallway and climbed the narrow stairway. “What are you doing up here?” she said, entering

the cluttered attic. The small dormer windows were open, allowing a faint sun-warmed breeze into the dusty, dimly lit room.

Dust particles danced on the beam of sunlight. The place smelled

musty with age and disuse.

The attic had always fascinated Sierra, and she momentarily

put aside her worries as she looked around. Lawn chairs were

stacked at the back. Just inside the door was a big milk can filled

with old umbrellas, two canes, and a crooked walking stick.

Wicker baskets in a dozen shapes and sizes sat on a high shelf.

Boxes were stacked in odd piles, in no particular order, their

contents a mystery.

How many times had she and her brother gone through their

rooms, sorting and boxing and shoving discards into the attic?

When Grandma and Grandpa Clanton had died, boxes from

their estate had taken up residence in the quiet dimness. Old

books, trunks, and boxes of dishes and silverware were scattered

about. A hat tree stood in a back corner on an old braided rag rug

that had been made by Sierra’s great-grandmother. The box of

old dress-up clothes she had donned as a child was still there. As

was the large oval mirror where she had admired herself with

each change.

Nearby, stacked in her brother’s red Radio Flyer wagon, were

a dozen or more framed pictures leaning one upon another

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against the wall. Some were original oils done by her grandfather

during his retirement years. Others were family pictures that

dated back several generations. Paint cans left over from restoration on the house were stacked on a shelf in case touch-ups were

needed to the colorful trim. One bookshelf was filled with shoe

boxes, each labeled in her father’s neat printing and holding tax

returns and business records going back twenty years.

A tattered, paint-chipped rocking horse stood in lonely exile in

the far back corner.

Her mother had moved some of the old furniture around so

that Grandpa Edgeworth’s old couch with the lion-claw legs was

sitting in the center of the attic. Opposite it was Daddy’s old

worn recliner. Two ratty needlepoint footstools served as stands

for the things her mother had removed from an old trunk that

stood open before her.

Marianna Clanton had a tea towel wrapped around her hair.

“I thought I should go through some of these things and make

some decisions.”

“Decisions about what?” Sierra said, distracted.

“What to throw away, what to keep.”

“Why now?”

“I should’ve started years ago,” her mother said with a rueful

smile. “I just kept putting it off.” She looked around at the cluttered room. “It’s a little overwhelming. Bits and pieces from so

many lives.”

Sierra ran her hand over an old stool that had been in the

kitchenette before it was remodeled. She remembered coming

home from kindergarten and climbing up on it at the breakfast

bar so she could watch her mother make Tollhouse cookies.

“Alex called me a little while ago and told me he’s accepted a job

in Los Angeles.”

Her mother glanced up at her, a pained expression flickering

across her face. “It was to be expected, I suppose.”

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“Expected? How?”

“Alex has always been ambitious.”

“He has a good job. He got that big promotion last year, and

he’s making good money. They gave him a comprehensive health

package and retirement plan. We have a wonderful new house.

We like our neighbors. Clanton and Carolyn are happy in school.

We’re close to family. I didn’t even know Alex had put out word

he was looking for another position until he called me today—”

Her voice broke. “He was so excited, Mom. You should’ve heard

him. He said this new company made him a fantastic offer, and he

accepted it without even talking to me about it.”

“What sort of company?”

“Computers. Games. The sort of stuff Alex likes to play around

with at home. He met these guys at a sales conference last spring

in Las Vegas. He never even told me about them. He says he did,

but I don’t remember. Alex has been working on an idea he has

for a role-playing game for an Internet-type program. Players

could link up with others and create armies and battle scenarios.

He said it’s right up their alley. And it doesn’t even bother him

that they haven’t been in business four years yet or that they

started business in a garage.”

“So did Apple Computers.”

“That’s different. These guys haven’t been around long

enough to prove they can stay in business. I don’t see how Alex

can throw away ten years’ seniority at Hewlett-Packard when

people are being laid off of other jobs left and right! I don’t want

to go to Los Angeles, Mom. Everything I love is here.”

“You love Alex, honey.”

“I’d like to shoot Alex! Where does he get off making a decision

like this without even discussing it with me?”

“Would you have listened if he had?”

She couldn’t believe her mother would ask such a thing. “Of

course I’d listen! Doesn’t he think it has anything to do with

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me?” She wiped angry tears from her cheeks. “You know what

he said to me, Mom? He told me he’d already called a Realtor,

and the woman’s coming by tonight to list the house. Can you believe it? I just planted daffodils all along the back fence. If he has

his way, I won’t even be here to see them bloom!”

Her mother said nothing for a long moment. She folded her

hands in her lap while Sierra rummaged through her shoulder

bag for a Kleenex.

Sierra sniffled into the tissue. “It’s not fair. He never even took

my feelings into consideration, Mom. He just made the decision

and told me it’s a done deal. Just like that. Whether I like it or

not, we’re moving to Los Angeles. He doesn’t even care how I feel

about it because it’s what he wants.”

“I’m sure Alex didn’t make the decision arbitrarily. He’s always looked at everything from all sides.”

“Not from my side.” Restless and upset, she walked across the

room and picked up an old stuffed bear her brother had cuddled

when he was a boy. She hugged it against her. “Alex grew up

here just like I did, Mom. I don’t understand how he can turn his

back on everything and be so happy about it.”

“Maybe Alex wasn’t treated as kindly as you were, Sierra.”

Sierra glanced back at her mother in surprise. “His parents

never abused him.”

“I wasn’t referring to Luís or María; they’re wonderful people.

I mean the assumptions too many people make about Hispanics.”

“Well, he can add all that to the other things Los Angeles will

have to offer. Smog. Traffic. Riots. Earthquakes.”

Her mother smiled. “Disneyland. Movie stars. Beaches,” she

recited, clearly seeing a much more positive side to things.

Daddy used to call it her Pollyanna attitude, especially when he

was irritated and in no mood to see the good side of a situation.

The way Sierra was feeling now.

“Everyone we love is here, Mom. Family, friends.”

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“You’re not moving to Maine, honey. It’s only a day’s drive

between Healdsburg and Los Angeles. And this is the age of

telephones.”

“You talk as though it doesn’t matter to you that we’re leaving.”

Sierra bit her lip and looked away. “I thought you’d understand.”

“If I could make the choice, of course, I’d rather you were

here. And I do understand. Your grandparents were far from

overjoyed when I moved from Fresno to San Francisco.” She

smiled. “It was a ten-hour drive in those days, but you’d have

thought I’d moved to the far side of the moon.”

Sierra smiled wanly. “It’s hard for me to see you as some sort

of beatnik living in San Francisco, Mom.”

She laughed. “No less hard than it is for me to see you as a

young woman with a wonderful husband and two children in

school.”

Sierra blew her nose. “Wonderful husband,” she muttered.

“He’s a male chauvinist pig. Alex probably hasn’t even bothered

to mention this to his parents.”

“Luís will understand. Just as your father would have. I think

Alex has stayed here for ten years because of you. It’s time you

allow him to do what he needs to do to make full use of the talents

he has.”

It was the last thing Sierra wanted to hear. She didn’t reply as

she ran her hand along the books in an old shelf. She knew what

her mother said had merit, but that didn’t mean she wanted to

listen. Alex had received other offers and turned each down after

discussing them with her. She had thought the decisions mutual,

but now she wondered. He had sounded so excited and happy

when he talked to her about this job. . . .

She plucked Winnie the Pooh out and blew dust off the top.

Stroking the front of the book, she remembered sitting in her

mother’s lap as the story was read to her. How many times had

she heard it? The cover was worn from handling.

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Just thinking about leaving and not being able to see her

mother or talk with her every few days left Sierra feeling bereft.

Tears blurred her vision.

“Alex gave notice this morning.” She pushed the book back

into its space. “It was the first thing he did after he got the call

from Los Angeles. Then he called me with the great news.” Covering her face, she wept.

Sierra felt some comfort when her mother’s arms came around

her.

“It’ll be all right, honey. You’ll see.” Her mother stroked her

back as though she were a child. “Things have a way of working

out for the best. The Lord has plans for you and for Alex, plans

for your good, not your destruction. Trust him.”

The Lord! Why did her mother always have to bring up the

Lord? What sort of plan was it to tear people’s lives apart?

She withdrew from her mother’s arms. “All our friends are

here. You’re here. I don’t want to move. It makes no sense. What

does Alex think he’ll find in Los Angeles that he doesn’t already

have here?”

“Maybe he wants the chance to prove himself.”

“He has proven himself. He’s succeeded at everything he’s

ever done.”

“Maybe he doesn’t feel he’s done enough.”

“He doesn’t have to prove anything to me,” Sierra said, her

voice choked.

“Sometimes men have to prove things to themselves, Sierra.”

She took her daughter’s hand. “Sit, honey.” She drew her down

onto the old faded couch. Patting her hand, she smiled wistfully.

“I remember Alex talking with your father about all the frustrations he felt in his job.”

“Daddy was the one who told Alex to settle in and stay put so

he’d have all the benefits.”

“Your father was worried Alex would do the same thing he did.”

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She blew her nose and glanced at her mother. “What do you

mean?”

“Your father changed jobs half a dozen times before he settled

into real estate.”

“He did? I don’t remember that.”

“You were too young to notice.” Her mother smiled wistfully.

“Your father intended to be a high school biology teacher.”

“Daddy? A teacher?” She couldn’t imagine it. He wouldn’t

have put up with anything. The first student to shoot a spit wad

would have found himself upside down in a garbage can outside

the classroom door.

Her mother laughed. “Yes, Daddy. He spent five years in college preparing to do just that and after one year in a classroom

decided he hated it. He said the girls were all airheads and the

boys were running on testosterone.”

Sierra smiled, amazed and amused. “I can’t even imagine.”

“Your dad went to work in a lab then. He hated that, too. He

said staring into microscopes all day bored him senseless. So he

went to work for a men’s clothing store.”

“Daddy?” Sierra said again, astounded.

“Yes, Daddy. You and Mike were both in school when he quit.

After that, he trained to become a police officer. I was as strongly

against that as you are against moving to Los Angeles.” She patted

Sierra’s hand again. “But good came out of it. I used to lie awake at

night, worrying myself sick over him. I was so sure something

would happen to him. Those years were the worst of my life, and

our marriage suffered because of it. And yet the greatest blessing

came from it, too. I became a Christian while your father was

working the eleven-to-seven shift as a highway patrolman.”

“I didn’t know all this, Mom.”

“Why would you? A mother hardly shares these kinds of

struggles with her young children. You were four and Mike was

seven. Neither of you were happy. You sensed the tension be1 8

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tween us and didn’t understand. You didn’t see that much of

your father when he was home because he had to sleep during

the day. I spent most of my time telling you two to be quiet and

trying to keep you busy with games and puzzles and long walks.

The hours and stress were bad enough for Daddy, but I think it

was missing you and Mike that finally made him quit. Before he

did, he studied for his real estate license. He gave it a try and

loved it. As God would have it, he started at the time when real

estate was booming. It was a seller’s market. Within two years of

getting his license, your dad was one of the top Realtors in

Sonoma County. He became so busy, he dropped residential and

specialized in commercial properties.”

She squeezed Sierra’s hand. “The point I’m trying to make

is this, honey: It took your father sixteen years to settle into a

career he enjoyed.” She smiled. “Alex knew what he wanted to

do when he went to college. The trouble is he’s never had the

opportunity to accomplish it. The greatest gift you can give him

is the freedom to spread his wings.”

Again, this wasn’t what Sierra wanted to hear. “You talk as

though I’ve put a ball and chain around his neck.” She stood and

began pacing again. “I’d like to have been consulted, Mom. Is that

so hard to understand? Alex didn’t even discuss the offer with me.

He accepted it and then informed me of his decision. It’s not fair.”

“Who ever said life was fair?” her mother responded, hands

folded.

Sierra felt defensive and angry. “Daddy didn’t make you move.”

“No, he didn’t. I would have been delighted if he had.”

Sierra turned and stared at her. “I thought you loved

Healdsburg.”

“Now I do. When I was younger, all I could think about was

getting away from here. I thought how wonderful it would be to

live in a big city like San Francisco where lots of things were

going on. You know I grew up on Grandma’s farm in the central

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valley, and believe me, it was anything but exciting, honey. I

wanted to go to the theater and attend concerts. I wanted to immerse myself in museums and culture. I wanted to walk through

Golden Gate Park. And, despite warnings and pleadings from

my parents, I did just that.”

“And met Daddy.”

“Yes. He rescued me from a mugging on the Pan Handle.”

Sierra thought of the wedding photo on the mantel downstairs.

Her father’s hair had been long then, and his “tuxedo” consisted

of worn Levi’s and heavy boots; her mother, dressed in a black

turtleneck and Capri pants, had woven flowers in her waist-length

auburn hair. The photo had always jarred with the image she had

of her parents. They had been young once—and rebellious, too.

Her mother smiled, remembering. “If I’d had my way, we

would have settled in San Francisco.”

“You never told me that before.”

“By the time you and your brother came along, my ideas about

what I wanted had changed drastically. Just as your ideas will

change. Life isn’t static, Sierra. Thank God. It’s constantly in

motion. Sometimes we find ourselves caught up in currents and

carried along where we don’t want to go. Then we find out later

that God’s hand was in it all along.”

“God didn’t make the decision to move to Los Angeles. Alex

made it. But then, I suppose he thinks he’s God.” Sierra could

hear the resentment in her voice, but she hardened herself

against any regret or guilt. Emotions raged and warred within

her: resentment that Alex had made such a decision without talking to her beforehand; fear that if she fought him, she’d lose anyway; terror of leaving a life she loved and found so comfortable.

“What am I going to do, Mom?”

“That’s up to you, honey,” her mother said gently, tears of

compassion in her eyes.

“I need your advice.”

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“The second greatest commandment is that we love one

another as we love ourselves, Sierra. Forget yourself and think

about what Alex needs. Love him accordingly.”

“If I do that, he’ll walk all over me. Next time, he’ll jump at a job

in New York City!” She knew she was being unfair even as she

said it. Alex had given her two beautiful children, a nice threebedroom home in Windsor, and a secure, happy life. Life had been

so smooth, in fact, she had never once suspected the turmoil

within him. Realizing that frightened her. It made her feel she

didn’t know Alex’s heart or mind as well as she thought she did.

She couldn’t see a way out. Part of her wanted to pick up the

children from school and come back here to the Mathesen Street

home and let Alex face the real estate woman alone; he couldn’t

sell the house if she didn’t sign. But she knew if she did that, he’d

be furious. The few times she had unintentionally hurt him, he

had retreated into anger, putting up a cold front and withdrawing into silence. He didn’t come from a family of yellers. She

didn’t even want to think about how he would respond if she

hurt and angered him deliberately.

“It might help to take your mind off the matter for a few hours

and then try to think about it later,” her mother said.

Heart aching, Sierra sat down on the sofa again. She looked at

the open trunk and piles of boxes. “Why are you doing all this

now, Mom?”

Something flickered in her mother’s eyes. “It’s a good winter

activity, don’t you think?” She glanced around. “It’s such a mess.

Your father and I meant to go through all this stuff years ago, but

then . . .” She looked sad. “Time has a way of getting away from

us.” She looked around the room at the odd assortment of treasures, some ratty and from long-forgotten sources. “I don’t want

to leave all this chaos for you and Mike to have to figure out.”

She rose and walked around the attic, brushing her hand

lightly over an old rocking chair, a bookshelf, a baby’s pram.

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“I’m going to sort and put all of Mike’s and your things over there

in the north corner. You two can decide what you want to keep and

what you want to throw away. Special things from your father’s

family and mine, I’ll repack. Most of your father’s papers from the

business can be burned. There’s no point in keeping them. And

Grandpa’s paintings . . . some of them are disintegrating.”

“Some of them are really bad,” Sierra said, grinning.

“That, too,” her mother agreed with a laugh. “It kept him occupied.” She stopped near the window, glancing out at the front

lawn, her expression pensive. “There are a lot of family papers.

I’ll have all winter to go through and organize them for you and

Mike.” She glanced back at Sierra and smiled. “It’s a big job, but

I think it’ll be fun and interesting.”

She came back and sat down on the old flowered sofa. “This

trunk belonged to Mary Kathryn McMurray. She was one of

your ancestors. She came across the plains in a wagon in 1847. I

was just glancing through her journal when you came,” she said,

taking up a leather-bound volume from the trunk and brushing

her hand over it. “I hadn’t gotten very far. Apparently, this was

an assignment book and then it became her diary.”

She set the volume between them on the couch. Sierra picked

it up and opened it, reading the childish scrawl on the first page.

Mama says livin in the wildurnes aint no resun

to bee ignurant. Her papa wuz a larnud man and

wud not want fuls in his famlee.

“The trunk was part of Grandpa Clanton’s estate,” her mother

said. “I haven’t gone through these things in years.” She lifted

out a small carved wooden box. “Oh, I remember this,” she said,

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smiling. Inside was an embroidered silk handkerchief. She unfolded it carefully and showed Sierra the antique gold chain and

amethyst cross.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Sierra said, taking it and admiring it.

“You may have it, if you’d like.”

“I’d love it,” Sierra said, opening the small clasp and putting it

on.

Her mother took out an old tintype in an oval frame. The couple were dressed in wedding clothes, their expressions solemn

rather than joyful. The groom was handsome in his dark suit and

starched shirt, his dark hair brushed back cleanly from chiseled

features and intense pale eyes. Blue, Sierra decided. They would

have had to be blue to be so pale in the picture. The bride was

very young and lovely. She was wearing a gorgeous white lace

Victorian wedding dress. She sat while her husband stood, his

hand firmly planted upon her shoulder.

Sierra took out another box. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper,

was a small woven Indian basket with designs. Around the top

edge were quail plumes and beads. “I think this is a gift basket,

Mom. It’s worth a lot of money. They have them in the Indian

Museum at Sutter’s Fort.”

“Is there anything inside the box to tell about it?”

Sierra removed everything and shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Look at this old Bible,” her mother said, distracted. As she

opened it, a section slipped free and fell onto the floor. Her

mother picked it up and placed it on the sofa beside her.

Sierra picked up the paper yellowed with age and read the

pretty script.

Dearest Mary Kathryn,

I hope you have changed your mind about God. He

loves you very much and He is watching over you. I do

not know what hardships and losses you will face on the

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way to Oregon or what will happen once you reach the

end of the trail. What I do know is God will never leave

you nor forsake you.

You have my love and are in my morning and evening

prayers. The ladies from the quilting club send their love

as well, as do Betsy and Clovis. May the Lord bless your

new home.

Aunt Martha

Sierra’s mother thumbed through the black, cracked leather

Bible and then picked up the portion that had fallen. “Look at

how worn the pages are.” She smiled. “Mary Kathryn favored

the Gospels.” She took the note from Sierra and read it. Folding

it, she tucked it in the loosened pages and set the Bible carefully

beside Mary Kathryn McMurray’s journal.

Sierra took out a decaying flowered hat box. She found a note

on top saying simply, in beautiful black calligraphy, “Save for

Joshua McMurray.” The box was full of animals, carved of

wood, each wrapped carefully in a scrap of flowered calico or

checked gingham. She unwrapped a fierce-looking wolf, a majestic buffalo, a coiled rattlesnake, a prairie dog standing on its

hind legs, a comical jackrabbit, a beautiful antelope, two mountain goats locked together in fierce battle, and a grizzly bear

standing on its hind legs, ready to attack.

At the bottom of the trunk was a large package wrapped in

butcher paper and tied with string.

“I don’t remember this,” her mother said and slipped the string

off so she could remove the wrapping. “Oh,” she said in wonder

and excitement. “I think it’s a crazy quilt.” She unfolded it

enough so that Sierra could take one end of it and then stood,

spreading the folds to reveal the full pattern.

It wasn’t a crazy quilt, but a picture quilt with squares made

of hundreds of different scraps of cloth, each with a different

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scene, each framed with an edging of brown, and all stitched together with vibrant scarlet thread. Each picture block was surrounded by a different stitch: blanket, crosses, herringbone,

doves, fern, olive branches, feather, open cretan, fly, zigzag

chain, wheatear and sheaf filling stitches, Portuguese border,

and star eyelets.

“It’s beautiful,” Sierra said, wishing she could have it.

“If I’d known it was here, I would have had it cleaned and

hung on the living room wall years ago,” her mother said.

Sierra looked at the squares one by one. Along the top row was

a homestead with a man, a woman, and three children. Two boys

and a girl stood in the open space between the cabin and barn.

The second square was bright with consuming flames. The third

showed a baby in a manger, a young girl watching over him

while darkness surrounded them both.

The telephone rang downstairs. A second later, the portable

phone rang from nearby. Sierra’s mother handed her the other

end of the quilt and went to pick up the phone from the top of a

box and answer it.

“Yes, she’s here, Alex.”

Sierra’s heart lurched. Hands trembling again, she folded the

quilt while listening to her mother’s side of the conversation.

“Yes, she told me. Yes, but that’s to be expected, Alex.” Her

mother’s tone held no condemnation or disappointment. She was

silent for a long moment, listening again. “I know that, Alex,” she

said very gently, her voice husky with emotion, “and I’ve always

been thankful. You don’t have to explain.” Another silence. “So

soon,” her mother said, resigned. “How are your parents taking

it? Oh. Well, I imagine it’s going to be a shock to them as well.”

She smiled faintly. “Of course, Alex. You know I will. Let me

know after you’ve spoken to them, and I’ll call.”

Marianna cupped her hand over the receiver. “Alex wants to

talk to you.”

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Sierra wanted to say she didn’t want to talk to him but knew

that would put her mother between them. She laid the folded

quilt back over the trunk and crossed the attic to take the phone

from her mother’s hand.

“I’ll make us some coffee,” her mother said with a gentle smile.

Sierra watched her go down the stairs, knowing her mother

was allowing her privacy to speak with Alex. She felt a tangle of

emotions, from relief to despair. Her mother hadn’t said one

word to discourage Alex from his decision. Why not?

“Yes?” she said into the receiver, her voice coming out thin

and choked. She wanted to scream at him and could barely draw

breath past the pain in her chest. Her throat was tight and dry.

“I was worried about you.”

“Were you?” Why should he worry about her just because he

was ripping her life apart? Resentment filled her and hot tears

welled again in her eyes.

“You’re not saying much.”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m happy?”

He sighed. “I suppose that would be expecting too much, especially considering this is the biggest opportunity of my career.”

She heard the tinge of disappointment and anger in his voice.

What right had he to be angry with her after making a

life-changing decision without so much as hinting it to her?

“I’m sure the children will be thrilled to hear they’re being

uprooted and torn away from their friends and family.”

“We’re their family.”

“What about Mom? What about your parents?”

“We’re not moving to New York, Sierra.”

“I guess you’re saving that for next year’s big surprise.”

Silence followed. Her heart picked up speed; she could feel his

growing anger.

Stop this now, an inner voice cautioned her. Stop before you go too

far. . . .

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She wasn’t interested in stopping. “You might have hinted

what was going on, Alex,” she said, clutching the phone.

“I’ve done more than hint. I told you about this company weeks

ago. I’ve been telling you for the last four years what I want to do.

The problem is you don’t listen.”

“I listen.”

“And never hear.”

“I do too hear!”

“Then hear this. You’ve had it your way for ten years. Maybe,

just for a change, you could cut me a little slack.”

Click.

“Alex?” Dead silence filled her ear. Sierra blinked, shocked.

She stared at the phone in her hand as though it had turned to a

venomous snake. Alex had never hung up on her before.

More distressed than when she had arrived, Sierra went

downstairs. The tantalizing aroma of freshly ground caramel au

lait decaf filled the kitchen. Her favorite. So, too, were the

Tollhouse cookies her mother had put on a dessert plate in the

sunny alcove overlooking the back garden. Clearly Mom wanted

to cheer her up. Fat chance.

She plunked the portable phone down on the pretty

flower-embroidered cloth covering the small table and sank

down onto the chair. “He hung up on me.” Her mother poured

coffee for her. “He’s never hung up on me before,” Sierra continued, her voice breaking as she looked up at her mother. He’d

made a decision he knew would tear her life to pieces, and then he

hung up on her? “He said I don’t listen.”

Her mother set the carafe on a sunflower trivet and took the

seat facing her. “Sometimes we only hear what we want to hear.”

She picked up her coffee cup and sipped, distracted.

“You look tired, Mom.”

“I didn’t sleep very well last night. I kept thinking about your

father.” Her mouth curved faintly, her expression softening.

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“Sometimes I imagine him sitting in his chair watching the news

on television. The house creaks and I awaken, thinking he’s

coming along to bed.” She smiled sadly and looked down into

her coffee as she set the cup back in its porcelain saucer. “I miss

him.”

“I miss him, too.” He might have been able to talk Alex out of

going to Los Angeles.

Her mother lifted her head and looked across at her with gentle humor. “Your father wasn’t an easy man either, Sierra, but he

was worth it.”

“If Alex insists, I’ll go, but I don’t have to smile and pretend to

be happy about it.”

“Maybe not, but it’d be better if you came to terms with his decision. Resentment and anger eat away at love as quickly as rust

is corroding that metal lawn chair out there in the backyard. One

of life’s great tragedies is watching a relationship unravel over

something that could’ve been resolved in one intelligent, adult

conversation.”

Her mother’s words hurt. “One conversation isn’t going to

change Alex’s mind.”

“Then it depends on what you really want.”

Sierra raised tear-soaked eyes to her mother’s clear hazel ones.

“What do you mean?”

Marianna reached out and took her daughter’s hand. “It’s simple, Sierra. Do you want your own way, or do you want Alex?”

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Windsor and pick up the children from school. They slammed

into the car and immediately began vying for her undivided

attention. She was often amused by their antics. Today their

youthful exuberance and competitiveness irritated. As she drove

along Brooks Road toward the foothills, she heard only bits and

pieces of their day, distracted by her own turbulent thoughts.

She longed for a quiet place to lick her wounds.

Her heart began beating a battle rhythm when she saw Alex’s

Honda in the driveway. He never came home before five-thirty.

“Daddy’s home!” Carolyn said, dashing out the car door toward

the front steps, her backpack forgotten in the front seat.

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Sierra pressed the garage door opener and watched the door

lift slowly. She drove in, shifted into park, put on the brake, and

turned off the engine—each movement carefully measured and

controlled. “Take Carolyn’s things in, would you please,

Clanton?”

“Let her come out and get ‘em herself.”

“It wouldn’t hurt you to help—”

“I’m not her personal servant. Besides, she was just bragging

about girls being better than boys. So let Little Miss Wonderful

carry her own backpack!”

“Don’t argue with me. I’m not in the mood for it.”

Clanton grumbled, but one look at her face silenced further protests. Sierra gathered her own things and followed him into the

kitchen. She could hear Carolyn chattering happily and Alex’s

deep laugh. A sharp pang shot through her, though whether it was

pain or anger she couldn’t tell. Maybe both. How could he laugh

at a time like this? Didn’t he care at all how she felt?

“Why are you home early, Dad?” Clanton’s excited voice carried easily, as did the thud of the two backpacks hitting the living

room floor. Alex answered too quietly for her to hear what he

was saying, and she clenched her teeth. As she opened a cabinet

and took a can of coffee down from the shelf, she listened to the

quiet murmur of voices, subdued now. Was he telling the children he had decided to uproot them and take them away from

friends and family? How were they taking it? She knew she

should be there, helping them understand . . . but how could she

do that when she didn’t understand herself? Her hand trembled

as she measured grounds.

Her throat closed tightly when she heard Alex enter the

kitchen. She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t and still maintain any

semblance of control. She poured water into the coffeemaker and

then turned her attention to the package of chicken she had left to

thaw on the counter.

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“I’m sorry I hung up on you.” His deep voice was low and

quiet.

Her eyes burned. She removed the plastic wrap from the

chicken and turned on the water. “Did you tell them?”

“Yes.”

She took a thigh from the open package and began washing it

meticulously. “And?”

“Carolyn’s going down to Karen’s house. Clanton’s riding his

bike over to David’s.”

“I never let them go anywhere until they finish their homework.”

“Well, I think this is a day for exceptions to the rule, don’t

you?” He sounded so in control. It grated on her nerves. “I told

them to be home by five.” He leaned against the doorframe and

crossed his arms. “I thought it might be a good idea to have them

both out of the house while we talk things over.”

“Talk?” she said stiffly. “It’s a little late, isn’t it? I was under

the impression you’d already decided everything.”

“Fine,” he said tightly. “We’ll do this your way. We won’t talk.”

Glancing back, she saw him go back into the family room. Her

heart pounded heavily, her stomach tightened. It was the second

time today he had flung an unfair accusation at her! She pitched

the last piece of rinsed chicken onto the cutting board, washed

her hands with soap, and slapped off the tap. Snatching the

towel from the oven door handle, she dried her hands quickly,

then flung the towel in the direction of the counter before following him, trembling with anger.

“My way,” she said. “You’re the one who called and said we’re

moving. Oh, and by the way, Sierra, a Realtor’s coming by tonight to list your home!”

“Our home,” he corrected, his dark eyes narrowing.

“That’s what I thought until you dropped your bomb!”

“I made a judgment call.”

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“You just got a promotion and a raise. When most people are

shaking in their boots about the possibility of being laid off, you

have job security, pension, health coverage. We have a nice

home. The children are happy—”

“Most people never get an opportunity like this, Sierra.”

“An opportunity for what? To work for a new company that

may go broke in a year?”

“I don’t think that’s likely.”

“But you don’t know for sure.”

“No, I don’t know for sure,” he said, angry now. “I haven’t

got a crystal ball. But I have a strong feeling about where

they’re going, and I want to go along for the ride.”

“A feeling? And you talk about me basing everything on emotions.”

“This is different,” he said through his teeth.

“What’s different about it? You’ve worked so hard for security—”

“Security isn’t everything.”

She closed her ears to his remark. “And now you’re throwing

everything away on a whim.”

“I’m not throwing anything away! You still don’t get it, do

you? Everything I’ve done up to now has been to prepare myself

for an opportunity like this. I’m not going to spend the rest of my

life building someone else’s ideas. I have my own!”

“Why can’t you do what you want on your own time here?”

“Because I don’t have the equipment it takes.”

“And what if it doesn’t work out, Alex?”

“I’ll cross that bridge if I come to it.”

Shaking violently, she sank down onto the sofa, her hands

clenched into fists as she fought her tears. “I don’t want to move,

Alex.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” he said, sounding torn

between frustration and understanding. “You’d be happy if we

stayed in this place for the rest of our lives.”

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She met his troubled gaze. “What’s wrong with this place?”

“I want more out of life than a thirty-year mortgage on a tract

house.”

A tract house? Was that how he saw their home? He made it

sound like a cardboard box. She thought of the time she had

spent painting, hanging wallpaper, planting and tending the

front and back yards so that it looked like an English garden.

Hurt beyond words, she covered her face and wept.

Alex said a short, foul word under his breath and sat down on

the sofa beside her. “My little homebody,” he said tenderly,

touching her hair. She jerked away and started to get up. He

caught her wrist and jerked her down again. “You’re not going

anywhere.”

She cried harder, and he pulled her firmly into his arms,

swearing softly under his breath again. “I know you’re scared,

Sierra. You’ve spent your whole life in Healdsburg. What do

you know about anything else? You think this place is the end-all

of creation.”

“Most of the people in Los Angeles would probably think

they’d died and gone to heaven if they could live where we do.”

“People who aren’t going anywhere, anyway. I should’ve

taken you to Berkeley with me. Then maybe you’d understand

how a place can hum with ideas and excitement. That’s what I

feel when I’m around these guys. Energy.”

She didn’t know what he was talking about, but she felt the

excitement running through him.

“I graduated with honors, Sierra, and what am I doing with

what I learned?” He gave a dismal laugh under his breath.

“Nothing.”

She struggled free. “How can you say that? You’ve been

working only ten years, and you’ve already accomplished what

most people spend their whole lives trying to do.”

“Yeah,” he said cynically. “A three-bedroom, two-bath tract

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house that looks like every other house on the block. Two children. Two cars. All we lack is the dog and cat to fit into the mold of

middle-class America. Big deal!” His eyes burned with intensity.

She went cold inside at the way he described their life.

He searched her face. “Don’t look at me like that, Sierra,” he

said, softening. He cupped her face. “I’m not criticizing you or

what you’ve done to make this place a home. I didn’t make this

decision to hurt you. I love you.” He kissed her. “You know I love

you. I’ve done everything so far to make you happy.”

“I am happy, Alex.”

“I know,” he said grimly, his hands sliding away. “The trouble

is, I’m not.”

His softly spoken words struck a stunning blow. Fear and

confusion gripped her. He was telling her she wasn’t enough;

he wasn’t satisfied.

“I want more, Sierra. I’m still hungry. I want to explore new

frontiers in computer technology. I want a chance to do something meaningful.” He smiled wryly. “And maybe even get rich

while doing it.”

When she remained silent he spent the next hour telling her all

the details of his new job. She couldn’t remember ever seeing

him so excited about anything. Depressed, she said she needed

to start dinner.

“I’ll fly down to Los Angeles on Saturday,” Alex said, leaning

against the doorframe and watching her work. “Steve Silverman

made an appointment for me with a Realtor who handles rentals

in North Hollywood. He knows everyone in that area.”

Good for him, Sierra thought rebelliously. Her hands shook as

she peeled potatoes. “How soon do we have to move?”

“I start on the first of the month.”

“Three weeks?” She could feel the blood draining from her

face. “But the house will never sell in three weeks,” she said

shakily, looking for any excuse to delay his plans.

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“Probably not, but that’s OK, too. One of the guys at work is

going to rent it.”

Sierra blinked. “Rent it?”

“His wife’s expecting a baby, and they’ve been looking for a bigger place.” The telephone rang in the family room. “Our house

payments are less than what they’re paying to rent a two-bedroom

apartment,” he said over his shoulder as he went to answer it.

She could hear Alex speaking in the other room. “We were just

talking about it. No, but I didn’t expect her to be. Don’t worry

about it.” Silence for a long moment.

Sierra looked out the kitchen window at the rose bushes she had

just planted along the back fence. She’d never see them bloom.

“I land in Burbank at ten fifteen. No, but thanks for the offer,

Steve. I’m going to rent a car. I want to drive around and get a

feel for the area.” He laughed. “I have a good sense of direction.”

Tears ran down Sierra’s cheeks as she finished preparing their

dinner. Normally she enjoyed cooking; right now, even the sight

of food made her stomach churn.

Alex was still talking on the telephone. Discussing terms. He

sounded very cool, very much in control.

He was going through with this. Nothing she’d said had gotten

through.

Oh, God, she prayed frantically. If you’re really there, don’t let Alex

do this to me. Put stumbling blocks in his way. Open his eyes to what he

has here. Make him satisfied. Don’t let the house sell. Change his mind. I

don’t want to move! Jesus, I want to stay right here where I am. Oh, God,

please don’t let this happen!

Slamming the head of lettuce on the counter, she pulled out

the core. She put the plug in the sink and ran cold water and then

pulled the head of lettuce into pieces.

With each action, she whispered brokenly. “Oh, God. Oh,

God, oh, God, oh, God.” Her shoulders shook with her quiet

weeping as she listened to Alex shattering her life with his plans.

3 5

2

The Wilderness

HE ILDERNESS

T

W

3

E X H A U S T E D , S I E R R A P U L L E D H E R H O N D A I N

behind the big U-Haul truck Alex had rented to move all their

possessions and to tow his car. Clanton got out the passenger

side of the truck and looked up at the big stark white apartment

complex. Sierra followed his gaze.

The place had all the charm of a fortress.

She rolled down her window, not eager to get out into the cold,

driving January rain. She could hear the roar of traffic from two

intersecting freeways half a block away. “Is this it?”

“It looks a lot better inside. Come on. I’ll show you around.”

She leaned across the seat and kissed Carolyn, awakening her.

“We’re here, sweetheart.”

3 9

T H E

S C A R L E T

T H R E A D

Carolyn looked out at the apartment house. “It’s ugly,” she

said glumly. Sierra didn’t disagree.

Clanton was already going through the iron gates into the

complex. “Hey! There’s a pool! Can I go swimming, Dad?”

“Sure, if we can find your suit,” Alex said, laughing.

As Sierra climbed out of the car and came around for Carolyn,

she was certain she could smell and taste the smog despite the

rain pouring down on her head. She took her still-sleepy daughter by the hand and followed Alex through the gate. The inside

courtyard was sterile: a gray cement patio, white stucco walls,

and a black iron fence. Three stories of apartments were stacked

together like crates in a warehouse. Geometric. Ultramodern.

Cold and impersonal.

Sierra didn’t see any signs of life until a woman peered out at

her from a first-floor living room window. Sierra forced a smile.

The woman drew back sharply and let the sheer drapes fall into

place once more.

Welcome home, Sierra thought bitterly, following Alex.

“We’re on the second floor, apartment D,” he said. Clanton

was first to the stairs, eager to see his new home.

The apartment was as white inside as the building was outside,

except for the rug, which was a pale beige. The living room was

roomy enough, but the kitchen was cramped and utterly utilitarian. The small dining area was barely large enough to accommodate a table and four chairs. Sierra wandered into the hallway. To

the left was the bedroom Clanton and Carolyn would share. It was

only big enough for twin beds and one dresser. The other dresser

would have to go into the closet. Sierra’s mouth thinned. Clanton

and Carolyn were going to love this; they were fighting already.

A glance into the bathroom revealed walls, tiles, and a commode in antiseptic white. She continued down the short hallway

into the master bedroom. Most of their furniture would fit,

though Alex’s armoire would probably have to go inside the

4 0

T H E

W I L D E R N E S S

closet. Sierra caught her reflection in the mirror on the closet

doors; she did not look pleased. Turning away, she went to open

the drapes covering a large window and discovered a view of the

courtyard and pool below. Just like a hotel.

Depressed, she went back into the living room.

Alex hung up the telephone that Steve Silverman, his new

boss, had been kind enough to have installed before their arrival.

Steve had told Alex to call as soon as they arrived, and he and

Matt would come with helpers to get them settled. “They’ll be

here in ten minutes,” Alex said, grinning. Either oblivious to or

ignoring her mood, he caught hold of her shoulders and kissed

her before heading for the door.

In less than two hours, all their furniture was in position and

boxes stacked high against the living room wall. Steve had a

couple of pizzas delivered. Matt had brought a six-pack of beer

and another of soda. Clanton and Carolyn tucked away the food

eagerly while Sierra pleaded no appetite and escaped into the

bedrooms to hide her angst. She made the beds, hung pictures,

laid out the bathroom rug and towels. Then she set to work on

the master bedroom, the sound of the men’s laughter irritating

her more with each passing minute.

Clanton found his bathing suit. Her first no brought out his

debating skills. Her mother always said Clanton would make a

good lawyer. “I said no, Clanton. It’s raining and . . .”

He followed her out into the living room and appealed to Alex.

“Dad, can I go swimming? The rain isn’t going to hurt me.”

“Sure. Go ahead,” Alex said, pausing in his conversation with

Steve and Matt long enough to gainsay her. He saw her expression after the fact. “What’s the big deal?” he said as Clanton

charged out the door before she could say anything. “He’s going

to get wet anyway, and the pool’s heated.”

4 1

T H E

S C A R L E T

T H R E A D

“Fine. You stand out in the rain and keep an eye on him,” she

said, her fury far exceeding the incident. Swinging around, she

went back into the master bedroom and plunked down on the bed.

Alex came in a moment later, tight-lipped. “We’re going out

for a while.”

“Out?”

“For an hour or two. To talk business.”

She clenched her hands, wanting to scream. “Is Clanton back

from his swim?” she said with icy sweetness.

He stalked across the room. “You can sit nice and cozy where

you are and keep an eye on him while you’re sulking.”

Raw and exhausted, she looked at him. “What about groceries, or will there be enough pizza left for breakfast?”

“If you look out the front gate, you’ll see the back of one of the

biggest supermarkets in North Hollywood. You’ve got a car, and

you’ve got the checkbook. Get what you need.” He went to the

door and stopped. He uttered a soft curse and slammed the heel

of his fist against the frame. “I’m sorry,” he said bleakly.

Blinking back tears, she looked away.

“This is only temporary, Sierra.”

Still she said nothing.

“I’ll hook up the TV before we leave.”

“Great. That’ll be a real comfort,” she muttered under her

breath as he left the room. A few moments later she watched him

walk by the bedroom window with Steve and Matt. They were

so intent on their conversation that he didn’t even spare a glance

at her. She was already forgotten.

Clanton and Carolyn were asleep in bed before he returned.

“An hour or two?” she said when he walked in the door.

He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the sofa. “We had

a lot to talk about.”

4 2

T H E

W I L D E R N E S S

She snapped off the television. She hadn’t even been paying

attention to what she was watching, so intent was she on the

time. “It’s after midnight, Alex. I’ve been worried sick. You

could’ve called.”

“I would’ve if I could’ve remembered the number. We’re unlisted.”

An excuse, not an apology. “I’m going to bed,” she said in a

choked voice and left him standing in the living room.

She brushed her teeth and washed her face, then went into the

bedroom to undress. Alex came in as she was pulling on her

nightgown. “It’s been a long day,” he said.

“The longest of my life.”

She got into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, staring

up at the dark ceiling. She heard the whisper of clothing as Alex

undressed. The bed dipped slightly when he sat down on it. He

didn’t say anything more. What could he say? Swallowing hot

tears, she turned her back to him while he set the alarm clock.

When he lay back, he let his breath out slowly.

She felt his hand curve over her hip and squeeze slightly. “I’m

sorry.”

His apology brought a rush of feelings and a flood of tears. She

dug her fingers into her pillow, trying to stifle her sobs. Alex

turned to her. Curving his body around hers, he pulled her into

him, holding her firmly when she resisted his comfort. He

stroked her long hair back and kissed the curve of her neck. “I

love you.”

She cried harder.

He turned her to him gently. “Trust me,” he said raggedly and

kissed her, comforting her in the only way he knew how.

And for a while, Sierra was able to forget everything but the

fact that she loved Alejandro Madrid above all else.

4 3

4

A R M E D W I T H A M A P A N D A N A D D R E S S , S I E R R A S E T

off to enroll the children in school. She missed a turn and got lost.

By the time she found what she was looking for, she and the children had seen North Hollywood, a portion of Studio City, eaten

at a McDonald’s, and toured most of Sherman Oaks and San

Fernando Valley. They arrived and entered the school building

just as the bell rang to end the day.

Children poured out of classrooms and filled the hallway. The

cacophony of squeaking tennis shoes, friends calling to friends,

and the general rush for the buses assaulted them. Carolyn

clutched frantically at Sierra’s hand as they went against the flow,

while Clanton plowed ahead and led the way to the main office.

4 5

T H E

S C A R L E T

T H R E A D

A secretary greeted them. She was polite, but cool, clearly

tired and ready to go home. “Fill these out,” she said briskly and

went in to speak with the principal. Returning, she informed

Sierra that Clanton would be in Mr. Cannon’s fourth-grade class

and Carolyn in Mrs. Lindstrom’s third grade.

“Both teachers have after-school meetings today, so you’ll

have to wait to meet them until tomorrow morning. School starts

at eight-thirty.” The secretary turned the forms around and

looked them over. “Kling Street,” she said. “That’s only a few

blocks from here.” Sierra’s face went hot with humiliation at the

disclosure.

“We have a list of parents who take turns walking their children to school each day.”

“I’ll be driving mine,” Sierra said, unwilling to entrust her

children to anyone. Clanton groaned expressively, and she

gave him a quelling look.

Back in the car, she sat studying the map before starting the

engine. She didn’t want to get lost again and end up in Watts this

time.

Alex laughed when she told him about it. “I wondered where

you were,” he said. “I called twice today and got no answer. I was

afraid you’d packed up and gone back to Windsor.”

She didn’t think his remark amusing.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, leaning his hip against the

counter. “My first trip down here, I had an appointment in

Burbank. I got on the wrong freeway and ended up in Agoura.

It’s not hard to do.”

His words were hardly comforting.

They went to Steven’s house for dinner. Alex’s new boss had

even made arrangements for a professional babysitter to look

after Clanton and Carolyn. She came complete with references

and a list of classes in first aid that she had completed at

Northridge.

4 6

T H E

W I L D E R N E S S

Alex found his way to their Sherman Oaks home without difficulty. Steven answered the door and ushered them into a spacious, elegantly decorated living room. His wife, Audra, was

perfectly charming and courteous, but Sierra felt an undercurrent of disdain that nullified the show of warmth and hospitality.

Audra wore a fine, lacquered veneer of friendliness, leaving Sierra to wonder at what lay beneath the flawless surface.

Alex seemed perfectly at ease with both of them, making Sierra wonder if she was imagining the crosscurrents and undertow. But within the course of the first ten minutes of

conversation, she knew it was not her imagination. Somehow

Sierra had been made fully aware that Audra was a graduate of

USC who had studied—and mastered—liberal arts and who had

been a member of one of the more prestigious sororities.

Then Audra turned her perfect, elegant gaze on Sierra and

asked where she’d gone to college. It was the first time in Sierra’s

life that she was embarrassed to admit she had only graduated

from high school and finished a year at a secretarial college.

“Oh,” Audra said, looking utterly taken aback. There was a

brief, mortifying lapse in conversation, until Steve jumped in.

“Do you like the theater, Sierra?”

“I haven’t been to many plays.”

“What have you seen?” Audra inquired, her eyes lighting with

interest.

“Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat,” she said, not

telling Audra it had been a high school production. “And a few

concerts,” she added, which was true—in just the last six months

she’d gone to a country western concert and to hear a few Christian singers who had visited local Santa Rosa churches. Of

course, she didn’t think Audra needed to know the details.

And yet, even without the details, the other woman laughed.

“Well, we’ll have to correct that. Los Angeles has a great deal of

culture to offer.”

4 7

T H E

S C A R L E T

T H R E A D

Sierra felt like a country bumpkin.

While the men talked business, Audra gave Sierra a rundown

of the current cultural events. It seemed she had attended every

major play and concert in the area and had a critique for each

one. She quickly reviewed every theater company and artist currently performing, until Sierra wondered if she was dining with a

normal woman or with some odd, sophisticated, upper-class

incarnation of Siskel and Ebert.

Dinner proved spectacular. Any critic of fine cuisine would

have given Audra a ten-star rating. She accepted all compliments

with an air of casual amusement, skillfully turning the discussion

to restaurants. Audra knew all the finest. She also knew where to

shop for the highest quality meats, vegetables, and fruit. Prices

never came up.

Sierra glanced at Alex and saw he was impressed with everything—especially with Audra. Was that the kind of wife he

wanted now? Depressed, she ate the fluffy spinach soufflé. It

melted in her mouth and made her heart sink into her stomach.

What on earth was she going to serve these people for a reciprocal dinner? Her specialty was meat loaf and mashed potatoes.

Oh, that would go over big! Or perhaps Clanton and Carolyn’s

favorite: tuna casserole. There was a meal custom-designed to

impress high society!

“You were pretty quiet tonight,” Alex said on the drive home.

In her mind, she had been busily packing and moving back to

Windsor. She didn’t appreciate his interruption of her daydream.

He didn’t seem to notice. “Audra was trying to make you feel

welcome.”

“Is that what she was trying to do?” she snapped, surprised

herself at the coldness in her tone.

Mouth tightening, Alex stared straight ahead, the headlights

4 8

T H E

W I L D E R N E S S

from the oncoming traffic casting a glow over his handsome features. “She was offering to take you under her wing.”

“I’m not a chicken.”

“Give it a break, Sierra. She grew up down here. She could

show you around.”

“I’ll remember to thank her properly next time, but I’ll find

my own way around, thank you very much. You gave me a

map, remember?”

“A lot of good that did. At least try not to get lost again. I won’t

have the time to come find you in the middle of the day.”

They didn’t say another word to each other for the rest of the

drive home. In fact, they said very little to one another over the

next week. Alex left early, came home late, and always brought

work with him. They shared a perfunctory “How’d your day

go?” “Fine. And you?” “Fine”—and then he would settle in

front of the television, studying the papers he spread out over

the coffee table while she cleaned up the dinner dishes, saw to

the children’s baths, read them stories, and tucked them into

bed.

It was a perfect life—for someone who adored misery.

Ten days and four telephone calls to her mother later, Sierra

received a package in the mail.

“What’s this?” Alex said, picking up a worn leather book from

the coffee table before he spread his work across it.

“It’s a journal. Mom sent it as a housewarming present.”

He handed it to her.

“It looks old.”

“It is,” she said warmly. “It belonged to an ancestor of mine.

Mary Kath—”

“Mm-hm,” he replied absently, cutting her off as he turned to

concentrate on the papers spread out in front of him. “That’s

nice.”

Hurt swept over her at his casual dismissal. It shouldn’t have

4 9

T H E

S C A R L E T

T H R E A D

surprised her that he wasn’t listening. He seldom listened anymore. All that mattered to him was his precious work.

She left the room in bitter silence. She entered the bedroom,

not even bothering to turn on the light. Enough light filtered

through the window for her to see. Besides, the darkness fit her

mood better. She prepared for bed, then slipped between the

cool sheets. As she turned on her side, the journal, which she’d

laid on the bed stand, caught her eye. She reached for it, fingering the soft leather wistfully.

At least Mary Kathryn wouldn’t mind spending some time

with her.

Mama says livin in the wildurnes aint no resun

to bee ignurant.

Her papa wuz a larnud man and wud not want

fuls in his famlee. The preechur brung buks and

jurnals to rite in frum Ant Martha and now with

snow up to the windows, we got time. Papa sits

by the fire smokin and Mama reeds to us frum

her Bible.

Matt dont like to rite much. He draws wulfs

with big bludy dripin fangs that giv me nitmars.

He drew me a hair once. I stil got it hung up over

my bed. It iz nis. I wish he wud draw birds and

flouerz stead of wulfs. He only seen one wulf his

hol lif and it was ded. Magots wuz eting it.

Lucas does not draw nor rede nor rite. He says

Papa dont no how an he dont need to neether.

Papa tuk him to the wud shed fur sasing Mama,

5 0

T H E

W I L D E R N E S S

but he wernt no better wen he cum bak. So Papa

giv him the gun and told him to go huntin. He

wuz gon three daz. Mama wuz sure he got kilt by

injuns or a bar, but he cum bak dragin a dear on a

palot fixt up. Papa laft and gav him a cup of rum.

Mama was mad as a wet hornet, but she dont tel

Lucas to rede or rite no more.

Dearest Mary Kathryn,

Please practice spelling the following words and then

write an essay using them. I love you and have grand

hopes for you.

Mama

living journal life whole read choice

dead learned wolf/wolves come journal

back flower

If you want to be learned, you got no choice. You

got to read and write your whole life until you are

dead. You can not be a wolf or a flower who jest

enjoys living. You got to come back to the table

and werk in your journal until yer fingers is

crampt and aking.

just

cramped

your

are

work

aching

just

cramped

your

are

work

aching

just

cramped

your

are

work

aching

just

cramped

your

are

work

aching

5 1

T H E

S C A R L E T

T H R E A D

Stubbornness is unbecoming to a lady.

Stubbornness is unbecoming to a lady.

Stubbornness is unbecoming to a lady.

Stubbornness is unbecoming to a lady.

Stubbornness is unbecoming to a lady.

“Spring”

Spring is the time when snow melts and flowers

come up. Papa and Matthew plow them under

and I have got to go to the wuds to pik some. I

like to pik flowers in the wuds but Mama worrees

I mit get took by injuns. One come to the house

once askin fur food. Mama give him sum and I

aint seen him since. I gues he didnot think much

of her cookin.

Spring is also wen Matt turns the dirt in

Mama’s vechtable gardin. Every wurm he turns

up I put in a kan fur fishin. I like catchin fish but

I hate eatin em. Lucas told me he new a boy who

chokt to deth on a fish bone. Mama said he wuz

foolin me but I aint et fish since.

Papa says spring is a time for courtin. I askt

him wat courtin wuz and he said it is when a

yung mans blud comes up like sap in a tree. Wen

I askt him what he ment, Mama giv him her look

and he laft and wud not tell me. I askt Matt later

but he turned red and wud not say. Lucas said

courtin was wen Papa took the cow over to

5 2

T H E

W I L D E R N E S S

Graysons bull. Matt told him to shut his dirty

mouth and Lucas hit him in his and Papa come

runnin to stop them before they kilt each other.

I am more and more interested in what courtin is.

Spring is wen the preecher comes and stands

on a stump and screeems holy murder at us. He

yells about GAWD and SALVATION and the

BLOOD OF CHRIST. Peepull come from all

rownd to see him. He gits so wurkt up his face

turns red as fire. Frum up or down I aint sure

witch. Mama says he is zelus for the Lord. Papa

says he is plum crazy. But every tim he comes we

go and watch with every one else. He is the best

entertanmunt a rownd.

We always end up at the river with the preecher

washin peepul clean of sin and buryin them and

razing them up with Jesus. Mama says amen and

creyes every time someone gets dunkt and Papa

comes bak from the wuds smellin of whiskey and

tobako.

Mama and I plant corn and squash and turnups

and carots. Mama gave me a handful of seeds and

askt me what I saw and I said seeds. She askt if

they looked alive and I said they looked like

stones. She said that is rit but when we bury them

they will grow and bar frut. I said they will bar

squash. She said when you plant a seed, God will

soften it and water it and make it grow. She said

people are like that.

5 3

T H E

S C A R L E T

T H R E A D

Old Schmidt died last summer and they planted

him but nothing come up that I can see cepting

weeds. Lucas said worms ate him. So I reckon

that is why.

“The Well”

The well is very deep and very dark. It is cool

when you first go down but if you stay it is cold.

The walls are wet and slimy and you can hear

dripping. When you look up you can see a circle

of blue sky unless Lucas puts the cover over.

Then you dont see nothing. You just hear yourself screaming all around you. Lucas took the

cover off and called down that I was a bludy coward. I hollared back up I wasnt. He said prove it

and put the cover back. I sat in the bucket all day

so he’d know.

Matt found me when he tried to get a bucket of

water for Papa. He looked down and said what in

hades are you doing down there. Mama is going

crazy looking for you. Thinks injuns stole you. He

hollared he had found me and Mama come running thinking I wuz drowned. My backside had

no feeling and was stuck fast in the buckt. It hurt

bad when Papa popped me out. Lucas was leaning against the house laffing. I yelled I aint no

coward. No, you are a fool he said.

Papa took him to the wood shed and Mama

cried and took me in the house. She made me sit

5 4

T H E

W I L D E R N E S S

in the tub of hot water and drink whiskey. I dont

see what Papa likes about it. It burns all the way

down and then comes right back up.

Dearest Mary Kathryn,

Please practice these words on your slate until you are

ready for me to test you. Use ten in an essay. And do not

ask anyone else about courting.

I love you,

Mama

Go

witch/which

people

worry/worries

zealous

Indians

woods

garden

choked

liked

laughed

asked

death

pick

when

might

from

some/sum

wood/would

catching

running

washing

raising

cooking

God loves zealous people in the woods. He might love

some Indians. Mama loves washing, cooking, and

raising chikins.

Mary Kathryn McMurray,

You will have no supper until you write chickens

twenty-five times on your slate, and “A penitent heart is

a humble heart” fifty times.

Mama

5 5

5

“ W H A T T I M E D O Y O U T H I N K Y O U ’ L L B E H O M E ? ”

Sierra said, trying to keep her voice neutral as she clutched the

telephone receiver.

“Five-thirty or six,” Alex said, sounding distracted. She could

hear him punching the keys of his computer.

Couldn’t he stop working long enough to talk to her for two

minutes? “What would you like for dinner?”

“Something light. I had a big lunch with Steve.”

“Where’d you go?” she said, wanting to draw out their conversation.

“La Serre. It’s a French place. Classy.”

“Expensive?”

5 7

T H E

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T H R E A D

“Very.” Alex chuckled. “It’s nice when the boss picks up the

tab.”

Must be nice to have a fancy lunch and then ask for something

light for dinner. She looked at the breakfast dishes in the sink.

She hadn’t even had lunch yet. She opened the refrigerator while

talking to him. Maybe she could open a can of peaches and finish

off the carton of cottage cheese sitting on the top shelf.

“We were celebrating.”

“What?” she asked, feeling left out.

“Vigilantes went into production today,” he said, clearly proud

of the game he had created. “Steve said they’ll be sending out

trial copies to game reviewers around the country by the middle

of next week.”

“What if they don’t like it?”

“They will. Look, honey, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a call coming

in, and I’m right in the middle of something important. We’ll talk

tonight.”

He hung up before she could utter a word. She held the silent

receiver and felt more bereft than when she’d called. Why had

she bothered? He was always busy and it was always important.

More important than she was, anyway.

Celebrating. He hadn’t even bothered to share the news with

her. La Serre. Classy. Expensive.

Angry, she took a package of frozen hamburger from the

refrigerator freezer and tossed it on the counter. She’d fix

spaghetti again. It was easy, and the children loved it.

Turning on the television, she set the basket of clean laundry

in front of her. She had made a habit of doing the wash right after

she dropped the children off for school, and then saving the folding for now. At least then she could overcome her feelings of

guilt for watching a soap opera. She plunked down on the sofa

and began folding T-shirts, towels, and underwear while watching the episode unfolding before her. She used to scorn soap

5 8

T H E

W I L D E R N E S S

operas. Now she found solace in them. For an hour, she could

forget how miserable she was and lose herself in the convoluted

lives of television characters. Their problems were more tragic

and complex than hers, their passions a lot more exciting. How

many times had Erica Kane been married anyway?

The laundry was folded and set aside well before the third

commercial promoting some new feminine hygiene product. She

put the towels and clothing away. Sitting down again, she kicked

her bare feet up on the coffee table and leaned back into the sofa.

She should be doing something. But what?

They’d been living in this apartment house for three months,

and she didn’t even know the family next door. She knew they

had children. The little boy ran along the corridor right outside

the living room window a dozen times every day, even when it

was raining. And there was that woman down on the first floor

who peered out her curtains all the time and then ducked back in

when someone chanced to notice her. What was her problem

anyway?

Sierra didn’t want to find out. There were twenty apartments

in this complex, and she didn’t know a single soul living in one

of them. Everyone protected their privacy. They probably had

guns in their side tables. She remembered having a phone conversation with her mother, in which her mother said, “Reach

out, Sierra. You can never tell who God has just waiting for you

to say hello.” So she’d said hello to one woman who came into

the laundry room, and the woman had barely acknowledged

her attempt at friendliness. She just dumped diapers into one of

the washing machines, poured in soap, twirled the controls, and

left.

Rebuffed, Sierra didn’t make the attempt again. If God had

someone waiting for her, he’d have to tell them to make the first

move.

She didn’t leave the sofa until the credits were rolling, and

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then clicked off the television. Collecting her things, she went

out the door. She had it all perfectly timed. If she left immediately after the soap opera, she’d pull into Carolyn and Clanton’s

school just as the other children were boarding school buses.

The kids pleaded for McDonald’s on the way home, and Sierra gave in. She didn’t feel like making spaghetti anyway, and

Alex had already said he wouldn’t be hungry. Something light.

Fine. She’d stop by the grocery store and pick up packaged salad

fixings and dressing.

She straightened up the kitchen while the children settled at

the table to do their homework and talk about their day at

school. At least they were making new friends.

Clanton dug through his backpack and produced a fistful of

school announcements, sign-up sheets, and graded homework.

“Can I sign up for Little League, Mom?”

“You’ll have to talk to your father about it,” Sierra said, putting

the last rinsed dish into the washer.

“You think Dad’ll coach again this year?”

“I don’t know, Clanton. You’ll have to ask him.”

Clanton did the minute Alex walked through the door. “Not

this year, champ,” Alex said, ruffling his hair. “I’m not going to

have the time.” He leaned down to kiss Carolyn hello.

Flipping the kitchen towel over her shoulder, she approached

as he stood loosening his tie. “Did you have a good day?”

“Great.” He gave her a firm kiss and pulled his tie free. Unbuttoning the collar of his shirt, he headed toward the bedroom.

“I’m going to change and take a quick run.”

Jogging was another new thing in Alex’s life. Steve and Matt

jogged; they claimed it was great as a stress reliever. So, of course,

Alex had followed suit.

By the time Alex returned, Clanton and Carolyn had taken

their baths and were dressed for bed. She read to them while

Alex showered and put on his worn Levi’s and UCB sweatshirt.

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When she came out to straighten the living room, he went in to

say good night to the children. She supposed she should be

thankful he spent the next half hour talking with them.

“Jack called me just before I left the office,” he said when he

came out.

Jack and his pregnant wife had rented their Windsor home.

“Problems?”

“On the contrary. He’s got enough for a down payment on the

house.”

“They’re buying it?” she said weakly. As long as they still

owned the Windsor home, she held out the hope that they’d

return. Alex’s words tore the crumbling foundations right out

from beneath her.

“That was their hope when they moved in. I told him what the

house was worth before we left. He said today his parents decided to give him a portion of his inheritance early. He’s contacting your father’s old partner to take care of the paperwork. They

shouldn’t have any problem qualifying for a mortgage. We’ll

have the money in our hands by the end of May.”

He cupped her face. “I know how much that little place meant

to you.”

That little place. He said it so casually, as though it had been a

shack or a hole in the wall. He couldn’t have any idea what it

meant to her, or he wouldn’t be so quick to sell it.

“Matt gave me the name of a good Realtor. I want you to start

looking at houses. Four bedrooms, three baths, with a pool. Get

together with Audra. She knows all the best areas. I want us in a

good neighborhood.

“We were in a good neighborhood.”

He let his hands slide away. “We’ll be in a better one. Steve

gave me a raise today. A big raise. He’s that sure Vigilantes is

going to be big.”

She saw how bright his eyes were, aglow with ambition and

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plans. “Was all this the reason you spent a whole twenty minutes

with your children?”

Alex didn’t move, but Sierra could feel the cold front move in

worse than an Illinois winter.

The tongue is a restless evil, full of deadly poison . . . her mother’s

voice echoed in her mind, and Sierra felt a stab of shame. But

before she could apologize, Alex spoke in a glacial tone.

“They like the idea of having their own pool.”

“Do they also like the idea of changing schools again?” she shot

back, trying to keep the edge of sarcasm out of her voice and failing.

“Audra suggested a private school. I have the name she gave

me written down.”

Naturally. “Has she offered to pay for it, too?”

Alex’s temper came surging to the surface. “What have you

got against her? You haven’t liked her from day one, and she’s

done nothing but be nice to you.”

“Is that what you call it? Remind me to kiss her feet the next

time I see her!” Sierra moved away from him, filled with resentment and feelings of betrayal. She had tried to explain to Alex

how Audra made her feel: uneducated, uncultured, and from the

lower classes in a supposedly classless society. Alex insisted it

was her imagination; she knew it was deliberate.

Every time she was with Audra, the woman made a point of

mentioning this course or that course that she had taken at USC,

any of which made her an expert on any given subject. Sierra

might have an opinion, but it was an uneducated one.

“Oh?” Audra had said only two days ago in response to a

comment Sierra had made. She arched her elegant brow. “And

how did you come to that conclusion?”

They had been discussing the abortion issue, and Sierra had

said she believed it was wrong to end the life of an unborn child.

Clearly what her mother had taught her just didn’t cut the

mustard in Audra’s eyes.

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“Sounds like fundamentalist brainwashing to me,” she said

with a pitying glance that dismissed Sierra’s lifetime of learning

from her mother’s knee. Then Audra launched into a dissertation complete with “facts” proving the nonentity of the

human fetus.

“Why didn’t you go to college, Sierra?” Audra finally said.

“You learn how to think for yourself at college. If your parents

couldn’t afford it, you could’ve gone to a junior college and then

finished at a four-year university.” She said it so sweetly it

sounded as though she genuinely felt sorry that Sierra had lost

out on the opportunities she herself had been given.

“Money was no problem. I just wasn’t interested.”

“Not interested?” Again the eyebrow arched. “Steve said Alex

graduated with honors from UC Berkeley.”

“Yes, he did.”

“You might think about taking some night courses,” she said

seriously.

Sierra waited for more, but it wasn’t forthcoming. Apparently,

Audra felt she had said enough, and indeed she had. Even now,

several days later, Audra’s implication rankled: Alex would lose

interest in her because of her lack of education. Sierra looked out

the window at the line of cars ahead, two lanes to the right and

two to the left. Just because she hadn’t gone to college didn’t

mean she didn’t keep up on what was happening in the world.

She read the newspaper. She read magazines. She watched

CNN!

Yet, even with all that, she was left feeling as though she were

standing on sinking sand.

Shopping was even more excruciating. She had accepted three

invitations from Audra because Alex insisted. Each time when

Audra arrived, she tapped her long, coral-colored acrylic fingernails on the door and jangled the keys of her silver Mercedes

when Sierra answered.

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“Ready to go?” she said as though speaking to a recalcitrant

child.

Chatting gaily, Audra drove to stores far beyond any ordinary

citizen’s budget.

“Aren’t you going to buy anything, Sierra?” Audra said the

last time while signing the slip for an eight-hundred-dollar dress.

“That blue dress you were looking at would make you look wonderful.”

“At six hundred and fifty dollars, even a chimp would look

wonderful in it.”

Audra had laughed at her remark, but Sierra felt the full force

of an affronted glare from the elegantly attired saleslady. One

just didn’t say such things on Rodeo Drive.

Actually, Sierra had wanted to say more. She wanted to add

for both women’s benefit that if she had an extra six or seven

hundred dollars lying around, she certainly wouldn’t put it all on

her back!

Audra offered to treat her to lunch at Lowry’s. Sierra declined.

She had been taught to reciprocate, and she doubted Audra

would feel suitably recompensed at Denny’s.

“I’m sorry, but I need to get home, Audra. The children will be

getting out of school soon.” She’d glanced at her watch to make

her point. “I always pick them up.”

“You should get involved in a car pool,” Audra had commented, shooting the Mercedes in and out of traffic with the skill

of an experienced Indianapolis 500 driver.

Sierra was tired of Audra “should”ing all over her. “Chauffeuring children to school is one of the delights of motherhood.”

“Delights?” Audra laughed. Weaving smoothly across three

lanes of dense traffic, she glided down an off-ramp. “That

doesn’t say much for the quality of your life.” Her eyes twinkled

merrily. “We’ll have to do something to give you a little excitement.”

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And now it seemed she had.

Was it really Alex’s idea that they look for a house so soon? Or

had Audra through Steve advised they do so? Once they were

under the weight of a mortgage, it would be pretty hard to

change their minds about working in Los Angeles.

She pushed thoughts of Audra away and tried to reason with

Alex. “I think it’s too soon to think about buying a house,” she

said.

“You like living in a cramped apartment?”

She bristled anew at his sarcasm but remained calm. “You

haven’t even been at your new job for four months, Alex. What if

you decide you hate it?”

“I love it.”

“I’m saying if you changed your mind. You’re having a honeymoon at Beyond Tomorrow right now. The whole thing may

come down around your head like a house of cards.”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence.”

“I’m confident in you, Alex, but I don’t trust them. Everything’s

moving too fast. It’s all too easy. We should wait at least a year,

Alex. So much can change—”

“Get it through your head, Sierra. I’m not changing my mind

about anything.” Face rigid and pale with anger, he glared at her.

“I’m getting pretty tired of you walking around with a black

cloud over your head all the time.” He picked up his briefcase

and went to his computer. Opening the briefcase, he took out a

diskette. He turned on the computer and slipped the diskette

into the slot. “Either you can look around for a house and help

make the decision, or I’ll just take care of it myself,” he said, his

back to her. “The choice is yours.”

So much for priorities, she thought, tears brimming as she

went into the kitchen.

She called the Realtor the next morning and made an appointment. Roberta Folse said she would be by at ten, which would

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give Sierra enough time to drop off the children at school and do

her grocery shopping.

Roberta had penny-red hair, dark brown eyes, and was

slightly overweight. She was elegantly dressed in a green suit

with a gold silk blouse and a string of pearls.

“Your husband said you moved recently and you were having

a difficult time settling in,” she said when they were on their way

in her sleek black Jaguar. “He didn’t mention where you lived

before.”

“We both grew up in Healdsburg,” Sierra said, wondering

how much else Alex had confided in this attractive stranger. “It’s

about seventy miles north of San Francisco, in the wine country.”

“I’m familiar with the area,” Roberta said and smiled with

complete understanding. “God’s country. No wonder you’re

having trouble. Culture shock. This area must seem like another

planet to you.”

Sierra warmed to her at once and felt herself relaxing. From

that point on, they talked easily. Roberta had four children, all

grown-up and in college or married. She had gotten her real

estate license when the market was booming. “I’ve always

loved looking at houses,” she said, driving along pretty

tree-shaded streets with charming ranch-style houses and

some with a hint of Victorian. “You know, most people I know

dream of retiring in the wine country or farther north in the

redwoods. I like Garberville myself. It has an old-fashioned

feel to it.”

“My brother owns a place there. He has twenty acres out near

White Thorn on the way to Shelter Cove. He likes to go up on

weekends and relax.”

“Heaven.” Roberta sighed. “Well, we’ll see if we can’t find you

a house down here that’ll have the country feel. Why don’t we

take a look at this one?”

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Roberta showed her four homes, all with four bedrooms, three

bathrooms, and a pool. The prices made Sierra’s head spin and

her stomach drop. They were four times what she and Alex had

paid for their Windsor home! What was Alex thinking? Sierra

confided her concerns to Roberta.

“It is a shock, I know. Your husband told me what you’re going to make from the sale of your home and what he’s currently

making. It’ll be tight, but I don’t think you’ll have problems qualifying. Especially with Steve Silverman cosigning.”

Sierra could feel the blood running out of her face. “Cosigning?”

“It’ll speed up the process of you and your husband having a

new home. Steve simply guarantees the loan.”

“So they would own part of our home?”

“Oh no, but should you fall into financial difficulties, which is

very unlikely, Steve would have to assume responsibility for the

mortgage. Alex told me his primary concern is location, which is

wise. Should you decide to resell after a few years, any one of

these homes would be snapped up quickly.”

Warning bells were going off in Sierra’s mind, but she couldn’t

pinpoint the cause. She tried to talk to Alex about it that night,

but he thought she was suspicious of Steve’s motives in offering

to guarantee their loan and took offense.

“That’s not what I said!” Sierra protested, upset.

“Pretty close.”

“You don’t listen.”

“Then try making sense. Try thinking things through before

you open your mouth.”

“Forget it,” she said, hurt. Did he think she was stupid just

because she wanted all the facts? “Just forget it. We’ll buy a

house. After all, it’s your money. Right? This marriage isn’t a

partnership. I’m just the stupid, uneducated little homebody

who happens to be your wife!”

“I didn’t say that!”

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“You didn’t have to.”

Alex said barely a dozen words to her over the next week.

James Farr has come to live with us.

He talks to me sometimes when Matthew has

other things to do. He is laid up with a broken leg

and he is very sad because his mother and father

was both dead from a terible Tragedy.

I herd him tell Matthew what happened.

James and his mother and his father was riding home from the camp meeting when his father

says he sold out and they were moving West.

James said his mother got crazy. She said she

was tired of moving and had roots. She said if

she was moving anywhere, it was back east to

her family. His father said thar was better land

West, and she said it werent land he was after.

Her crying and his shouting made the horses

start running. They wud not stop. A wheel brok

off and the wagon turned over. God tuk mercy

on James and threw him on soft ground. But his

fathers head got cracked open like a melon and

his mother got crushed when the wagon rolled

over her.

I am sorry his mother and father are dead, but

I am not sorry James is with us. I hope he stays

forever.

When I grow up I am going to marry him.

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James let me sit with him today. He did not say

much to me and I did not know what to say to

him. I read him two chapters from Exodus about

Moses in the bullrushes and pharaoh’s daugher

finding him. James said thank you very much. He

took my hand and kissed it.

I will never wash my hand again as long as I live.

God says we are to love one another, but it is very

hard to love Lucas.

Lucas told Mama he wuz in the barn when I got

locked in the henhouse. He’s a liar. He always lies

and Mama is so good she dont know the difference. I saw Lucas close the door. I heard him

drop the bar. And I heard him laffing while I was

screaming at him to let me out. He knows I am

affeered of chickens.

Mama asked me why he wud do such a thing to

his sweet little sister. I said he done it because he

is mean. She said that was a very bad thing to say

about my own brother.

Sometimes Mama dont want to hear the truth

because then she will have to do something about it.

Matthew wud have done something. But Matthew

was out in the fields with Papa.

Sometimes I wish I was a boy so I could grow

big enuf to punch Lucas hard enuf to nock him

down like Matthew does. Lucas needs nockin

down.

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Mama says that jest cause the devil nocks at

your door dont mean you have to answer.

I think Lucas opened his door and invited the

devil in a long time ago.

We went to camp meeting again. I did not like

it much this time. Sally Mae Grayson and her

yellow hair came. She has not been to a meeting

in two years because she has bin living in Fever

River with her grandmama and going to school.

I wish she had stayed in Fever River with her

grandmama.

Even Matthew who thinks girls are stupid and

empty headed looked at Sally Mae like he was a

sick calf. All the boys were following her around

and wanting to talk to her. The only one she pad

attention to was James. They sat together during

meeting and ate together at supper. Sally Mae

kept looking at me and saying little pitchers have

big ears. James told me to go and get him another

mug of cider and when I did and came back with

it he was gone. So was Sally Mae.

I looked and looked until I found them.

Now I know what courting is.

I never want to talk about courting or hear about

it again. No one is ever courting me like that.

Mama found me down by the crek washing my

hand. She askt me why I wuz crying. I told her.

I thot she wud go and make them stop what they

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wuz doing or at least tell Mister Grayson. All she

did was hold me and rock me for a long, long

time. She said idols always have feet of clay.

Sally Mae is not going bak to school in Fever

River. James told Matthew that her grandmama

wrote a letter to her father saying she was ailing

and could not take her. She said Sally Mae wud

be better off staying at the homestead with her

papa. James said her schooling was lost on her

anyway. He said Sally Mae knows more than she

shud all ready.

I am going to die. My heart hurts so much

I know I will be in the grave soon. James is

goin. I’m never going to see him again. The only

consolashun I have is Sally Mae wont get him

either.

He thanked Mama and Papa over supper and

said he cud never repay them for their kindnes

to him. He said he is sixteen and old enuf to fend

for himself. Papa said Fever River is a big place.

James said he wants to be in a big place. He said

maybe he will even go east. He said he wud like

to see Boston and New York. He said he wud like

to see England and maybe even China.

He and Matthew talked the hole nite before

he left. I heard him tell Matthew he did not love

Sally Mae and it wud be smart if Matthew did not

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love her either. You are not like me, James said.

She will cut yor heart out and feast on it.

I walked with him to the crek bridge. I did not

cry. I askt him strat out what he thot he wud find

better in Fever River or China for that matter. He

said he was not looking for better. He was looking for different.

Mama said he is lost.

I know I am.

7 2

6

“ B E C A U S E I T ’ S T H E W A Y T H I N G S A R E D O N E DOWN

here,” Alex said, irritated. “When are you going to stop worrying

about money? I just got a bonus. We can afford to have a professional decorator.”

“It isn’t just a matter of if we can afford it,” Sierra said, though

that did concern her. Alex was spending money at an alarming

rate, eating out at fancy restaurants every day for lunch, buying

expensive suits. Why wouldn’t he listen to anything she said anymore? “What’s the matter with the way we’ve decorated? People

are comfortable—”

“Nothing goes together. Look around you, Sierra. Does

Steve’s house look like this? Does Matt’s? Most of what we have

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are hand-me-downs given to us by our parents when we first got

married. That old armoire in the bedroom, the hatch-cover table

in the family room, those ridiculous brass lamps!”

“The armoire was the first piece of furniture your parents

bought when they came to California.”

“So what?”

“It has a family history to it! It meant something to them.”

“It means poverty to me. I don’t need reminding.”

“That hatch-cover comes from an old merchant ship that

sailed around the Horn and into San Francisco Bay in 1910. My

uncle refinished it for us as a wedding present. Those brass

lamps are almost a hundred years old.”

“And look every day of it.”

“I can get some new shades.”

“New shades won’t help. Don’t you get it? Everything we’ve

got is junk. If you buy something from a discount store today and

save it for a hundred years, it’s just hundred-year-old junk.

That’s what we’ve got. Old junk!”

Sierra stood there, stunned. Had he always felt this way? She

remembered how nice everything had looked in their small

Windsor house. Maybe he figured what they had just wasn’t

good enough in a 5,000-square-foot, upscale, ranch-style house

owned by an up-and-coming young executive.

“Look, Sierra,” Alex said, his tone gentling, “there’s a right

way and a wrong way to decorate a house, and hiring a professional is the right way.”

“Who told you that rubbish?” she said. But she knew without

even asking.

His dark eyes flashed with anger. “I’m saying it. All right?

Does that make it go down easier? I’m sick of living with other

people’s discards around me. I’m making good money. I bought

this beautiful house for you.”

Rolling her eyes, she turned away.

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“I don’t want it looking like it was decorated by someone running a flea market,” he said through his teeth.

She wondered if he knew how much his words hurt. She had

always done their decorating. People had always said she had a

knack for it. Friends had asked her advice, and one even offered

to pay her to decorate her house. She liked reupholstering old

couches and chairs, tole painting, and making wreaths. She liked

country!

Alex opened his daily planner and jotted some notes on her

grocery list. “I’m giving you a couple of names of interior decorators. The one in Beverly Hills is the best. Call him first. If he’s not

available, call the second one.” He tore the slip off the pad and

handed it to her. Stepping past her, he picked up his briefcase.

“Get it done today,” he said, like he was giving a subordinate a

command. It was all she could do to not salute him as he headed

for the door.

It wasn’t the first morning of late that he had neglected to kiss

her good-bye. Sierra followed him, slip of paper in hand, and

stood in the doorway to the three-car garage. Maybe he’d remember.

“I want it done as soon as possible,” he said, opening the door

of his new Mercedes. It was silver with black leather interior,

complete with tape deck, CD player, and car phone. Tossing the

briefcase onto the passenger seat, he slid in and slammed the

door. Tapping the garage door opener, he turned away, slinging

his arm over the passenger seat as he started backing out.

She looked at the white BMW sitting in the garage. Alex had

bought it for her birthday last month. He’d been so proud when

he drove it home.

“Where’s my Honda?” she’d said weakly.

“I traded it in,” he said, grinning and handing her the keys.

He’d fully expected her to weep with joy over having a new

car. She’d wanted to weep, all right. The Honda was the car her

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mother and father had given them as a wedding present. Clanton

and Carolyn had ridden around in it from the time they were babies. It was like an old family friend. The BMW was an unwelcome houseguest.

Alex had never spent much time keeping up the Honda.

She’d vacuumed and washed it every few weeks. Now Alex

spent every Saturday vacuuming, washing, and hand-drying

both cars; first the Mercedes, then the BMW. He even rubbed

the already shiny dashboards with Armor All. He used a toothbrush to scrub the spoked hubcaps, for heaven’s sake!

Three days ago, Alex had told her he didn’t have time to make

Clanton’s Little League game—but he had two hours to spare

for the cars. And she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d

received an eighth of that much time and attention from him.

A stab of pain ripped through her as she remembered the days,

less than a year ago, when Alex couldn’t wait to come home to

her, to talk with her, to share and laugh and love. She remembered how it felt to sit together, sharing dreams and ideas. And

the wonder of melting into each other’s arms after a day apart.

How could life change so dramatically in the space of six

months? How could a man change so much?

She had always known Alex was ambitious and determined.

What she hadn’t realized was that his work could become the

driving force and focus of his life. He was consumed with his

career, impassioned by it, obsessed with it. It was as though the

success of his first game, Vigilantes, merely whetted his appetite

to do better on the next. Apparently success gave him an adrenaline rush she and the children couldn’t.

Sierra readily acknowledged that Alex was making more than

four times what he had made in his job in Santa Rosa. Two magazines had done articles on him in the past two months giving

glowing forecasts of the future of Vigilantes. She had seen ads on

television.

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“Sick of what’s happening in the world?” the announcer’s

smooth voice would ask. “Become the law!”

Industry columnists were predicting Vigilantes would be the

most popular arcade game of the decade. In the interview for the

second article, Alex said Beyond Tomorrow would be releasing a

new 64-bit CD-based system called The Monolith by the new

year. The system would come complete with a code breaker that

would allow owners to play any CD game on the market. The

Monolith was aimed at the older teens and adults and would

come packaged with Vigilantes. Stores were already calling

Beyond Tomorrow and placing orders before the system had

even hit the market. And Alex was working day and night on a

second game, The Chameleon, a role-playing computer game

utilizing the modem peripheral and the Internet so that players

from around the world could link up.

No doubt about it. Beyond Tomorrow was booming.

“Changing the future of gaming!” their company motto, was

becoming a catchphrase; Alex was determined to make it come

true.

But Sierra felt little pleasure at what was happening. It was

too much. Too fast.

Granted, Steve had proven himself a man of his word. He’d

kept every promise he made to Alex. Bonuses, salary increases,

benefits . . . He even hired a personal secretary for Alex and

added several new employees to the marketing and distribution

departments. Alex’s place and position were guaranteed; he was

a key in Beyond Tomorrow’s incredible success. He was on top

of the professional world.

And Sierra had never felt less secure in her life.

She and Alex barely talked anymore. He was constantly overworked and preoccupied. She tried to talk to him about it one

night, but he wanted to know what she needed to talk about. The

minute she said there wasn’t anything specific, he returned his

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attention to his computer screen and immersed himself in work

for the rest of the evening.

The next morning, she tried to bring it up again.

“So, go ahead,” he said, sounding impatient. “What’s on your

mind?” He hadn’t even bothered to lower his Wall Street Jour-

nal.

“Nothing in particular,” she said. How did you start a good

talk when you needed to talk about not talking?

“Pour me another cup of coffee, would you?” he said from

behind the paper.

She wanted to pour the entire pot over him. “We used to talk

about all kinds of things from the minute you walked in the door

until we went to bed.”

“We still talk.”

“About business. About the games you’re working on. About

the kids.”

At last he lowered the paper and looked at her. She could see

him putting on his armor, getting his weapons ready. He had always been better equipped for fighting than she was. “What are

you getting at, Sierra?”

God, what do I say? What do I do? she screamed inside her

head. When Alex presented his cold front, she felt incapable

of reaching him—and that seemed to be the case almost all

the time now. Tears of frustration pricked at her eyes. He

used to sense when she needed him. Now, he didn’t seem to

care what she was feeling or thinking. She wanted to say she

missed him. She wanted to say she was lonely. She wanted to

tell him she was afraid they were drifting apart, and that

Audra was right: She was boring, uneducated . . . and losing

him.

The very thought filled her with a bleak terror. But she was

even more terrified to say those things aloud and find that he was

indifferent.

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Her eyes pled with him. Just tell me you still love me, Alex. Don’t

make me ask you if you do.

He just sat looking at her, eyes narrowed, posture defensive.

And so she leaned back in her chair, overwhelmed with a sense

of defeat. “I’m not getting at anything,” she finally responded,

aching inside for the connection she had always felt with him.

How could you be with someone you loved so desperately and

feel so alone?

He stared at her, as though he were studying a particularly

curious insect on the window screen. He shrugged. “I guess we

haven’t been out for a while,” he conceded, folding his newspaper and tossing it onto the coffee table. His gaze drifted from

hers. Restless, he glanced at his wristwatch and got up. “I

wanted to get into the office early this morning. I’ve got a lot to

do.” He downed his coffee and headed for the kitchen. “Why

don’t you figure out where you’d like to go and make the reservations?”

He sounded so offhand, so uninterested. . . . She closed her

eyes against the pain swelling inside her. Alex had always been

the one to suggest places they could go and things they could do.

Several times, he’d surprised her with tickets to a show at the

Luther Burbank Center. He used to take her and the children to

pizza and a movie. Once, he’d even made arrangements for her

mother to take care of the children so he could whisk her off for a

romantic weekend at a bed-and-breakfast in Mendocino.

Now, he sounded as though the whole idea of taking her out

was just one more responsibility he needed to handle.

She suggested a rib place.

“Too much fat and cholesterol.”

Since when had he worried about fat and cholesterol?

They agreed on a movie, but that night Alex called and said he

had some work to do. She asked him to reserve Friday night for

dinner out with the children, but he called from the office at the

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last minute Friday and said he had an important meeting he

couldn’t miss.

She gave up making plans.

Now, it seemed, he didn’t think she had the ability to decorate

their home properly.

The whine of the garage door closing and the roar of Alex’s

Mercedes as he floored it toward work brought Sierra back from

her dismal reverie. She needed to awaken the children soon so

they’d have plenty of time to get ready for school.

Carolyn was invited to a birthday party this weekend. Her

little friend, Pamela, lived somewhere in Studio City. Sierra

went back into the kitchen and jotted down a note to buy a

birthday present.

She glanced at the slip of paper Alex had given her: Bruce

Davies Interiors. She tacked it to her noteboard beside the phone.

She didn’t make the call until later that afternoon, after Alex

called and asked if she had done it yet.

The designer’s receptionist had a rich, velvety voice with a

heavy New England accent.

“I’m under orders from my husband to hire a decorator,” Sierra

said.

The woman was polite and efficient, making no promises and

hinting that Bruce was in high demand and terribly busy. Too

busy, Sierra hoped. “Please hold.” Yanni played softly in Sierra’s

ear.

The receptionist came back on the line. “Is your husband

employed by Beyond Tomorrow?”

“Yes, he is.” Had Alex called ahead?

“One moment, please,” the receptionist said, and Sierra heard

Yanni playing again. Plucking a pencil from the kitchen drawer,

she doodled flower and leaf patterns along the top edge of her

grocery list. But she’d barely gotten started when the receptionist was back.

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“I apologize for the wait, Mrs. Madrid. Mr. Davies will be

pleased to speak to you.”

Before she could protest, Bruce Davies was greeting her with

the familiarity of a long-lost friend.

“Sierra, I’m so glad you finally called. I knew anyone with such

a charming name wouldn’t let me down. Of course, I expected

your call several days ago, but this works out just as well. I’ve

just finished a stunning home only a few blocks away from you,

and I’m ready for something new and exciting! And believe me,

the ideas I have for your home are definitely that!”

After a two-minute conversation with Bruce, Sierra felt she

had been run over by a steamroller. He made the appointment

for late Thursday afternoon and informed her he would bring an

assistant with him. He knew who Alex was because Audra

Silverman had faxed him an article from a well-known computer

game magazine.

“Decorating for a game designer will be a challenge,” he said,

clearly eager.

“I’m not sure Alex will want to have much involvement, Mr.

Davies.”

“Oh, but he must. I insist.”

Surprisingly, Alex didn’t quibble and assured her he would be

home early Thursday.

Bruce Davies turned out to be an attractive man in his late forties, trim and elegantly dressed, who absolutely exuded energy.

His assistant attended him in silence, writing notes as they

walked through the house, Alex at Bruce’s side.

It became apparent very quickly that Sierra was going to have

little say in what was done to the house. Country, Bruce informed her, was a definite “no-no,” and anything even remotely

Victorian “just wouldn’t do, darling.” Bruce was interested in the

architecture, made suggestions for some changes, and poured

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forth with decorating ideas. Alex had his own, and Bruce listened as though every word was genius.

“A man who is going to change the future of gaming must have

a house that reflects his creativity,” Bruce said, his eyes sparkling as he surveyed the entryway.

By the time Bruce and his assistant left, Sierra was convinced

the house would bear the stamp of Bruce Davies Interiors, a

slight mark of Alejandro Madrid, and absolutely nothing of her.

“It’s going to be expensive,” Alex said, not noticeably worried

about it, “but it’ll be worth it. Bruce said he’ll have sketches

within a week, and decisions can be made.”

She knew who would be making the decisions.

The next morning, after dropping the children off at private

school, Sierra drove to the closest mall to look for a suitable present for Carolyn’s new friend. Nothing looked right to her: The

selection was too wide and the prices too high.

Depressed, she purchased a cappuccino and sat watching the

hustle of people in the mall. Most were women. Some strolled at

a leisurely pace, looking lonely and bored as they paused at window displays. Others moved with quick efficiency, looking for

all the world as though they knew exactly where they were going

and what they were doing.

Sierra longed for home. She wished her mother were sitting

across from her so she could pour out her heart and ask her

advice. But she’d done enough of that lately over the telephone.

Her mother’s parting words after their last conversation still

echoed in her ears: “Remember, honey, God is in control.”

If that was true, why did she feel so desperate?

Shaking her head, she turned her thoughts back to the matter

at hand. What was she going to do about that blasted birthday

present? When she was Carolyn’s age, she had liked nothing

better than taking her friends up into the attic so they could

spend hours dressing up in her mother’s and grandmother’s old

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clothes, high-heeled shoes, hats, and jewelry—all perfect props

for pretending to be Cinderella or Snow White or some other

fairy-tale character.

Did children do that sort of thing anymore? All the dress-up

Carolyn had ever done was back in preschool. The Windsor

School had provided plenty of clothes to choose from: surgical

gowns, nurses’ uniforms, suit jackets and briefcases, a fireman’s hat, a policeman’s uniform. Nothing frivolous or fanciful.

Everything geared to answer that all-important question: What

are you going to be when you grow up? Sierra could still remember her frustration when she’d discovered the teacher was

asking Carolyn and her classmates this. Was it really necessary

to know at the age of four or five what one was going to do for

the rest of one’s life? It seemed so long ago. Now she wondered.

Wasn’t being a wife and mother enough anymore?

Feeling defiant, Sierra finished her coffee and drove to Cost

Plus, the area warehouse store. Wandering through, she found

an intricately carved box imported from India. It was pretty and

inexpensive. She bought it and drove to Kmart, where she purchased three beaded necklaces, a gold-tone charm bracelet with

African animals on it, and two bright rhinestone pins, as well as a

long, thin multi-colored scarf. Pleased with her choices, she

headed home.

While watching her soap opera, she used the scarf to wrap the

gift. Twisting the tied ends, she curled them around until they

looked like a plump flower on top of the box. During a commercial, she rummaged through her wrapping-paper box in the hall

closet and found some gold ribbon. Cutting a long strip, she

tucked it around the fabric flower and wrote on the ends:

“Happy Birthday, Pamela. From Carolyn.” She sat back and

smiled, perfectly satisfied with the gift.

Then she drove Carolyn to the birthday party on Saturday.

Pamela’s house was near the top of the hills with an iron gate

8 3

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in front. The gate was open, but a uniformed guard was on duty.

He asked their names and checked his list before nodding them

through. Other cars were already parked: two Cadillacs, three

Mercedes, and a little red sports car the likes of which Sierra had

never seen before. Everything reeked of money.

Sierra walked Carolyn to the front door, where a maid answered their ring. She was Spanish and dressed in a crisp black

uniform with white collar and apron.

Carolyn’s hand tightened. “Don’t leave, Mommy. Please.” Sierra forced a reassuring smile, but her daughter didn’t loosen her

grip until they entered a huge room with cathedral windows at

the back and she spotted Pamela with several other little girls.

Sierra spotted the mothers.

They were all standing near windows that provided a panoramic view of San Fernando Valley. Every one of the ladies

looked as though she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine.

Sierra cringed inwardly, wondering what they thought of her in

her faded teal sweat tunic, black leggings, and scuffed Reeboks.

Oh, God, she thought, please don’t let Carolyn be embarrassed by me.

One of the women glanced toward Sierra and Carolyn. Smiling,

she said a word to the others and left them.

“You must be Sierra and Carolyn Madrid,” she said, her tone

warm and welcoming. “I’m so glad you could come.” She

touched Carolyn’s hair lightly. “Pamela has talked of little else

since you came to school, Carolyn. She insists you’re kindred

spirits just like the girls in Anne of Green Gables.”

Marcia Burton had class and grace and dissolved every bit of

Carolyn’s shyness. Smiling, the little girl held the present out to

Marcia. “Why, it’s perfectly lovely,” she said.

“My mother wrapped it,” Carolyn told her proudly, and Sierra’s

face went hot. She could see the other gifts on the polished mahogany coffee table nearby, all obviously from expensive stores and

professionally wrapped. She thought of the wooden box and

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W I L D E R N E S S

cheap, gawdy jewelry inside it. She wished she could snatch it

back and run.

As Carolyn joined the other children, Sierra thanked Marcia

for inviting her and made her excuses to leave.

“Oh, please stay,” Marcia said, sounding as though she actually meant it. “Pamela said your son plays on the school’s baseball team, and I know they’re practicing today.”

She was right. Sierra had dropped Clanton off before bringing

Carolyn to the party. The coach had invited all the boys back to

his house for a barbecue and movie.

Marcia smiled, her blue eyes amused as she confided her belief

that Pamela had developed a crush on Clanton. “She says he’s

the most handsome boy in school.”

Sierra wasn’t surprised her son made female hearts flutter.

Clanton had Alex’s features and coloring, and her light green

eyes. It made for a startling combination that had always

attracted attention from the time he was a baby.

“I really had better go,” Sierra said.

“At least stay long enough to meet the other mothers.”

As Marcia Burton put her hand lightly beneath her elbow,

Sierra resigned herself to further humiliation.

All the ladies were polite. Only one looked her over as though

she were convinced Sierra had just crawled out of a homeless

shelter. Marcia, appearing not to notice, remained warm and

friendly to all, while staying close to Sierra’s side.

But the woman’s efforts did little to ease Sierra’s discomfiture.

After what seemed a polite interval of stilted small talk, she made

her excuses and left.

She breathed far easier after driving out the gate and heading

down the winding road out of the rarefied air of the Studio City

hills to the bank of smog in the flatlands of North Hollywood.

One thing was certain: She wouldn’t step foot over the threshold

when she returned to pick up Carolyn.

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Sighing, Sierra focused her thoughts on Alex. He actually

had an afternoon free, and they were going to spend it together.

When he had asked her if she’d like to do so, quick tears of gratitude had sprung to her eyes. It had been so long since they’d

really been together, just the two of them. Maybe this would be

a chance for them to bridge the chasm that had developed

between them. Sierra wasn’t sure if they could, but she wanted

to. Oh, how she wanted to.

When she unlocked the door and went inside, she felt almost

lighthearted. “Alex? I’m home,” she called.

Silence met her.

“Alex?” she said again, going into the kitchen. The room was

empty, but there was a note on the refrigerator. Cold fingers of

disappointment closed around her heart as she moved forward

and took it down.

Sierra,

Steve called. A big client is in town unexpectedly, so

we’re taking him out to dinner. I’ll probably be home late.

That was it. I’m gone, I’ll be home late. No apology. No regret

at not being able to spend time with her.

Angry, Sierra crumpled up the note and tossed it into the garbage. She vacuumed, dusted, and made preparations for dinner

for three. She considered changing her clothes before going back

to pick up Carolyn, and then rebelled against the idea. She was

who she was. Besides, even dressed up she wouldn’t fit in with

that crowd.

Steeling herself, she headed back to Studio City. As she pulled

up before the palatial house, she saw that all the cars were exactly

where they were when she had left three hours before. Apparently, they had all stayed through the entire party, sharing the

catered hors d’oeuvres and luncheon and the beautifully deco8 6

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W I L D E R N E S S

rated cake, and enjoying the magician who had come to make

sure the children were properly entertained. She got out of her

car as several of the women and their little girls came out, each

child holding a bag of party favors.

“Our girls are playing in the family room,” Marcia said, greeting her at the front door.

“I’m sorry if I’m late.”

“You’re not late at all. Come in, please. Would you like some

coffee?”

“Thank you, but I’d better not. I’m in something of a rush. I

need to pick up Clanton soon.”

Marcia’s expression flickered with understanding and disappointment; it was an excuse, and both women knew it. “I’ll show

you the way,” she said quietly. “Pamela loved the treasure box

and scarf.”

Polite to the end, Sierra thought sarcastically, then felt a

twinge of shame for her critical attitude. Shrew, she chastised herself. Marcia’s shown you nothing but kindness. But then, maybe you

don’t know how to react to kindness anymore. . . .

The girls were leaning close together and talking like little

conspirators. To Sierra’s surprise and pleasure, Pamela was

bedecked in the scarf and jewelry. Carolyn laughed happily at

what her friend was saying and then noticed her. “Oh,

Mommy,” she said, obviously disappointed. “Couldn’t I stay a

while longer? Please?”

“We have to go, Carolyn.”

“Clanton’s staying at—”

“Now, Carolyn.”

Carolyn rose obediently. Remembering her manners, she

thanked Pamela and her mother for the lovely time and for the

bag of party favors and treats.

“Why don’t we get together sometime?” Marcia said as they

walked back upstairs.

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“That’d be nice,” Sierra said, giving the proper innocuous

response. She knew sometime meant never. The girls were talking again and going ahead of them out the front door, obviously

trying to find another way to delay the inevitable.

“Are you free Monday?” Marcia said.

Startled, Sierra looked at her. “Monday?”

“For coffee,” Marcia said and smiled. “Or tea. Or water. I

don’t care.” She laughed at Sierra’s look, then reached out and

squeezed her wrist gently. “What I really want to do is get to

know you better.”

She spoke so sincerely, Sierra didn’t doubt her. Quick tears

burned her eyes, and she wondered that a casual invitation for

coffee could affect her so deeply.

“Monday sounds perfect.”

Mister Grayson cum over today, mad as a grizly.

He said Matthew is going to marry Sally Mae

or he is going to shoot him dead. Papa said no son

of his is going to marry a harlot. Matthew said

Sally Mae is no harlot and they are already married in the eyes of God.

Lucas laughed and called Matthew a fool.

Matthew hit him in the mouth and nocked him

down. He got on top of him and kept pounding

until Papa pulled him off.

Mama has not stopped crying for two days.

Papa said Mister Grayson is sending a rider

around to tell every one who comes to camp

meeting that his daughter is getting married to

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Matthew Benjamin McMurray. Papa said he is

actin proud about it.

Mama said some people have no sense of shame.

Matthew married Sally Mae today. She wore her

dead mother’s white wedding dress. I have never

seen Matthew look as happy as he did when he

put Mama’s ring on her finger.

Sally Mae almost did not have a ring at all.

Papa wud not let Matthew have Grandmama

McMurray’s ring. I heard Papa and Matthew

yellin at each other in the barn. Matthew said he

loves Sally Mae. Papa said no one like Sally Mae

was ever going to wear his mother’s ring. He said

he wuz sorry he listened to Mama. He said he

shud have taken Matthew to Fever River a long

time ago to let him larn some facts of life about

women and then maybe he wud not have fallen

prey to one.

So Mama give Matthew her own wedding ring.

Papa has not said a word to her since.

I wonder if James is still in Fever River and

what he’s doing there.

I got no time for writing in this journal, but it is

the only place I can put down my feelings. And

such feelings! Sometimes I think I will burst.

Mama is sick, bad sick. Sally Mae dont do nothing to help. She and Matt fight all the time. Or

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rather Sally Mae does all the fighting. He does all

the taking. She says she is bored with her life and

bored with him. All he does is work in the fields

beside Papa and does nothing fun with her. Sometimes I hate her so much I wish her dead. Then she

cries and tells me she loves Matthew and wants to

be a good wife and I feel guilty. She just dont

know how to be good cause she never had a mama

like mine who wud not let her be anythin else.

Mama coughed up blood today. I dont know

what to do. Papa dont spend much time with her

because he cries every time he does. He said he

can’t bear to see her suffering. He told her he

dont know what to do without her. He dont

believe in God. He dont believe in nothing but

what he can do for himself and he can’t do nuthin

for Mama.

Mama said today she is not afraid to die and

I shud not be afraid to let her. She smiles when

I sit with her. She says she is getting closer to

God every minute. I tell her we need her more

than God does, but she says maybe she is in the

way. In the way of what I asked, but she coughed

so long and hard she had no strength to tell me.

Mama died today. She said she could smell the

lilacs through the window. She wanted to hold

some. So I went outside and cut some for her.

When I came back, she was dead.

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I was with her three days knowing her time

was near. Why did she send me away right then?

Papa and Matthew buried Mama yesterday

morning. We could not wait another day for

Lucas to cum home from hunting. Sometimes he

is gone for a week.

The sun is going down again and Papa is still

sitting by the grave with his jug.

I dont think much of Sally Mae being the woman

of the house. She dont cook. She dont clean. She

just tells me what to do. Matt says she is older

and has the right because Sally Mae is his wife.

I told him that dont make her my mother. He has

never slapped me before. I told him he had better

not do it again.

Papa spends all his time in the fields and dont

know whats going on in this house. Only time

he comes in is when the sun is going down.

Then he just sits before the fire with his jug of

whiskey drinkin until he dont know nothin

anyway.

Matt went huntin with Lucas. I herd Lucas talking to Sally Mae before they went off. He said

maybe he wud take his brother to Fever River

and show him the sights. They have been gone

five days. Sally Mae dont say much. Papa dont

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say nothing. Sometimes I feel like the old hoot

owl and this journal is my only company.

Matt and Lucas came home today. They had no

meat with them. Sally Mae did not say anything.

So I asked Matt if they went to Fever River. He

said yes. I asked him if he saw James. He said no.

I asked him what it was like in Fever River and he

said there were too many people. He did not say

anything after that. Lucas wuz smirking at Sally

Mae. He said they learned a lot while they was in

Fever River, but he did not say what they learned.

Sally Mae did not look well. She said she was

going outside for air. Matt went out to help Papa

in the fields.

When I went outside to do the wash I saw

Lucas talking to Sally Mae. When he laffed at

her, she slapped his face. He slapped her back

and she ran off crying.

Papa sent Lucas to Fever River with the corn.

Matt did not go with him this time because Sally

Mae wanted him home. Papa said thar will be

enuf money to pay the taxes, buy supplies, and

put some by for hard times.

I gotta bad feelin, but Papa dont listen.

Lucas came bak from Fever River today wile

I was workin in the garden. He and Papa had

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words. Lucas said the corn did not sell well this

year, that he paid the taxes but thar was not much

left for supplies. Papa said he is lying. He said

Lucas must have spent the money gaming or on

women. Lucas said it is a poor thing when a

father dont trust his own blood.

Lucas is gone. He tuk Papas best horse and gun

and left before sun up. I never herd such cussing

as Papa did when he found out what he dun.

Matt said he did not think Lucas wud come back

this time. Papa said he wud kill him if he did.

Papa said nothing after that. He did not eat

breakfast or supper. All he does is wurk in the

fields and drink.

I wud not grieve if I never saw Lucas again. As

far back as I can remember, ther has been a mean

streak in him Papa never cud beet out. Mama

tried to talk it out of him. But I dont think Lucas

ever herd a word she said. Mama believed we

shud treat others the way we want to be treated.

Lucas saz that is fools thinkin. He says take what

you want or you dont get nothing.

So I guess Lucas tuk what he wanted. He

tuk Papas money. He tuk Papas horse. He tuk

Papas gun. The only things he did not take

were Papas land and Papas house. And he wud

have tuk them too if he cud have put them in a

saddle bag.

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Sally Mae is going to have a babee come winter.

Matt is happy about it. It is nice to hear him

laugh again.

Papa dont say much about it. Papa dont say

much about anything these days.

Today is my birthday. I am fourteen. Not even

Matt made mention of it. I guess he forgot jest

like Papa.

9 4

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across the net. It bounced far right of where Marcia was waiting

for it, gaining her the winning point. “Yes!” she cried and

jumped into the air, raising her racket in triumph.

“Devious,” Marcia said in good humor. “Since you won, you

have to jump the net.”

“Not on your life,” Sierra said, laughing. She walked over to the

bench and picked up her towel. Dabbing the sweat from her face,

she grinned at Marcia as she walked over to drink from a bottle of

Calistoga water. “Maybe now I’ll be some competition for you.”

“You’re getting better every time you play,” Marcia said, her

tone enigmatic.

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T H R E A D

“You’re a good teacher.” Sierra bent down to roll the cotton

overshirt she had left on the bench. She tucked it into her canvas

bag and set the racket on top.

“Well, I’m not teaching you anymore,” Marcia laughed.

Two men entered the court, one older than the other, both

dressed in white tennis shorts and shirts, both reeking of affluence.

“First time I’ve ever seen you lose, Marcia,” said the younger

and more attractive of the two.

“She tossed the game,” Sierra said with a laugh.

“Not likely,” he said, a grin making him even more handsome.

“Marcia puts her all into everything she does.” He winked at

Marcia and then looked pointedly at Sierra. “Aren’t you going to

introduce us?”

Marcia put her towel around her neck. “Sierra, this is Ronal

Peirozo, a longtime family friend. Ron, this is Sierra Madrid.

She’s married to Alex Madrid, game designer for Beyond

Tomorrow.”

“My pleasure,” he said, extending his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Sierra felt cool strength in his fingers as

they closed firmly around her hand. His eyes were Paul

Newman blue, and the way they rested on her was decidedly unsettling. He introduced her to the older gentleman with him, but,

flustered, she failed to catch his name.

Marcia grinned at her as they walked along the pathway to the

dining room. “Don’t be embarrassed. Ron has that effect on most

women.”

“What effect?”

Marcia laughed. “Fine. We’ll play it your way.”

When Alex had been given the club membership as a Christmas bonus, Sierra had resisted coming to Lakeside Country

Club. Not until Marcia invited her for lunch one afternoon had

she even admitted being a member. “You’re kidding. And you

don’t go?”

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“No. I don’t go.”

“For heaven’s sake, Sierra. What are you going to do? Sit

home watching soap operas for the rest of your life? I’ve never

known anyone to be so resistant to success and the benefits it

brings.”

Resigned, Sierra had accompanied her to the club. She had

had so much fun meeting Marcia’s friends it had become a

part of her daily routine. She met Marcia for tennis or golf or

racquetball, depending on the weather, worked up a sweat,

showered, and then relaxed for a few hours. Sometimes they

sat in the salon and had a manicure or pedicure. More often

than not, they joined others in the women’s lounge for drinks

and lunch.

As they reached the patio outside the dining room, Sierra saw

that Nancy Berne and Edie Redmond were already sitting at the

table they usually occupied. It was considered a primo spot, located as it was near the windows overlooking the golf course, but

then, having the best was par for the course for these women.

Both were married to high-powered executives. Beside them,

Ashley Worrell—who was recently divorced from her wellknown, extremely wealthy plastic surgeon husband—was sipping

mineral water. Lorraine Sheedy, a close friend of Ashley’s, sat

next to her, looking grim. Lorraine’s husband was an attorney

who had made a fortune handling divorce cases for movie stars.

The last of what Marcia jokingly called “The Rat Pack” was

Meredith Schneider, an heiress who was four-times divorced,

five-times married.

As Sierra took her usual seat near the tall ferns, she greeted the

others with easy camaraderie. Wylie, the waiter who always

took care of their orders, came to the table. He picked up

Meredith’s empty martini glass, replaced the napkin, and set a

fresh martini before her.

“Thank you, Wylie,” Meredith said, and Sierra could tell she

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had been drinking for some time. Meredith smiled benevolently

around the table. “You girls going to have something? My treat.”

Marcia glanced at her watch. “It’s not even noon, Merry.

Aren’t you starting a little early today?”

“You’re an hour too late with your warning, dear.” She

glanced at her Rolex. “Eleven forty-five. If you wish to be legalistic, wait fifteen minutes. Then you may order a drink.”

Marcia ordered a gin and tonic with a twist of lime.

Nancy and Edie both ordered espresso. Ashley grimaced

delicately. “How many times do I have to tell you girls what

caffeine does to the skin?” she said and ordered a rum punch.

“And rum’s good for it?” Nancy said, amused.

“Rum is made from sugarcane and molasses, both natural

substances. Add a little fruit juice and you have a nutritious

noontime libation.”

“And a buzz,” Edie said dryly.

Lorraine quietly ordered a double Scotch on the rocks.

Everyone at the table looked at her in surprise. She never

drank anything but white zinfandel. Meredith popped the

green olive into her mouth, eyes amused.

Sierra ordered an iced tea. She had learned early on that she

didn’t like the taste of alcohol or its dizzying effects.

They talked of mundane things until the drinks were served.

Lorraine finished the double Scotch with two swallows. Shuddering, she set the empty glass down before Wylie had taken

three steps from the table.

“Feeling better?” Marcia said softly, astonished.

“Wylie,” Lorraine said firmly, “bring me another, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, brows lifting in surprise.

“Doing some serious drinking today, are we?” Meredith

cooed.

Lorraine gave a humorless laugh, her eyes glittering. “Frank’s

having an affair.”

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Ashley set her rum punch down hard and uttered a short,

exceedingly foul word. “I swear. All men are pigs.”

“Darling,” Meredith said, too inebriated to be distressed by

anything. “You’re looking at it all wrong. Haven’t you read Men

Are Just Desserts?” She looked at Lorraine. “Did he fess up,

sweetie, or did you have to pry the information out of him with a

crowbar?”

“I asked him point-blank. He tried to worm his way around

the issue with his usual legal jargon. He might be able to fool everybody in a courtroom, but I always know when he’s lying.”

“Are you filing for divorce?” Ashley said, her own having only

recently been declared final.

“Actually, I was thinking about castration.”

“Here,” Meredith said, delighted. “Take the butter knife.”

Ignoring Meredith, Marcia put her hand over Lorraine’s.

“Don’t make any decision too quickly, Lorry. Try to work it out.”

“Work it out!” Lorraine’s dark eyes welled with tears. “I put

the jerk through law school. Four years I worked two jobs just to

get him through. You know who the woman is? That airheaded

blonde bimbo I told you about, the one in the last divorce case he

handled.”

“Be thankful,” Meredith said. “At least it wasn’t the husband.”

Nancy laughed before she could stifle it. Looking sheepish,

she apologized quickly. “Stop making jokes, Meredith,” she

whispered. “It’s not funny.”

“Of course it’s funny. It’s hilarious!” Meredith said. She lifted

her martini in salute. “To marriage, the biggest joke man ever

played on womankind. I should know. I’ve been on the

merry-go-round often enough.” She downed the martini with a

flick of her wrist.

“At least Eric’s faithful,” Lorraine said bitterly.

“Oh, of course, he is, darling. As long as I give him everything

he wants, he performs like a trained dog, though I daresay a dog

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has more loyalty.” Her mouth curved in a cynical smile. “That

little sports car Eric is driving cost me one hundred and fiftyseven thousand dollars.” She gave a bleak laugh. “Fidelity comes

at a high price these days.”

Sierra saw the sheen of tears in Meredith’s eyes.

“I’d kill myself if John cheated on me,” Edie said.

“Ah, now there are wise, comforting words,” Meredith said,

her tone hard-edged with derision. She flagged Wylie for another martini. “Far from an original idea. Attempt suicide, and

your unfaithful husband will be wretched with guilt. I tried

that with my second husband. Charles called an ambulance

and had my stomach pumped. A completely disgusting experience, I can tell you. And did he beg forgiveness and tell me

how much he loved me and what a mistake he’d made? Ha!

He moved out while I was in the hospital.” Pain flickered

across her face as she revealed this old, obviously still unhealed, wound.

“I told Frank a long time ago that what’s good for the gander is

good for the goose,” Lorraine said as the waiter moved away.

“Meaning what?” Edie said. “You’re going to cheat on him now?”

“Why not?” Lorraine said fiercely, eyes brimming with tears.

“Let him have a taste of what it feels like to be betrayed.”

“That’s the spirit!” Meredith said with an overbright laugh.

“And I know just the lad to instill jealousy in any husband.

James! Come over here this minute, dear.”

Lorraine, fully aware of just how outrageous Meredith could

be when she’d been drinking, blushed as a handsome young

waiter turned slightly to look over at them. “Don’t you dare,

Meredith!” she hissed.

“Isn’t he a dish?” Meredith said, waggling her bejeweled fingers at him playfully. “Gorgeous, ambitious, and half Frank’s

age. In far better shape, too.”

“If he takes one step in this direction, I’m leaving.”

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Meredith shrugged dramatically toward the young man. “Another time, dear. Lorraine’s changed her mind.”

“I swear, Meredith. You’re completely incorrigible,” Lorraine said.

“Comes with the territory,” Meredith said, a bleakness seeping

into her blue eyes. She quickly tried to hide it behind a bright,

brittle smile.

Ashley glanced at her watch. “I’m going to have to get to the

gym.”

“She has to work off the rum,” Meredith said dryly.

Ashley worked out an hour each morning at home and then

spent another hour each afternoon at the club with a personal

trainer who specialized in body shaping. She had a perfect body

already but was convinced if she missed a day of exercise, she’d

blow up like a balloon. Sometimes she ate nothing but salad

without dressing, while at other times she gleefully devoured

every dessert on the menu. Sierra had never known anyone so

obsessed with her body and caloric intake.

“Can’t you forgo it just this once?” Lorraine said, annoyed.

“Why don’t you come with me? A good workout will do you a

world of good.”

Meredith smiled drolly. “Treadmills are wonderful things,

aren’t they? They reduce a normal human being right down to

the mentality of a hamster in a wheel.”

Ashley gave her a sharp glance. “A good workout would be

better for her than obsessing about Frank and getting drunk like

you.”

Meredith arched an elegant brow. “The kitten has claws today.”

Ignoring her, Ashley got up. “Are you coming with me,

Lorry?”

“No. My heart already aches. I don’t need my body aching,

too.”

“Fine.” Swinging around, Ashley walked quickly across the

room and out the exit into the lobby.

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“That girl’s so uptight she could turn coal to diamonds,”

Meredith said, shaking her head. “I say we spike her mineral water. Maybe she’ll enjoy life a little more.”

Sierra lifted her iced tea and sipped, wondering if any of these

women enjoyed life at all. They had everything the world

counted important, yet she couldn’t see any evidence of joy in

their lives. They were all hungry for something more.

Just like you . . . a voice echoed in her head. She shifted uncomfortably, knowing it was true. The same hunger ate away at her

and left her feeling restless and insecure.

Something was missing, but she didn’t know what.

Marcia put her hand over Meredith’s. “What’s the matter with

you today?”

Meredith gave a bleak laugh. “Nothing that isn’t wrong with

me every day of my life.” She gave the waiter a radiant smile as

he set another martini in front of her. “Thank you, Wylie.” She

lifted the drink to Marcia. “Cheers, sweetie.”

“Did you ever see Dr. Worth?” Marcia said.

Meredith gave a derisive laugh. “I don’t need a psychiatrist.”

Sierra had been amazed to find out that the totally together

Marcia had ever been to a psychiatrist, let alone that she’d

been in ongoing therapy for ten years. Marcia claimed that

was why she felt so at peace within herself. Dr. Worth had

taken her on a journey into her past, where she had come

face-to-face with the causes of problems in the present. Apparently, her parents had said and done things, seemingly

unimportant at the time, that had had profound effects on her

ability to function as an adult.

“Once I’d discovered what—and who—was responsible, I

found I was free to move on,” she’d told Sierra, that calm smile

on her face.

Whenever difficulties arose in her marriage or life, Marcia

simply returned to the refreshing, comforting counsel and couch

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of Dr. Worth. Once there, she received a booster shot of selfesteem, absolution, and direction.

“Don’t you see, Meredith?” Marcia continued. “You’ll never

be truly happy until—”

“I don’t think getting in touch with my ‘inner child’ would help

much,” Meredith said flatly, cutting her off.

“It would help. I guarantee it. It’s helped me tremendously.”

“Has it?” Meredith gave a mirthless laugh. “If it’s so helpful,

why are you back in therapy every other month?”

“Dr. Worth gives me a fresh view.”

“Darling, I could give you a fresh view, and I wouldn’t charge

you two hundred and fifty an hour.”

Marcia drew back with graceful calm. She gave a slow sigh, a

sign she was striving for patience. “Why don’t we order lunch?”

“Ah, ah, ah. I’m sure any self-respecting psychiatrist like Dr.

Worth would tell you substituting food for a good fight is stuffing your feelings and counterproductive to your mental and

emotional health.”

“I’m hungry,” Marcia said with a beatific smile.

“No, you’re not. You’re mad.”

“No, I am not.”

Though Marcia sat in her usual, elegantly relaxed pose, Sierra

could feel the tension radiating from her. She had seen the same

thing happen before when Marcia was faced with a hard question.

Meredith gave her a bald grin. “You’re getting angry.”

“I’m sure you’d like me to be angry,” Marcia said coolly, “but

it’s not constructive.”

“Constructive?” Meredith smiled, her lovely, perfectly

made-up face showing nothing of the inner turmoil that was

clearly raging. “I’m always curious to see how deep your serenity

goes, Marcia. I suspect not very.”

Marcia arched her brow. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not serene at all, despite appearances. I admire your

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control. Really I do. You’re always so cool and so calm. Your

husband never strays. Your children are a perfect little lady and

gentleman. Not a single rapid in the river of your life, is there,

sweetheart? Not so anyone can see, that is.” Meredith twirled

her beautiful, aristocratic, bejeweled hand gracefully in the air,

adding sardonically, “And all because you’ve embraced the light,

become one with the universe, and live on a higher plane of consciousness than the rest of us poor mortals.” Her hand took rest

beside the martini, her eyes shrewd. “Tell me, dear. Does the

Valium help?”

Two spots of color appeared in Marcia’s cheeks. “I face my

problems head-on, Meredith.”

“Oh yes, and wrestle them to the ground and choke them to

death with the sheer strength of your will. I know,” Meredith

said. “I’ve seen the hunted look on Tom’s face. I imagine if the

poor man ever felt free enough to wear an open-necked shirt,

we’d see the bite marks on his throat.”

Marcia’s face flushed beet red. She went rigid for a moment,

then let out her breath very slowly and audibly, a yoga technique

Sierra recognized. “I prefer your company when you’re sober,”

she said with icy calm.

“And less honest, too, perhaps?” Meredith’s blue eyes flashed

with disdain. “Solve your own problems, dearie, before you try

to fix mine.”

Marcia rose regally and cast a stiff smile at the others seated

around the table. “Why don’t we all go in for lunch, ladies?”

Edie, who loathed conflict, rose quickly. “I think that’s an

excellent idea.”

“We’d be delighted if you joined us, Merry,” Marcia said as

she gathered her white tennis sweater and canvas bag.

“Liar,” Meredith said and raised her martini in mocking

salute.

Sierra followed Marcia into the dining room. Nancy and Edie

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joined them; Lorraine, preferring the heiress’s acerbic wit,

ordered another bourbon and remained behind.

“I swear. Merry is turning herself into a drunk,” Nancy said,

taking her place at the table.

“What do you think Lorraine will do?” Edie said, accepting a

menu from a waiter.

“Get sick and cry a lot,” Nancy said with a pitying glance back

toward the lounge. “Ending a marriage is bad enough, if it comes

to that. If you happen to be married to one of the leading divorce

attorneys in the country, you can expect to lose everything,

including your children.”

“If he wants them,” Marcia said blandly. “You’ve heard Lorry

say often enough that Frank hasn’t shown any interest in the

children since the day they were born.”

Sierra thought of how little time Alex had for the children

these days. When was the last time he’d played baseball with

Clanton or talked with Carolyn? She had been shouldering the

full responsibility of parenting since their move to Los Angeles.

Then, when things didn’t go right, such as Clanton’s report card

showing two Cs and a D, Alex always had her to blame.

“What about Ashley’s situation?” Edie said. “Gerry demanded

joint custody just to make her life miserable.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Marcia said, closing the menu and

setting it aside. “Gerry was concerned for the children, and rightfully so. Ashley is so obsessive about weight, and poor little

Veronica is going through her plump stage. Can you imagine what

it’s like for a child of ten to be dragged to aerobics classes every

afternoon after school? That’s what was happening until Gerry

stepped in.”

“An hour of exercise each day won’t hurt her, will it?” Edie

said, looking at Marcia for answers. Her own children were

enrolled in various sports programs and resisting attendance.

“It’s not the exercise that’s harmful, Edie,” Marcia said, sounding

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as though she were explaining a basic equation to a slow-witted pupil. “It’s the experience of being forced to do what she doesn’t want to

do. That will leave terrible scars on her psyche.”

Sierra could imagine Veronica grown-up and spending a hour

twice a week in Dr. Worth’s office exploring her “inner child.”

Still, would any child do anything if not pressed? Didn’t Marcia

press her own children to excel? Where was the difference?

“Have you seen Veronica?” Nancy said, shaking her head

sadly. “All that child does is sit around and eat snacks in front of

the television. She doesn’t talk; she whines.”

Uncomfortable with the course of the conversation, Sierra

stared at the menu. She couldn’t help but wonder if the women

talked about her and her children when she wasn’t present.

She ordered lobster thermidor and let the current of conversation swirl around her without diving in.

“You’ve been very quiet,” Marcia said at last.

Over the past half hour, Sierra had listened to her three companions dissect Meredith’s, Lorraine’s, and Ashley’s lives. They

had laid bare every dysfunction, past sin, and private anguish,

seeming to relish the action far more than they were enjoying

their food.

She met Marcia’s calm gaze. “My life is so full of problems, I

don’t feel I’ve any right to talk about theirs.”

Silence fell around the table, and she felt the three women staring at her with a mingling of expressions.

Marcia blinked, her eyes widening in surprise. “You think

we’re gossiping,” she said in quiet accusation.

Sierra glanced from Marcia to Nancy, whose eyes were hot

with indignation. Edie, on the other hand, looked embarrassed.

Sierra felt surrounded. Sometimes her friends acted like a

pack of hounds. They had the veneer of sophistication, but

they’d proven many times just how savage they were beneath.

They didn’t use their teeth to rip a person apart—they didn’t

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need to. Their soft-spoken words were sharp and barbed and effectively shredded one another with regularity. Didn’t they realize what they were doing?

“I think you’re concerned,” Sierra said, wondering if that was

only the guise beneath which they hid less altruistic motives.

“Of course we’re concerned,” Marcia said. “We love Meredith.”

“And Ashley,” Nancy said.

“And Lorraine,” Edie added. “You know we do.”

“Yes, I know,” Sierra conceded, but she couldn’t help hoping

they wouldn’t love her in the same way. “It’s just that talking

about their problems like this doesn’t change anything.”

“Then what will?” Nancy said.

“I wish I knew.” She looked around at them, not knowing

what else to say. Seeing their bleak eyes and defensive postures,

she suddenly wished she were more like her mother. She would

have had something to offer, some wisdom or encouragement.

From the beginning, she had found the company of these

women stimulating and challenging. They made her laugh. They

made her think. They opened her eyes to the way the world was.

She wasn’t the innocent, small-town girl Alex had brought to

Los Angeles over a year ago. And she was thankful for that. But

sometimes, she felt that despite the sophistication, knowledge,

and wisdom about life that these women seemed to have, they really didn’t know anything at all. Nothing that mattered. Nothing

that changed anything. If they did, wouldn’t their lives reflect it?

The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, Sierra.

She frowned at the remembered words; her mother had

quoted them to her often. She looked at the women around the

table again. It was bad enough that her words had brought an

end to the conversation. There was no way she was going to try

to bring God into this! That might work for her mother, but

Sierra wasn’t as confident as her mother that God had all the

answers. If he did, he certainly didn’t seem eager to share them.

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Not with her, anyway.

She shifted again in her seat, wondering why she suddenly felt

so depressed. Maybe it was because the discussion had revolved

around the disintegrating lives of three women she liked and

admired. Maybe it was because so many people all around her

seemed to be hurting.

Maybe it was because her own life felt so empty and out of

control.

“What’s bothering you?” Marcia said, sensitive to her mood.

Nancy and Edie were looking at her, too.

How honest could she be with these women? Was she the only

one struggling with a sense of hopelessness? “I don’t know. A lot

of things, I guess. I’m not even sure I can explain.”

They sat waiting.

Sierra plunged in, taking the risk. “I’m so busy all the time. Yet,

at the end of the day, I feel . . . empty, as though time has passed,

but I didn’t accomplish anything that mattered.”

“What do you expect of yourself?” Nancy said. “To find the

cure for cancer?”

“No. Just something.”

“The best thing we can do is be happy,” Edie said.

“Within ourselves,” Marcia said in gentle admonition. “If we

can’t manage our own lives, how can we expect to manage those

of our families?”

Manage. The word jarred. It was discordant. Sierra pictured

a company president issuing memorandums to her employees.

Meredith’s words flashed back in her head; they had been

harsh, but true. Sierra had seen the dynamics of Marcia’s family. Watching her interaction with Tom and the children was

like watching a master puppeteer working marionettes. Marcia always knew exactly what to say and do to get her family

members to do what she expected of them. Both of her children were A students, active in sports, popular. Her husband

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worked hard, made good money, and came home from work

every night at precisely five-thirty. Marcia’s life seemed to run

so smoothly.

Was that the secret to having a happy family? A woman who

could manage everything?

If that was the case, she was doomed to perpetual failure.

Manage Alex? What a laugh! She could hardly even get her husband to sit down long enough to talk anymore. When he did, they

ended up fighting. He had a will of steel. Over the past year, that

will had run over hers like a steamroller flattening macadam.

Edie changed the subject. She mentioned a play she’d seen,

and Nancy chimed in to agree it was wonderful. Marcia talked

about her plans to accompany Tom to a business convention in

Detroit. When asked by Nancy, she admitted most of the other

men from his company weren’t taking their wives. Smiling, she

said Tom had agreed it would be a nice time for them to get away

by themselves.

“By yourselves?” Nancy said. “With Tom in meetings most of

the day? What are you going to do?”

“I’ll relax and read and have lunch and dinner with Tom. I imagine there’ll be time to take in a museum or two between meetings.”

“Are there museums in Detroit?” Nancy said.

“There’s Henry Ford’s Fairlane Museum,” Marcia said with a

bright laugh, but Sierra couldn’t help wondering if her friend’s

real reason for going with Tom was to keep him under her

ever-watchful eye.

Well, what if it is? she wondered, almost defiantly. Is that such a

bad idea in this day of disintegrating and broken marriages?

Poking at her lobster thermidor, Sierra remembered Alex asking her to go with him to the Consumer Electronics Show in Las

Vegas last year.

“What about my mother?” she had said.

“What’s CES got to do with your mother?”

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“She’s coming down for a visit. You knew that! I told you

weeks ago.”

“You knew about CES, too!” He’d sworn in Spanish. “I gave

you the dates.”

“You did not!”

“Call your mom and ask her to hold off for a week.”

“She’s supposed to juggle her schedule just to please you?”

“She’s retired. What sort of a schedule has she got to juggle?”

As it turned out, she didn’t go to CES, though she did call her

mother and change their plans. Instead of her mother coming

south, Sierra drove north with the children and spent eight days

in Healdsburg. Her mother had lost weight and looked tired, but

otherwise she’d been in good spirits. They’d had long talks while

sitting on Memorial Beach watching the children swim in the

Russian River. Sierra had returned to North Hollywood remorseful, almost afraid of the greeting she would receive from

Alex. Their telephone conversations had been stilted and uneasy

while she was in Healdsburg. She apologized and things had

been easier between them for a while.

Easier, but not the same.

Audra had mentioned CES just the other evening when she

and Alex were all having dinner at Matt and Laura’s house.

Steve said several new members of the staff were going along

this year. Alex didn’t even look at her as he sipped his wine and

said he was looking forward to a trip to Vegas.

Stabbing a piece of lobster, Sierra decided it might be to the

best interests of her marriage if she went along this time.

“You wouldn’t be interested,” Alex said that evening when she

brought up the subject.

“What makes you so sure?”

“It’s all glitz and meetings, and a lot of people you don’t know.

Those you do, you can’t stand.”

“I suppose you mean Audra will be there.”

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“Yes, Audra will be there. She supports Steve wholeheartedly.”

She heard what he didn’t say: She didn’t support him. Anger

poured through her; it was always just beneath the surface these

days. But whose fault was that? Alex was always cutting her

down. She wasn’t supportive. She wasn’t a good mother or her

children would be getting better grades. She wasn’t doing anything other than spending his money at the club. Whose idea was

it to go to the club in the first place?

“I’d like to go with you this year,” she insisted.

He looked at her enigmatically. “You said you hate Vegas.”

What she really hated was the way he remembered every

word she ever said just so he could throw it back in her face.

Breathing slowly, she clung to her self-restraint. “I’ve never

been to Las Vegas, Alex. I’d like to see what it’s like.”

He didn’t say anything. He just looked at her. She wondered why

the decision was so hard for him to make. Hadn’t he wanted her to

accompany him last year? Didn’t he want her along this time?

“Fine,” he said, gaze flickering away, “but I don’t want the kids

coming. These shows are work, not play. You’d better keep that

in mind, too. I won’t be able to entertain you.”

Gracious to the last. “I’ll ask Marcia if she would mind having

the children spend the weekend at her house.”

“Don’t expect to play tourist,” he said. “We’re going to be

attending a lot of business dinners and company parties.”

“Will I need some new clothes?”

“Ask Audra.”

God, dont you listen when peepul pray?

Dont you care? Mama told me you did, but

I dont see how with the Terrible Truble we got.

I got doubts you are even there.

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Sometimes I dont think things cud get worse.

Then they do. First James leaving. Then Sally

Mae coming here as Matts wife. Then Mama dying, then Papa turning to whiskey. If all that aint

bad enuf, Lucas had to leave and take the best

horse with him. God, what more you gonna take?

Mama used to say you had control of everything. So what I wud like to ask is why you are

giving us all this Sorrow and Grief?

Sally Mae is sick most of the time. She is scared

all the time. Nothing makes her happy. She is

either crying when Matt is out working or

screaming at him when he is not. She says she

wants to go home to her grandmama in Fever

River. Matt will not tak her and her pa washt his

hands of her the day she wed.

Papa works all day and drinks all night til he

sleeps. And even with all his work it dont look

like it will be a good year.

Weve had no meat in a month and since Lucas

stole Papas gun no way of getting any.

Things cant get wurs.

I wuz wrong.

I aint settin hope on god no more. There is no

god. There is only hell on earth. Mama is the

lucky one. And Sally Mae too now that she is

dead. They have no worries. The rest of us have

got the wate of what they dun. Mama and her

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hopes of heaven. And Sally Mae knowing she

wuz on her way to hell.

I dont know what I am going to do now with

this babee.

Matt burned Papas fields yesterday. He had

good reason. Sally Mae told him the babee

werent his. She knew she was dying and it made

her crazy scared. So she told the awful truth. Do

you think you are the father, Matthew? You had to go off

to Fever River with Lucas, didnt you? I knew what you

wud think of me when you come bak. I wanted to hurt

you before you hurt me and I did. O, I did. I wasnt goin

to tell you but I can’t die with this sin on my head. I dont

want to go to hell. You hear me? Matt said what are

you talkin about? And Sally Mae said The babee

aint yours. Your father put it in me. Matt called her

a liar and she said to go and ask him. So he did.

Papa said he was drunk when she come in to

him and lay with him like a wife. He did not

know what he was doing. Matt went crazy. He

beat Papa until I thot he wud kill him. He nocked

me down three times before I cud stop him. And

Papa just lay in the dirt bleeding. Matt set the

fields afire. I aint seen him since.

Sally Mae was screaming somethin awful. It

raised the hair on the bak of my neck. The babee

come with the flames. Thar was so much smoke it

burned my eyes. The fire did not tuch the house.

The wind changed and sent the flames across the

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fields to the woods and creek. If it had not, Papa,

Sally Mae, the babee and me wud all be ded.

The babee come out of her at nightfall, and

blood come too. I never seen so much. It soaked

through the straw mattress and pooled on the floor

underneath. She stopped screaming then. Papa

cum inside the house when I called, but he jest stud

in the doorway. I kept cryin for him to help me. He

said leave that devil child to die with her. He said

they cud both go to meet the devil together.

I cud not do it. I can’t let this babee die. His

mother was a wanton and his father a drunken

fool. Does that mean he has to die for it?

Papa said he will not have Sally Maes devil

spawn in his house. I said it was no devil, but his

own son. He laid a curse on me. He said I am

not his daughter no more. He said if I did not

leave the house he wud kill me and the babee

with me.

I can hear Papa digging her grave. Thar aint

going to be a ceremony or a marker and he is

burning all her things and the bed she and

Matthew shared.

He ought to be burning with it.

I hav deecided to call the babee Joshua. It is not

a famly name like Matthew or Lucas. But why

would anybody want to be in this famly? I like

the sound of Joshua. I read it in the Bible. Mama

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wud sing about Joshua blowing his horn and the

walls of Jericho came tumbling down.

Maybe Joshua’s crying will make Papa’s walls

come tumbling down. And he will let us come

back and live in the house before winter hits.

Maybe Joshua is not a good name for this

babee. He has not come into this world to bring

his famly to the Promused Land. He has stirred

up nothing but trouble since the day he was born.

The preecher came today.

He said a lady acros the river wants a babee bad.

I told him she shud talk to her husband about that

and not send a preecher to me. Preecher said if I

give the babee up, Papa might forgive me my sins

and let me come back to the house. I asked the

preecher what he knew about what happened and

he said he knew all he needed to know and I told

him he did not know much. He got all puffed up

like a toad and turned red. He said an unwed girl

with a babee shud not talk to her betters the way

I was talking to him and it was no wonder Papa

threw me out. He said Papa did rite. He said in the

old days I wud hav ben stoned to deth for what

I dun. So I did not say nothing else until he left.

Nobody is taking Joshua away from me.

I tried to talk to Papa today but he walked right

by me like I was not thar. I followed him out into

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the blackened fields and begged, but he did not

let on he herrd nothing until Joshua started cryin.

Then he turned around and looked at me. I never

seen such a look on his face. I never seen such a

look on nobodys face like that. He said to git

away from him or he wud kill us both.

I said winter is coming, Papa. You want us to die?

He said yes.

First snow came today. The goat is going dry.

Seems like I did not save this babee from deth at

all. Just made him suffer.

The right reverend came again today. He said if

I do not send the babee to that lady across the

river, Papa is going to send me and the babee

to Mamas sister in Fever River with the

Reinholtzes, the German family moving out.

Preecher says they lost two children to fever a

month ago and can not bear to stay another winter. It wud be Christian kindness to give them

my babee. I said if they cud have two babees of

their own, they could have more, but I was not

giving my own blood away to strangers for any

reason. He said I was unrepentant and arrogant.

When I did not say nuthin he askt if I knew

what arrogant meant. I said it is when someone

already thinks he knows everything there is to

know and dont know nothing at all.

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He said I am hell bent. Maybe I am. All I know

for certain is the right reverend wud find truth

harder to swallow than the lies hes chewing on.

The truth would choke him to death.

I aint going to tell him what happened. Better

he thinks Joshua is mine than know where he

cum from. It is bad enuf God knows without

havin the hole county hear of it.

God dont care.

I did not think Aunt Martha wud let me in the

door of her fine house. The Reinholtz told me to

wait an hour before coming into Fever River. The

town is called Galena now after the ore they mine

hereabouts. Reinholtz did not want anyone

knowin they had anythin to do with a girl who

had a babee and no husband and did not even

know where she was going. So I did what he askt

and waited til nightfall before comin into town.

I askt the first person I saw whar Martha Werner

lived. The boy tuk me strat here. I almost died

when I saw the house. It is so grand and up on

a hill street. Two stories of wood and block with

steps up one side.

A black woman answered when I nocked.

I askt for Martha Werner. She called for Clovis.

A black man come runnin and started untying

the rope around my wast. I got scared and said

I wud not let him take my goat. My baby needs

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milk or he will die. He said he wud not take him

far and he wud see the goat was fed and

watered.

Aunt Martha is the prettiest woman I ever

seen. She was wearing a yellow dress with white

lace. She knew me rite off. She said I look like

Mama. She tuk Joshua from me. A good thing

she did because I cud not stand no more. It is a

long walk from the home place to Fever River or

Galena or whatever it is called. Worse when you

are eatin wagon dust. I did not want to sit on her

furniture in my dirty clothes but the black woman

picked me up from where I sunk down and put

me on the sofa anyway.

The black womans name is Betsy. She carried

me into the kitchen and set me near the stove.

Aunt Martha had Joshua. Clovis fetcht water

from the town well and Betsy heeted it in big

pots. I askt about the goat. He said the goat is

fine and eatin supper and went out again for

another bucket of water. Betsy tuk off my

clothes and put me in the tub. I aint never felt

anythin as good as that warm water comin over

me. She washed me like a babee wile Aunt Martha washed and played with Joshua. Betsy said

stop worrying about that goat. My man Clovis

will take good care of her.

When Joshua started in fussin, Betsy went out

bak and milked the goat. Aunt Martha sat in a

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rockin chair near the stov feeding Joshua and

singing Mamas song. I cried. I cud not stop. I just

sat in the warm water and the tears kept running.

Aunt Martha give me a real bed to sleep in and

a room of my own. Joshua slept with me. He aint

never ben in a bed before. For that matter, I aint

never seen one the likes of it. It is shiny brass like

gold with a lacy tent over head. Aunt Martha said

it belonged to Mama before she run off with

Papa. She said her own Papa ordered it and had

it shipped all the way from New York.

I wunder if James ever made it to New York

like he wanted. He mit even be in China by now.

Aunt Martha dont ask me a lot of questions.

And she dont look at me like most foks do. The

Reinholtz were in church today and they wud not

look at me at all. On the way home I told Aunt

Martha Joshua is Sally Maes son. It is half-true.

She cried and kist me. She said she loves me and

I can liv with her forever if I want. She said You

are not to worry what people say. The truth always comes

out in the end.

I hope this truth dont.

Aunt Martha thinks as much of edukashun as

Mama did. She says I got a good mind that needs

fillin with good things. To that end, she is tutorin

me in reding, riting, and numbers and teachin me

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the Bible. She says that the only way to do well in

this life is to know the word of God. Mama knew

the Bible front and back and it did not do her

much good at all. I did not tell Aunt Martha this.

I wud rather eat stones than hurt her feelings.

Life does that easy enuf as it is.

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8

S I E R R A W A N D E R E D D O W N T H E C R O W D E D

aisles of the Consumer Electronics Show by herself. The convention center was a beehive of activity. It reminded her of the

state fair with its carnival atmosphere, but here few people were

over the age of thirty and everyone dressed in suits.

Big booths lined both sides of the carpeted aisle. Videos of new

games were going. Neon and vibrant-colored cartoonlike artwork

was everywhere. It was dizzying to the eye and ear. She saw a

short man wearing funky clothes and glitter-framed glasses talking with several taller men in suits. She could tell by the deference

paid him that he was somebody important in the industry.

Sometimes she could tell who was important, sometimes not.

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Alex had introduced her to a man at a party the night before.

He’d looked ordinary enough until he’d left them, then Alex

informed her the man’s company had built a two-million-dollar

studio in his home just so he could work on sound for games.

Someone bumped her, glanced at her badge, mumbled an

apology, and moved on. Everyone looked at badges. Alex could

sniff out sales reps and reporters like a hound in the hunt. Not

that he had to work very hard at it. Reporters from Game Informer,

Blaster magazine, and Next Generation were fighting to make appointments with him.

Lost in the maze of booths and people, Sierra tried to get her

bearings and figure out how to get back to the Beyond Tomorrow booth. It was almost five o’clock and Alex had told her to

meet him there. They needed to go up to their room and change

for a business dinner. The Beyond Tomorrow booth was near

the center with big television screens displaying Alex’s new

game: Camouflage.

Everywhere she turned she heard computer jargon.

“They’ve got the best FMV in the business,” one man crowed,

referring to full-motion video. Alex had explained to her that with

FMV, actors did the fighting and then the sequences were plugged

into the computer to make lifelike graphics. Companies then used

cut-and-paste methods to stick the FMV on top. She heard people

talking about “texture mapping” and “polygon graphics” and hadn’t

the foggiest idea what they were talking about.

Over dinner, she had listened to Alex talk about his work and

his new game. He exuded confidence as he answered questions

and explained his theories and plans. He held his guests’ rapt

attention, fanning their interest. This was a side of her husband

she’d never witnessed before. She was proud of him, of his obvious achievements and his ability to sway others. Yet she had felt

set apart as well—like some kind of nice-looking but totally unnecessary adornment. After the introductions and pleasantries,

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she sat listening. The conversation went on around her, but

hardly a word was directed her way. Half the time she didn’t

even know what they were talking about.

“Do you play your husband’s game, Sierra?” one of the young

men asked her as their dinners were being served.

“No. I’m not much for video games. They’re too quick and

complex for me.”

Alex laughed. “Sierra prefers physical pursuits, like tennis at

the country club, manicures, and shopping.”

The other men laughed with him. She laughed, too, pretending

to share the joke while doing all she could to conceal the surprise

and hurt she felt at his remark. He said it lightly, as though affectionately amused. Yet she felt belittled.

Was that how he saw her? As a shallow young woman with

nothing important to do?

The thought had plagued her all night and most of the day.

God, I don’t even know who I am anymore.

Ahead of her now was a big screen with vividly colored warriors using medieval weapons to hack at one another. One split

the other in half with an axe, sending splashes of neon-red blood

in a shower. Repulsed, Sierra looked away and kept walking. At

least she knew where she was now. Beyond Tomorrow was

down two aisles to the right.

Alex was talking with two men in business suits, while Elizabeth Longford, Beyond Tomorrow’s hotshot merchandising

director, stood alongside him with a clipboard. The young

woman was dressed in a designer suit of deep green. It fitted

her slender body like a glove. No sign of a single wrinkle or

crease, even after a full day of standing on the floor and talking

to sales reps. Elizabeth’s long blonde hair was permed into

kinked tendrils that tumbled down her back.

Sierra had only met Elizabeth a few times and found her cool

and remote. She was very attractive, professional, and ambi1 2 3

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tious. Sierra felt uneasy around her, even more so when she

saw Alex talking with her so easily.

“Yes, she’s young,” Audra said that evening at a party. Sierra

stood beside her near the hors d’oeuvres, sipping champagne.

“She just turned twenty-six a few weeks ago.”

Alex and Steve stood not far away talking business to several

sales reps, who seemed more interested in admiring Elizabeth

in her sleek low-cut black gown. The simple, elegant design

bespoke money. Lots of it.

“She graduated from Wellesley,” Audra said, setting her

champagne down so she could put caviar on a small circle of

melba toast. “She took her masters in marketing at Columbia.”

Sierra watched the younger woman move out onto the dance

floor with one of the reps. Elizabeth’s graceful undulations were

in stark contrast to the enthusiastic gyrations of her partner.

“She’s very lovely,” Sierra said, noticing how Alex and Steve

were both watching her.

“Indeed,” Audra said enigmatically. “She knows how to present herself. She went to finishing school in Switzerland and was

a debutante.” She took up her glass of champagne again. “I asked

her about it, but she disdains the whole thing. Family pressure.

Understandable.” She ate the cracker delicately. “Her father is a

descendant of one of the crew of the Mayflower. ” She looked at

Sierra. “She works very closely with Alex.”

Somehow, Audra’s words held warning. They planted doubt

and fear.

“Do you like Elizabeth?” Sierra asked Alex later in their hotel room.

“She’s good at her job,” he said, loosening his tie.

Hanging up his suit jacket, Sierra waited for him to say more.

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When he didn’t, she looked back at him standing near the windows overlooking the lights of Las Vegas. He was so handsome,

her heart ached. What woman wouldn’t be attracted to him? He

pulled his shirt free of his suit trousers and unbuttoned his collar.

Sierra’s stomach fluttered. How long since they’d come together in passionate need for one another? How long since he’d

held her and kissed her and said he loved her? She loved him so

much. She needed him. Yet he seemed so distant, so distracted.

Whatever thoughts were running through his mind clearly troubled him. Hadn’t things gone as well as expected tonight? Or

was it something else?

Her throat ached. She wanted to say something but couldn’t

trust her voice. They had been fighting so much lately, usually

about the most trivial things. She wasn’t sure what Alex would

do if she reached out to him. She wanted to be close to him again,

the way they used to be when they could talk about anything,

when just being together and touching one another had been

heaven. Now it took all her courage to cross the room.

Brushing his hands away, she unbuttoned his shirt for him. “I

love you, Alex.” He didn’t say anything. He didn’t touch her. But

he didn’t turn away either. When she finished, she looked up at

him. “I’ll never stop loving you.”

Frowning, he searched her eyes.

She couldn’t read his expression. Fear suddenly overwhelmed

her, and she couldn’t even say why.

His eyes softened. Sighing, he cupped her face. “You’ve always driven me crazy, Sierra,” he said, his voice deep and rough

as his fingers stroked her skin. He didn’t look happy about it.

“Te amo muchísimo,” she whispered.

He loosened her French braid. Combing his fingers into her

hair, he kissed her.

Sighing in relief, she let the passion sweep through her.

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Nothing has changed, not really, she told herself, wanting desperately to believe it.

It has been a long time since I wrote in this journal.

I have had little time to do anything over the

past months except complete the work Aunt Martha prepares for me. I am not complaining. She

says she has Great Expectations for me. When I

do well, she is more pleased than I. While everyone else in this town seems to look upon me as

Mary Magdalene still possessed of demons, Aunt

Martha sees me as Pure Delight. It is beyond me

why. I question everything she teaches me. She

listens and makes no condemnations while others

would not even give me the time of day.

Aunt Martha tells me I was God’s gift to her.

She has never been married and therefore has

never had children of her own. Now, she has two,

me and Joshua.

Joshua is growing so quickly. Sometimes I am

afraid. I can see Sally Mae in him. He has her

blue eyes and gold hair. I see Papa, too. But it is

the other things in him I see that disturb me. He

has Papa’s hot temper and Sally Mae’s lust for

life. I love Joshua so much. But I wonder what

he will become.

Everyone in Galena thinks Joshua is my child.

It is well they do. They think less of me, but treat

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him kindly. I think they do so for Aunt Martha’s

sake. She is a Strong Force in this community.

Everyone loves and respects her. She is the Gentlest of Ladies and given to Good Works. They

tolerate me for her sake. They love Joshua for his

own. He is beautiful like Sally Mae and as charming as Papa used to be. Aunt Martha said it was

Papa’s charm and good looks that won Mama’s

heart.

I am restless tonight. I dont know why. I have

the oddest feeling something is going to happen.

Whether good or bad, I do not know.

Thomas Atwood Houghton is what was about

to happen. He is an old and dear friend of Aunt

Martha’s who has come to visit. Everyone was a

twitter when he came to church. He is very Well

Known because he has Money and Land and

Connections. Why he is here I am not certain. He

told Aunt Martha he was in Galena on Business,

but what kind of Business is Unclear.

I was a shock to him. He looked at me in the

strangest way when first we met. Calf’s eyes, Aunt

Martha said. She believes he is taken with me. She

is very pleased, but I am filled with Misgivings.

Thomas is as kind as Aunt Martha. Joshua

adores him. Everyone in Galena is taken with

Thomas. I like Thomas also, but he has made it

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clear he is thinking in terms of Matrimony. He

spoke to Aunt Martha about it and she spoke to

me. Why he wants to marry me I do not know.

There is not a young unmarried woman in this

town who would not be delighted with the prospect of being Thomas Atwood Houghton’s wife.

He is a contrary man to court a girl who aint

interested.

I gathered my courage and asked him straight

out what he was thinking. He said he did not

want a simpering maid, but a girl who spoke her

mind. I said Aunt Martha speaks her mind. He

said Martha is his dearest and best friend. I said

he would be wise to marry her. She is more suited

to him and closer to his own age. He said it is a

matter of love and not practicality.

It seems to me the harder I resist the more determined he is to make me his wife. So I am going to

simper and sigh. Perhaps this will shake him loose.

The announcement of my betrothal to Thomas

has changed my life completely. People speak to

me now. They are even Polite. Some pretend to

be friends. Elmira Standish insisted I come to her

afternoon tea and visit with the ladies of the

Women’s Society. Aunt Martha is a member. She

has not gone to any meetings since I came to live

with her, but she attended with me yesterday.

I am thankful she did.

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Several young ladies spoke with me now that

I am considered acceptable company. Their mamas

watched, but did not call them back. The girls

were full of questions, not about Thomas, but

about Joshua’s father. I could feel my face go all

hot. One girl said they heard my child’s papa was

a mountain man who spent the winter at our

homestead. Another heard he was a drummer.

One girl said her mama was very Upset because

I had charmed Thomas the same way Sally Mae

Grayson had charmed poor Noah Carnegie.

I asked about that.

Sally Mae is remembered. Her poor grandmama

died before I got here. One girl said old Missus

Grayson passed on to heaven just so she would

never go through hell with Sally Mae again. I

asked her meaning, and another said Sally Mae

was the sort of girl who bewitched men that were

her betters. She was looking straight at me when

she said it and I got her meaning clear enough.

Another said Sally Mae’s last beau was Noah, son

of one of the elders in the church. He came confessing to Sally Mae’s grandmama about what

they was doing on their Sunday rides together.

The other girl glaring at me said you know what

a girl like that will do to get a man. The other said

Noah was a foolish boy and wanted to marry

Sally Mae and make things right. I thought of

poor Matthew making things right. But Noah had

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poor Missus Grayson come to his rescue. She

sent Sally Mae packing. After she did, Missus

Grayson did not come out of her house again.

The doctor went to see her, and people asked

after her. But it was clear to everyone that the

poor woman pined away out of pure shame over

having Sally Mae for a granddaughter. As for

poor Noah, he finally came to his senses and realized what sort of girl Sally Mae was. When he

did, he was so overcome with shame and grief, he

stood up in church and confessed his sins to the

entire congregation. That is how everyone in

town came to know about everything.

One of them said she wondered if Sally Mae

would ever come back to Galena after the Great

Scandal she had caused. I held my tongue. My

feelings were over large right then. I almost said

Sally Mae had destroyed my family. But had I

said it, they would have descended on me like a

flock of crows pecking and wanting to know the

gory details of how and why. If I answered, they

would have spread the Terrible Truth all over

town like manure on a field.

It is better for Joshua if everyone goes on

thinking he is mine than to know he came out of

Sally Mae Grayson.

Poor Matthew. I cry every time I think of him.

I miss him something fierce. Just like I miss

Mama. I wonder where he went after he burned

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Papa’s fields. I wonder if I will ever see him

again. And if I did, what would he say to me

about Joshua? Would he hate me the same way

Papa does? I think he would. But that does not

change my mind about what I did or why.

Aunt Martha says daily God is in control. If

that is so, God has made a fine mess of things.

Aunt Martha says there is a good reason for

everything that happens. She says God has a Plan

for everyone. I wanted to scream when she said it.

Was it God’s plan that Mama die alone choking

on her own blood? Was it God’s plan Papa turn

into a drunk? Was it God’s plan Matthew marry

Sally Mae who brought grief to everyone? Was it

God’s plan Papa father a child on his son’s wife?

And what of kind, loving, faithful Matthew?

What did he do to deserve what he got? What

good reason is there for any of the Terrible things

that happened?

Aunt Martha does not know everything. I

would be the last to tell her so. She is happy in

her Ignorance. I hope Aunt Martha stays blind. I

would not like for her to know about the dirtiness

and meanness of life. I would rather die than have

her know about the shame Papa brought upon us

all. Aunt Martha’s Jesus heals the sick, raises the

dead, and feeds the five thousand. Just like

Mama’s Jesus. Let her hold to that fine fairy tale.

The Jesus I know stands by and does nothing.

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He dont save nobody or put out fires. He starts

them. Maybe he is like the gods on Olympus that

I have been reading about. They enjoy playing

with people too. When they get tired of someone,

they throw him away. Maybe that is what God

did. He got tired of Mama and Sally Mae and

Matthew and Papa. Maybe our Father who art in

heaven is like those other gods. I couldn’t help

thinking it would be better if Jesus just sat and

watched the play unfold beneath him, but took no

part in it, either good or bad.

And then sometimes I wonder if Jesus is just a

man in a big black book.

I do not know anymore. I cannot bear to think

about it much.

When I was a little girl and Mama and I picked

flowers in the meadow, I thought God was there

with us. I loved him and talked to him the way

Mama taught me. I thought God was everywhere,

even inside us. Mama always said it was so. And

I believed her. I always believed everything

Mama said.

I do not believe in anything now. It hurts less.

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9

“ Y O U ’ R E G O I N G T O H A V E T O G E T A J O B . ” A L E X ’ S

dark eyes were grim.

“A job?” she said, astonished. She hadn’t had a job since they

got married. “Why?”

“Because the bills have been stacking up for the past six

months, and I don’t see any other way around it.”

“You said we had more than enough money.”

“That was before you started having lunch at the club every day of

the week. The bill last month alone was fourteen hundred dollars!” He

tossed it onto the desk, where he’d been working on their accounts.

“Fourteen hundred dollars?” she said weakly, feeling the

blood drain from her face.

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Alex swore in Spanish. “Don’t you even bother to look at the

slips you sign or keep track of what you’re spending?” he said in

disgust.

Hand shaking, she picked up the bill and looked at it. Running her finger down the column, she saw she wasn’t entirely at

fault. “Green fees and dinners account for more than half of this

bill.”

“Those are business expenses!” he said hotly.

They still came out of their pocket until the end of the year and

taxes. Last year, they’d ended up paying more. That had been a

shock after ten years of getting refunds. “Alex, you were the one

who encouraged me to go and meet—”

“Not every day of the week! I thought going to the club would

give you something constructive to do with your time. You were

sitting around every day watching soap operas, reading romances, and feeling sorry for yourself.”

She dropped the bill from the country club back onto the desk.

He was making her the cause of all their financial problems.

How convenient. “I’m not the one who gave Bruce Davies carte

blanche and ended up with eighty-six thousand dollars in decorating expenses. That’s when the problems started.”

A muscle jerked in his jaw and his eyes darkened. “The trouble

started when you decided you needed a closet full of clothes so

you could keep up with Marcia Burton and the rest of her bourgeois friends.”

“If anyone’s bourgeois, it’s us.”

Alex’s face hardened.

“You’re the one who told me to buy some clothes,” she went

on, lowering her voice.

“I want your credit cards.”

“You’re not being fair about any of this! You always blame

everything on me! You go out to lunch in expensive restaurants

every day of the week and pick up the tab for whoever comes

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along. You bought three tailored suits and half a dozen shirts just

last week. And then you say I’m spending too much on clothes!”

“I work for a living.”

She froze at the look of contempt on his face.

She worked, too, not that he ever noticed. She drove the children to and from school, sports activities, and doctor and dentist

appointments. She attended parent-teacher meetings and open

houses. She planned menus, shopped, and cooked dinner,

though he was seldom ever home to enjoy it. Who did he think

kept the house neat and clean during the week? A maid? Who

did he think washed and ironed their clothes and saw that his expensive suits were cleaned and hanging neatly in the closet? She

ran the hundred and one errands he gave her every day of her

miserable life, and he never even bothered to say thank you!

Hot tears filled her eyes. “Fine.” Anger and resentment filled

her until she was shaking with it. She got her purse, took out her

wallet, and extracted four credit cards. She tossed them on the

desk.

“What’re you going to do?” Alex said. “Cry? That’ll solve a lot,

won’t it!”

“No. I’m going to get a job.”

Alex raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “Keep the

cards. Just don’t use them for a while. And forget about getting a

job. I don’t want Steve getting wind of this mess.” He gave a derisive laugh. “What would you find anyway? You’ve got a few

months of business school. Big deal! Any job you’d get would

pay a pittance.” He swore. “Just back off on the club for a while

until I can figure out how to juggle things around and pay some

of these bills down.”

Sierra stood in stony silence. When he left, she cut up the

credit cards and tucked them into the bill box, where he was sure

to find them. Then she called Marcia. “Do you know anyone

who might have a job opening?”

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“A job?” Marcia said in surprise.

“I’m sick of being made to feel like a parasite,” she said, her

voice wobbling.

“Did you and Alex have another fight?”

“Do bears live in the forest?”

“I’m sorry, Sierra.”

“I’m tired of this, Marcia. Sick to death of it.” She stopped,

clutching the telephone receiver so tightly her hand ached.

“Ron Peirozo was over yesterday telling Tom he’s in dire need

of a secretary right now. Judy’s baby is due at the end of the

month. Do you have any secretarial training?”

“I went to business college before marrying Alex, but I didn’t

graduate.”

“Well, charity organizations should be charitable.”

“A charity? Didn’t you introduce me to Ron Peirozo a few

months ago at the club?” Sierra said. He didn’t have the appearance of someone working for a charity.

“As a matter of fact, yes. I’d forgotten.” Marcia laughed. “I can

hear what you’re thinking. No, he wasn’t spending charity donations. He has his own money. His grandfather died and left him a

lot of money, as well as a heart for philanthropy. The first thing

Ron did was give several hundred thousand dollars to his alma

mater for scholarships for minority students. Then he set up

Outreach. As long as I’ve known Ron, he’s been involved in

community work of some sort. He’s generous and brilliant. Besides that, his family connections bring him in contact with some

of the most influential and wealthy people in the country. He

could charm money out of the meanest miser and make them feel

good about writing the check.”

“I don’t think he’d be interested in someone like me,” Sierra

said, positive she lacked the qualifications to work for a man like

Ron Peirozo.

“Nonsense. He’s looking for someone to handle office details.

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I’ll call him. If the position’s still open I’ll let you know, and you

can see about making an appointment with him for an interview.”

“I don’t know, Marcia.”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained. You have to take control

of your life.”

Sierra did her grocery shopping and picked up two of Alex’s

suits at the cleaners. On the way home, she stopped by the post

office for more stamps. She’d put the last one on a letter to her

mother this morning.

The telephone was ringing as she came into the kitchen from

the garage. She laid the suits over the counter, deposited a bag of

groceries beside it, and made a lunge for the telephone as it rang

again. “Hello,” she said breathlessly, dumping her purse and

keys on the counter.

“Sierra? Sierra Madrid?”

“Yes,” she said, frowning slightly. The man’s voice was

vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “Speaking.”

“This is Ron Peirozo. Marcia said you might be interested in a

job.”

She felt her face go hot. “Yes,” she said simply, heart thumping

nervously. “I thought I should do something more important

than play tennis and drink iced tea at the club.”

He laughed. “Still beating Marcia?”

She relaxed slightly. “Once in a while, when her guard’s

down.”

“Would it be convenient for you to come in tomorrow morning

for an interview?”

“That would be fine. What time?”

“Nine, unless that’s too early at such short notice.”

“Nine is perfect.”

“I’ll outline the position for you. Once I’ve done that, you may

have second thoughts about working for me.”

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“I doubt that, Mr. Peirozo, but you may have second thoughts.

How much did Marcia tell you?”

“Just that you were looking for a job.”

“I went to business college but didn’t finish. Basically, I’ve

been a wife and mother. That’s it.”

He chuckled. “Seems to me that’s a pretty big responsibility.”

“I thought so,” she said dryly. “Some people wouldn’t agree.”

“All right,” he said slowly, mulling over her remark. “Are you

willing to work hard?”

“Yes.”

“Are you willing to learn?”

“Yes.”

“Will you take directions?”

“Yes.”

“Can you type?”

“Yes.”

“Shorthand?”

“Some.”

“You’ve got the qualifications. I’ll see you at nine.”

Alex called at six that evening. “I’m going to be late.” Big

surprise. Dinner was already on the table and the children were

eating. “Steve and I are going over the new promo stuff,” he

went on when she didn’t say anything.

“Do you want me to keep your dinner in the oven?” she said,

proud of how calm she sounded.

“No, thanks. We’ll order something in.”

At ten-thirty she gave up waiting for him and went to bed. She

awakened at one in the morning when she heard the garage door

open. She had left the bathroom light on so he could find his way

around the room.

“Did you and Steve get everything done?” she said groggily,

watching him go into the walk-in closet to take off his clothes.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

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Shrugging out of his suit jacket, he tossed it over a chair and

headed into the master bathroom. She heard him turn on the

shower. The glass door snapped closed. He let the water run so

long, she fell asleep again and didn’t awaken until the alarm went

off at five-thirty.

“Didn’t you reset the alarm?” she said sleepily.

“I’m getting up.”

She brushed some hair back from her face. “You worked until

one o’clock in the morning, Alex. Is Steve turning into a slave

driver?”

He sat up and raked his hands back through his hair. “Steve’ll

be in the office by six-thirty,” he said, his back to her.

She sensed something was wrong. Was it the fight they’d

had yesterday? She’d had time to think things over and cool

down. She reached out to touch him, but before she could, he

got up and left the bedroom. Pushing the comforter back, she

got out of bed, pulled on her robe, and followed. She found

him in the kitchen, watching the stream of coffee filling the

carafe. She knew he was aware of her standing there, but he

didn’t look at her. He pulled the carafe out and poured himself

a cup of coffee.

“What’s wrong, Alex?”

“Nothing,” he said, a muscle clenching in his jaw.

“If it’s the bills, I—”

“Look. I’m tired. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

“You’re still angry with me. You still think it’s my fault.”

He winced. “I don’t want to talk about it, Sierra.”

She could feel him building the wall between them. “You don’t

want to talk about anything, do you?”

He looked at her, his eyes brooding. “Not now.”

“Fine. Maybe this will please you. I have a job interview this

morning. You could wish me luck.” She turned around and

headed for the bedroom before he could see the tears in her eyes.

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Alex swore and slammed his cup of coffee down. “I told you

not to get a job!”

She slammed the bedroom door. Dragging in her breath, she

clenched her fists. She wanted to scream and cry at the same

time. What was happening to them? They couldn’t say two sentences to one another without getting into another fight.

Alex came into the bedroom, looking upset. “You don’t have to

go to work. We’ll just cut back on spending until we catch up. I

want you to stay home.”

“Why? So you have a convenient scapegoat? You told me the

bills are my fault, Alex. You said I spend too much on clothes.

You told me when I’m not spending all your money at the club

with my bourgeois friends, I’m sitting around watching soap

operas, reading romances, and feeling sorry for myself!” She

could hardly see through the sheen of hot tears.

“I was mad, Sierra. I said a lot of things. So did you!”

“I’m sick of being made to feel I’m on the dole! You think I

don’t do anything around here. Well, you’re not around to see

what I do! The only thing that matters to you anymore is how

much money a person makes. And I don’t make any, do I, Alex?

So that makes me less than nothing in your eyes.”

He grimaced. “I didn’t say that.”

“You say it every day in a hundred ways.” Her voice cracked.

When he took a step toward her, she took two back. “You were

so worried about what Steve might think if your wife had to get a

job. Well, if I am lucky enough to get this job, you can tell him I

work for a charity organization. Maybe he’ll think I’m volunteering.” She went into the bathroom and locked the door.

Paradoxically, she hoped he’d knock and tell her to come out

so they could talk. She hoped he’d say he was sorry for blaming

her for their financial problems and admit that some of them

were of his own making.

He did neither.

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“We’ll talk it over later,” he said flatly. She heard the doors to

the walk-in closet open and knew he was getting dressed to go to

work.

Sierra sat down on the commode lid and wept silently.

“I’ll call you later,” Alex said.

It sounded like another empty promise.

When she had no more tears, she took a long shower and decided what to wear for her job interview with Ronal Peirozo.

Suddenly, getting that job mattered more than anything.

Clanton and Carolyn said little over breakfast. Sierra knew

they were aware something was wrong, and they didn’t want to

know what it was. She tried to be reassuring, but tears were too

close to the surface, anger just beneath it.

She pulled into the gates of the private school, kissed each of

them good-bye, and said she’d see them later.

Half an hour later, she walked through the front door of L.A.

Outreach. It was precisely nine o’clock by her watch. A middleaged lady in a flowered dress sat at the reception desk. Still

speaking on the telephone, she glanced up and smiled warmly.

As she put the phone back in its cradle, she said brightly, “Good

morning! My, what a lovely suit.”

“Thank you,” Sierra said, put somewhat at ease by the lady’s

warmth. She had chosen an expensive golden brown suit and

cream silk blouse. On the lapel, she’d pinned a gold brooch of

three children holding hands. “My name is Sierra Madrid. I have

an appointment with Mr. Peirozo.”

“Yes. We’ve been expecting you.” She rose and extended her

hand. “My name is Arlene Whiting. I’ll show you the way, Mrs.

Madrid.” She led Sierra down a corridor and tapped on a door.

As she opened it, Sierra saw a much younger woman, obviously

pregnant, rise from the chair in front of Ron Peirozo’s desk. She

smiled warmly.

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Sierra immediately felt overdressed. Judy was in a simple cotton maternity dress.

Ron was wearing Levi’s, a lightweight pale pullover sweater,

and a navy blue sport coat.

“Ron, this is Sierra Madrid,” Arlene said, ushering her in.

“Sierra, this is Ron Peirozo and his secretary, Judy Franklin.”

Brief pleasantries were exchanged, and the two women went

out, leaving her alone with Ron.

“Right on time,” he said, grinning. “I like that. Please sit

down.”

“Thank you,” she said and took the seat Judy had just vacated.

She crossed her legs carefully and folded her hands in her lap,

hoping she didn’t look as nervous as she felt.

“Let me tell you a little about Outreach to start off,” Ron said.

He spent the next half hour explaining the mission of the organization he had founded less than five years before. The primary

goal of Outreach was to place homeless children in safe housing

and encourage them to become responsible, productive citizens

in the community. Ron raised money and dispensed it to shelters

and foster families. Equally important, he maintained a list of

professional counselors who volunteered a portion of their time

as arbitrators between parents and runaways.

“We want to restore these children to their families whenever

possible. Sometimes that takes time. Sometimes they need protection.”

He also maintained an extensive list of agencies and services

available to families in trouble. Many of the children who came

in contact with L.A. Outreach were referred to drug rehabilitation programs, medical treatment, and counseling for incest,

physical and emotional abuse, and any number of other serious

problems.

Several major denominational churches were involved in the

program, supplying volunteer tutors.

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“We’ve had good luck. Twenty children passed high school

equivalency exams last year. Four times that many have returned to grade schools and high schools throughout the county.

Six started college in September. Twelve are in trade schools.

Twenty-seven got jobs this year. The numbers aren’t big, I know,

but every case is important.”

Each child who entered the Outreach program was required

to spend two hours a day, Monday through Friday, in community service. “They groan about it in the beginning, but they

cooperate. After a while, they learn that helping others makes

them feel better about themselves. That’s when the incentive

changes and things get exciting.”

His eyes glowed as he spoke. There was no doubt about his

love for his work or for the children he hoped to help.

“The churches are instrumental in helping us with this part of

the program. These kids aren’t picking up trash along a road

somewhere. They’re mowing lawns for the elderly, helping at

day-care centers, serving meals to shut-ins, assisting at convalescent hospitals, any number of things that bring them into contact

with people in the community.” He grinned. “You’ll hear people

talking about ‘going AWOL.’ Don’t let it throw you. It means

they’re going on ‘a work of love.’”

_

“Do the children come here in order to get into the program?”

“Not very often. Unfortunately. Frankly, finding these kids was

one of our main problems in the beginning. I used to go downtown

with a friend of mine and talk to the kids we found living on the

streets. Some of them didn’t have any reason to trust an adult, let

alone listen to one. It’s getting easier the longer we’re around.

We’ve employed six kids who’ve come through the program to go

back on the streets and spread the word we’re here and ready to

offer help to those who want it. Kids listen better to kids.”

Ron leaned forward, his blue eyes filled with warm intensity

and passion for what he was doing.

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“The whole idea of the program is to get as broad a base of

community people involved with these children as possible,” he

said. “At the same time, we try to keep a low profile. I want people sincere in their concern, not people out to get plaudits. It’s

one-on-one. Personal. We don’t send out mass mailers asking for

donations. We don’t do radio or television spots. We don’t have

celebrities heading up committees or movie stars acting as

spokesmen. We don’t give out plaques or public congratulations.

And we don’t go door-to-door asking for donations.”

“How do you raise money to fund all this?”

“Fund-raisers. Word of mouth mostly. Some of my friends

helped me in the beginning. I speak to different congregations

and community groups. People spread the word. We don’t always meet our budget, but God always sees we have enough

money to meet our needs.”

Ron Peirozo mentioned God as easily as her mother did, as

though the Almighty was personally involved in his life and

work. She felt herself relaxing even more.

He leaned back slowly and smiled at her. “You finally unclenched your hands.”

Sierra blushed. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

“I notice a lot of things,” he said cryptically, studying her.

“You haven’t said what the job I’m applying for would entail.”

“Simple,” he said, all business again. “You’d assist me in everything I do.”

“I’m sure there’s a lot more to it than that, Mr. Peirozo.”

“Call me Ron. I intend to call you Sierra. We’re not formal

around here.”

She could feel herself growing excited as he talked. He had

important work to do, and he wanted her to help. She couldn’t

remember the last time she had felt so good. She knew she

would like working for Ron Peirozo. If he hired her.

“I haven’t much in the way of qualifications,” she said frankly,

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wanting to get to the bottom line. Maybe it would hurt less if she

got the whole thing over.

He smiled, his eyes warming. “I thought we already settled

that. You can type.”

“Ninety words a minute.”

“And take shorthand.”

“Yes, but it’s been ten years since I used it.”

“Don’t worry about it. I tape most of my letters while I’m

trapped in five o’clock traffic. You’ll find a tape on your desk

each morning.”

He talked as though he’d already given her the job.

Ron picked up a pencil and tapped it lightly. He had strong,

nicely shaped hands. Sierra noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

“The pay isn’t great. You’ll start at fourteen hundred a month.”

Enough to pay last month’s country club bill, she thought,

though she doubted Alex would appreciate the gesture. “Then I

have the job?”

“If you want it.”

She laughed. “When can I start?”

He grinned. “How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow will be fine,” she said, relieved and elated. “Nine?”

“Nine it is.” Ron stood as she did.

“Thank you,” she said, extending her hand as Ron came

around his desk. He enclosed her hand firmly but didn’t linger as

he had the first time they’d met at the club. “I appreciate the opportunity you’re giving me, Ron. I hope I won’t disappoint you.”

“You won’t,” he said with such certainty, she felt bolstered.

She spent a few minutes talking with Judy and Arlene. Both

seemed genuinely delighted that she was coming to work for

Outreach. “Ron is a terrific boss,” Judy said.

As Sierra walked out to her BMW, she realized what it was

she liked so much about Ron Peirozo. He made her feel like an

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attractive woman. Not only that, he made her feel worthwhile,

intelligent, and capable.

She hadn’t felt that way in a long, long time.

James Farr is in Galena.

I saw him in the mercantile today and almost

fainted. Aunt Martha had sent me for some white

ribbon. Thomas accompanied me and Joshua. He

likes to stroll through town with me on his arm.

Or so he says. We went into Coopers and he took

Joshua to the counter to buy a stick of candy.

I was looking at some new bolts of cloth.

And then there was James, standing in the

doorway. My heart beat so fast. He must have felt

me staring at him, for he looked around and saw

me. He smiled. He has never smiled at me like

that before. He came to say hello. I could not

draw breath when he did. Thomas saw him and

came over to stand beside me. When he picked up

Joshua and handed him to me, James tipped his

hat to both of us and left the store.

I dont think he even knows who I was.

James came by the house today. Aunt Martha was

not home. She had gone to market with Betsy.

Clovis drove them. So it was I who opened the door

to him. Joshua went right out to him as if James

were an old friend of the family. James laughed and

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picked him up. I didn’t know you the other day in

the mercantile, he said. Little Mary Kathryn

McMurray all grown up and pretty as a princess.

I said I could not invite him in as no one was home

and it would not look proper with me betrothed and

all. He is too old for you, Mary Kathryn, he said. It

is all decided, I said. Who decided, he wanted to

know. I took Joshua back from him and said it

would be better if he called when Aunt Martha was

home. He said he would do that.

Thomas left for his homestead today. He must

take care of his business. He kissed me before he

left. It was a first kiss and chaste. I feel guilty for

my lack of feeling. I care for Thomas, but wonder

how we will fare together as man and wife. He

told Aunt Martha to watch out for me. I told him

not to worry. I can watch out for myself. It is a

wonder why he wants me as a wife when he treats

me like a child.

James came today. I introduced him to Aunt Martha. He stayed for a full hour talking about home

and Matthew and Mama and Papa. He asked so

many questions. I could not answer many. I gave

him the facts. Mama died of consumption. Papa

still grieves. Sally Mae and Matthew married.

Sally Mae died in childbirth and Matthew went

away. I have not seen my brother since. James did

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not ask a single question about how I came to have

Joshua. I wonder what he thinks about that.

Aunt Martha was very quiet when James left.

I asked her if something was wrong. She said I

must be careful where James is concerned. I did

not ask why. I know.

A mere look from James touches something

deep inside me. When he is close, my heart

pounds and I can scarse draw breath. Thomas

Atwood Houghton loves me and I feel nothing

at all.

I am in a terrible quandary. I dont know what

to do.

This morning, I was feeling so restless. Perhaps

it was a portent of what was going to happen.

Joshua was fussing and Aunt Martha needed

rest. So I took him out for a walk. Everything is

in bloom. I think the scent of spring went straight

to my head. I walked far from the road and let

Joshua play in a small meadow.

James followed me. I thought I imagined him

at first standing at the edge of the wood, watching me. He has been so much in my thoughts

of late. I cannot get him out of my head no

matter how much I try. I try to think about

Thomas and our approaching wedding, but my

heart betrays me and it is James who comes

to mind. But James was not conjured by my

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imagination. He was real. All too real, as it

turned out.

James came to me, and while Joshua played,

sat with me in the soft grass amidst the flowers.

He spoke of casual things at first. I did not stop to

think why he came upon me as he did. I was so

pleased to see him. Pleased and afraid. My stomach was trembling and my heart pounded so hard.

I asked him about his travels to New York and

the Carolinas and England. I delighted in his

voice and the look in his eyes as he talked. It

made me sad in part, too. I kept wondering how

long it would be before he left again, breaking my

heart as he did before.

James took my hand.

I said it was not proper for him to do so. He

said he did not care what was proper. He said I

could not marry Thomas Atwood Houghton. He

will never make you happy, he said. I told him

Thomas was a good and kind man. James said

that may be, Mary Kathryn, but you are not in

love with him. I said love will come in time.

James said it took us no time at all. I knew I

should leave right then, but instead, I said I did

not know what he meant. He told me not to lie.

He said we both knew the moment we saw each

other in the mercantile. He said Thomas knew it

too. I said I did not know what he was talking

about and he said he would show me.

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James kissed me. It was not a kiss like Thomas

gave me. It was not chaste or gentle. James shook

me so badly inside I could only think to get away

before I was consumed by the fire he set inside

me. I pushed him away and got up. I told him he

could not court me like Sally Mae Grayson.

I ran to fetch Joshua, but James caught up

with me. He said he never wanted to marry Sally

Mae and it was an awful pity Matthew did. I told

him to let go of me. He said he would hold onto

me as long as he lived. You belong to me, Mary

Kathryn McMurray. You have since you were a

child and well you know it. I told him he was a

bad bargain. And he said not as bad a bargain as

it would be if you marry a man you do not love.

I shud of run then. But I didn’t and he kissed me

again. When I could get my breath back, I told

him to leave Galena. He said he would leave

when I was ready to go with him and not before.

I said he was crazy. He laughed and said he was.

Crazy in love.

And now, here I sit in the quiet of my room,

trying to think of a way out of this mess I am in.

Aunt Martha has been weeping all afternoon.

Thomas came to call this morning and I told him

I could not marry him. I told him why. He said he

would give me time to come to my senses. I said

I should have stuck with my senses in the first

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place and never agreed to marry him. I told him

I never intended to hurt or anger him. I admire

and respect him as a dear friend. I said I did not

love him. He said it was not love I was feeling for

James Farr. He said I should marry him and put

away childish fantasies and passions. He said he

would leave me alone to think about what I will

be giving up.

I feel guilty for breaking my word to him. It

would be worse if I married him and broke my

heart and his and James in the bargain. But

Thomas does not see things the way I do.

I went down on my knees before Aunt Martha

and tried to explain. She said she knew very well

what had happened. She said you are your

mother’s daughter, Mary Kathryn. She said some

men are like strong wine that go straight to a

girl’s head and then they spend the rest of their

lives paying for the pleasure. If you do this thing,

Mary Kathryn, your life will be a trial. James will

take you into the wilderness. She said she had

hoped and prayed for better to happen to me than

happened to my mother.

James and I have been married for seventy-three

days, nine hours, and fifteen minutes and I have

not suffered one bit! He has made me so happy

I have had no time to write. I have delighted in

every minute with James.

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We almost did not get married at all. It was

Aunt Martha who insisted pastor perform the

ceremony. He did not want to do it, but Aunt

Martha said I must be joined to James before the

Lord and if pastor refused, it would be on his

head when we went off and lived in sin together.

So he did the ceremony short as he knew how.

Aunt Martha, Betsy, and Clovis stood up with

us. No one else came. I am a pariah once again,

but I do not care. We are living in a small cabin

on the edge of town near the mill and I see little of

people anyway. James said we will go live in Chicago as soon as he has enough money to get us

there.

This rented cabin is just fine. James makes me

happy. When he holds me, I forget everything but

how much I love him. I dont care what they all

say.

James has taken work at the sawmill. He leaves

early in the morning and does not come home

until sunset.

There is little to do in this small cabin and only

Joshua to keep me company. I spend most of the

day thinking about James and waiting for him to

come home. I have started a little garden.

James brought Aunt Martha. He is worried about

me because I have been sick so much of late. Aunt

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Martha made me chamomile tea and we talked

for a long time about many things. She asked me

Questions. Some of them surprised me they were

so personal. She kissed me like Mama used to and

said I was not to worry. Everything is fine, she

said. She called for James. When he came in, Aunt

Martha told us what was wrong with me.

I am going to have a baby this winter.

Or die trying.

I am afraid. I never been so afraid before. Not

when Mama died. Not even when Papa kicked

me out of the house with winter coming. I was

not this afraid when I tended Sally Mae during

her last hours on this earth. But then what happened to her wasn’t happening to me. Now I

wonder if it will.

Sally Mae was a fine one for letting her passions rule her and so it appears am I. James

knows how to make me happy. He said that is the

way it is supposed to be between a man and wife.

He said it says so in the Bible. I asked him where.

He could not show me but swears its true. I do

not dare ask pastor. He thinks I am a Jezebel and

treats me so. I will go to hell if he has anything to

say about it and he talks to God all the time.

I cannot tell James about my fears. James

knows something is wrong but he will only

worry. I learned early worry changes nothing.

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I spoke with Aunt Martha yesterday. I could

not tell her either I was so ashamed. She agreed

to take Joshua when my time comes. She said

she would keep him until I was settled with my

new baby. I know now even Aunt Martha

thinks Joshua is mine. She mustve thot I wuz

lying when I told her Sally Mae had him. I

cried. I could not help it. She asked me why

but I would not say. It hurts when people think

the worst of you. I told her if I die I want

Joshua to stay with her forever. She said I am

strong and healthy and should have no problems. It was on my tongue to tell her Sally Mae

was strong and healthy, too. Aunt Martha says

I must trust the Lord. She said God loves you,

Mary Kathryn Farr.

I have no reason to trust God and little proof he

loves me. I could not tell Aunt Martha that. She is

so convinced and she would ask Questions. Even if

I told her the whole truth, she probably would

not believe it. She would probably think I was

lying about the trouble like she thinks I lied about

Joshua. Sometimes I have difficulty when I think

on the matter. When I think of Papa, I remember

the way he used to be when Mama was alive.

I wrote a letter to Thomas Atwood Houghton

and asked him to forgive me. Maybe my mind

will be at rest if he does. Right now, I feel all

manner of demons coming to rest upon my head.

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It has been a month and Thomas has not

responded to my letter. I went into Galena yesterday with James. I asked him to take me to church

with Aunt Martha. So he did.

Only pastor spoke to us. Briefly. About the

weather.

I reckon God feels the same.

The leaves are turning red and yellow. Joshua is

my comfort all day while James is gone.

Aunt Martha came yesterday day to visit. I did

not feel up to talking much.

Aunt Martha came back this morning. She

brought books with her. She said just because

I am married does not mean I must let my mind

go to waste. I am glad of her company. While

I study and write lessons, she plays with Joshua.

Henry James Farr was born at sunup on December 11. He entered the world with a strong pair of

lungs.

James fainted dead away before his son was

born. He lay on the cabin floor, no use to me at

all. I washed Henry and wrapped him in the cotton blanket. More came from me. It seemed it

would not stop. I have never been so weak. By

the time I washed myself, changed my nightgown,

I had barely the strength to crawl back into bed.

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I fell asleep with my son. When I woke up next

day, James was in bed with us, his arm around us

both.

Joshua came home today. I have missed him terribly. He is my child. It dont matter how I came to

have him. He may look like his father and mother,

but that dont mean he will be like them. Henry is a

week old and a fine, strong baby. Joshua tries to

crawl into my lap when I nurse him.

I am joyful tonight. James is asleep on our bed.

Our son is sleeping soundly in the cradle near the

fire. Joshua is sleeping beside it bundled in his

blankets. He scorns his bed because he wants to

be close to his baby brother. Sometimes I think

Joshua guards him the way Matthew guarded

me. Everything is so peaceful. Especially me.

Aunt Martha brought me a package today

labelled Master Henry James Farr care of Martha Werner. In it was a beautiful silver spoon and

small cup. And this note.

My dearest Mary Kathryn, May God always bless

you and your family. Always your friend, Tom.

I wept when I read it.

My heart is full to overflowing.

Henry James turned four months old today. He

will have a sister or brother come late fall. James

is pleased. Aunt Martha is mortified. She turned

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dark pink when I told her. She said it is too soon.

What of your health? And think what people will

say. I said I was stronger than most and she could

tell everyone it must be God’s will James and I be

fruitful and multiply.

The truth is I have few pleasures in this world

and no wish to shun James embrace. I told him

what Aunt Martha said. He laughed. I said it was

not funny. He said she is innocent and modest. As

to the rest, they are jealous. He said everyone will

get used to us having a baby every year and think

nothing of it.

Martha Elizabeth was born midday November

20. She is healthy and beautiful. Aunt Martha

was here at her coming into the world. She was

first to hold her.

James says Beth has my blue eyes and red hair.

Little Hank had blue eyes too when he was born.

Now they are dark brown. His blond hair all fell

out when he was barely a month old. I was afraid

he would be bald. Then it all grew back in black

as Papas.

Betsy came to the cabin today. She said I look

tuckered out. I felt better for her visit. A good

talk can bolster spirits and renew strength. It gets

lonely when the only people you have to talk to

all day are a five year old boy and two babies. I

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love them dearly but they have not the makings

yet for Stimulating Conversation. And Aunt Martha is often too occupied with Good Works to

spend much time with me. When she does come,

it is little Hank and Beth who have her attention.

Betsy was like a breath of spring air even though

she bossed me the whole hour she stayed.

I know I should not complain. Aunt Martha is

ever kind to me and mine. I remind myself that I

am more Fortunate than some.

I love James.

He loves me.

I have three beautiful children.

I am healthy.

I have a roof over my head with only a few

leaks.

I have food on the table.

Yet there are times when I feel something is

lacking. I despair. I yearn. I cannot put my finger

on what I yearn for or why. It is just an ache

inside that wont go away.

Maybe I am just tired. I weary of washing

diapers. I think about the African women I read

about in a book Aunt Martha brought me. They

let their children grow up naked. Maybe their

way is better. Seems to me it would save time

better spent on other things.

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desk. “You have a call on line one. Michael Clanton?”

“My brother,” she said in surprise and punched the button.

Mike never called. He wasn’t at ease on the telephone and left it

to Melissa, his wife, to keep in touch. “How’s everything down

there in la-la land?” Melissa would always say and make her

laugh.

Nothing short of an emergency would get him to lift a receiver

to his ear. “What’s wrong, Mike?”

“Mom’s sick.”

“Sick?” she said, alarmed.

“She’s got cancer.”

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Sierra couldn’t believe it. “She can’t have cancer. I just saw her

a few months ago.” She had noticed at Christmas her mother had

looked thin. She’d even asked about it. “She’s lost some weight,

but she said she was fine.”

“She didn’t want you to know.”

Sierra clutched the telephone receiver more tightly. “You’re

sure?”

“She’s known for quite a while,” her brother said quietly.

“She’s just kept it to herself until recently.”

“What do you mean she’s known? When did she find out?”

Her brother was silent for a moment. “She was diagnosed with

breast cancer just before you and Alex moved south.”

“What?” Sierra felt her blood chilling with shock. “That was

two years ago, Mike.” In a blinding flash she remembered hints

that something was wrong. She had wondered why her mother

was so intent upon going through all the things in the attic. What

was it she had said? She didn’t want to leave the chaos to her and

Mike. Oh, God. Sierra’s eyes filled with hot tears. “Why didn’t she

say something?”

“You know how Mom is, Sierra. She doesn’t want anyone

worrying about her.”

“What’s being done for her?”

“She had a lumpectomy when the doctor first diagnosed her.

They found out in the tests afterward that the cancer had already

metastasized into her bones.”

“Oh no,” Sierra murmured. “And she didn’t tell you?”

“She didn’t tell anyone until a few days ago.”

Alarm filled her. “What happened a few days ago?”

“Her right leg hurt so much she couldn’t drive. She called

Brady and asked if he could take her into the doctor’s office.” He

was quiet for a few seconds. “They did another MRI. It looks

bad.”

Sierra closed her eyes, panic bubbling inside her. Her mother

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was her rock of strength. She couldn’t lose her! She was only

sixty-five. They’d always laughed and talked about how they’d

celebrate her hundredth birthday when it came. “Is she going to

have chemotherapy?”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“She said she didn’t want it.”

“But—”

“It wouldn’t do any good at this point, Sierra.”

“They have to do something. What about radiation? Couldn’t

they do that?”

“It’d already metastasized into her bones when she was diagnosed. It’s spread to her liver.”

Sierra lowered her head and covered her mouth for a moment

until she could get control of her emotions.

Mike didn’t say anything for a minute. “She’s undergoing palliative treatments,” he said hoarsely.

“What’s that?”

“They’re giving her radiation to ease the pain in her right leg.”

Tears ran down Sierra’s cheeks. She swallowed, trying to keep

her voice steady. “Is she in a lot of pain, Mike?”

“Not that she talks about,” he said with difficulty. “You know

Mom.” He was quiet for a minute. “I think she’s been on pain

medication for months. Melissa was putting dishes away in the

cabinet the other day and found the prescription bottle tucked in

the corner.” He cursed softly, and she knew he was crying. “I’ll

call you back in a few minutes.” He hung up abruptly.

Sierra put the receiver in its cradle and covered her face. She

tried to fight down the rush of emotions: grief, fear, the desire to

get in her car and start driving north right this instant. She was

shaking and felt cold.

“Bad news?” Ron said, standing in the doorway that joined his

large office to her smaller one.

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“Yes,” she said without looking up. She was afraid if she said

anything more, she’d break down.

Her intercom buzzed. She snatched up the telephone and

punched the line-one button. “Mike?”

“Sorry,” he said hoarsely.

“It’s OK,” she said, clutching the phone tightly, keeping her

other hand up to shield her face from Ron’s perusal. Her throat

was so hot and tight, she could hardly breathe. “How long do we

have?”

“A month. Probably less.”

She swallowed convulsively. Her vision blurred with tears as

she stared at the calender. If that was true, her mother wouldn’t

even make it to her sixty-sixth birthday. Her chest ached with

the weight of fear. “Is she at home?”

“No. She’s in the hospital. Just until she finishes the treatments. Five days, maybe six. Then she comes home.”

“Which hospital?”

“Community.” He gave her the number.

“I’ll call you tonight, Mike.” Her hand shook as she hung up

the telephone. Ron was still standing in the doorway. He didn’t

say anything, but she sensed his deep concern. Over the past

four months of working with him, she had learned he was a perceptive and caring man. “My mother has cancer.”

He let out his breath slowly. “How bad?”

“It’s in her liver,” she said huskily, afraid if she said more, she’d

start crying. She felt Ron’s hand slide over her shoulder and

squeeze gently in comfort.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Sierra.”

She recalled how her mother had looked six months ago, thin,

her hair graying. She had asked straight out if she was all right,

and her mother had said everything was fine. Fine? How could

she have kept such a secret? “She never said a word, Ron.”

“What do you want to do?”

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Her hands felt like ice. “I want to go home.”

“Then go,” he said simply.

She thought of the chaos she’d leave behind if she did. Her

desk was piled with work. And what about the children? Who’d

take care of Clanton and Carolyn? Who’d drop them off at

school? Who’d take Clanton to his baseball practices or Carolyn

to her piano lessons? Alex was gone by six-thirty and never

home before seven.

Maybe she should pull the children out of school and take

them with her. But how could she do that when she didn’t even

know what she would be facing when she got home? What

would they do while she was taking care of her mother?

“I don’t know what to do,” she said shakily. “I don’t even know

where to start.” Her brother’s words rang in her ears. A month.

Maybe less.

Oh, God! God, where are you?

She wanted to be with her mother. She wanted that so desperately, she shook with fear that it wouldn’t be possible.

Ron sat on the edge of her desk. “Call Alex.”

She dialed Beyond Tomorrow. Alex’s secretary told her he

wasn’t in the office. “He had an appointment at one.”

“Can you page him?”

“He told me not to—”

“This is important! When you get in touch with him, tell him to

call me here at work. Please.” She hung up. Every time she called

Alex lately, he was out.

Shaking, she began shuffling the papers around on her desk,

wondering how she could get everything sorted out and finished

by the end of the day. And what about tomorrow? She had the

schedules to type up. She had calls to make. She had letters to

write.

She couldn’t concentrate.

Ron’s hand stopped her agitated movements. “I’ll call Judy.

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She said she and Max are saving for a down payment on a house.

I’m sure she’ll agree to stand in for you while you’re gone.”

“She can’t, Ron. She’s nursing Jason.”

“She can bring her baby with her. I won’t mind. And Arlene

loves getting her hands on the little guy. If things get too hectic, I

think we could track down a couple of responsible teenagers

who’d pitch in.”

“Miranda,” Sierra said immediately, thinking of a fifteen-year-old runaway who’d entered the program about the

same time she’d started working with Ron. “The day-care center

says she’s wonderful with babies.”

Ron smiled and brushed his knuckles lightly against her

cheek. It was an oddly intimate and tender gesture that made her

blush. “We’ll take care of things around here. You go see your

mother.” He straightened from her desk.

When Alex didn’t call back by one-thirty, Sierra left him out of

her arrangements. Marcia gave her the name of a professional

nanny. Sierra called Dolores Huerta and explained the situation.

Dolores agreed to meet her at the house that afternoon at four so

they could go over the children’s schedules and her household

duties and fees.

Sierra was packing her bags when Alex came home. He

stopped just inside the bedroom door and stared at the two open

suitcases on the double bed. “What’s going on?” he said, his face

paling. “What’re you doing? Where’re you going?”

“If you’d bothered to return my call this morning, you’d

know.” She yanked open a drawer. “I’m going home.”

He uttered a soft curse and came into the room. “Look. Let’s

talk about—”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she cut him off. “My mother’s

in the hospital. She has cancer.” She swallowed convulsively as

she put the sweater on top of a pair of dark gray slacks.

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He let out his breath. “I thought . . .” He shook his head. “I’m

sorry,” he said heavily.

She spun to face him, pain etched in her features. “Sorry

about what, Alex? That you’re never around when I need you

anymore? That my mother has cancer? That all this is going to

complicate your precious work schedule?”

He didn’t say anything.

She looked at him, hurt and embittered. “Where were you?

Your secretary said she’d page you. Did she?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I was busy.” He moved farther into their bedroom. “Look. I

figured if it was really important, you’d call back.”

She turned back to her suitcase in frustration. “It’s nice to

know where I stand on your priority list.”

“You want a fight before you go? Is that what you really want?”

She went into the closet. When she came out with two more

pairs of slacks, Alex was standing in the middle of the room,

rubbing the back of his neck. Shaking, she dropped the clothing on the bed. “I needed you, Alex. Where were you?”

Turning, he looked at her. She saw something in his expression that made her sick. Guilt. Shame. And not just because he

hadn’t returned her call. It was something more, something

deeper. His eyes flickered, stark and raw, and then the expression was gone, hidden.

“What can I do to help?” he said flatly.

She wanted to say he could hold her. He could tell her he loved

her. He could promise to call her and talk with her each day. He

could reassure her that everything would be fine with the children while she was gone.

“I don’t know,” she said bleakly. “Pray for a miracle, maybe?”

For whom, Sierra? an inner voice asked. For your mother or you . . .

and Alex?

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What had brought them to this impasse? They couldn’t even

talk to one another anymore. It was as though a wall stood between them, four feet thick and a hundred feet high. She was

tired of trying to hack her way through it.

He shrugged out of his suit jacket and tossed it over a chair.

“What are you going to do about the kids?”

Anger surged through her, twisting her stomach into a hard

knot. Hadn’t he just asked her what he could do to help? What a

laugh. All he cared about was that he not suffer any inconvenience.

“Don’t worry. I’ve already hired a nanny. You won’t have to

look for one. Her name is Dolores Huerta. She’ll be here by

seven each morning. I figured you wouldn’t mind staying home

an extra thirty minutes until she gets here. Dolores has agreed to

cook and do the washing and take care of the house. She drives,

so she’ll drop the children off at school and pick them up. She’ll

also see that Clanton gets to baseball practices and Carolyn gets

to her piano lessons. I knew you wouldn’t have the time or inclination to be there for the kids. I gave her a hundred dollars for

gas money. She gets three hundred dollars a week salary. You’ll

need to pay her on Friday.” She looked at him, waiting for a response.

His face was rigid. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

She bit her lip, fighting back the tears. “As long as it takes,” she

managed bleakly, turning away. She couldn’t remember what

she’d already packed and what more she needed.

“You can’t take all of it on yourself, Sierra.”

She wished she could believe he was concerned for her, but

she couldn’t. What was he really worried about?

“Mike said the doctor told Mom she has a month, maybe less. I

want every minute with her I can have.”

“You don’t think I understand that? I love your mother, too.”

Do you? she wanted to say. If he did, he never would have

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moved the family to Southern California. She wondered sometimes if he even loved his own father and mother. When was the

last time he’d called them? He seemed to resent the time he took

off to make two short visits home to family in the course of a

whole year.

What he loved—apparently the only thing he really

loved—was his work. Nothing else seemed to matter to him anymore, least of all her or the children. Her mother didn’t even enter the equation.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” he said, defensive.

“Should I? I hope you’ll call and tell her while you have the

chance.” She glared up at him, hurt and anger spilling over into

each other, flooding her with the desire to retaliate. “People need

love when they’re hurting.”

His eyes cooled. “I’ll leave you alone so you can pack.” He

walked out of the room.

The right reverend came by to talk to me today.

Seems he’s in Galena preeching at the market

place. First thing he did was look at my babies

and my rounding belly and ask how long I had

been married. Long enough I said. He told me

Mister Grayson died last spring. He fell and cut

himself on the plow blade and died two weeks

later, jaws locked and body twisted like a pretzel.

I asked him if that was what he had come to talk

about. He said Papa is ailing and the homestead

is going to seed and he thought I should know

about it so I could do something to help. I said

most likely Papa is not ailing but drunk. He said

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in Bible times Papa could have had me taken out

to the gates and stoned. I said as near as I could

tell the only people Jesus ever got mad at were

church folk who were so busy looking for slivers

in other peoples eyes they missed the logs in their

own. He left none too happy.

Now I am left to wonder what to do. Even

drunk, Papa never neglected the land.

I am staying with Aunt Martha while James is

gone to the homestead to see how Papa is.

I had forgotten how nice it was to sleep in a big

bed with a lace canopy and beneath a roof that

does not leak. No wind blows through the windows and the walls are painted white with a

framed picture of a Grecian girl pouring water

from a jug. Beth sleeps with me in the feather bed

while Joshua and little Hank sleep in the small

room next door. I miss James.

People come and go quite often in Aunt Martha’s house. She has her door open to all. She

invited a drummer in yesterday to supper. He

looked tired and worn down to bones. He looked

better when he left. She gave him money to pay

for a room at the hotel. Aunt Martha and three

lady friends quilted all afternoon. She invited me

to join them and I did. Betsy took charge of

Joshua and my babies. They fared well beneath

her wings. She made pound cake for Joshua and

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applesauce for Hank. The ladies were pleased to

watch the children play. Their own are grown

and gone off to who knows where.

I did not think it possible to enjoy womens

company so much though I have always enjoyed

Aunt Martha. But she is not like most I have met.

These women were like her. They laugh about all

manner of things, but not one unkind word did

they utter about anyone.

Life is hard and cruel.

James said Papa is ailing and we have to go

home and tend things for him. I did not dare ask

if Papa’s heart has changed toward me. I will

know soon enough.

Truth is I am glad to be going home though

I will miss Aunt Martha and Betsy and Clovis.

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bedroom, the soft tick signaling an influx of oxygen that passed

through a clear tube to Sierra’s mother. Sierra checked the tube

frequently, making sure it was in place beneath her mother’s nose

so that the pure oxygen would be infused into her mother’s straining lungs. Edema was causing the difficulty with breathing. Over

the past few days the edema had gone down. Her mother’s breathing had eased and slowed. So, too, had the trickle of urine into the

catch bag attached to the side of the bed. The hospice nurse had

told her it would change color as death approached.

Sierra rose from the wing chair beside the bed and checked the

tube again. She touched her mother’s hair, once soft and dark

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auburn, now streaked white and oddly coarse. Her mother’s skin

felt dry, like fallen leaves. She was awake.

“Can I bring you some soup, Mom?” She was desperate to do

something, anything, to make her mother comfortable, to keep

her alive.

“You can move me near the windows.”

The rented hospital bed had wheels, but Sierra knew moving it

would jar her mother and cause her more pain. She hesitated.

“Please,” her mother whispered.

Sierra did as her mother asked, gritting her teeth each time the

bed jiggled. Her mother didn’t make a sound. “Is this all right,

Mom?”

“Hmmm,” her mother said, her thin fingers loosening their

grip on the pillow. Her body slowly relaxed again. “Can you

open the window?”

“It’s cool today.”

“Please.”

As Sierra did so, she couldn’t stop worrying. What if her

mother caught cold? Even as she thought it, she knew it was irrational. The hospice nurse said yesterday that it wouldn’t be

long.

“Brady’s mowing his back lawn,” her mother said, and Sierra

noticed her speech was faintly slurred. The morphine patches

were doing their work. She noticed other things, too. Her

mother’s hazel eyes had lost their twinkle. Her skin was no

longer tan from the long hours she’d spent tending her beautiful

garden. “I always wanted skin as white as alabaster,” her

mother had teased a few days before. Sierra hadn’t been able to

laugh with her.

White. The color of purity.

The color of death.

“I’ve always loved the smell of cut grass,” her mother said

quietly. She reached out and took Sierra’s hand. Sierra felt the

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tremor of weakness in her mother’s grip. “This is my favorite

time of year. The cherry trees bud, and the daffodils come up.

Everything’s so green and pretty.” She sighed, and it was a

sound of contentment, not sadness. “How can anyone fail to see

God’s hand in all of it?”

Sierra’s throat closed. She stared out the window as the clouds

moved slowly across the blue sky. Her mother wouldn’t want

her to cry. She had to be strong. She had to be brave. But inside,

she could feel pieces of herself crumbling.

“Every year, Jesus shows us the Resurrection,” her mother

said and squeezed her hand lightly.

“It’s a pretty day,” Sierra said mechanically, thinking that

was what her mother wanted to hear. She couldn’t say what she

was really feeling. How could her mother talk about Jesus

now? She wanted to curse God, not praise him! Her mother

had served the Lord for as long as she could remember, and this

was her reward? To die slowly, in pain? Her mother saw God’s

hand in everything. But where was God’s hand in this?

“Can you raise the bed?”

“I think so,” Sierra said and went to the controls. She pressed a

button, and the bed came up. When it stopped, her mother had a

good view down on the garden below.

“Oh, that’s nice,” she said, content.

Sierra checked her oxygen tube and readjusted the elastic

straps looped behind her mother’s ears. One had left a crease in

her mother’s cheek.

“Would you pick me some hyacinths?”

“Hyacinths?” Sierra said bleakly.

“I can see a few down by the walk, near the birdbath.” Her

hand trembled weakly as she tried to point. “The clippers are in

the bucket under the steps.”

Sierra hurried downstairs and out the back door to the porch.

She found the clippers exactly where her mother said they’d be.

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She had always been one for believing a place for everything and

everything in its place.

Walking quickly along the brick path, Sierra was dismayed at

the state of the garden. Even during the winter, her mother had

weeded and raked and kept everything neat. Now it was clearly

neglected.

Sierra found a patch of the pretty blue flowers near the back of

the garden. Hunkering down, she selected two stalks of perfect

blooms and cut them for her mother. When she returned to the

upstairs master bedroom, she saw her mother had the controls in

her hand. She had raised the head of the bed a foot higher, giving

her a better view.

What must her mother feel looking out at the sorry, deserted

garden below?

“Thank you, sweetheart.” She touched the flowers with her

fingertips. She moved restlessly, pain flickering across her face.

“It always amazes me to think how God made the garden and

then placed man in it,” she said, her words coming slowly, sluggishly. “Everything he made, from the bottom of the seas to the

heavens, was for us to enjoy. Like hyacinths and blooming

cherry trees and sunshine. Sweetness, hope, light.”

Hope, Sierra thought. Where was hope when her mother’s

cancer advanced like an avenging army, ravaging her body,

sapping her strength? Where was hope when death was imminent?

She readjusted the oxygen tube. “Is that better?” she said,

touching her mother’s face tenderly.

“It’s fine, honey.”

At night, when Sierra lay on the cot she’d set up near her

mother’s bed, she’d listen to her mother’s breathing. And count

seconds. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Her own heart would

stop after six and then beat faster at seven. Eight. Nine. Sometimes ten. And then her mother would take another precious

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breath, and Sierra would find herself relaxing for an instant before she started the count all over.

“Spring’s coming,” her mother said, gazing out the window.

“The garden’s always so beautiful.”

All Sierra could see were the weeds that had come up and the

suckers sprouting at the base of several unpruned rose bushes.

The fall leaves from the birch trees had never been raked and lay

like a heavy black blanket over the uncut lawn.

Over all the years the family had lived in this beautiful house,

it had been her mother who had kept up the flower gardens and

pruned the roses and trimmed the bushes and trees. It had been

her mother who had been the gardener to loosen the soil, mulch

in the compost, plant the seeds, and tend the young seedlings.

Her mother had been the one to lay out the design so that flowers

bloomed all throughout the year, filling the yard with a profusion

of brilliant color.

Sierra remembered the hours she had spent with her mother

outside in the sunshine, playing with her small tin bucket and little spade while her mom plucked weeds, thinned seedlings, and

snipped dying blooms. She could remember the day her mother

had planted the trumpet vine, gently tying green shoots to the

lattice. The vine now covered the back wall.

Without her mother, everything would go wild.

Clouds moved across the sun, casting shadows over the yard

below. “I hope it doesn’t rain again,” she said softly.

“It can’t be sunshine all the time, or flowers wouldn’t grow for

lack of rain.”

Even now, hurting, dying, her mother saw the brighter side of

things. Sierra’s eyes burned. Her throat ached with tears. She

put her hand against her chest, wishing she could lift the weight

of grief that grew heavier every day. She was choking on it. Suffocating. If it hurt this much seeing her mother slip hour by hour,

what would life be like when she was gone?

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“Sierra,” her mother murmured softly.

Seeing her hand fumble weakly, Sierra took it. “What, Mom?

Are you uncomfortable? Can I get you something?”

“Sit down, honey,” she said.

Sierra did as she was asked and forced a smile as she enclosed

her mother’s hand in both of hers.

“I want you to do something for me,” her mother said softly.

“What, Mom? What can I do?”

“Let me go.”

Sierra’s throat closed up. She had to press her lips together so

she didn’t cry out. She used every bit of willpower she had and

still the hot tears bubbled into her eyes. “I love you,” she said

brokenly. Leaning down, she put her head against her mother’s

breast and wept.

Her mother stroked her hair once and then rested her hand

weakly on her head. “I love you, too. You’ve always been God’s

blessing to me.”

“I wish I could go back to when I was a child, sitting out on the

patio in the sunshine while you worked in the garden.”

Her hand trembled in weakness. “Each stage in our lives is

precious, Sierra. Even now. The door isn’t closing on me, honey.

It’s opening wider with each breath I take.”

“But you’re in so much pain.”

Her mother stroked her hair again and spoke gently. “Shhhh.

Don’t cry anymore. I want you to remember that God causes all

things to work together for good to those who love him, to those

who are called according to his purpose.”

Sierra had learned those words as a child when she was in

Sunday school. Her mother had helped her memorize them as

they worked in the garden. But the words held no meaning.

What good was there in suffering? She breathed in the scent of

her mother and was afraid. Wasn’t God supposed to heal those

who had faith? Her mother had faith. She’d never doubted. So

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where was God now? She wanted to cling to her and beg her to

fight harder, to hang on to life; but she knew she could not speak

those words aloud and add to her mother’s burden of pain. It was

selfish to even think of asking her to endure more.

Anguish filled her. What would she do without her mother?

Losing her father had been hard enough, but her mother had always been her counselor, her fountainhead. How many times

had she run to her mother for help? How many times had her

mother walked through troubles with her, gently guiding the

way, showing her the higher road?

Sierra listened to the beat of her mother’s heart. No one in the

world knew her as well or loved her as much as her mother did.

Not even Alex, her own husband, who should. Sierra’s lips

thinned. Especially not Alex, who hadn’t even bothered to call in

the past three days, the hardest of her life.

“Oh, Mom, I’ll miss you so much,” she murmured, wishing she

could lie down beside her and die with her. Life was too painful,

the future so bleak.

Her mother’s hand moved slowly against her hair. “God has a

plan for you, Sierra, a plan for your welfare and not for calamity,

a plan to give you a future and a hope.” Her voice was so weak,

so tired. “Do you remember those words?”

“Yes,” Sierra said obediently. Her mother had taught them

to her as well, and like the others, they’d made no sense to her

either. It had been her father and mother who took care of her.

Then it was Alex. God had never come into the equation.

“Hold to them, honey. When you turn, you’ll know I’m no farther away than your heart.”

Sierra thought her mother had fallen asleep. She could still

hear the slow, steady beat of her heart. She remained where she

was, her head resting on her mother’s breast, taking comfort in

the closeness, the warmth. Exhausted, she stretched out beside

her, arm around her, and slept.

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She awakened when Mike came by after work. He stood beside the bed. “Her breathing sounds different.” His expression

was grim and controlled. “Her hand’s cold.”

Sierra noticed other things. The fluid level in the catch bag

hadn’t changed in hours. Her mother’s skin color had changed.

She called the hospice, and a nurse was sent. Sierra recognized

her, but couldn’t remember her name. Her mother would have

remembered. Her mother always remembered everyone by

name. She remembered things about them, too, asking after family members and job situations. Little things. Personal things.

“It won’t be long,” the nurse said, and Sierra knew the woman

was saying her mother wouldn’t be waking up again. The nurse

adjusted the blankets and lightly stroked the hair back tenderly

from her mother’s temple. She straightened and looked at Sierra.

“Would you like me to stay with you?”

Sierra couldn’t make a sound. She shook her head. She just

kept watching her mother’s chest rise and fall slowly and

counted seconds. One. Two. Three.

“I’m going to call Melissa,” Mike said and left the room.

Soon after Melissa arrived, Luís and María Madrid came in.

Alex’s mother embraced Sierra and wept openly, while his father

stood with tearless, grave dignity at the foot of the hospital bed.

“When is Alex coming?” he asked.

“I don’t know that he is,” Sierra said dully, standing by the

window. “I haven’t talked to him in a while.” She listened to the

click of the oxygen machine and counted.

She didn’t want to think about Alex or anyone else just then.

She didn’t want to think about anything.

Seven. Eight.

Alex’s father left the bedroom.

Melissa came in a few minutes later and stood beside Sierra. She

didn’t say anything. She just took her hand and held it in silence.

Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.

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Melissa let go of her hand and moved to the bedside. She

touched Marianna Clanton tenderly and checked her wrist pulse.

Leaning down, she kissed her forehead. “Good-bye, Mama.”

Straightening, she turned slowly to Sierra. “She’s with the

Lord,” she whispered, tears running down her cheeks.

Sierra stopped counting. Her heart felt like a cold stone inside

her chest. She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. She just turned

and looked down into the moonlit garden and felt the stillness

closing in around her.

“She’s not suffering anymore, Sierra.”

Why did people always feel they had to say something? She

knew Melissa meant to comfort her, but no words could. She

heard another click as the oxygen machine was shut off.

Everything fell silent. Everything was still . . . so still she wondered if her own heart had stopped beating. She wished it would.

She couldn’t think. She felt numb, so numb, she wondered if

she was becoming exactly like the little statuette of the Virgin

Mary her mother-in-law had brought and set on the windowsill.

Bloodless. Hollow.

Mike came into the room again. He didn’t utter a word. At

least her brother understood. He just stood at the foot of the

hospital bed, looking down at their mother. She looked peaceful, her body completely relaxed. When he turned away, he

touched Sierra’s arm. It was the merest brush of his hand, but

enough to let her know she was there, alive.

Crossing the room, Mike sat down in the chair and leaned forward, hands loosely clasped between his knees. Was he praying?

His head was down. If he wept, he did so silently. And he didn’t

leave the room or her, not until the men from the mortuary arrived.

Sierra followed the men downstairs as they took her mother

away. She stood in the front doorway watching until the doors of

the hearse closed. She’d still be standing upstairs if Melissa hadn’t

made the call.

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Her mother had made all the arrangements two years ago,

without anyone knowing. No fuss. No bother. Everything like

clockwork. She would be cremated by tomorrow morning.

Nothing but ashes left.

Sierra closed the front door and leaned her forehead against

the cold wood. She was so tired, her mind whirring like an engine in neutral, going nowhere.

The telephone rang. She heard Luís answer. After the first

word, he spoke in hot, hushed Spanish. The words might as well

have been spoken in Greek for all the sense they made to her, but

she knew he was speaking to his son.

He came into the parlor where she was sitting. “It’s Alex,” he

said and held out the portable telephone. “He’s been trying to

reach you.”

A lie, kindly offered, but unconvincing.

She took the phone and held it to her ear.

“Sierra? I’m sorry about your mother.” He was silent, waiting.

She shut her eyes tightly. What did he want her to say? Did

he think one call and a little sympathy absolved him of days of

neglect? She’d needed him. “I tried to call you yesterday, but the

phone was busy.” She couldn’t speak, not with the weight of

grief bearing down on her. “Sierra?” One word and she’d shatter. Worse, she’d say things she’d regret.

“I’ll make reservations,” he said at last. There was no inflection

in his voice to give away his own feelings. “The children and I

will fly up to San Francisco tomorrow. I’ll rent a car. We should

be in Healdsburg by evening.” He sounded as though he was

making business arrangements. Silence again. It stretched. “Are

you all right?” His voice was almost gentle. It filled her with

infinite sadness and memories. “Sierra?”

Pressing the off button, she put the portable telephone down

on the side table.

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James works hard as Papa ever did.

He goes out at dawn and comes in for the midday meal. Then out again he goes until dusk. I am

left alone to care for Papa.

Papa has changed much in the four years

I have been gone. His hair has gone white and

he is so thin and weak he can not get out of

bed. I thought he was blind when first we

came, but when Joshua came to stand in the

doorway I knew he was not. His face got all red

and awful. He started shouting loud enough for

Aunt Martha to hear him all the way back in

Galena.

He said—Keep that devil child away from me

or I swear before God I will kill him.

Joshua ran out of the house. If I had not heard

him crying, I would never have found him inside

the hollow burned out tree. It was at the edge of

the fields Matthew burned.

When I came back to the house, James asked

why Papa would say such a terrible thing. I said

he is crazy.

I know what’s killing Papa. Hatred. It is eating

him alive.

Sometimes I wish Papa would die and there

would be an end to all his pain. And mine.

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He is so weak and sick, he can do nothing for

himself. And nothing I do for him helps. It makes

things worse. He will not look at me or speak to

me. He would not even take food from my hand

until necessity and hunger made him. James does

not ask for explanations. He thinks Joshua is my

babee just like everyone else thinks it. I never told

him otherwise.

James moved Papa into the little bedroom off

the kitchen. We need the big bed for ourselves.

Papa did not say anything, but I saw tears in his

eyes.

I felt strange sleeping in the bed Papa shared

with Mama. James wanted to love me the first

night and I could not. All I did was cry. He said

he understood, but I do not think he did. He

thought I was tired and sad. What I feel is so

much worse than that.

Papa and Mama made Lucas and Matthew and

me in the bed James and I are sharing. Papa and

Sally Mae made Joshua. That was on my mind

too. I could see her sneaking in during the night

while Papa lay drunk and unawares. She was just

like Lots daughters. And look what come of that.

My only comfort is remembering that Ruth was

a Moabite.

I am all mixed up inside. Papa hurts me with

his silence and meanness. But I am angry, too.

And grieving. I wonder what Mama would think

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of all this. And me. I wonder where Matthew is

and what he is doing. I hope he is well and happy

wherever he is. But I doubt it. Matthew took

everything to heart.

Seems to me Papa is the one who should

answer for the pain he caused. Sally Mae did

not do what she did without him helping. Being

drunk is no excuse. I have not said so to Papa.

It would do no good and he is Determined

I done wrong by keeping Joshua alive. Papa

does not think he is to blame for anything. It

was all Sally Maes fault. And when she died, it

was all Joshuas fault. When I took him up, it is

all my fault.

So be it. I am stronger than Joshua and can

take the heat of silent hell Papa pours down on

me. Like God. I can feel it every time I walk

through his door. Hatred is a powerful thing.

Joshua will not even come into the kitchen

because he knows Papa is in that little back room.

I am glad of it. I think Papa would kill him if he

had the chance. And I do not intend to give him

one. But at night I lay wondering what will come

of all this.

When Joshua grows up he is going to want to

know who his father is. What do I tell him if he

asks?

I heard tell once that the sins of the father are

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visited on the sons. Does that mean Joshua must

pay for what Papa did?

Life is not fair.

I put a marker on Sally Maes grave.

Papa is worse. His mind is going. Today when

I went in to wash him and change the bedding

again, he thought I was Mama. He said—Where

have you been Katie love. I have missed you so

much.

I took his hand and said I have been with Jesus

these long years.

And Papa said real soft with tears in his

eyes—Put in a good word for me.

I cannot stop crying. He was a good man once

for all his drinking and wild ways. And he loved

Mama more than life. Hearing him talk today

made me remember what he was like when

Mama was alive. And remembering made me

miss her so much my body hurts with it. Everything inside me is clenched tight, aching and

lonely.

It seems to me when God took Mama from us,

Satan waltzed in the door and he has been living

in this house ever since.

Papa is fading away. He does not eat. He sleeps

most of the day. When he is awake, he does not

speak. He looks at the corner of his room as

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though someone is there visiting with him. Sometimes he smiles and mumbles something.

I am afraid. His curse still lays so heavy upon

me.

Papa died this morning.

He was restless last night. He kept moving and

moaning. I did not know what to do to comfort

him. He could not breathe easy. He was better

when I raised him up and sat behind him and held

him in my arms. I stroked his hair and talked to

him just like I do my babies when they are fretful.

And then near dawn a thought came into my

head so powerful and clear it was like a real voice

talking to me. I knew what was wrong with Papa

and what he needed. I struggled against it but it

was like a hand squeezing hard around my heart.

I laid him back and went down on my knees

beside the bed.

I said—Papa I forgive you. Do you hear me

Papa? I forgive you.

His fingers moved. Just a little. So I took his

hand and kissed it. I said—I love you Papa. And

I meant it. Just for that minute after all the time

before and between up to now. I meant it. I forgot

how much he hurt me and saw how much he was

hurting. Be at peace, Papa, I said. I couldn’t say

no more than that.

And he seemed so. He did not say anything.

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Not one word. He just gave one long sigh and

was gone.

We buried Papa in the suit James wore when we

were wed. I sewed Papa inside the wedding quilt

Mamas friends made for them. With Mister

Grayson dead, there was no one to come see Papa

laid to rest beside Mama and the babies they lost.

It was just me holding Beth and James holding

Hank and Joshua who stood beside the grave.

I read words from the Bible. Mama would have

liked that.

It has been raining ever since. Fitting weather

for my feelings.

I cannot help wishing Papa had said something

to me before he passed on to whatever was waiting for him. Even my name would have been

enough. Or if he had looked at me before he died.

Maybe then I would not feel this awful ache

inside me.

Papa didn’t say a word to me. Not from the day

he cast me out to the day he died. But at the end,

when he had no strength left, I think he wanted

to. I hope so anyway.

Oh, what foolish creatures we are. Cursed with

our pride! Cursed with our stubbornness!

No wonder God has forsaken us.

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with Alex on one side and Carolyn and Clanton on the other.

Mike sat on the aisle, Melissa at his side, his three children next

to her. The sanctuary was packed with people. As the pastor offered the eulogy, Alex took her hand. He had hardly touched her

since arriving three days ago. She’d saved her tears for privacy,

unwilling to share them with him or anyone else.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the small polished wooden

box placed on her father’s stone at the cemetery. Was that all

there was to a human being? One small box of ashes that

weighed less than a newborn baby? The pastor had met them

there and led the solemn but brief ceremony. Only family mem1 8 7

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bers had been present: she and Alex, their children, Mike and

Melissa and their children, and Luís and María Madrid. So few.

Too many.

Her mother’s ashes would be mixed with her father’s, and in a

few days a stone carver would come and add the date of her

death to the slab that would cover them both.

Now, half listening to the pastor’s homily, she wondered if the

forget-me-not seeds the children planted around the marble

would come up.

“Marianna Clanton walked in the Spirit,” the pastor said, using the opportunity to proclaim the gospel. Tearful, he rejoiced

for his friend and parishioner. “Marianna will be sorely missed,

but we can take comfort in knowing she’s in the arms of her beloved Savior. And those of us who share her belief have the comfort of knowing she isn’t lost to us. We will see her again.”

One of the church ladies sang “Take my life and let it be / consecrated, Lord, to thee. . . .”

Numb with grief, Sierra stared at her mother’s picture on the

linen-covered table at the front of the sanctuary. She would have

chosen a different photo. On each side were vases filled with

bright yellow daffodils. In fact, the sanctuary was full of flowers—not funeral wreaths, but spring arrangements bursting

with color and a mood of celebration.

“It was your mother’s wish,” the pastor had explained upon

their arrival and her question. “She brought me this picture several months ago.”

Far from the usual formal portrait used in solemn services, her

mother had chosen one when she was years younger, laughing,

with a bucket of yard trimmings in one gloved hand and her clippers in the other. She’d left a note as well. “Rejoice with me.”

Finishing his homily, the pastor opened the service for sharing. One by one, friends stood and talked about Marianna

Clanton and what she had meant in their lives. Some of the sto1 8 8

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ries were funny, making people laugh. Others brought a hush

and quiet tears. When all who wished to had spoken, Melissa

went forward and spoke briefly on behalf of the family. More

hymns were sung by all. Her mother’s favorites. “Amazing

Grace.” “Ave Maria.” “Standing on the Promises of God.” And

last, drawing tearful laughter, “Father Abraham.” Everybody

was on their feet, waving their arms and turning around. Even

Sierra pretended to join in the spirit of rejoicing.

“Rejoice in the Lord always,” the pastor said in benediction.

“Again I will say, rejoice. Let your forbearing spirit be known to

all men. The Lord is near.” Sierra felt him looking down at her as

his voice softened. “Be anxious for nothing, beloved, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which

surpasses all comprehension, shall guard your hearts and your

minds in Christ Jesus.”

A reception followed in the social hall.

Steeling herself against her inner turmoil, Sierra smiled and

thanked everyone who came through the receiving line. The

kind words slipped like water off a duck’s back. She couldn’t afford to let them sink in. Not now. Not here in front of everyone.

Later, when she was alone, she’d bathe in the pool of tears.

Alex stood beside her, close but not touching. He was like a

handsome stranger in his dark suit—polite, distant, but not indifferent. Everyone was impressed with his obvious success.

They didn’t know the cost.

Clanton and Carolyn sat with their three cousins across the

room. They talked among themselves, sharing refreshments.

Sierra was ready to leave before the others. She asked Melissa

if she’d mind watching Clanton and Carolyn. She knew the children wanted to visit as long as possible. “Why don’t you let them

spend the night?” Melissa said.

“I didn’t mean—”

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She cut her off with a gentle touch on her arm. “We’d love it.

We see so little of them since you and Alex moved south.” As

soon as she said it, Sierra could tell she wished she hadn’t. “Just

don’t worry about them. You need to rest.”

Alex had driven his rented Cadillac to the cemetery and church.

She debated asking him to take her home and decided against it.

He appeared to be deep in conversation with his father.

She spoke briefly with the pastor and slipped unnoticed out

the side door of the social hall. It was beautiful outside, everything in bloom. Her mother would have loved a day like this.

Three blocks away Alex pulled up beside her. “Why didn’t you

tell me you were leaving?”

It wasn’t concern that tinged his tone, but impatience, anger.

He didn’t ask if she was all right. “You were busy.” He was

always too busy.

Alex got out of the car. When he touched her, he did so with

gentleness. Then he put his hand beneath her elbow, his expression shadowed with sadness. “Get in the car, Sierra. Please.”

She did as he said. Putting her head back against the black

leather seat, she closed her eyes, feeling utterly bereft.

“What do you think people are saying about us when you just

walk out the door without so much as a word to me?”

She looked at him. Was that it? Was that why he’d come after

her? “Since when did you ever worry about what other people

say?”

“You ought to care. Those people are family and friends.”

“Don’t worry, Alex. I didn’t tell anyone you only called me

three times in the past month.” Ron had called more often than

her own husband.

“The phone works two ways.”

“It does, doesn’t it? But then, every time I called you, you

weren’t home.”

A muscle jerked in his cheek and he didn’t say anything more.

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When he pulled into the drive alongside the Mathesen Street

house, he turned to her. “I’m sorry. Sierra, I—”

“Forget the excuses, Alex.” She got out of the car and walked

along the cobblestone pathway to the front steps. Fumbling for

her key, she shoved it into the lock and opened the door.

Shaking, she walked along the corridor toward the kitchen.

Maybe a cup of coffee would brace her against whatever came.

The kitchen smelled of lasagna. The Pyrex dish still sat on the

butcher block where she’d placed and forgotten it this morning.

Sally Endecott had dropped the lasagna off along with a cellophane-covered bowl of tossed salad and a chocolate cake. Every

day someone from the church came with food—spaghetti one

day, the next a turkey dinner complete with dressing and cranberry sauce. Another brought roast beef and mashed potatoes,

creamed carrots, and peas. Other friends brought home-baked

apple pies and Tollhouse cookies.

No one wanted her to worry about having to cook. No one

wanted her to worry about anything.

Not the least hungry, she measured coffee into the filter-lined

holder and slid it in place. As she poured water into the top of the

coffeemaker, she heard Alex come into the kitchen. He stood for

a moment, saying nothing. When she kept her back to him, he

went to the windows. She knew he was looking out at the back

porch and garden.

“The house doesn’t feel the same without her, does it?” he said

quietly.

Sierra swallowed hard. She couldn’t shake the feeling that her

mother was still upstairs or down the hall. If she called aloud, her

mother would answer.

But it wasn’t true. She had to remind herself her mother was

dead. The ceremony in the cemetery this morning should have

driven that fact home. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. A few pounds

of it equaled a human life.

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One moment she felt numb inside. The next she felt a debilitating anguish and fear.

Pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, she tried not

to think about it. “How long can you stay?” she said, hoping Alex

would say as long as she needed him.

“I made reservations for tomorrow.”

She lowered her hands slowly, despair filling her. Alex had

given her three days of his precious time. She supposed she

should be thankful.

“The kids said they want to stay with you.”

“That’s fine,” she said in a brittle voice. She took down a cup

and saucer from the cupboard. “Do you want some coffee?”

“Sí.”

She glanced back at him and saw he was still staring into the

backyard. Maybe her mother had meant something to him after

all. She filled another cup and brought both to the table near the

windows.

“Mom and I sat here together only a few weeks ago, before

she was too weak to leave her bed.” The cups rattled slightly as

Sierra set them down and took a seat. “Roy Lubbeck is coming

over at five to go over Mom’s will.”

Alex sat down across from her. “I’ll stay another day or two if

you want me to, Sierra.”

Sure, she thought bitterly, he’d stay and resent every minute of

it. She shook her head.

“What are you going to do about the house?”

“Do?” she said blankly, glancing up at him.

“You’re going to have to rent it out or sell it. You can’t leave it

vacant. The place will fall apart. The garden’s already going to

seed.”

She could feel the blood flowing out of her face. “I grew up in

this house.”

“I know how much the place means to you, Sierra, but you

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have no idea what it costs to keep up a place like this. Your

mother was working on it all the time.”

“I buried my mother this morning, and now you want me to

give up this house?”

“Don’t make it sound like it’s my fault your mother died of

cancer,” he said, his eyes glittering.

“I didn’t, but it would’ve been nice of you to wait a few days

before telling me I should get on with disposing of my mother’s

property!”

“Bien, chiquita. Take all the time you need. Stay for another

month! Keep the place if you want. I don’t care what you do!”

He scraped his chair back and grated out the rest. “Just don’t expect me to foot the bill for maintenance costs and taxes!” He left

her sitting at the table.

A moment later, Sierra heard the roar of the Cadillac’s engine.

He revved it loudly and then sent gravel flying as he backed out

of the driveway.

Pushing the cup and saucer back, Sierra put her head in her

arms and wept.

Mike pulled his van into the driveway an hour later. Carolyn and

Clanton piled out with their three cousins. After a quick kiss

hello, they went into the family room to watch a movie with their

cousins. Melissa put her hand lightly on Sierra’s shoulder and

then took the lasagna out of the refrigerator and put it into the

oven to warm up.

“Alex drove his mom and dad home,” Mike said, pouring himself a mug of coffee. “He said he was going to stay and visit for a

while, but to tell you he’d be back here before five. You told him

Roy’s coming by?”

“Yes.” Sierra kept her gaze on her cold coffee. “I’m sorry I left

the way I did.”

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“Don’t worry about it. Everybody understood.”

Except Alex.

Melissa came back and took the seat Alex had left vacant.

“You look tired, Sierra. Why don’t you rest for a while? I’ll wake

you when dinner’s ready.”

Sierra nodded and rose. She felt her brother looking at her and

wondered if he’d guessed how bad things were between her and

Alex. If he did, he was sensitive enough not to say anything.

As she climbed the stairs and walked along the upper hallway,

she glanced at the narrow passageway to the attic. She remembered finding her mother there on the day Alex had turned life

upside down. It hadn’t turned right side up since.

She went up the steps and opened the door. Standing there,

she looked in, amazed at the change.

The attic was swept and dusted, new Nottingham lace curtains

hung over the four small windows. The old sofa had a new forest

green slipcover and four bright throw pillows, two of a deep

golden yellow, two white with embroidered sunflowers and

green ruffles. The coffee table had been refinished. On it were

several old picture albums. The old brass lamp, now polished,

stood between the sofa and her father’s old worn leather recliner.

The walls had been painted pale yellow, the open-beamed ceiling white. On the south wall hung a dozen paintings and pictures.

Sierra took one down. Not recognizing the face, she turned it over

and saw that her mother had written the pertinent historical information on a card and glued it to the newly papered back. She

smiled. Her mother had always been a stickler for detail.

The bookcase where her father’s old files had been stored was

now full of old books. The top three rows were designated for

Mike, among them Robinson Crusoe, Treasure Island, The Collected

Works of H. G. Wells, The Earth Abides. The bottom three were for

her. She pulled out a worn copy of Little Women and leafed

through it. Tucking it back in the shelf, she ran her fingers over

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Anne of Avonlea, Daddy Long Legs, Captain from Castile, The Black

Rose and looked away.

In the far east corner of the attic, standing in a beam of sunlight, was the ornate wood-framed oval mirror. The old braided

rug had been cleaned, the trunk of dress-up clothing repainted

white with tole-painted flowers and leaves. She opened it and

saw everything had been washed, ironed, and neatly folded

away. Nearby was a small bookcase with children’s games and

books.

When she turned around, she saw two distinct stacks against

the west wall, one for Mike, one for her. Her brother’s red Radio

Flyer wagon was neatly packed with other mementos, favorite

books, an old worn teddy bear, a baseball bat and glove. Next to

it were boxes neatly labeled: “College Texts,” “Trophies,”

“Comic books,” “High School Mementos/Block sweater.”

Her own things were sorted, consolidated, and labeled as well,

“Clothing/Prom dress,” “Dolls,” “Scrapbooks/Albums,” “Stuffed

Animals.” In one container was clothing she’d tired of but had

been unwilling to give away. Mary Kathryn McMurray’s trunk

sat next to the new white boxes, a white envelope taped to the

top. “Sierra” was written in her mother’s familiar handwriting.

Sierra removed it and opened it carefully, extracting the note.

My dearest Sierra,

This trunk and all its contents were meant for you. I

read the journal before I sent it and couldn’t help but feel

you and Mary Kathryn McMurray share a great deal in

common. The quilt has a message for you. You may not

see or understand it now, but one day it will come to you

like a star bursting in the heavens. And what a day that

will be!

I love you.

Mom

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Kneeling down, Sierra ran her hands over the clean wood and

metal braces of the trunk. She could smell the linseed oil her

mother had used. Unlatching the top, she opened the trunk. The

scent of mulberry sachets rose and surrounded her. The beautiful antique quilt lay on top, cleaned and carefully refolded. Sierra

lifted it out and saw the gift wrap–covered boxes beneath. In one

was the Indian gift basket. In another were the carved wooden

animals with the note saying they were for Joshua. A blue velvet

box held half a dozen wedding rings, each tagged with a name of

the relative who had worn it. Her throat closed when she found

two tied together with a small tag reading, “Brian Philip

Clanton, Marianna Lovell Edgeworth, married December 21,

1958, in San Francisco.”

Sierra put everything back the way she had found it. She

folded the note and put it on top of the quilt. Closing the lid, she

ran her fingertips over the wood-and-metal braced surface. She

walked to the small attic window and pushed it open. A bracing

spring breeze fluttered the lace curtains.

“I’m no farther away than your heart.”

Grief tore at her, and Sierra went back to the sofa and sat

down. She opened the top album. On the first page were two

pictures of her father as a young man. One showed him with

shoulder-length hair and dressed in worn Levi’s and boots.

Right next to it was another picture of him clean-shaven, hair

shorn, and wearing a policeman’s uniform. She smiled at the

contrast. On the next page were pictures of her mother. In one,

she appeared to be dancing in a meadow. Her arms were outstretched, her head back, her waist-length hair swirling. In another, she sat on a beach gazing pensively out at the surf. There

were pictures of Mike, a bundled baby asleep on his father’s

shoulder, a baby playing in his crib, a toddler playing in the

sandbox in the backyard. On the next page were pictures of

her, wrapped in a blanket in her mother’s arms, another of her

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sitting in a high chair with her face covered with spaghetti, yet

another of her toddling along the cobblestone pathway in the

backyard garden.

Each year was chronicled in pictures. Stretching out on the

sofa, Sierra paged through the albums, seeing her mother and

father in the early years of marriage. She smiled over pictures of

Mike from infancy to his wedding. She went through her album,

reliving memories as she saw herself in the garden with her

mother, playing dress-up with friends in the attic, swimming at

Memorial Beach, playing baseball, wearing her cheerleader’s

uniform. She came across a picture of Alex in cap and gown. She

was standing with him, and they looked at one another with open

adoration. Young love in full bloom. She had forgotten her

mother came to the high school graduation ceremony. Her father

had ignored the invitation. On the next page, she saw herself in

the full bloom of her first pregnancy. The next picture showed

her in a hospital bed, looking tired and happy, Clanton in her

arms. María and Luís were on one side of the bed, her mother

and father on the other. Beneath the picture was written, “Reconciliation.”

Outside the attic window, a nest of baby birds chirped excitedly. Sierra laid the album against her breast and listened. She

knew when the mother bird was close and when it flew away by

the sounds of the chicks. Closing her eyes, she drifted.

“You can’t let it go.” Her mother smiled at her as they both worked on

their knees in the garden. “You need to take notice each day. See how

they’ve come up already. If you give these weeds a day or two, they’ll begin

choking the flowers.” She sat back on her heels and brushed strands of

dark hair back from her temples. She looked young again, healthy and

happy. “It’s like that with life, too, honey.”

Sierra awakened abruptly when the album was lifted from her

chest. Alex stood over her. “Roy Lubbeck is downstairs.”

“Oh,” she said sleepily.

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Alex closed the album and put it back on the coffee table. He

moved away slightly as she pushed herself up and raked her

hands back through her hair. She felt unkempt. Her church

dress was rumpled and creased. “I need to freshen up before I

come down.” She was so tired. She wished she could lie down

again and sleep here in the attic, where she was surrounded by

happy memories. Maybe she’d dream of her mother again. Meeting with Roy Lubbeck would merely drive home the fact that she

was gone.

Staring out the window, Alex shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier.”

Sierra didn’t want to talk about it. “I can’t make any decisions

yet, Alex.”

“I can understand that.”

“I grew up here.”

“I know.”

His response was clipped, neutral. The wall was still firmly in

place between them. The first brick had been laid when he took

the job in Los Angeles. More had been added since, day by day,

month by month, over the past two years. She didn’t even know

anymore who was inside the wall and who was outside.

“I miss you,” she said softly, brokenly. “I miss the way things

used to be.”

He looked at her then, his eyes bleak. She knew he was deeply

troubled, that he wanted to say something of import. Maybe he

was as worried about their marriage as she was.

“I’m going to leave tomorrow. I think it’d be better that way.

It’ll give you the chance to think things over.”

What things? She wondered. The house? Or was there something he wasn’t saying?

He left the window. “I’ll go down and tell the others you’ll be

with us shortly.”

“Alex?”

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When he turned, she stood. Gathering her nerve, she took the

risk and let her feelings show. “Would you hold me? Just for a

minute.” He came to her and did as she asked, but she felt no

comfort. His arms were around her, but it was as though he

withheld himself, his heart.

How could he be standing there, holding her, and yet seem so

very far away?

When she joined the others in the parlor, she sat in the wing

chair near the cold fireplace. Alex took his proper place beside

her. He didn’t so much as put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Mike and Melissa sat on the couch, holding hands.

She tried to listen as Roy Lubbeck talked. He was explaining

that after her father’s death, her mother had put all the family

assets into a living trust so that, in the event of her death, their

inheritance wouldn’t be tied up in probate.

Her mother had put the house in Mike’s and her name two

years before. The taxes, which amounted to a considerable sum,

were paid through the year. She had also set up an account

intended to take care of any minor problems that might arise,

such as plumbing, appliance repair, and the like.

Sierra remembered that shortly after her father had passed

away, her mother had hired a contractor to reshingle the entire

roof. She’d spent a great deal to have the southern eaves and

back porch torn out and rebuilt after termites were discovered.

Roy went on to explain that the rest of her mother’s assets were

in certificates of deposit and treasury bills, including fifteen

thousand earmarked for each grandchild, the money to be held

in trust until their eighteenth birthdays.

Closing his briefcase, Roy cleared his throat. He looked at

Mike and then her. “Your mother was a remarkable woman. It

was my good fortune to call her and your father friends.” He

started to say more and couldn’t. As he rose, he took an envelope

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from his suit jacket and held it out to Alex. “Marianna asked that

I give this to you.”

Disturbed, Alex took the letter, folded it in half, and pushed it

into the front pocket of his slacks. “I’ll walk you out,” he said.

Sierra heard the murmur of their voices. After a few moments the front door closed, but Alex didn’t return. Glancing at

Mike and Melissa, she rose and went into the foyer. She could

see through the leaded window on each side of the door. Alex

stood outside on the front steps, his hands shoved into his pockets. As Roy Lubbeck’s Thunderbird pulled away from the curb,

Alex went down the steps. Her heart began to beat heavily in

dread, but he didn’t head for his car, which was parked in the

drive alongside the house. He went out to the sidewalk and

headed for the Plaza where they used to sit and listen to the

summer concerts in the bandstand. Relieved, she rested her

forehead against the door for a moment and then went back

into the parlor.

“We’ve already eaten,” Melissa told her. “Do you want something?” Sierra closed her eyes, shaking her head. The thought of

food was enough to make her stomach lurch.

“Try to get some sleep,” Melissa said when the mantel clock

chimed eleven.

Sierra went upstairs to bed. Lying in her canopy bed, she tried

to think of happier times. Her mind was consumed with “what if”

scenarios. When she awakened in the morning, Alex wasn’t

beside her.

Donning her robe, she came downstairs to the kitchen and

found Melissa making waffles for the children. “Have you seen

Alex?” she said.

“Daddy left for the airport,” Carolyn said, pouring syrup on

her waffle.

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“When?” Sierra said, heart sinking. Had he really left without

even saying good-bye to her?

“About an hour ago, I guess. He came in and talked to Clanton

and me while we were watching television.”

Turning away, she blinked back tears.

Melissa poured batter into the waffle iron. “He said he didn’t

want to awaken you,” she said quietly. “He felt you needed

sleep.”

When Melissa looked at her, Sierra knew Alex hadn’t fooled

anyone with his excuses. Sierra gave her sister-in-law a cynical

smile, poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat down with the

children.

If this baby is not born soon, I will burst like an

overripe melon.

James is worried sick. He makes me nervous.

There is no midwife and I am too far gone to go

back to Galena by wagon or any other way. So

we will have to manage by ourselves. I cannot

even bend over to pick up the babies I have and

there is no lap left for them to sit on. Some days

this baby kicks so much I wonder if there are

not two inside me. Maybe they are contending

with one another just like Esau and Jacob.

Matthew Lucas Farr was born mid-morning May

5 or thereabouts. He is as strong and loud as his

older brother ever was. Deborah Anne followed

her brother into the world straight away. They do

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not look at all alike, but sound pretty near the

same.

James is back at work in the fields. He is much

relieved to have me up and around again. He has

not the patience for tending toddling and crawling babies, though he had charge of his offspring

for three whole days. I could not help but laugh at

his Frustration. Joshua had to show him how to

change a diaper, but washing soiled ones is a

chore James would sooner die than do. Does he

think I like it?

I am beginning to feel like our poor milk cow.

It has been two years since I wrote a word in this

journal. Where has all the time gone? Back on the

homestead, by the time the day is done, I am too

tired to put two thoughts together in my head let

alone put anything sensible on paper. Now, I am

visiting Aunt Martha and my Burdens are lifted.

She is enthralled with the twins and Delighted to

have Joshua, Hank, and Beth back under her

roof. Betsy and Clovis are pleased, too. Joshua is

Clovis’s shadow. Hank and Beth spend most of

their time in the kitchen with Betsy. They have

discovered her fine cooking. The only time Aunt

Martha gives up the twins is when they need

nursing.

Galena is so much bigger than it was three

years ago. Aunt Martha said there are more than

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ten thousand souls living here now. I think it

more likely that four thousand of them have no

souls at all from what I’ve seen. The river is busy

with ships from the Mississippi. Irishmen and

Germans swarm the docks and negras as well.

Betsy said there is a new African Methodist Episcopal Church. She and Clovis go there to worship

Jesus. There’s so much noise now you can’t hear

yourself think.

Aunt Martha has a new cistern. She said too

many people use the town well and it is too long

a wait for water.

James and I saw a man haul a box out onto the

sidewalk near the marketplace today. He stood

on it and talked about Oregon. He talked about

the Preemption Act of 1841 saying every person head of a family can have 160 acres of

prime free land in Oregon. James insisted we

stay and hear what the man had to say. The

man claimed Oregon is a land flowing with

milk and honey on the shores of the Pacific. He

said there are great crops of wheat there that

grow as high as a man’s head. He said pigs run

about under great acorn trees, round and fat,

and already cooked with knives and forks sticking in them so you can saw off a slice anytime

you have a mind to do so. Some believed his

hogwash and were ready to sign up and go

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right off with him in their farm wagons. I am

glad James had more sense.

James sold our corn crop today. Prices are down.

He has worked hard the past few years paying off

Papas debts and making improvements on the

homestead. If Papa could see the land now, he

would be proud of James.

We will go home soon. I will miss Aunt Martha

and Betsy and Clovis. I will miss the good cooking, the feather bed, the piano, and the ladies

from the quilting club.

For all that, I can hardly wait to be home again.

James has westering fever. He talks of nothing

but Oregon.

What is it about men that they always think the

grass is greener on the other side of a mountain?

The grass is green enough right here. I told

James we have land all paid for, a sturdy house,

a barn, two horses, a milk cow, some goats, and

a flock of chickens. We have our health and our

babies and we are happy.

He said—You are happy, Mary Kathryn. The

way I see it we will be living hand to mouth all

our lives as long as we stay in Illinois. In Oregon

there is a chance. A chance for what I wanted to

know. To build something that will last he said.

And the winters are milder.

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I told him when something sounds too good to

be true, it most likely is.

But all he said to that was—Free land, Mary

Kathryn. Think of it.

I said—Free land two thousand miles away.

Free land we have not seen and know nothing

about. We have land right here already.

He said—Poor land full of rocks and roots and

heartache.

Sometimes James sounds just like he did when

he was talking about going off to New York and

England and China.

I am sick of hearing about Oregon.

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The Surrender

HEURRENDER

T

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the side door from the garage. Carolyn and Clanton followed her

in, lugging their suitcases through the kitchen and down the hallway to their bedrooms. Sierra set her own down in the living

room and wandered through the house.

Something didn’t feel right. Sierra couldn’t put her finger on

it, but a strange foreboding filled her. At first, she wondered if

the house had been burglarized, but nothing was missing. She

opened the drapes in the living room and let the spring sunshine

in, but that didn’t help dispel the dark atmosphere.

Picking up her suitcases, Sierra went down the hallway to the

master bedroom. Her brows lifted slightly when she found the

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bed made. In thirteen years of marriage, Alex had never made a

bed. The rugs had been vacuumed. Clean towels hung in the

bathroom. She put her hand on the doorknob to the walk-in

closet and then hesitated, irrational fear gripping her. Taking a

deep breath, she opened it and breathed in relief when she saw

Alex’s suits hanging to the right. The shelves at the back were

neatly stacked with shirts.

She went back into the bedroom, where she had put her suitcases. Hefting one onto the bed, she unlatched it and began unpacking. As she tucked her clothing back into the dresser and

put her toiletries into the bathroom, she couldn’t shake the

doubts and fears that had been building since Alex had left

Healdsburg.

The children had raised them.

Over the past two weeks while she’d remained in Healdsburg

to make some decisions with her brother, little things had come

out in conversations with the children. During the time Sierra

was in Healdsburg by herself, Dolores had spent the night

babysitting four times, and Clanton and Carolyn had spent one

weekend at Marcia Burton’s.

“Daddy!” Carolyn cried out in the other room, and Sierra

heard Clanton chattering away as their father returned early

from work. Sierra’s pulse skyrocketed. She looked around the

bedroom again and bit her lip. Had he hired a maid service? If

so, why now when he never had before? Closing the empty suitcases, she lifted them off the bed and set them near the door. She

would put them away in the garage later.

Her stomach knotted with tension. Trying to calm down, she

sat in the chair by the window. Resting her hands on the arms,

she waited.

It seemed an hour before Alex stood in the doorway. “I’m glad

you made it back safely.” His tone and expression were enigmatic.

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“Thanks.” Her heart drummed harder, not in the way it used

to when she looked at him, but with something deeper, something primeval. “Where are Carolyn and Clanton?” she said,

keeping her tone neutral.

“Carolyn’s on the telephone with Pamela, and Clanton’s down

the street playing soccer with some friends. He’ll be in before

dark.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “What’s the matter?”

“You tell me, Alex,” she said without inflection. When he said

nothing, she drew in her breath slowly to keep herself from shaking. “I heard Dolores had to spend four nights with the children

while I was gone.” His expression flickered slightly. “And they

spent a weekend with Marcia.” A pink hue seeped up from his

collar and filled his face.

Sierra closed her eyes.

Alex came into the bedroom and closed the door quietly behind him. He leaned against it for a moment, saying nothing.

When he spoke, his voice was low and heavy. “I didn’t want to

talk about this. Not the first day you got home.” He sat down on

the bed and leaned forward, clasping his hands between his

knees. “Things aren’t working between us anymore.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him. His eyes grazed hers

and shifted away.

“You don’t understand what’s important to me,” he said.

“What is important, Alex?”

He looked at her then, coolly. “My work. You’ve resented

what I do from the beginning.”

“Can you tell me truthfully it’s work that kept you away for six

nights while I was gone?”

The small lines around his mouth deepened. “We’ve got nothing in common anymore. Our marriage started disintegrating a

long time ago.”

“We have two children in common,” she said quietly. “We’re

married to one another. We have that in common.”

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“Then let me put it to you straight. I’m not in love with you

anymore.”

Sierra hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to have Alex

say those words straight out. She remembered listening to

Meredith talk about her ex-husbands. “They always say you never

understood them, that you don’t have anything in common anymore. But

it usually boils down to one thing. Another woman.”

Her heart sank into the pit of her stomach.

“I’m sorry, Sierra. I—”

“Who is she, Alex?”

He looked away from her and sighed. Standing, he moved

restlessly, finally stopping near her dresser. “What difference

does it make?”

“I’d like to hear the news from you before I hear it from someone else.”

Alex pushed his hands in his pockets, reminding her of the

night Roy Lubbeck had given him a letter from her mother. Had

he ever bothered to read it?

“Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth?” Her heart plummeted. “Elizabeth Longford?”

she said weakly, cold clarity washing over her like a tidal wave.

“The woman from Connecticut?”

“Yes.”

“The one who graduated from Wellesley?”

“Yes.”

Alex said she didn’t understand him. Oh, but he was wrong, so

wrong. She knew him better than he knew himself. She saw him

so clearly in that instant. It was as though all the veiling had been

ripped away, leaving his soul bare for her to see.

“You finally made the grade, didn’t you?” she said softly, hurt

beyond anything she could ever have thought possible.

Alex turned slowly and looked at her. Sierra watched her husband’s face change. Shock. Pain. Rage. She knew her words had

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struck true, right to the very heart of the matter. He knew exactly what she meant. The poor farm laborer’s son who had

never felt good enough had finally bagged himself a worthy trophy. Beautiful, well-educated, accomplished Elizabeth Longford, daughter of the American Revolution. Maybe he didn’t

fully realize she had always understood his insecurities and loved

him despite them. Certainly she had never expected to throw

them in his face. But then, she had never expected him to betray

her with another woman.

“Bruja,” he said through his teeth.

“And what are you, Alex? A cheat and a liar.”

Had Alex been another kind of man, he would have struck her.

She saw how much he wanted to. She almost wished he would.

Maybe then she wouldn’t feel this sick anguish. She’d be glad to see

him leave. She wouldn’t care. It wouldn’t feel like he was ripping

her heart out. Looking into his eyes, she saw no hint of tenderness

or regret. She saw a man determined to be free, eager to be gone.

“This farce of a marriage is over!” he said, enraged.

Pain gripped Sierra until she could hardly breathe. She knew

Alejandro Luís Madrid so well. If she apologized, it would make

no difference. She had done the unthinkable by putting light on

his secret pain. If she begged, it wouldn’t change anything. He

would never forgive her. His very blood would cry out against it.

“It’s not over for me, Alex. It never will be.”

Crossing the room, he opened the door. “That’s your problem,” he said and walked out.

Lucas came back today.

If I could wish a man dead, it would be him. He

was a bad seed as far back as I can remember and

he has grown up tangled and full of treachery.

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He rode right up to the house on a good animal

and dressed in fine clothes, claiming the homestead belongs to him. I told him he was a thief and

a liar. He laughed and said it dont matter. What is

important is he is Papas firstborn and I am disinherited. He has a letter from Hiram Reinholtz to

prove it.

And then he said bold as brass—But since

James has done such a fine job working the

place, I will be generous and allow you to stay

on as sharecroppers. And if you don’t like that

arrangement, Mary Kathryn, you can pack up

and go straight to hades.

James said he will not fight Lucas over the land.

No matter what I say, he will not listen. This land

is my home. I was born in this house. James has

done more work in the fields than Lucas ever did.

And now my no-good brother shows up after all

these years and says the homestead all belongs to

him. Not without a fight, I say.

James says no. He says we are going to Oregon.

Lucas came to the house today and he brought

a man and woman with him. They all were in a

wagon. I stood on the front porch with a rifle, but

James took it from me before I could shoot my

brother dead. Lucas brought Elder right into my

house. The man had his hat in his hand and

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would not look at me. It did not help knowing he

is ashamed for taking my home from me. Lucas

said he has a contract with Elder. Elder will work

the land and share profits.

I am writing this in the barn by candlelight as

I am pushed out of my own home and my own

husband helped. I am sleeping in the hay with my

babies. Where James is sleeping I don’t know

and I don’t care.

Aunt Martha welcomed us with open arms. So

did Betsy and Clovis. I had not cried a tear until

I saw them and now I cannot stop.

It was a long ride here by farm wagon from the

homestead. Not in miles. The children fretted and

kept asking how long it would take to get to

Galena. James was short-tempered. If it’s like

this for two days travel, what does he think it will

be like on a two-thousand mile journey through

Indian infested wilderness?

He said—You will see I am right when we get

to Oregon, Mary Kathryn.

I did not answer or even look at him.

I hoped in vain that by the time we got here,

he would change his mind. I hoped he would see

I am right and he would turn this wagon around

and go back and fight for what belongs to us.

He didn’t change his mind about nothing. He’s

dug in his heels deep as Papa ever did. He went

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T H R E A D

right down to the market place and sold our

wagon and used part of the money to buy passage

on a steamboat. He says we’re going down the

Mississippi the end of this week and getting off at

Independence Landing.

I said—Good bye, James Farr. It was nice

knowing you.

He said—You are going with me if I have to

hog-tie and carry you! I told him he would have

to do just that. So he went out and got so drunk

Clovis had to fetch him home. Poor old Clovis

had to carry James home slung over his shoulder

like a sack of grain. I told Clovis he could dump

James in the potato cellar and leave him there

until he grows eyes and rots. He is not welcome

in my bed.

I reckon that is what Clovis did with him.

I can barely see this page for the tears. How

is it possible to hate a man I love so much?

Aunt Martha says God’s hand is in this. If that is

so, then I have a bone to pick with God. Not that

he will listen. Not that he ever did.

Aunt Martha and I sat all day today talking and

crying. I asked her if I and my children could stay

and live with her when James goes to Oregon.

She said no. She said she cannot come between a

man and his wife. She said God joined us together

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and she will not help me split the sheets. So I am

stuck with James Addison Farr and his dreams of

Oregon.

I should have married Thomas Atwood

Houghton.

Aunt Martha bought me a trunk. James is outfitting us in Independence. So for now, all I have is

a medicine box with Quinine, bluemass, opium,

laudanum, whiskey, hartshorn for snakebites and

citric acid to treat scurvy, books, slates, chalk,

and ink aplenty. I do not want my children growing up ignorant like their father. The ladies from

the quilting circle packed pieces of fabric in every

color and pattern imaginable so I can make my

own quilt someday. I have packed stout linen

thread, large needles, beeswax, buttons, paper of

pins and 2 thimbles and packed in a pretty candy

box Thomas gave me a long time ago.

If I had married Thomas I would not be going

to Oregon.

Pack three sets

1 linsey-woolsey dress

1 wool dress

unmentionables

4 pairs of woolen socks

2 pairs of walking shoes

1 good shawl

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T H R E A D

1 bonnet

comb, brush and 2 toothbrushes

Pack two sets

2 flannel overshirts

2 woolen undershirts

2 pairs thick cotton drawers

4 pairs of woolen socks

4 color handkerchiefs

2 pairs of walking shoes

1 pair of boots

1 gutta percha poncho

1 coat

comb, brush, 2 toothbrushes each

frying pan

kettle

coffee pot

pie tin

butter churn

2 saws

2 shovels

2 axes

3 belt knives

1 whetstone

1 rifle

1 pistol

ammunition

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T H E

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James says he has the money to buy the rest of

what we need when we get to Independence.

I think it would be cheaper to buy supplies here,

but he said it would cost too dear to freight it

down the river. So we will go with what little we

have, which is not much.

Aunt Martha offered money to James, but he

would have none of it. I was not so proud.

I said Good Bye to Aunt Martha this morning. It

near broke my heart. It is breaking still as I sit on

this miserable shallow draft steamboat taking me

down the Mississippi away from her and Betsy

and Clovis and my home. Aunt Martha kissed

me and took off her cross necklace and put it on

me. It is the pretty one with amethyst stones I

admired when I first come to Galena after my

father cast me out. She has worn it every day of

her life since her papa give it to her on her fourteenth birthday. She said—I want you to have it

in memory of me. Let it remind you I am praying

for you every day. She said— God is with you,

Mary Kathryn Farr, and don’t you ever forget it.

I was not comforted.

I will never see them again. She says I will, but

she means heaven and I am not going there. I am

not going anywhere God is.

I got God and James Addison Farr to blame

for all this heartache.

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T H R E A D

Joshua asked me today why I will not speak to

Papa. I said it was nothing for him to worry his

mind over, but he is worried all the same. I said

I was busy making sure Beth and Hank and the

twins do not fall overboard into the river. But he

said that is not so because Papa has Matthew and

Hank with him and the twins are asleep and Beth

is too scared of water to get close to the edge of

the boat.

He said—You will see Papa is right when we

get to Oregon. I told him if I heard those words

again, his papa will find himself in the muddy

Mississippi. And he can’t swim!

We got off the boat at Independence Landing two

days ago. It has been cloudy and cold. James

found a holding place for our possessions until we

have a wagon to store them. It is a good thing it is

not raining because we are camped without so

much as a tent over our heads.

Independence is the wildest place I have ever

seen. It is full of people from every walk of life,

most I would not want to venture down. I have

never seen so many people. Everyone is buying

and selling something. Everyone is in a hurry to

get ready to go to Oregon or California or

Santa Fe.

It is dusk and I can still hear hammers pounding as wagons are being built and oxen bellowing

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and horses neighing. It is impossible to get a wink

of sleep in this jumping off place.

James left me with the children so he can go

walking around the town square and—get a feel

for what is happening—as he put it. I am getting

feeling enough from sitting by and watching.

Most people hereabouts are as crazy as he is. The

men at least. I have not seen a happy woman

since we landed.

James talked all day to men camped near us with

their wives and children about whether it is wise

to buy oxen or mules. He came back and laid out

all he had learned and then said—What do you

think, Mary Kathryn?

He would not want to know what I think.

He said—You gotta talk to me sometime.

Not in this lifetime I don’t.

James bought 4 teams of oxen today at $25 an

ox! They are good sturdy animals and gentle, but

not worth that much. He should have bargained

harder. James said he will send me next time. He

said if things get bad on the trail, we can eat

them. I would like to know how he thinks he

could do that with Beth taking these beasts of

burden to her heart already.

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T H R E A D

I met Nellie Doane today. She and her husband

Wells are camped near us. She was washing

clothes in the creek same time I was. I am not the

only one weeping about going to Oregon. We

cried together and laughed some too. We both

had some fine ideas about what to do with our

husbands. She said she supposed we would have

to make the best of what comes. She has three

children all eager to go westering. Joshua and her

son Harlan are already fast friends.

Other people are gathering near us. Virgil

Boon for one. He is a cooper from Pennsylvania and up in years. He is at least forty if he

is a day. There is also Judge Skinner and his

wife. He is older still. Forty-three, he said. He

figures they will need Law and Order in Oregon. His wife is not friendly so I do not know

her name. Ruckel Buckeye is from Kentucky

and only fifteen. I asked him what his mother

thinks about him going off to Oregon by himself and he said she told him to go and make

a better life for himself out west. I cannot

imagine a mother telling her son to leave her

knowing she will never see him again. She

must be a hard woman.

It has been raining near every day. Our clothes

are as damp as my spirits. I must trek through

mud to get to the mercantile. James said he needs

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S U R R E N D E R

me to do an accounting or we will not have

money enough to make the journey.

He said—You’re going to have to help me

unless you want to live in this wild place for the

rest of your days, Mary Kathryn. He cant write

or read and there are men in this town that skin

you for the pure pleasure of it. He said we have

$854.22 to our names and it took him all the years

we worked the homestead to save that. Aunt

Martha gave me $120 that I have hidden in the

trunk for safe keeping and Dire Straits. I did not

tell him about it.

James brought Mister Kavanaugh to our campfire today. I saw this man two days ago in the

mercantile. Or rather he saw me. He was standing at the counter and buying powder, lead, and

shot when I come in with the children. He is a big

man and hard to miss. He looks wild as an Indian

in his buckskins. His hair is long and dark and

held back by a piece of rawhide. He was carrying

a Sharp’s buffalo rifle and had bluer eyes than

I have ever seen before and staring right at me

from the minute I walked in the door.

Joshua wanted to talk to him but I told him to

stay put by me and watch that Hank and Beth did

not stray. I turned my back for one minute and

next thing I knew Joshua took Hank and Beth

right up to him. I should have been paying better

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T H R E A D

attention, but I had the twins and was bargaining

with MacDonald who is a thief and must be

watched. When I turned around again, there was

Joshua asking this rough stranger all manner of

questions and him looking at me with those blue

eyes of his. I shooed the children away from him,

apologized, and left quick as I could.

I knew I would see him again. I did not know

how or when. I just knew. How James met him

I don’t know and will not ask. I offered Mister

Kavanaugh supper and he accepted. James

did most of the talking while they ate. I did

not say anything. I listened and learned Mister

Kavanaugh has had commerce with the Kansa,

Pawnee, Cheyenne, and Sioux. He lived with the

Cheyenne two years. He has great respect for the

Indians and not much for those he has seen getting ready to head west. He said most are illprepared for what awaits them.

I said—Do you mean us, Mister Kavanaugh?

And he said—Depends.

On what I asked to know. He just looked at me

and did not say.

James and Wells and half a dozen other men are

meeting with John MacLeod tonight. A contract

will be drawn up and signed and fees set for

his hire. James said he Highly Recommends

Kavanaugh as a scout but doubts the man will

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agree. Kavanaugh has an affinity for Indians and

little use for his own kind.

James said Kavanaugh has agreed to go with us

to Oregon. He said John MacLeod was surprised

and pleased. He said—Kavanaugh knows this

country like the back of his own hand.

All the ladies are Impressed with him. They

think he is Very Handsome and Mysterious. The

men ply him with constant questions. I wonder

sometimes if James and the others are not having

second thoughts about this madness of going west.

It is raining again today and making mess of our

camp. Last night, the wind blew rain right into

the wagon. It is too wet for a cookfire. I wish I

was at home at Aunt Martha’s with my children

cuddled into that big brass bed.

I asked James what we would do if the children

get sick. He says we got Doc Murphy. What if the

wagon breaks down? He says we have spare parts

and the wheels are made of osage orangewood.

What about Indians? He says Kavanaugh knows

what to do about Indians. James says I worry too

much, and I say he doesn’t worry enough.

We ate cold beans and hard biscuits tonight.

I kept thinking about Betsy’s fine cooking and

that warm kitchen. I wonder if I will ever know

those Comforts again. By the time we get to

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T H R E A D

Oregon, it will most likely be too late to plant

Crops. We will all starve by springtime.

I wonder if any of us will be alive in a year.

EXPENDITURES

Concord spring wagon of white oak . .

$85.00

Cotton duck covers . . . . . . . . . . .

100.00

4 teams of oxen . . . . . . . . . . . . .

200.00

harnesses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

25.00

6 barrels of flour . . . . . . . . . . . . .

25.00

600 pounds bacon . . . . . . . . . . . .

30.00

50 pounds chipped beef . . . . . . . . .

8.00

50 pounds lard . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

2.50

100 pounds dried fruit . . . . . . . . . .

6.00

50 pounds salt and pepper. . . . . . . .

3.00

100 pounds coffee . . . . . . . . . . . .

9.00

200 pounds beans . . . . . . . . . . . .

8.00

75 pounds rice . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

3.75

10 pounds of saleratus . . . . . . . . . .

1.00

5 pounds mustard . . . . . . . . . . . .

1.00

150 pounds sugar . . . . . . . . . . . .

7.00

powder, lead, shot . . . . . . . . . . . .

20.00

30 pounds tenting . . . . . . . . . . . .

5.00

matches. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1.00

50 pounds candles . . . . . . . . . . . .

3.30

3 pounds castile soap . . . . . . . . . .

2.00

100 feet heavy rope . . . . . . . . . . .

4.00

45 pounds bedding. . . . . . . . . . . .

22.50

Total . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $572.05

Savings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

854.22

-572.05

282.17

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Share for captain/scout

MacLeod and Kavanaugh . . . . . . . .

-44.00

Savings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

282.17

-44.00

238.17

Members

John MacLeod Wagon Company to Oregon

Territory

Scout—Mister Kavanaugh

James and Mary Kathryn Farr—Illinois/ farmer

children: Joshua, Henry, Beth, Matt, and

Deborah

Virgil Boon—Pennsylvania/ cooper

Judge Skinner and wife Mary— Carolina/ lawyer

Reese Murphy—New York/ doctor

sister: Susan

Cal Chaffey—Maine/ farmer

Mary and Marcus Sweeney—Ohio/ blacksmith

Mittie Catlow—Illinois/ farmer

son: Calhoun

Franklin and Paralee Sinnott—Missouri/ merchant

children: Frank and Patricia

Werner Hoffman—New York/ farmer

son: Herbert

KaiserVandervert—Massachusetts/ tailor

Ernest and Winifred Holtz—New York/ wheelwright

children: Ernst, Louisa, Alicia, Gottlieb

Melzena and Arbozena Pratt—Alabama/

seamstresses

nigra servant: Homer

Wells and Nellie Doane—Missouri/ baker

children: Robert, Harlan, LeRoy

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T H R E A D

Lot Whimcomby—Massachusetts/ clerk

Paul Colvigne—Delaware/ teacher

Binger Siddons—Indiana/ farmer

Oren and Aphie McKenzie—Virginia/ farmer

Dunham and Celia Banks—Connecticut/ shoemaker

children: baby Hortense

A. J. Wrigh t—Tennessee/ harnessmaker

Wyatt Collins—Vermont/ farmer

Cage Bake r—Kentucky/ farmer

Ruckel Buckeye—Ohio/ hunter

Artemesia and Athena Hendershott—Georgia/

drayage

brother: Apollo

Stern Janssen—Sweden/ sailor

Matthew Odell—Illinois/ gunsmith

Less Moore—South Carolina/ gambler

Payment rendered in advance to John

MacLeod—$800.00

Payment rendered in advance to

Bogan Kavanaugh—300.00

The sun has finally come out. We were busy all

day repacking to John MacLeod’s instructions.

Our flour is now stored in canvas sacks instead of

barrels, 100 pounds per sack. Our bacon supply

is repacked in boxes, 100 pounds each. We surrounded the bacon with bran. JM says this will

prevent the fat from melting and keep the bacon

from spoiling.

I am too tired to write more.

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It is raining again. We have moved to higher

ground. Everyone is Wet and Cold and Agitated.

JM says we will not move out until the grass is

four inches high. Right now, our stock is feeding

on what grass there is which is not much.

No one is happy, not even James who had this

fool idea of going to Oregon.

I long for home. I cannot think about Aunt

Martha, Betsy and Clovis without crying.

James bought a milk cow for $20. Beth will have

charge of it. Joshua will help herd the stock the

company has bought from the common fund.

We have been on the trail three days. We left

Courthouse Square at sunup May 12. There are

twenty-eight wagons in our company and

fifty-eight souls counted among them. We crossed

the Missouri border and left the United States of

America. The only law and order we got now is

what we have agreed to among ourselves. We

have traveled over muddy roads past a great big

blue mound and then crossed Bull Creek. Heading due west, we saw a sign saying The Road to

Oregon. We had a hard crossing at the

Vermillion. A. J. Wright lost a wheel coming

down the steep bank.

Crossing creeks is always trouble. Near the

mission the Shawnee Indians helped me while

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T H R E A D

James helped A. J. The children and I had a

smooth crossing though my heart was in my

throat the whole way.

Franklin Sinnott has two wagons, one for family and supplies and another loaded with goods he

intends to sell in Oregon. He is driving it himself

and leaving his wife Paralee to drive the other.

She is scared of driving and with good reason.

She is not much good at it and Very Fragile.

When we were at the Wakarusa, she pulled out of

line and waited. Franklin yelled at her something

fierce, but she would not get back behind and follow him across. She would not budge. He had to

come back and drive the wagon across himself.

He was so mad, he made her get off and walk.

Little Patricia screamed for her mama all the way

across the river. Paralee came across in a bull

boat with a Shawnee.

We crossed the Kansas and have followed the

Little Blue for three days. James is letting Joshua

drive the wagon. I am thankful. It is easier on a

body to walk.

Someone pushing a wheelbarrow followed us

all day yesterday and today. MacLeod said it was

probably a Mormon and went out to see. I can

see the glow of a campfire in the distance.

Artemesia and Athena Hendershott have asked

Kavanaugh to share their supper. They are very

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S U R R E N D E R

nice ladies. Perhaps he will take a liking to one.

Apollo would be delighted to see one of his sisters

wed.

John MacLeod just returned and told James it

is a woman out there. He told her she is a fool and

should go back, but she said it is a free country

and she can go where she pleases.

It is beyond my thinking why any woman

would choose to go to Oregon let alone work so

hard to get there.

I wonder who she is and why she is so Determined to leave Civilization behind.

James said the woman following us is French and

from New Orleans and I am to have no discourse

with her. I asked him why and he would not tell

me. I said I would talk to whom I please and he

said I would not. I asked how he come to know so

much about her and he said Kavanaugh told him.

I told him it was his rotation on guard duty and

he should go. Ruckel Buckeye and Apollo

Hendershott are also on duty tonight. Kavanaugh

told us from the start the Indians have a fondness

for stock and the men must keep their Eyes

Open. James was mad enough when he left the

fire that he will have no trouble staying awake.

We have reached Alcove Springs. There were

so many wagons, we felt we were right back in

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T H R E A D

Independence. We will move on tomorrow for

better forage for the animals. I spent the afternoon washing clothes.

I can hear fiddles playing on the night air.

James wants to dance. He has not said so, but

I can tell because his foot is tapping. He keeps

looking at me and waiting for me to say something.

I would like to say something, but he would not

like to hear it.

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T H E I N T E R C O M O N S I E R R A ’ S D E S K B U Z Z E D . S H E

pressed the button. “Yes, Arlene?”

“You have a call on line two.”

“Thank you.” Sierra pressed the button, thinking it was the

counselor she’d been trying to reach. “Sierra Madrid speaking.”

“It’s Alex.”

Her heart leaped, and then crashed when he got straight to the

point. “The house is yours. My attorney says I’m making a mistake, but I want you to have it. I’ve already had the deed changed

over into your name. Same for your BMW. You’ll get the papers

certified mail in a day or two.”

His voice was so cold, her fingers felt icy around the telephone

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T H R E A D

receiver. “Do you feel absolved now? Do you think giving me a

house and car makes everything right?”

“I think I’m being more than fair.”

“Fair?” Her throat closed. “I never realized you thought adultery and desertion were fair.”

“As soon as you get an attorney, we can get all the details of the

divorce settled. The quicker it’s done, the easier it’ll be on all of

us.”

She had no intention of making it easy for him. Trembling, she

put her hand over her eyes. “I won’t give you a divorce, Alex. I

already told you that.”

He swore in Spanish. “I’m not coming back, Sierra. You’d

better understand that here and now. I want out!”

“You’re already out. You just don’t have the legal documents

to prove it. And you never will.” She slammed the phone down.

She was shaking violently, her heart hammering. Clenching

her fists, she pressed the heels against her eyes and tried to push

the emotions down deep inside her.

“Are you all right?” Ron said from the doorway.

She didn’t answer. Breathing slowly, she stuffed the feelings

deeper and deeper, until she felt cold and still inside. She

couldn’t even feel her heart beating. “Yes,” she said and turned

away, finding her place on the schedule she’d been typing for the

next week.

Ron came over to her desk and pressed the intercom button.

“Hold all calls until I tell you otherwise, Arlene. Sierra and I

need to have a conference.” Releasing the button, he put his

hands on the back of Sierra’s chair and rolled it two feet back

from her desk. “Let’s talk about what’s going on.”

She didn’t move; it was better if she kept her back to him. “I’d

rather not.”

“If you keep any more stuffed inside you, you’re going to

explode.”

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“I talk about it.”

“With Marcia,” he said simply. “I don’t think she’s helping

much.”

“And a few others.”

“Meredith?”

“I’ve talked the situation over with her attorney,” Sierra

admitted. “Alex can’t get a divorce, not without my help, and

I’m not going to give it to him.”

“You’ve lost weight in the last month, Sierra. You look like

you aren’t sleeping.”

“Thanks, Ron. I needed to hear that,” she said and looked

away. Carolyn had come into her bedroom again last night. It

seemed she came in every night, crying over another nightmare.

She felt his hand on her shoulder. “I care about you, Sierra. I

hate to see you hurting like this.”

The gentleness in his voice was almost her undoing. “I don’t

think there’s any way around it.”

“I want to help.”

Maybe she did need to talk to someone other than Marcia. She

was always so full of ideas on how to force Alex into coming

home and taking up his proper responsibilities as husband and

father—ideas that Sierra knew would be a waste of time. Manipulation wouldn’t work with Alex.

It wasn’t the first time Ron had offered his shoulder to cry on.

She had hesitated to take up the offer, not wanting to bring her

problems into work. But wasn’t she doing that already? Ron

cared about her. God knew, she needed someone to care. Alex

certainly didn’t.

“Come on,” Ron said.

Letting out her breath, she rose and followed him into his

office. He closed the door behind her.

“Didn’t someone from the school call you this morning?” Ron

poured a mug of coffee and held it out to her.

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T H R E A D

“Clanton was in another fight,” she said, taking it. She sat in

the wing chair in front of his desk.

Ron poured himself a mug of coffee and leaned on the desk in

front of her. “That’s two fights this week, isn’t it?”

“The school counselor knows what’s been going on. She says

he’s ‘acting out his anger.’”

_

“Has Alex spoken to him?”

She gave a bleak laugh. “Even if Alex tried, Clanton wouldn’t

talk to him.”

“Why not?”

She shook her head. “I told the children why Alex left. The

first time he called, Clanton answered and said he hated him and

never wanted to see him again. Alex asked to speak with Carolyn, but she was crying too hard to even talk to him.” She held

the coffee cup between both hands, wishing the warmth would

seep through enough to stop her shaking. “Alex blamed me, of

course.” She took a slow breath, trying to control her voice. “He

said I’d turned his children against him.”

“What’d you say?”

“He didn’t give me a chance to say anything. After he said his

piece, he hung up.” Alex had cursed her in Spanish before doing

so. “All I did was tell them the truth. What else could I say when

they asked why their father hadn’t come home for three days? I

told them their father had decided to live with another woman.

Those are the facts. I told them it wasn’t because he didn’t love

them anymore. It’s because he doesn’t love me. I’d like to know

how else I could’ve broken the news.”

“Take it easy,” Ron said with a sympathetic smile. “I’m not

criticizing you.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m just sick and tired of having Alex blame me

for everything. He says all the problems the children are having

now are my fault. He’s the one having the affair. He’s the one who

deserted his family. And yet everything is my fault.”

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“It’s human nature to want to blame someone else.”

Just as she was blaming Alex for everything? Was that what

he was saying? She pressed her lips together. Well, wasn’t it

Alex’s fault? If he hadn’t left her and the children and moved in

with his mistress, everything would be fine.

Speak the truth, Sierra.

Her face burned at the remembered admonition. Whenever

she or Mike had tried to justify something they’d done as children, Mom would always look them right in the eye and say

those quiet words.

Speak the truth. . . .

The truth. Things hadn’t been right between her and Alex in a

long, long time. She knew it, but she also knew she wasn’t ready

to face it. She quickly averted her thoughts from that path and

focused on the children instead. “I’m not sure what to do about

Clanton. He’s been in the principal’s office four times over the

last two weeks, and his report card is a disaster. He quit baseball

without even telling me. When I asked him why, he said he didn’t

care about it anymore. He used to love it, Ron. Now, all he does

is sit in his room and play video games.”

“What about Carolyn?”

“She’s the exact opposite. Clanton tells me every afternoon

that he has no homework, whereas she works on assignments for

hours. She was devastated the other day when she missed one

word on a spelling test.”

“Is she still having the nightmares?”

Sierra nodded. “She had another last night. She came into my

room at one in the morning, crying and saying she’d dreamed I’d

died in a car accident.”

“Poor kid.”

“Marcia says it’s fear of losing both parents. With Alex gone,

she’s afraid something will happen to me, too.”

“Marcia’s spent enough time in counseling to be an expert,”

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Ron said with a faint smile. “Listen, I think you all need a break.

Why don’t you and the kids go with me to Catalina on Saturday?”

Startled by the invitation, she looked up at him. “Catalina?”

“We’re having great sailing weather.”

“Sailing?”

“Yes, sailing. Don’t look so doubtful. I’m good at it. I sailed to

Fiji by myself when I was twenty-three.”

“I had no idea,” she said for the sake of conversation. Her mind

was whirring. She felt vaguely uncomfortable, but she couldn’t

pinpoint why. Her cheeks grew warm as he continued to study

her.

“I wasn’t suggesting anything inappropriate,” he said, his tone

sincere.

Her face went hot. “Oh, I know that!” she said quickly, “but

. . .”

“But what?”

“You’re my boss.”

His mouth tipped. “I’m also your friend.” He straightened and

went around his desk, sitting in his swivel chair. She wondered if

he sensed she needed distance between them to feel at ease with

him again. “I’ll ask Marcia and Tom and their children to come

along,” he said. “They’ve been to Catalina with me several times.

Pamela and Reed are good little sailors. They can teach Clanton

and Carolyn how to man the ropes.”

Sierra smiled bleakly. “It’d be a relief not to sit around the

house all weekend obsessing about Alex and Elizabeth Longford.” As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn’t. Somehow,

pairing their names aloud brought up all the pain and humiliation. Feeling the warning prick of oncoming tears, she looked

away briefly. “I think the children would enjoy it, too,” she said

when she’d regained her self-control.

“Good. I’ll pick you up at five on Saturday.”

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“Isn’t that sort of late?” she said, rising and taking his empty

coffee cup. She’d rinse them out in the kitchenette down the hall.

“It’ll only give us a couple of hours before dark.”

He laughed. “Five in the morning, Sierra.”

“You’ve got to be kidding!”

“I’m being kind to you. I usually like to get an earlier start. I’ll

tell Marcia to give you a call. She can tell you what to wear.”

It rained all day.

Aphie McKenzie had a baby boy as we were

traveling. The road was mud and hard pulling.

The jouncing made it even harder on poor

Aphie. She is not a strong girl, and it was a

Difficult Birth and she is in a Very Bad Way.

Rain was blowing in on us as we helped her.

Doc Murphy did what he could to make her

comfortable. Oren gave the baby to Winifred

Holtz to nurse.

Nellie is praying hard for Aphie but I don’t

think it will do much good.

We have had a week of good weather. I never

imagined the prairie to be so boundless and beautiful. It stretches as far as I can see and not a tree

in sight. Green grass waves and flows and wild

flowers are growing everywhere and making

splashes of every color of the rainbow clear to the

horizon. The great distance scares me. There

seems no end to it.

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The Platte River is before us. I have heard much of

this great river that runs like a line from east to

west. It looks to be running bottom side up it is so

brown. The islands in the middle have willows and

cottonwoods. We are in need of firewood. James

and some of the other men have gone across to get

some. Others are making do with what they have.

Werner Hoffman burned his wife’s Gothic bookcase yesterday. She is still grieving over it. It did

not comfort her that Cal Chaffey broke up a

mahogany secretary that has been in his family for

over a hundred years. His grandfather brought it

over by ship from England.

Binger Siddons found a piano that had been

dumped along the trail. Athena Hendershott

asked to play it before the men put axes to it. She

made it sound pure heaven. Cal Chaffey joined in

on his mouth organ. I sang The Orphan Girl and

Sweet Charlotte. James asked if she could play

Are You Still Mad at Me, Darling, and she did.

I did not think it funny. Athena played until the

sunset and then left the men to break it up. Kaiser

Vandervert cried when he put his ax to it.

We are camped at new Fort Childs. It is named in

honor of Colonel Thomas Childs. Some think the

fort should be named Fort Kearny to honor General Stephen Watts Kearny and after the other

fort that was on Table Creek. I do not much care

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who it is named after or where it was before. I am

glad the old Fort Kearny was moved here from

Table Creek and we have some sight of Civilization before we head out over the Great American

Desert to face God knows what.

There are Grand Islands in the center of the

Platte and more than 170 military men Working

Diligently on the fort. A few sod shelters are finished. Prices at the trading post are High. The

soldiers are making adobe bricks and there is

much cutting and sawing going on.

Indians are here in large number. Kavanaugh

said they have come to trade. They have conical

houses of poles and hides. Kavanaugh said they

can take down the “tipis” and be on the move

quicker than James can harness the teams of

oxen. He said the Indians live this way because

they follow the buffalo. I said there are no buffalo here and he said there will be plenty soon

enough.

Joshua was very interested in the Indians.

Kavanaugh said we are crossing their land and

eating their game and leaving nothing in return. A

day will come when they will not be so hospitable.

James found a carved bed and chopped it up

for fuel. I could not help but wonder who slept

in it. It was such a grand headboard with leaves

and vines. What a shame to burn such a costly

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thing, but we have to eat and need a fire to

cook over.

Beth and my sweet little Deborah just brought an

armload of flowers to camp. They both have

Mama’s love of flowers. Beth is busy weaving garlands for our hair. The children seem to think we are

on a long picnic! I am so tired by the time the sun

goes down that I can hardly put two words together.

James said we made 18 miles today. It feels more

like 100 by the time we make camp, but he is

pleased. He says if we keep the pace, we will reach

Oregon in plenty of time before winter sets in.

I long for a bath. A week ago I was soaked to

the skin with rain and my skirt was caked with

mud. Now my skin is raw and itching from the

dust that seeps under my dress. My shoes are

already wearing out. I long for Sunday when we

will have a day of rest. Virgil Boon preached last

time. I did not agree with a word he said, but he

was entertaining.

Poor little Aphie McKenzie died last night. Oren

is Heart Broken.

The men dug her grave right in the trail so the

wagons could go over it. Kavanaugh said no

wolves would catch the scent nor Indians see the

signs of a grave that way. It makes me sad that

not even a marker bearing her name will be left,

but it would make me feel worse to think wolves

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dug her up and ate her or Indians stripped her

clean of the pretty wedding dress Oren insisted

she wear to meet her Maker.

Oren is just nineteen. James says he will mend,

but I am afraid for him. He has no interest in his

son. I asked James to keep close watch over

Oren. James said he would be pleased to do so as

long as I keep talking to him. I said I would talk

to the devil himself if he agreed to make sure that

boy does not hang himself to whatever tree he can

find.

The baby seems to be faring well in Winifred’s

care. She has milk aplenty and a good heart. Perhaps she will give him a name.

I have not seen the French woman’s fire burning

the last two nights. I asked MacLeod what

become of her. He said he did not know. I hope

Indians did not take her.

I never thought I would see the day that I would

be cooking over a fire of animal dung. We have

not seen a single buffalo yet, but are burning their

leavings and thankful to have them. Kavanaugh

said buffalo “chips” are good fuel and he is right.

The cook fire is hot and there is no smell. Joshua

shot two rabbits. I spitted and roasted them. The

sparks that shot up made them taste lightly of

pepper.

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Harlan Doane was killed today. It happened just

before our usual nooning. It was hot and he was

dozing. He fell off the high wagon seat and broke

his neck. No one knew anything happened until

Nellie started screaming.

All I could do was hold Nellie and cry with her.

I did not know what to say to comfort her. If

I had a word of wisdom I could not have gotten

it out. Joshua is just sitting against the wagon

wheel not saying anything. Harlan was his best

friend.

Death comes sudden and awful on the trail.

I am so afraid of losing one of my own.

We reached the South Platte this morning.

Kavanaugh went across ahead of the wagons

and drove long poles to mark the way. Ruckel

thought he knew a better place to cross and

almost lost his wagon in quicksand. MacLeod

shouted loud enough to be heard back in Galena

he was so mad. He said next time they would

leave Ruckel in the river rather than risk life and

limb for a fool who could not listen to those

more experienced.

Kavanaugh came back to ride with us on the

way across. He had James water the animals

before starting out. He said not to let them stop or

the wagon would sink into the sand. The Platte

may be shallow, but it is treacherous.

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We all made the crossing with no Disasters.

Nellie gave thanks to God on the other side.

Beth and I doctored one of our oxen during the

nooning. The poor animal was chaffed from being

in harness. The wound was crawling with blow

fly eggs and worms. I cleaned it out and put

bacon rind over the chaffing. MacLeod said it will

soothe the wound and keep the harness from rubbing more. Beth walked beside the animal until

we made camp. The poor beast seems better this

evening.

We had a terrible lightning and thunder storm

last night. The children were all crying and carrying on. It struck so close you could smell Hades

breath.

And then we heard a sound like rolling thunder

only it did not stop. The ground began to shake.

Kavanaugh rode in fast and shouted for the men

to get their guns quick. A stampede of buffalo

were coming straight for us.

I have never seen so many animals. They are as

numerous as the stars in the heavens. Kavanaugh

rode out with James and six others and fired

their guns to turn the stampede. That was hours

ago and the buffalo have been running by us all

that time. Dawn broke an hour ago. The sound of

those hooves is Deafening. I cannot keep my

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hand steady for the pounding and my own trembling heart.

Joshua wants to ride with the men and I will

not let him. He is angry with me. I said he had to

stay. He asked why and I said we needed him to

keep watch over us. He is not appeased.

MacLeod is here.

The truth is I am afraid he would get himself

killed. It is bad enough to be worrying about

James without wondering what is happening to

my son.

The men have been busy all day butchering the

buffalo that were shot during the stampede. They

did not shoot many as they shot in the air most

times to turn them. I told Joshua he could go help

the men do that but he has stomped off to pout.

Kavanaugh brought back a hump and tongue and

some marrow bones for us. The meat was very

tasteful and tender. He told me to roast the bones

which I did and found the marrow was delicious.

Kavanaugh has been good to us. He seems to

watch over my family more carefully than the

others. James likes him. Joshua thinks he is

next to God Almighty. He is always inviting

Kavanaugh to sup with us and then asks him

a hundred questions.

Kavanaugh said the Indians do not waste anything. They use buffalo hides to build their

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homes. They eat the meat. He cut squares of

hide and showed James how to wrap the hooves

of the oxen. Beth is delighted. Our animals now

have shoes to wear! I could use a new pair

myself but will wait until we reach Fort

Laramie.

Before leaving our campsite, Kavanaugh spoke

to James away from the fire. They did not want

me to hear. I know enough from watching that

they have doubled the guard. James saddled one

of the horses and tethered it to the end of the

wagon a few minutes ago.

Kavanaugh expects trouble.

Sioux Indians came today. Two of them were

wearing magnificent warbonnets. I near died

of fright when I saw them riding toward us.

MacLeod called the alarm and we circled the

wagons. The men took up defensive positions

while Kavanaugh rode out to talk to them. I was

sure they were going to kill him, but he showed

no fear of them and spoke to them at length.

Joshua said young braves are dangerous

because they have to engage and defeat an

enemy in order to take their place on the tribal

counsel. I asked him how he knew so much

about it and he said Kavanaugh told him. He

quotes Kavanaugh like Scripture about everything. Joshua said Kavanaugh told him prairie

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Indians are seldom at peace with their neighbors. That did not set my mind at rest.

Kavanaugh brought the Indians to camp.

I have never seen such fierce faces. Kavanaugh

said we are crossing their land and eating their

buffalo.

Joshua pays no heed to my fears and warnings. He ignored me and went off with

Kavanaugh. If that was not bad enough, while

he was about it, he invited the Sioux to eat

vittals at our fire! I was afraid they would not

like my cooking. They did not care much about

food. It was my red hair that impressed them.

Joshua told me to take off my bonnet and let my

hair down so they could see it. What for I

wanted to know. To see if it would make a fine

scalp? James laughed and said I have a temper

to match my hair. Kavanaugh explained so the

Indians would not think James was laughing at

them. I was so mad, I let down my hair. They

seemed to admire the color. So I cut six curls off

and gave one to each of the braves. Kavanaugh

told them it is strong medicine. I hope they are

satisfied with what I gave them and will not

come back for the rest of it! MacLeod gave them

gifts of blankets, sugar, and tobacco from stores

the company bought for such purposes. The

Sioux seemed satisfied with the tariff and left.

Joshua just told me the Indians earn each

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feather in their warbonnets by killing an enemy.

I am glad he did not tell me earlier!

MacLeod has posted extra guards around the

stock. I am keeping close watch on my children.

I want every one of them within sight and reach.

I have heard Indians will steal children quicker

than they will steal a horse or mule and Beth and

Deborah both have hair the same color as mine.

Kavanaugh said a most alarming thing to me

tonight. He said one of the Indians asked how

many horses James would take for me. I asked

him how many he said. Enough that he will be

making no offers, he told me. He also said not to

wander too far away from camp.

I am not certain he was serious, but I will take

no chances. James will be surprised when I sleep

beside him tonight. It will be the first time I have

done so since we left home.

Two wagons were lost today.

We made a slow climb up a California hill to the

top of the plateau. Kavanaugh and MacLeod had

warned us of the Hard Descent to come, but no

one was expecting a drop past perpendicular.

Flocks of birds were rising and dipping in the

wind. When I saw that hill, I wished we could

sprout wings and fly down. As it was, the men

rigged a windlass to lower the wagons one by one.

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Paul Colvigne was snakebit before the first one

made it down. That Event was a sign of other

catastrophies to come. The ropes pulled free of

Matthew Odell’s wagon and the whole lot went

crashing down the hill and made a sorry mess at

the bottom. The noise startled the horses. As our

luck would have it, Less Moore was in charge of

the watch over them. He is better with cards than

animals. Joshua and four others are still out

rounding them up.

It is near dusk and the men are lowering Stern

Janssen’s wagon. It is the last one. The rest of us

are camped in a hollow with many ash trees and

good water. I have supper cooking and have hung

wash on the wagon to dry. There is little wind

here which is a relief from the last few days up on

the prairie. I am tired of dust in my eyes and

mouth and under my clothes.

This was one hill and we have yet to face the

Rocky Mountains.

Joshua has returned. He said they found all but

three horses. The Best Ones. Sinnott’s Arabian

was not recovered. He will be fierce about its loss.

The other two were company bought prime stock.

Kavanaugh said the Arapahoe are a little richer

for our foolishness.

The hartshorn Doc gave Paul did no good. So

Kavanaugh made an indigo poultice for him. He

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said the Indians use it to draw serpent bites. It

may be too late. Paul is addled and doing poorly.

I gave him whiskey to ease his pain.

We buried Paul Colvigne at sunup. The company

voted to give his outfit to Matthew Odell.

2 5 1

15

S I E R R A S A T W I T H H E R B A R E L E G S D A N G L I N G over

the side of Ron’s sailboat as she watched Clanton and Carolyn

swim in the cove with Pamela and Reed. It was a perfect early

summer day, the sun high overhead, not a cloud in the blue sky.

Looking back toward the mainland, she could see the haze of

smog that lay over the metropolitan area of Los Angeles. Here,

she could fill her lungs with clean, sea air.

“It’s heaven, isn’t it?” Marcia said with a contented sigh as she

lay basking on a deck chair.

“Hmmmm,” Sierra said dreamily. How long had it been since

she had heard Clanton and Carolyn laugh or seen them having so

much fun? Clanton was trying to catch Ron. Each time he came

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close, Ron disappeared beneath the surface and came up well out

of reach. The four children tried working together and still failed

to tag him.

“All I need is something to eat,” Marcia said.

Sierra turned her head. Reaching up for the railing, she started

to pull herself up. “If you’ll watch the children, I’ll—”

“No, no,” Marcia said, adjusting her dark glasses as she got up.

“I’ll see about getting lunch. Stay where you are. There’s not

enough room in the galley for two people. Besides, Ron didn’t

leave much to do this time. He called a caterer. All I have to do is

take off the plastic wrap. Stay and enjoy the sun.” She shrugged

into a lightweight hip-length terry-cloth robe that covered her

bikini. “Tom can help keep an eye on the children.” She flicked

the hat off his face. Grunting from the shock of sunlight, he

awakened abruptly. “I said you can help keep an eye on the children,” Marcia repeated. “I’m going below.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said.

“Go back to sleep, Tom,” Sierra laughed. “I’ll watch them.”

“Thanks,” he said and sagged back, picking up the hat and

putting it over his face again.

Ron came up next to the ladder he had put over the side after

dropping anchor. Shaking his blond hair back, he started to

climb. Sierra couldn’t help noticing he had a perfect body.

Looking away, she kept her eyes on the children.

“You’re getting burned,” Ron said, toweling himself off a few

feet from her.

“I put sunscreen on.”

“It probably washed off when you took that two-minute

swim,” he said, grinning.

Two minutes in the cold Pacific had been all she needed to

know she preferred toasting on the deck.

“You need another basting.” Ron uncapped a bottle of lotion

Marcia had left next to her deck chair. Squirting some into his

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palm, he rubbed his hands together and hunkered down behind

her. The scent of coconut and tropics filled her senses as he

rubbed the lotion into her skin. “Where’s your hat?” he said, his

strong fingers kneading her shoulders.

“I think I left it below.”

“Deliberate disobedience.” Unlooping the towel he’d put

around his neck, he covered her head with it. “I don’t want you

getting sunstroke the first time you sail with me.”

Laughing, she folded it up so she could see. “You’re worse

than a mother, Ron.”

He flipped her French braid over her right shoulder and

finished rubbing the lotion into her back and shoulders.

“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

“Very much.”

His hands slowed. She felt his thumbs moving up her spine.

He gripped her shoulders. “It’s good to see you smile and mean

it,” he said. Releasing her, he straightened.

Marcia called for Tom and began handing up the food. There

was a large platter of cut vegetables and dip, another of sandwiches, bowls of potato and fruit salad, and bags of chips. “How

are we doing with the drinks?” she called from below.

Tom opened the ice chest that had been set on the deck when

they got under way. “We could use some more wine coolers.

We’ve plenty of everything else.”

Ron gave a piercing whistle, drawing the attention of the four

children, who were still splashing around in the cove. “Anybody

out there hungry?”

Four voices gave a short yes! and started swimming for the

boat.

“You’d better get what you want before they get here,” Marcia

said. “There’s something about swimming and salt air that seems

to triple the appetite.”

Laughing, Sierra rose from her post. The only one who hadn’t

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served himself was Ron. He nodded for her to go ahead while he

kept an eye on the children, who approached like hungry barracuda.

Clanton clambered onto the deck first. Shivering, he threw a

towel around himself. Taking a plate, he heaped it with two

sandwiches and two scoops of potato salad. Tucking a soda under his arm, he grabbed a bag of chips and headed for the bow.

Reed, Carolyn, and Pamela poured onto the deck and raced for

the food.

Ron laughed. “It’s like watching sharks in a feeding frenzy.”

“Take some vegetables, Reed.”

“Aw, Mom.”

“You heard me.”

Glowering, Reed took a couple of carrot and celery sticks and

put them on his plate before heading for the bow.

Shaking her head, Marcia glanced at her daughter and noticed

she was about to take a handful of potato chips. “Pamela,” she

said, sounding weary. “You know very well what grease does to

your complexion. No, take some of the fruit salad instead.”

Cheeks stained red with humiliation, Pamela put her plate

down and fled below.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Marcia said, annoyed. “I don’t know

what’s gotten into her lately.”

“I wonder.” Tight-lipped, Tom leaned down and took another

wine cooler from the ice chest.

Marcia raised her brow. “You’ve had four, Tom.”

“Then I guess this one makes five.” He headed for his deck

chair.

Marcia stared after him in consternation. Clearing her throat

softly, she glanced back at Ron and Sierra. “Well, I guess I’d

better go below and see what’s upset Pamela this time.” She gave

Ron a beseeching smile and whispered, “Would you please keep

an eye on Tom?”

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“He’s a grown man, Marcia.”

“Yes, but I think he’s had enough to drink, don’t you?”

Sierra noticed that as soon as Marcia went below, Reed

pitched the vegetable sticks into the water and dug into the bag

of chips Clanton had commandeered.

She and Ron shared a quiet lunch together, talking about

Outreach and some of the children they were helping. Tom fell

asleep in his deck chair while the boys rummaged through a

waterproof case on the deck where Ron had laid in a supply of

games. Carolyn sat with her legs dangling, waiting for Pamela to

come up from below. When she did, her face was splotchy from

crying.

“Mother says she has a splitting headache,” she said as though

delivering a rehearsed message. She picked up her plate and dutifully added a small scoop of fruit salad before she went to sit on

the bow with Carolyn.

Sierra went below and found Marcia rummaging through her

tote bag. “I know I brought them,” she said in frustration. Upending everything onto the couch built into the bulkhead, she

spread things out, searching again. Letting out her breath in relief, she picked up a small prescription bottle and uncapped it.

Shaking out two capsules, she recapped the bottle and dropped

it on the couch. Tossing the pills into her mouth, she headed for

the galley. Sierra heard the hiss of tonic being shot into a glass.

“I don’t know what to do about that girl,” Marcia said from

the galley. Sierra heard the thunk of a glass on the counter. “All

I’m trying to do is protect her. Children can be so merciless to

someone who’s fat and has pimples.” She came back into the

chamber and sat down on the couch built into the bulkhead.

She began to collect and toss the things back into her tote bag.

“She misunderstands everything I say to her. Sometimes I

think she does it deliberately in an effort to make me feel bad.

Either that, or she’s stupid.”

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Dropping the tote bag onto the floor, she leaned forward, her

elbows resting on her knees as she kneaded her temples. “And

now this headache. . . .”

“Can I get you a cold compress?” Sierra said, feeling sorry for

her.

“Please,” she said and stretched out on the couch.

Sierra went into the galley and dampened a cloth for her.

“Thank you,” Marcia said and pressed it against her eyes and

forehead. “Would you please tell Tom I’m not feeling well? I

must have a touch of sunstroke.”

“Tell her to take a nap,” Tom said when Sierra delivered the

message. Yawning, he pulled the hat down over his eyes again.

Clearly, he had no intention of going below and speaking with

his wife.

Ron went in his stead and talked with Marcia while the children went swimming again. Sierra leaned on the railing near the

bow and watched them.

When Ron came up again, he gave her a rueful smile and

shook his head. “Sorry to desert you.”

Sierra had enjoyed the solitude. She felt guilty that Marcia’s

problems made her feel less a failure for her own. She had always

thought Marcia’s family was perfect. She knew there were times of

tension, of course. What family didn’t have them? But what she’d

seen today was clear evidence that all was not well in Camelot.

“Is she feeling better?”

“She’s going to stay below and rest on the way back.” Ron

gave a loud whistle to catch the children’s attention. “Wrap it up,

mates. We’re hauling anchor in half an hour.”

Four children groaned expressively and went back to their

game of water tag.

Under his tutelage, the children, with Tom’s assistance,

manned the sails. When the wind caught the sheets, the boat

sped across the water toward the Long Beach pier. Closer in,

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they battened down the sails, and Ron used the engine to bring

them to dock.

“We had a wonderful time, Ron,” Marcia said, kissing his

cheek while the children gathered their things. While Tom shook

hands with him, Marcia turned to Sierra and gave her a hug.

“Sorry I made a scene below,” she said, kissing her cheek. “I’ll

call you tomorrow.” Sierra saw her take the car keys from Tom’s

hand as they headed for the parking lot.

Ron took Sierra and the children to an expensive seafood restaurant. He laughed when Clanton and Carolyn both ordered

hamburgers. Over dinner, he talked about sailing to the South

Seas and spending two years exploring islands that were barely a

spot on a map. Clanton was enthralled; Carolyn, quiet.

It was late when Ron finally pulled up in front of Sierra’s

house. She was sorry the day was over. The children had fallen

asleep in the backseat of his Mercedes. They’d only lasted fifteen

minutes from the restaurant before dozing off and leaving her

and Ron to talk alone. And talk they did, about everything from

his travels to her growing up in a quiet country town to racial

prejudice, social climbing, education, and the importance of family. He’d grown up the only son of a Greek businessman and a

Swedish actress. His mother died in a car accident when he was

only fourteen. “My father never got over her death,” he said quietly. “Now he’s gone, too. I’m the only family I’ve got left. And I

find myself craving the connection of family all the time.” He

smiled at her in the darkness. “All in God’s timing,” he said.

Sierra couldn’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy. The woman

he married would be lucky indeed. She didn’t know anyone as

caring and sensitive to others as Ron Peirozo.

He turned off the ignition, then glanced into the backseat. He

chuckled. “If you have a wheelbarrow in the garage, I’ll unload

your children for you.”

Sierra laughed. “I may have to take you up on that offer.” She

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reached over the seat and tapped each of them. “Come on,

sleepyheads. We’re home.”

As she unlocked the front door, she heard the children thanking Ron for taking them sailing. Clanton asked if they could go

again. “Sure,” Ron said, a hand on his shoulder. “I’m out as often

as I can be when the weather’s like this.”

As the children shouldered their tote bags and headed down

the hallway to their rooms, Ron turned to her again. His

mouth tipped slightly as he reached out and lightly brushed

her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “You got a little color

today.”

Ron always knew what to say to make her feel better about

herself. “Maybe I’ll actually look like a southern Californian one

of these days,” she smiled, drawn to him.

“You look just fine the way you are, Sierra.”

He couldn’t have said anything kinder. Bruised and battered

by Alex’s desertion, she believed herself a complete failure as a

wife, as a mother, and as a woman. Looking into Ron’s eyes, she

saw he valued her. She wanted to thank him for everything—for

taking them sailing, for sharing so much of himself with her, for

listening, for caring. She felt closer to him than she had felt to

anyone in a long, long time.

An inexplicable shiver of alarm raced along her nerve endings

at the realization.

His eyes flickered, and the warmth that stirred within her had

little to do with sunburn.

He took a slow step back. “I’ll see you Monday morning,” he

said, his smile both casual and tender. He closed the door behind

him as he went out.

Disturbed, Sierra frowned, perplexed by her feelings. What

had just happened? Was she so desperate to feel like a woman

again that she could imagine a man like Ronal Peirozo was attracted to her? Ridiculous! The poor man had only been acting

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out of kindness and friendship. There was no reason to read anything more into it.

Stepping to the door, she opened it. “Ron!”

He paused halfway down the pathway.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling.

“Any time.”

Feeling a little better, she stood in the doorway until he got into

his Mercedes. He gave her a wave as he pulled away from the curb.

Closing the door, she set the dead bolt. Gathering her things,

she headed down the hallway to say good night to the children

before she took a shower and went to bed.

Deborah is feverish and complaining of stomach

pain.

I asked if she had eaten anything along the way

and she says no. She has suffered often of stomach

aches when she eats too many berries. The pain

seems worse on her right side. I have bedded her

down in the wagon where it is less dusty and am

sitting with her until the fever lets up. Reese

Murphy is looking in on her again in a little while.

I am so afraid and I do not know what I fear

most. In the beginning, I thought it was just anger

plaguing me. I was wrong. It was fear underneath.

I knew what I had back home. I knew the face of

my enemy. Out here, I do not know from one day

to the next where the danger lies. It could be a fall

from a wagon seat or a snake. It could be Indians or

sickness. Or being tired unto death.

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As tired as I am I know the men have the worst

of it. They are the ones hauling the wagons across

the rivers. They were the ones lowering the wagons down that dreadful hill. They are the ones digging the graves. But it is the men too who dream of

Oregon. It is as though Heaven itself beckons

them and we must all cross hell to get to it.

Aphie McKenzie. Harlan Doane. Paul

Colvigne. Three gone already. I think of the hard

trail and how many wagons will pass over these

fine people and never know of their existence.

How many more will we bury before we reach

our destination?

I am afraid for my baby.

I dreamed of Aunt Martha last night. She seemed

so close. We talked as we used to do. I wept when

I awakened. Has she died? Is that why I dreamed

about her? Is that why she seemed so near to me?

Oh, that she were here with me now. The thought

of never seeing her again makes my heart ache

and my throat close up. When my father turned

me out, she took me in and loved me. When

I jilted Thomas, she loved me still. Even when

I said I did not believe in God anymore, she did

not forsake me. She cried but she did not turn me

out. She said she loved me no matter what. I have

never known anyone so good and kind and constant.

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She said she would pray for me every day.

I know she is a woman of her word. I think of her

every day and feel perhaps in thoughts at least we

are still connected.

I wish I could ask her right now to send up

prayers to heaven on behalf of my little Deborah.

God would listen to her.

Our precious little Deborah is gone from this life.

Doc Murphy did no good at all. Neither could

Kavanaugh with his Indian medicines. I hope the

next life is better. She passed away last night as

the sun was setting on the bluffs above us. They

look like the ancient ruins of a once wondrous

city. I will think of her playing up there with the

angels.

I cannot cry. I cannot let myself. If I do, I will

never stop.

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T H E T E L E P H O N E R A N G O N S I E R R A ’ S D E S K .

Flipping over the page on her notebook, she picked it up. “Good

afternoon, Los Angeles Outreach,” she said pleasantly, hoping

Arlene would return from her dentist appointment soon. The

telephone hadn’t stopped ringing since she left, and Ron was

champing at the bit to get some dictation done.

“Sierra, it’s Audra.”

Startled, she stammered an innocuous hello, irritation quickly

following. What did she want?

“How are you?”

How was she? “About as well as can be expected.”

“Can we have lunch?”

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“I don’t think so,” Sierra said stiffly, surprised that the woman

would even ask. What were they going to talk about? Shopping?

Audra’s charities or the plays she’d seen? Beyond Tomorrow?

Alex and Elizabeth Longford?

“Are you really going to throw in the towel?” Audra said.

Sierra’s body went hot. “I beg your pardon?” Of all the nerve!

“Your marriage. Are you just going to quit?”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

“Steve asked me to call you.”

“Should I care?”

“So much for having any kind of reasonable conversation with

you!” There was enough anger in Audra’s tone to keep Sierra

from hanging up. “Do you think any of us are happy with this situation? It makes me sick! It makes Steve and Matt sick. It’s the

worst thing that can happen in an office.”

So that was it! “What’s the matter? Is the work suffering?”

“You could say that. Everyone’s suffering.”

“Maybe you should talk to Elizabeth about that.”

“Elizabeth isn’t the problem!”

“Good-bye.” Sierra slammed the telephone down, shaking

with fury. It rang again in less than ten seconds. Taking a deep

breath, she forced herself to be calm and businesslike. “Good

afternoon, Los Angeles Outreach.”

“Well, that was childish,” Audra said. “But then, that’s where

you excel, isn’t it, Sierra?”

Sierra’s heart pounded like a war drum. She wanted to hang

up on her again, but that was what Audra was expecting. The

last thing Sierra intended to do was what Audra expected

or wanted. Picking up her pencil, she tapped it on the notepad,

trying to calm down, determined to wait her out.

Audra let out her breath. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t listen. I told Steve there was no use in trying to talk to you. You’ve

been hostile from the first second I met you. Every overture I

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ever made to be your friend was met with a cold shoulder. You

always acted as though I was beneath contempt. You’ve done

nothing but criticize me and everyone else at Beyond Tomorrow

from the day you arrived. And why? Because you were so determined to stay in your narrow little comfort zone!

“Three years I’ve watched you wallow in self-pity and keep up

your temper tantrum. And it’s been something to watch, Sierra.

A real show! I can’t even count the number of times I’ve wanted

to shake you until your teeth rattled!

“You’ve made Alex feel guilty over everything, especially the

crime of using his talents. God forbid that he should be happy in

his work! Not once did you ever think to congratulate him for

what he’s accomplished. He buys you a house. He buys you a

car. Were you ever grateful for anything he did? Did you ever

once notice how desperate he was to make you happy? You resented anything he did that didn’t put you in the center spotlight.

You even resent who he is. And you’re surprised the man turns

to another woman!”

Sierra felt cold with shock over Audra’s diatribe. She couldn’t

even think of one word to say in her own defense.

Audra let out a deep breath. “I swore I wasn’t going to lose my

temper, and now I have. Well, so be it. I called to give you some

advice, Sierra. Here’s a piece of it. Grow up!” Sierra heard the

click as Audra hung up. Stunned, she put the receiver quietly

back in the cradle. Ron was standing in the doorway. He looked

as upset as she felt.

“Why do you keep holding on?” he said softly.

She started to tell him the call wasn’t from Alex, but he came

over to the desk. “You’re not in love with him anymore, Sierra.”

Wasn’t she? Had she stopped loving Alex? She couldn’t fathom

the idea. She’d loved him for as long as she could remember.

Ron leaned down and put one hand firmly over hers. “Give

him a divorce, Sierra. You don’t need him.” His eyes were

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intense, his feelings raw and clear, so clear she couldn’t misunderstand what he was telling her.

“I’m back,” Arlene said from the doorway to the corridor. Her

bright smile died when she saw Ron’s hand over Sierra’s. Arlene’s

expression registered shock and embarrassment as she looked between the two of them. “Excuse me,” she said, the disturbing

question clear in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. . . .”

“You didn’t,” Sierra said, snatching her hand from beneath

Ron’s. She fumbled, banging the file drawer open. “I just had a

disturbing call,” she said, grabbing her purse.

“Sierra,” Ron said, a wealth of feeling in his tone. “Wait a minute. Let’s talk—”

“I’ve got to go,” she said, stepping around him. She couldn’t

look into his eyes. Arlene stepped back so she could go into the

hallway.

“Can I do anything to help?” Arlene said, following her. “I

don’t think you should drive when you’re this upset.”

“I’ll be fine. Really.” She pushed open the front glass door with

the words Los Angeles Outreach printed in bold black letters.

Fumbling with her keys, she ran across the parking lot to her car.

Alex’s birthday present to her. Audra’s words still rang in her

ears. She found the right key and opened the door. Sliding in, she

slammed it, turned the ignition, threw the car into reverse and

then back into drive. She gulped for air, not even bothering to

stop to look before she pulled out of the parking lot. Someone

blasted their horn just behind her.

Running the yellow light, she turned onto the main thoroughfare and headed for the freeway entrance. The BMW revved

loudly as she sailed up the ramp. Another horn blasted, but she

was crying too hard by then to notice. She darted between two

cars into the second lane, then moved into the third and pressed

down even harder on the gas, shooting into the fast lane.

“Oh, God,” she said, gripping the wheel. “Oh, God, God! I

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didn’t mean to make such a mess of things!” Choking on a sob,

she slammed on her brakes so she wouldn’t plow into the

Mercedes in front of her. She whipped around to the right,

passed it, and shot back into the fast lane.

Where was she going?

What did it matter?

She felt like driving straight off a cliff. Where was the closest

one? Mulholland Drive? Maybe the canyons on the road to

Malibu would be better.

She wanted her mother, but remembered with a sharp pain

that her mother was dead. She needed Alex. No, not Alex. He

was gone, too.

“Jesus, oh, Jesus,” she cried, dashing tears out of her eyes.

She wanted to dump everything at his feet and give up the fight.

But how could she do that? What right did she have to ask God’s

help now? “Oh, Jesus, what can I do?”

She could hear a siren but paid no attention, not until a

black-and-white highway patrol car pulled up alongside her,

lights flashing. Her heart stopped when the officer jerked his

thumb for her to pull over.

“Great! Just what I need!”

He slowed, moving in behind her. Traffic gave way as she

moved over, lane by lane, until she was driving slowly along the

shoulder. She rolled to a stop, put the car in park, and shut off

her engine. Then, gripping the steering wheel, she rested her

forehead against it and sobbed.

The officer tapped at her window. She had to turn the key before she could lower it. The roar of freeway traffic was deafening. Only the lane closest to them had slowed at all. Just enough

so everybody could get a good look at her as they drove by.

Could a person die of humiliation?

Leaning down slightly, the officer looked at her face.

“I’m sorry I was speeding,” she said, tears running down her

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face. She hiccuped, making matters worse. He probably thought

she was a drunk on a crying jag.

“Your driver’s license and registration please.”

Fumbling through her purse, she found her license. The registration was in her glove compartment. As soon as she handed

them over, he stepped back, his hand resting almost casually

over the handle of his gun. Did he think she was dangerous?

“Get out of the car, please, Mrs. Madrid.”

“I haven’t been drinking. I swear. I’m not smuggling drugs or

firearms—”

“Get out of the car, Mrs. Madrid.”

She obeyed, trying to get hold of herself as she did so. She couldn’t

stop crying. When the officer put his hand firmly beneath her elbow

as he closed her car door, she wondered what he thought she was

going to do. Try to run away? Where could she go? Into the ice

plant? Or was it ivy growing alongside the freeway? She couldn’t tell

through her tears. It was green whatever it was.

Sierra could just see the headlines: “Woman Has Nervous

Breakdown on Hollywood Freeway.”

She could see herself being hauled away in cuffs.

She cried harder.

Opening the back door of the squad car, the patrolman told

her to get in. She had thought things couldn’t get worse, but

now, on top of everything, she was getting arrested and hauled

off to jail for reckless driving! She did think of running into traffic then and putting an end to everything. The officer’s fingers

tightened slightly as though he read her thoughts and had no

intention of letting her get off that easily. “Get in the car, ma’am.”

Her thoughts went ballistic as soon as she was in the backseat.

Who’d bail her out? She couldn’t call Ron. Who’d take care of

the children while she was moldering in jail? Alex? Oh, not Elizabeth Longford!

Hunching over, she covered her face and hiccuped more sobs

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as the officer got into the front seat and reached for his radio. He

said her name and several numbers and then put the speaker

back. While he waited for a response, he had her take an alcohol

breath test.

“I clocked you at ninety-five,” he said, making a note of the test

results on his clipboard.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’ve had a very bad day.”

The officer pushed his sunglasses down and looked at her over

the rims.

“I know,” she moaned. “You’ve probably heard that excuse

a million times, but it’s true.” She let everything pour out. She

told him about nursing her mother through her last weeks of

cancer and how much she missed her. She told him about Alex

leaving her for another woman the day she got back from

northern California. She told him about Clanton getting into

fights at school and Carolyn turning into a basket case over

her grades. She told him about Audra calling to say it was all

her fault.

“Ron was the last straw,” she said, sniffling.

He didn’t ask who Ron was. In fact, he didn’t say anything at

all. He just looked at her and listened with that frown on his face.

What was the use? The highway patrolman knew she wasn’t

drunk, but she’d convinced him she was crazy.

Would he call an ambulance and have her taken away in a

straitjacket? Where would they take her? Bellevue? Where was

Bellevue? His radio crackled. He picked up the speaker. She felt

some relief hearing the information given. At least he knew now

she had no prior tickets or outstanding warrants for her arrest.

She wasn’t armed or dangerous, unless flooding his patrol car

could be held against her.

Rummaging through her purse, she tried to find a Kleenex,

muttering under her breath when she couldn’t find one. Her

nose was running. Her eyes were running. Her face was a watery

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mess. Desperate, she took her notepad out, tore out a page, and

blew her nose into it.

Grimacing, the patrolman pulled a clean handkerchief out of

his pocket and handed it over the seat to her.

“Thanks,” she muttered, dabbed her eyes, and blew her nose.

She started to hand the handkerchief back.

His mouth tipped up on one side. “You can keep it.”

She blushed. “I’ll wash it and return it to you.” Maybe she’d be

working in the laundry section of the jail. Or would she be making license plates? She felt better for having purged herself of everything that’d happened over the past few months, but she

doubted that was going to change the consequences of barreling

down the highway like a bat out of Hades. She could’ve killed

somebody, not to mention herself. “You can take me in now.”

He tipped his sunglasses down again. “Take you in?”

“To the slammer.”

His mouth twitched. “I’m not taking you in to the slammer,

Mrs. Madrid. I just thought it’d be wise to calm you down before

turning you loose on the freeway again.”

“But you are giving me a ticket.”

“Yes, ma’am. I am giving you a ticket.” He handed the pad to

her and gave her a pen. Sighing heavily, she signed her name at

the bottom and handed it back. He tore off the yellow copy and

gave it to her. “Sorry to add to your grief.”

She sighed. “My first ticket,” she said, looking at it dismally.

And it was going to cost her plenty. Folding it, she tucked it into

her purse.

“Feeling any better?”

She gave a shuddering sigh and smiled. “Yes, but that’s not

saying much. I’ll keep it at fifty-five. I promise.”

“Good.” He studied her for a moment longer and then got out

of the patrol car. Opening the backdoor for her, he offered his

hand to help her out.

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Shouldering her purse, she looked up at him. He was young,

probably no more than thirty or thirty-five. He had kind eyes.

“You know what I was doing when you pulled up beside me,

Officer? Praying. So much for divine intervention.” Shaking her

head, she started back toward her car.

She had just put the key into her ignition when the patrolman

walked up to her car window again. He handed her a small slip of

white paper folded in half. “My wife and I’ll meet you on the

front steps at quarter to ten. Bring your kids. Oh, and pull into

traffic easy, Mrs. Madrid. I’ll put my lights on and clear the way

for you.”

“Thanks,” she said, confused. She watched him in the side

mirror as he walked back to his patrol car.

Opening the slip of paper, she read the name and address of a

church.

The trail is clearly marked ahead by the great rock

formations.

We passed one a day back that looked like a

courthouse with a jail beside it. The one ahead

is like a giant funnel set upside down on the

prairie.

We ate dust all day. It was our turn to be at the

back. Tomorrow we will be at the head.

Water and grass are plentiful. So are the mosquitoes.

I had words with Oren McKenzie today. He was

talking about Aphie again and crying with every

word he uttered. I lost patience with him and told

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him he was not the only one who had lost a loved

one. I said Aphie would be ashamed of him for his

endless carrying on. She was a good and sensible

girl and would not think kindly of him if she

knew he had not even bothered to give her son

a name! He said I do not understand how bad he

feels and I said understanding was not what he

needed. What he needs is a good hard kick in the

backside.

When Oren left our fire, James looked at me

and said—It is amazing, Mary Kathryn, how you

can see the sins of others so well, and your own

not at all. I asked him what he meant. He said

Oren has been grieving over the loss of a wife and

has only been crying a few weeks while I have

been grieving over not having my own way for

months. He said—You only know in part, not the

whole of his pain. He said I close my ears to anything that does not suit me. I said he was wrong.

He said—You closed your ears to me before the

first word was out of my mouth about Oregon

and why we had to go. He said—It never even

occurred to you that this journey is for your own

good!

I said what good was there in Deborah dying.

I said we should have stayed in Illinois. He said

he wished he had left me there. He said he would

sooner listen to Oren’s weeping than my endless

carping.

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David Alexander McKenzie was christened by

his father last evening and I am sore ashamed.

James is right. I told Oren I had no right to speak

to him as I did. He said he was glad of it. He had

never held his son before today and doing so

eased the pain of losing Aphie. He said David

looks like her.

It never occurred to me that I could lose James

as easy as I lost my daughter or Oren lost his

sweet wife. Life is so uncertain. I do not know

where James went to spend the night.

When he came back this morning, I told him

I was sorry. It has done no good. The wall I built

up still stands between us.

Kavanaugh sighted buffalo across the Platte to

the north. Joshua insisted on going hunting with

the men. He would give no ear at all to my fears.

He came back a short while ago. Without so

much as a word, he slid off his horse, took a couple of steps and fell face down on his bedding. He

was covered with so much blood I thought he had

been shot and stripped him like a baby to see if he

was wounded. He will not thank me when he

finds out. Kavanaugh rode up as I was doing it

and laughed. I did not think it funny and told him

so. He said Joshua is unharmed. I asked him

what he had done to my son that he would have

so much blood on him. He said he made Joshua

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dress what he killed. He said the boy needed to

learn hunting is not all glory. It is hard work.

I could soak his clothes for a month of Sundays

and not get all the stains out.

We are nooning longer today than usual because

of the terrible heat. The land we are passing

through is fertile for rocks and sagebrush and not

much else. Some of the animals are sick from the

heat.

MacLeod said we will move on in another hour

and keep going until dusk. We will be lucky to

make 15 miles today.

Joshua shot two rabbits. I will stew them for

supper.

Kaiser Vandervert gave whiskey to his oxen.

It seems to perk them up. Had we whiskey left

I would try some myself.

We crossed the Laramie River this morning and

made camp at the fort. There are Indians camped

near by. Kavanaugh said they are Cheyenne.

They are a fine looking people dressed in buckskins like Kavanaugh and wearing bear claw

necklaces and eagle feathers. The chief is a handsome fellow. Joshua is impressed with them.

Kavanaugh knows them well and speaks their

language. He took Joshua with him when he

spoke with them. When he came back he said

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they are at the fort to trade buffalo hides and furs

for tobacco, sugar, and blankets. We have no

sugar or blankets to spare.

The soldiers have invited us to a dance in the

fort this evening. The men drew lots to see who

would stay behind with the wagons and keep

watch. Ruckel Buckeye, Wells Doane, Oren

McKenzie, Ernest Holtz, and Werner Hoffman

lost. Artemesia is feeling poorly and is remaining

behind as well. Nellie said nothing will keep her

away.

James said he will not go. He knows how much

I love to dance. This is just his way of punishing me.

James is speaking to me again. I did not expect

him to forgive me for another five hundred miles

considering how many it took me to come to my

senses. When he said he did not want to go to the

dance last night, I knew what he meant was he did

not want to go to the dance with me. I said that

was fine by me and went anyway. There is little

enough fun on the trail without giving up what

Opportunity comes along because a man is pouting. James came later. Of course, he did not dance

with me because he was still mad. I had partners

aplenty with soldiers and MacLeod and some of

the other men traveling with us. I even danced

with Oren McKenzie. I have not had so much fun

since I was engaged to Thomas Atwood Houghton

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and considered Acceptable Company in Galena.

James cut in when Lieutenant Heywood danced

with me a third time. He said it was not proper for

me to dance with that soldier again. I said it was as

proper as him dancing four times with Nellie. He

said Nellie is good and married. I said I am good

and married too though my husband appears not

to notice. He hauled me outside.

I said—What do you think you are doing, James

Farr? I don’t want to leave. I was having fun.

He said to shut up and kissed me the way he

used to do. We went down to the trees along the

river. I am glad the fire has not died in him or me.

I was feeling soft inside and said—I am glad you

have forgiven me, James Farr.

On the walk back, James said—You do not

long for home anymore, do you, Mary Kathryn?

I said I would be lying if I said I did not miss

Aunt Martha and all the rest. I would be lying too

if I said I was pleased with the way things turned

out at the homestead. I told him I accept his decision and will not CARP anymore. We will wait

and see what there is in store for us in Oregon.

James said Oregon will speak for itself when we

get there. And then he said in a quiet voice—Or

maybe California. I said what do you mean about

California? He said he had been thinking Oregon

might be too crowded in a few years with the numbers going and we ought to think about California

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instead. I could not get air to say anything but he

went on real fast telling me that others are talking

about it. I said like who? He said Ernst Holtz,

Wells Doane, Binger Siddons and Stern Janssen

have been mulling it over. I wonder if Nellie

knows what is on Wells mind.

James said Kavanaugh has never seen the

Pacific Ocean and has a desire to do so. Oh

Grand I said. That is good reason for going someplace. Just because you have never been. Just to

keep on to the ends of the earth until you have

seen it all! Next he will want to see China!

James said—Stop talking, Mary Kathryn—but

I had a lot more to say. So he kissed me again. He

kissed me hard and for so long I forgot what my

upset was about until now that I am writing my

thoughts into this journal. When we all went back

to the wagons after the dance, we bedded the

children down in the tent so James and I could

sleep under the wagon together. We slept last

night like two spoons in a drawer the way we

used to.

I don’t have a house or land. But I have my

James back and my children. They are home

enough.

We all went down to the chalk cliffs. James does

not know how to write. So I carved his name next

to my own, and then carved Henry, Beth, and

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Matthew underneath. I carved Deborah last and

a cross next to it. She will not be forgotten.

Joshua ignored my call and climbed up high to

carve his name. I was sure he would fall but he

would not listen and come down. Kavanaugh said

the boy is sure footed as a mountain goat.

Joshua has become so difficult of late. I feel

him pulling away from me and James and drawn

to Kavanaugh. Kavanaugh encourages him. He

told me just the other day that he was not much

older than Joshua when he left home and headed

west for the first time. I asked him why he left so

young. All he said was he had reasons.

I am not ready to let my son go.

James did not leave my side all day today. We

walked together while Joshua drove the wagon.

I have missed talking with James. He is so full of

dreams. I never thought any of them would come

to anything but this one of going west has. We

will see about the others.

As long as I have James I am safe and happy.

It is so terrible hot. The dust coats all of us. The

ground is sandy and makes hard pulling for the

oxen. Beth is sick. We made a bed for her in the

wagon and she is sleeping. I asked Nellie to pray

for her.

Dunham Banks was bad hurt today. A rattle2 8 0

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snake frightened the horses. His own pitched him

off and he hit his head on a rock. Doc Reese said

his chances are not good. Celia rigged a cradle

and had two men help her rig a big sling inside

her wagon. Baby Hortense and Dunham both

rocked all day while she drove. Celia is a fine

strong girl with good sense. She will need both

for the long haul ahead.

We are Plagued with Tragedy. Little Patricia

Sinnott wandered off this evening and can not be

found. Paralee is crazy with fear that the Indians

have stolen her. Frank Sinnott, James, and four

other men have gone out looking for little Patty.

I have my children near the fire where I can see

them. Joshua is not pleased with staying here to

watch out for us. He said he could ride after

Kavanaugh. The scout would know what to do.

I told him Kavanaugh and Ruckel Buckeye are

hunting game and there is no telling in which

direction they went.

Kavanaugh and Ruckel came back and went out

with the men again. They looked for little Patty

all day and found no trace of her. MacLeod said

we can not stay another day. Paralee says she will

not go on without her little girl. Franklin said it

was her fault the child is lost. It was a harsh, cruel

thing to say and not much different from what

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I said to James not long ago. I cringe thinking of

it. Sinnott’s son is from his first wife who died.

Paralee is the second wife. She told me a few

nights back Franklin has poured all the money

she inherited into what he is carrying in those two

wagons. Two of his oxen have died already from

pulling the load. It appears to me Franklin

Sinnott is more worried about getting his goods

to Oregon than he is about little Patty lost in the

wilderness.

We made 20 miles today. Paralee did not come

out of her wagon even for the nooning. Everyone thought she was grieving in quiet. They did

not know until we camped that Franklin had

her tied so she could not get free and gagged

her so she could not cry out. MacLeod is fit to

be tied himself now that he knows what the

man did to his wife. Franklin insists he did it

for her own good. He said she would have run

off looking for little Patty otherwise.

Kavanaugh told Franklin and Paralee yesterday

the Cheyenne do not have their little girl. I sat

inside our wagon and cried. It was what he did

not say that grieved me so. Little Patricia

Sinnott is dead. Everyone but Paralee knows.

The nights are bitter cold and the days hot and

dry. The child had no blanket or water. And

there are coyotes and mountain lions and

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grizzlys and wolves. No three year old child

could have survived one night out there.

Nellie asked me to pray with her that little

Patty was taken home to heaven quickly and did

not suffer long. I said I can not remember a time

when God heard anything I said to him. The last

time I tried was for Deborah and look what came

of that. Nellie was shocked and said—God loves

you, Mary Kathryn Farr, and you have got to

believe that. I told her that God loves those he

wants to love and I am not one of his chosen

people. I told her that it was all right because

I have no love for him either.

I did not mean to make her cry.

We are camped near a great rock that looks like

a giant turtle. Almost everyone has carved their

names upon it. Even me. Joshua and some of the

others have climbed to the top.

Devils Gate is not far from here. Joshua is riding over for a closer look. I can see it fine from

where I sit writing in my journal. It looks like a

giant ax cut through the stone mountain to let the

Sweetwater River run through. And sweet water

it is after the muddy Platte. It tastes so good. We

will follow the river west.

James had to shoot one of our oxen yesterday it

was suffering so. Beth is grieving over it. She

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asked why everything has to die. I had no good

answer for her. Nellie was sitting with us and said

death is just a door believers walk through to be

with Jesus. Her words did not cheer Beth nor I.

Why does she have to keep on talking about

Jesus? Her words just raise a jumble of questions

and heartache. Beth said Old Tom was just an ox

and how could he know what to believe. Nellie

knew she had raised trouble. Beth said it was not

fair that people go to heaven and animals do not

because animals are nicer than a lot of people.

She is right about that but I could not let her go

on with such thinking. A child needs a little hope

in this world.

I told Beth Aunt Martha read to me about

heaven once and I remember it said the lion

would lie down with the lamb. Nellie said that

was right. She looked it up in her Bible right

there on the spot. And I said I remember Aunt

Martha reading that Jesus would ride down to

earth on horseback. Nellie found that too. I told

Beth there had to be animals in heaven for any

of that to happen. Lions and lambs and horses

maybe Beth said. She wanted to know if Werner

Hoffman would see his dog again in heaven.

I said likely so if Werner could get himself there.

We buried Dunham Banks today. Celia would

not let him be buried in the road. The men dug as

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deep as they could but we are going over hard

rocky ground. MacLeod said words over him.

Celia gave baby Hortense to Beth to hold and

started gathering rocks to stack on top of poor

Dunhams grave. I helped her until the job was

done. So did Nellie.

It is dark now and Celia is still sitting by the

mound.

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S I E R R A R E C O G N I Z E D T H E H I G H W A Y P A T R O L MAN

even though he was dressed in a Sunday suit instead of a black

uniform. He was waiting at the front steps just as he said he

would be, and beside him was a young woman holding a baby.

He grinned when he saw her.

“Be polite,” Sierra said to her own children who stood glumly

beside her, annoyed at being dragged off to church. Their father

hadn’t taken them to Mass more than three times in three years. In

fact, the last time they had been inside a church was for their

grandmother’s memorial service.

“Welcome, Mrs. Madrid,” the officer said, extending his hand.

“I neglected to tell you my name. I’m Dennis O’Malley, and this

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is my wife, Noreen. The bundle she’s holding is our son, Sean.”

As people moved around them to enter the church, Sierra introduced herself and her children. Rather than be annoyed at them

for blocking a portion of the steps, people smiled warmly.

Over the last several days, since her experience on the freeway, she’d had a growing sense of . . . something. All the pain, all

the crying out, had left her feeling empty. Drained. She had

reached the end of her endurance, the end of her abilities to deal

with the mess her life had become. And yet, much to her surprise,

she wasn’t depressed, or hopeless, or any of the things she’d

expected to be. Instead, she felt . . . directed— as though a gentle

hand rested on her shoulder and guided her. With love. She

knew whose touch she felt. She’d heard her mother talk about

the “presence of God” more times than she’d cared to listen. But

now she understood better. She didn’t know exactly what it all

meant, but she was ready. She’d spent enough time trying to figure things out for herself, and look where that had gotten her.

Now she wanted answers. Real answers.

And for some reason, she felt a certainty that this was the place

where she’d find them.

The O’Malleys ushered them into the church and selected a

pew near the back. Clanton sat on one side of Sierra, muttering,

“What a bore,” under his breath. Carolyn sat on her other side.

Dennis sat nearest the aisle, while Noreen sat at the far end of

the pew beside Carolyn and near the outside aisle.

“Just in case I have to leave,” she said with a smile. “Sometimes Sean wakes up hungry. He’s small but he makes a big

noise.” Her blue eyes were full of warmth. Seeing Carolyn’s

look, she smiled. “Would you like to hold him?”

“Could I?”

People turned around from the pew in front. Dennis made

more introductions. Everyone was so friendly. They looked

happy to see Sierra and her children, and she felt the oddest

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sense of connection, as though she’d finally come home. The feeling was even more poignant when the service began. Everything

was so familiar, yet different. It wasn’t that the pastor said anything she had never heard before. She had heard the gospel from

her mother since she was old enough to remember. Yet now,

inexplicably, it all made sense. It filled in the gaps of her life.

Oh! Her soul sighed. Ohhhhh.

The pastor spoke and the words pierced her. Her throat closed

even as her heart opened wide. Parched from wandering in the

wilderness, she drank in the living water of the Word.

“Why’re you crying?” Clanton whispered, embarrassed and

worried.

She shrugged, smiling at him. There was no time now to explain

how she felt. Connected. A part of something tremendous and exhilarating. Whole. She tried to stop the tears, but they flowed like

cleansing balm. Sorrow poured over and through her, filling her

and bringing with it a deep hunger for the Lord. In its wake came

hope and reassurance that everything would work out.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned mightily against thee. Mea culpa,

mea culpa. Oh, God! Oh, God!

How was it possible to feel so alive today, when only two days

ago she had longed for death?

The congregation rose to sing, and she rose with them, fumbling

through the hymnal and mouthing the words when emotion kept

her silent. She couldn’t read the words or even utter a sound, but it

didn’t matter. Her heart sang. Carolyn stood beside her, oblivious

and enthralled with baby Sean in his mother’s arms while

Clanton, on her other side, fretted, convinced she was going nuts.

She uttered a soft laugh and put her arm around him.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“Let’s leave,” he hissed back.

“No, we’re staying.” Forever.

It was Dennis who served her Communion. She smiled up at

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him, remembering what she’d said to him as the traffic had

streamed past them on the Hollywood Freeway. You know what I

was doing when you pulled up beside me, Officer? Praying. So much for

divine intervention.

God had been intervening, all right. Mightily. He had brought

her to a screeching halt on the dusty shoulder of a Los Angeles

freeway rather than allow her to hurtle herself off the nearest

cliff. And he did it because he loved her and would not let her go.

She almost laughed as realization came, bringing joy with it. She

had been standing on sacred ground and hadn’t even known it!

“Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his

holy name . . . ,” the congregation sang, and she sang with them,

unable to remember a time when she had felt so happy.

“Boy, am I glad that’s over,” Clanton said on the way home.

“You’d better set your mind to get used to it. We’re going

back.”

“Oh, good!” Carolyn said.

She earned a glare from her brother. “You want Mom blubbering again?”

Sierra smiled at him. “I’ll try to contain myself.”

Lying in bed that night, Sierra knew she needed to make

some changes in her life. Immediate changes. For one thing, she

couldn’t work for Ron anymore, not knowing how he felt about

her. She realized her own feelings for him were confusing. She

had always found him profoundly attractive. Several times,

she’d thought how much better her life would be had she been

married to Ron rather than Alex. That stopped her.

She was too vulnerable right now to think rationally. With

Alex gone, she was needy. She was afraid of so many things. Ron

was strong and confident. It would be too easy to turn to him for

solace. Seeking solace could lead her into an affair.

She was still married. She needed to remember that, despite

the present circumstances. For better or worse, Alex was her

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husband. Until death. Right now, she imagined Alex was wishing for hers. Not that she was feeling particularly fond of him,

either. But feelings didn’t make any difference.

She didn’t want to think about Alex now. She couldn’t and

continue to feel the sense of comfort and rightness she had experienced this morning. “Do not be anxious for tomorrow,” the

pastor had read this morning, and here she was obsessing again.

She couldn’t do anything about Alex or her marriage. But she

could do something about herself and her circumstances.

Ron looked sick when he came in Monday morning. His eyes

were shadowed.

“Can we talk?” she said before he went into his office. He

paused and looked back at her bleakly. She didn’t have to say a

word. He knew.

“You’ve decided to quit.”

She blushed. “I’m sorry. I’ll stay until you can find a replacement.”

“And feel uncomfortable every minute,” he said, expression

grim. How odd that this man, after only a few months, could

know her better than Alex seemed to know her after thirteen

years of marriage. Ron knew her better than anyone, except her

mother.

“I knew when you left Friday this would happen. I talked with

Judy. She can stand in for you until I find a permanent replacement. What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure yet. I think I’m going to sell the house.” It hadn’t

even occurred to her until that instant.

“Are you going home to Healdsburg?”

“No,” she said, surprising herself again. “I’m not sure what I’ll

do. I hadn’t even thought about it until now.”

“You never even guessed how I felt about you, did you?”

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“Briefly, but I thought I was being foolish.”

“I should’ve waited a little longer.”

She met his gaze, her eyes compassionate. “It wouldn’t have

made any difference, Ron.”

“It would’ve made all the difference in the world.”

Looking into the blue depths of his eyes, she knew he was

right. Thank you, God, her heart breathed. Thank you that Ron

waited. Thank you for sparing me and Ron from what could have been a

terrible mistake. And forgive me. All the while I was casting stones at

Alex, I was tumbling into the abyss myself. “I’m married, Ron.”

“Until Alex can find a way out.”

His words hurt, for she knew Alex was doing everything he

could to gain that end. Every time he spoke with her, he felt the

need to drive home two facts: He wasn’t coming back, and he

didn’t love her anymore.

Regret washed over Ron’s face. “I didn’t say that to hurt you,

Sierra.”

“I know, but it does.”

“I’ll call you when it’s over.” He went into his office and closed

the door.

Gathering her things, Sierra left. On her way out, she gave

Arlene her ivy plant and a hug.

Instead of going home, she went to the mall. She bought a

cappuccino, sat on a bench next to a big fern, and watched the

hustle-bustle of people shopping. She supposed she had the

qualifications to be a clerk, but was that what she wanted to do?

Alex was sending a check once a month to cover expenses, and

every time she opened the envelope, she wilted at the sight of

his bold signature. Somehow, gut-level, she knew that check

wrote her off.

Not once in her life had she supported herself. Father, can I do

this? she prayed, feeling overwhelmed.

Ask and you shall receive, Daughter.

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The assurance washed over her, and she settled back, sipping

her cappuccino. She’d told Ron she was putting the house up

for sale. She didn’t know why she’d said that at the time, but

it seemed a good idea now that she thought about it. If she

remained where she was, it was certain she’d never be able to

handle the finances herself. House payments were bad enough,

but add to that the BMW payments and private school for the

children and the sum was far beyond any expectations of earnings she might have.

Sierra could see herself living out her life at the mailbox, waiting for whatever money Alex doled out to her. She could imagine

his resentment. He adored his children and wouldn’t begrudge a

dime to them, but every penny he sent for her support would be

another matter.

She spent the day wandering in the mall, thinking. When she

picked up the children, she took them to their favorite fast-food

restaurant. “I’ve decided to sell the house,” she told them, knowing her announcement was abrupt, but unable to think of any

other way to break the news of her decision to them.

“Are we going home to Windsor?” Clanton said.

“No. We’re going to look around San Fernando Valley and see

what we can find near the church. We might even look at condominiums. There’s a complex just down the street. I saw a swimming pool and tennis courts. We’ll have to see what we can

afford.”

“Can we still go to the same school?” Carolyn said.

“No, honey. It’s too expensive.” She didn’t want to ask Alex

for any more money than she had to. “It makes more sense to go

to a school in your own neighborhood.”

“So I won’t get to see Pamela?”

“You can see Pamela as often as we can arrange it, and you can

call her whenever you want.”

Sierra prayed that night, frightened by the speed with which

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her life was changing, but in the morning, she stepped out in

faith and called Roberta Folse. She explained Alex had signed

the house over to her before leaving her. Roberta was sympathetic but warned her not to expect a profit.

“You haven’t been in the house long enough to build much equity, Sierra.”

“We decorated. Maybe that’ll help.”

“You’ll be lucky to break even. And then you’re going to have

to pay capital gains out of whatever you do get if you don’t reinvest in something of equivalent or higher value in eighteen

months. Is there any chance Alex will come back?”

“No.”

“If he’s keeping up the payments, you might do better staying

where you are. I’d love a commission, Sierra, but not at the expense of your well-being. Why don’t you take a few more days to

think things over and give me a call in another week or two?”

Sierra did take a few more days. She prayed over it. She talked

to Dennis and Noreen and got their opinion. The answer seemed

clear. She needed to stand on her own two feet, trust the Lord,

and stop depending on Alex. She called Roberta again.

Roberta came over the following afternoon.

“Oh, my word!” she said upon entering the house. “You didn’t

tell me Bruce Davies decorated your living room.”

Roberta’s remark absolved any doubts Sierra had ever had

about Bruce Davies leaving his own stamp on everything he did.

“Not just the living room, Roberta. The entire house.”

“The entire house?”

“Yes.”

“That must have cost you a bundle.” Roberta sat down on the

dark brown leather couch and put her briefcase carefully on the

thick glass-topped table.

Sierra grimaced, seeing how Roberta stared at the muraled

wall with a perplexed expression. It was one of the reasons she

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usually avoided the living room. “It’s one of Alex’s video games,”

she said.

“I’d swear there’s someone watching me.”

“There is. Actually, if you look at it long enough, you’ll see six

men and one woman hiding in that jungle. It’s called Camouflage. If I turn out the lights, their eyes glow red.”

“How much did you put into decorating the house?”

Sierra told her.

“We’ll add ten thousand to that and see what happens.”

Roberta called Saturday morning. “Be sure you take a look at the

Los Angeles Times tomorrow morning.”

Sierra forgot all about it until Carolyn came in the next morning while she was blow-drying her hair. “Daddy’s on the phone,”

she said and held out the portable.

Surprised, Sierra shut off the dryer and took the phone, wondering why he was calling her so early on a Sunday. “Yes?”

“Is that our house on the cover of the real estate section?”

She could feel the heat of his anger through the wires. It all but

melted the telephone in her hand. Her defenses rose. She almost

reminded him he’d signed the house over to her, so it wasn’t their

house anymore. It was her house. Instead, she managed a mild,

“Yes, it is.”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I can’t stay here, Alex. It’s too—”

“You’re not selling that house.”

“I have to move, Alex. I’ve thought it all over and—”

“You have to move where?” he sneered. “To Healdsburg so I’ll

never see my children again! Over my dead body, Sierra! You

hear me?” He swore at her in Spanish. He used a word so foul

her face heated.

“I hear you, Alex, but I’m not—”

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He didn’t give her the chance to get further than that. Cursing

again, he blistered her with the same accusations Audra had leveled at her a few weeks earlier, only adding personal and private

faults on top. If Audra’s words had shocked, Alex’s battered and

bruised. He meant to annihilate her, and he was doing a good job

of it. He spoke in Spanish, which made it all the worse. He never

spoke Spanish unless his emotions were out of control. Unfortunately, she understood every single word he said.

“I’ve called my attorney,” he said, falling back into crisp English again. “I’m going to fight you, Sierra. No matter what it

takes, I’m not letting you walk away with my children. I’m sick

of this situation. I’m sick of you!” He told her she could hold her

breath until Hades froze over before he’d send her another dime.

“It’s bad enough Clanton won’t talk to me. Now you think you

can put four hundred miles between me and my daughter!”

He took a breath, and into that brief space of time Sierra said

with miraculous calm, “We aren’t moving north, Alex.”

“Where then? East? New York, maybe? That’s three thousand miles instead of four hundred. Or Hawaii. Right! Hawaii.

That’s it. That’d put an ocean between us!”

The storm of his anger blew about her like a tornado around a

bruised reed. “I’m hoping to buy a condo in Northridge.”

Silence.

She looked in the mirror and wondered how much makeup it

would take to put color back in that stranger’s face. Looking

away, she swallowed hard before she tried to say anything else.

“I have to go,” she said quietly, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Church starts in less than an hour.” She took a slow breath,

squelching the desire to cry. She had cried enough over the past

few years. Buckets of tears. Mostly for herself. “Alex, I promise

you’ll know everything as we do it. Clanton and Carolyn will

never be out of your reach. I promise.”

Pressing the button, she set the telephone on the bathroom

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counter. Nauseated, she thought about going back to bed and

pulling the covers up over her head. But what good would that

do?

Three years I’ve watched you wallow in self-pity and keep up your

temper tantrum. It’s been something to watch, Sierra. A real show!

Shuddering, she turned her thoughts to Dennis and Noreen

and a dozen others who welcomed her and the children every

Sunday. She had a choice. She could stay home and do exactly

what Audra and Alex would expect her to do, or she could finish

getting ready and go to church. She could learn something and,

with God’s help, start putting her own life back in order.

The house sold the first week. Full price.

When escrow closed thirty days later, the check Sierra received

looked like an obscene amount of money. It dwindled fast when

she sent half of it to Alex, made a 20 percent down payment on a

modest three-bedroom condominium in Northridge, and paid

her capital gains taxes out of what remained. If it weren’t for her

inheritance, she wouldn’t have qualified for a loan in the first

place. As it was, most of her assets were tied up in the Mathesen

Street house in Healdsburg.

The telephone rang while Sierra was in the kitchen packing

boxes. She avoided answering the telephone whenever possible.

Alex had called several times during the past month. Luckily,

Carolyn always flew to the phone when it rang, hoping it was her

father. Clanton never picked it up, for the same reason. Carolyn

spent two Saturdays a month with Alex, but she never said much

about their day together. And Sierra didn’t ask any questions.

“It’s Daddy,” Carolyn said now, holding the portable phone

out to her. “He wants to talk to you.” The hope in her eyes made

Sierra want to weep.

“Thanks, honey.” She took the phone, knowing exactly why

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he had called. She hadn’t spoken with him since he’d read her the

riot act over putting the house up for sale in the first place, and

this conversation was destined to be no more pleasant.

“Why’d you send this check to me?” Alex said hotly.

Her heart gave a flip at the sound of his voice. “It’s your half of

the proceeds from the house.”

“I signed the house over to you. Remember?” He sounded

bitter about it.

“I remember, but I didn’t feel right about keeping all the

money.”

“That’s a big surprise. It never bothered you to keep my

money before. Why change now? And while we’re on the

subject, why’d you send my check back last week?”

“Because you said you’d never send me another dime, and I

thought I’d hold you to your word.”

He spat a short, foul expletive. “So what are you going to do,

Sierra? Make the kids eat at the local mission?”

“I have a job.”

“Yeah, right. Working for Ron Peirozo at Los Angeles Outreach. I don’t imagine it pays much.”

“I don’t work there anymore.”

“Got fired, huh? Well, six months is something, I guess. That’s

longer than any other job you’ve held in your life.”

Pushed to the limit by his scathing sarcasm and condescension, she almost blurted out the truth. I left because Ron is in love

with me and wants me to forget about you, to leave you in the dust like

you’ve left me! He wants to be with me! He wants to marry me, Alex.

He’s a millionaire and he wants me! I left because it was the right thing to

do, not that you care!

But she didn’t. He wouldn’t believe her anyway. As much as

he hated her, he’d find it impossible to think any other man

would find her attractive or intriguing. And she wasn’t about to

humiliate herself by trying to convince him.

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What does the Lord require of you?

She could hear the verse as clearly now as she’d heard it on

Sunday, when the pastor had read it—and it brought her

thoughts to an abrupt halt. What did the Lord require? Justice,

kindness, humility . . . yet here she was, wandering down the

familiar path of bitterness and self-pity again.

She drew a steadying breath. Lord, I hurt him. I know I did. Please

forgive me. I can’t tell him I’m sorry right now because he won’t listen, but

you know how I feel. You know what I did to start this war. I don’t want to

be part of it anymore.

“So, what are you going to do?” Alex demanded when she

made no response to his last insult.

“I’m going to be a secretary in an insurance agency.”

“You’ll last two weeks, tops.”

“Is that an estimation of my abilities or of how boring the industry is?” she said, trying to instill some lightness into her tone.

“Take a wild guess.”

His meaning couldn’t be more clear.

“I’ll send you another check, Sierra. You’d better hang onto

this one. You’ll need it.”

Hot, bitter anger swept over her, surpassing hurt and obliterating wisdom. “I have a better idea, Alex. Don’t send the check.

Eat it!” The words were out before she even knew they were

coming. They passed her lips, flying up from her heart and roosting like vultures in the charged air, pecking at her head. She

slammed the phone down, more angry with her own lack of

control than with Alex’s contemptuous laugh.

When a check did arrive in the mail two days later, it came in

an envelope with an embossed return address that read Madrid/

Longford. She tore up the envelope and check and flushed both

down the toilet. She’d stand out on a street corner holding a sign

that said Homeless and Hungry before she’d take another nickel

from Alejandro Luís Madrid.

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Pride did have its place, didn’t it? What had she just heard at

the last Bible study? Those who won’t work, won’t eat. Well,

she’d work and eat. And so would her children. Whatever money

Alex sent for the children would go in their college funds.

Dennis and several other men from the church helped her

move into the condominium. The complex was within walking

distance of the church, and Dennis invited Clanton to play baseball when they finished unloading the pickup trucks. “We’ve got

a team, but we’re short some outfielders. Do you think you could

help us out?”

“Sure. Easy!” Clanton looked more eager than Sierra had seen

him in a long time.

“As soon as we get all this stuff lugged inside, we’ll head on

down to the field. Can he stay out until nine, Mom?” Dennis

said, winking at her over one end of a couch he was carrying.

“I’ll have to fix him some dinner first.”

“We can get McDonald’s.”

“Great!” Clanton said, before she could respond. He dumped

the box he was carrying onto the top of a coffee table and ran

back for another.

“Mom!” Carolyn said, running up, her face flushed with excitement. “Susan lives here. Susan from church! She lives in the

condo just down from us. See! Right over there. Can you believe

it? Can I go play with her? Please.”

Susan’s mother, Frances, came over an hour later. Clanton

and the men had gone, leaving Sierra surrounded by boxes.

Frances surveyed the chaos. “Why don’t you join us for dinner?”

Removing the newspaper wrapping, Sierra set another plate

into the built-in dishwasher. She brushed damp tendrils back

from her face and glanced around at the unpacked boxes, Mary

Kathryn’s trunk, the furniture dumped anywhere and nowhere

in particular. It would take her all night to get half the unpacking

done.

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“Believe me,” Frances laughed. “It’ll still be here when you

come back. Susan and I can help.”

By the time Sierra had finished her spaghetti, Frances had talked

her into joining the choir. “It only makes sense,” Frances said.

“We meet on the same night as the youth group. We can walk

down with the children, stay for practice, and walk back with

them at nine.”

“What if I can’t carry a tune?” Sierra laughed.

“Then you’ll just have to make a joyful noise!”

The telephone was ringing when she unlocked the front door

and switched on the lights later that evening. Carolyn ran to the

kitchen and answered it. Sierra could tell by the look on her

daughter’s face that it was Alex. She watched Carolyn hop up on

a stool as she began telling her father everything that had happened that day. She sounded so happy and excited.

“Oh, and Mom’s joined the choir. She’s going to be practicing

the same night Susan and I go to youth group. Susan? She’s a

friend from the church. She lives in a condo right down the path

from us.” She listened for a moment, her excitement dimming

slightly. “He’s not here, Daddy. He’s playing baseball with Mr.

O’Malley. Dennis is so neat! He leads the youth group, and he’s

a highway patrolman. He met Mom when he pulled her over on

the freeway for speeding. You should see his baby. Sean is so

cute, and Noreen lets me hold him in church.”

Sierra went into Carolyn’s bedroom. So much for keeping a

few secrets, she thought, taking the sheets from a box. She made

up Carolyn’s bed, and then went into Clanton’s room and made

up his bed. Carolyn was still talking when Sierra went into her

own bedroom and began making up her own bed, the one she’d

slept in all through her growing-up years in Healdsburg. She

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smoothed the comforter and plumped the pillows. Leaning

against the bedpost, she looked around the room.

She’d had to get rid of the king-size bed she’d shared with

Alex. After measuring the master bedroom, she’d realized it

would fit but leave little room for anything else. Giving it up had

been difficult. She’d mentioned it to Melissa during their last

telephone conversation, and two days later her brother had

called and said he was shipping her canopy bed from home.

She touched the lace covering that her mother had crocheted

for her; it had taken her a year to complete it. Sierra remembered

the joy she’d felt when she opened the big box on Christmas

morning and found the lace folded in among sheets of lavender

tissue paper. She’d been sixteen and madly in love with Alex.

Her eyes welled with tears. How many nights had she lain in

this bed dreaming of what it would be like to be married to

Alejandro Luís Madrid? He had been her Prince Charming. Ten

years she’d known what it was like to be loved and fulfilled by a

man of passion. Ten years of heaven, followed by three years of

descending into hell.

God forgive her, she’d been the one to take the first step down.

The front doorbell rang. “Mom! Can you get it?” Carolyn

called, unwilling to relinquish the phone.

When she opened the door, Sierra found Clanton covered

with grass stains and dirt from head to foot and grinning from

ear to ear. “I hit a home run, Mom! Man, you should’ve seen that

ball fly!”

Dennis was behind him, looking pleased. “It wouldn’t have

been a home run if I hadn’t tripped over my feet,” he said in mock

annoyance, “and you hadn’t run like a rabbit.”

“We’re playing against the Baptist church on Saturday,”

Clanton said, entering the living room and tossing his dirty glove

onto a pile of clean clothes that had yet to be put away. “I’m playing shortstop.”

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“You were supposed to ask your mother’s permission,” Dennis

said, snatching Clanton’s hat off. “Remember?”

“Mother may I?” Clanton grinned.

She laughed. “Yes, you may.”

Carolyn slid off the kitchen stool. “Daddy wants to talk to

you,” she said, holding the telephone receiver out to Clanton.

Clanton’s expression changed immediately. He stared at the

telephone as though it were a cockroach he wanted to squash.

“Tell him I’m taking a shower!” he said loud enough for Alex to

hear and stalked down the hall. He went into the bathroom and

slammed the door. Sierra heard the click as he locked it.

Dennis gave her a grim look as Carolyn relayed the message.

“I can see we have some work to do,” he said softly. He tossed

Clanton’s hat onto a stool.

“A lot of work.”

“I’d better get home before Noreen sends out a search party.”

Sierra walked with him to the door and thanked him for including Clanton in the adults’ baseball practice.

“He’s a great kid, Sierra,” Dennis said.

“He’s an angry kid.”

“He’s got reason. A lot of times it’s not in our power to forgive

someone who has hurt us. We have to ask God’s help.”

Words for her to think about as well, she thought as she closed

the door.

She tried to talk to Clanton when he got into his bed. “Would

you please talk to your father the next time he calls?”

“Why should I?”

“Because it’d make things easier on me,” she said, hoping that

would make some difference. “He thinks I’ve turned you against

him.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Clanton said, eyes blazing with the same

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fierce anger she’d seen in Alex’s the last time he’d spoken to her

face-to-face before walking out. “I’ll tell him he’s full of—”

She put her hand lightly over his lips to stop the flow of angry

words. Clanton clearly had some of her faults as well as Alex’s.

“Please,” she whispered. “I’m not without fault in all this,

Clanton. Try to understand.” She bit her lip, trying to find

words to explain. If she cried, that would only make matters

worse. She stroked his cheek tenderly. “Your father loves you

very much.”

His mouth worked. “If he loved me, he wouldn’t have left,”

he said and turned over on his side so she couldn’t see his face.

She didn’t have to. Her heart felt like a hot ball of pain inside

her.

“His leaving had nothing to do with you, honey. I was angry

for so long about having to move, and I took it out on Daddy. He

got tired of it.”

Clanton turned his head slightly and looked at her. “Do you

still love him?”

Tears did come then, but she smiled, combing his hair back

from his forehead. Dark hair just like Alex’s. “He’s your father,

honey. How could I not?” She took his hand. “What he’s done

isn’t right, Clanton, but I wasn’t right either. Looking back, I can

see so many things I did wrong.”

“You never did anything wrong.”

“Yes, I did. I wanted things to be my way.” She stroked his

cheek, aching for the pain she saw in his eyes. Hate and love

were so closely linked. “If you can’t forgive him for your sake,

honey, will you forgive him for mine?”

Clanton rolled over again. He had always been stubborn. Just

like her. Just like Alex.

Heart aching, she stood and straightened the covers over his

shoulders. “I love you, Clanton.” Leaning down, she kissed his

temple. “So does your father.”

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We are at the top of the Rocky Mountains!

We did not even know it until we saw the water

was running west. The climb was so slow and

gradual and then this great expanse before you so

you know you are on top of a great range. It is

cool and dry and windy right now. But it was

a long hard day of travel.

Kavanaugh and Joshua shot three antelope.

They are good eating. I am so proud of him!

We crossed the Big Sandy and laid by to rest our

oxen. I did wash. Artemesia joined me at the

riverbank. She was a robust woman when we

started and is now so thin a breeze could blow her

over. She says she feels much better. She does not

look it.

The last week has been hard going through

dark hills and deep ravines and narrow passes.

We have crossed creeks and fixed broken wagons. One of the oxen died last night and the

wolves kept up a constant howling. I did not

sleep much. Tonight is not much better with the

mosquitoes buzzing and Henry and Matthew

fighting with each other. I have to sit a while

and write something or I will crack their heads

together.

Beth was feeling poorly again today. The fever

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comes and goes. I gave her some quinine and bedded her down for the night.

I am wearing new moccasins and pleased with the

feel of them. My shoes were worn through and

Henry is wearing my boots. Kavanaugh traded

with a Cheyenne squaw and gave them to James

to give to me. James offered him a dollar for them

but he would not take it. He said it was payment

for the suppers he has shared with us.

James has sent the boys to bed. The quiet is

nice with the crickets chirping and the sky so

starry. James is on first watch tonight.

Cal Chaffey is playing his mouth organ again.

It is a mournful tune tonight. The wolves like it.

They are joining in.

Paralee Sinnott has torn the sheets.

She was feeling poorly this morning, but

Franklin made her drive the wagon just the

same. She pulled out of line twice. By the end

of the day she was at the back eating dust.

We had made camp by the time she drove in.

When she came in Franklin asked her where

his son was and she said she shot him back

in the road and left him for dead. Franklin

Sinnott rode off fast as he could to go looking

for him. As soon as he was out of sight,

Paralee got down off her wagon calm as you

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please and set fire to his wagon full of goods

to sell. It took flame so fast all we could do

was pull the two wagons nearest out of the

circle so they would not catch fire as well.

Paralee just stood there with her arms crossed

watching everything go up in smoke.

Franklin came back quick when he saw the

smoke. When he saw what she had done, he

come down off his horse like a wild man and hit

her twice before MacLeod laid him out good and

proper. Franklin lay there crying over his broken nose and dead son and calling her a crazy

woman.

And right then young Frank rode in with a

string of trout hanging off his saddle. He said

Paralee sent him fishing.

We are laid by at Soda Springs and will stay

over Sunday. Everyone has drunk from the

springs. Some like it fine as it is. I did not like it

much until I added sugar. Then it was tolerable

good.

We are all in sore need of rest. It was hard pulling through mountains and crossing creeks. We

have plenty of grass and wood here. Kavanaugh

took Joshua hunting. James is annoyed. He

needed Joshua to help him make repairs on the

wagon but Joshua was off before we knew he

was going. Joshua would rather ride point and

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hunt with Kavanaugh than drive our wagon or

repair it. So Hank and Matthew are helping.

It is pretty here. I would be content to stop and

sink in roots. James said I will like California

better.

I am filled with sadness. When we pull out day

after tomorrow, we will be taking the road to California. Most will be heading on to Oregon. I am

thankful Wells and Nellie are going with us.

Nellie is the closest thing I have to a sister and

reminds me of Aunt Martha.

Oren McKenzie and Celia Banks have teamed

up. Celia put the idea in Oren’s head and he was

agreeable. She has milk enough for baby David

and her own little Hortense and she needs a man

to help her work the land she is going to claim in

Oregon. They will not marry until they have their

allotments. Once they claim their 160 acres, they

will tie the knot and have 320 acres together. She

is a smart girl.

Winifred Holtz is grieving something awful.

She loves little David as though he were her own.

Celia wept with her and said she will not take him

from her until all is settled in Oregon.

MacLeod led the wagons north toward the Snake

River this morning. We and the Doanes, Stern

Janssen, Ernst Holtz, and Binger Siddons pulled

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out at the same time heading south. Nellie has

cried the whole day. She is crying still as I sit and

write in my journal. Wells keeps telling her the

going will be easier to California but I can tell

by Kavanaugh it will not. Robert and LeRoy

are glad to not be separated from Henry and

Matthew. Beth is mourning over not seeing baby

Hortense again. I almost told her I would be having a baby in the spring but I thought it better

not to. I am feeling poorly and may lose it. And

I should tell James before anybody else.

Kavanaugh is going with us to California. I am

glad of his company. He said he has not been over

this land before but has heard much about it. He

said the next eight hundred miles will be harder

than anything we have traveled over before.

James says that means fewer people will come.

We crossed Raft River and have come as far as

a City of Rocks. We will rest here a day before

going on. Beth and I have made a game of seeing

things in the rock formations. Some are hundreds

of feet high. We have made out the shapes of turtles and rabbits. Henry pointed out a group of

rocks that look like an eagle.

Joshua said he has no interest in childish games

and rode off. Now I see he has climbed up on one

section and is painting his name in axle grease

high up for all to see.

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It has been hard pulling since we left the City of

Rocks. Kavanaugh said Humboldt Wells is still

a day away.

I wish we had gone on to Oregon.

We are nooning three hours during the hottest time

of day and then traveling on until the sunset. The

dust has been bad. We fan out, but the winds keep

us from escaping it. Nellie is sick from the alkali

dust. I am so sunburned I look like an Indian.

The children keep asking how long it will take

to get to California. James lost his temper and

said we will get there when we get there and if

they ask again he will take his belt to them. He

has no patience with this Heat and the Hard

Labor. The roads are heavy.

I think he is wishing we had gone on to Oregon.

We came over mountainous roads today and

reached Thousand Spring Valley. We are camped

by good water. Joshua has taken the horses to

good grass. Henry has gone with him to cut and

bundle grass to take with us. I am too tired to

write more.

We are laid by at Humboldt Wells. We will stay

an extra day here. The animals need rest. So do

we all. Grass and water are plentiful. It is pretty

and there is shade.

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Kavanaugh does not say much about what is

ahead. His silence fills me with disquiet. If the

going was easy he would tell us so. Summer has

its heavy hand upon us.

Joshua asked me who his father is. I said James

but he said he means his Real father. I asked him

why he wanted to know and he said he had wondered about it for a long time. He said Clovis told

him I had him with me when I came to live with

Aunt Martha. I told him James was the only

father he ever had. He was not satisfied. He said

a man has to know where he comes from. So I

told him my brother Matthew McMurray married Sally Mae Grayson and he is her child. He

wanted to know what happened to her and I told

him she died giving birth to him. Then he wanted

to know what happened to his father. I said he

died too. He wanted to know how and I said what

difference does it make. He is dead. Joshua got

mad and wanted to know why it was so hard for

me to tell the truth. I said I had never lied to him

or anyone. I said it was hard talking about people

I loved who were gone. I said the past did not

matter anyway because he is as much my son as

Henry and Matthew. He said he is not. I did not

think words could hurt so much. I told him I have

loved him from the moment I helped bring him

into the world.

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He did not ask more after that. He just looked

at me like he knew there was more than what

I was telling him.

Joshua rode on ahead. I am afraid for him.

James said he has common sense and Kavanaugh

will watch out for him. I am afraid for other

reasons.

Stern Janssen lost a wheel today. The wood had

gotten so dry the spokes fell out. James is helping

him fix it. They have taken the wheels off and are

soaking them overnight in the Humboldt.

Joshua is not back. Kavanaugh said he saw

him and he is well but not ready to come back.

We have fallen into the practice of gathering and

supping together. Nellie has been feeling poorly

and I have been cooking. The men give me what

I need of their supplies to stretch the meal for all

of us. While I cook, Nellie reads from her Bible

and the men make what repairs need doing on the

wagons. The children are too tired and cranky to

get into much trouble.

Joshua killed two rattlesnakes before the oxen

were even unyoked. Kavanaugh said they are

good eating. I told him he could fry and eat them

both with my good wishes. He did just that and

Joshua joined him.

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The oxen were too tired to be frightened by the

snakes but Beth is in the wagon and will probably

stay there until California. I may join her. The boys

are bedded down under the wagon with James.

We had trout for supper. Binger caught enough

for all of us.

Joshua is on guard tonight with Wells.

We passed more dead cattle today. We are using

sage for fuel.

Kavanaugh said there is another company of wagons twelve or so miles ahead of us. I am glad to

know there are others ahead and surviving.

Passed two dead oxen today.

The sand is deep and very heavy on our teams.

Wells got stuck and we had to use our oxen to

pull him free. The grass is very poor but the water

is plentiful. The skies are clouding up. I can hear

the rumble of thunder in the distance.

It would be nice to have a break in the awful heat.

Our oxen scented water and went wild trying to

get to it. We turned all but one and it drank from

alkaline water. James and I doctored it. James

held the animal while I poured grease down its

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throat. Beth is watching over it now and praying

it will survive.

The milk cow has gone dry. We may have to use

her to pull if we lose another ox. I expect we will

because we have passed a dozen carcasses in the

last four days.

We passed a grave today. Tobias Wentworth.

Binger lost another ox.

Nellie said we are wandering like the Israelites in

the desert. The land is cruel and the heat unrelenting. We are pulling out with first light and

stopping when the sun is high. We wait a couple

of hours in whatever shade we can find and then

go on until sunset. But even then the going is so

hard I sometimes want to lay down and die and

have done with it.

Maybe we are like the Israelites. God watched

them die on the edge of the Promised Land.

The Humboldt has drained away into nothing.

Kavanaugh just told us we got forty miles of

desert ahead of us.

I do not think I can make it.

Stern Janssen’s wagon was so deep mired in sand

he had to unharness the oxen and leave it. We

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pulled three oxen out but the other just laid down

and died.

Nellie is so sick from the heat she is riding inside

their wagon. Wells is afraid she is going to die.

If this desert does not kill us all, the mountains

I see ahead surely will.

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impact of the ball. Dropping the bat, she ran for first base.

“Go! Go!” the base coach said, urging her on.

“Run, Sierra! Run!” others shouted from the stands as she

crossed second.

“Come on, Mom!” Clanton hollered, jumping up and down

near third and waving her on. “Go for it! Go for it!”

She rounded third and headed for home. The second baseman

caught the ball from the center fielder and was turning to zing it

toward home plate. She knew she’d never make it before the ball

did. “Oh, Lord, help!” she said. Clanton would never forgive her if

she made the last out. Giving it everything she had, she charged

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ahead, dropping at the last second just as the catcher caught the

ball. She plowed right into him, knocking him off his feet. The ball

bounced off her helmet as he came down in a heap on top of her.

“Safe!” the umpire shouted amidst exuberant laughter.

“That’s the way to do it!” Dennis was laughing as he ran over

from his position as coach.

She and the catcher untangled themselves. “What do you

think this is, Madrid? The World Series? Or professional wrestling, maybe?”

Rolling over, she made it to her hands and knees. “Sorry,

Harry. You OK?”

“I will be in a minute,” he said, flopping over onto his back,

arms and legs splayed.

“Don’t worry about Harry.” Dennis grinned, giving her a

hand up. “He’s tougher than he looks. He just likes playing for

sympathy.”

Harry raised his head off the ground and scowled. “You

taught her to slide, didn’t you, O’Malley.”

“My father taught me,” Sierra informed him, laughing. She

brushed herself off as her team surrounded her and began beating the dust off with their hats and pounding her back with congratulations.

Harry got up and pulled off his catcher’s mask. “I tell you,

there ought to be a regulation against plowing your elders down

like bowling pins.”

“Batter up!” the umpire shouted.

As Sierra headed for the bench with her teammates, she heard

Carolyn calling her. “Mom! Mom!” Turning, she walked backward and waved. Her heart leaped as she saw Alex sitting in the

grandstand next to Carolyn. Where had he come from?

The last inning of the game passed in a blur. She couldn’t pay

attention. She hadn’t seen Alex in six months or talked to him in

two. Her heart was hammering. Her palms were sweating.

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Shame filled her. He couldn’t stop by the condominium, could

he? No. Of course not. He had to come to a baseball game looking as if he’d stepped out of Gentleman’s Quarterly and see her

wearing faded Levi’s and covered in dirt and grass stains. No

makeup. Her hair tumbling down. Dirt under her fingernails

and in her teeth after sliding home. Perfect timing. She blew a

strand of hair out of her eyes.

“You OK?” Dennis said, putting his hand over hers.

“Alex is here.”

“I wondered who that guy was sitting beside Carolyn.”

“Did you happen to notice when he arrived?”

“About two minutes before you went up to bat.”

“Great,” she muttered, thinking of how she must have looked

plowing poor old Harry down at home plate.

Dennis glanced over at the stands. “Did Clanton know he was

coming?”

“I didn’t know he was coming.” She took a deep breath, blowing it out through pursed lips, trying to slow her ricocheting

pulse. “Kick me if I cry, Dennis. Kick me hard.”

“You cry and I’ll haul you off to the slammer.”

She laughed.

The team gathered in a circle and gave a cheer for the Lutherans they’d been playing. “We only lost by two runs,” Clanton

said as Sierra put her arm around his shoulders. “We’ll get

them—” She knew the instant he spotted his father. His whole

body went rigid.

“It’s OK,” she said softly.

Alex was holding Carolyn’s hand as he walked toward them.

He was looking straight at his son. He didn’t even spare a glance

at her.

Sierra noticed he’d lost weight, but then, so had she over the

past six months. Fifteen pounds, to be exact. Thankfully in all

the right places.

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“I’m going to help Dennis put the gear away,” Clanton said

and started to turn away.

She gripped his shirtsleeve. “You will not.”

“I don’t have anything to say to him.”

“Then you’ll listen.”

Alex looked between them as he came closer. It was hard to

miss the fact that she and her son were having a slight difference

of opinion. He did look at her then, his eyes narrowed and suspicious. What did he think she was doing? When he stopped in

front of them, his eyes flicked over her mussed hair, dusty

T-shirt and pants, right down to her scuffed tennis shoes. Her

face filled with heat. One side of his mouth tipped. “Good hit.”

“Thanks,” she managed, feeling dismissed.

Courtesy dispensed with, he looked at his son. “You played

well out there, Son.” When Clanton didn’t say anything, she saw

a muscle tighten in Alex’s cheek. But it wasn’t anger. It was hurt.

He looked more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him.

God, please, don’t let Clanton say anything cruel. Please.

Clanton didn’t say anything. He just stood beside her, rigid

and silent, her champion.

“What do you say I take you out for a hamburger?” Alex said.

Clanton uttered a soft laugh, glaring up at his father. “The

team’s going out for pizza,” he said coldly and looked away.

“Why don’t you join us?” Sierra said impulsively.

Clanton shot a look at her that would have withered an oak.

“He doesn’t play baseball,” Clanton said. He looked at Alex

again. “He plays around with other women.”

Alex’s face went dark red.

Sierra didn’t know if he was embarrassed or ready to explode

with rage.

“You’re such a jerk, Clanton!” Carolyn said, her mouth trembling.

“Shut up! What d’you know?”

“I know more than you do!” she said, her blue eyes filling with

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tears. “Elizabeth said—” She broke off, paling at the look on

Clanton’s face.

“You little Judas!”

Sierra could feel the blood draining out of her face. Was that

where Alex took their daughter on Saturdays? On excursions

with his mistress?

Clanton took a step toward his sister. “Why don’t you move in

with them, you little—”

“That’s enough, Clanton,” Alex said, steel in his voice. He

barely spared a glance at Sierra, and she was glad of that. The

last thing she wanted was for him to see how much it hurt to

know Carolyn had been spending time with Elizabeth Longford.

“You’d better learn to accept things as they are.”

“I don’t have to accept anything, least of all you. You’re a cheat

and a liar, and I wish you and your girlfriend were dead!” He took

off across the baseball field toward Dennis and the other members of the team.

“Mom?” Carolyn said, tears running down her cheeks.

“I’ll go after him,” she said quietly, eager to escape before she

made a fool of herself or said something she’d regret. She headed

toward her teammates, swallowing the hot tears that were choking her.

“Mom!” Carolyn cried out. She made to follow Sierra, but

Alex was holding her hand. “Let go!” she said, sobbing, and

pulled free of her father to run to Sierra. “Are you mad at me,

Mom?” Tears ran down her cheeks. “Do you hate me?”

“No,” Sierra said, kneeling and pulling her close. She stroked

her hair and kissed the top of her head. “I just wish things were

different, that’s all.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I only talked to her the one time.

I—”

“Shhh . . . I love you very much, and nothing will ever change

that.” She tipped her daughter’s chin and gave her a shaky smile.

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“You go have fun with your father while I talk to Clanton. I’ll see

you later at home.” She kissed her.

“Clanton’s so mean.”

“No, honey. He’s hurt. People say awful things when they’re

hurt.” Just as she had. Just as Alex had. Poor Clanton. What

chance did he have of being any better than they’d been? “You

tell your father how much you love him. He needs to hear that.

Now, go on.”

“Sierra,” Alex called. “Wait a minute.” She recognized that

tone and wished she could just keep walking. If not for what

she’d just said to Carolyn, she’d run. She was reeling inside, her

stomach quivering, her eyes hot with tears. She didn’t need a lecture from Alex about what a lousy mother she was or what a

lousy wife she’d been.

He looked at her, and she saw something flicker in his eyes.

“Where’s the team going? We’ll meet you there.”

No respite for the wicked. Not even privacy to have a good,

long cry. “Three blocks down in the shopping center,” she said,

forcing herself to speak evenly. “I’ll do what I can, Alex, but I

can’t promise. . . .” She shook her head and turned away, resigning herself to a painful evening.

Dennis did some long, hard talking to Clanton before they

reached the pizza parlor. He knew how Clanton felt; his own

father had left his family when he was in his teens.

“I saw him once after he left and told him I hated him. I never

saw him again. He died when I was twenty-three.”

Sierra saw how much that confession cost Dennis, as well as

the impact it had on Clanton.

“He hurt my mother,” Clanton said. “Every time he calls, he

hurts her.”

Sierra blinked back tears. “I hurt him, too, Clanton.”

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“Not like he did.” Clanton struggled to contain his emotions,

torn between love and loyalty to her and love for his father.

Dennis put his hand on Clanton’s shoulder. “Your father’s

hurting himself most of all. He’s cut off from you and your sister.

Do you remember what we were talking about the other night at

youth group? Everyone sins. No one is perfect. And no sin is

greater than any other. When you believe in Jesus, you confess

and repent, and he cleanses you. He puts you on the right track.

What happens when you don’t have that sustaining faith?

You’re cut off from love itself.”

“He’s not repentant,” Clanton said.

“Are you?”

Clanton fought to hold his tears back. “He’s still living with her!”

“And you’re still hanging on to your anger against him. You

just wished him dead.”

Clanton hunched over and cried, muttering incoherent words.

Dennis cupped the boy’s head and pulled him against his chest.

“Give it to the Lord, Clanton. Don’t make the same mistake I

did. It still haunts me.” He looked at Sierra, and she saw the tears

in his eyes. She also knew her son needed time alone with this

man of God.

“I’ll see you inside,” she said, touching her son and then getting

out of the van. She knew Clanton would open up more if she

weren’t present.

She spotted Alex as soon as she entered the pizza parlor; her

instinctive homing device still worked. She could sense his presence anywhere. He was sitting with Carolyn in a booth back in

the corner. She wanted to pretend she hadn’t seen them and

walk over to the others. The last thing she wanted to do was

speak to Alex or think about Carolyn building a relationship

with a future stepmother.

Alex was staring at her, and she knew she’d only gain his further ire if she left him to wonder where Clanton was.

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Someone called her name. She glanced toward them, forced a

smile, and waved. “Be there in a minute.” First things first. She

had to set Alex’s mind at rest. She walked over to the table and

smiled at Carolyn. “Did you order pizza yet?”

“Pepperoni!” She grinned and took a sip of her soda.

Sierra looked at Alex. “Dennis is talking with him. They’ll be

in soon.” His eyes met hers, and she felt his pain. What a tangled

mess they’d made of their lives—and dragged their children

right into the quagmire with them. “If it doesn’t happen tonight,

Alex, we’ll keep trying. All right? Don’t give up on him. Please.”

Again, that look she couldn’t decipher. “I won’t,” he said

bleakly.

Smiling tremulously, she left their table and joined the others.

When Clanton came in, Carolyn left the booth so her father

could talk to him alone. She came straight to Sierra. “Daddy said

he’ll take us to the movies and then to dinner.” She kept up a

stream of chatter about her father while Sierra watched Dennis

and Clanton sit down in the booth with Alex.

Dennis smiled and talked for a few minutes, undoubtedly trying

to put his companions more at ease. Alex responded. She saw him

smile. Odd how that hurt. When Dennis left them alone, Alex

looked across at his son and started talking. He talked for a long

time. Clanton just sat staring at Carolyn’s empty soda glass. After

a while, Alex didn’t say anything more. He just sat looking at his

son, grief and regret etched in the new lines around his eyes. He

said a few more words. Clanton got up and left the booth. Alex

raked a hand back through his hair and looked away.

For the first time since he’d left her, Sierra felt compassion for

her husband.

Carolyn left with her father. Clanton spent most of the evening

talking with Dennis. Noreen came and sat with Sierra.

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“Children see things in black and white,” Noreen said. “Right

and wrong. Good and evil. They’re so sensitive to those things.

The older we are, the more shades of gray we see.”

“I don’t know what to do. So much of this is my fault. He

wants a divorce.”

Noreen put her hand over hers. “Are you still in love with

him?”

Sierra gave a mirthless laugh. “I’ve been in love with Alex for

as long as I can remember, and I’ll probably love him until I die.

But that doesn’t change anything, does it? He said he’s sick of me

and in love with someone else. He’s done everything possible to

get me to agree to a divorce. In the beginning, I think I refused

because I wanted to hurt him as much as he was hurting me.

Then it was pure cussed stubbornness. But now? I don’t know

anymore. I just don’t know.”

Noreen squeezed her hand. “I don’t know if this will help you

or not, but my parents fought all the time when I was growing

up. I used to cry myself to sleep hearing them scream at each

other. They said they were staying together for us, my brother

and me. I used to wish they’d get a divorce.”

“Did they?”

“No. Never. They’re still together and they’re still fighting.

They have other excuses now, and they still embarrass anyone

who comes within ten feet of them. I don’t go home very often.”

Sierra remembered the fights she’d had with Alex. They

hadn’t screamed at one another, but the cold war had gone on

for months at a time. At what cost to their children? She’d been

so caught up in her own pain, she’d been blind to theirs. And

Alex’s.

Audra’s words came back again, haunting her. “Three years I’ve

watched you wallow in self-pity and keep your temper tantrum going. It’s

been something to watch, Sierra. A real show!”

Sierra closed her eyes. God, forgive me. She was right. I behaved so

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badly, Lord. What can I do to make things right again? How can I make

amends?

And the answer came, bringing with it a wave of pain.

Let him go.

Clanton said he had a stomachache, and they went home early.

While he took a long, hot bath, she sat in the living room, praying. She knew what she had to do. When she tucked Clanton into

bed, she stroked the black hair back from his forehead. “I love

you so much, and I’m sorry I’ve made a mess of things.”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, Clanton, there’s so much you don’t understand. I

pushed. I pushed so hard for so long for what I wanted. I never

stopped to consider what your father needed. Please don’t do the

same thing. You’ll end up losing him the same way I did. He needs

you, Clanton. He needs to be able to love you.”

“What about you, Mom?”

“I have you and Carolyn. I have Michael and his family. I have

the Lord. What does your father have, Clanton? And I share the

blame for it. I want to make things easier for all of us.”

They talked for over an hour, and Clanton agreed he’d talk to

his father the next time he called. Relieved, Sierra took a long

shower and changed into black leggings and a long forest-green

tunic. She was brushing her hair when the doorbell rang.

Alex stood under the porch light, their daughter sound asleep

in his arms. “Where’s her room?”

“Down the hall, second door on the right,” she said and

stepped back. She watched him carry Carolyn down the hall.

She followed, switching on the light. She pulled the comforter

back. Alex lay Carolyn down gently so she wouldn’t awaken.

Untying her tennis shoes, he slipped them off her feet. Sierra left

the room as he drew the comforter up over his daughter and

kissed her good night.

Her heart was hammering when Alex came into the living

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room. He looked around. “You didn’t bring any of the new furniture with you.”

She could tell nothing from his tone, but it occurred to her

then he might have wanted some of the things Bruce Davies had

brought into the house they’d shared together. She saw another

glaring mistake, another selfish act on her part. “Roberta suggested I sell . . .” She shook her head, embarrassed. She couldn’t

pass the blame onto Roberta. It had been her own decision, another act of defiance. “I’m sorry, Alex. I never even considered

asking if you wanted the furniture Bruce Davies—”

“I didn’t say I did,” he said abruptly. He looked away from

her and around the living room. “Reminds me of the house in

Windsor.”

His words came back to haunt her: There’s a right way and a wrong

way to decorate. She looked around, trying to see things from his

perspective. She’d kept the sofa they’d bought during their first

year of marriage, though she’d recovered it last month with green

corduroy. She’d found the brightly colored throw pillows on sale

in an import shop. She still had the hatch-cover table. On it was a

lead crystal platter with rocks the children had collected from a recent visit to the beach. The old brass lamps Alex had called ridiculous sat on modern end tables on each end of the sofa. She’d

polished them to a golden glow and purchased new shades. In the

corner, near the front window, was a tall, healthy fern.

It was as far from Bruce Davies’ kind of decorating as you

could get. Nothing went together, but somehow the mix made

everyone who walked in feel comfortable. At least, they said so.

Two had even asked her to help decorate their homes.

But how did it make Alex feel?

“Would you like me to make some coffee?” she said for want of

anything else.

“It’s a little late for coffee.”

It was a little late for everything. Conceding, she nodded

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sadly. “I guess it is.” She picked up the long white envelope from

the kitchen counter. “I had a long talk with Clanton this evening

after we got home. I think he understands things a little better

now.”

“Understands what?” Alex said, dark-eyed.

“That our marriage breaking up wasn’t solely your fault. He’ll

talk with you the next time you call.” Taking a breath, she took a

few steps toward him and held out the envelope.

Eyes narrowed, he took it. “What’s this?”

“The divorce papers you gave me. I signed them tonight.

You can have your divorce, Alex. I won’t fight you anymore.” She hadn’t realized the cost of those words, nor

had she expected to see the look that came into his eyes. He

wasn’t relieved. As he searched her face intently, she used

every ounce of her will to keep the tears back and to appear

calm and accepting.

Oh, God, be with me. You are my hiding place. You are my shield, my

ever-present help in times of trouble. And this hurts more than I ever

thought possible.

“Why now?” Alex said roughly.

“Because it’s time.” A time for all things. A time to love. A time

to let go. A time to move on with her life and allow Alex to move

on with his. “It would’ve been easier on everyone if I’d done as you

asked in the first place. I was hanging on to my anger. And false

hopes. I know now it only made things worse. For everyone.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “You’ve changed.”

“I hope so.”

He tucked the envelope inside his jacket pocket. She’d never

seen him look so grim. He started to say something but shook his

head. He walked to the door, opened it, and went out without a

word. She closed the door quietly behind him and leaned her

forehead against it.

I’ll trust in you, Lord, no matter how much it hurts. I’ll trust you.

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When next Alex called, Clanton answered. Alex picked him

up on Saturday and they spent the full day together, the first

since Alex had left.

We are laid by in Ragtown with twenty other

wagons.

There is water here and the animals have good

grazing. James is letting me handle replenishing

the supplies while he has the wagon refitted. And

I am getting my wash done. The place is named

for all the clothing hanging on bushes. Even

unmentionables. It is a sight to see!

The Randolph party is heading out along the

Truckee River tomorrow. They are eager to reach

Sutter’s Fort. They are answering Sutter’s call for

settlers. Several of the men here are Ohio farmers. The blacksmith with them fixed the rims on

our wagon and sold us some spare bolts.

I was hoping we would be traveling on with the

Randolph party. It seems to me the more people the

less chance of trouble, but James thinks differently.

He wants to wait and give the oxen time to fatten

for the assault on the Sierras. The others agree.

Kavanaugh gives no opinion one way or the other.

I think he would speak up if it was a poor idea. So

I am somewhat comforted. Joshua is angry. He is

eager to see what is over the mountains. I suppose it

is a good thing we are waiting another day or two.

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Nellie should be stronger by then. Another day in

that desert and we would have been burying her.

Nellie asked me to pray for her. All I could do was

take her hand and say God help us. She seemed satisfied with that. She keeps on reminding me God

has helped us this far. And I keep telling her we are

not at the end of the trail yet.

Our oxen have good grazing here. James is

cutting grass and bundling it for fodder. It was

good he did that along the Humboldt or the animals never would have made the last forty miles.

I look up at the mountains and wonder if we can

make it before winter hits. The wagon master of

the Randolph party told us not to wait longer than

a week. He said a party went through two years

ago and got trapped in the winter snows. Most of

them died and those that did not were reduced to

eating their kin. After hearing that story, I was

ready to pack up our gear and set out right then.

Kavanaugh rode ahead to find an easier route

over the mountains.

Joshua went with him. They have been gone

four days. I am afraid something has happened to

them. James said we will follow the trail left by

the Randolph party until we hear otherwise.

It is hard going. We crossed the Truckee four

times and now have to dismantle the wagon and

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haul it up the mountain. Binger cracked two ribs

when the windlass came loose, but we did not lose

his wagon. Plenty of wood for a fire. The air is

cold at night and the days are getting shorter.

Joshua is keeping us in fresh food. He shot

a deer. I have strips of meat drying on the wagon

as we travel.

I heard the most fearsome noise last night.

Kavanaugh said it was a puma. I asked him what

a puma was and he said it is a mountain lion.

James spotted a bear crossing the meadow this

morning. I knew something was in the wind

because the oxen were nervous. Kavanaugh put

himself between the wagons and the bear and had

his Sharps ready. That huge beast reared up on

its back legs and scented the wind. I am thankful

he knew better than to come closer.

Kavanaugh just told me to pack the drying

meat away or the bear will come in for it. I have

done so.

James is standing guard. Stern will take the

watch in another two hours. The children are settled under the wagon and sound asleep. I can not

sleep a wink for fear of that bear.

It has been so long since I have felt safe.

The last time I can remember was when I was

a child and my mama was still alive and well.

I never knew the dangers that were around me

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while she lived. She was not even much afraid

when the Sioux and Fox Indians were warring. She always said God was with us. I can

remember hearing people talk about Black

Hawk, but I was never afraid. I knew Mama

and Papa would take care of me. And I knew

God would too. I remember thinking Papa

was the strongest man alive. All that changed

so fast when Mama died. The McMurray family unraveled.

Sometimes I find myself wondering how

Mama felt about being so far from Galena and

her dear sister. She lost three children on that

homestead. I was too young to remember how

they died or when. But I remember the markers. Mama never talked about them other than

to say I would meet two sisters and a brother in

heaven someday. I remember Mama talking

about Aunt Martha, too, but I can not remember a single time when she talked about the life

she led in Galena. And it must have been a

charmed life with church socials and quilting

parties and afternoon teas. She never talked

much about my grandmother and grandfather

either except to tell me they both believed in

Jesus and were in heaven and I would meet

them someday, too. Aunt Martha told me my

grandfather made his money as a smelter and

Grandma was a Good Christian Woman. She

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died of consumption just like Mama did and my

grandfather died of brain fever.

I never thought to ask more. I was so young

and it never seemed to matter.

Now I have a hundred questions and will never

know the answers to the least of them.

The weather is turning cold. Beth is down with

fever again. I wish Doc was here to tell me what

to do. I dont want to lose her like I lost my little

Deborah.

Beth seems better. It snowed today. It did not

stay on the ground around us but was still worrisome. We can see the mountains white above us.

I have never seen anything so majestic and beautiful or terrifying. Kavanaugh said we have to

push harder and make the foothills before the

snows move down.

James is sick with mountain fever. Matthew and

I are driving the wagon while Hank tends what

few stock we have left and Beth sees after her

father. Nellie is weak with dysentery.

Kavanaugh has sent Joshua ahead with Binger

Siddons and Ernst Holtz. They can move faster

without us and bring us help.

I could not help but cry when Joshua rode out

of sight. He is slipping away from me a little more

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every day and I do not know how to hold him.

James says I have to let go of the boy. My head

knows it, but my heart says different.

I was his age when Sally Mae pushed him into

the world. She died without ever looking at him.

All his life I have loved him. In a strange way he

is more part of me than my own babies. Maybe

I love him so much because I had to fight so

hard to keep him alive. I dream sometimes of

him laying in his mother’s blood crying. I took

him to my heart then and will bear him there

until my days end. He clung to life when his

mama did not care and his father wanted him

dead. Now he is hungry for more of life and I am

afraid to let him go and find it. What I fear most

is he will ride away and never come back. Just

like Matthew did.

Kavanaugh touched me last night. It was just a

brush of his hand over my hair as I was sitting

near the fire worrying about James. I know he

did not mean for me to know he touched me. But

I felt it just the same. Feelings came up inside me

I can’t describe.

I did not look up at him afraid of what I would

see in his eyes or he would see in mine.

I have wondered on occasion why he agreed to

be scout for us and then why he said he decided

to come along to California. Now I know. Maybe

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I knew the moment he looked at me in that mercantile back in Independence and I have just been

fooling myself.

And James knows too or he would not have

said if he dies I will be safe with Kavanaugh.

James is sleeping better since his fever broke and

I am much relieved though still worried about

him. He is slow in getting his strength back. Beth

is doing better than her father. The mountain air

seems to agree with her. She gathered flowers

today and made a wreath for me. She is a dear

thoughtful child who always wants to please

everyone. She watched over Deborah. Now she

seems to watch over me.

Matthew likes to tell stories. He is good at it.

He will be happy when we get our land and I can

dig through the trunk Aunt Martha bought me.

His books are in it.

Nellie lets me read from her Bible in the evening. It is noisy getting started because everyone

wants to hear their favorite. Beth likes the story

of Ruth best. Nellie’s favorite is Esther. The boys

would rather hear the battles of King David.

Wells likes the story of Gideon. He says it shows

how God can take a cowardly farmer and turn

him into a mighty warrior able to save an entire

nation from destruction. James says he just likes

hearing me read.

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A great valley stretches out before us and the land

looks rich and green from fall rain. Joshua has

come back to us and says we are three days from

Sutter’s Fort.

We are all thankful the journey is almost over.

We had happy surprises when we arrived at

Sutter’s Fort. Virgil Boon and Ruckel Buckeye

are here. They had a falling out with MacLeod

and left the train at Fort Hall. They followed the

Snake south and followed the Humboldt by the

same route we did, but they took the Carson

River route over the mountains. They said they

passed one of the most beautiful lakes in God’s

creation.

They reached the fort two days ahead of us.

Wells and Nellie are going to take land north of

Sutter’s Fort. They take the ferry across the river

tomorrow.

I am much aggrieved. I thought we would live

near the Doanes who have become such wonderful friends. But James told me this morning he

has decided we will go clear to the Pacific. Sutter

bought Fort Ross from the Russians and says the

land is rich there for farming.

If there is a ship waiting, my husband will want

to board and sail until we reach China! And if he

does, he will be going on alone.

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We said good-bye to the Doanes this morning.

I have been crying all day. James is not saying

much. He is wise to keep his silence.

Joshua and Kavanaugh have gone ahead to see

the lay of the land.

We saw Indians today. They are of the same kind

we saw working at Sutter’s Fort. They were gathering grain and roots in the marshes.

The wind and rain is bitter cold. We have crossed

a range of hills and come into another valley.

Mexicans came upon us and said the land is taken

by Mariano Vallejo. They said we are welcome to

come and winter at his rancho. James assured

them we are only passing through and thanked

them for their kind invitation. He told them we are

heading north until we find the Russian River. He

asked where is a good crossing and they told him.

Sutter told us the river will be low enough to cross

easily if we reach it before the heavy rainfall.

Joshua has gone ahead to see if that is so.

The Russian River was wide but not too deep to

ford. A day after we crossed, the skies opened up

and it has been raining heavy upon us ever since.

The river swelled so fast I could scarce believe it.

Nellie would say God was with us and that’s why

we made it across.

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Matthew is sick with fever. I have a touch of it

myself.

Each day gets harder.

We are wintering in a valley northwest of the

Russian River. The Russian Fort is still days

away, but I can go no further. I was sick in

the wagon the day the decision was made to

stay here. The cramps were hard upon me and

I was sure I was going to lose the baby. We

stopped mid day to let me rest. When we

started out in the morning, there was a crack

and the wagon dropped. When it did, two

wheels split.

Our axle is broken and two bolts are missing.

James and the children have looked all day for

them and can not find them and we have no

spares.

I have not said so, but I am relieved we can go

no further. If the axle had not broken, we would

still be westering. It is like a fever in James. He

thinks what is over the next mountain will be

better than what is here. This is good land with

timber for building and plenty of water. What

more does he want?

Kavanaugh is gone. He and James had a falling

out. It almost came to blows. It all started because

James wants to go on to Fort Ross. He was all for

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leaving the wagon and packing the rest of the way

but Kavanaugh would not let him. He

said—Mary Kathryn has gone as far as she can

go, man. Have you no eyes in your head? And

James got all red in the face and told him I was

none of his business. Kavanaugh said that might

be so, but it was time to build a shelter and wait

out winter. James accused him of tampering with

the wagon. Kavanaugh said nothing to that.

James ordered him to leave. So he did. He got on

his horse and rode away without so much as a by

your leave.

I wonder if he did do what James says. If so,

I am grateful to him. This child bears down upon

me as the others never did. Another day and

I would have lost it and maybe died as well.

James is talking about building a cabin. It will be

hard work, but I am eager to have a roof over my

head again. I do not want this baby born in a covered wagon.

I am feeling much stronger. Staying in one place

does wonders for a body. James still talks of moving on after the baby comes. I hope he will

change his mind.

I keep telling him this is good rich, dark soil,

with plenty of earthworms and few rocks. We will

not find better to build our home.

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James has started breaking the wagon down. He

is going to rebuild it into two carts like the Mormons use. He said we still have two good wheels

and not much left to carry. I guess I will be walking again.

We ain’t going anywhere. Looks like we are just

going to die right here. One by one.

James is dead.

I dont know what to do.

I can make no sense of anything. I can not even

think.

God, why do you hate me so much?

3 4 0

19

“ I ’ M W A I T I N G F O R S O M E O N E , ” S I E R R A T O L D

the waitress. “A glass of water will be fine until she arrives.”

Providing Audra came at all.

It had taken the better part of two days for Sierra to gather

enough nerve to call Audra and ask her to lunch. She’d expected

Audra to refuse or say something painful. Instead, she had said

simply, “Where?”

Sierra hadn’t been prepared for that. “Wherever you’d like.”

“The club. One o’clock on Thursday. Is that all right?”

“Eleven-thirty would be better for me, Audra. I’ll be on my

lunch hour.”

“Fine,” she said in a clipped voice. “I’ll be there.”

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T H R E A D

Sierra arrived early and saw Meredith sitting alone in the

lounge. She joined her for a few minutes, reminiscing and catching up on news.

“That makes three of us,” Meredith said when Sierra told her

she and Alex were getting a divorce. “Eric dumped me for a

younger, richer model, and Lorraine finally divorced Frank.

Luckily, she got herself a first-cabin attorney. She’s on a Caribbean cruise right now. And guess who’s paying for it?”

“How’s Ashley?” Sierra said, sorry to hear so many sad tidings.

“Bulimic. She collapsed a few weeks ago and is in counseling

now. She looks like she’s a survivor of the Holocaust.”

A few minutes before Audra was due to arrive, Sierra wrote

out her new address and telephone number. “Please call. I’d love

to have you come for dinner. Mondays and Fridays are best for

me. Pick a date and let me know.”

Meredith looked at her with a bemused smile. “I might just

surprise you and take up your invitation.”

Sierra bent and kissed her cheek.

She was checking on her reservation when Audra arrived.

Blushing, she extended her hand. “Hello, Audra.”

After a brief hesitation, Audra took her hand. “It’s good to see

you again, Sierra.”

“Your table is ready, Mrs. Madrid. Right this way.”

They sat in a quiet alcove between some ferns. Sierra had

asked for a private table and given the young man a healthy tip to

ensure it. Audra didn’t say anything after she ordered white

wine. Sierra ordered a lemon-lime. Maybe it would settle her

stomach.

Taking a breath, she blew it out slowly and lifted her head.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think things over, Audra. You were right

about everything. Not the least of which, you were right about

the way I treated you. I wanted to apologize to you in person.”

Audra stared at her for a long moment. “Well . . . ,” she said

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slowly. “I came prepared to defend myself. I’ve gone over my

side of our conversation a hundred times over the last few days.

One word of condemnation and I could’ve nailed your ears to the

wall. And here you go, taking the wind right out of my sails.” She

lifted her wine glass. “Congratulations.”

Sierra didn’t know what to make of her words. She’d known

this meeting would be difficult. Clenching her hands together,

she prepared herself for whatever Audra had to say. She’d keep

silent and listen if it killed her.

Audra gave a soft mirthless laugh. “I am a snob, Sierra. I am a

social climber. The one thing I’ve always wanted—and found

absolutely impossible—is to fit in. The only person in this world

who really loves me is Stephen. God knows why. From the time I

was a child, I’ve had one great talent: alienating people.”

She fumbled with her silverware and then, as though catching

herself in a terrible faux pas, put her hands in her lap. She looked

across the table, directly into Sierra’s eyes, and tipped her chin.

“Sometimes, I’d see a look on your face that made me cringe inside. That time on Rodeo Drive, for example, when I bought that

ridiculously expensive dress and asked you why you didn’t buy

something, too. I don’t even know why I did it. To put you in

your place, I suppose. But you looked at me, and for just an instant I saw myself through your eyes. It wasn’t pretty.” Her hand

shook slightly as she lifted the glass of white wine again. “So, for

whatever it’s worth to you, Sierra, I apologize, too. Truce?”

Sierra felt a sudden rush of warmth toward this woman she’d

always seen as her enemy. She caught a glimpse of Audra’s insecurities and loneliness and ached for her. Lifting her glass of

lemon-lime, she smiled. “I think we can do better than that,

Audra. We can be friends.”

When Audra said Alex and Elizabeth didn’t seem to be getting

along, Sierra asked that Alex be considered a forbidden subject. “It’s

over, Audra. He’s with someone else. It hurts to talk about him.”

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T H R E A D

“It’s not over until you’re divorced.”

“I signed the papers for him last week. It’s only a matter of time.”

An odd look crossed Audra’s face. For a moment, she seemed

desperate to offer some advice. Then, showing uncharacteristic

sensitivity, she changed the subject.

They parted amicably. Audra said lunch would be on her next

time. “I’ll take you to La Serre.”

“You will not,” Sierra said with a laugh. “One of the things

that used to bother me most was knowing I couldn’t reciprocate.

So you can treat me next time, if you like, but after that, we’re going Dutch and someplace the average Joe can afford or we don’t

go anywhere at all.”

“Oh, all right,” Audra said, pretending to be annoyed.

Sierra returned to work feeling elated. She had gone to lunch

expecting to face Audra’s disdain and condemnation. Instead,

she had come away with a new friend, one she might have had

three years ago if she hadn’t been so caught up in herself.

When she arrived home, the children were already there,

Clanton working on his math at the kitchen table while Carolyn

talked on the telephone to Pamela. “Marcia says to say hi, Mom.”

“Tell her hello back and remind her we’re going shopping this

Saturday.” Alex was taking Clanton to Magic Mountain again.

Friday afternoons, he always picked up Carolyn and spent the

evening with her.

Dropping her purse on the counter, Sierra slid onto one of the

kitchen stools and began opening the mail. In the pile was a

course catalog from a local junior college. Scanning it, she saw

several business courses that would help her at her job. While

practical, they didn’t look as interesting as one entitled “Creative

Decorating on a Limited Budget.”

She chuckled. Now, there was a course that sounded right up

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her alley. But she’d already done all the decorating she could afford for the time being, and she had several projects that were yet

to be completed. The old armoire that had belonged to Alex’s

parents was stripped and ready for staining, and she had the fabric she wanted to cover the wing chairs. She’d also bought the

acrylics to start on the flower-and-leaf trim she’d drawn for Carolyn’s bedroom.

Tossing the catalog aside, she picked up the bill for her car insurance. Since she had traded in the BMW for a Saturn, her

rates had dropped drastically.

Carolyn hung up and slid off the stool, opening the refrigerator. “I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?”

Sierra grinned. “How about hot dogs with macaroni and

cheese for a change?”

“Aw, Mom. Can’t we order Chinese tonight?”

“Not tonight, honey,” she said, opening a letter from Alex’s

parents. She wrote to them once a week as she’d always done.

They were inviting her and the children to spend Thanksgiving

with them. María tactfully mentioned Alex had plans to go East

this year. When she finished the letter, she left it out so the children could read it.

It was a long drive to Healdsburg, but it was time. She hadn’t

been home since her mother died.

The telephone rang again. “It’s for you, Mom.”

She took it. “Hello?”

“Marcia said you signed the divorce papers.”

Her heart jumped at the sound of Ron’s voice. “News travels

fast,” she said, keeping her tone light.

“I heard about it the day Marcia did. I waited this long so

you’d have a chance to adjust.”

Sliding off the stool, she put the kettle on. Audra claimed there

was nothing like a cup of herbal tea to settle jumpy nerves. Ron

asked about the children and her new home. She didn’t have to ask

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T H R E A D

where he’d gotten her telephone number. Marcia would have given

it to him three weeks ago, along with the news of her divorce.

“Do you see Alex very often?”

“When he stops by to pick up one or both of the children,” she

said, sensing his caution with her. He was sensitive enough not

to ask if Alex was planning to marry Elizabeth Longford.

Ron told her Judy’s baby was crawling and Arlene had taken

two weeks’ vacation in Baja. “She came back tanned and sassy.”

Sierra laughed. She’d forgotten how easy it was to talk to him.

Relaxing, she asked about several of the teenagers she’d worked

with while at Outreach. He told her one was back in high school

and another had moved to Kansas to live with her grandmother.

He filled her in about several others who had entered the program. They talked for over an hour before Ron said, “I’d like to

take you to dinner Friday evening,” and obliterated Sierra’s

sense of security and ease.

“I don’t know, Ron. I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“I’m asking you to dinner, Sierra. I’m not asking you to marry me.”

“I know, but I have a feeling the one might lead to the other.”

He gave a soft laugh. “That was frank. Am I that transparent?”

“You were open and honest, Ron. I was blind and stupid.”

“You were trying to keep your life together.”

“I’m still trying.”

“Welcome to the human race,” he said. “Look, what if I promise I won’t even try to hold your hand for six months? Unless you

give me permission to do so, of course.”

She laughed. “It would be such a relief not to have to fight men

off,” she said dryly. He teased her for the next five minutes, making light of her concerns in order to alleviate them. “Give me

some time to think about it,” she said finally, noticing the way the

children were looking at her. They knew it wasn’t their father on

the telephone.

“I’ll call you Friday.”

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She had a feeling Ron knew Friday evenings and Saturdays

were Alex’s time with the children and her time alone to think.

Marcia knew, and it seemed whatever she knew, Ron knew.

“Who was that?” Clanton said when she hung up the telephone.

“Ron Peirozo.”

“Hey! Are we going sailing again?”

She looked at her two children and saw the idea didn’t seem to

bother them in the slightest.

“Maybe.”

I have been going over it again and again in my

mind.

I want to figure out what could have happened.

James said he was going down to the stream to

try to catch some fish for supper. When he did

not come back by dusk, I sent Hank to fetch him.

Hank came running back screaming Papa was in

the creek and would not get up. He was dead

when I got to him.

It took the two of us to pull James up onto the

bank. He was white and bloated and had a cut on

his forehead. He must have slipped on a rock,

fallen, and hit his head. He must have been

knocked senseless. How else could he have

drowned in less than a foot of water.

Events are plaguing me. I can not think of anything but the Horrible Thing I did to James.

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T H R E A D

I had to use the horse to drag James’s body

home. I washed and dressed him in clean clothes

to prepare him for burial. I was so tired by the

time I finished, I could do no more until morning.

Joshua dug the grave, but it took all of us

working together to half carry, half drag James to

his resting place. I knew it would be a fearsome

thing to get him in it and did not want the children to see. Worst of all, I could not leave the

blanket on James. We have none to spare and

winter upon us. So I told Joshua to take them

back to the wagon.

I unrolled James out of the blanket and he went

down into the earth with a terrible thud. And then

I cursed him. I was so mad at him that I had to do

it. I cursed him for dying and leaving us. I cursed

and wept and covered him over with dirt.

And now I can’t stop thinking about him down

there in the cold.

How could you leave me like this, James? How

could you bring me and our babies two thousand

miles and then die at the end of the trail? I should

have listened to Aunt Martha and married

Thomas Atwood Houghton. I would have been

living in a nice warm house with plenty of food.

My children would be warm, fed, and safe.

You never even thought of building us a cabin

and now we are left here in the wilderness shiver3 4 8

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ing in what is left of our wagon. You never

thought about how few supplies we have left and

winter on us. You just had to keep looking west,

didn’t you, James? You just had to keep on wondering what was over the hills. You never had a

single thought what would happen to us if anything happened to you! And what will happen

to our children if I die having this baby you put

in me?

I hate you, James Addison Farr. I hope you rot

in hell for what you have done to us.

I don’t mean it. I’m so scared, James. What am

I going to do without you? Where do I go to find

help? How are we going to survive in this wild

place?

There is this terrible silence without you, this

ache inside that gets heavier every day.

Better had it been me who died. You would

have known what to do to keep the rest alive.

I used the last of our salt pork and flour this

morning. The rain is heavy upon us. The cold

goes into my bones. Joshua says we should go on

to the Fort. I am too sick to make it. I told him to

take the children and go.

We ate the last of our beans tonight. Joshua

leaves in the morning for Fort Ross. Hank,

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T H R E A D

Matthew, and Beth will not leave me. Joshua said

he will ride west as far as the ocean and then head

north. He is riding James’s horse and taking his

own for packing. I gave him what money we had

left for supplies. It was the last of what Aunt

Martha give me.

God, please, help him find his way there and

back to us.

Joshua has been gone four days. We have no

food and no ammunition. The fish are not biting.

God, I won’t ask you to help me. But please

help my children.

You must be watching over us, God. I can think

of no other reason for the Strange Occurrence.

A grizzly came into our meadow. I called a

warning to the children. The boys made it to the

wagon, but Beth froze. I told her to run, but she

was too scared to move with that she-demon coming straight for her and making a roar from hell

itself. I never even stopped to think. I just started

running for her and praying. Oh, God, did I pray.

Out loud. The words just came pouring out of me

in Pure Terror. I have not prayed so hard since

Mama was sick.

And You answered! You told me to sing to

that beast from hell and I did. Oh, I did. I

thought I must be going crazy with fear, but

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I did it anyway. I remember now MacLeod told

the men guarding the stock once to sing to the

animals during a storm. And we were in the

midst of a storm, hard rain, thunder and lightning and that Terrible beast coming from the

woods. I sang loud enough to wake James.

I sang whatever came into my head, mostly

hymns Aunt Martha used to play on the piano

and Mama taught me. Hymns I had not sung in

years. They come back. The bear was up on two

hind legs and only twenty some feet from us.

I thought we were dead for sure. That grizzly

was eager to tear us limb from limb and there

I stood with Beth tucked behind me singing like

a crazy woman.

But that bear stopped! Oh, Lord, she did.

She came down and cocked its head, and

looked at me. I did not look it in the eyes but

up at heaven, singing with all my might. The

beast moved its head back and forth. I was

afraid my voice would dry up, but it did not.

The words kept coming back to me, one hymn

after another. The bear stayed right there and

listened for so long I thought my hair was turning white! And then she just lumbered off, calm

and quiet as you please and disappeared into

the woods.

I sank down on my knees and laughed and

wept and held Beth to me. She said—Mama, it

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T H R E A D

was a Miracle. And all I could say was—Yes,

A Blessed Miracle.

I feel changed inside myself. Something gave

way or cracked open or something.

Oh, Jesus, You are there! Mama was right

after all.

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20

S I E R R A H A D A L W A Y S L O V E D W A L K I N G A L O N G

Mathesen Street in the fall. The trees were orange and gold,

the light breeze crisp, the air clear. She’d taken the children

down to the Plaza and bought them donuts from the deli while

they wandered around, looking in shop windows.

Now, going up the steps of the old house, she felt the tug of

grief again. When they drove up the drive last night, she’d expected to enter a cold, empty house. Instead, someone had

turned on the furnace. A fire was going in the parlor, the

screen in place and wood in the basket. In the kitchen was a

Pyrex dish of warm enchiladas and a note from Alex’s mother.

“We look forward to seeing you and our grandchildren tomorrow. Dinner at three. Love, María and Luís.”

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T H R E A D

She called them to let them know she and the children had arrived

safely and to thank them for their thoughtfulness. “Your brother gave

us the key,” María said. “We left it under the mat on the back porch.”

She called her brother to let him and Melissa know she’d arrived. “We’ll come by tomorrow morning,” Mike said. “There’s

something I need to talk over with you. It’s important.”

“What time?”

“Eleven. We’re supposed to go to Melissa’s parents for turkey

dinner. We’ll have to leave by one to get there on time.”

“Eleven it is.”

She and the children had just shrugged out of their coats when

Mike unlocked the door and his family poured in. For a few minutes, all Sierra could hear were the excited voices of reuniting

cousins. She kissed her niece and nephews and announced she

had brought back a bag of donuts from the deli.

Mike got right to the point. “A couple wants to buy the house

and turn it into a bed-and-breakfast.”

Sierra’s stomach dropped. “Buy the house?”

“They’ve been looking for property in the area for over a year.

They liked this house. Apparently they stopped by once, and

Mom invited them in for coffee and cookies. She gave them the

grand tour but said she wasn’t interested in selling. She told

them to check back in a year or two. They took her at her word

and came by a week ago. When they found out Mom had passed

away, they traced me through the church pastor.”

“Did you tell them we don’t want to sell?” Sierra said.

Mike exchanged a look with Melissa. He sat down and leaned

forward, his hands clasped between his knees. “No, I didn’t. I

wanted to talk it over with you first.”

“I thought you loved the house as much as I do.”

“I do, Sis, but I’ve already got a home in Ukiah. My business is

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there. If I were to sell out and move, I’d want to go farther north

to Garberville. Or Oregon. I haven’t the money to hang on to

this place for sentimental reasons.”

Sierra got up and walked over to the fireplace. She ran her

hand along the dusty mantle and looked at the old Seth Thomas

mantle clock. It had run down months ago. Even with the furnace on, the house had a musty smell of disuse.

“The only other alternative is to rent the place out, and I don’t

want to do that either. I’ve heard nothing but horror stories from

friends who’ve rented property and had their places destroyed.

The law being what it is, someone can move in and wreck a place

before you get them out.”

Melissa rose. “I’ll make some coffee,” she said softly and left

the room. Sierra knew her sister-in-law was making it clear to

both of them that she had no say in their decision. It was up to

them what they did about the house.

Her family had lived in Sonoma County for over a hundred years.

Mary Kathryn McMurray had been the first one to put down roots

in the fertile soil now covered by tract houses. Ah yes, Mary Kathryn

McMurray, who had come with all the eagerness and joy that she

herself had felt when Alex had moved her to Los Angeles!

“Do you want the house, Sis?”

Oh, God, do I have to give up my home? You know how much I love this

old house. What do you want me to do?

Again, the answer was clear. Let go.

“Sierra?”

She leaned her head against the edge of the mantel. What choice

was there? “No matter how much I want it, it’s beyond possible. I

don’t have enough left of my inheritance to buy out your share in it,

and then there are the taxes.” She lowered her hands and turned.

“And I just bought my condo. I’d take a loss if I tried to sell it now

with the market being what it is. That’s why I got it for such a good

price in the first place. And then, if it did sell, I’d be out of work up here.”

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T H R E A D

“Do you want the house?” he said again.

She knew her brother would bend over backward to make

things easier on her, even at cost to his own family finances. “I

want what’s best for all of us,” she said quietly.

“So what do you think that means?”

She forced a smile for his sake. “What’s this couple like?”

A look of relief filled her brother’s face so that she knew

exactly what he wanted. No more burdens to bear. And could

she blame him? She was the one living in Los Angeles, too far

away to pitch in and help with maintaining the house. He had

been taking care of everything since their mother had died.

“They’re nice people, in their midforties, financially set. They’ve

been living in San José for the past twenty-two years. They have

two children, a boy and girl. The boy’s off at Bible college studying

to be a pastor. The daughter’s married with a baby on the way.

Jack’s hobby is woodcrafting, and Reka’s into gardening.”

Sierra thought of her mother’s backyard going wild. It would be

nice having someone pour love back into it and make it bloom

again. Hadn’t Mom invited these people in for coffee and cookies

and given them a grand tour? Hadn’t she been the one to say come

back in a year or two? She’d known she’d be gone by then. Full realization struck her, tightening her throat with tears. “It’s just like

Mom to tie up all the loose ends, isn’t it?” she said with a smile.

“Yeah,” Mike said, his voice husky with emotion.

“So,” she said more lightly. “Do you have their number?”

He nodded.

“Why don’t you call and ask if they’d like to come up on Saturday and we’ll talk turkey.”

He laughed, his eyes moist. “Sure.”

She debated telling María and Luís the next day. They were upset enough over Alex’s broken marriage, without adding to

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their worries of never seeing their grandchildren. One word

about selling the Mathesen Street house and Thanksgiving

would be ruined for María, who lived for her children and

grandchildren.

There were a dozen running around when Sierra arrived.

Clanton and Carolyn piled out of the Saturn and joined in the

games. They remembered their Spanish, picking it up as though

they’d been jabbering it nonstop at home.

Luís hugged her tightly when she came into the house and

then kissed her on both cheeks. She hadn’t seen him since Alex

had left her, and his greeting brought a lump to her throat. María

was right behind him, crying, and talking in rapid-fire Spanish.

Alex’s brothers and sisters treated her with the warmth they

always had. His older brother, Miguel, a vintner for one of the

Sonoma wineries, even flirted outrageously with her. His sister,

Alma, let it slip that Alex had brought Elizabeth Longford home

for a few days to meet the family.

“Papa wouldn’t let them stay here. He said Alex could take her

to a motel room, but he wouldn’t have them sleeping together under his roof. Alex rented a suite at the Doubletree. She refused to

come back with him the next day. Alex and Papa had words.

He’s called and talked to Mama, but I don’t think he and Papa

have talked since.”

Grandfather. Father. Son.

Sierra changed the subject, but Alex’s name kept coming up.

And then he called. He talked to his mother. Then he talked to

Clanton and Carolyn. Papa went outside for a walk. When he

came back, Alex had long since hung up. For the rest of the evening, she could feel Luís watching her. María, too.

God, how much we hurt others without even thinking about it. We think

we can make a decision without it tearing other people’s hearts in two.

Sierra took Clanton and Carolyn aside when she found an

opportunity. “How would you feel about coming and spending a

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T H R E A D

few weeks with your grandparents next summer?” From their

eager responses, she knew she could approach Luís and María

about the idea. She found the chance while helping María wash

and put away dishes.

“Would you and Luís like to have Clanton and Carolyn spend

a few weeks with you next summer?”

María started to cry. “Sí, sí,” she said. “As often as possible.

What about Christmas?”

Sierra hugged her. “We can’t come Christmas, Mama. We’re

in a pageant at the church. Easter. We’ll come for Easter, if that’s

all right with you.”

“Sí. You come home Easter.”

Most of the relatives had already headed home to Santa Rosa

or Cloverdale or the Bay Area where they lived. Clanton and

Carolyn were the last of the younger generation lounging

around in the small, neat country house on the edge of the

vineyard.

“The family is scattering,” María said, teary as each one left.

“Alex off in Connecticut—”

“Mama!” Luís hissed and gave Sierra an apologetic look.

“It’s all right, Papa,” Sierra said, trying to ease their discomfort. “I know about it.” The children reported everything, even

when she wished they wouldn’t.

Luís walked her to the car. “When are you and the niños leaving?”

“Sunday morning. Early. It’s a long drive.”

“I’m going to six o’clock Mass.” He looked old—old and

hurt—and she loved him unbearably.

She kissed his cheek. “We’ll meet you there.”

He cupped her cheek. “My son is a fool.”

Sierra’s eyes filled. “No, Papa. I was the fool.”

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Dear Lord, since that bear I have been thinking.

And I have been looking and seeing lots of

things different from before. It is like something

changed inside me. It seems to me everything

around me now cries out You are here. You have

put your stamp on every created thing. I can hear

Mama from so long ago pointing out flowers and

trees and birds and animals and saying how they

are all gifts from You. She said to me once that

You decorated the world from the depths of the

sea to the heavens just for us.

Maybe I am wrong, but I do not think You did

all that purely for our pleasure. I think now you

did it so we could see You.

I see things differently now, Lord, and spent

a good part of my day choked up with grief over

the hard things I have said about You.

It rained today and I kept thinking how it

washes everything clean and the earth drinks and

becomes fertile. Aunt Martha used to talk so

much about the Word being a double-edged

sword revealing to us our sins so that we could

confess and ask forgiveness and receive Your

Mercy and Grace. The so that part always eluded

me. Now it seems to ring in my ears day and

night.

And I was thinking too about time. I suppose

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You do not have need of it, being God and all, but

I am glad I have more of it.

The fog last night reminded me of how clouded

my thinking has been where You are concerned,

Jesus. I could feel the oppressing Fears that have

been my companion for so long closing in again

like that misty gray blanket. I was awake most of

the night worrying over so many things. And then

Dawn came pink and orange and took my breath

away and the fear with it. How could I think of

dying and my children starving before such

Glory?

A good night’s sleep is a precious thing, Lord.

Sometimes I am so tired I ache for rest and sink into

a cottony place where even hard ground feels like

a feather bed. Maybe tonight will be like that now

that I have told You what has been on my mind.

I guess if You heard my prayer over that bear,

Lord, You can hear me about this. We are hungry, Jesus. We made do with two fish Hank

caught today, and I am thankful to You for them.

But it is not enough to keep us going. So, I am

asking You again to save us from death. Please,

Lord, help us again or we will starve just like

those poor folks who did not make it through the

mountains.

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“ W H A T H A P P E N E D ? ” S I E R R A S A I D W H E N C L A N T O N

unlocked the door and walked in at three in the afternoon on Saturday instead of ten in the evening when Alex usually brought

him home.

“He dropped me off,” he said, slinging his backpack onto the

wing chair she’d just finished recovering.

“Did you have a fight?”

“Not with him.”

The look of defiance on his face and swelling across his left eye

made her stomach drop. Had Alex hit him? “Did you say something to Elizabeth?”

“Yeah, you could say that, but she said something to me first.”

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“What?”

“She told me to take out the garbage.” He gave a defiant snort.

“Yeah, right, like I’m the one living there all week. I told her she

could take out her own trash. I’m not her personal servant. Then

she launched into this lecture on how she had to give up every Saturday with Alex so he could be with his snarly, snot-nosed son.”

She could feel the heat of anger rising and fought to remain

calm. “Were those her exact words?” Elizabeth worked with

Alex every day of the week. She spent every night in his bed. She

had him all to herself on Sundays. And she was complaining

about the one measly day a week he spent with his two children?

Didn’t you?

“Close,” Clanton said, giving her an odd look when she

winced. “She called me a ‘half-breed.’ So I told her what she

was.”

“Oh, Lord,” Sierra murmured and sat down on the couch.

“What did you call her?”

“You know what I called her. I said it in Spanish, but I guess

she got the point. What did you expect? She started in on you.”

His eyes glittered. “She said the reason Daddy left was because

you were a dull housewife with no brains and no class. And it

looked like I took after you. So I told her she wasn’t any better

than a common hooker, just a little more expensive on the upkeep. She slapped me across the face and called me a

‘foul-mouthed, uncouth little wetback.’”

_

His eyes lost the heat of anger and glistened with hurt. “I didn’t

see Dad standing in the doorway. I’ve never seen him look so mad.

He told me to get my things. He was taking me home. And she just

stood there, smirking.”

Sierra ached for him. She remembered the way Alex had

looked at her the day he’d left. She’d never known a man whose

eyes could be so hot and cold at the same time. “Did he say anything to you on the way home?”

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“Nothing,” he said softly. He turned away slightly, but she’d

already seen his tears. “I’m going to my room.”

Sierra wanted to call Alex and give him a piece of her mind

about the fiasco. She wanted to take Elizabeth Longford into a

ring and pulverize her.

A wetback?

A plague on her, Lord! Forgive my wrath, Father, but I’d like to rip her

heart out!

If she didn’t do something, she’d explode.

“Clanton? I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back in a little while.”

Her walk turned into a run, and by the time she returned, she

was streaming sweat, her lungs heaving, her heart pounding like

a kettledrum. She leaned over the kitchen sink, gasping for air,

and splashed water on her hot face. She drank a few sips of

water. The telephone rang.

Snatching the kitchen towel from the oven handle, she dried

her hands. It rang again. If it was a telephone sales call, they

were going to wish they’d picked another number. As it turned

out, she barely said hello before Alex was making demands.

“Let me talk to Clanton.”

God! Help! If you can cool me off, cool me off fast!

“Why?” she said tautly. She wasn’t ready to hand her son over

to Alex again. Not for a long, long time.

“Why’re you breathing like that?”

“Because I went out for a run, OK? A hard run! It was either

that or buy a shotgun and shoot two people!” She slammed the

phone down.

It rang again. She gritted her teeth. Turning, she caught a

glimpse of her face in the glass front of the cupboard-mounted

microwave. Amazing! No steam coming out her ears, but she

looked rabid enough to begin frothing at the mouth.

Clanton came out of his bedroom. “Aren’t you going to answer

it, Mom? It might be Dad.”

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“It is Dad. If you want to talk to him, you answer it, because if

I do, I’m going to tell him what he can do with himself and that

. . . that broad he’s living with.” She stalked off down the hallway

and went into her bedroom.

The telephone stopped ringing. She could hear Clanton’s

voice, subdued, scared, his heart in Alex’s hands. He didn’t say

much more than hello. Apparently, Alex wanted to do all the

talking. She clenched her hands, wanting to pick up the extension and listen to the other end of the conversation. Instead, she

sat on the bed and prayed through clenched teeth.

Strike them with lightning, Lord. Open the earth and swallow them.

Alex and Clanton didn’t talk long.

Expecting to have to pick up the pieces, Sierra came out to

find her son rummaging through the refrigerator. “What did he

say?” she asked, surprised that he was hungry. She always lost

her appetite after a big fight.

Clanton straightened, a carton of milk in one hand and a

Tupperware container of cold homemade enchiladas in the

other. “He said he wasn’t mad at me, but it was going to be a

week or two before he could see me again.”

“And?”

“And, that’s it.” He shrugged, set the milk on the counter, and

put the entire Tupperware container into the microwave.

Sierra heard from Audra before Alex called again.

“He left her.”

“Excuse me?” Sierra said, startled. Audra hadn’t even identified herself before blurting out the news.

“Alex left Elizabeth,” she said. “He packed everything and

walked out on her last Saturday. They had a huge brouhaha over

something, and this after Vesuvius erupted in Connecticut.”

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What had happened in Connecticut? She didn’t have a chance

to ask before Audra rushed on.

“Alex came in Monday morning looking like thunder and told

Steve to assign someone else to his work. He doesn’t want her

within ten feet of him. She came in an hour later. Steve talked

with her briefly. He wouldn’t tell me what was said, other than

that she gave notice and left.”

“Where’s Alex living?”

“In a hotel in Beverly Hills, I think. Do you want his number?

I could get it for you.”

Sierra thought about it for a moment. “No. He’ll call when he’s

ready. He told Clanton he’d be in touch with him and Carolyn in

a week or two.”

“You don’t want to talk to him?”

“I’ve said enough already.” As usual.

Alex didn’t call. He came by. Not on a Friday evening, but on

Saturday in the pouring rain. She heard the doorbell ring and

Carolyn and Clanton talking to someone. They knew not to let

strangers in, so she assumed it was one of their friends stopping

by or her neighbor, Frances, with another delicious treat she’d

concocted as an experiment for her gourmet cooking class.

“Nice.”

Her heart jumped at the sound of his voice. Luckily, she was

firmly planted on the ladder, where she was just dabbing the last

touches of gold acrylic paint on the sunflower design she’d

drawn along the wall of her bedroom. She’d completed half of it

over the last two weeks.

She looked over her shoulder and saw Alex leaning against the

doorjamb, watching her. “I wasn’t expecting you.” Amazing how

calm she sounded.

“I know.” His glance flickered over her.

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Sighing inwardly, she looked away. The last thing she needed

was his disdain. Why did he always have to catch her looking

like someone who had crawled out of a bag of rummage-sale

rejects? She brushed a strand of hair back from her eyes, wondering how much paint she had smudged on her face. She had at

least a dozen stains on her paint shirt, and her cut-off Levi’s

should have been trashed years ago. There was a hole under the

right back pocket big enough that he’d be able to see the cotton

flowered underpants she wore underneath.

“Are you taking the children out?” she said, feigning indifference. Maybe someday her heart wouldn’t leap into her throat at

the sight of him.

When he didn’t say anything, she looked back at him and

found him staring at her canopy bed. She felt the heat come up

into her cheeks when he looked up at her again.

“What happened to ours?”

“I sold it.”

Had he winced, or was she just imagining it? He looked

around the room. “I guess it wouldn’t’ve fit in here anyway.” His

glance halted abruptly on the old armoire she’d refinished. He’d

moved it into the garage when Bruce Davies had redone the

house, intending to take it to the dump. He’d left before he had

the chance.

Something flickered across his face as he looked up at her

again, his eyes barely grazing hers. “I need to talk to you,” he said

grimly and went out.

She shut her eyes for a minute and then gathered her brushes,

balanced her easel, and went down the ladder. She put everything

down on the drop cloth and went into the bathroom to wash her

hands. Glancing up into the mirror, she saw tendrils of sandy

blonde hair curling in all directions. A smudge of green was across

one cheek, some brown on her nose. Picking up the soap and

washcloth, she scrubbed her face. That done, she debated chang3 6 6

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ing into clean clothes and dismissed the idea. Raking her hands

back through her hair, she French-braided it quickly.

When she came into the living room, she found Alex looking at

Mary Kathryn’s quilt, which she’d mounted on the wall. Audra

had taken her to a museum a few weeks ago, and she’d seen a

quilt mounted in the same way. Liking the effect, she’d promptly

come home, purchased material to make a sleeve, and bought a

wooden drapery rod. Audra had been impressed when she saw

what Sierra had done. Even better, they’d spent the better part

of an hour talking about the quilt.

“It belonged to Mary Kathryn McMurray,” she said to Alex.

“She was a relative of mine who came across the plains by wagon

train. She settled in Sonoma County in 1848. That’s her trunk at

the end of the couch.” It served as a side table. She winced, realizing the old brass lamps Alex hated so much sat on top of it. Naturally, she had to draw his attention to it.

He didn’t say a word. The condo rang with silence. Frowning,

she realized what was wrong. “Where are the children?”

“I asked them to make themselves scarce for a little while.

Clanton said he’d play billiards at the clubhouse, and Carolyn

said you wouldn’t mind if she went to Susan’s.”

She was immediately filled with trepidation. Why would he

send the children off unless he was going to say something to her

he knew she wouldn’t like? What could he want?

Oh, God, the children!

“Don’t look at me like that, Sierra.”

“Like what?”

“Like a deer caught in headlights. I’m not planning to run over you.”

She turned away and went into the kitchen. “Would you like

some coffee?” Her mind was racing. She didn’t even notice if he

answered yes or no. She wished she had read the divorce papers

over more carefully. What had they said about custody of the

children?

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“I’m not living with Elizabeth anymore.”

“Audra told me.” She fumbled in the cabinet for coffee and filters.

“Audra? I didn’t think you even spoke to her anymore.”

“We get together for lunch every few weeks.”

“Since when?” he said in surprise.

She measured coffee. “Since I took her to lunch and apologized.”

Alex came over and sat on a stool on the other side of the

breakfast counter. She could feel him looking at her. Like a bug

under glass. She poured water into the coffeemaker, refusing to

look back at him.

“What do you and Audra talk about?” he said carefully.

“We don’t talk about you, Alex. That was one of the first ground

rules I laid down.” She shrugged. “She broke it last week.”

“Did she tell you what happened?”

“She said Elizabeth quit and went back East.”

“I moved out after the little altercation with Clanton.”

“Can we talk about something else, please?” she said, uncomfortable. She didn’t want to hear about his love affair with Elizabeth Longford. She didn’t want to hear about his broken heart.

She didn’t want to hear about how difficult things were for him.

She wanted him to get to the point and leave so she could breathe

normally again.

“I want to spend more time with my children.”

Here it comes, she thought.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly.

“I’m not giving you custody, Alex. Whatever it said in those

papers I signed and gave you, I’m not—”

He lifted his hands. “Relax. I’m not asking for that. I wouldn’t.

They’re happy with you. I just want . . .” His voice trailed off, and

he uttered a soft curse, dragging his hands back through his hair.

He looked at her again, and she noticed the lines around his eyes

and mouth, the unveiled pain in his eyes. “I just want a chance to

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be a part of their lives again. A couple of hours on Friday with

Carolyn and a few on Saturday with Clanton isn’t enough.”

She almost reminded him that was more than he’d spent with

them before he left her and moved in with Elizabeth.

Lord, keep me silent. Make my words sweet. Help me see his side of

things more clearly and with more compassion than I have in the past.

Give me your eyes, Father.

Alex searched her face when she said nothing. Turning her

back on him, she took two mugs down from the cupboard

and filled them with coffee. She didn’t invite him back into

the living room. She liked having the breakfast bar between

them.

“Thanks,” he said flatly and put his hands around the mug as

though to warm them. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him

nervous before.

“You can see the children whenever you want, Alex. As long

as you don’t prevent them from continuing what they’re doing.”

“Such as?” he said, eyes narrowed slightly.

“They both go to church youth group on Wednesday nights.”

“Which church?”

The issue of religion had never been important to either of

them. Now, it was of tantamount importance to her. “The church

where we were playing baseball.”

He thought about it for a minute, troubled. “Mama said you

went to Mass with my father.”

“The children went to catechism in Windsor.”

“I know. Are they still going?”

O God, help me. I don’t want to start a war with Alex, but I want my

children to have a personal relationship with you. I don’t want them to

have to go through a priest or be bound by guilt or penitence.

“No,” she said, clasping her own mug between both hands as

he had done. “We’re happy in this church, Alex.”

“You don’t think God’s in a Catholic church?”

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She felt the weight of Madrid family tradition behind his question. These were his children.

“I think God is wherever he chooses to be, Alex. Catholic or

Protestant, it doesn’t matter. When I sit with your father and

mother, I know they love the Lord as much as I do. They’ve

loved him longer and harder. But this church is where I found

my way home, Alex. It’s where the children are learning the

meaning of Christ’s love. These people aren’t just friends.

They’re like family. Dennis especially. I’d be dead and Clanton

still wouldn’t be speaking to you if not for him.”

He frowned heavily, eyes fixed on her. “What do you mean, dead?”

She smiled, shaking her head at the memory. “Let’s just say I

was driving a little fast one day when Dennis pulled me over.

He’s a highway patrolman. He gave me my first and, I hope, last

speeding ticket.”

He looked at her, his eyes intent, searching. “I’m sorry, Sierra.”

She knew he meant he was sorry about everything. “Don’t be.

It’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” If she hadn’t hit

rock bottom, would she have ever seen how much she needed the

Lord? Would she ever have been soft fertile soil for the seeds

that had been scattered throughout her life by a dozen different

people? Would she have ever understood Jesus’ love for her?

Alex got up and left the breakfast bar. She watched him move

around the living room. He paused before the quilt again and

rubbed the back of his neck. He had always done that when he

was past exhaustion or depressed about something. In their earlier years, she’d rubbed his back and told him how she loved him.

Often, they ended up in bed together, forgetting everything but

the pleasure they found in one another.

Her skin grew warm, remembering.

It was better not to think about those times.

“How would you feel if I leased a condo in this complex?”

Her heart stopped. “I beg your pardon?” she said weakly.

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Alex turned around and looked at her. “I said, how would you

feel if I leased a condo in this complex?”

She recognized that look. Double-barreled, point-blank determination. “You want to live in a condo?” She couldn’t believe he

would even suggest it. He wouldn’t even marry her until he had

found them a small house to rent. “I don’t want to share walls with

someone else,” he’d declared. She would have lived in a shack as

long as she could be with him.

His eyes never left her as he said, “There’s a condo available for

lease. I wanted to talk it over with you before I signed the papers.”

“You always swore you wouldn’t live in an apartment or

condo.”

Alex looked around the living room. “It’s bigger than I expected,

and I haven’t heard any noise while I’ve been in here today.”

“My neighbors are working.” Not that they made all that

much noise when they were home.

“Then you object.”

“I didn’t say that. I—” She closed her mouth, deciding she’d

better think before she went further. She felt a hint of panic stir.

It hurt every time she saw him. Was she going to have to see him

every day? And what if he found some other woman to move in

with him? Or he started dating any one of a dozen attractive single women living in the complex? Or . . .

A hundred painful possibilities leaped into her mind, sending

shards of pain through her. What if . . . what if . . . what if . . . ?

Alex sat down on the stool again and clasped his hands loosely

on the breakfast counter. “I want to share the responsibility of

the children with you again. I could keep them when you wanted

to go out.”

“Out?” As in dating? Was he hoping to marry her off? Ron

would be delighted to know that.

“Clanton said you wanted to take a college class but didn’t

want to leave them home alone any more than you have to

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already with work. If I was living within a few doors of you, you

could leave the children with me.”

“It was an afternoon class, Alex. I was working.”

“You don’t have to work.”

“Yes, I do.”

His eyes darkened. “Not if you’d start accepting the money

I’ve been sending you, instead of doing whatever you’ve been

doing with the checks.”

“Live on alimony, you mean? No, thank you. Every time you

send me a check like that, I’m going to tear it up and flush it

down the toilet!”

“Why do you have to be so pigheaded stubborn?”

“Look who’s talking.” She tried to calm down. “Alex, I’ve seen

what living on alimony does to other women. Some of them can’t

get along without it. Or they feel they deserve more and more.

Cost-of-living increases. Petty vengeance. You want me hanging

around your neck like a millstone for the rest of your life? Alimony is as bad as welfare, and I want some self-respect out of

this whole mess. I may not be living in the fancy neighborhood

we used to, but I’m making it on my own. I’m happy here, and I’m

paying my own bills.”

“I should be paying for your support. We’ve been married

thirteen years.”

“We were married, and you can consider the debt forgiven.”

He started to say something and stopped. Letting out his

breath, he raked his hand back through his hair. “Look, I know

it’s because of what I said to you that day I called after seeing the

house in the real estate section. I hurt you. Dios, don’t you think I

know it?”

“Maybe it was that in the beginning,” she said frankly, “but not

anymore.” Covering her face, she took a breath and released it

slowly, trying to rein in her emotions. She lowered her hands

to her lap and looked him in the eye. “You mention money, Alex,

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and I see red. It was one of the buttons you used to push all the

time.”

“I have a few buttons of my own,” he said, eyes hot. “One of

them is the fact you won’t accept any kind of help from me. You

used to lean on me, Sierra.”

“Yes, I did. And look where that got us,” she said, feeling the

prick of tears. She swallowed and pressed her lips together, trying to think of words gentle enough, yet strong enough, to explain her position. “You’ve been very generous with the child

support, Alex, and I’m thankful. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“Do you use any of it?” he said bitterly.

Heat filled her. Was he accusing her of misusing their money?

“I put it in their savings accounts,” she said, hurt and angry.

“Some of it I use for clothes. I have records of every cent you’ve

ever given them.”

“No doubt, but what about that private school? Why aren’t

they going anymore?”

“Because they hated it! Because Clanton was suspended

twice, and Carolyn was on the verge of ulcers trying to get

straight A’s.”

“Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”

“And if I had? What would you have done?”

“Tried to help!”

She searched his eyes, wondering if he really would have.

“What did you think I’d do, Sierra?”

She bit her lip and said nothing. She’d been so convinced he

would accuse her of being a rotten mother, the same way he’d

accused her of being a rotten wife. She’d been afraid to tell him,

ashamed she couldn’t fix things on her own.

“Talk to me, Sierra.”

“It doesn’t matter now. You were busy at the time.”

Color came into his face and a look of bleakness. “I’m not busy

now. I’m going to be working a lot less at the office. I’ve already

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talked my plans over with Steve. He’s putting up the money for

the equipment. It’s already ordered. All I need is a place to put it.”

Why hadn’t he made the same arrangements a year ago? It

might have saved their marriage.

She caught the direction of her thinking and halted. If she condemned him, she’d have to condemn herself. Everybody has

20/20 hindsight. She could see her own mistakes with

heart-wrenching clarity.

“I’ll make it easy, Sierra. A simple yes or no. Yes: I sign the

lease. No: I don’t.”

She wanted to say no. She wanted to avoid more pain. She

wanted to avoid seeing him with other women. She wanted to

avoid seeing him at all. She knew that was impossible. And if she

said no, how would the children feel when they found out? Angry? Betrayed? They loved him. They wanted to see their father

as often as possible. How could she be selfish and deny them that

right? Besides, they needed him.

“I haven’t said anything to the children,” he said quietly, “and I

won’t if your answer is no.”

She was touched by his sensitivity. It was one of the things

that had made her fall in love with him in the first place, that and

his male machismo, as her father once termed it.

“Go ahead and sign the lease.”

His dark eyes took on a familiar glow before he looked away.

“Can I use your telephone?”

She frowned slightly, uneasy. “It’s over there.”

Pulling a business card from his shirt pocket, he wasted no

time punching the number. “Roberta Folse, please. Roberta?

Alex Madrid. The answer is yes. How soon can you take care of

the details? Good.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll meet you there

in about thirty minutes.” He dropped the receiver lightly into its

cradle.

Turning his head, he smiled at her. Her stomach dropped the

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same way it had the first time he’d looked at her. “Gracias,” he

said. “Las cosas serán más fáciles.”

She forced a smile in return, thinking how wrong he was.

Things would not be easier. At least, not for her.

“I’ll give the children a call later this evening. In the meantime,

you can tell them I’ll be moving into one-sixteen early Wednesday morning.”

When he left, she groaned aloud and buried her head in her arms.

“Oh, Lord, it’s going to be a hundred times worse than I thought.”

Alex would be only three doors away.

I never expected You to send a heathen to answer

my prayer.

But I reckon You do things however You please.

An Indian came to the edge of our meadow

today. Beth saw him first and thought he was a

mighty strange looking deer. Well, I saw he was

not a deer at all, but a man dressed up in skins

and a deerhead mask. He had a bow and arrows

and stood watching us intently. Hank was all for

getting the gun, but I said we would wait to see

what he would do. Besides, what good is a gun

with no ammunition.

I remembered what Kavanaugh told us about

the land belonging to the Indians and how we

should give back something for the privilege of

traveling through. Well, we are going nowhere,

Lord. So I wondered what that Indian was thinking while he stood there looking at us. I wondered

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if he was angry that we settled in his pretty valley

without asking first. So I told the children to stay

by the wagon while I went to see if I could make

peace with him. I know a few signs from having

watched Kavanaugh.

I could not offer the Indian a bite of food to eat

as we have no food for ourselves. The Indian was

of small stature, muscular, and has dark eyes and

hair. I could not guess his age. He did not know

what I was waving about, so I offered him the

only thing of real value I own—the pretty cross

necklace Aunt Martha gave me when I left

Galena. He was well pleased by the gift but did

not know how to work the clasp. I helped him.

He disappeared into the woods and I thought that

was the end of it. It was not.

He came back again later carrying a small deer,

fresh killed. He laid it at my feet and made it clear

it was a gift. I wept as I thanked him. Before he

left us, he made his name known to me. Koxoenis.

From his gestures and pantomime, I think it

means Bringer of Meat.

I am weeping again. I am so undeserving and

yet You have provided food for me and my family. We will not starve after all. The children are

at this moment asleep with full stomachs for the

first time in many, many days, and I have You to

thank. You sent Koxoenis.

All hope was lost and is now revived in me again.

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Joshua returned today with beans, salt pork,

flour, coffee and powder, shot and lead. We are

living with abundance. I told him about Koxoenis.

He is very eager to meet him. I asked if he had

seen Kavanaugh. Joshua said no. One of the

men said Kavanaugh headed north to Oregon.

Koxoenis came back today. I was pleased to see

him. He stood at the edge of the meadow until we

waved an invitation for him to come to us. I think

he is shy. Joshua made signs that he was welcome

to share our supper. He ate sparingly of our bread

and would not accept even a small portion of the

venison he brought to us. When we finished, he

motioned for us to follow him. He did not go more

than a hundred feet from our fire when he used

a digging stick he was carrying to pull up some

plants. He gave them to me and made signs that

the roots and leaves are good to eat. With a shy

smile, he ran off into the woods again.

All this time we were so hungry and food was

growing within reach.

Lord, I am having Terrible Trouble with Joshua.

He is Intent on Doing Something! He keeps

talking about looking for Koxoenis or going to

Sutter’s Fort or down to Monterey. He wants to

go his own way whatever way that might be. He

is not the boy I know him to be and he is not the

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man I think he can become. He is one huge pain

in my heart and gut.

It has gotten me thinking how much Trouble

I have been to You.

I am Truly Sorry, Lord.

I remember how full of Wrath You were at

those Israelites You brought out of Egypt. They

kept whining and fussing and complaining like

Joshua does now. And like I was doing before

the Day of the Bear. I remember too how You

wanted to wipe all those Israelites off the face

of the earth, but Moses begged You not to.

Well, Lord, I know just how You feel

because I wanted to wipe Joshua off the face

of the earth today. He made me so mad I was

shaking with it. I said things I should not have

said. But maybe that was better than what

I wanted to do. Lord, if I had had a cane

I would have beat him with it. He was none

too happy with me either.

How can you love someone so much and still

get so mad you want to kill them? I saved his life

fourteen years ago. And today I was in the mood

to take it.

Joshua is not much help to us, Jesus. He

would rather be at Koxoenis village learning their

ways than staying here and helping us in ours.

Would You please Do Something with him,

Jesus?

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I give him to You cause if I don’t, I swear that

boy won’t live to spring.

Koxoenis came back today. He was curious about

the wagon. I wonder what kind of house he lives

in. I showed him inside our poor makeshift abode.

Then I offered him fish stew, bread, and coffee.

I said to the children it would be interesting seeing where and how he lived. Joshua said he will

go with him and find out. I said if Koxoenis welcomed him, he was free to do so. Joshua made

sign language with him and they went off

together. They have been gone all day, but I have

no fear my son will come to harm. You sent

Koxoenis to us and he has proven to be a kind

and generous friend. I think Joshua will have

much of interest to tell us when he returns.

Joshua said Koxoenis lives in a village several miles

southwest of us. He said the others were frightened

when they got there and spoke harshly to Koxoenis

for bringing him. I suppose there is good reason.

When I think of the way the poor Indians were

treated at Sutter’s Fort, I shudder. Sutter fed them

in troughs like animals and used them like slaves.

Joshua said Koxoenis has a wife and two small

children who run naked wherever they please. He

said his house is made of bark, bound tules, and

mud and is weather tight and warm inside. His

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wife cooks a mush made of acorns in a basket by

stirring hot stones! The chief has a great store of

food stuffs and gives generously to the people.

Koxoenis showed Joshua other foods that grow

around us. Joshua said he will teach Hank, Matthew,

and Beth how to find these plants come daylight.

Joshua and Hank have been digging all day. Joshua

said Koxoenis’s people dig down two feet and build

the dome house over the pit. He can build this house

in a few days while it will take weeks of effort to build

a cabin. Our duck cover is torn and leaking. We need

shelter from the cold California rain.

Joshua has made a pole frame work over the pit

and is covering it with tiers of bark and tules. He

has the boys and Beth mixing mud. Thankfully,

we have had two days of easier weather. The

clouds lie over the ground like a blanket.

We are now living in a hut like Koxoenis and his people. I wonder what Aunt Martha would think of me

living like a savage. I must admit living in this hut is

far better than living in our wagon. We moved in as

the rains started again, and we are dry and warm.

Thank You, Lord, for putting a roof over our

heads again.

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Sierra whether she wanted to hear or not. “Dad rented some furniture,” Clanton said after his first visit. “He’s got a new couch and a

couple of swivel rockers. He bought a whole wall setup with a bigscreen television and stereo, and you should see his computers!”

Carolyn was more impressed with the white rats he’d purchased for her and kept at his place. “They’re so cute, Mom. I call

them Peaches and Cream. They’re both males, so we won’t have

any babies.”

“Well, that’s nice.”

“And he has an aquarium. Just a little one for some pretty

goldfish.”

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Lures.

Clanton and Carolyn began spending more and more time

with Alex. They’d come home from school, scarf down snacks,

rattle off some news, whiz through their homework, and take off

for his condo. She began wishing she’d said no. She missed the

sound of their voices, even the strident ones when they were

fighting. Sometimes she resented how eager they were to be with

him, and then she was always struck with guilt afterward. Sometimes she found herself aching with loneliness.

Is it a sin, Lord? You’re supposed to be enough. I love you. I do. Help me

to accept these changes and not be so jealous and needy. Help me to know in

my heart you are sufficient. Help me rest in you.

Choir helped. On those evenings, she and the children walked

to church together and then went out to a family café afterward

for a late dessert. Sunday was the one precious day a week, for

she had the children all to herself. They went to church early and

didn’t get home until almost one in the afternoon. After a late

lunch, she walked back to church with them so they could take

part in the youth activities and she could attend the evening

Bible study.

Gradually, she felt less alone. She used the time the children

were away to study and finish all the little projects she’d laid out

for herself but never had time to do. She turned on the radio and

listened to a Christian station that played contemporary rock,

free to sing along without anyone listening to her but the Lord.

Christmas drew closer. Rather than be elated, she was depressed. All her shopping was done, the packages wrapped and

hidden in her bedroom closet and under the bed. The children

knew better than to go poking around in her room after

Thanksgiving. She’d begun addressing Christmas cards the first

week of December and had started her letters. She always wrote

to everyone. It was the one time a year when she could catch up

on all the news from friends and family.

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Ron called again. “You sound a little down.”

“I’m writing Christmas letters, and I get a little depressed

every time I have to write, ‘Mom died of cancer, and Alex and I

got a divorce’ over and over again. Just the sort of glad tidings

friends like to read at Christmas time.”

“Would a proposition help cheer you up?”

Her mouth twitched. “That depends.”

“Strictly honorable, I assure you. I’m having a Christmas

fund-raiser at the Hyatt Regency, and I’m in desperate need of a

pretty hostess.”

“To serve drinks and appetizers?”

“No. To stand beside me and greet guests, the kind of guests

who have lots and lots of money and love giving it to good causes

like Los Angeles Outreach.”

“Are any movie stars going to be there?” she said, teasing.

“A few.”

“You’re kidding!”

“I take it you might be interested.”

She feigned hesitation. “Well, I don’t know. Is Mel Gibson

attending?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t—”

“I’m begging.”

She laughed. “I’d love to help out and you know it. How

dressed up do I have to get?”

“Very. I’ll be in a tux.”

Ron gave her the details. He would pick her up early. The

fund-raiser included a full-course dinner and dancing. “It’ll go

until the wee hours,” he warned her.

Clanton was just going out the door when she hung up the

telephone. “Honey, would you tell your dad I need to talk to

him? It’s important.”

The telephone rang a few minutes later. “What’s up?” Alex said.

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“Can the children spend the night with you on December 21?”

“Spend the night? Where are you going to be?”

“At a fund-raiser with Ron. He said it’ll be late before I get home.”

“I haven’t got any extra beds.”

He sounded so cold. “Maybe I can borrow a couple of sleeping

bags.” Maybe he had made other plans, plans she didn’t want to

hear about. “Never mind, Alex. I should’ve thought it through

before asking you. Carolyn’s been wanting to spend the night

with Susan, and Clanton can always go to—”

“I’ll stay with them over there,” he said firmly. “We’ll do something fun for the evening, and I’ll wait at your place until you get

back.”

“It’s going to be very late, Alex.”

“You’ve got a comfortable sofa.”

“Are you sure?” He sounded less than pleased about the whole

thing.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Taking a deep breath, Sierra called Audra and told her she’d

been invited to a formal fund-raiser and was going to be acting as

hostess. “I need to find a dress.”

“How much can you spend?”

“Don’t even think about Rodeo Drive.”

“What size are you?” When Sierra told her, she said, “Great.

You can borrow one of my gowns. When can you come over?”

By the time Sierra got there, Audra had already picked out the

dress she thought Sierra should wear. After seeing the others, Sierra had to admit she liked it the best. It was a deep red velvet that

fit her perfectly. “I bought it for a Christmas party four years ago

and never wore it,” Audra said, admiring it on Sierra. “My feet are

a little bigger than yours, but I know just where you can get some

satin pumps and have them dyed to match,” she said while snapping on a gorgeous necklace that glittered like diamonds.

“These aren’t real, are they?” Sierra said, fingering it.

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“Zirconia. Stop sweating.” She handed her matching pierced

earrings and then helped her snap on the bracelet. Stepping back,

she looked her over. “Perfect. It looks better on you than it did on

me.” She went back into her closet and came out with a fur coat.

“Not on your life!” Sierra said, backing up. “Absolutely not,

Audra. If I damaged it or it got lost, I’d kill myself.”

“I thought you were going to say something about all the little

animals that lost their lives to make it.”

“Well, that, too,” Sierra said, making a quick calculation. It

would take a lot of cute little minks to make that coat.

“That’s what I told Steve, but men just don’t think about those

things when they’re trying to show the world how successful

they are.” She carried it back into the closet. “I wear it to the opera once in a while just so he won’t get upset about it. No one harangues me there. Oh, good! I knew I bought something to go

with that dress.” She came back out with a red velvet, satin-lined

cape. She draped it over Sierra’s shoulders and took a step back.

“Take a look at yourself.”

Sierra did, and her mouth dropped open. She looked like

someone else, someone who’d stepped out of a fairy tale. “I remember feeling this delight as a little girl up in the attic dressing

in grown-up clothes with my best friend.” Laughing, she looked

at Audra in the mirror. “What do you think?”

“I think you look fantastic. Does Alex know you’re going to

this affair with Ron Peirozo?”

“He’s babysitting.”

Alex came early on the night of the fund-raiser. She’d told him

Ron was picking her up at five, and he arrived an hour early.

“Mom, Daddy’s here.”

“Ask him if he’d like a soda, honey. I’ll be down in a little while.”

Nervous and excited, she had already bathed and was fixing

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her hair in a loose French braid. She put on a little makeup, then

dabbed on Shalimar before she stepped into her dress. Slipping

into the red satin shoes, she put on the jewelry. She was ready

half an hour before Ron was expected.

“Mom, you look so pretty!” Carolyn said as she came into the

living room.

Sierra smiled, gratified that at least one person in the room noticed the change in her. Alex just stared at her. He didn’t say anything. What had she been hoping? That his mouth would fall

open and his tongue loll out? She put the red cape carefully over

the back of a chair.

“Where’s Clanton?” she said as she laid her gloves and a red,

beaded purse Audra had found on top of the cape.

“Brady’s,” Carolyn said. He was a friend Clanton had met at

church who happened to live in the complex. “He said he’d be

home in a few minutes. He’s borrowing a video game. Are those

diamonds, Mom?”

“No, honey. I wouldn’t put my toe out the door if they were.”

Carolyn looked at her father. “Don’t you think she looks

pretty, Daddy?”

Blushing, Sierra avoided Alex’s eyes.

“Sí, su mama está muy hermosa,” he said softly.

Her heart tripped as she looked at him. She looked into his

eyes and saw he meant every word.

Carolyn picked up her backpack and headed for her room.

Sierra turned, tensing. “Where are you going, honey?”

Carolyn glanced at her dad. “I’ve got some homework to do.”

“Tonight?”

“Just for a while. Daddy’s taking Clanton and me to Magic

Mountain. I guess I should take a bath, too.”

Sierra looked back at Alex and saw the sad smile touch his

mouth. “She was watching Parent Trap a few days ago.”

She put her hand over her stomach. “Great,” she said dully.

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He noticed the gesture. “Are you nervous?”

“A little.” Less about going out with Ron than she was seeing

that look in Alex’s eyes. She let out her breath and came around

the chair to sit down. The hatch-cover table was between them.

She liked having something between them.

Alex’s eyes narrowed slightly. “How well do you like this

guy?”

This guy? “Ron’s one of my best friends.”

“How does he feel about you?”

She blushed. “Why are you asking?”

“You quit working for him. I’m curious why.”

She almost told him it was none of his business. Considering

his own behavior, he had a lot of nerve to ask any questions. Instead, she curbed her anger and decided to be honest. “I left because I knew if I stayed, I could end up in an affair with him.”

Alex’s eyes darkened, not with anger, but pain. “The way I did.”

“I don’t want to talk about the whys and wherefores of you and

Elizabeth, Alex.”

“Neither do I. I want to talk about you.”

“What about me?”

“You look . . . radiant,” he said heavily. “Are you in love with

this guy?”

There it was again, that tone. Was he baiting her? “I was in love

with you, Alex,” she said before she thought better of it. She

paused, drawing in a steadying breath. This situation was impossible! “I don’t think I’ll ever feel like that again about anyone.

And if I did, I think I’d run as fast as I could to get away from it.”

“The way you ran from Peirozo.”

She could feel the prick of tears and fought them. “Are you deliberately trying to spoil my evening, Alex? I like Ron. He’s kind

and fun. I’m looking forward to this evening. I’ve never been to

anything like this. I just want to enjoy myself. Don’t you think I

have that right?”

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“Don’t cry,” Alex said softly. “I wasn’t asking to ruin your evening, Sierra.”

“Why are you asking?”

“Because I don’t want to see you hurt.”

She gave a bleak laugh. She had never heard such a flimsy

excuse in her life. Especially from him. “You hurt me, Alex. Ron

doesn’t have that kind of power over me.”

He leaned toward her, eyes intent, searching. “Don’t go out

with him tonight.”

Looking into those dark depths, she remembered everything

from the past. She knew why he warned her. When they were

young and deeply in love, when her emotions had crested over

some crisis, real or imagined, Alex had been the one to catch the

wave and ride the passion.

“I’m not your concern anymore, Alex. I haven’t been for eight

months.” Why should those words bring that wounded worried

look into his eyes? She felt compelled to set his mind at ease and

gave him a tender smile. “Someone told me to grow up. I have.”

The doorbell rang.

A muscle jerked in his cheek and he stood up. “I’ll tell him

you’re not feeling well.”

She stood as well. “No, you won’t.” Truth have it, she wasn’t, but

she had no intention of leaving Ron high and dry. This fund-raiser

was far too important to him and his work. “I feel fine, Alex.”

“You’re pale.” He turned his head sharply as the door was

unlocked. “What’d you do? Give him a key?”

“Hey, Mom!” Clanton said, barging in. “Aren’t you going to

let Ron in?” He stared at her. “Wow!”

“You can say that again,” Ron said from right behind him. He

didn’t even notice Alex. He couldn’t have been more open in his

admiration, which went a long way to bolstering her spirits.

Clanton brushed past her in his hurry to dump his soccer gear in

his bedroom.

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“You take my breath away, Sierra,” Ron said, leaning down to

kiss her lightly on the cheek. She felt a touch of sadness that his

compliment didn’t have a fraction of the effect Alex’s had. As

Ron straightened, she saw his expression alter slightly and knew

he had seen her ex-husband. She took his hand deliberately.

“Ron, this is Alex. Alex, I’d like you to meet Ron Peirozo, a

dear friend of mine.”

Ron held out his hand. Alex hesitated for a fraction of a second

before taking it. Neither said anything. They were too busy measuring one another. Sierra knew under other circumstances they

would get along very well. They might even be friends. Right

now, she was the only common ground—and not one that would

bring them together.

Letting go of Ron’s hand, she picked up her purse and gloves.

He took the red cape and laid it over her shoulders. His hands

gripped her arms gently, drawing her a few inches closer to him.

“Ready to go?”

Alex understood the gesture and shoved his hands into his

pockets. “Have a nice evening.”

Sierra walked with Ron to the door. Ron gave Alex a nod as he

opened it for her. “Nice meeting you, Alex.”

“Yeah, likewise.”

She didn’t look back. She didn’t dare.

Ron didn’t mention Alex, nor did she. He spent the drive to

downtown Los Angeles filling her in on the programs at Los Angeles Outreach. “People are going to be asking you questions,”

he said and made sure she knew what was going on.

As she stood beside Ron and greeted guests as they arrived,

she recognized numerous faces and names. Several lingered over

her hand, making fulsome compliments. Ron teased her about it

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over a dinner of prime rib. “I should’ve brought a whip and chair

to keep some of these animals back.”

She was proud of Ron and impressed by him as he stood at

the podium and gave a flawless and relaxed welcome and presentation. He was as at ease in front of this crowd of socially

elite as he was with the children he found in the ghettos and

beneath the freeways. She knew that those listening to him

would be only too willing to support him and his work. He was

sincere, zealous, and accomplishing a great deal. The young

men and women serving were all “graduates” of the program.

“Talk to them, and they’ll tell you the difference Outreach has

made in their lives. The Lord has blessed us that we might

bless others. . . .”

When the band started playing, Ron led her out onto the dance

floor. “I’ve already had several pledges that’ll cover the next few

months’ expenses,” he said, holding her close. She felt the

warmth of his hand at the small of her back and the brush of his

thighs. He was a good dancer, smooth and graceful, guiding her

expertly. She felt safe and protected in his arms.

After the first dance, she had other partners, all interested

in hearing about Los Angeles Outreach and Ron Peirozo. A

few asked her about her relationship to him. A few just wanted

to get close enough to ask her out. She was flattered but not interested.

Ron danced with her again several times and needled her unmercifully. “I thought you’d succumb to that actor’s charms for

certain,” he said, inclining his head toward a movie star who’d

danced with her several times.

“Are you kidding?”

“I saw you swooning when he took your hand.”

“That was before I spent five minutes with him. The guy’s no

better than a neighborhood masher. He asked me to spend a

weekend in Hawaii with him. Can you believe it?”

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“I believe it. I’ve had a few licentious thoughts of my own

about you this evening. Want to go sailing with me?”

“Knock it off, Peirozo.”

He laughed. “See the gentleman over there talking with

Arlene? He was just asking me if you were taken.”

“Tell him yes.”

“I already did.” Leaning down, he kissed the curve of her neck.

Alex used to kiss her in the same place. With him, it had always

sent melting heat all through her body and made her knees weak.

With Ron, she didn’t feel anything but the pleasing warmth of

his lips.

She talked with so many people she lost count. She danced

until her feet ached, and she relished every minute of it. On the

drive back to Northridge, Ron talked about the pledges he’d

received and what it would mean to ongoing programs. They’d

made enough money in one evening to cover foundation expenses for the next year.

He pulled into the Haven’s parking lot and shut off the engine

of his Mercedes. Turning to her, he smiled. “Did you have a good

time?”

“Wonderful,” she said, drowsy. She never stayed up past

eleven-thirty, and it was almost two in the morning. She felt the

light brush of his fingers and looked into his eyes. Warmth and

desire were there, unhidden. For one brief moment, she wondered what it would be like to be loved by Ron. “I’d better go in,”

she said softly.

Sensitive to her feelings, Ron touched her cheek lightly and

then got out of the car. He came around and opened her door,

handing her out. They didn’t say anything as they walked along

the pathway to her condo. The porch light was on. She wondered if Alex was asleep on the couch.

Turning to Ron, she thanked him for the lovely evening. “Anytime,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. Thanking him

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again, she took her key from her beaded purse and opened the

door. Glancing back, she smiled.

“Good night,” Ron said and headed back along the pathway to

his car.

Not looking into the living room, Sierra closed the door

quietly.

“How was it?” Alex said, snapping Mary Kathryn’s journal

shut and tossing it heedlessly on the hatch-cover table.

The sound of his voice and thump of the book made her jump.

“Wonderful,” she said, turning to him. “How was your evening?”

“Bueno.” He stood up. He didn’t even look vaguely tired. His

eyes were clear and sharp. “We went out to eat and then rented a

couple of movies.”

“Sounds like fun.” Her stomach knotted with tension at the

look on his face. He was angry, though about what she didn’t

know. And she had no intention of asking. “Well, thank you for

watching the children for me. I appreciate it.”

“Sure.”

“I’m sorry it’s so late.”

“You said it would be.” He crossed the living room and stood

in front of her. A small frown briefly puckered his brow as he

studied her face. “I guess I’d better go.”

“Yes,” she said, having difficulty breathing, “I guess you

should.” She looked around. “Did you bring a jacket with you?”

“No.” His mouth tipped in the sensual smile that had turned

her heart over at sixteen. It still had that same effect. “Worried

about me getting cold between here and my condo? I’m only

three doors away.”

“I think you’re warm enough.” She opened the door. “Good

night, Alex.”

He paused in the doorway and looked back at her. “Did he kiss

you good night?”

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She blushed. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, he did

not kiss me good night.”

Stepping back inside, he cupped the back of her head and

abruptly pulled her forward. Before she could gather her wits,

he leaned down and planted his mouth firmly over hers in a hard,

hot kiss. He released her as suddenly as he’d held her, smiling

sardonically. “You looked like you needed kissing,” he said

roughly.

Sierra stepped back from him, her heart pounding in her ears.

His eyes went dark as they stared into hers. He took another

step toward her. “You still do.”

“Don’t,” she whispered desperately.

He wasn’t listening. Kicking the door shut with his foot, Alex

caught hold of her and pulled her against his hard chest. His

head came down and he kissed her again, with the same devastating effect she’d experienced the first time on the Mathesen

Street porch so many years ago. He kissed her as though he

never intended to let her go. . . .

For a moment she struggled against him. He dug his hands

into her hair until it was tumbling about her shoulders and down

her back. He kept on kissing her until her insides began to melt

and quake.

Her love and the long months of celibacy and loneliness

worked against her. Physical hunger swept through her. Sweet

memories pulsed.

Oh, God! Oh, God, this is what you meant it to be between a husband

and wife!

Husband.

Wife.

Not anymore.

In the midst of the storm of wonderful sensation came the

army of doubts marching through her fevered brain, armed with

devastation weapons.

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Had he held Elizabeth Longford like this? Had he whispered

incoherent words of Spanish as he touched and caressed her the

way he was touching and caressing her now? Was she just a substitute? Available. Easy. A quick fix now that Elizabeth was

gone.

So convenient, too. Only three doors away.

“Don’t cry, Sierra,” Alex said raggedly. “Por favor, don’t cry.”

But she couldn’t help it. Her body pulsated with need for him

while her mind tore her heart to shreds. She drew back as far as

she could, her hands clenched. She felt him loosening his hold on

her and wept harder. When he stepped back, she covered her

face and turned away in complete humiliation.

If he hadn’t known how much she still loved him, he could

have little doubt now. It must give him a lot of satisfaction to

know how easy it was to break down her walls and storm the citadel.

God, I’m such a fool!

“Sierra, I’m sorry . . . ,” he said bleakly. “I didn’t mean to . . .”

When he put his hands on her shoulders and tried to draw her

back against him, she jerked away from his touch. “Just go,

Alex,” she said, hiccuping. “Get out of my life.”

The door opened quietly and closed again.

She went upstairs, crying, and removed the dress. She hung it

up carefully, tears running down her cheeks. She removed the

jewelry and put it back in the velvet box. She slipped out of the

red satin shoes and stripped off her underwear, then turned on

the shower and stepped in. She stood beneath the pounding

stream of water and gave in to her grief.

She was still crying when she went to bed. Curling on her side,

she covered her head with her pillow. She’d just dozed off when

the telephone rang. The clock glowed three forty-five. She

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wanted to ignore the intrusive ringing but was afraid it would

awaken the children.

It was Alex, and he sounded strange. Had he been drinking?

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said, starting to cry again.

He wasn’t listening. He was talking in Spanish, making no

sense at all. Usually she could understand Spanish well, but he

was speaking so fast and she was so tired, the words were a blur.

She did catch a couple of familiar words. One of which was

esposa. Wife.

He had a lot of nerve.

“You divorced me, Alex. Remember? Leave me alone.”

She hung up. When the phone rang again, she yanked the

plug. Covering her head, she wept herself to sleep.

Joshua has been to the village six times in the

past month.

Koxoenis makes him welcome. During his

last visit, Joshua saw Koxoenis’s preparations

for another hunt. Koxoenis does not live with

his wife or even look at her, but spends most

of his time in a sweathouse where he rubbed

deer marrow into his bow and arrows. Joshua

said Koxoenis spoke to his weapons. He also

drank a foul smelling concoction that made

him very sick. Perhaps it is some kind of purification rite. After the sickness passed, he

rubbed angelica and other herbs over his body

and his spear.

Joshua followed Koxoenis to watch. He said

Koxoenis mimics the movement of a deer so per3 9 5

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T H R E A D

fectly he was able to become a member of a herd

grazing in a meadow at dusk. The animals were

not even aware he was among them until he made

his kill. Before dressing the animal, Koxoenis

knelt beside it and stroked it tenderly, speaking to

it. When the meat was prepared for the people, he

did not partake of any of it.

Joshua has learned many valuable things from

Koxoenis and his people. He has taught Hank

how to make a fish trap and Matthew how to

make snares for rabbits. He dammed our creek

and threw a root into the water. It stunned the

fish so that they floated to the surface. We

smoked enough in one of our barrels to last us

several weeks.

Joshua also taught Hank and Matthew how to

make bolas using the side ribs of wild iris leaves

and tying bones to each end. Joshua says the

Indians use these simple weapons to catch quail,

cottontails, and squirrels. The boys have been

practicing diligently. Joshua said the Indians are

not as fussy about what they eat as we are, but

will dine on wood rats, snakes, lizards, and grubs.

He has tried them all and said they taste good.

I am not so adventurous.

Beth pulls up cattails and peels them. The

stalks are good eating. Other edible greens are in

abundance. Come spring, we will have berries.

They grow in profusion near us.

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Lord, You have made this earth as bountiful as

Eden. We do not even have to put a plow to the

soil to have food to sustain us. But we will come

spring.

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“ H E ’ S S I C K , M O M , ” C A R O L Y N S A I D .

Hungover, more likely, Sierra thought, but didn’t say it aloud.

Her own head was aching from lack of sleep.

“He didn’t answer the doorbell, so I let myself in,” Carolyn reported. “He’s still in bed, Mom. Daddy’s never in bed this late.”

Clanton collaborated. “Couldn’t you go check on him?”

“He was up late babysitting last night, remember? He just

needs to sleep in.”

“You’re up,” Clanton said.

“Couldn’t you go see if he’s all right, Mom?” Carolyn pleaded,

worried.

“And do what?”

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“Call a doctor or something,” Clanton chimed in.

She’d like to something all right, but after last night, she was

afraid to get within twenty feet of him.

“Please,” Carolyn said.

She looked between her two children and realized if she didn’t

do something, they’d think she was a coldhearted, uncaring hypocrite of a Christian. Weren’t you supposed to love your enemy?

“I’ll take him some chicken soup,” she said and took a

Tupperware container out of the refrigerator. Frances had given

her a batch, swearing it could cure just about anything.

Maybe she should drink some and pray to be cured of

Alejandro Luís Madrid.

Clanton gave her the key to Alex’s condo. Her heart was in her

throat as she unlocked the door and went inside. It was exactly

the same layout as hers, but the decor was vastly different. The

living room had a big black leather couch and glass coffee table.

Modern lamps stood on each side of the room. The wall was solid

with electronic equipment: a big-screen television set, VCR, radio, CD and tape deck, game systems, and a quartet of small, but

undoubtedly powerful, mounted speakers. The kitchen was

spartan, except for the coffeemaker near the sink and the rats in

their cage on the end of the breakfast bar. There wasn’t much in

Alex’s cabinets, and only a few pots and pans in the cupboards

below. The stove and microwave were both so clean, Sierra

knew Alex had never used them. Opening the Tupperware container of soup, she poured a portion of the contents into a big

mug, added a little water, and put it in the microwave. Curious,

she looked under the sink. The garbage bucket below was full of

empty Mexican take-out food containers.

I am not going to feel sorry for him!

She went up the stairs to the master bedroom and found Alex

sprawled on his back, only partially covered by the vibrant Aztec-design comforter. All she saw was muscle, bronze skin, and

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dark hair. Heart flip-flopping, she looked away and spotted the

pullover shirt he’d worn the night before. It was inside out on the

floor. Nearby were his Levi’s, also inside out, the belt still in the

loops. His shoes were on the far side of the room, two dents in the

wall above them.

Setting the mug of hot soup down on his side table, she picked

up an empty pint of whiskey. In all the years she’d known Alex,

she’d never seen him have more than one drink of anything intoxicating. He liked to be in control. She went into the bathroom

and tossed the bottle into the trash basket.

When she came back out, she picked up his shirt and pulled it

right side out, folded it, and put it on his chair. She did the same

with his pants, removing the belt and curling it on the top of his

dresser.

Steeling herself, she turned and looked at him. Her stomach

tightened as she came over to the bed and looked down at him.

He was so beautiful, so perfectly made. He was wearing the gold

crucifix his mother had given him. Her heart squeezed tight with

pity and tenderness. Frowning slightly, she noticed he’d added

something to the gold chain, something she’d returned to him

with the divorce papers he’d wanted her to sign.

Why was he wearing her wedding ring around his neck?

“Alex?”

He groaned. Shifting his body, he muttered something in

Spanish and opened his bloodshot eyes. He stared up at her as

though he couldn’t believe she was really there.

“The children think you’re dying,” she said dryly, crushing the

urge to brush the dark hair back from his forehead.

Wincing, he pushed himself up onto his elbows. “I feel like it,”

he said in a raspy voice. He looked at her again.

She avoided the intensity she saw in his eyes. “I brought you

some chicken soup,” she said, nodding toward his side table as

she moved away from his bed.

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T H R E A D

“I didn’t mean to hurt you last night, Sierra. I swear—”

“I know. Let’s just forget about it.” He didn’t need to do anything to hurt her. She hurt every time she looked at him. It came

with loving someone, even after they’d betrayed you.

As she headed for the door, Alex shoved the comforter back.

“Don’t go.” He groaned in pain as he sat up. Holding his head in

his hands, he muttered softly in Spanish. “I’ve got to talk to you.

Just give me a few minutes to take a shower.”

“We can talk another time.” She smiled faintly. “When you’re

feeling better.”

Dropping his hands, he looked at her bleakly. “I’m not going

to feel better, not until I talk things out with you.”

She had thought she was finished with crying, but tears

sprang to her eyes. “Maybe I don’t want to hear what you have to

say.”

“Maybe you don’t,” he said, “but I’m asking you to listen anyway. Por favor.”

When he stood up, her stomach dropped. She’d forgotten he

slept in his briefs. She’d forgotten a lot of things that came back

with a rush. “All right.” She would have agreed to anything at

that moment just to get out of the bedroom and away from him

and the feelings he could still arouse in her without even trying.

“Wait here.”

“I’ll wait downstairs.”

She searched his cupboards until she found coffee. Her hands

were shaking as she made it. She expected to have more time, but

he came down the stairs a few minutes later, wearing sweats and

raking his hand back through his wet hair. He looked handsome

even with a hangover. Looking at him, she felt depressed. She

was never going to get over him. Never.

“Gracias,” he said when she slid a mug of hot coffee across the

breakfast bar to him. She had to have something between them,

something to fill his hands, something to fill hers. He took a sip.

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She had the feeling he was bracing himself. He finished the whole

cup of coffee before he looked at her. “You’re still my wife.”

She felt the blood drain out of her face as she stared into his

dark eyes. Panic set in. “No, I’m not. I did what you asked. I

signed the papers. I gave them to you so your attorney could—”

“We’re still married, Sierra.”

“Maybe. For a few more months, until the divorce is final.”

“Nothing’s final, and it won’t be. There’s not going to be a divorce unless you file against me.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, confused. Hadn’t he told her

over and over how much he wanted a divorce? “I did what you

asked.”

“Yeah, but I changed my mind. I didn’t give the divorce papers

to my attorney. I put them through the shredder at the office.”

“You what?” she said faintly.

“I shredded the divorce papers.”

“I heard you the first time, but why? Just so we’d have to go

through all this misery again?”

“I don’t know why I did it at the time, but it turned out to be a

good idea.”

“A—a good idea?” Did he think he could waltz back into her

life and pick up where he left off? Or leave her dangling while he

enjoyed himself? She wanted to throw the hot coffee at him. Instead, she slammed her cup on the counter and headed for the

front door.

Alex caught hold of her halfway across the living room and

swung her around. “I never loved Elizabeth the way I love you,

Sierra. I knew it’d lead to disaster the first time I touched her.”

She hit him, a hard right hook square to his jaw, knocking him

back two feet. Rage and hurt filled her. She lost control completely and attacked him again. Lunging at him, she pounded at

his chest until she realized he was standing and taking it. With a

sob, she gave him a hard shove over the back of his leather couch.

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Grabbing the back of her sweater, he dragged her along with him.

They bounced, arms and legs tangling, and rolled onto the floor.

“You jerk!” She clambered to her feet, trying to get to the front

door again. Alex was faster. He swung himself over the couch

and planted himself in her path.

Spreading his hands, he presented himself. “Go ahead. Hit me

again. I deserve it.”

“Get out of my way!”

“I’m not finished.”

“I am!”

“You’re still in love with me, Sierra.”

“I’ll get over it!”

“No, you won’t. And neither will I. Not ever.”

She drew in another ragged sob. “Do you think it makes me

feel better to have you say you didn’t even love her? Do you

think it helps to know you threw our marriage away for a fling?”

“It wasn’t a fling.”

“I don’t want to hear about it, Alex. Don’t give me the gruesome details. Just get out of my way!”

“Sierra—”

“Let me out!”

He caught hold of her shoulders. “My affair with Elizabeth

had a lot to do with what you said. I wanted to feel I’d made it.

Education hadn’t done it for me. Neither had money. Daughter

of the American Revolution, you said. Remember? A trophy I

could hold up to the world to show them Alejandro Luís Madrid

was more than a wetback’s son!” His eyes were wet, tormented.

“You knew me better than I knew myself, Sierra. Until Connecticut. I got a good look at myself there, and I wanted to vomit.”

“Don’t you dare call your father a wetback!”

His face softened. “Te amo.” He cupped her face. “Te amo

muchísimo.”

She used her knee this time and caught him low and hard.

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Shoving him back, she made it to the door. “I’m not going to love

you anymore, Alex,” she said, sobbing. “It hurts too much!”

Yanking open the front door, she fled.

My lying in time is drawing near.

The weight of the baby presses down. I have

made what preparations I can and have explained

to Beth what she must do to help me. She is younger than I was when Joshua was born, but she is

a calm and willing girl and a great comfort to me.

I hope she will be strong for whatever happens.

Lord, I am afraid for all my children. Please

bring this baby into the world without taking me

from it.

I know you sent Kavanaugh to me, Lord, and

I thank You that he was obedient and arrived

in time. I am sure I would have died otherwise.

Joshua had gone off to find Koxoenis and ask if

his wife could help me. I was praying for deliverance when someone opened the tule mat cover

over our doorway. I have never been so glad to

see anyone as I was to see Kavanaugh. He put his

knife in the fire and then cut me. When that was

done, he pulled me up so I was squatting. The

baby came quick and easy after that. By the time

Koxoenis, his wife, and Joshua arrived, my new

daughter and I were asleep.

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T H R E A D

Kavanaugh told me today he will not leave again

unless I tell him to go. He did not say more than

that, but his meaning was clear. I think I have

known he wanted me since the day he looked at

me in the mercantile back in Independence.

I have named my baby daughter America Farr.

Beth is taken with her and a great help to me.

I am slow in mending and still weak. Kavanaugh

is tender with me and firm in organizing the children. They do not mind. They have always held

Kavanaugh in awe. Especially Joshua, though

I sense tension between them now.

Kavanaugh is building us a cabin. He has set

the boys to gathering stones for the foundation

while he cuts timber. Joshua has not had much to

say about anything lately. Something is eating at

him and he will not say what. Hank and Matthew

and Beth do all the talking.

The rains have been coming down steady for a

week, but Kavanaugh and the boys continue to

work. The rock foundation is complete and the

sills set. Kavanaugh and Joshua work on notching the logs to build the walls.

This evening, we are all sitting around the pit

fire. Hank, Matthew, and Beth are about their

lessons while Kavanaugh whittles. He will teach

the boys when they finish their reading and exer4 0 6

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cises. I am glad my boys do not fight learning like

my brothers did. They must take after Mama.

They can all read and write better than my father

and brothers ever could, but they are far from

Educated by Aunt Martha’s standards. I wish

I had not been so foolish as to say I did not want

to have a Bible in my possession.

Kavanaugh and Joshua have had a Falling Out.

Joshua was swinging at Kavanaugh with all his

might, but Kavanaugh blocked aside each blow.

I kept screaming at them to stop, but Joshua

would not listen. Kavanaugh unbalanced Joshua

and took him down on the ground and held him

there while trying to talk reason to him. Joshua

was in no mood to be reasonable. When Kavanaugh

released him, Joshua jumped up and spit on him.

I could not believe he did such a thing and

thought Kavanaugh would kill him sure. He did

not have a chance to do anything because Joshua

got on his horse and rode off. I ran after him and

asked what had happened, but he would not say.

He was crying and said he would not come back

until Kavanaugh left.

Joshua has been gone for three days. My heart

aches so I can not even eat. It did not take five

minutes for me to find out what set Joshua on

such a rampage. Kavanaugh wants to marry me.

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He asked Joshua for permission since he thought

he was the firstborn son. Joshua said he saw the

way of things and accused him of using him to get

close to me.

Kavanaugh and I have had much time to talk

about many things. I thought I would be with

James all my life. I did not expect to lose him.

Yet I know I can not manage on my own out

here. A woman with small children can not build

a homeplace and plant crops all by herself. And

going back home to Illinois is impossible.

I know too that Joshua will not stay with us for

long. His leaving us will have little to do with

Kavanaugh and all to do with his own nature,

though he may be contrary and stiff-necked

enough to use Kavanaugh as an excuse. Each

time Joshua goes away, he stays away a little longer. He has the same hunger to see the world that

James had. I am afraid it is the kind of hunger

that will drive him before the wind all his life

unless he faces the Almighty and comes to himself. I grieve knowing James never did. It must

be in the Farr and McMurray blood to contend

with God and everything else. We either see the

light or die looking for it.

I have peace now I never thought to have and

wonder often why I fought so hard in receiving it.

Coming to the light does not mean it is easy

watching Joshua wandering in darkness. But tell4 0 8

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ing him about You does not seem to get his Attention. I guess I can not expect words to do it.

Mama and Aunt Martha talked to me plenty and

I never saw the Truth in what they were saying.

I have learned a little more about Kavanaugh

over the past days. His full name is Hamlet Bogan

Kavanaugh. He is twenty-eight years old and can

read and write. He was born in Boston to a

blueblood father and an actress mother who

thought naming him after a Shakespearean character might lend him some dignity. He did not

think much of the name she gave him. Despite the

fact his mother never married, she made sure his

father paid for an Education. His father agreed to

pay for tutors if she promised to leave him alone.

She kept her part of the bargain. Kavanaugh is

his mother’s name. She died when he was thirteen. He went to his father then, was given fifty

dollars and told to leave Boston and never darken

his father’s threshold again. He did and has never

been back.

I told Kavanaugh he did not have to tell me

such Personal Business, but he said I should

know he was born on the wrong side of the sheets

before we get married and start bearing children

together. I became Flustered when he said that.

He seems to have things all worked out in his

mind about the way things will go between us.

I asked him what he would have done had James

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not died of a Thursday. He said he would have

waited however long it took. I asked him how

many children he expects to have and he laughed

and said one at a time, Mary Kathryn, and gave

me such a look I felt it down to my toes.

He is gone now and I can breathe freely without the wild drumming of my heart to get in the

way of my head. I sent him away so I could think

things through. I was surprised he did not try to

talk me out of my solitude. He is a strong man,

stronger than James in many ways. But there is

not the hardness in him I expected. James ran

roughshod over my heart. There was a wildness

in him that could never be tamed. It seems so odd

now I think about it. James, the farmer, the wild

one, and Kavanaugh, the mountain man, so settled inside himself. For all his buckskins and long

hair, Kavanaugh is a gentleman who will not take

advantage.

I do not want him here when Joshua comes

home. My son and I have things to settle between

us before I say yes to Kavanaugh.

You do not make things easy, do You, Lord?

Joshua is gone and I sit here wondering if I will

ever see him again. My heart aches so, and yet

I knew this would come. I have been fighting

against it for two thousand miles and it is no use

fighting it anymore. He thinks he is a man and he

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has made up his mind to go his own way. At least

he no longer believes Kavanaugh used him to get

close to me. Kavanaugh likes Joshua for himself

and understands the restlessness in him. Maybe

knowing that will bring him back again someday.

He made no promises.

He said he is going to ride back to Sutter’s Fort

and then head north to see what Oregon is like.

After that, he does not know where he will go or

what he will do.

I wept when he rode away. I kept thinking

about those Israelites wandering forty years in

the wilderness and dying within sight of the

Promised Land because they were so Contentious. If only they had trusted the Lord, they

would have lived out their lives in a land of milk

and honey.

I hope it will not take Joshua as long as it took

me to find his way through the wilderness to You.

I have been thinking about Aunt Martha so much

lately. Sometimes I wonder if our thoughts touch

one another across the miles. I wrote her a long

letter yesterday, but I do not know when I will

have the opportunity to send it.

I think Kavanaugh has changed his mind about

marrying a widow with four children. He has

been gone twenty-three days.

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T H R E A D

I have begun the plowing. Hank and Matthew

are helping me while Beth minds America.

Together we will get a small crop in.

It is Terrible Hard Work, but I think I can manage with the children. We have enough to eat. We

have a cabin to keep us safe and dry. We have

good land and seed to plant. And we have You,

Jesus. Aunt Martha told me anything is possible

with God. So I am asking You to help us in this

Great Enterprise. We are stuck here, Lord. Help

us make the best of it.

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S I E R R A D I D N ’ T S E E A L E X T H E N E X T D A Y , A N D

he didn’t call the children. She thought it was because of what

had happened between them until Carolyn said, “I told Daddy

we were in the church pageant tonight. He said he was going

Christmas shopping.”

Then Clanton hit her with, “Can Dad spend Christmas with us?”

Sierra rebelled. “No, he cannot spend Christmas with us.”

“He’ll be all alone,” Carolyn said, clearly distressed by the

idea. “He’ll be lonely. Couldn’t we ask him? Please?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” she said, hoping in the interim Alex

would be run over by a truck or kidnapped by terrorists. “Right

now, we have to get to church and into costume.”

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T H R E A D

During the next few hours, she relished being caught up in

stage jitters and the excitement of getting ready to perform.

Once in costume, the choir members gathered together and

prayed that their performance would do more than entertain.

They prayed it would open the hearts of those listening to the

music and the reenactment of the birth of the Messiah.

Once the program started, her nervousness cooled. She had

practiced so much, her part all came back the moment she moved

onto the platform some parishioners had built to extend the choir

loft. She gave herself up to the music, singing from her heart, feeling the joy of the Christmas story and its meaning to the world.

Joseph traveled from the town of Nazareth in Galilee, on one side

of the church, to Judea, the city of David called Bethlehem, on the

platform, where he registered himself and his young wife, Mary, for

the Roman census ordered by Quirinius, governor of Syria.

“And it came about that while they were there, the days were

completed for her to give birth. And she gave birth to her firstborn son; and she wrapped Him in cloths, and laid Him in a

manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.”

Clanton was one of the young shepherds who knelt before the

angel Gabriel as he sang his solo announcing the good news of

great joy: “For today in the city of David there has been born for

you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” The adult choir joined as

tiny pinpricks of light shone on the ceiling, and then the new,

bright star appeared in the “heavens.”

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among men.”

Joining Gabriel was the heavenly host of children in white,

complete with wings and halos, their voices blending in sweet

harmony. Among them was Carolyn. The music expanded again

as the adult choir joined the children’s voices. Sierra’s heart beat

fast as the crescendo came, filling the church to the rafters with

praise-glory sounds for the newborn King. Jubilation!

Oh, Jesus, Jesus, would that I could feel this joy every day of the year.

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Her whole body felt alive and warm with the love and excitement of the Lord’s birthday. She forgot everything else, especially what the Lord expected of her.

The pastor gave a prayer following the pageant, and refreshments were served in the social hall. The last person she expected

to see was Alex. When she spotted him standing on the far side of

the room, looking handsome in black slacks, a gray silk designer

shirt, and black sports jacket, her heart dropped into the pit of her

stomach and bounced up into her throat. He was talking with

Dennis; it didn’t look like a casual conversation.

“Hey! Dad’s here,” Clanton said, still holding his shepherd’s staff.

“Yes, I see him.” The rat. The creep.

Deserting her, Clanton set his staff before him and parted the

sea of choir members and guests to get to his father. Carolyn spotted Alex soon afterward and fluttered over in her angel costume.

Little traitors.

Sierra was still reeling from what Alex had said to her in his

condo. I never loved her the way I loved you.

Yeah, right! If he loved her so much, why had he walked out?

Why had he told her he despised her and couldn’t wait for a divorce? Why had he looked at her as though he hated her?

The way you’re looking at him right now, beloved?

She turned away, selecting a cookie from a large platter.

Chocolate, her favorite. It tasted like dirt. All the joy she’d felt

half an hour before while singing praises to the Lord evaporated, boiled away by resentment and anger.

He’s ruining my Christmas, Lord. Couldn’t you remove this ache I have

when I see him? He cheated on me! The least you could do is give him some

kind of awful disease.

“Daddy said he’s flying to San Francisco tomorrow,” Clanton

said. “He’s spending Christmas with abuelo y abuela.”

Bitterness surged through Sierra. He didn’t even have the sensitivity to stay at home alone for Christmas and suffer! No. He

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had to go to Healdsburg and enjoy a wonderful Christmas with

Luís and María.

Of course, she completely disregarded the fact that they’d

invited her to come, too.

Carolyn sighed expressively. “I wish we could go.”

So did Sierra, but she wasn’t about to admit it. “We’ll go at

Easter.”

It was too expensive to fly three people north to San Francisco. Worse, she’d have to look at him over the dinner table and

face the hopes of Luís and María on top of it.

Besides, she couldn’t afford the time off work.

On top of that, it was too late to make reservations. All the

flights would be booked solid over the holidays.

Excuses flooded her mind as she waited for Alex to come over

and speak with her. Visions of him on his knees danced in her

head, but he didn’t come within twenty feet of her. Instead, he

left quietly, unseen.

When she realized he was gone, she told herself she didn’t

care. But it galled her nevertheless.

The telephone rang as soon as she walked through the door.

“Cooled off yet?” Alex said.

“Why would I be hot?”

“You tell me.”

She banged the receiver down, hoping she’d burst his eardrum. The telephone rang again. Snatching it up, she snarled, “I

don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to

hear about you. I want to forget you live on the same planet I do.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too!” Ron laughed.

Her face went hot. Covering it, she plunked down on a breakfast bar stool. “I’m sorry. I thought . . .”

“I was Alex. I take it you two are talking again.”

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She gave an unladylike snort. “If that’s what you call it.” The

doorbell rang. Carolyn ran to it. And guess who was standing under the porch light, his arms laden with Christmas packages, all

professionally wrapped? He couldn’t bother doing such menial

labor himself. Wrapping had always been her job, along with the

Christmas cards and shopping.

Sierra hissed when she inhaled. “I have to go, Ron. I need to

find some Raid.”

Alex didn’t stay long, and after one brief glance at her face, he

concentrated entirely on the children. “I’ll be back December

28th,” he said, kissing Carolyn. “Want to see me out?” he said to

Clanton.

“Sure.”

When the door closed behind father and son, Carolyn turned

and looked at her. “This is going to be the worst Christmas of my

life!” Tears streaming down her face, she ran to her room.

Sierra had a strong feeling it wasn’t going to be very joyful for

her either.

And she was right.

In years past, Alex had fixed the turkey. Her father had taught

him how. “It’s a Clanton tradition. The men cook the bird on

Thanksgiving and Christmas.” She fixed the bird this year and it

was dry as a bone. Gravy helped, but not much. Clanton and

Carolyn made no complaints, but she could tell they would have

preferred a Mickey D to her festive efforts. The best thing about

the turkey was the skin.

As soon as the dishes were in the dishwasher, presents were

distributed. The children were clearly more excited about what

Alex had given them than what she’d bought. Who could blame

them? His gifts were frivolous, hers practical.

She played Christmas music on the radio, but it sounded flat

and depressing. When she wasn’t fuming, she ached with loneliness, thinking about Alex laughing and having fun with his

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father and mother, sisters and brothers, nephews and nieces,

cousins, second cousins, third cousins. The neighbors would

probably come to join in, for heaven’s sake!

All through the evening, she kept remembering Christmases

past. While the children played, she sat watching television.

Dickens’s Christmas Carol was on. She identified with Scrooge.

Then, to cheer her up even more, she watched It’s a Wonderful

Life. She made it all the way to George Bailey jumping off the

bridge before she turned it off.

I’m a new Christian, Lord, and this is the worst Christmas of my life!

Who do you say that I am, beloved?

Lord. You are Lord.

Then obey me.

“Do you have a headache, Mom?” Carolyn said, coming

downstairs and seeing her rubbing her temples.

Headache, heartache, soul ache.

The last thing Sierra wanted to hear Sunday morning was a sermon on forgiveness. Peter’s denial. Jesus had known his disciples’ weaknesses. He had warned Peter. “The spirit is willing,

but the flesh is weak.” He had also known Peter would repent.

“When you turn . . .”

Like Alex saying he was sorry, saying he loved her.

I can’t, Lord. I can’t forgive him and go through it again!

But the words from the pulpit kept hammering the wall around

her heart. “If you love Me, you will keep My commandments . . .

love does not take into account a wrong suffered . . . love bears all

things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”

Sierra kept remembering the look on Alex’s face when she told

him she didn’t want to love him anymore. It hurt too much. It was

true, but that didn’t matter. She loved him whether she wanted to

or not. Still, what kind of love tore people apart inside?

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Nothing made sense to her anymore, least of all the war of

emotions going on inside her. All the while she had thought there

was no chance at all of reconciliation. She thought Alex hated

her. She’d finally seen her part in the disintegration of her marriage. She had accepted blame.

Now, he wanted forgiveness . . . and she wanted revenge.

Unsettled, her conscience pricking at her, she shut her eyes

tightly.

I’m not like you, Jesus.

“We can do all things through Christ who strengthens us,” the

pastor said.

I don’t feel strong, Lord. The only solid things I feel are anger and hurt.

How do I forget what he’s done to me? How do I stop thinking about him

with another woman? How do I ever trust him again?

“. . . whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right,

whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute,

if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, let

your mind dwell on these things. . . .”

The way he did, Lord?

The way you’re doing, beloved?

She wanted to leave the church. She didn’t want to hear words

that opened her eyes to her own sin; she wanted the finger

pointed at Alex. She had come to be renewed, uplifted, enlightened. She hadn’t come to be convicted.

If you love Me, you will keep My commandments. Love one another, just

as I have loved you.

She wanted to cry out. God, do you have to scrub an open wound? Do

you have to pour salt on it?

“Whatever you do, do your work heartily, as for the Lord,” the

pastor said, continuing his message.

She winced. What was she doing?

How could she hold a grudge against Alex and call herself a

Christian? How could she expect to feel joy and peace in her life

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when she clung to past hurts and fears of future pain? The risk

was what paralyzed her. Where were the guarantees of a happy

ending?

I don’t belong in your kingdom, Lord. I’m not like any of these good

people sitting around me.

What would they think of her if they knew she’d punched Alex

not once, but half a dozen times with everything she had? And

then kneed him where it hurt most. Never mind what they would

think. God had seen!

Humiliation set in, her face heating up.

O Lord, I lost control. All I could think about was the fact he walked out

on me. He said he was sick of me. He said he wanted out of our marriage. It

was hard, but I let him go. I gave him the papers he said he wanted. I listened

to what Dennis and the others said about allowing a nonbeliever to leave a

marriage. And now he tells me he never loved her the way he loved me. How do

I believe him? How can I trust him? I’m not strong enough to go through

this heartache again. I’m not strong enough to go through it now.

I’m not going to give you more than you can bear.

Why don’t I feel comforted by that, Jesus?

She walked home with the children and fixed them bologna

sandwiches and tomato soup for lunch. Alex was coming home

in a few days. Her mind whirred with conflicting thoughts. She

wanted to forgive and forget, but feared the cost of both.

“Maybe Daddy will call,” Carolyn said.

“He never calls on Sundays,” Clanton said between bites of

sandwich.

Sierra knew he’d be at Mass with his parents today. But when

he was here, what did he do?

And why was she allowing herself to think about that snake

again?

She and the children walked back to church in the afternoon,

and she was treated to another heart-wrenching lesson during

the evening Bible study. The subject was self-righteousness. The

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Word was a double-edged sword, and she was sliding right

down the blade of it.

Couldn’t you ease up on me a little, Lord? Do you have to use a

jackhammer?

She left the class before it was over and found solitude in a cry

room built for mothers who were nursing their babies. She sat

nursing her grievances in the rocking chair, locked in the silence

until youth group was over and it was time to meet Clanton and

Carolyn.

Alex was walking down the path toward her condo when she

and the children returned. She should have known.

“Daddy!” Carolyn cried and ran to him. Clanton wasn’t far

behind. The three talked briefly and walked toward her. She’d

never felt so alone, so cut off.

“Have you eaten?” he said.

“Not yet,” Clanton said. “I’m starved.”

“Why don’t I take all of you out to pizza?”

“Mom, too?” Carolyn said, excited about the idea.

“Mom, too,” Alex said, looking at her.

She knew he would understand if she said no. He wouldn’t argue or try to persuade. She knew the children would understand

as well. That was the problem. She felt exposed and petty. They

had such great hopes. Shouldn’t she? “That would be nice,” she

said, lowering her gaze from his. She’d do it for the children.

He was still driving his Mercedes. He opened the door for her

while Clanton and Carolyn piled in the back. When they reached

the pizza parlor, Alex ordered a large combo and pitcher of soda

while she and the children secured a booth. When Alex joined

them, he handed the children a handful of quarters for the video

games that lined the back wall. As they dashed off, he slid into

the seat opposite her.

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“Finally, we’re alone together,” he said, a rueful smile touching

his lips. The place was packed with Sunday evening diners.

She smiled back, aching inside. Why was it so much easier to

maintain her anger when there was distance between them?

Now, sitting across the booth from him, she couldn’t sustain it. It

melted despite her determination, leaving behind a sense of vulnerability that frightened her more than anything else. “I

thought you weren’t coming back until the twenty-eighth.”

“I couldn’t wait.”

She didn’t ask for what. “Didn’t things go well with your parents?”

“Papa’s speaking to me again. We had a long talk. You paved

the way for me.” His eyes darkened. “I meant what I said the

other day, Sierra. Te amo. I want us to get back together.”

“Don’t take my agreement for granted.”

“I’m not. Don’t you think I—”

“I don’t want to talk here, Alex,” she said, looking away, tears

starting. “I can’t.”

“Yo comprendo,” he said softly. “We’ll eat and take the children

home. Once they’re settled for the night, we’ll go back to my

place.”

“No way. I don’t want to be alone with you.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

He meant the question to be light, seductive, but she looked

him square in the eyes. “Should I?” She saw that the barb stuck

and felt immediately ashamed. Forgive, the Lord said, and she had

just stabbed Alex with a sharp blade. Looking down at her

hands, she could almost see the blood on them and wanted to

weep. The only way she could think to make amends was to be

honest. “I know where we’d end up, Alex, and sex isn’t going to

help solve our problems.”

“That cost you,” he said huskily.

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

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“It might ease the tension between us.”

“And cloud the issues.” She could see so clearly now how

they’d often used sex to bypass issues that were causing fractures

in their relationship rather than step back, look, listen, repair,

and move on together. “If we’re going to reconcile, we have to

build a solid foundation this time.”

“This time? Isn’t love enough?”

“If it’s the right kind.”

Her words clearly hurt him but she couldn’t weaken. When he

searched her face, she felt he was looking for weakness.

Lord, help me stand firm. Show me what to do. I love him, but I don’t

want to give up my soul to him.

Alex frowned slightly, perplexed. “OK,” he said softly. “We

stay at your place.”

“No. We’ll begin by talking on the telephone.”

She needed space between them. She had made too many decisions based on her emotions, and look where that had gotten her!

The Lord said to renew your mind, and she intended to do

that. With distance between them, she would be able to keep her

mind clear to think.

One thing she already knew. It was going to take God to get

them back together again and make their marriage work.

Kavanaugh has returned.

I was so relieved to see him riding across the

field. He was gone so long I thought he had come

to his senses. He said he has not changed his

mind about anything, but figured I needed time to

adjust to the idea of having another husband. He

said he rode to Yerba Buena and then Monterey.

He bought a wedding ring there from a Mexican

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jeweler. On the way north, he met other settlers.

Five families have taken land east of us near the

Russian River. While Kavanaugh was there getting to know everyone, a man returned from

Sutter’s Fort and said he heard a rumor gold was

discovered in the trace at the mill on the American River. Two of the men have sons who are

going back to find out if it is true.

Kavanaugh said one of the men at the new settlement said he could perform a marriage ceremony for us. He has a Book of Common Prayer

and the wedding service is in it.

Kavanaugh and I are wed. Lester and Charlotte Burrell held a party for us after the ceremony. There were

twenty-seven people there, all strangers who have

quickly become friends. We had music! One man

played a fiddle and another a mouth organ. I danced

until my feet ached. They are good, hospitable people

and were very happy to give us a proper wedding celebration. I feel at home in California for the first time

since crossing the Sierra Nevada mountains.

I thought to make Kavanaugh and I a wedding quilt

so that we would not have to share James’s blanket.

So I went to the trunk to take out the squares of

fabric the ladies from the quilting club gave me.

Beneath them I found a thin wooden tray and under

it a Wonderful Surprise. Aunt Martha packed her

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pretty yellow dress and white lace shawl. When

I took them out, I found her Bible in the folds.

I sat weeping over it for the longest time, just rubbing the black leather. The binding is worn from her

loving hands, and just touching it makes me feel

closer to her. I remember all the hours she spent

reading it. When I opened it, I found her note.

I read from Aunt Martha’s Bible for the first time

this evening. We are starting at Genesis and will

read straight through to the end. After I finished

the story of creation, we all talked a long while.

The children are in bed now and Kavanaugh

has gone out to check on the stock and take a

bath in the creek before coming to bed. I have

paged through Aunt Martha’s Bible. I feel close

to her with it in my hands. She has written

prayers and notes in the margins. Favorite Scriptures are underlined. Pressed between the pages

are other surprises that remind me of spring and

Mama and days gone by in Galena—a golden

Alexander, a pink-lavender shooting star, white

Indian plantain, yellow-orange coreopsis, purple

coneflower, black-eyed Susans, buttercups, blue

aster, a rose-purple blazing star, and violet marsh

phlox.

Lord, bless her and keep her always.

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The Reconciliation

HE ECONCILIATION

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A L E X C A L L E D E V E R Y E V E N I N G A T T E N - F I F T E E N .

Carolyn was always in bed by nine, while Clanton dragged

his feet until ten. One conversation with his father made him

cooperate.

Each night the telephone would ring, and Sierra’s heart would

jump. Taking a breath, she’d answer while sliding onto a stool in the

kitchen. Alex did most of the talking, while she doodled on the notepad to keep from letting her nervousness come across the line.

As she contained her emotions, Alex opened up. The conversations became excruciating and confessional. The last thing she

wanted to hear about was his relationship with Elizabeth, but he

had a need to unburden himself.

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“She left the East Coast in a bid for independence,” he told her.

“She was attracted to me because I was the opposite of the kind

of man her father wanted her to marry. Not that she had marriage in mind.”

Sierra could see how it had happened. Work had drawn them

together. Elizabeth was assigned to work closely with Alex. Alex

was a charismatic man, full of fire, brilliant and exciting. While

Sierra was fighting with him at home, Elizabeth was waiting at

the office, ready to console and sympathize, ready to build him

up rather than tear him down. He’d spent progressively longer

hours at the office. They started having lunch together, then dinner. A few drinks led to more. Then the guilt set in, and the only

way to alleviate that was to cast blame. Sierra knew she’d become the perfect target. She had already set herself up for the fall

by her own childish behavior months before Elizabeth Longford

ever came on the scene. If it hadn’t been Elizabeth, it would have

been another woman.

“What happened when you went east with her?”

“What do you mean?”

“Audra said something about a fiasco in Connecticut.”

“You could say that. Her father and I had words. The same

kind your father and I had. You remember what happened?”

“Yes. You eventually became very good friends.” It had taken

a few years, but Alex and her dad had grown close. By the time

her father passed away, he was Alex’s champion, second only to

herself and Luís.

“No,” Alex said. “That’s not what I mean. Do you remember

what you did? You came down the stairs and stood beside me.

You said you loved me. You made it a declaration, loud and clear.

You were ready to fight for us, no matter what it cost you, even a

break with your parents.” He let out his breath derisively. “Elizabeth tossed me to the wolves and stood back to watch who’d win.”

Rather than make her feel better, his words left her wondering

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if things might have turned out differently had Elizabeth been a

little wiser or loved Alex a little more.

“Don’t go quiet on me, Sierra. I’m trying to tell you I saw what

she was. It took Connecticut for me to understand what she was

doing. She didn’t love me, and I didn’t love her. We were using

each other. She used me against her father. I used her against

you.”

“If you knew all that, why didn’t you leave her sooner?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Pride.”

“Be honest, Alex.” She was tired of crucifying herself between

two thieves: regret for yesterday and fear about tomorrow. She

needed the truth from him, no matter how much it hurt. They

couldn’t build on anything less. “I promise I won’t hang up on

you, no matter what you say.”

“All right,” he said heavily, clearly not eager to impart what

was coming. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to come back to you.”

Well, at least she knew he wasn’t holding back anymore. Swallowing her hurt, she asked, “What changed your mind?”

“When you said you’d never take the children away from me,

it stopped me cold. I’d expected you to fight dirty.”

And why wouldn’t he? She had been vindictive, carping and

complaining over the move. After three years of that behavior,

why should he have expected her to be fair when faced with divorce?

“Finally I realized I was the one playing dirty,” he said. “And

then there was the day I watched you play baseball.” He gave a

low laugh. “By the time the game was over, I was wondering why

I’d ever left you in the first place.”

“Because I hit a home run?” she said, smiling sadly as she

made doodles on the notepad.

“No, because I hadn’t seen you laugh in months. You looked

young and happy again, the way you were when we first started

out. You took my breath away. I sat there watching you and

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remembering the good times. I felt sick, wondering what happened to us.”

And so it went. Alex called, she listened—and learned. As the

days passed, she left the stool and sat on the sofa, feet propped up

on the old hatch-cover table. “If we do get back together, what

are you going to do with all that stereo and game equipment you

have in your living room? And that horrible black couch,” she

said.

“What makes you think we’ll be living in your condo?”

It got her to wondering. Where would they live? How would

they meld their lifestyles? Sierra was beginning to realize how

little they had in common.

Lord, how are we going to make this work?

She spent as much time as possible reading the Bible and

thinking things over. Again, she learned: Be anxious about nothing. Be thankful. Work out the tangles of your life one by one before the Lord. She had to fix her eyes on Jesus constantly in

order to live above it all with Christ, in him, rather than get

caught up in the old resentments, hurts, and fears.

Her feelings changed as Alex talked. The anger got lost somewhere and compassion slipped in, not just for Alex, but for Elizabeth Longford as well. She knew from Audra that Elizabeth had

moved back to Connecticut. When Alex left, her life fell apart.

Her bid for independence from her father had blown up in her

face.

“She called to tell us she’s getting married,” Audra said.

Sierra told Alex, testing his reaction she supposed, but better

to know now rather than later if he wanted to change his mind

about the direction they were going.

“I heard.” His response was quiet, neutral.

“From Audra?”

“No. Elizabeth called while I was in the office last week. She

told me.”

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Sierra’s heart dropped. She hadn’t realized he was still in contact with her.

“It’s the only time we’ve talked since she left,” Alex said, seeming to read her mind. “I met the man she’s marrying when I was

in Connecticut,” he went on. “She was engaged to him once before and backed out. He’s a Harvard grad, a lawyer. Rich. Family connections back to the founding fathers. Her father’s

choice.” He gave a soft self-deprecating laugh. “I liked him.

When I put all that other stuff aside, he was a pretty decent guy.”

Sierra gathered her courage. “Maybe Elizabeth called to tell

you hoping you’d change her mind.”

“That occurred to me,” he said gently. “That’s why I told her

I’m doing everything in my power to reconcile with my wife.”

Sierra closed her eyes, imagining how much it would have

hurt her if she was in Elizabeth’s position. “What did she say to

that, Alex?”

“She said she was sorry.”

Sierra pitied Elizabeth. She had taken Dennis’s advice and

spent a few minutes each day praying for Elizabeth Longford.

Doing so had erased her animosity. She prayed now, during the

lull in conversation with her estranged husband.

“Sierra? Talk to me. Scream at me. Say something.”

“We never realize how many people we hurt with our actions,

do we, Alex? It’s like a chain reaction. I was so angry with you

when we moved down here. I never listened to what you wanted

or needed. I was only interested in what I wanted. I hurt you so

much, and out of that I hurt Elizabeth, too.”

“You had nothing to do with Elizabeth.”

“Yes, I did. If I’d been the wife I should’ve been, you never

would’ve turned to her. So I share the blame with you for her

pain, too.”

He said something in Spanish. “You remind me of your mother.”

She teared up and swallowed them down. He couldn’t have

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paid her a dearer compliment. “I still miss her. Sometimes I’ll see

something or read about something I know would make her

laugh, and I pick up the phone to call. I’ll get halfway through

the number before I remember she isn’t there anymore.”

“I should’ve been with you,” he said hoarsely.

He’d been with Elizabeth, instead. Blinking back tears, Sierra

didn’t say anything. Her throat ached. Would the hurt ever go

away?

“I was trying to figure a way out . . . ,” Alex said softly.

“Of our marriage.”

“No. Out of what was happening between me and Elizabeth.

The guilt was eating me alive. I knew you needed me, but I

couldn’t deal with it or face you. I couldn’t face your mother. I

was sure she’d know the minute she looked at me that something

was wrong. Then Papa gave me that lecture on the telephone.

I knew he was right, but I didn’t like being told what to do. By

the time I got there, I was uptight and ready for a fight. I had all

kinds of excuses and reasons. Papa and I had words after the

memorial service. He said he was ashamed of me for the way I

treated you. Your mother’s letter was the last straw. I had to get

out of there.”

“What did she say in the letter?”

“She wrote she knew the first time she saw us together that I

was the right man for you.” He didn’t say anything for a moment,

then added in a choked voice, “She said she loved me and was

proud to have me as a son.”

They talked past midnight, leaving Sierra bleary-eyed for

work. After running errands, she came home, fixed dinner for

the children, and stretched out on the sofa to read her Bible. The

next thing she knew, Clanton and Carolyn woke her up at ten.

“We’re going to bed, Mom,” Clanton said.

Trying to focus through her exhaustion, Sierra pushed herself

up. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. What time is it?”

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“Daddy called earlier,” Carolyn said. “He’s going to call you at

ten-thirty.” They each kissed her good night and went downstairs.

As Sierra waited for the telephone to ring, she sat looking up

at Mary Kathryn’s quilt. It occurred to her that not only were

her feelings changing, but so was the way she saw things. She

thought about her first ecstatic months as a Christian. After having been told about Jesus from childhood, she’d finally understood for herself who Jesus was. Creator, Redeemer, Almighty

God, King of kings, Lord of lords. Realization had struck like an

atomic blast. Hot white light blinded her for a little while. She’d

been so caught up in the sudden opening of her mind and heart to

Christ, she hadn’t seen anything else clearly. She hadn’t looked.

She had known only one thing: Jesus loved her. Alex didn’t, but

the Lord did. After months of turmoil and grief, she’d felt happy.

She’d felt hopeful. In the midst of everything, she had felt safe.

Then Alex pushed back into her life, rocking her foundations

again. She’d finally adjusted to being without him; Ron stood by

in the wings waiting to walk out onto center stage. She was

working, carrying her own weight, being responsible. The children were settled in their new school, involved in the church.

Clanton had stopped fighting. Carolyn had stopped obsessing

about grades.

Why now, God? she had cried. Why couldn’t things stay the way

they were? Why couldn’t Alex just stay out of her life the way

he’d said he wanted?

But her vision had been adjusting to the light. It seemed each

day she could see life—herself—more clearly, through Scripture, prayer, and her daily walk with Jesus. She could see right

into the dusty, dirty, secret corners of her life. Christ brought

everything to light.

Painfully, vividly, she saw her part in the passion play.

Anguish filled her as she recognized past sins and present ones

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she had fallen into out of habit, hidden ones she loathed to face.

Alex wasn’t the only guilty player. She stood stripped before a

mirror, seeing herself as she had been: childish, self-centered,

filled with self-pity, casting blame, complaining.

It is better to live in the corner of a roof than in a house shared with a

contentious woman.

She was ashamed and grieved, yet oddly enough, a sense of

peace followed her self-examination. She was reminded of her

mother in the attic, the window open, the fresh air blowing in as

she dusted, swept, and sorted out trash from the treasure.

Oh, Lord Jesus, do that for me. Please. You know me better than I know

myself. Open my doors and windows and let the Holy Spirit move through

me. You are welcome in my house. Come into me, into my foyer and my

living room. Wander at will through my parlor and kitchen. Be with me in

my bedroom and bathroom. Go through every closet and every drawer,

from the basement to the attic of my life. I belong to you, Father. Stay with

me forever. Jesus, please remove everything in me that doesn’t glorify you.

Make me your vessel.

Oh, God, you are my God. I seek you. My soul hungers and thirsts for

you. My body longs for you as dry land beneath a heavy rain. Your love is

better than life.

“Are you falling in love again?” Alex said softly late that night

after they had talked for two hours.

Eyes closed, her head resting against the back of the sofa, she

smiled. “Yes.” But not with Alex—she’d never stopped loving him.

She was falling in love with Jesus.

We found our dear Koxoenis shot dead near the

banks of our stream today.

Lord, who would murder such a gentle man

who did nothing but show kindness and hospital4 3 6

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ity to others? Kavanaugh thinks Koxoenis was

badly wounded and tried to reach us for help.

Thinking of him suffering fills me with anguish.

Oh, God, that we had found him sooner.

Kavanaugh said the wound was mortal and we

could not have saved him, but we could have at

least comforted him in his last hours upon this

earth. We could have held him close and prayed

for him.

Kavanaugh carried Koxoenis to our home. We

washed him and wrapped him in a blanket and

buried him beside James.

Lord, I am so grieved. Please do not hold it

against Koxoenis that I failed to explain You to

him. I tried so hard each time he has come to

visit, but sign language leaves so much unsaid. He

did not understand me, and I did not know how

to explain. And now he is lost forever.

Father, please let me speak on his behalf.

Koxoenis was kind and generous, and obedient to

Your will. He heard Your voice that day we were

so hungry. He came to us and gave us meat. He

showed us the food You had planted all around

us. He taught Joshua how to build us a shelter so

that we were warm and dry through the cold winter months. He was our first and dearest friend,

and though he did not know You, Lord, I believe

in my heart he was your child in spirit. I have

never known a man more humble and loving.

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Please, Lord, be merciful and bring Koxoenis

into Your kingdom.

Beth and I gathered flowers today and took them

to the small knoll where James and Koxoenis lie.

But when we reached it, we found Koxoenis’s

grave empty. The cross we had made for him lay

upon the mound of fresh earth and on it was a

Pomo gift basket. It is the most beautiful thing

I have ever seen with designs woven with red,

yellow, and green feathers and small beads.

Around the rim are tiny black topknot quail

feathers.

I have placed the basket upon our mantel and

will remember our beloved friend and his people

each time I look at it.

Kavanaugh brought supplies back from the settlement near the river yesterday. Beth and I walked

to Koxoenis’s village today to bring apple pies to

his wife and children, but when we reached it,

everyone was gone. No fires were burning. No

children were playing. No smoke came from the

sweathouse. No women sat working with stone

mortar and pestle crushing acorns. The village

was deserted and desolate.

Kavanaugh said Indians move where the food

is. He thinks this village site may be their winter

home. Spring and summer must be spent else4 3 8

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where. The money beads the people wear are

made of clamshells. So I suppose the people must

spend time each year near the ocean. Perhaps

they are there.

We learned from Joshua that Koxoenis’s people ate fish, acorns, pepperwood nuts, buckeyes,

and a mixture of toasted seeds and grains ground

in a stone mortar and sifted in a basket. They

called it pinole. Now that spring is here, everything is green and growing. There must be a hundred different things to eat that we have not yet

discovered. And come summer, the berries and

wild apples will be ripe. They will taste better

than the dried ones I soaked to make the pies.

I hope we will see Koxoenis’s people again

come fall, but my heart tells me we will not be so

fortunate.

Lord, please be with them and protect them

from harm.

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“ R E D R O S E S , M O M ! ” C A R O L Y N C A L L E D F R O M

the front door. “Come see!”

Sierra came down the stairs and gasped as she saw the arrangement being brought in. “Living-room table, ma’am?” the

deliveryman said. He was young, sporting a T-shirt that said

“God spoke and BANG it was,” long black hair, and a single hoop

earring.

“Yes, that’d be fine.”

When he set the arrangement down, he gave her a saucy grin.

“Someone’s either smitten or in deeeep trouble.”

She laughed. Smitten was such an antique word for such a

modern young man. “Hang on a minute,” she said and gave him

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a ten-dollar tip. She found the card tucked in among the baby’s

breath and ferns: Happy Valentine’s Day. I love you. Alex.

Twenty-four red roses in a crystal vase.

She called him. “Thank you for the roses.”

“What do you say we take the children out tonight? Dinner

and a movie.”

She smiled. “I’d like that.”

“How about letting them sit in the front row while we sit in a

back corner and neck the way we used to?”

She laughed. “How about we all sit in the middle together?”

They had a wonderful evening together. As it turned out,

Clanton and Carolyn pleaded to sit closer to the front, and she

and Alex sat in the middle. At first Alex didn’t touch her. They

sat side by side, both staring up at the big screen with the animated Disney characters frolicking, both wound up like a couple

of two-dollar clocks. Halfway through the movie, Alex took her

hand. When she didn’t try to withdraw, he finally relaxed.

“Aren’t you going to invite him in?” Carolyn said when they

reached the condo.

“I want to show him my new game,” Clanton said as though on

cue.

Sierra looked between them and knew what her children were

hoping. How could she explain she wasn’t ready?

“Another time,” Alex said, coming to her rescue. He took a

step back.

“Mom,” Carolyn whined, her heart in her eyes.

“It’s all right, Alex,” she said. “Come on in. I’ll fix us some hot

cider while you take a look at Clanton’s game.”

She was in the kitchen putting cinnamon sticks in the cups of

steaming cider when Alex came back. “Are the children coming

down?” she said, glancing toward the stairwell.

“They’re playing a video game.”

“Carolyn?” She had never been interested before.

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He shrugged. “You look nervous.”

“I am a little,” she said, giving a self-conscious laugh. “Why

don’t we sit in the living room?” She gave him a mug of hot cider,

took one for herself, and led the way to the couch she’d recovered. She sat at the far end, curling her feet up beneath her.

Neither knew what to say to break the tension. She remembered other nights on this couch. The silence stretched along

with her nerves.

“It does get in the way, doesn’t it?” Alex said heavily.

“What?”

“Wanting you this much. Knowing you want me, too.” He

looked at her, hiding nothing.

Sierra’s heart began to drum hard. Alex set his mug of hot

cider on the hatch-cover table and stood up. She looked up at

him, afraid he’d kiss her and start something she couldn’t let him

finish. Or worse, he would leave.

His expression softened. “As much as I’d like to, I’m not going

to rush you.”

“I’m not trying to be difficult, Alex.”

“Yo sé. You’ve got to learn to trust me again.”

She looked down into her cider. “So much has happened to me

in the last year. I’ve changed in ways I don’t think you understand.” She looked at him again. “The Lord is the center of my

life, now. I can’t go back—”

“Dennis and I talked about it.”

She was surprised. “You did?” She knew Dennis wouldn’t

hold back; he’d lay out salvation one, two, three.

“I go to Mass, Sierra. I have every Sunday since I moved

here.” He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. “I figured

it was time I confessed and did penance. Dennis talks about

grace, but there’s justice, too.”

She put her mug down and stood up. “I forgive you, Alex.”

He looked at her, his eyes moist. “I knew that when you said

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you wanted to talk, but I can’t let go of it. I said vows, querida. It

doesn’t matter that they were in Reno and not in a church. I

could have been saying them in a parking lot and I still would’ve

known I was speaking before God. The last thing I ever thought

I’d do was commit adultery. And then I did. I never thought I’d

be capable of hurting you. And then I did that, too. Deliberately.

Every chance I got.”

She wanted to put her arms around him, but he moved away

slightly, putting distance between them. He was gripped with

guilt. It was eating at him. She knew that look. She also knew he

wanted to tell her something—something she wasn’t going to

like. The muscles in her stomach tightened.

No more, Lord. Please, no more.

“Father O’Shea asked if I’d had a blood test.”

Sierra could feel the blood draining from her face. She blinked.

“Yeah, you look exactly the way I felt,” he said bleakly. “That

aspect never occurred to me, either. Not until a celibate priest

brought it up. I called Elizabeth and asked some blunt questions.

She wasn’t very happy about them, but she was honest. I knew I

wasn’t her first. But I didn’t know how many. Do you know

what I’m saying, Sierra? Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“She’s been with five other men, one in high school, two during

college, one afterward, and the guy she’s marrying. She said she

didn’t think there was a chance any of them were HIV-positive,

but there’s no way of knowing, is there?” His eyes were haunted.

“I can’t stop thinking about it.” His eyes filled. “You came to me a

virgin. You never even kissed another guy before me.”

“Are you telling me you’re—?” she couldn’t finish the question.

“No. I’ve been tested four times over the past few months. All

negative, but who knows? Are we hearing the truth about this

thing?” He came to her and cupped her face. As he stroked her

cheeks, his eyes welled with tears and torment. “How do I ever

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make love to you again without wondering if I’m killing you in

the process?”

“Oh, Alex,” she whispered, putting her hand against his chest.

She felt his heart pick up speed; her own matched the rhythm.

He took her hand and removed it from him. “I almost didn’t

tell you,” he said hoarsely, “but you’ve got a right to know. It’s

something else you’re going to need to think about before you

make any decisions, isn’t it?” He moved away from her.

She knew he was heading for the door. “Alex . . .”

“I’ll call you,” he said hoarsely. Without looking back, he

opened the door and went out.

It has been three years since I wrote anything in

this journal.

We have spent our evenings reading Aunt Martha’s Bible. I found out who killed our beloved

Koxoenis and it near broke my heart. I might

never have known had I not noticed the amethyst

cross Charlotte Burrell wore to the Christmas

gathering. My heart stopped when I saw it

around her neck, and my throat closed so tight

I did not think I could draw breath let alone

speak. I was so full of anger I wanted to tear that

necklace from her throat, but You held me from

it. She asked me what was wrong. Soon as she

did I knew I could speak.

I did not ask her about the cross. Instead,

I did what You set in my mind. I told her about

our first winter in California and how we would

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surely have starved to death had it not been for

the kindness of a Pomo Indian named Koxoenis.

Lester joined us as I told Charlotte about our

dear friend. I told them how Koxoenis gave us

meat and taught us how to find food. I told them

how he welcomed Joshua into his own home

and village and taught him how to make fish

traps and build a shelter that kept us dry and

warm through the cold, wet winter months.

I said he was as near an example of God’s love

as I had ever seen in my life and a true answer

to a prayer I had said in desperation. I told them

the only gift I was ever able to give him was an

amethyst cross on a gold chain exactly like the

one Charlotte was wearing.

Lester looked sick. His face got all white and

blotchy. I thought he was going to die right

there on the spot. He said he was sorry. He said

when he saw the Indian with his bow and

arrows, he thought he was a threat and shot him.

He took the cross because he thought Koxoenis

must have killed a white settler and stolen it.

Charlotte was too ashamed to say anything. She

gave the necklace back to me and could not say

a word.

I grieve now more for Lester and Charlotte

than Koxoenis. They will live with this on their

hearts for years to come. I told them I forgive

them and You do, too. But I don’t know that it

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made them feel any the better for taking an innocent man’s life.

Oh, Lord, how many things I have done without thinking of the cost to others.

Ham has a son of his own now. I have never seen

a man so taken with a child. He sits by the crib

and watches Micah, sometimes for an hour or

more. When Micah awakens at night, Ham

brings him to bed and watches me nurse him. It is

disconcerting at times. He said just last night how

blessed a woman is. When I asked him why, he

said a woman gets to feel a child grow inside her

and, once the babe is born, she provides sustenance with her own body. No man can ever experience that.

James never in all his days talked this way.

What manner of man have you given me, Lord?

I never thought I would love a man so much my

heart would break every time I looked at him.

And it is so. I fell in love with James the first time

I saw him, yet it is this fierce and rugged man

who has grown to be a part of me. I have wondered about it much of late. I think it is because

James withheld a part of himself. Kavanaugh

gives everything. James yearned for more than

I could give. Kavanaugh is so filled up with love,

it pours out of him onto me and my children.

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James risked everything to reach his dream.

Kavanaugh would die for us. James touched me

and I burned. When Kavanaugh touches me, I see

heaven.

Lord, may I be a proper wife for him. He

deserves better.

The crops came in bountiful. As is everything.

I told Ham I am in a family way again. He was

distressed at first and asked if it was good for me

to be having another baby this soon. I could not

help but laugh. It is a little late to be worrying

about such things.

Lord, I thank You. And if You do not mind me

asking, I would like a girl this time.

Dear Lord, sometimes my heart swells so much

with love for You it closes my throat up with

pain. I am not much as children go, I know. I am

not like Mama or Aunt Martha.

Mama used to pray thank You prayers in the

meadows and sing to You. She said there are

earth psalms all around us singing praises to You

and it is nice to join in. Since I am not much good

at singing, I hope you will understand I am grateful for so many things.

Tears, a balm, soothing and cleansing. Cups, of

plenty and sorrow. Cold to make me appreciate

warmth. Manure, though I do not know if you

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will like me saying so. But Lord, when spread

over turned ground where new seeds have been

planted, it brings forth growth. Like my troubles

in my life, Lord. It was Affliction and Distress

that made me come to You and now I do not ever

want to leave.

I am thankful for the pieces of fabric the quilting club gave me—woven and designed like You

wove and designed me in my mother’s womb.

Like you designed my children. I am grateful for

our new fireplace that gives us warmth, light

drawing each of us together.

Dust! The small particles dance on the light.

Would that I could dance like that for You in

broad daylight instead of going off in the woods

because the last time I did it my children thought

I was out of my head.

I am glad for the candles so I can see to write.

You are my lamp, Lord, lighting my way out of

darkness. I am thankful for the gold nuggets

Kavanaugh brought home yesterday, pure and soft

the way my heart should be. Lord, make me so.

Thank You for the Good Water we have. It

quenches my body’s thirst and reminds me that

You are Living Water for my soul.

Even the Air I breathe, Jesus. I cannot see it,

but it is there, moving and necessary to keep me

alive. Like You. And the Flowers. I have never

seen so many colors and kinds splashed across the

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hillsides. Even Gray Skies are a good thing from

You because they make me yearn for sunlight.

Seeds show me death and resurrection.

I do not know if You approve of me saying this,

Lord, but I am grateful for the way I feel when

Kavanaugh knows me. Even with James I never

felt this explosion of fire and light inside me like

a rain of stars.

Is all this but a hint of what it will be like to be

in full communion with You, Jesus? Do You

show us the part so that we yearn for the Whole?

I remember Aunt Martha reading to me once that

to look upon the face of God would bring death.

Still, sometimes every bit of me yearns to be in

Heaven with You all the while I still want to stay

here and live to be an old dottering woman seeing

her children and grandchildren around her. I do

not understand all that is changing inside me.

Sierra held the worn journal tenderly, tears streaming down her

face. Mary Kathryn’s beautiful letter to God was the last entry in

her journal. As she had turned the last page, she’d found an envelope carefully glued inside the back binder. Inside it was a single

sheet of paper. She recognized her mother’s clear, neat script.

Dear Sierra,

We have no other journals by Mary Kathryn

McMurray in our possession. If there were others after it,

I’m sorry to say they were lost or passed along to another

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branch of the family with whom we have no contact. We

do know through family records that Mary Kathryn and

Hamlet Bogan Kavanaugh had eight children together

and lived to a healthy old age. What records we do have

come down to us through your father’s ancestor, America

Farr, Mary Kathryn’s last child by James Addison

Farr. James was your great-great-great grandfather.

Mike has all the family papers if you are interested in

looking at the details.

I love you,

Mom

P.S. I went through everything carefully, but could

find no further mention of Joshua.

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S I E R R A S A T S T A R I N G A T M A R Y K A T H R Y N ’ S

quilt. Alex hadn’t called in several days. She knew he was giving

her time to digest what he’d told her. She had thought about it. She

had taken a couple of days off work to be by herself in order to

think things through. While the children had been in school, she

had walked through the mall and sat at the coffee shop. Later, she

sat in her breakfast nook, the sun streaming in through the window, and read her Bible and prayed. No solutions came.

I wish you would put answers in neon signs, Lord. What am I supposed to do?

When she’d crawled into bed earlier, she couldn’t sleep, so

now she sat on the couch and stared up at Mary Kathryn

McMurray’s quilt.

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What would you do, Mary Kathryn? Shoot him? Forgive him and take

him back?

Sierra’s life had changed so much. She was happy with the

changes, comfortable with them. Alex would only turn her life

upside down again, not to mention the risks involved in trying to

make their marriage work. She wasn’t as worried about HIV as

Alex was. She was more worried about the emotional risks, the

fears inherent in loving him again the way she once did. Alex had

been the center of her universe.

Jesus, you are my center now. Is Alex going to be happy with the

changes in me?

They had barely brushed the subject of faith during their long

evening discussions. Truly, she had been afraid to broach the

subject with him. Church attendance had never been part of

their routine other than to attend Mass with his parents on special occasions. Did Alex understand how important Jesus was to

her now, that she needed the Lord more than she needed him?

She wanted Alex. She wanted him to share her life completely. If

she knew Christ had no place in his life, how could she reconcile

with him without compromising her new faith?

I lived with him thirteen years, Lord, and I don’t know what he believes.

Truth to tell, I don’t know much about the inner workings of his heart. It

was always my own that mattered.

Oh, God, why are we so proud and foolish? We don’t listen until we’re

faced with disaster, and then we come crying home to you, wanting you to

fix us! I love him, Father, but is this kind of love enough to make our

marriage work? We have so little in common. I never realized until now.

We come from different cultures, different social backgrounds, different

religions. He’s brilliant and I’m average. He graduated from college with

honors, and I managed to get out of high school and take a few business

courses. He likes ultramodern, and I like antiques and sunflowers and

lace. Lord, he likes ’70s music, and I’m sick to death of it. When I think

about all of this, my head reels. I wonder how we ever lasted as long as we

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did. Great sex. Was that it? Was it passion for one another that held us

together, Lord?

A flush ran up her cheeks, and she caught her thoughts. Was it

proper to talk with Jesus about such things? If not, she hoped he

would forgive her, but there was no one else she could go to, no

one who would understand her from the inside out. Who else

could do that but the one who created her?

As she prayed and talked with God, she struggled with all the

questions. Had she caused her own downfall by living in a fantasy world, never being willing to see who Alex really was? Was

that why their marriage had worked as long as it had?

Was that it, Lord? I still ache when I see him. I’m a Christian now, and

I still ache for him. I love you, Jesus. Everything’s changed, not the least of

which is me. And still I love him.

Lord, what do I do? What’s your will for me in all this?

She leaned her head back against the sofa and looked up at the

quilt.

And then it dawned on her. A flash of insight from out of nowhere, from within her. And with it, God’s quiet loving voice.

Be still, beloved. And know that I am God.

She blinked, amazed, overwhelmed. It was right there before

her eyes, only she had been blind to it. The message her mother

had said would come had finally arrived. Sitting forward slowly,

Sierra studied the quilt—and understood.

“One day it will come to you like a star bursting in the heavens. And

what a day that will be!”

Sierra stood and went to the quilt, smiling in wonder, her fingers tracing the scarlet thread that held all the pieces together

and made them a whole incredibly beautiful work of art. “Oh,

Lord . . . ,” she whispered brokenly. How could she have been so

blind?

Who am I, beloved?

“You are God. Almighty God.”

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Sierra wept with joy as enlightenment sang in her very blood.

Responding to an impulse, she called Alex.

“Sierra,” he said hoarsely. “What’s wrong, querida?”

She had awakened him. Glancing at the kitchen wall clock,

she grimaced. She hadn’t even thought about the time. “Nothing.

The children are fine. I’m fine.”

“Something’s happened. What is it?”

Should she tell him to go back to sleep? Her heart was racing,

her soul singing praises to the Lord. “Can you come over?”

“Sí.” He didn’t even ask what time it was. After she hung up,

she raked her hands through her hair. One-fifteen in the morning! What must he be thinking? Embarrassed, she called him

back to apologize and tell him her discovery could wait until

morning.

Maybe it should wait until she’d had more time to think.

Would he understand if she even tried to explain now in the feverish excitement of discovery? Doubts crept in. Maybe she was

overreacting. Maybe she was getting overemotional. Maybe her

imagination was running rampant.

O Lord. O Lord.

Alex didn’t answer. Before she hung up, there was a tap on the

door.

Taking a deep breath, Sierra opened it. Her heart turned over

at the sight of her husband. He had pulled on his old sweats and

stood barefoot, his dark hair disheveled. He looked worried.

“I’m sorry, Alex. I didn’t even look to see what time it was.”

“I’m awake now,” he said coming inside.

“You’ll think I’m crazy, but there’s something I want to show

you.”

O God, let him see. Let him understand. Help us! Be the glue that holds

us together this time.

Alex followed her into the living room, looking around for

something out of place. No earthquake had happened. No ceil4 5 6

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ing falling in on her. Nothing unusual. He looked at her, bemused, questioning.

She looked up at the quilt. “The question’s never been whether,

but when,” she said, more to herself than to him.

“When what?”

She smiled at him. “It says that every knee will bow and every

tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord. So the question is

do we relinquish everything to the Lord, or do we make him strip

us bare before we understand he’s in control.”

Alex shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,

querida.”

“Sit down with me, please, Alex. I have something very important to ask you.” She turned to face him as they sat together on

the couch. “This is the most important question I’ll ever ask you.

Who is Jesus to you?”

Surprised, he searched her eyes. “God the Son, Creator,

Father, Savior.”

Her eyes welled with thankful tears. “So you do believe.”

“Sí, amor mío. Since I was a little boy. I never wanted to make

an issue of it with you. Your family . . . mine . . . impossible . . . yo

comprendo. And then, when I walked away from you, I figured I’d

walked away from him as well. I didn’t think he would forgive

me, that he could—”

His voice broke, and Sierra felt her throat tighten with tears at

the depth of his despair. He met her eyes. “But he has, querida.

Dennis helped me see that. God has forgiven me—he has restored me to himself. And that’s why I won’t give up on us. If he

can forgive, he can help us to do the same.”

Relief swept through her, and joy as well. She looked up at the

quilt. “Almighty God, Creator, Master. He’s the Alpha and

Omega. Mary Kathryn McMurray came to understand. She

made that quilt so others would see as well. I was just so blind.”

Oh, the wonder of it all.

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Alex touched her, a mere brush of his fingers, tentative, comforting. “Why are you crying?”

“Because he’s sovereign, Alex. I guess I just didn’t understand

what it meant. I’ve been turning things over and around and inside out, trying to decide how to fix things, how to make them

right, how to make sure everything would work the way it’s supposed to work. And then tonight, as I was looking at the quilt, I

realized I’m not in control at all. God is. He always has been. He

is Almighty God.”

She looked up at Mary Kathryn’s quilt. “She knew, Alex. It

took heartache and tragedy for her eyes to be finally opened, but

in the end, she knew. And she put it there in her quilt for all to see

who had the eyes to do so.”

I am so much like her, Lord. Stubborn, stiff-necked, and you have loved

me through everything. Thank you for your patience with me.

Alex looked at the quilt, frowning. When he looked back at

her again, Sierra could see he wondered if she’d taken leave of

her senses. She got up and went to the quilt.

“I noticed the scarlet thread the first time Mom and I took the

quilt out of the old trunk in the attic. I just didn’t understand until

this evening why Mary Kathryn picked that color. Do you see how

it stands out? Do you see how it holds all the pieces together, Alex?

Mary Kathryn made each square separately over a period of years.

Each shows something significant that happened to her: tragedies,

births, changes in her life, upheavals. And here at the end, the stone

wall with that red cord hanging from the window opening. I never

understood that.” She stood before the quilt, tracing a portion of

embroidered grape leaves and grapes. Shaking her head, she

turned and looked at him, her heart full of love.

“I read her journal, the whole thing, several times, and I never

understood why she made that wall as her last square. There was

never a mention of a wall in her journal. Tonight, I understood.

It’s Rahab’s wall.”

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“Rahab?”

“Rahab, the prostitute who hid the Israelite spies who came to

Jericho. Moses had died, and the Israelites entered Canaan to

take possession of the Promised Land. Joshua sent spies to Jericho, and Rahab took them in. She was a prostitute who had lived

a life of sin and disobedience, and yet, in that moment, she risked

her life to protect those men and hide them from the ones looking

for them because she believed in their God. She had faith, and

she acted upon it. The spies told her to hang a scarlet cord in her

window, and though everyone else in Jericho would be put to

the sword, no one in her house would perish. And they kept their

word. She married Salmon and is named in the lineage of Jesus

Christ.”

She looked up at the quilt again. “But it’s more than that, too.

Scarlet is for Jesus and his death on the cross. Scarlet is for the

blood he shed for us so that we could be redeemed. He was there

in the beginning of it all. Faith is the key.”

“Scarlet for her faith, you mean?”

“No, not her faith. Mary Kathryn contended with God. Early

in her journal, she was angry and rejected him. After that, she

scarcely mentioned him in a good light—not until much later.

She wasn’t faithful at all. In a sense, she was like Rahab, prostituting herself to other gods in a foreign land. Her home and land

mattered more than anything. Then it was her husband and her

children. And with each loss she suffered, God was there with

her. She didn’t understand that until the end. That’s what the

scarlet thread signifies. That’s why the wall is her last block. The

window is open, and the scarlet cord flowing out and upward,

tying it all together. God was there with her throughout her life.

He brought her through.”

She laughed softly, filled with relief and joy. “Look at the

stitches, Alex. Grape leaves and grapes, chains, doves, crosses,

olive branches—so much skill and beauty. When she quilted this

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wall, she did it with a passionate love for her Savior. She realized

everything that had happened to her was through God’s will.

She finally surrendered. She believed. And because she did, God

opened her eyes so that she could look back and see how he had

been intimately involved through everything. Death. Birth. Fire.

Disinheritance. Love. Betrayal. Loss. God allowed her to go

through all those things so that she would come to him. Once she

did, she saw the wonder of all of it.”

She came back and sat down with Alex again. “The things that

happen in our lives are allowed to happen because the Lord

wants to draw us to him. We make decisions and do things,

thinking we’re in control, but we never really are. God is. It’s

arrogance and pride to think we rule our lives. It’s an illusion.

We’re never able to orchestrate a thing. God is in control.”

She put her hand on his knee. “I thought you were in control of

my life, Alex. When you moved me to Southern California, I felt

powerless. I was angry and frightened. I rebelled. I didn’t even

think about turning to the Lord. I turned to friends, and their

lives were in shambles. I turned to my mother, and then she was

taken away from me. I wanted to turn back to you, but then you

were gone, too. God finally got through to me on the Hollywood

Freeway.” She laughed through her tears. “Sacred ground for

me was a strip of macadam in Los Angeles County.”

He brushed the tears lightly from her cheek, his eyes tender.

She wanted more than anything for him to understand. “Oh, Alex,

don’t you see? I never would’ve needed Jesus if I’d had any control at all. Everything that’s happened—all the pain—he’s turned

to good. It’s served his purpose. It brought me to him.”

His dark eyes softened. “I saw the change in you.” He cupped

her cheek tenderly. “I was a fool to leave you.”

She covered his hand with her own. “Had you not left me,

Alex, the change would never have come. I thank God for all of

it. I thank him with every ounce of my being, Alex. All the pain

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was blessing. I didn’t fall in love with you by chance. It was

God’s design. I know now he draws us to him, all through our

lives. If we let him. Some of us are just so stubborn it takes a long

time to see his will at work.” Some never do, do they, Lord?

She held his hand between hers and searched his eyes. “Jesus

is at the very heart of who I am now, Alex. I can’t go back.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to give him up, querida. I only ask you to

allow me in.”

Sierra’s heart melted. God had given her this man for a purpose. She had married Alex as an untried girl, head over heels in

love. She was still married to him, still in love with him. The difference now was that she was one with Christ, wed to Almighty

God. And with God all things were possible.

“We haven’t anything in common really, have we?” she said

softly. “Except Jesus. He’s our common ground, Alex. He

brought us together, and he’ll hold us together if we make him

our foundation. I don’t need to worry about the what-ifs anymore. I don’t need to have an answer to everything. I don’t have

to have everything worked out perfectly in my mind before I can

start over. Neither do you, beloved. We just need to draw closer

to Jesus. We need to trust in his plan for us. We need to learn

from him. And we need to step out in faith and begin.”

She touched his cheek tenderly, feeling the firm line of his jaw.

“Oh, my love, if we make drawing closer to Jesus our goal in life,

how can we not draw closer to one another at the same time?”

Covering her hand, Alex turned his head and kissed her palm.

“Mi querida, te amo muchísimo. You are so beautiful to me, mi

amor.” His dark eyes were flooded with tears. “I am sorry for the

pain I caused you.”

“And I you, Alejandro.”

Oh, God, forgive me for the pain I caused you with my stubbornness.

I love you, Jesus.

She went into Alex’s arms naturally, leaning her head against

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his chest. She could hear the steady, rapid beat of his heart. “We

still have a lot to work out.”

“I’ll get rid of the black couch.”

She laughed and breathed in the beloved scent of his body,

familiar and heady.

Oh, my love. Be like a gazelle on the mountains of spices. I have awak-

ened. Be with us, Lord. Make this a love triangle, a sacred one to last a life-

time and beyond.

Alex drew back slightly. “First things first.” Releasing her, he

pulled the gold chain with the crucifix his mother had given him

and her wedding ring from beneath his sweatshirt. Opening the

clasp, he let the two slide into the palm of his hand. He looked at

her then, the question clear in his eyes. He was taking nothing

for granted this time.

Smiling, Sierra held out her left hand.

“Dios, te doy mi gracias y mi vida,” he whispered in relief and

thanksgiving. The tension fell away, and joy leaped into his dark

eyes as he slipped the gold wedding band back on her finger.

Taking her hand, he stood.

Fourteen years ago, they had faced one another as they did

now, the future before them. Cupping her face, Alejandro Luís

Madrid kissed Sierra Clanton Madrid reverently, before the

Lord.

“May no man or woman put asunder what God has joined together,” he murmured.

Sliding her arms around his neck, she kissed him back.

Oh, Father, we rejoice in you. We praise your name!

Mold us and make us one with you.

4 6 2

Discussion Questions

Dear Reader,

We hope you have enjoyed this timeless story of family

relationships and God’s faithfulness. His faithfulness in our

failures, his healing in our brokenness, and his timing in restoration.

Tattered and torn scraps of cloth may seem worthless to

the onlooker, yet when sewn together by loving hands and

embellished with shiny thread they become a treasured heirloom. So it is with our families and our lives. What we see as

brokenness, failures, and hopelessness, God uses to refine us.

He weaves the shiny scarlet thread of his love to develop our

faith in him. “For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created

us anew in Christ Jesus, so that we can do the good things he

planned for us long ago” (Ephesians 2:10).

May the following discussion guide help you see the scarlet

thread God is weaving into your life to make you fit for eternity.

Sincerely,

Peggy Lynch

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D I S C U S S I O N

Q U E S T I O N S

1.

In your opinion, what was the cause/causes for the family

problems Sierra and Alex were having? How did Sierra

and Alex contribute to their own problems? What efforts

were made to resolve their differences?

2.

Compare Sierra and Mary Kathryn. How are they similar?

different? How did their communication skills affect their

relationships?

3.

How do you rate your own communication skills?

“Some people make cutting remarks, but the words of the wise bring

healing.” PROVERBS 12:18

“Everyone enjoys a fitting reply; it is wonderful to say the right

thing at the right time!” PROVERBS 15:23

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4.

Contrast Alex with James. What self-perceived

inadequacies did they operate under? How did this

thinking affect their decisions and choices?

5.

What perceived inadequacies motivate your decisions?

“Fearing people is a dangerous trap, but to trust the Lord means

safety.” PROVERBS 29:25

“Fire tests the purity of silver and gold, but the Lord tests the

heart.” PROVERBS 17:3

6.

In what ways are Ron Peirozo and Kavanaugh alike?

How are they different from Alex and James? Why are

they appealing?

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“It is better to be patient than powerful; it is better to have

self-control than to conquer a city.” PROVERBS 16:32

“Pride ends in humiliation, while humility brings honor.”

PROVERBS 29:23

7.

Who did God use to get Sierra’s attention? How did she

respond? Who did God use with Mary Kathryn and what

was her response?

8.

How has God used people in your life to draw you to

himself? What actions did you take in response?

“A friend is always loyal, and a brother is born to help in time

of need.” PROVERBS 17:17

“When you bow down before the Lord and admit your dependence

on him, he will lift you up and give you honor.” JAMES 4:10

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9.

Discuss God’s faithfulness to Alex and Sierra. In what

ways did God demonstrate his faithfulness to Mary

Kathryn and Kavanaugh?

10.

As you look back over your life, how has God been

drawing you to himself? In the midst of failures or

brokenness, how has he been faithful to you? Can you

see his scarlet thread of love making you fit for eternity?

“Remember, O Lord, your unfailing love and compassion, which

you have shown from long ages past.” PSALM 25:6

“And we know that God causes everything to work together for the

good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose

for them. For God knew his people in advance, . . . And having

chosen them, he called them to come to him.” ROMANS 8:28-30

4 6 8

Turn the page

for an exciting excerpt

from Francine Rivers’s

classic novel

The Atonement Child.

ISBN 0-8423-0052-X

Available now

at a bookstore near you.

The Atonement Child

It was on a cold January night when the unthinkable, unpardonable happened.

The evening had gone as usual for Dynah Carey as she served

food at the Stanton Manor House, a retirement home established

for Middleton’s city employees. She enjoyed her work, often

talking animatedly with the elderly patrons who came down

from their small apartments for communal meals in the basement

cafeteria. Sally Wentworth was a great cook and planned a varied menu. The only complaint Dynah had heard in five months

on the job was how much food there was left over. Most of the

people who lived at the Manor had come through the depression

years and hated to see waste.

The rest of the diners had left for the evening, all but Mr.

Packard, who was taking his time sipping his cup of decaf. “Your

car still in the shop, Dynah?”

“Yes, sir. They’re still waiting for a part to come in.”

“Thought it was supposed to be fixed yesterday.”

“I guess there was some kind of delay,” she said with a shrug.

She wasn’t worried about it.

“Is that young man of yours going to come pick you up tonight?” he said, watching Dynah fill the saltshakers.

She smiled at him as she moved on to the next table. “Not this

evening, Mr. Packard. He’s teaching a Bible study.”

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“Maybe Sally can take you home.”

“It’s not far to the bus stop.”

“A mile at least, and a pretty girl like you shouldn’t be out on

her own after dark.”

“I’m always careful.”

“Careful isn’t always good enough these days. I’ve gotten so I

hate reading the newspaper. Time was you could walk from one

end of town to the other without worrying.” He shook his head

sadly. “Now the town’s gotten so big you don’t know anybody

anymore. People coming and going all the time. You never know

who’s living next door. Could be Pollyanna or Son of Sam.

Houses spreading all over tarnation, and no plan to the way it’s

sprawling. I remember when I was a boy, we knew everybody.

We left our doors unlocked. Never had to be afraid. I don’t know

what the world’s coming to these days. Makes me glad I’m almost to the end of my life. When I was growing up, we used to sit

outside on the front porch and talk. Neighbors would come by

and have lemonade. Those were good times. Now nobody has

time for anything. They don’t even build porches on houses anymore. Everybody’s inside watching television and not saying

much of anything to anybody.”

Dynah stayed close, responding to the ache of loneliness she

heard in his words and voice. He wasn’t whining. He was grieving. His wife had passed away four months before. The family

had gathered around him long enough for the memorial service

and then scattered across the States again. His two sons lived on

the West Coast, too far away to make frequent visits. His daughter lived in Indiana but called him every Sunday. Sundays were

good days for Mr. Packard.

Tonight was Wednesday.

“I miss Trooper,” he said quietly. He smiled wistfully. “I used

to call Freda ‘Trooper.’”

Mr. Packard told Dynah how he had come up with the nick4 7 2

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name just after World War II. He had fought in the Pacific two

years before being blown off a transport. He landed in a field

hospital where he spent another three months before he was

shipped stateside.

“While I was away, Freda had our son and managed a

part-time job. When my father got sick with cancer, she quit and

stepped into his shoes to help my mother run the family grocery

store. My Freda was a home-front soldier.” His expression softened in memory, his eyes glistening with tears. “So I called her

‘Trooper,’ and it stuck.”

“We have to close down, Dynah!” Sally said from behind the

counter. She said it loudly enough so that poor Mr. Packard

would hear. Dynah looked at his face and wanted to weep.

Taking the hint, the old man got up. “Everybody’s in a hurry

these days,” he said with a glance toward the kitchen. Then his

eyes came to rest on her again.“Good night, Dynah. You be careful out there tonight.”

“I will, sir,” she said with a fond smile, touching his shoulder as

he passed. “Try not to worry.”

Juan Garcia began putting chairs upside down on the tables.

Gathering Mr. Packard’s spoon, cup, and saucer, Dynah

watched the old man walk stiffly across the room. His arthritis

was troubling him again.

“I didn’t mean to break up your little chat,” Sally said as

Dynah put the things into the big industrial dishwasher and

pulled the door down. “Some of these old people could talk until

your hair turned gray.” She took her sweater from the hook on

the wall. “They’ve got no place to go and nothing to do.”

“He misses his wife,” Dynah said and thought about following

Mr. Packard’s suggestion and asking Sally for a ride.

“I know. I miss my husband. I miss my kids. You miss your

handsome fiancé.” She dumped her shoulder bag onto the counter and shrugged into her sweater and parka. “And as Scarlett

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O’Hara always said, ‘Tomorrow is another day.’” Picking up

her bag, she said a brisk good-night and headed for the back

door.

Sally seemed in such a hurry, Dynah didn’t want to impose

upon her. Besides, it wasn’t that far to the bus stop, and there

were plenty of streetlights along the way. Getting her backpack

from the storage room, Dynah slipped off her rubber-soled

white shoes and pulled on her snow boots. Zipping the shoes into

the backpack, she said good night to Juan. Crossing the dining

room, she went into the lobby that opened out onto the back

parking lot. Sally had already turned the lights down for the

night. There was only the soft glow of security lights and the

bright lights behind Dynah where Juan was getting ready to

wash and wax the floors.

Pulling on her parka, Dynah went to the back door.

The idea that she needed to be concerned hadn’t ever crossed

her mind before. The Manor wasn’t exactly a center of crime.

The worst thing that had happened was someone’s spray painting graffiti on the walls three months ago. The manager had

painted over the bubble letters and numbers by the next afternoon, and the police increased the number of times they drove by

each evening. The vandals hadn’t returned.

Pushing the door open, Dynah stepped outside. The air was

crisp; the snow from last week’s fall was packed hard and dingy.

Her breath puffed white in the stillness. She heard the lock click

behind her and shivered slightly. She zipped her parka up to her

neck and looked around. Maybe it was Mr. Packard’s warning

that made her edgy. There was nothing else to bother her. It was

an evening like any other, no darker, no colder.

There were shadows all around, but nothing unfamiliar or

threatening as she walked down the wheelchair ramp. She took

her usual path through the back parking lot to Maple Street. It

was only a few blocks down to Main, another eight to Sycamore,

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and a few more to Sixteenth where she caught the bus. It only

took fifteen minutes to reach her stop at Henderson. From there

it was seven blocks to the dorm.

Dynah glanced at her wristwatch. Nine-thirty. Janet Wells,

her roommate, would be in the library studying late tonight.

Janet always left things till the last minute and then aced every

exam. Dynah smiled to herself, wishing she were that fortunate.

She had to study all term long to pull grades high enough to keep

her scholarship.

Relaxing as she walked, Dynah enjoyed the clear night. She

had always liked this street with its turn-of-the-century houses.

She could imagine people sitting on their front porches in the

summertime, sipping lemonade just the way Mr. Packard remembered. Like something out of a movie. It was a life far removed from the way she had grown up on Ocean Avenue in San

Francisco—and yet similar as well.

Looking back, she realized how she had been protected by her

parents and cloistered in home schooling. In many ways, she had

led an idyllic life with few bumps and twists in the road. Of

course, there had been times when she had been curious to know

what lay beyond the hedges her parents had planted around her.

When she asked, they explained, and she complied. She loved

and respected them too much to do otherwise.

Her mom and dad had been Christians forever. She couldn’t

remember a time when they hadn’t been involved in the church

or some community service project. Her mother sang in the choir

and led Sunday morning Bible studies. Dynah had grown up

surrounded by love, protected and guided every step of the way,

right up to the doors of New Life College. And now it seemed her

life would continue that way, with Ethan Goodson Turner at the

reins.

Not that I am complaining, Lord. I am thankful, so thankful. You have

blessed me with the parents I have and the man I’m going to marry. Every-

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where I look, I see your blessings. The world is a beautiful place, up to the

very stars in the heavens.

Lord, would you please give poor old Mr. Packard a portion of the hope

and joy I feel? He needs you. And Sally, Lord. She’s always fretting about

something and always in a hurry. She has so little joy in her life. And

Juan said tonight one of his children is sick, Father. Pedro, the little one.

Juan can’t afford insurance and—

A car passed slowly.

Dynah noticed a Massachusetts plate before the vehicle sped

up. The red taillights were like a pair of red eyes staring back at

her as the station wagon went down the street, then squealed

onto Sycamore. Frowning slightly, she watched it disappear.

Odd.

Her thoughts wandered again as she walked more slowly past

her favorite house. It was two doors from Sycamore, a big Victorian with a porch around the front. The lights were on behind the

Nottingham lace curtains. The front door was heavy mahogany

with small leaded panes of glass and stained glass at the top. The

pattern was a sunburst of golds and yellows.

It would be nice to live on a shady street like this one, in a big

house, complete with a trimmed lawn, a flower garden in the

front, and a yard in the back with a swing and a sandbox for the

children. She smiled at her dreaming. Ethan would probably be

offered a church in a big city like Los Angeles or Chicago or New

York. A man with his talents for preaching wouldn’t end up in a

small college town in the Midwest.

She couldn’t believe a young man like Ethan would look twice

at her, let alone fall in love and ask her to marry him. He said he

knew the day he met her that God meant her to be his wife.

She wouldn’t have met him at all if her parents hadn’t insisted

she visit New Life College. She had already decided on a college

in California. When they mentioned NLC, she declined, convinced the cost and distance should eliminate it. They assured

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her they had planned for the first, and the second would be good

for her. They wanted her to become more independent, and attending college in Illinois was a good way to accomplish that. Besides, her grades were good enough that she could receive

scholarships.

Dynah smiled about it now. Her parents had never been subtle in what they wanted for her. Her mother had left pamphlets

of a dozen Christian colleges scattered about the house to tweak

her curiosity. Each had been opened to beautiful, idyllic places

with stretches of lawn lined with manicured gardens. NLC had a

quad with six majestic brick and white-columned buildings, two

to the east, two to the west, one on the north and a church to the

south. But what appealed most to Dynah were the wonderful

young, smiling faces of the students.

There had never been any question that she would end up at a

Christian college. Where better to learn how to serve the Lord

than in an environment centered on Christ? Yet, the Midwest

had seemed so far from home she had dismissed it.

While completing her final year of work for her high school diploma, she sent out a dozen applications and received as many

acceptance letters. She narrowed it down to four possibilities,

dismissing all those outside the state. Her father suggested she

and her mother take a trip to southern California and see the

three campuses that were there. After visiting one in San Jose,

she contacted the others and made appointments with the dean

of admissions to discuss programs and scholarships.

While she was gone, her father had contacted four colleges he

thought “good enough” for his daughter. One was in Pennsylvania, one in Indiana, and two in Illinois. One sent a video. Two

had students call and talk with her about the campus, activities,

and curriculum. The last was New Life College. They sent a catalog and an invitation to come and take a firsthand look at what

they had to offer.

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She thought it preposterous and a terrible waste of her parents’ money, but her father insisted she go. “You have to learn to

fly sometime.”

It was the first time she had gone anywhere without her parents or a church group. All the arrangements had been made by

the college beforehand, so she had the safety net of knowing she

wouldn’t be on her own long. A student would meet her at the

airport and bring her to the campus where she would spend two

days with a personal guide.

Dynah smiled as she remembered her reaction when she first

saw Ethan with a sign bearing her name. She thought he was the

most gorgeous young man she had ever seen. Her mother had

told her the college would probably send a nice young man to

meet her and drive her to the college. She hadn’t expected someone who looked like he belonged in the movies. She was completely flustered and tongue-tied, but by the time they were

halfway to the campus, he had put her so much at ease that she

had shared her Ocean Avenue life with him. By the end of the

trip, she knew Ethan didn’t just look good, he was good. He was

on fire for the Lord, ambitious for godly service, and filled with

ideas about ministry.

“My father’s a pastor, and his father before him,” he told her.

“My great-grandfather was a circuit rider for the gospel. I’m following in their footsteps.”

By the time they drove beneath the brick arch to the NLC

campus, she was convinced Ethan Goodson Turner would be

the next Billy Graham.

Upon their arrival at the women’s dorm, Ethan introduced her

to Charlotte Hale, a music major from Alabama. Charlotte was

vibrant and full of southern charm and hospitality. A senior

graduating in June, she had already made plans to go with a mission group to Mexico and present the gospel in music and drama.

Over the next two days, every minute was taken up seeing the

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campus, especially the departments in which Dynah was most

interested: music and education. She heard about various programs, scholarships, and activities and met dozens of people.

Charlotte seemed to know everyone and introduced Dynah to

them all. She met professors and students, the deans, the manager of the bookstore, and even two of the gardeners who kept

up the grounds. Dynah loved every minute of her stay.

On Saturday evening, to her surprise and delight, Ethan

joined them for dinner at the mess hall. She blushed when he sat

down. He lingered until a girl came over and asked if he was going to an evening Bible study.

“Half the girls on campus wish they could marry him,” Charlotte had remarked, watching him walk away.

“I’m not surprised,” Dynah had said, remembering how embarrassed she had been for daydreaming about just that during

the drive from the airport.

Charlotte had looked at her then, straight on, and smiled.

“You should come back. He’ll be a senior next year.”

She hadn’t dissembled. “Are you suggesting I join his legion of

admirers?”

Charlotte laughed. She didn’t say anything about Ethan after

that, but it was clear she had done her best to plant a seed for

thought.

They hadn’t been back at the dorm fifteen minutes when

Ethan called. He told Dynah he would be picking her up and

taking her back to the airport. She thanked him and said she

would be ready. By morning, Dynah had decided against coming back to NLC because of Ethan. If she was infatuated after a

few days, she knew she would be head over heels in love if she

saw him every day of the year. And NLC wasn’t so big a campus that she could miss him. No, she didn’t want to become one

of the legion, and she held no false hopes of becoming his

choice.

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She smiled now, thinking of it, feeling his engagement ring on

her finger with the back of her thumb. She had been so nervous

on the drive back to O’Hare. She had told Ethan he could drop

her off in front of the Delta terminal, but he had insisted he

would accompany her inside. He parked, took her carry-on, and

stayed with her. When they got inside the terminal, he stood with

her in line as she got her boarding pass. Then he sat with her in

the gate area. She had been so embarrassed, she wanted to crawl

under the seat.

“I know I haven’t seen much of the world, Ethan, but I don’t

need baby-sitting,” she had said, trying to laugh off his concerns.

“I know that,” he said quietly.

“I don’t need a bodyguard, either.”

He looked at her, and she felt foolish and young, too young for

him. There had been such an intensity in his eyes that she had

blushed.

“Come back to NLC, Dynah.”

It had sounded like a command. She smiled. “Do you have to

meet a quota?”

“God wants you here.”

He sounded so serious, so certain, she had to ask. “How do

you know?” Surely, if God wanted her at NLC, God would tell

her.

“I just know, Dynah. I knew the minute I saw you.”

Looking into his blue eyes, she decided not to dismiss what he

said. In truth, she wanted to believe him. She wanted to see

Ethan Turner again, and the thought that he wanted the same

thing was heady incentive indeed.

“Will you pray about it?”

She nodded, knowing she would be doing little else.

She didn’t hear one word from Ethan through spring and summer, but five minutes after she walked into the gymnasium for

registration that fall, he came up to her and put his hand on her

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shoulder as though staking public claim to her. The first thing he

did was introduce her to Joseph Guilierno, his best friend and

roommate.

Joe was a surprise. He didn’t appear to fit the NLC mold but

looked more like the many young men she had seen around San

Francisco on excursions with her parents. Tall, dark-eyed,

strongly built, Joe looked street-tough and older than Ethan.

Not so much in years as worldly experience.

“No wonder,” Joe said cryptically and extended his hand. His

fingers curved around hers firmly as he smiled. Three months

later, after she was wearing an engagement ring, Joe told her

that Ethan had come back to their apartment the day he picked

her up at the airport and said he had met the girl he was going to

marry.

“I asked him if he had consulted God, and Ethan said it was

God who put it in his head.”

Smiling again now as she had when Joe first told her that,

Dynah reached the corner of Sixteenth. She let her mind drift

along rosy avenues. Ethan had a wonderful future laid out for

them. He would graduate with honors at the end of the year.

Dean Abernathy was very impressed with his work and was encouraging him to go on for his master’s. The dean had already

arranged for Ethan to work part time at one of the local

churches. Dynah would be able to finish her education as well.

Ethan was adamant that she get her degree, convinced that her

studies in music and youth ministry would be of great use in his

ministry.

She felt so blessed. They would be equally yoked, working together for the glory of God. What more could she want?

Oh, Lord, you are so good to me. I will do anything for you. All I am, all

I ever hope to be, is from you, Father. Use me as you will.

A car pulled up alongside her and slowed to her pace. Her

heart jumped as she noticed it looked like the same one that had

4 8 1

F r a n c i n e R i v e r s

passed her on Maple Street. Her nerves tensed as the window

lowered and a disembodied male voice said, “Are you going to

the campus, miss?”

“Yes, I am,” she said before she thought better of it.

“I can give you a lift.”

“No, thank you.”

“I’m going there myself. Visiting my brother. Unfortunately,

I’m lost. First time in town. He lives near the main gate of the

campus.”

She relaxed and stepped closer. Leaning down, she pointed.

“Go down a mile to Henderson and turn right. Keep going, and

you’ll run right into it. It’s a block past the city park.” She

couldn’t see the man’s face.

“If I give you a ride, you could show me.”

A strange foreboding gripped her. “No, thank you,” she said

politely and took a step back. She didn’t want to offend the man.

What excuse could she offer? She looked toward the bus stop

where a woman was sitting and found an excuse. “I’m meeting a

friend.”

“Sure. Thanks for the directions,” the man said, sounding far

less friendly. The window whirred up. As he drove on down Sixteenth, she saw the car bore the same Massachusetts plates. The

two red taillights stared back at her as the car passed the bus

stop.

Shivering, she walked on. She recognized the waitress sitting

on the bench. “Hi, Martha. How are you this evening?”

“So-so. My feet are killing me. Was someone trying to pick

you up back there?”

“Not really. He was lost.”

“Yeah, right. That’s his story.”

“He was looking for the campus.”

“I hope you told him where to go.”

“I gave him directions.”

4 8 2

T H E

A T O N E M E N T

C H I L D

Martha laughed. “I’m sure you didn’t give him the ones I

would’ve given him.”

They talked about their jobs until the bus arrived. Martha

climbed aboard first and moved to her usual place near the back,

where she could read her romance novel uninterrupted. Dynah

took a seat at the front, across from the driver.

Her first day aboard, she had noticed the pins on the lapel of

Charles’s neat uniform jacket. When she asked what they were, he

said he had one to show for each five-year period he had driven

without an accident. After a few weeks of riding with him, Dynah

had gone to a trophy store and had a plaque made up for him that

said, “In honor of distinguished service to Middleton, Charles

Booker Washington is awarded the title of Driver Emeritus.” He

had laughed when he opened it, but it was now proudly displayed

next to the No Smoking sign at the front of the bus.

“How’s things, Charlie?”

He grinned at her as he hit the button to close the door. “Pretty

good now you’re aboard. Missed your sunny smile last night.”

“Ethan picked me up.”

“He driving a Cadillac yet?”

She laughed. “No, sir. Still has his Buick.” She leaned forward

in the seat and rested her arms on the iron railing.

Charlie nodded. “When he gets a church, he’ll get his Cad. We

don’t let our preachers drive anything else. Treat ’em good.”

“I noticed.” When she had gone to Charlie’s church, she had

seen the new maroon Cadillac parked in the “Reserved for Pastor” space. She had enjoyed herself so much at the service, she

pleaded with Ethan to go back with her. He had gone once,

grudgingly, but had refused to attend with her again. He said the

service was a little “too lively” for his tastes. He hadn’t felt comfortable with the loud gospel music pouring from the choir, nor

with the way the members of the congregation interjected their

remarks during the pastor’s sermon.

4 8 3

F r a n c i n e R i v e r s

“It felt irreverent.”

She hadn’t shared his discomfort, though the service had been

far from the kind of service to which she was accustomed. She felt

the Spirit moving in that church. The members celebrated their

love for Jesus and for each other. She had enjoyed the experience.

Something about it had stirred her. The pastor had preached

straight from the Word, and the people made sure he knew his

points were sinking in. However, Dynah didn’t argue with

Ethan’s assessment. She had learned early that he took his role as

the spiritual head of their relationship to heart. She also knew he

had been brought up in a conservative denomination who showed

their zeal in other ways. His parents, like her mother and father,

were deeply involved in community action and charities.

She and Charlie talked about all manner of things. He had

been driving a Middleton city bus since before she was born and

had learned a lot about human nature. He didn’t mind sharing

what he knew.

Tonight, Mr. Packard was on Dynah’s mind.

“I know the Packards,” Charlie said. “He and his wife used to

get on the bus every Tuesday and ride it to the end of the line.

Good people. I read she passed on. Too bad. She was a nice

lady.”

“Maybe I could tell him you miss seeing him.”

“You do that, girl. Maybe I’ll drop by and see him myself. Between the two of us, we might get him out of his apartment and

back among the living.” He brought the bus close to the curb and

slowed to a stop at the corner of Henderson.

“Thanks, Charlie.”

“You watch yourself, girl.”

“I will.”

“Tell Mr. Packard I have a front seat saved for him,” he said

and hit the button. The doors swished closed, and he gave her a

wave through the glass.

4 8 4

T H E

A T O N E M E N T

C H I L D

Dynah waved back and watched as the bus pulled away from

the curb. Adjusting the strap of her shoulder bag, she started the

walk to campus.

Henderson Avenue was a long, pretty street with old-growth

maples and neat brick houses with snow-covered lawns. In the

city park located a block south of the campus was a small community-center building used by students interning as youth leaders and teachers. In two years, she would be working there. The

center housed a daily preschool program in the morning and

youth activities through the afternoon every day of the week except Sunday, when everything in town shut down for worship

services. Only a few businesses, mostly nationwide chains,

stayed open.

As Dynah came abreast of the park, she paused, frowning.

The car with the Massachusetts plates was there, just across the

street, parked beyond a cobblestone driveway beneath a canopy

of winter-bare branches. She peered at the vehicle, anxious, then

noticed with relief that no one sat in the driver’s seat. The man

must have found his brother after all. He had said he lived not far

from the campus.

A twig snapped to the right, and her nerves jumped. She

turned and saw a tall dark shape moving toward her. A man.

Every instinct screamed “Run!” but surprise made her hesitate—and within a few seconds she knew she had made a terrible

mistake. A couple of seconds. That’s all it took for the man to

have a hold on her.

4 8 5

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