Salvation in the Rancher's Arms(56)

Rachel stopped herself from asking questions, afraid to interrupt in case he stopped. This was the first real glimpse he’d offered into his past.

“When my mother met a drifter and found herself in the family way, my grandfather refused to forgive her. The drifter, my father, didn’t stick around long enough to marry her or even see me born. My grandfather said she’d shamed him in the community, and he spent the rest of her life reminding my mother of her sin and making us both pay the price. He told me I’d never amount to any good. Each time I defied him or tried to protect my mother he...” Caleb stopped.

“What did he do?”

“He would lock me in the root cellar. Keep me there for hours, sometimes days.” He stopped for a moment. Horror filled Rachel. How could someone do such a thing to an innocent child? He was not responsible for the circumstances of his birth.

“Caleb—” Her heart went out to him and she wished she could hold him, as if wrapping her arms around him would heal the wounds his grandfather had inflicted.

“I remember thinking, One of these times he’s going to forget I’m down here.”

“What did your mother do?”

Sadness and regret filled his voice. “There was nothing she could do. My grandfather had her so beaten down she couldn’t save herself, let alone me. Eventually it got the better of her. She got sick and lost her will to live. I think she almost welcomed death in the end, just to escape him.”

Like Rachel’s mother had escaped her own guilt.

Caleb drew in a long breath and continued. “When she died, he refused to bury her in consecrated ground. Said she didn’t deserve it. I left that night and never looked back.”

“And you’ve been drifting ever since?”

He didn’t answer her directly. She sensed he was now picking and choosing his words more carefully. She wondered why. What had happened between then and now that he held so close to his chest?

“I joined up with the union   Army. I was just shy of sixteen. When the war ended, I took odd jobs here and there.”

“Did you ever think of settling down?”

He lapsed into silence and Rachel wondered if maybe she had gotten all the truth out of him she would for one night. She held her breath, waiting.

“Once.”

“What happened?”

He shifted in the chair and turned to look at her. The dying embers of the fire cast him in shadows. “You ask a lot of questions. Anyone ever tell you that before?”

She smiled. “No. I never had anyone to ask things of before. Around here, everyone knows everyone else and their business.”

“Did they know about your husband’s gambling?”

The question pierced. She didn’t like to think about it; the shame was still too close to the surface. But she’d dug into his past and he’d complied. Fair was fair.

“I expect they did. No one ever came out and said it to my face, save for Shamus, but I could tell. The pitying looks, the way they would shake their heads.” It wasn’t just the gambling they’d known about. It was everything. She swallowed, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It was humiliating.”

His tone softened. “Guess it hasn’t been easy for you.”

Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away, thankful Caleb couldn’t see them. “I don’t want your pity.”

“I’m not givin’ it. You’ve done right by yourself and those boys. There’s not a single thing about you needs pitying. If I was doling out pity, I’d send some in your fool husband’s direction for being too blind and stupid to know what he had, and for throwing it away.”

His words, blunt as they were, bolstered the part of her that years of neglect had worn down. A wayward tear escaped, drifting across the bridge of her nose and landing on the pillow next to her.

“Thank you. That’s nice of you to say.”

“Just speaking the truth. Now get some sleep. That’s enough jawin’ for one night.”

Rachel didn’t argue with him on that point. All this sharing left a body exhausted. And vulnerable.

Exhausted she could handle. The other one, well, that was something different. She wasn’t accustomed to leaving herself open like that. She pulled the blankets around her tightly, as if they could protect her. “Good night, Caleb.”

He grunted and stretched out his long legs toward the hearth. Rachel closed her eyes. It was easier if she didn’t look at him.



Caleb shifted his position in the hard chair, wincing. A person was not made to sleep upright like this. He’d take a bed of lumpy earth any day of the week. He forced himself to his feet and stretched, his muscles protesting.