Authors: Tamera Alexander
Rekindled (46 page)
She opened her eyes, blinking as they gradually adjusted to the light, then finally she turned to him. Raw pain filled her eyes. “If your wife was so wonderful to begin with, why did you think she wouldn’t be able to see past what the fire had done?”
Larson started to speak but couldn’t. He had no answer.
Reaching up, Kathryn slowly traced the jagged lines of his face as though trying to memorize them all over again. Sensations moved through him as her fingers passed over his lips, up his cheek, and then hesitated at his temple.
Larson covered her hand with his and brought it away. This was something
he
needed to do.
“Take them off,” she whispered. “Let me see you, please. . . .”All hardness gone, her voice was now beseeching, and bathed in hope.
Slowly, Larson removed the last barrier separating him from his wife.
For a moment Kathryn said nothing, then a stifled cry threaded her lips as she whispered his name. “Everyone said you were dead, but I knew you were alive. I felt it, in here.” Taking his scarred hand, she kissed it and laid it over her heart.
With his other hand, Larson cupped her cheek. “Kat . . . I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His voice would hardly come. “Can you love a man who looks the way I do? Who has so little, again, to offer you?”
She touched his face—gently, reverently—and Larson knew her answer before she even spoke. “How can you not know this already? I desire you more than any man I’ve ever known. More so now than ever before.” She pulled him down beside her on the bed and kissed his mouth, his cheeks, and his eyes before finding his lips again.
Larson cradled her to him. “I’ve always loved you, Kathryn, but . . . this time I’ll love you the way God intended.”
She whispered his name against his chest, over and over. Larson couldn’t see her face, but he thought he detected a smile in her voice.
“All this time I felt so guilty because I was falling in love with Jacob while my heart still belonged to you. I was so sure—”
Kathryn suddenly let go of his hands and clutched her belly. Her eyes clenched tight, and when Larson heard her groan, fear cut through him.
She curled onto her side, her hands spread across her abdomen.
“I think our baby . . . is coming,” she panted.
Larson left and returned minutes later with clean cloths, fresh water, a knife, and most of the other things they needed. As he helped Kathryn undress, he heard riders coming up the long road leading to Casaroja but knew their efforts to save the stable would be too little, too late. He only hoped Miss Maudie was on one of the first wagons, and that Donlyn MacGregor wasn’t.
Turning back to his wife, he promptly forgot whatever it was he thought he knew about this process. His wife’s body was nothing short of a miracle, and the life inside her—the life they had made together—was determinedly making its way into the world.
K
ATHRYN LAID A HAND to Larson’s arm as he cradled their son against his chest. God had answered her prayers beyond anything she could have ever asked for or imagined. The love in her husband’s eyes made her breath catch. It always had, always would.
She listened as he told her about the night he’d been ambushed, the stranger at the fire, and then the explosion. He talked of Isaiah and Abby and promised to take her to meet them one day. She had so much to share with him too. So much to tell this man whom she’d loved for so long and with whom she had found love with again, however unexpected.
What a gift God had given her—the chance to meet and choose her husband for a second time.
Kathryn smiled when thinking of the senseless guilt she’d endured over desiring the gentle man named Jacob, only to discover that her desire was finally centered where it always should have been—in the true
heart
of her husband.
“There’s something in the pocket of my skirt I want you to see.” She touched Larson’s arm again, simply because she could. “Would you get it for me, please?”
He laid their child in her arms and picked the skirt up off the floor. He sat on the bedside and felt through the folds until he located the pocket opening. Kathryn’s anticipation grew as he reached inside.
He looked over at her, then back at the music box in his palm.
“My husband gave me that for Christmas last year.”
He ran his fingers over the top and shook his head. A wry smile tipped the left side of his mouth. “Doesn’t look like it cost him very much.”
Kathryn laughed softly. “It’s the most precious gift I’ve ever received. And the most costly.”
Her pulse quickened as her husband—always her mate, and now her lover and partner in every sense—leaned close. His eyes shone with a tenderness she was certain she’d never seen from Larson before. But she
had
felt that tenderness there when she knew him as Jacob.
He brushed his scarred fingertips across her skin and kissed her mouth with a delicate, slow intensity that aroused a passion too long latent, making her feel cherished and desired. When he finally drew back, Kathryn found it difficult to breathe, and from the look in his eyes, he was pleased by her reaction.
She nodded toward the box in his hand. “When did you buy that for me?”
“I bought it from an old peddler on my way to Denver that day.” He recounted the story, then lifted the lid and gave the key on the side a twist. He waited. After several seconds, when no music played, he looked back and smiled. “See, I told you it was cheap.”
Loving the sound of laughter from this man God had fashioned just for her, Kathryn laughed along with him. Sorry as she was about the music box having broken, she didn’t need to hear the music to make her feel close to him anymore.
Larson gathered the baby from her arms and placed a kiss on his forehead. “Isn’t it time you read that?” He pointed to the letter on the nightstand beside her.
Hesitating, Kathryn picked up the envelope and stared at her name on the front. The scrawl didn’t even resemble what she remembered of her father’s crisp handwriting. Taking a deep breath, she opened it and slid the letter out. The handwriting inside matched that of the front of the envelope, and the length of the letter surprised her. Her father had always prided himself on his economy of words.
My dearest Kathryn,
This letter is long in coming in some ways, and with little time left in others. How often I have wished I could reclaim what I so carelessly neglected. I have been a foolish man most of my life, but my faults as a father far outweigh all my other regrets.
I ask your forgiveness and somehow know that you will grant it. Not because I am worthy, but because you always were, and no doubt remain, your mother’s daughter. I imagine even now that Elizabeth’s love and enduring faith live on in your heart. That very thought has sustained me in these last days with a peace that passes understanding.
Childers has vowed to find you and deliver this letter, and I have every confidence that he will succeed. He has been a steadfast friend to me through the years. As he has no doubt told you by now, I have little of earthly wealth left to give you, Kathryn. My next desire, before I die, would be to leave you a legacy of faith. But again, a man cannot bequeath that which he does not possess. My faith in Christ is fragile and new, yet it is the strongest bond I have ever known. If I could leave you anything of lasting worth, I would leave a path for you to follow in His steps. But I trust you are already walking that road.
I pray that the untamed Colorado Territory, which seems an entire world away from Boston, is all that you were dreaming it would be. And I pray you’ve found a fulfilling life there. Which leads me to another grave failing on my part.
I could tell that day in my study that Larson Jennings was a man of a most determined nature and one not easily swayed. By my standards he was a ruffian and far from the sort of gentleman I had envisioned would form a connection with you, my daughter. I insisted to him that you deserved better, someone of greater wealth and import, who could give you the life you deserved. His answer to me that day, especially in the face of my most severe and personal insult to him, has never left me. With all solemnity he pledged that he would work to be the man you deserved and that he would give you a name you would be proud to have. I have no doubt, my dearest Kathryn, that Larson has kept true his pledge. Far better than I have done.
I am signing this missive with my own hand and have asked the young man who transcribed it to sign below mine. He has been a strength to me in recent weeks and speaks of heaven in such a way that makes me yearn to see my eternal home. On that count, I do not think I shall have long to wait.
Until I see you again, I will hold you in my heart.
Father
Kathryn brushed her fingers across her father’s scrawled signature, then wiped a straggling tear. Reading the name below her father’s, her breath caught.
The signature simply read
Gabriel
.
O
UR SON IS FINALLY asleep. Hurry up and come to bed.”
Larson looked up to see his wife standing in the bedroom doorway. Soft light from an oil lamp silhouetted her form, and he suddenly found it difficult to swallow. The glow of firelight on her face gave her skin the appearance of fine porcelain. Her freshly brushed hair fell across her shoulders in curtains of gold.
“I’m coming, I promise.” Larson’s voice lacked the convincing quality he’d hoped for.
Kathryn tossed him a knowing look. “Don’t try to peek at your present. You have to wait till morning.”
“I wouldn’t dream of peeking.” He playfully eyed the tree in the corner of the cabin, loving the smile it drew from her.
“Really, Larson, don’t be long. I don’t want to spend my wedding night alone.”
The desire in her eyes mirrored his own, except that she didn’t look the least bit apprehensive. He wished he could say the same about himself. “I was there for the first one, and I’m not about to miss our second.”
With a promising look, she turned.
Larson stared at the Bible in his hands and knew he’d never be able to concentrate again after seeing his wife in that gown. Truth be told, he wanted to be in their bedroom with her now, but so much had changed since the last night they had been together.
He fingered the band of gold on his left hand. The ring caught the firelight and reflected it back into his eyes. The wedding had actually been his idea, but Kathryn had loved it from the start. After little William was born, Kathryn had moved in with the Carlsons— at Larson’s insistence—and he had taken a room nearby in town, until moving out to the homestead to prepare for Kathryn’s return. He’d courted his wife properly this time and marveled every day at the precious son God had made from their love.
He smiled, remembering the wedding that morning. Hannah had played the piano and sung, and Annabelle and Sadie had served as Kathryn’s attendants. What an unlikely scene. Gabe had even shown up to give the bride away. It couldn’t have been more perfect. But Larson’s smile dimmed as he recalled getting into the wagon to make the trip back up the mountain to the cabin. Matthew Taylor had been standing just beyond the churchyard, at the edge of the cemetery. Larson had started to go to him, but the man had turned and walked away. Larson had wronged Matthew by his silence after returning. Larson took full responsibility for that and prayed for the day he could reconcile their friendship.
“Larson,” Kathryn called softly from the bedroom.
He stood, laid his Bible on the stone-hewn hearth, and stooped to bank the fire. Warmth radiated around him as he looked at the glowing white-hot embers. He felt only a slight shiver. Each day, his fear was lessening.
Father God, help me to love my wife with a selfless love—the way you love me. To live a life that will see us partnered together, in every way
.
Larson pushed open the door to find Kathryn waiting for him. She was lying on her side, with the covers turned down. Wordless at the sight of her, he stared into her eyes and was amazed, again, that she’d actually chosen him, a second time. He heard their son coo and went to stand by the cradle on her side of their bed. He gazed down at little William.
His son. How could he have ever doubted Kathryn’s faithfulness? He’d married a woman who loved God more than she loved him, and for that Larson would be forever grateful.
Kathryn took his hand and pulled him closer to the side of the bed. She began unbuttoning his shirt. Larson touched her face, her hair. He wanted to go further but something stopped him.
How could he want to be with her so strongly and still feel this hesitance? She had yet to see the full extent of his scars, but that wasn’t the basis for the anxiety filling him now. This went far deeper.
“Love Kathryn with the same love Christ Jesus showed the church,”
had been Patrick’s counsel as they’d waited for the women to arrive that morning.
“He gave His life to be her Savior, and you ought to love Kathryn as you love your own body.”
Kathryn sat up and rose to her knees to meet his lips. Larson tenderly cradled the back of her neck as he returned her kiss, and she melted against him. A soft noise rose from her throat. She slowly drew back to look at him, then took his hands in hers, a wife’s intimate smile curving her mouth.
Bringing her hands to his mouth, he kissed the smooth of her palms. “I love you, Kathryn, and I want to be with you again—you don’t know how much.”
Before he could say anything else, she kissed him again. “I know,” she whispered.
He drew back, shaking his head. “It’s not the scars, Kathryn, as difficult as that is. It’s that I want to love you like you’ve always wanted to be loved, the way you deserve.”
“Don’t you see?” She tilted her head. “You’re already loving me that way.” She lay back down and lifted his side of the bedcovers.
Larson finished unbuttoning his shirt and laid it aside, then moved to sit on his side of the bed. He reached over to turn down the lamp.
“Leave it on.” Her voice was soft behind him. Her hands moved over his bare back. “Oh, Larson . . .”