Woman of Grace (35 page)

Yet, as Brody leaned over, grabbed a handful of her hair, and jerked Hannah to her knees, an unexpected strength of spirit flooded her. She met his enraged gaze with a steadfast one of her own.

“Yes, I
will
tell you,” Hannah said with quiet determination. “It’s my life, my body, not yours. And no one will ever,
ever
use me again.”

His grip tightened. He twisted her hair with brutal intent. “And
you
forget,” he sneered, “that I know how to make you do exactly what I want, when I want it.” He jerked her hard. “I always win. And I don’t care what it takes either. Had you forgotten that, Hannah?”

Pain shot through her head. Hannah bit back a cry. She refused, however, to give him the answer he sought. She refused to let him intimidate and manipulate her once more. Never again, she vowed. Never again would she betray her heart, her principles, or her God.

“It doesn’t matter what you think you know.” She gritted her teeth against the pain. “You can’t make me do anything anymore!”

Brody slapped her full across the face. “Can’t I? Are you so keen on dying, then? You’ll never see that precious little boy of yours again, if you do.” He chuckled malevolently. “And here I thought a mother’s love was strong enough to endure most anything.”

Jackson … Even the consideration of losing him, of never being able to see or hold him again, was beyond bearing. But now Brody’s words stabbed clear through to her heart.

Her love
was
strong enough to endure anything for her son. But something else—something even greater than her love for Jackson—was at stake here. To give in, to acquiesce to Brody’s demands would threaten her immortal soul.

At her baptism she had renounced Satan and all his works. She had promised to follow and obey God, to put her whole trust in His grace and love. Though Hannah now fought constantly against the fear He had abandoned her in allowing her to fall into Brody Gerard’s hands, she clung to Him nonetheless. He had given her so much; she could at least render Him her trust—even in this—in repayment.

“You’d never let me see Jackson again anyway,” Hannah forced herself to reply. “But if I remain true to the Lord, I know I’ll at least see my son again in heaven. That much, no matter what you do to me, you can’t ever take away.”

He slapped her again, so hard this time it split Hannah’s lip. The warm, metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. She blinked back the tears as, around them, a frigid wind careened suddenly through the camp.

“What’s happened to you?” Angry frustration now tautening his voice, Brody tugged hard on her hair. “What kind of fool ideas have the MacKays and that spineless preacher gone and put into your head?”

She gazed steadfastly up at him, refusing to reply. Brody didn’t really want to hear the truth; he only cared to discover any weakness he could use against her.

He tugged all the harder. “Answer me, Hannah. You know what will happen if you don’t.” Gerard leaned close, his whiskey-soaked breath drenching her. “How is this time any different then before? Isn’t life, however it’s lived, better than dying?”

Wasn’t it? Hannah asked herself. As long as there was life, there was always hope. There was still a chance of escape, of eventually returning to Culdee Creek and her son. But if she persisted in this stubborn battle of wills, Brody would finally lose patience, kill her. And, in destroying her, he would also destroy all her hopes and dreams.

Yet what was the value of anything in life without God?

The tears spilled down her cheeks. “Would you have me sacrifice even that, then, Lord?” Hannah whispered softly. “My hopes, my dreams, the child I love with all my heart?”

I would have it all, Beloved,
a voice seemed to answer from the very depths of her being.
Only when you empty yourself of all earthly attachments can you finally and most fully open yourself to My grace.

Empty yourself …

The words were strangely familiar, reminding Hannah of something Abby had once said, after reading a verse from Matthew. Something about … something about to lose one’s life for God’s sake was to find it.

Had that then, always been her stumbling block—her fierce desire to regain control of her life, to make something of it, and show everyone she was as good as they? Had her pride, her newfound sense of self-worth and independence, qualities she cherished as things hard won and precious, placed then a barrier between her and the Lord? But to give them up when they were now so much a part of her—what would be left of her? Who would she then be?

It wasn’t fair. Angrily, Hannah lifted her protest heavenward. It just wasn’t fair! She, who’d had so much taken from her, must now relinquish even what had been so dearly—and rightfully—regained. Yet, in the end, what was the value of it anyway, if it could so easily be taken and destroyed by a man like Brody Gerard?

Lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal …

As a gentle snow began to fall, Hannah closed her eyes against the renewed surge of tears. Her treasures, she realized, were no longer of this world. Her treasures couldn’t ever be taken from her—not by thieves, and not by a man such as Brody Gerard. He no longer possessed any power over her. No man did. At last she was truly, blessedly, free.

And that, Hannah thought, a deep, heart-sustaining peace flooding her, was the difference between the last time … and now.

About five in the evening the storm broke, catching Devlin in the middle of the flat, open park. True to Jake Whitmore’s prediction, the snow began to fall, first in light flakes that danced on the wind, then in thicker, denser showers sleeting down from the leaden skies. Soon, a covering of white blanketed the land. As darkness descended, and clouds totally blocked any light from the moon and stars, Devlin was forced to admit he was in trouble.

If he lost his bearings and got turned around, he had no way of knowing which direction he was headed. Out here in this barren, grassy plain there was no shelter, no wood to start a fire to warm himself. Though they had brought heavy jackets and thick woolen blankets, well aware of the vagaries of Colorado weather, Devlin knew even those items wouldn’t be enough if the storm lasted long. And even this early in the autumn, Rocky Mountain snowstorms had, on occasion, been known to last several days.

As time passed, the wind began to shriek. The snow now pelted him and his horse like stinging needles. It swirled and blew, distorting the landscape until Devlin could barely make out five feet in front of him. He pulled up his bandanna to cover his nose and mouth, then hunched down as best he could within the shelter of his Stetson and jacket, and rode on.

The hours ticked interminably by in the whiteout of blowing snow. Head down against the wind, Devlin’s big bay gelding plodded on, his movement increasingly slowed by the ever-deepening drifts. Ice began to coat them. The reins in Devlin’s gloved hands grew stiff. More and more frequently, he caught himself dozing.

“Wake up, you fool,” he muttered through numb, awkward lips. “You thought you knew better than Jake and the others. You thought you could brave whatever the Rockies threw your way. Now you got what you deserved, so take it like a man!”

For a time, his disparaging words seemed to work. Devlin forced himself to think of things other than his agonized muscles, numb hands and feet, and bones throbbing with the cold. He forced himself to think of home—and of Hannah.

Had she given up hope of rescue? If so, what must she think of him? He had failed her when she needed him more than she had ever needed anyone before. Likely, by now, her affection for him was beginning to die, just as he could die this night.

Not that he wanted to die, Devlin was quick to add, especially now when he was so close to gaining the happiness that had eluded him for so long. But if he did, perhaps it was just recompense he should die out here, alone in this dark, dangerous storm.

His current predicament mimicked his existence in so many ways. He staggered blindly through life without much hope of a lasting happiness. Indeed, even when good fortune seemed to all but hit him square in the face, Devlin knew he had repeatedly turned his back on it and headed off to his own self-destruction. Or, even worse, God had seemed to intervene and take that happiness from him.

God hadn’t taken Hannah from him, though. If he lost her, he lost her solely through his own cowardice and sheer stupidity. Indeed, if he’d had the sense ever to enlist God’s aid, he might now be safe at home with Hannah and his children at his side.

But he never could find it in his heart to ask the Lord for anything. He had always been a man who relied on himself. To turn to God would make him vulnerable, once again, to rejection. His own father had rejected him, and Devlin had been flesh of his flesh. What would some distant, all-powerful God want with the likes of him?

And what, for that matter, would
he
want with the likes of God? Humility and abasement had never been Devlin’s strong suit. Such traits were only for fools, the weak and unsure.

He smiled in grim irony. In the end, the only person who had been weak and unsure—a fool—had been him. He had been too afraid to see the truth that had been there all along …

After a time, Devlin discovered he couldn’t feel his body. The reins dropped from his fingers; his feet slipped from the stirrups. The drowsiness grew heavier and increasingly harder to fight.

Then, with a snort of surprise, Culdee Star stumbled, went down. Devlin sailed headfirst into the snow. It was cold, but strangely soft and comforting, too. He lay there, the will to go on seeping from his body.

Not far from him, his gelding fought to regain his footing. Finally the big animal staggered upright. Devlin watched him, curiously uncaring.

It was over then, he thought in resignation.

At the admission fear flared, growing with each passing second until it flamed at last into a conflagration. He was going to die, and he would die a failure. He had failed Ella. Soon, he would also fail Hannah, his children, and even God.

Strangely, the consideration of failing God, of never having seized the opportunity to come to know Him, disturbed Devlin most of all. What if He
had
always been the loving Father his friends had spoken of? What if
he
had squandered his whole life running from the only love that truly mattered?

Anguish welled in him.

Be of good courage … and I will strengthen your heart …

Devlin lifted his head, glanced blearily around. He had heard a voice—hadn’t he? The wind wailed, mournful and sad. With a sigh, he laid his head back on the snow. He must truly be near death. He was hearing voices in the storm.

Arise, Beloved. The joy of the Lord is your strength.

He shut his eyes, closed his ears against the voice reverberating through his skull. Had he died then, Devlin wondered, and already gone to stand before the throne of God? If so, he was afraid to find out. He had done nothing to deserve God’s mercy or love. The Lord’s judgment of him would be swift and pitiless.

You don’t have to do anything to deserve God’s love. You already have it, right now, just as you are …

Unbidden, Hannah’s sweet words that day at the pond filled Devlin. “You’re not making any sense,” he brokenly stumbled through the words he had said to her. “You know that, don’t you, Hannah?”

In reply, her gentle, loving laughter surrounded him once more.
Just like God loving us without any guarantee that we’ll ever love Him in return doesn’t make sense? Yet He does it anyway. He can’t help it. He
is
Love!

Ah, more than anything he had ever wanted to believe, he wanted to believe that now! Tears filled Devlin’s eyes, trickled down his cheeks and froze. He needed that love with all his heart. Not just because he was on the verge of death, but because he also needed it to make some sense of his life.

It was the last—and the greatest—gift he could give himself.

From somewhere deep within, that realization stirred Devlin to one final, superhuman effort. Strength swelled, flooding his nerveless limbs. He shoved to his hands and knees and began to crawl, inch by excruciating inch.

Miraculously, the whirling snow suddenly seemed to slow, circle more languorously. In the vault of darkness overhead, Devlin almost thought he could pick out a star or two.

Then the wind died, and a faint whiff of wood smoke scented the air. Nearby, Culdee Star snorted and pawed at the snow.

Devlin’s crawl quickened, sending blood surging through his veins to his nerveless arms and legs. He climbed to his knees, then his feet.

Far away he saw a faint light. “Thank you, Lord,” he whispered. Grasping hold of his horse’s saddle he staggered onward, toward the beacon flickering in the rapidly fading darkness.

21

Where sin abounded, grace did much more abound.