she’d done so often in the past when things threatened her peace of mind, Meg had wandered into the woods, making her way to her favorite spot, where she’d always sought the healing quiet of the solitude. Soon after Elton had moved her away from her family, she’d found this place that had become her sanctuary, a place set apart from the reality of her life.
She’d often brought the children there and found comfort in the whisper of the breeze and the pleasing chuckling of the water that meandered along the rocky bottom of the creek, running to some faraway place she could only imagine. She’d often wished she could follow it.
A bed of moss beneath a giant oak made a cool spot for a nap when she needed a place to rest. In the early spring, she’d brought a broom to sweep away the leaves that had fallen throughout the winter. By chance or God’s design, a wild rose of vibrant pink had sprawled and clambered up and over the branches of a nearby dogwood in early summer, reaching for what sunlight it could find in the mostly shaded area and sending its sweet fragrance adrift on the whispers of the vagrant breezes.
Even now, in the heat of September, hurting and wondering if she would ever feel whole again, she found the place beautiful. The rose and bleeding hearts had long since bloomed and the resurrection fern had dried up and curled into brown patches that clung tenaciously to the sturdy limbs of the tree, yet the sweet blessing of one good rain would return them to vibrant life.
Secure in the hope that that same vibrancy of life would be hers again someday, she’d closed her eyes and waited to see if the peacefulness of her surroundings would work its healing powers as it had in the past. In time, it did. She’d let her thoughts wander at will, from wondering where the creek emptied to how much Lucy and Teddy had probably grown since she’d seen them and how she would give them a better life. They might not have a lot of extras, but she would make up for it by giving them a life filled with love, not fear.
Throughout the afternoon, she’d heard the measured whack of an ax against wood. Ace cutting down more trees. She must have dozed off while thinking about him and his mother and their willingness to help a woman who was more or less a stranger.
Awake now, Meg sat up and looked around, hardly able to believe that she’d slept so long and without any frightening dreams. She wondered if finding a few hours of peace was a good start for putting the pieces of her life back together and knew that Rachel would say it was.
This had always been a perfect spot for dreams and plans. Dreams. Like all young girls, she’d had dreams once, daydreams about a life free of the shame of her mother’s life. Visions of finding a way out. Then she’d met Elton, with his good looks and his own extravagant fantasies of big houses and fancy clothes and trips to San Francisco and St. Louis, and she felt that her yearnings had come true at last.
Those dreams had begun to flee one after the other, shortly after marrying him almost four years ago. Now her mind was filled with plans, but the dreams were as dead as her husband and the resurrection ferns that had turned brown from the heat of summer.
When she’d first awakened at Rachel’s and was coherent enough to make sense of the things she was told, she’d thought—even dared to hope—that with Elton out of the picture her life would change for the better. Would it?
She gave her head a shake to dislodge the brief moment of melancholy and doubt. She could not let gloomy thoughts take hold. She had no idea how to move ahead with her life, but she knew that if she dwelled on her mistakes and her past, Elton would win, and she refused to let him rule her life from the grave. She would get past this, just as she’d always done.
Could she, all alone?
One day at a time.
Rachel’s gentle reminder. In the early days, when Meg had been racked by unbearable pain, Rachel had told her to take it hour by hour, one day at a time. She also told her that to find her way back she should look for joy in small things, telling Meg that God sprinkled dozens of blessings throughout our days if we only took time to look for them.
Well, there was this place, she thought, looking around. It was surely a blessing, since she had slept without interruption or bad dreams. And, she thought wryly, as the dinner bell rang a second time, it was a blessing that she didn’t have to cook supper.
She stood and stretched her arms and shoulders with care to get out the kinks. Giving her faded skirt a shake, she started back to the house, using the much-traveled deer path. She was a few feet from the clearing when she stopped dead still. Like a wild creature sensing danger, her head came up. A sharp gasp escaped her.
Ace stood on the path, blocking the way to the house just as the breadth of his shoulders obstructed the clearing behind him. He loomed over her. The lacy pattern of sunlight and shadows gave his lean cheeks the impression of wearing war paint, like the pictures she’d once seen in a book. He looked untamed and dangerous. His sheer size and raw maleness were overpowering, making her feel weak and defenseless.
“What are you doing here?” The breathless question sounded accusatory even to her ears.
His troubled blue eyes seemed to take in every inch of her in a single glance. “Mother was worried that you’d gone too far or got turned around. She was afraid you didn’t hear the bell, so she sent me to find you.” His voice was deep and low, mesmerizing. The frightened fluttering of her heart slowed.
“I was down by the creek. I’m fine. I’m here.” The explanation came out in a flurry of words that tumbled over one another.
“So you are.”
Did she imagine the flicker of gentleness that came and went in his eyes? Without warning, he reached out toward her. With a little yelp, Meg cringed and brought up both arms to cover her head in an instinctive gesture of self-preservation. The action was both instant and involuntary as he took her wrists gently.
Breathing hard, eyes shut tight and little whimpers of fear escaping her, she waited for the blow to come, but instead she heard words murmured in a language she didn’t understand. Soft words. Soothing words.
“Meg.” His deep voice persuaded, compelled. “Look at me.”
Bit by bit, as if she were expecting it to be a trick, she did as he commanded and saw the remorse clouding his crystalline eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was only going to get a twig out of your hair.”
Trembling, Meg stood stock-still. She’d seen regret before. She’d heard all the ways to say I’m sorry. She’d learned not to believe them. Still, something held her immovable. What was it she saw or felt in him that told her she could trust him, despite his fierceness?
“No!” she heard herself saying. “I...I’m s-sorry.”
Moving at a snail’s pace so as not to alarm her further, he let go of her wrists. Then he held one palm up in a stop gesture and reached out with the other to pluck the twig from her tangled hair. Without a word, he held it out to show her.
She felt like a fool for overreacting. “Th-thank you,” she whispered, daring to let her gaze make contact with the disturbing intensity of his. She saw nothing there but the same tenderness she heard in his voice.
He nodded. “I know you don’t have many reasons to believe anything a man says, but I want you to know that I have never raised my hand against a woman, and I never will. You have no reason to be frightened of me. Ever.”
Then,
