“We’ll be there,” Mary said feebly.
Mr. Horn inclined his head and then took off, his team of horses digging up the road and clouding the air with desert dirt. Summer in Harney County was dry and sunny. The climate remained the same. Not like her feelings, which had been flung about in a tornado of change.
Everyone had gone into the house, but she stayed outside, longing for freedom from the cage she’d put herself in. Not only did she feel guilty for saying what she had to Lou, but she dreaded seeing her mother.
It had been easy to forgive her when she’d understood a woman’s need to find her husband. It was much harder now, knowing the nightmare of her past could have been prevented if only her mother had kept quiet. Examined more deeply Langdon’s inquiry. Anything but flippantly giving out her daughter’s whereabouts in exchange for her husband’s.
She gripped her luggage and slowly walked to her house, leaving the ranch house behind. She must face her mother at some point. Now, with no audience, seemed best.
And yet her feet dragged. Knowing Trevor’s mother had sold her hurt, but she’d been aware of Julia’s character and hadn’t been surprised. What her mother had done was a different matter.
A strong wind blew at her hair. How she wished it would also blow away this knowledge of her mother’s unwitting betrayal.
Eventually she reached the house. Her mother stood near the gate, hair unplaited, eyes the deep black of the Paiute. Grimness painted her face into grooves and shadows. Her skirt whipped around her ankles and familiarity washed over Mary.
She’d wanted her mother here. Longed to see her restored to the laughing, beautiful woman of her youth. Maybe somehow she’d thought this would do the same for her, that if her mother was healed of her past, then she could be, also.
Did that mean she’d only been thinking of herself? That her motives had always been more selfish than she’d realized?
She stepped forward, eyes on her mother, a frown niggling at her lips.
“My daughter.” Rose spoke quietly, and the breeze diluted her words into a faint sound of pleading.
She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t face her or accuse her. Better to leave things in the past.
“This morning James brought me a telegram from Lou,” said Rose without blinking. “He wrote that you know what I never wished to confess. Do you understand his hatred for me now? Can you see why I hesitated to intrude in your home?”
Mary’s mouth was so dry she could taste the desert upon her tongue.
“I have packed my bags and stayed only to tell you one thing—I am sorry, with the deepest regret a human can feel. This sorrow is a wound within my soul that does not heal. Nor should it. I have prayed to the spirits that you may have a good life. A blessed life with strong loves and much goodness.” Rose blinked and a single tear edged from beneath her lashes. “You deserved more than what I gave you.”
“Mother...” Mary dipped her head, hiding from the pain on her mother’s face. She wanted to comfort her somehow, to ease her pain. God help me.
Seventy times seven.
The scripture reverberated through her. Like a seedling on the wind, dropped into the soil of her heart, and with her acceptance of His words, a new feeling spread through her. She lifted her head, feeling different, alive, helped. She stepped forward and before her mother could respond, embraced her.
She hugged her tightly for several moments, inhaling the wind in her mother’s hair and the cedar scent that clung to her skin from her basket weaving.
When she felt able to speak, she pulled back and looked her mother in the eyes. “You speak of spirits and blessing. I am blessed and healed by One, my mother. The One who created me. He also created you, and loves you. Though my life has had pain, it has not lacked comfort.”
Rose nodded slowly, her lips trembling. “I have seen the peace on your face and wondered at it.”
“Yes.” Mary felt the smile start in her heart and work to her face. “My Bible says God is our comfort so that we can be a comfort to others.”
“The white man’s God is trouble.” Her mother frowned.
Mary’s smile wavered. “No. He has been my peace. And now, in His name, I offer you forgiveness.”
Rose shivered as though the parched breath of desert wind sliced through her very bones.
“Please stay and live with me,” Mary continued, feeling the wobble in her voice. “I love you, and though what you did hurts, I know we can be healed.”
“How can you forgive me?” Her mother’s eyes welled with tears. They dripped down her cheeks, filling the grooves like flooded riverbeds.
“Because...no one is perfect. Not one person but Christ Himself. I choose this path, Mother. Please walk it with me.” Mary held out her hand, afraid, hoping her mother would take it, that she would pass from the shadowlands where she’d lived for too long.
After what seemed an interminable wait, her mother reached for her and burst into tears. Taken aback but feeling weepy herself, Mary allowed her mother to gather her into her arms.
She hadn’t known she would forgive her mother, not until she’d seen that pain upon her face. Forgiveness was the right thing to do, and she hoped she would have done it anyway, whether or not her mother felt regret. But she did, and it was as though a piece of Mary’s heart finally felt respite.
She rested her cheek against her mother’s shoulder, and her thoughts turned to Lou. She hoped he’d find Mr. Langdon, because she had no doubt Josie’s uncle would come looking for them at the ranch—it was only a
