“I know, but that doesn’t make my job any easier. What if she’s being coerced somehow? What if he’s forcing her to act against her will? If I discover who she is, what am I supposed to do? Have her arrested? Ban her from the colony? I can’t just abandon her if she’s in need. If she’s simply guilty of trying to survive the only way she knows how.”
“And that’s why God put you in charge.” Tori squeezed her hand, her eyes full of understanding. “You have compassion even on those who mean you harm. Me? I’d kick her out without a second thought. Anyone who would knowingly put my son’s life at risk, who would put their friends’ lives at risk, isn’t worthy of a second chance. I wouldn’t care about her reasons, her motivation. I’d just want her gone. But you?” She shook her head, the hint of a smile curving her lips. “Emma, you see people the way Jesus did. You bend down to wash their feet even when they have thirty pieces of silver jangling in their pocket.”
Uncomfortable at the comparison because she knew in her heart she didn’t deserve it, Emma pulled her hand from her friend’s hold and rubbed her arms. “That’s not true, Tori. I wish my motives were so pure, but I fear it is my pride talking. My denial that I could misjudge someone so badly. How could I not see signs of deceit when this woman came to me for asylum? How could I have welcomed her into our family and put our entire colony at risk? That’s why I seek out her motives, why I desperately want to believe that she is being forced to do something against her will. Because if she’s not, then everything that has happened is my fault.”
“God’s in control, Emma. Not you.”
The soft words shook Emma’s soul. She glanced up to meet her friend’s eyes. Conviction glowed in the bright blue orbs.
“You are not responsible for the attacks on Harper’s Station,” Tori insisted. “The people attacking us bear the blame. The only thing you can control is yourself—your choices, your actions, your thoughts. And if your choice is to believe the best about people, to extend kindness where others turn their backs, to offer hope where others offer only scorn, then I stand by my earlier assessment. You are following in the steps of Jesus.”
Emma’s throat constricted, and moisture pooled in her eyes. She stared at her friend, her vision blurring as the tears overflowed and ran down her cheeks. What could she say? She felt so unworthy of Tori’s praise. Yet she wanted to believe it could be true. Wanted it with every piece of her soul.
Lord, help me to be the person she sees. To treat people the way you would if you were in my place. Grant me wisdom to see past the deceiver’s tricks, and please . . . protect those around me who are caught in the middle.
Tori slid a handkerchief across the table to Emma. Smiling through her tears, Emma nodded her thanks and set about cleaning her face. Once she was done, she clutched the cotton square in her left fist and reached for her teacup with her right.
“Enough about troubling matters,” Tori declared as Emma sipped her tea. Her friend leaned forward, her mouth quirked in an impish grin. “I want to hear all about Mr. Shaw. And you. In the café.”
Emma nearly choked on her tea.
Tori’s mouth stretched into a full smile, the cheeky minx. “And don’t leave out anything.”
18
After sending his two telegrams, Mal busied himself the only way he knew how. With work. First, after assuring himself Emma wasn’t at the bank, he boarded up the broken window in her office. Then he headed to the church and started tearing off the burned clapboard siding. No one wanted to come to worship and lay eyes on the despicable message—LEAVE or DIE—scorched into the wood. A church was supposed to be a welcoming place, a place where people came to be cleansed and encouraged, a place that offered eternal life. That abomination had to go.
He scavenged some planks from the woodpile near Emma’s barn, pieces that looked as if they’d once been a stall wall. Some had a few rotted places that had to be cut away, but most were in decent enough shape. He set up a pair of sawhorses and planed the wood down on one long end so the planks would fit with the other clapboard, then sanded the worst of the rough patches from the ends. There was no time for perfection with the sun already hanging low on the horizon, so after testing a few by laying them on the ground to make sure they’d overlap well enough, he loaded the half-dozen boards onto his shoulder and trudged back to the church.
Once there, Malachi poured all of his pent-up frustration into the job. Yanking boards from the outer wall the way he’d wanted to yank that shooter from his horse. Pounding nails into the fresh wood the way he wanted to pound his fists into the smug devil’s face. For stalking Emma. Driving away her ladies. Trying to steal her land. Shooting bullets into her bank. That memory still gave Malachi chills. It was only by God’s grace she hadn’t been injured or killed.
Pound. Pound. Pound.