“Victoria’s a fighter,” Bertie continued, breaking contact with his gaze to turn her face toward the main barn entrance. “Benjamin Porter’s going to have his hands full.” She grinned then, her face nothing but sweetness and light. The weight on Mal’s chest eased just enough to draw in a full breath.
Taking the offensive, Mal cleared his throat. “Better not be meddling in their affairs, Bertie.” He gave her a stern look—which she completely ignored. Instead she smiled and slipped her arm through his as if he were fifteen again and they were having “how to be a gentleman” lessons.
“I never meddle, dear.” She tilted her head up to meet his eyes. “But I do make myself available to give advice. Should someone find themselves in a prickly predicament.” She looked meaningfully at him. “Say, like the one that had you drumming the walls a minute ago.”
Mal tensed. “Thanks all the same, Aunt Bert, but I can handle that one on my own.”
“Yes. I heard you handling it all the way from the kitchen.”
He tugged his arm free and turned to confront her about her poor definition of “never meddling,” but she held up a hand to stop him before a single word made it past his lips.
“Don’t give me that obstinate look, Malachi Shaw. I’m not going to wheedle anything out of you. We’re all entitled to a few secrets. I just wanted to let you know that I’m available to listen should you need an extra pair of ears.”
That shut him up. Apparently her definition matched his after all.
“Besides, there’s someone else who can help you more than I ever could. One who already knows the details of what’s plaguing you.”
Grace? The telegraph operator seemed nice and all, but Mal wasn’t about to discuss such a private matter with her.
“Someone imminently wise,” Bertie continued, “who can be trusted implicitly. He’ll help you discern the right path.”
“But . . . Oh.” Understanding finally dawned.
She’s talking about you, isn’t she, Lord? Of course she is. I’m a dunderhead for taking so long to figure it out. Probably ’cause I’ve been a bit remiss in visitin’ with you lately. Might be a good idea to start up those regular chats again, huh?
“I’ll leave you to your work now.” Bertie patted his arm a final time and meandered back the way she had come. “Just be assured of one thing, Malachi.”
He pushed his hat brim high on his forehead and scratched at an itchy spot above his left ear. “What’s that?”
“No matter what choice you make, you will always be loved. By Henry and me. By Emma. And by the One who matters most.”
A suspicious thickness clogged his throat and turned his voice hoarse. “Thanks, Aunt Bert.”
She smiled in that motherly way of hers and disappeared out the side door.
He watched her go, still amazed that people like the Chandlers cared about a nobody like him. They’d stuck by him all these years, even after he left. Writing letters. Fretting. Praying. Why? He wasn’t blood kin. He was just some kid who took shelter in their barn one night. Yet they felt like family.
And Emma . . . Well, Emma felt like more than family. From the moment his angel proclaimed she was keeping him, his heart had belonged to her. Distance had dulled the effect somewhat, but feelings were flaring at full force and in new, more adult directions these days. He didn’t just feel devotion any longer, he felt desire. Longing. A soul-deep need that scared the wits out of him. Not because the situation they faced meant he might have to die to protect her. That’d be easy. He wouldn’t even think twice. No. It was the living without her after all this was over that had him worried.
Mal pulled his hat from his head and lifted his focus to the barn rafters.
“Lord, if you got some extra wisdom up there you can spare, I’d sure be obliged if you’d throw some my way. I ain’t got the first clue what I’m supposed to do.”
As his gaze dropped, he glimpsed the liniment bottle Bertie had set aright on the shelf. A quiet certainty entered his mind. He shook his head and grinned.
He might not have the first clue how to handle his Friday deadline, but it was suddenly clear as a still-water pool what he was supposed to do at the moment. Finish the job at hand and worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.
He just prayed the wisdom bestowed on him tomorrow had a little more direct bearing on his main quandary.
23
By the time Emma and Victoria joined the gathering behind the church, Betty and Grace had the women organized into two lines facing the targets Malachi had set up after services yesterday. The scarecrow Betty contributed took center stage surrounded by several scrap boards with painted targets staked in the ground at varying heights and distances.