“Because the other day, when you saw me without my eye patch on, you gasped. You were … repulsed.”
“Bowie Hart, that’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. When will you believe that I’m not repulsed by your face?” A quiver went through her. “I gasped because I realized you were awake, and there I was, draped all over you when I said I would stay on my side of the bed…” Mortification ran through her from her hairline to her hem. “I was embarrassed that you caught me in such a way.”
He blinked, and a bemused, wary look came over his face, as if he wasn’t sure he should believe her explanation. If he only knew how badly she wanted to wake up in his arms again, he’d run for the hills.
“So, if you weren’t scared of what my face looked like, what were you afraid of back there in the hospital?”
“I was afraid for you, that you would be blind. I cried when you could still see, I was so happy. The rest didn’t seem to matter compared to that. In fact, I miss seeing your face under all that beard. You have such a nice jaw. I remember from when I shaved you in the hospital. Have you ever thought of shaving your beard and cutting your hair?”
Bowie shook his head, no trace of a smile remaining. “I look bad enough now. Without the beard and long hair…” He shrugged. Clara gave a low moaning grunt, and he turned away from Elise, the subject closed.
Through the evening, Elise marveled at Bowie’s gentleness, even as she longed for him to realize that the people who mattered, the people who cared about him, didn’t see him as a monster at all. That a man’s measure and worth weren’t in his appearance but in his actions. “I wish, just once, you could see what I see when I look at you,” she whispered, her heart aching.
By the time midnight rolled around, Clara was licking and nuzzling seven beautiful puppies.
“They’re so helpless, and yet, they all know exactly what to do.” Elise rubbed the last one with a bit of toweling before placing it alongside its littermates. “Even with their eyes closed and weak limbs, they find her and latch on.” Pup seven was no exception, squirming and working his way toward his first meal.
“God is pretty amazing, the way He made His creatures.” Bowie rubbed Clara’s ears. “They just seem to know by instinct what to do most of the time. Which reminds me, I talked to Hays, and he and Emma will stop by day after tomorrow to take you to church. You missed last week, but nobody would’ve expected you to be there, being a newlywed.”
Elise paused in washing her hands in the bucket, wishing her reason for church had been that she was still on her honeymoon. “Where will you be? I thought we’d go to church together.”
“I don’t go to church. Not anymore.”
“Why not?”
He looked up at her. “In case you hadn’t noticed, church is in town. I don’t go to town.”
“Not even to church? Where do you get your spiritual guidance from?”
Shrugging, he levered himself up. “Parson Longley comes out for a visit most weeks. We talk about spiritual things then.”
“And he is fine with this arrangement?” Elise certainly wasn’t.
“He’s after me to come to church on Sunday mornings, but he doesn’t press too hard anymore. I do my praying and Bible reading privately, talk to the preacher once a week or so, which is more than a lot of folks do, I imagine.”
But how much you miss, cutting yourself off from people, from worshipping with fellow believers. And yet, if what she had experienced at the hands of some of Hartville’s citizens was any example, could she blame him?
“I’ll ride over and join you for Sunday dinner at El Regalo. Hays and Emma can bring you home after that.”
“Actually,” Elise said, grateful for the opportunity to put part of her fledgling plan into action. “I would prefer if you would bring another saddle horse so I could ride home with you.”
“Ride?” He looked up quickly, his hair swinging back from his face, the long strands snagging on his beard.
“I am a rancher’s wife now, aren’t I? I should learn to ride a horse, and I want you to teach me. Surely a short ride from El Regalo to home would be a good first lesson?” She twisted her fingers at her waist, praying he would say yes, that he wouldn’t spurn her.
Bowie studied her, the lamplight illuminating half his face, the scarred half, so that she couldn’t see his good eye. In the semidarkness of the barn, the black-powder burns didn’t show as much.
“I suppose it would be a useful skill. There’s a sidesaddle in the tack room at El Regalo that used to belong to my mother. And I can scare up a gentle horse for you.”