Page 28 of More Than Meets the Eye

Flanked protectively on both sides by her brothers, a subdued young woman with auburn hair sat with her head bowed, mouth barely moving as she sang. Logan strained to hear her voice—the bold, unrestrained notes that carried across fields and echoed in barn rafters—but he couldn’t make it out. He stood less than five feet away and couldn’t hear a sound from her lips.

His vibrant, effervescent Eva had been muted into someone he barely recognized. What was going on?

Logan slid into the back pew on the right side. The blond brother—Seth—turned and offered a friendly nod of welcome. Eva, however, kept her head bowed and her eyes fixed firmly on the hymnal in her lap.

But it was the man to Eva’s left that hardened Logan’s gut. Rigid posture. Arms crossed. Lips closed in a tight line. A sinner in a room of saints. Uncomfortable. Almost belligerent. No singing at all fell from his lips. Zacharias Hamilton might have made an outward show of giving up his old ways—avoiding saloons, packing up his cards, attending church—but Logan read the disconnect in his posture. He hadn’t changed. Not really. Given the proper incentive, he’d pick up those cards again. Logan just had to find the right button to push.

Distracted by his scheming, Logan simply went through the motions of the service, bowing his head during prayers, singing softly with the hymns he remembered from childhood, and listening with half an ear to the preacher recount the story of Jesus feeding the five thousand. He tossed a subtle glance across the aisle, but instead of landing on the Hamilton who’d been dominating his thoughts, Logan’s gaze snagged on Eva. She still hadn’t looked up. Just traded her hymnal for her Bible, her lowered head never lifting.

Logan frowned. What was wrong with her?

The preacher kept on, his deep voice booming through the sanctuary, emphasizing Jesus’s power, the disciples’ duty to deliver even in the face of their doubt, and the amazement of the crowd as the miraculous feast unfolded. Logan had heard it all before. He’d grown up on the stories of Jesus. Yet when the preacher started talking about things from the boy’s perspective, something changed. It seemed new somehow, and Logan found himself drawn in.

“If we want the Lord to accomplish mighty deeds in our own lives, the first step is to put what we have in his hands,” the man declared. “This boy had a lunch, enough food to get him through the day. He’d planned ahead. Had everything under control. He’d not go hungry. He had every right to hold on to those loaves and fishes. They were his. But then he looked around at the suffering of his neighbors, heard hungry little ones crying out to their mamas, and he made a decision. He found one of the disciples, showed him his provisions, and offered to give them to Jesus.”

The parson left the pulpit to pace across the stage, and when his eyes scanned the crowd, they found Logan in the back row, hovered for a brief moment, then moved off to another section of parishioners.

Had that been a flash of recognition? The Clems had arrived in Pecan Gap two years before the Fowlers had left. John Clem and Logan’s father had been acquainted—not well, since Pop hadn’t been much of a churchgoing man, but enough that a family resemblance might be noted. Clem hadn’t been preaching in those years, so it had been a surprise to see a familiar face in the pulpit. Thankfully, Logan’s beard kept most people from recognizing him as the smooth-cheeked boy who used to romp about the countryside, but he’d need to take care that Parson Clem didn’t make the connection.

“Most of us like to solve our own problems,” the preacher intoned, “to control the direction our lives take.”

Logan shifted in the pew, the wooden bench suddenly rubbing roughly against his spine.

“But think what would have happened if this boy had chosen that path.” The parson paced back to the middle and raised a single finger. “One would have been fed instead of five thousand. Only God can miraculously multiply our loaves and fishes. Yet just as he asked the disciples to handle the problem, he asks us the same. Unfortunately, we tend to scramble around like the Twelve did, trying to solve the problem on our own, when what he really desires is for us to surrender our plans, our control, and place our loaves and fishes into his hands so he can accomplish the impossible.”

Logan frowned. He didn’t need the impossible. He didn’t seek restitution from a multitude, just from one man.

He pulled his pocket Bible out of his coat and used the ribbon marker to open the pages to the verse that had given him purpose and direction during the past seven years. Proverbs 21:3. To do justice and judgment is more acceptable to the Lord than sacrifice. The Lord approved of justice, of righteous judgment. Validation rose to soothe the prodded places of Logan’s conscience until his eyes drifted upward and read the verse immediately preceding the one he had underlined.

Every way of a man is right in his own eyes: but the Lord pondereth the hearts.

The sore spots on his conscience started aching again.

This was ridiculous. Of course his plan seemed right to him—it was right. The Lord could ponder Logan’s heart all he wanted. His motives were pure: To see justice done. To restore what had been stolen.

His finger scraped down the page to the next set of verses he’d underlined, verses six and seven: The getting of treasures by a lying tongue is a vanity tossed to and fro of them that seek death. The robbery of the wicked shall destroy them; because they refuse to do judgment.

Zacharias Hamilton had gained his treasure through deceit. He’d refused to deal justly with Logan’s father, so the way to destroy him, to see justice done, was to rob the wicked, to steal back what had been wrongfully taken from Logan’s family.

The final underlined verse called to him from the next column, verse 15: It is joy to the just to do judgment: but destruction shall be to the workers of iniquity.

Joy would come with justice. To him. To his mother. His cause was righteous, and nothing was going to keep him from that path.

The parson offered an invitation to sinners wishing to repent and saints desiring prayers as the congregation stood to sing a hymn. Logan fell into neither category, so instead of moving forward down the aisle, he retreated straight out of the sanctuary and into the churchyard. He knew how preachers were—always positioning themselves at the back so no one could escape without facing them after service. Well, Logan didn’t plan to give John Clem a chance to inspect him more closely. Yet neither was he ready to leave.

He didn’t mind being a mystery to others, but he was less fond of people being a mystery to him. Something was off with Eva. Her meek demeanor inside the church didn’t sit well. Not for a bold woman who tied bright red bows around her pet hog’s neck, faced down trespassing strangers with nothing more than gumption and a contagious smile, and charmed fractious neighbors with homemade goodies and thought-provoking conversation.

Logan slapped his hat back on his head and strode to the rail where Shamgar stood hitched. Patting the horse’s neck and giving the tack a cursory inspection as camouflage, he waited for the service to let out. He didn’t have to wait long—just the length of a hymn and a prayer—before the parson swung the doors wide and took his place, shaking hands with the congregants as they exited.

The Hamilton siblings emerged first—not surprising, given their preference for the back row. What was surprising was the way Eva skittered past the minister while Seth shook Clem’s hand. She kept her chin down until she’d navigated the steps, then lifted her face and looked around. As soon as she found him, she lit up, becoming the vibrant woman he remembered so well, and dashed straight toward him.

“You came! Oh, I’m so glad.” She skirted the wagon and team in front of the hitching rail and came around to face him.

Logan grinned, exercising cheek muscles that had been woefully out of shape before Eva tumbled into his life. “Didn’t think you’d seen me.” He didn’t think she’d seen anything with her neck bent like a shepherd’s crook.

She slapped his arm lightly. “Of course I did. Well, to be honest, I didn’t know it was you at first. Not until you got up after the sermon and I caught a glimpse of your face. But all through the service, I was hoping it was you.”

Logan smirked. “Missed me that much, did you?”