Page 57 of More than Words Can Say

This wasn’t how the evening was supposed to go. He and Abby were supposed to be sitting on a blanket by the creek, eating fancy hotel food, and sharing kisses. Not standing in the middle of an emotional briar patch, confessing secrets that held the power to destroy everything they’d built.

Yet in the midst of that poisonous bramble, a gentle hand alit on his arm, and his barbed surroundings retracted some of their thorns.

“Zach.” It wasn’t a demand but an invitation. One he couldn’t resist.

He looked down at his wife and nearly wept when he saw compassion shining in her soft brown eyes. Like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline, he reached for her, cupping her face in his hands and bringing his mouth down upon hers.

His kiss was rough, desperate, afraid. Even so, she made no effort to pull away. In fact, she clasped his shoulders and rose up on her toes to meet him. He could taste the salt of her tears, reminding him that she’d already blazed the trail. Brave, wonderful woman. He’d offered to help her run from her fears, but she’d turned and faced them. Faced him. He could do no less.

Curbing his rising passion, Zach softened his hold and eased his lips from hers. Abby’s eyes were slow to open, and with her moist mouth still upturned, he found her impossible to ignore. He had to press two tender kisses to her lips before he found the strength to pull away.

“How do you deal with it?” he asked, his voice scratchy and hoarse, the words he never spoke aloud scraping against his throat as he forced them out. “The guilt of knowing your actions hastened a man’s end?”

Abigail’s breath shuddered, but her hand slid down his arm, over his wrist, and into his palm. Her fingers twined with his, and for the first time in nine years, the weight on his soul lessened just a little.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she started walking toward the creek, turning along the grassy shore to follow the stream’s winding path. She dragged him along with her. Not that he minded. It felt good to move, to have an outlet for all the pent-up emotion ricocheting around inside him.

“It’s not easy,” she finally said. “Especially when Sophia won’t let me forget.”

Zach nodded. “Mine hits me fresh every time I see Logan.”

Her steps faltered as she craned her neck to look at him. “Evie’s husband?”

“Yep.” Zach cleared his throat. “His father is the man I killed.”

“Oh, Zach.” Those beautiful eyes swam not with disappointment or accusation but empathy—a commodity he’d never thought he’d find. “How awful for you. Is that why you moved to Honey Grove? To keep from having to see him every day?” Suddenly her eyes sparked. “He didn’t make you leave, did he? To keep you away from Evie? He seemed pleasant enough at the wedding, but if he’s keeping you from your sister, I’ll grab my frying pan and–and . . .”

He grinned, then bopped the end of her nose. “No need for frying pans, sugar. At least not where Logan is concerned. I might take one to Mrs. Longfellow one of these days, but that’s another matter.”

How had he managed to hitch himself to the one woman in all of creation who not only understood his past but stood ready to fight for his future? The miracle of it made his head spin. All he could do was thank God for antiquated laws and prejudiced council members. If Abigail hadn’t proposed to him . . . well, he didn’t want to contemplate how bleak life would be without her.

“Logan’s a good man,” he said as they resumed their stroll along the water’s edge. “We might not be the best of friends, but he’s good to Evie, and he’s forgiven my part in his father’s death.”

“Have you forgiven yourself?”

The quiet question slipped between his ribs to stagger his breath.

Abby squeezed his hand. “That’s the hardest part, I’ve found.”

A thickness crept up Zach’s throat. “How do you manage it?”

“Little by little. I take comfort in scriptures that talk about how God removes our transgressions from us as far as the east is from the west, how he will remember our sins no more, how he urges us to cast our cares on him. But to be honest, whenever I see Sophia, the guilt twinges in my heart and tempts me to believe that I’m not worthy of such forgiveness.”

That was a feeling he could relate to. He didn’t even have to see Logan in the flesh. He thought about it every time he spied his father’s card case. He wanted the shame, though. Wanted the reminder of the consequences so he’d never repeat his mistake. But for the first time, he wondered if locking one foot in the past had kept him walking around in circles without really making any forward progress.

“After the accident,” Abby continued, “I stopped going out in public. I saw accusation everywhere I looked, though in truth it was more in my own mind than in the eyes of others. Thank the Lord for Lydia Putnam. She refused to let me hide away. When I stopped attending church and delivering her widow bread, she started barging into the bakery kitchen when Papa was on break. Rosalind abetted the ambushing, of course, allowing Lydia behind the counter where only family was permitted. At first Lydia tried to cajole and reassure me that the accident wasn’t my fault, but when that met with no success, she changed tactics. I still remember the day she marched into the kitchen and slapped her Bible down on the worktable with enough force to make the yeast bowl rattle. She jabbed a crooked finger into my face and said, ‘Abby Jane, quit being a hypocrite.’”

Zach’s head jerked toward his wife as she wagged a finger in the air, reenacting the scene. “A hypocrite?” he echoed, disbelief thick in his voice. He might deserve that moniker, but not Abigail. “Seems harsh.”

Abby smiled. Not a wide smile that exposed her dimples, but a soft, gentle one of fond remembrance. “She asked me straight out if I had sought the Lord’s forgiveness for my poor choice in climbing that tree. When I said yes, she asked me if I believed the Bible to be true. When I said yes again, she snorted and said that if I believed the Bible to be true, I wouldn’t be hiding away and wallowing in guilt when the Word clearly stated that there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

“Guilt leads us to confession and repentance, she told me, but after we take it to the cross, we’re supposed to leave it there, not carry it around with us. Jesus’s burden is light. Guilt is heavy. Satan is the one who wants to increase our burden, to weigh us down with shame and despair, to steal our joy and the strength of the Lord that goes with it. Believing his lies instead of God’s truth makes us weak. Made me a hypocrite.”

Zach’s gut clenched. What did that make him? A heretic?

For years, Evie had bugged him about his lack of singing in church. Told him he looked like a grumpy bear when he just sat there with his mouth shut and his arms crossed. She took him to task for not praising the God who had provided for them.

He appreciated the Almighty well enough and understood the blessings he’d received even when he didn’t deserve them, which was most of the time. He sure as shooting didn’t deserve the woman walking beside him, the one sharing her heart, her pain, and her vulnerabilities with him without making a single demand in return. The one who innocently believed all he lacked was to leave his guilt at the cross when, in fact, he’d never made it to the cross in the first place.