Page 58 of More than Words Can Say

He didn’t sing in church because the Good Book taught that he wasn’t to offer worship without first being reconciled with a brother who had a grievance against him. He figured having a grievance with the Big Man himself made the crime an even larger offense. Didn’t Jesus define a hypocrite as one who worshiped with his mouth and honored with his lips while his heart was far from God? Zach thought that by refraining from worship, he was keeping himself from being a hypocrite. Maybe he was, but holding back certainly did nothing to span the gulf between him and the Almighty. Why the Big Fella hadn’t just given up on him by now was a mystery Zach couldn’t fathom.

“But . . .” Zach drew Abigail to a halt, struggling to push the words through his rapidly constricting throat. “What if . . . I ain’t sorry? What if I haven’t confessed because I know I’d do it again if I found myself in the same situation?”

He braced himself for her horror. Her judgment. But all that came was a crinkling of her brow and a tilting of her head. She didn’t even say anything, just took a page out of his book and waited, trusting that he’d offer the explanation she deserved. She had more faith in him than he did in himself. It left him humbled even as it gave him courage.

He tugged his hand free of hers, then stripped out of his coat and laid it on the ground. Maybe he was just stalling, but he suddenly felt compelled to sit. As if that would make the tale easier to tell. It wouldn’t, but it would make it harder for his wife to run away from him once he was finished.

He lowered himself to the grass, propped up a knee, then held his hand out to her in invitation. Angel that she was, she didn’t hesitate. She settled atop his coat, folded her legs to the side, and braced one arm behind her for support. The other arm stretched toward him, her fingers coming to rest upon his thigh in silent encouragement.

“I was just thirteen when Seth, Evie, and I left the orphan train to make our own way. I’d spent a year livin’ on the streets in New York before gettin’ shoved into an overcrowded foundling home, so I thought I knew what it took to survive. I knew what it was like to go to bed hungry. I could handle that. What I couldn’t handle was watching Seth and Evie go to bed hungry. It like to tore my heart out. So I decided I would do whatever it took to make sure they had food in their bellies and a roof over their heads. I hired myself out as a stable hand so we could sleep in the livery. Did odd jobs for farmers in exchange for potatoes or anything else I could get my hands on. When I couldn’t find work, I stole what we needed. And as soon as I could pass for a man, which was around fifteen or so, thanks to an early appearance of facial hair and longer than average legs, I started putting my daddy’s gambling skills to work and made myself a place at the poker tables.”

“Your father was a gambler?”

Zach met her gaze and offered a self-deprecating grin. “Yep. Best on the Mississippi. No card game invented he couldn’t win.” He paused, his grin dissolving. “One way or another.”

She nodded in understanding, the edges of her mouth turning down just a bit in disapproval. But then, she should disapprove. Any person with a functioning moral compass would consider cheating wrong, and Abby’s compass pointed true north.

“For years, we scraped by,” he said. “Surviving but never able to get ahead. Evie was growing up in stables and back storage rooms, surrounded by men with foul mouths and shifty eyes. Seth’s asthma was worsening with the continued exposure to unsanitary conditions. It got so bad that we nearly lost him a time or two. I needed to get them somewhere safe. Somewhere clean. They needed a home. So when the opportunity presented itself to get them that home, I didn’t hesitate.”

He grabbed a clump of grass near his hip and tore it from the ground. If only tearing the ugliness from his past could be accomplished as easily. Squinting up at the sky, he opened his hand and let the grass float away on the breeze. Then, after blowing out a breath, he returned to his story.

“Word had spread around Pecan Gap about a card sharp who enjoyed luring men into deep play by dangling the deed to his family’s ranch as bait. When he was sure he had a winning hand, he’d up the ante with that deed, causing the others to either match it or fold, sacrificing the high stakes pot. Most folded. He walked away with hundreds of dollars each time. Until I earned my way into the game. I used every trick my daddy taught me. I out-sharped the sharp. Boosted his confidence, fed him the cards that would inspire him to wager the deed, then stole it out from under him by feeding myself the winning hand.

“I won that house for Evie and Seth and never gave a second thought to the family who’d be forced to leave.” Zach stared at the ground. He couldn’t look at Abby when he admitted the worst. Couldn’t watch the esteem die in her eyes. But he owed her the truth. “The day after I stole his house, Rufus Fowler committed suicide. Left his wife and kid not only without a home but without a man to provide for them. I destroyed that family. What happened to the Fowlers eats away at my soul, but I can’t repent if I don’t actually regret the sin I committed. My baby sister gained a safe place to grow up, and my kid brother got a healthy environment that healed his lungs. How can I regret that?

“I left gambling behind that night and swore to God that I’d never return, that I’d never pick up the cards again for personal gain. And I haven’t.” Zach ran a hand over his face. “But even knowing the destructive outcome of that night, if I had it to do over, I’d make the same choice.”

He finally forced himself to look Abigail in the face. Her hand remained on his leg. She hadn’t pulled away from him, but he knew this would change the way she saw him.

“You would undo what happened to Benedict Crowley,” he said, a tender smile curving his lips as her chin trembled and her eyes misted. He didn’t blame her for losing faith in him. How could he, when he’d never been worthy of it in the first place? “You’d make a different choice and preserve his life because you have a good heart. A righteous heart. You deserve absolution. I don’t.”

CHAPTER

29

Abigail leaned close to her husband, an ache throbbing in her chest. Zach. So stoic, so strong and capable. Yet wounded, and determined to hide that wound from the world. Even from family.

But not from her.

Her heart so full of love she could barely stand it, she shifted up onto her knees directly in front of him. His eyes followed her, watching, waiting to see what she would do. His fingers twitched on the hand that dangled over his knee, almost as if he wanted to reach for her, but he made no move.

So she made it for him. She captured those fingers and clasped their joined hands to her thumping heart.

“None of us deserve absolution, Zach. It is a gift freely given. A gift that is waiting for you too. All you need to do is accept it.”

“How?” His voice rasped. “Confession without repentance gains me nothing. And I can’t repent if I’m not sorry.”

“You are sorry,” she insisted, every protective instinct roaring to life inside her. “You’re so sorry it’s eating you up inside.”

He shook his head and dropped his gaze to the ground. “Not sorry enough to regret my actions. They achieved the ends I needed. They saved my brother’s life and gave my sister a home.”

What could she say to that? Without repentance there could be no forgiveness, yet she could see the craving in him, the weariness of carrying this burden. Her soul longed to help him, but how?

Lord, show me what to—

Before she could complete the prayer, a whisper of an idea swirled through her mind.

“What if something else could have achieved those same ends?” she asked. “Would you regret your actions then? If there had been another choice?”