Page 13 of The Heart’s Charge

“Wait,” Mark said softly. “I’d like to say good-bye.” He held out his arms, his gaze imploring. “May I?”

Katherine shifted directions and lay the babe in his arms.

“Thank you.” Holding Sarah in his left arm, he tugged his hat off with his right and set it on the wagon seat. Then he bent down and placed a kiss on her tiny forehead. “You had a rough start, little one, but you’re strong. Never forget that God wants you to be on this earth. He sees you and loves you and has a special plan for your life. Miss Katherine and Miss Eliza will take good care of you, and Uncle Mark is only a telegram away if you ever need me.”

As he spoke, Katherine’s gaze fell on Abner, then Ruby, then the little ones. They all stared up at Mark as if the words of blessing he spoke over Sarah were meant for them too. Perhaps they were. Katherine’s heart swelled. These children were so thirsty for affirmation, for acceptance. She resolved to speak such blessings over them until they all believed they were loved, wanted, and created with a purpose.

Her attention returned to the man who seemed to have deepened over time, not hardened.

Mark’s gaze bored into her. “I mean it, Kate. If she ever needs anything, send word. I’ll take care of it.”

Unable to speak from the emotion welling in her throat, Katherine offered a nod instead.

Mark handed the baby over to Eliza and reclaimed his hat, his eyes suspiciously bright as they followed the baby’s progress. “Take care of them, Jonah.” He tipped his chin toward his friend as Mr. Brooks moved to help Eliza climb into the wagon.

Mr. Brooks met his gaze. “I will.” His tone carried the weight of a sacred vow.

Katherine gathered the children around her, making sure they were well out of the wagon’s path. She picked up Quill and propped him on her hip and placed a staying hand on Ted’s shoulder while Ruby clasped Priscilla’s hand. Abner stood stoically at her side as the wagon rolled away.

Only as the conveyance disappeared down the road did it occur to Katherine that Mr. Brooks had left his horse behind. Meaning he’d be coming back for it. Meaning his friend would probably wait on him before making his own departure. Meaning she would no longer be able to avoid his questions.

And the more they talked and shared with each other, the harder it would be to send him away again. The more it would hurt to lay him on the altar.

Quill bounced in her arms, then patted her cheek with a cry of “Bunny!” He pointed at the tall grass along the side of the road, then squirmed to get down.

Struck by the sight of an animal emerging from a thicket, Katherine lowered Quill to the ground with only half her mind, paying little heed to the children bounding off to give chase to the unsuspecting rabbit.

When Abraham offered Isaac on the altar, the Lord stopped him at the last moment, giving him a ram, instead, to offer in Isaac’s place.

Her focus shifted to the man who had gathered the reins of his mount and the mount of his friend. As he led them past her, their gazes caught and held.

“What?” he asked, his pace slowing.

She shook her head. “Nothing.” Then, to keep from sounding like a complete idiot, she added, “There’s a water trough at the east end of the barn. Fresh hay inside.”

He tugged on the brim of his hat in a motion of thanks and continued past.

Katherine bit her lip, much more than nothing going through her mind. Complicated thoughts. Worrisome thoughts. Hopeful thoughts that could easily lead to devastating disappointment. Yet all of them centered on a single dangerous question.

Might God restore Mark to her as he did Isaac to Abraham?

And if so, what would that mean for the children?

CHAPTER

SEVEN

It took thirty minutes to reach the turnoff to Georgia Harris’s home, plenty of time for Eliza to take the measure of the man at her side. Or it would have been, had Jonah Brooks possessed the decency to fit into any of the tidy pigeonholes she’d constructed in her mind for the categorization of men. Unfortunately, he had barely uttered a dozen words to her since they’d left Harmony House, making classification difficult. A fact that left her quite uneasy. Until she understood his temperament, she wouldn’t be able to manage him properly.

After growing up in the South, being educated in the North, and making a life for herself in the West, Eliza had fine-tuned her male-identification system, with the majority falling into one of three major categories.

Master types needed to believe they were fully in power. Blatant disagreement only brought out the bully in them. One had to employ subtlety, hinting at suggestions while wearing a veil of subservience, so as to make them believe a planted idea was actually their own.

Intellectual types were impervious to emotional pleas and must therefore be approached with logical arguments. Even better if a woman supported her logical argument with documentation provided by men—quotes from male philosophers, scientists, and historians proved most effective.

Savior types wanted to feel strong and necessary to the women around them. Independent women constituted a threat to their masculinity. Managing this type required one to mask her strength and defer to the gentleman’s capabilities and protective instincts. This type was susceptible to emotional displays—tears, in particular—though Eliza had never had the stomach, nor the acting ability, to manipulate to that extent.

“That the turnoff?” Mr. Brooks asked, raising his left hand to gesture to the overgrown path twenty yards ahead.