“Don’t,” she broke in. “You would treat me so horribly then repair me the next day?”

  His shoulders slumped, and he reclined, his legs stretched out in front of him. Soiled hay clung to his boots. Running his fingers through his hair, he gripped his skull. “I was wrong to treat you that way,” he said, raising his gaze. “I will not do so again.”

  “Worthless words.” She shifted her hand in the quickly melting snow. “They are like so much desert wind. You wanted me as your wife and now I am.”

  Finger-shaped bruises glowed on her neck. Seeing them, his stomach twisted. He stretched out one hand, fitting his fingers there. In response, she hiked her skirt, displaying similar shapes on her thighs. These he stared at but did not go near.

  “There are more,” she said, “so excuse me if I don’t believe your promises.”

  He exhaled. “I will make you one more, but it requires something of you.”

  She pressed her lips together and gave an unladylike snort. “What kind of promise asks anything of the other person?”

  “One built on a solid foundation. I swear by the Bible I used to serve to seek redemption.”

  She hushed. Her eyes wide, cheeks florid, she was most beautiful, a work of art painted by the Master’s hand. How could he have treated something so priceless as if it were worth nothing more than stubble?

  “You seek it,” she said softly, “but what does that ask of me?”

  “I will not ask again how you came here, but you must send your parents a letter and tell them you are wed. I think of Cosette and not knowing where she may be and my heart grips in my chest.”

  Fear filled her gaze, and he wondered at it. But having said he wouldn’t inquire, he pledged not to.

  “If I cannot?” she asked.

  “Cannot or will not?” he replied.

  “Either. I cannot and I will not write them.”

  He sagged. Taking her wrist, he turned her hand upward and stared at her burns. “Then I will do it for you,” he said. “I have your address. I will write it and tell them myself.” He released her hand and stood. Turning his back, he made to search for paper, but she cried out after him.

  “What does it matter?” she asked. “I am dead to them.”

  He stilled, coldness creeping up his spine. Dead. The word frozen in his mind, the pieces of the story fit into place, and he whirled. Pigeon was as pale as the snow that dusted the ground, the blue in her eyes washed slate gray. He knew the truth then, but could not believe it. “Who are you?” he asked.

  She removed her hand from the cup of snow and buried it in her lap. “Pigeon Faulkenberg,” she replied, her voice trembling. “Your wife.”

  *(Is 6:5-8)

  CHAPTER 6

  His wife. She was his wife; he’d made her that in his anger. He regretted the method, but not the finality of it. Even then, staring at her, he didn’t care about the truth. She was the worst and greatest addiction.

  “I have not lied to you at all,” she said.

  She sounded small, her voice unsure, as if she feared his reaction, and he understood that. Who was to say a man who’d beat her once would not do so again?

  “Everything I have told you was the truth from the start,” she continued. “I was sent to marry another, but chose to marry you. I do not claim to have a clean conscience. I have carried the weight of the real woman’s death with me every day. Though I did not cause it, I did take her place.”

  “That, in itself, is telling a lie,” Lafayette replied.

  “Not a lie, but a sin of omission. I acknowledge it. I am sorry for it as well, but do not regret my choice. You had planned for her a miserable existence.” Standing to her feet, Pigeon walked over to him and tugged the collar of her dress aside, displaying her bruises. “Look at me! What would a man who’d do this to someone who fought back have done to a weak-willed woman like her?”

  She released her dress collar. “She was filled with dreams you gave her, talked incessantly about how special she was, that a woman so plain was picked by a man of your quality. Once gone, she had no one to mourn her; she’d told me her family were all dead. But I have mourned her … everyday … which is more regret than you have shown thus far. You wanted, not a wife, but a housekeeper. You’d pledged to not have relations with her. I do not have to ask to know it.” She glared at him. “I’d rather ten thousand bruises than for her to have lived through that.”

  There wasn’t any response to give because she was right. She had, in her own misguided way, done more for the woman than anyone else. But it did not change the fact her parents thought her deceased.

  “The bruises will heal and not return,” Lafayette replied. “But what of the pain to your parents’ hearts? Whether they treated you wrongly or not, whether they should have relented on their marriage plans for you, they have, by now, shed tears, thinking you gone. You cannot ask me to be a better man while not looking harder at yourself.”

  She gazed back silent, her pulse throbbing visually in her throat.

  “I will not relent on that,” he said. “I will take the consequences of my life. You must do the same.”

  He stood there a moment longer, then shuffled toward the door. “I will work in the far field today and return in time to greet Cosette and Niles. If you do not wish to be seen, then I will tell them you are not feeling well. You can stay in the bedroom. It makes no difference to me.” With that, he made his way out.

  Come evening, he had returned, washed, and changed. Pigeon secreted herself in the bedroom. Niles and Cosette arrived as planned. His sister’s bright face and joyous smile warmed him within, and he embraced her, long, wishing she would not make a scene over Pigeon’s absence. Reversing, he acknowledged Niles.

  They entered the house, Niles lugging a food basket over to the table.

  Pigeon had scrubbed it clean, seen that the place was spotless. At her absence from the group, however, Cosette turned, glancing toward the bedroom before bringing her gaze to his.

  “The festivities last evening took their toll,” he said. “Our apologies, but Pigeon isn’t well.”

  Cosette’s brow furrowed. “Is there something we can do?”

  “Your generosity is already too much,” he replied. “She will be improved in a day or so if given enough time.”

  “Perhaps, I might speak a word of greeting or offer a prayer?” she pressed.

  Uncomfortable, Lafayette shuffled his feet. Always, his sister had been persistent and able to see through his pretense. Her gaze became strict and he trembled a little.

  “Brother, what is the truth? What is this illness?” she asked. “I watched her move about the room with grace last night and fail to see how that would have any affect today. Have you argued? She is not used to your moods.”

  “Cosette, dear,” Niles intoned. “It might be better if we left them alone. We can see them another day.”

  She glanced at her husband, but made no move to obey him. “Something is wrong,” she argued instead. “I feel it in my heart, and I cannot leave without shaking the truth from him.”

  “It is not ours to seek,” he replied.

  Lafayette expelled a breath. He did not wish to cause them troubles. “Please,” he said, drawing their gazes. If you must know …” Lafayette called toward the bedroom. “Come out,” he called. “There is no point in hiding what I have done.”

  The bedroom door creaked, opening to reveal Pigeon’s face. The light of the oil lamp nearby cast particularly harsh on the bruises.

  Cosette raised her hand to her lips and stared in stunned silence. In her next breath, she whirled on him. Her fist curled, she pummeled him in the chest. “What a beast you are! A beast!”

  He gave no resistance, his eyes misting with tears.

  “That is not the result of the man you used to be, the godly one who preached salvation. It is the devil in your flesh you have allowed to control your mind. Why would you treat her thus, after the words you spoke to me last evening?”

  “I … do not know,” he replied, “except what brought us here torments me still.”

  “How long?” she asked. “How many years will you let that drag you into the abyss? I heard your words last evening, the Scripture from Isaiah, and though others thought it unusual, I did not. The call of God has always been in your heart, but you have let your mistake …”

  When he made to speak, she held up the flat of her hand.

  “A tremendous mistake, I will grant you that. But you have let it rule the entirety of your existence. Marianne is gone, and the child did not survive. Leaving marks of anger on your wife will not change that, but it will ruin any hope you have for the future. What is next? You listen to the most horrible of lies, that your life is worthless? Should I return to Little Rock fearing that next week, next month, you might dash yourself off the mountainside? Will it end like that?”

  “If I might?” Niles asked.

  Lafayette switched his gaze. Niles was a small man, thin and of no consequence physically, but full of book learning and extremely kind. They were unalike in manner, yet Lafayette held respect for him. He nodded his head, encouraging him on.

  “You were a man of the Word of God. What does it say? ‘Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it.’ I think you have simply forgotten Christ’s sacrifice.”*

  The verse gripped in his heart, and a cry left his lips. Falling to his knees, Lafayette bowed his head, more words from the passage on his tongue. “‘So ought men to love their wives as their own bodies. He that loveth his wife loveth himself,’” he quoted. “I … I have hated myself.”

  Weeping, the truth formed in his heart. “I am sorry,” he said. He cried out not to his sister and Niles, not even to Pigeon, but his hands extended grasped instead at the air. “I am sorry for it,” he repeated. “You gave all, seeking my betterment. I have cast it away.”

  “Brother?” Cosette approached and laid a hand on his head. “You are loved by us.”

  He wept that much harder hearing her words and clung to her skirt until his tears dried. His face uplifted then, he glanced from her to Niles and, inhaling deep, rose to his feet. He angled himself toward Pigeon, but could not find the words.

  His sister shuffled in reverse. “We will leave the food with you. There is more at home. I think what must be said between you is better done alone.” She motioned at Niles, and they stepped out. He heard their buggy wheels crackle across the ground, minutes later, and the chuff of the horse as it set out down the lane.

  Pigeon had not spoken once during the exchange or moved from the doorway. He walked over to her. Reaching up, he plucked the pins from her hair, allowing it to cascade down, golden, like honey. Brushing his fingers across her bruises again, he gently turned her, unfastening her dress.

  “I would see what I have done,” he said.

  His mind set and her not making any protest, he removed her shift and petticoats, her corset and underthings. Drawing her over to the bed, he selected her bruises with his lips and apologized with his kisses.

  She was exquisite, perfect to touch and of the finest flavor. He left no mark untaken, no place unsampled, not stopping until he’d caressed even the smoothness of her calf. The scent of her in his nostrils, he faced her once more. “I am sorry,” he said. “I was wrong to treat you thus and will not do so again. I will not ever take what is not mine to have.”

  He revolved on his heel and aimed for the door, halting there, his hand over the frame. “If you ever say you are ready …” His words trailed away. He stepped out the doorway, but halted at her voice.

  “I am ready,” she said.

  His heart in his throat, he held still.

  “I am ready, Lafayette.”

  Impatience striking him, he spun and returned to her.

  His mouth sought hers and found bliss between her lips, the words he would have said, expressed instead with the flick of his tongue, the soft suck of her cheek and temple. With his body, he sought forgiveness, each grasp, each flex and tug, begging for atonement. His will was hers to serve or reject, her requests, the dig of her nails into his back, the clasp of her thighs to his hips, granted in groans expelled from deep within. He gave until weakened, then awoke at dawn to give again, and lost himself in the weight of their lovemaking and the emotions crowding his heart.

  Her cheek on his shoulder, her fingers toying around his naval, Pigeon’s motions created the most wonderful sensation, one dizzying almost. Her breaths blew across his chest, adding to it, and for a moment, Lafayette lost his train of thought.

  “I need to rise and do chores,” he said. “Then, I think I will go to town. I need to speak with Thomas Vail. Would you like me to fetch Cosette? She might come and sit with you.”

  “That sounds lovely, and I do feel like I owe it to her.”

  For last night, she meant. He felt the same and had not limited his thoughts strictly to Cosette. Perhaps, Niles would accompany him. He kept this thought to himself, as well as his reason for going.

  “I question your motive though,” Pigeon said. “I’m thinking you do not wish me to scald myself again.”

  Reminded of that, he reached for her palm and turned it upward. The flesh, reddened, had formed small blisters. He brought it to his lips. “I do not wish you to harm one glorious inch, so that I might partake of it again, and Cosette is able to cook for the both of you.”

  A question seemed to rest on her face, but whatever it was, she didn’t ask. Instead, she rose, shoving the bed covers aside and straddled his waist. He stared unashamed at her beauty, his fingers roaming to grasp it. “You will keep me here acting like this.”

  She wiggled her bottom, a most stimulating movement, and in response, he sat up, hauling her upward and depositing her where he’d lain. “That is enough. We cannot lie in bed all day.”

  Though, while dressing, Pigeon smiling at him sly, and he wished it. He forced himself forward, fastening his pants and shirt, and collected his boots from where he’d tossed them in their haste. “I will either bring her in an hour or so, or I will return myself.”

  His ardor cooled with his morning routine and with hitching the wagon, so that he was well-relaxed by the time he set out for the Millfords’ and clear-headed on what he needed to do. Pulling up at their place, he dismounted and strode forward, decided on it.

  Mr. Millford answered the door in a semi state of undress, his shirt unfastened at the top. “Reverend. We weren’t expecting you.”

  “No, and though it isn’t an emergency, I must speak with Cosette and Niles if they are able.”

  “They are able. They are partaking of breakfast. Have you eaten?” He looked past him, as if scanning for Pigeon, not finding her, he returned his gaze.

  “I have not, but do not wish to disrupt the meal.”

  “Nonsense. You are family. Please come in …”

  Mr. Millford reversed, waving him inside, and Lafayette fell in behind his host on their walk toward the dining room. It was set as if an important guest had arrived, though, in fact, only Mrs. Millford, Cosette, and Niles were seated there. A variety of breakfast dishes were scattered on the table.

  “Lafayette!” Cosette rose and rushed to him, throwing her arms around his waist. She pushed back afterward, gazing upward. “You look well.”

  “Won’t you eat something?” Mrs. Millford asked. “We have so much.”

  Looking past his sister, he gazed at the spread once more, then shook his head. “It is most kind of you to offer, but I have plans for the day. I was hoping Niles and Cosette would join them.”

  “Plans?” his sister asked. “Should we discuss this here?” She glanced at Niles with that remark.

  Wiping his lips with a cloth napkin, Niles stood. “We can go in the parlor.” He didn’t wait for them to agree, but left the room, leading them down a short hallway into the small, but grand room. It was very masculine with a leather chair and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. It smelled faintly of tobacco from the cigars Mr. Millford sometimes smoked.

  “Here, now, what’s this about plans?” Cosette asked. “Is Pigeon well?”

  “She is fine. We have worked through our differences.” He paused to let them both assume what they would about that. “I need to go to town on a business matter,” he continued, “and was thinking you might like to visit.” He met Niles’ gaze. “If you aren’t too busy and wanted to accompany me, I would greatly appreciate it.”

  “Gladly,” Niles said. “I had planned a long discourse with father about his sloppy accounting practices. I’m sure he’ll be relieved to be rid of me and avoid it.”

  A short laugh passed between them.

  “I need only a few minutes to tidy up,” Cosette said, “and I’ll have the cook pack some food. If you haven’t eaten …” A curious expression rose on her lips. “Then most likely, Pigeon hasn’t either.”

  He coughed into his curled fist. “No. We weren’t thinking of food.”

  This brought laughter again.

  Twenty minutes later, they mounted the wagon and set out for his home. No chatter was made until they arrived and that only small goodbyes between her and Niles. He waited to see her go inside, Pigeon at the door, before clicking his tongue and aiming the wagon toward town. The same quiet that had descended on the ride from the Millfords formed again, but upon entering the narrow mountain pass, Niles spoke. “Care to let me in on what you didn’t want them to know?”

  That he’d picked up on that was like him and expected. Lafayette slowed the wagon, careful to stay in the snow-laden ruts. “I am going to tell you the truth,” he said. “Frankly, I am tired of working so hard to hide it. It seems the longer I try to conceal myself, the more exposed I become.” Lafayette breathed deep. “I want to speak with Thomas Vail about the pastorate.”

  “You are considering it?” Niles asked.

  “I don’t know if ‘consider’ is the right word as it is more that I must follow the call of God I have ignored for so long. At the same time, I cannot ‘consider’ it at all without telling Thomas about my sin.” He looked toward Niles and knew Cosette had spoken of it with him. He respected him the more for not saying so previously and being kind in spite of the knowledge.