to do things differently. Jimmy needed him—needed help. And the only way to help his son heal was to truly go through the healing process himself. It would probably be like ripping the scab off a large wound, but he needed to get the festering wound cleaned out so it could heal properly. Otherwise, the grief and guilt would eat him alive. And he was tired of it and all the pain. It was time to let go.
A couple trunks and a large traveling bag sat in front of the general store as he pulled the wagon to a halt. Woody could only hope that meant good news for him.
Two men left the store and watched him approach. They shook their heads and scowled in his direction and then walked the other way.
At least he wouldn’t have to talk to them. He could be thankful for that.
All right, Lord. I know You’ve got control of this situation . Woody climbed down from the wagon and walked to the door. The bell jangled overhead as he opened it, and Carla sent him a smile from behind the counter.
“Good evening, Woody. We’ve been waitin’ on you.”
Her husband harrumphed in the corner as he dusted shelves.
Woody removed his hat. “So I’m hoping that means Miss Porter arrived?”
“She did indeed.” Carla patted his arm. “But it wasn’t pretty there for a while, I must say. I’m sorry.”
He could only imagine and nodded. Tendrils of fear raced through his limbs, trying to take root. I have overcome . . . Peace engulfed him again, and he stood straighter. “Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. That one’s made of strong stuff.” She walked around the counter. “But I’m sad to say that she did get an earful from the townsfolk.”
“I had a feeling she would.” He shook his head. “I had intended to get here early but had a wagon repair on the way into town.”
“No matter. She’s here and has had a little time to rest.” Carla motioned for him to sit by the checkerboard. The pungent aroma of the pickle barrel made his mouth water. “Let me go get her.”
Herman continued to dust and kept his back to Woody, probably in an attempt to keep his mouth shut. Which was for the best. Woody struggled with his own feelings but knew he had to forgive the man for his treatment the week prior.
Time to forgive him for his doubts about Woody, as well. God knew he had enough doubts for them both.
The butcher’s daughter entered the store and greeted Mr. Clark. But as she turned, Woody recognized the horror on her face when she spotted him. She spun on her heel and walked right out the door.
Herman turned then and marched toward him. “You’ve cost me enough customers today, Colton.” The shopkeeper looked over his shoulder to where his wife had disappeared,then stepped closer and poked Woody in the chest with his finger. “Now, get out!”
“Get out!” Was that Grandfather? What was he doing here in California?
A soft touch on her shoulder woke Lillian from a deep sleep. “What? Where am I?”
“In the general store in Angels, Lillian.” Carla Clark helped her to sit up. “It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it? And it’s not over. Mr. Colton has come to fetch ya. So we best get you freshened up.” The robust woman bustled around the tiny cot and brought her a washcloth and basin of water.
As Lillian washed her face, the events of the afternoon after her arrival came rushing back. After Mrs. Clark—who insisted she be called Carla—shooed away the “gossiping herd,” she had taken Lillian to a room in the back and sat her down. The woman had been kind and honest with her about the horrible death of Rebecca Colton. She never painted Mr. Colton as a saint, but did share her own memories of the man they’d known several years. It wasn’t until the mysterious and awful death of Rebecca that people had anything against Woodward Colton. And even though Judge Morgan had declared him innocent of any wrongdoing, once the rumors started, there didn’t seem to be a way to extinguish them. They spread
A couple trunks and a large traveling bag sat in front of the general store as he pulled the wagon to a halt. Woody could only hope that meant good news for him.
Two men left the store and watched him approach. They shook their heads and scowled in his direction and then walked the other way.
At least he wouldn’t have to talk to them. He could be thankful for that.
All right, Lord. I know You’ve got control of this situation . Woody climbed down from the wagon and walked to the door. The bell jangled overhead as he opened it, and Carla sent him a smile from behind the counter.
“Good evening, Woody. We’ve been waitin’ on you.”
Her husband harrumphed in the corner as he dusted shelves.
Woody removed his hat. “So I’m hoping that means Miss Porter arrived?”
“She did indeed.” Carla patted his arm. “But it wasn’t pretty there for a while, I must say. I’m sorry.”
He could only imagine and nodded. Tendrils of fear raced through his limbs, trying to take root. I have overcome . . . Peace engulfed him again, and he stood straighter. “Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. That one’s made of strong stuff.” She walked around the counter. “But I’m sad to say that she did get an earful from the townsfolk.”
“I had a feeling she would.” He shook his head. “I had intended to get here early but had a wagon repair on the way into town.”
“No matter. She’s here and has had a little time to rest.” Carla motioned for him to sit by the checkerboard. The pungent aroma of the pickle barrel made his mouth water. “Let me go get her.”
Herman continued to dust and kept his back to Woody, probably in an attempt to keep his mouth shut. Which was for the best. Woody struggled with his own feelings but knew he had to forgive the man for his treatment the week prior.
Time to forgive him for his doubts about Woody, as well. God knew he had enough doubts for them both.
The butcher’s daughter entered the store and greeted Mr. Clark. But as she turned, Woody recognized the horror on her face when she spotted him. She spun on her heel and walked right out the door.
Herman turned then and marched toward him. “You’ve cost me enough customers today, Colton.” The shopkeeper looked over his shoulder to where his wife had disappeared,then stepped closer and poked Woody in the chest with his finger. “Now, get out!”
“Get out!” Was that Grandfather? What was he doing here in California?
A soft touch on her shoulder woke Lillian from a deep sleep. “What? Where am I?”
“In the general store in Angels, Lillian.” Carla Clark helped her to sit up. “It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it? And it’s not over. Mr. Colton has come to fetch ya. So we best get you freshened up.” The robust woman bustled around the tiny cot and brought her a washcloth and basin of water.
As Lillian washed her face, the events of the afternoon after her arrival came rushing back. After Mrs. Clark—who insisted she be called Carla—shooed away the “gossiping herd,” she had taken Lillian to a room in the back and sat her down. The woman had been kind and honest with her about the horrible death of Rebecca Colton. She never painted Mr. Colton as a saint, but did share her own memories of the man they’d known several years. It wasn’t until the mysterious and awful death of Rebecca that people had anything against Woodward Colton. And even though Judge Morgan had declared him innocent of any wrongdoing, once the rumors started, there didn’t seem to be a way to extinguish them. They spread
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