there is no excuse. I had my reasons, but they were all wrong. I can see that now. Back then, I was a petty thief, and I robbed you for a petty dream. I’m sorrier than I could ever tell you.”
He said nothing, only opened his green eyes and stared with an expression so full of raw hatred, it nearly took her breath away .
After a brief pause, she steeled herself to say the rest, though the words threatened to dislodge a private store of tears inside her . “If it makes you feel any better, I was punished for my crime s ”
“Punished?” His voice sounded shockingly strong now, considering his condition . “You want to hear about punishment, Annie Faith? Let me tell you about what happened when I woke up two days later. How the kind and caring citizens of Mud Wasp threw me in the hoosegow because I couldn’t pay for the hotel or the livery on the horse that you ran off with. Let me tell you about how your two days turned into two weeks while I waited for the circuit judge to come to town. And how those two weeks turned into two years before I saved the money that I needed. And how by that time, it was too late. Too late because of you.”
Tears burned in Anna’s eyes, but she couldn’t bear to let him see them . Instead, she shoved a thick log into the fireplace.
“I told you, I’m not Annie anymore . I’m Anna,” she insisted. He said nothing, and she knew that in his mind, she’d always be a thief.
She had not expected his forgiveness, but she’d still thought herself at peace with what she’d been . But the moment she had seen the anger etched in his expression, her own self-loathing rushed back at her, inevitable as winter on the bright heels of the fall.
Barely had the flames begun to lick around the loose bark when she grabbed her hat and stalked back outside into the nearly blinding snow . She found the storm no colder than the darkness in her heart.
* * *
“Have some more soup, Papa.” Horace Singletary thrust out the spoon. Exhausted from a ten-hour day spent processing claims, the clerk tried to will his hand to steadiness so he would not spill every drop. Despite his effort, fatigue made the curved bowl quiver, and he felt the patience draining from his soul.
Outside the cramped wood structure, a wintry dusk had long since robbed the sky of color, and Horace had been up before the dawn . He was cold in the ramshackle bunkhouse, cold and tired to his bones. Tired as his father now looked, despite the fact that Horace was only twenty-four years old.
His father’s blue eyes appeared to focus briefly on the spoon before growing soft and distant once again . Enveloped in an old wool blanket, the old man nodded, eyelids drooping like a pair of setting suns.
“Papa, please, you have to eat.” Horace hated begging . How he wished that Laurel would come back. She had always been so much more patient, and their father seemed to listen more attentively to her. But a week earlier, his sister’s husband had grown impatient at her long absences. Fearing that her three-year marriage would unravel, she’d finally returned home to their ranch, two days’ ride from here.
Horace felt a small surge of victory as Papa reluctantly accepted the spoon . Until a moment later, when his eyes closed once again and the contents dribbled from the old man’s mouth.
“Please stay awake so we can do this!” Horace shouted in frustration.
The old man’s eyes shot open with an expression of clear terror. “Sorry . . . sorry . . . sorry . . .” he began. Tears rolled unchecked down his hollow cheeks.
“Oh, Papa, no.” Horace used a worn kerchief to blot the moisture on his father’s face . The skin felt more like paper than the flesh Horace remembered. It seemed as if, since he’d lost his land, the old man had withered into weightless shadow, a fragile husk of the giant he’d once been.
Watching Papa’s slow decline was pure hell . Horace felt impotent against it, as
He said nothing, only opened his green eyes and stared with an expression so full of raw hatred, it nearly took her breath away .
After a brief pause, she steeled herself to say the rest, though the words threatened to dislodge a private store of tears inside her . “If it makes you feel any better, I was punished for my crime s ”
“Punished?” His voice sounded shockingly strong now, considering his condition . “You want to hear about punishment, Annie Faith? Let me tell you about what happened when I woke up two days later. How the kind and caring citizens of Mud Wasp threw me in the hoosegow because I couldn’t pay for the hotel or the livery on the horse that you ran off with. Let me tell you about how your two days turned into two weeks while I waited for the circuit judge to come to town. And how those two weeks turned into two years before I saved the money that I needed. And how by that time, it was too late. Too late because of you.”
Tears burned in Anna’s eyes, but she couldn’t bear to let him see them . Instead, she shoved a thick log into the fireplace.
“I told you, I’m not Annie anymore . I’m Anna,” she insisted. He said nothing, and she knew that in his mind, she’d always be a thief.
She had not expected his forgiveness, but she’d still thought herself at peace with what she’d been . But the moment she had seen the anger etched in his expression, her own self-loathing rushed back at her, inevitable as winter on the bright heels of the fall.
Barely had the flames begun to lick around the loose bark when she grabbed her hat and stalked back outside into the nearly blinding snow . She found the storm no colder than the darkness in her heart.
* * *
“Have some more soup, Papa.” Horace Singletary thrust out the spoon. Exhausted from a ten-hour day spent processing claims, the clerk tried to will his hand to steadiness so he would not spill every drop. Despite his effort, fatigue made the curved bowl quiver, and he felt the patience draining from his soul.
Outside the cramped wood structure, a wintry dusk had long since robbed the sky of color, and Horace had been up before the dawn . He was cold in the ramshackle bunkhouse, cold and tired to his bones. Tired as his father now looked, despite the fact that Horace was only twenty-four years old.
His father’s blue eyes appeared to focus briefly on the spoon before growing soft and distant once again . Enveloped in an old wool blanket, the old man nodded, eyelids drooping like a pair of setting suns.
“Papa, please, you have to eat.” Horace hated begging . How he wished that Laurel would come back. She had always been so much more patient, and their father seemed to listen more attentively to her. But a week earlier, his sister’s husband had grown impatient at her long absences. Fearing that her three-year marriage would unravel, she’d finally returned home to their ranch, two days’ ride from here.
Horace felt a small surge of victory as Papa reluctantly accepted the spoon . Until a moment later, when his eyes closed once again and the contents dribbled from the old man’s mouth.
“Please stay awake so we can do this!” Horace shouted in frustration.
The old man’s eyes shot open with an expression of clear terror. “Sorry . . . sorry . . . sorry . . .” he began. Tears rolled unchecked down his hollow cheeks.
“Oh, Papa, no.” Horace used a worn kerchief to blot the moisture on his father’s face . The skin felt more like paper than the flesh Horace remembered. It seemed as if, since he’d lost his land, the old man had withered into weightless shadow, a fragile husk of the giant he’d once been.
Watching Papa’s slow decline was pure hell . Horace felt impotent against it, as
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