His father was right about it being untouched. It was like a monument to his brother's memory. Ben's ball still lay on his bed where he'd left it the morning of the accident. His Sunday clothes still hung on the wall by his bedside. It was eerie really.

"The air feels heavier in here," he commented, breathing hard as if he was struggling to draw in air.

"Maybe you'd rather we sleep outside?" Ruth suggested. "You shouldn't have to sleep in here."

Kid shook his head. "No. My father offered it. It'd be rude to turn it down. I'll manage."

Ruth's eyebrows furrowed, but she didn't say anything. Was it hospitality on Wallace's part or did he hope to make Kid suffer? "Has your family always been this way?"

It took him a moment to figure out what she was talking about. "They've always been very serious people. Not much for conversation. Well, not Ben. He always seemed to be able to bring a smile to everyone's faces. But he was the most serious of us as far God was concerned. I saw him talk to a hardhearted, old Christian once, if you could call him that, at 9 years old and win the argument too. He would've made one heck of a preacher if I hadn't—"

Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, feeling his pain. "You have to stop torturing yourself. God's forgiven you. When are you going to forgive yourself?"

He didn't have an answer for her because he didn't know himself. He'd thought if he could just find a little forgiveness from his family then it might make it easier, but he didn't blame them. Seeing their pain and their silent suffering had intensified his own pain and guilt and now it felt like a heavy stone pressing against his chest. "I don't know if I can do this," he said suddenly.

"'I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me'," she quoted. "You have to find a way to broach the subject with them for their sakes, as well as your own."

He took a deep breath. "You're right. I know you're right." He saw the sinking sun through the window. "I reckon I better see to the wagon and horses. You look tired. Why don't you go ahead and turn in?"

"Alright," she said, offering him a tender smile.

When he came back in, she was sleeping in his bed. He lay down beside her after he'd stripped himself of his hat, shirt, and gun.

He felt unloved by his parents and siblings, a miserable feeling, and for the longest time, he hadn't loved himself either. That was the real reason he had fallen so hard into a life of sin. Ruth was the first person to ever tell him I love you. Oh, sometimes women had whispered that to him in the heat of passion, but they hadn't meant it. They hadn't been aware of the meaning of love anymore than he had been at the time. Ruth had led him to the source of love, the God who was love, and His well was so deep it allowed him not only to learn to love Him back but it had taught him to love himself and those around him. These were things he couldn't lose sight of under this roof. He couldn't let the old ways of feeling eat away at him and corrode the new life he'd built.

His eyes saw the brown leather ball even in the pale moonlight. "Ben, do you forgive me?" he asked silently.

Her arm fell across his chest gently and her warm lips pressed against his upper arm. She wasn't sleeping as heavily as he'd thought. "I love you," she murmured.

"I know. I love you too, baby." He wrapped his arms around her, trying to draw strength from her, but he knew where her strength came from, the same place he should have been finding it. He'd let Ruth do all the praying, which was probably one of the reasons she had to pray so hard for him. "God forgive me. God let them all know how sorry I am. How terribly sorry."

sss

Ruth closed her Bible, done with her morning devotional. She glanced toward the bed. He was still sleeping. She had felt him tossing and turning all night. She eased carefully out of the room, hoping he would get some much needed rest to face the day.

As she drew near the kitchen, she heard them talking.

"He married some kind of religious fanatic from the look of her wagon. He's not really remorseful for all he's done. She's forcing him to do this. He'd never even have dropped a line if it wasn't for her. I'd stake all my worldly goods on it," Jed said.

"Don't even talk of gambling. You think that's it then?" Eleanor asked.

"I'm positive. Did you see the gun around his waist? If he's so eager to turn over a new leaf, why is he still carrying it? I won't hurt you with all the details, but from all reports, he's been using it quite a bit."

She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but she wasn't going to listen to any more of it. It was wrong of her for one thing and she was in danger of hardening her heart toward them for their judgment and unforgiveness toward Kid. She was finding it was easier to forgive somebody for a wrong done against her than it was to forgive somebody who was doing wrong to one she loved. She was determined to do her best though. "Good morning," she greeted them pleasantly. "I hope ya'll don't mind we turned in so early last night but so much traveling tends to take it out of you. Is there anything I can help with?"

They looked at her like she was speaking in tongues. Sometimes people outside the valley did seem to have a little trouble following her mountain dialect, but it was more than likely the happy tones that were foreign to them.

"No, just have a seat. It's almost ready," Eleanor said at last.

She and Mildred were getting breakfast ready and Jed resumed carrying in firewood.

"Jed tells me you do some kind of revival work?"

"Yes, ma'am," Ruth said.

Wallace had just come in from the morning chores. He went over to the soap and water. "And is that successful?" he asked.

"Financially you mean? No. Kid and I have to pick up some odd jobs here and there. Sometimes people are generous and can donate money or food to eat, but we won't ever be rich. For the Kingdom though, the worth and success is immeasurable."

"You don't worry about where your next meal is coming from?" Mildred spoke up then looked embarrassed that she had.

"No, I find the Lord always provides. Sometimes it ain't until the 11th hour, but He hasn't failed me yet," she answered warmly.

Kid joined them. She hoped her leaving the room hadn't disturbed him. There were dark circles under his eyes that hinted he still hadn't gotten enough sleep.

"Good morning, sweetheart," she said.

It seemed to make the others uncomfortable. Apparently terms of endearment weren't any more common around here than smiles.

"Good morning," Kid answered when he sat down and patted her knee affectionately under the privacy of the table.

Breakfast was soon underway after Wallace gave another concise blessing.

Ruth was uncomfortable again. Being at a table was a time for families to share joys and sorrows in her experience. It was its own form of worship as sometimes praying at the table was the only time a family came together to pray openly. The Cole table contrasted so sharply with the laughing and the stories that could be found at the McKenzie table. Of course, she knew families were different. She would have been okay with a comfortable, companionable silent as much as she enjoyed talking, but she could almost picture a heavy gray cloud hanging over the table.

"You staying for church tomorrow?" Eleanor asked Kid as she began to gather dishes off the table when the seemingly long meal was over.

"We could if you want us to," Kid answered.

"It's not about what I want, but what the Lord wants," Eleanor said, which was her way of saying yes. "You should honor the Sabbath."

Did she secretly want to reconcile with Kid and just didn't know how to go about it? Ruth had thought she glimpsed a soft look in her eyes for a moment. Sympathy and compassion for the austere woman filled her heart and she silently asked the Lord for forgiveness at her own harsh judgment in thinking this mother didn't love her son. She had no right to judge any of the Coles as she hadn't walked in their shoes and couldn't see their hearts. "Open all our hearts, Lord."