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Lillian shook her head and almost asked “why” out loud as she waited for the minister to go on.

“Because his sister had come with him to California. A beautiful young woman. Within the first few weeks of their arrival, a young man started paying her attention. A wealthy young man from a good, upstanding, churchgoing family. He eventually compromised her in a brutal way and left her for dead. Those of you who have been around for thirty years probably know the story well. Or, at least, whatever version you’ve chosen to believe. The young woman lived, but the damage had been done. When the young man found out she’d lived through the ordeal, he told his family a lie. That lie got spread about and shared from person to person. They were good society people, so why wouldn’t the story be true? Right?”

Not a sound came from anywhere in the room.

“After months of gossip and lies being spread about this beautiful young woman who’d had her whole life ahead of her and had her innocence taken away by a greedy young man, she ran away. But the lies had gone before her. No one believed her. When she ran out of money, there was nowhere else to go. She was forced into the life of a harlot.”

A few murmurs echoed around the room.

“When her brother found out where she was, he went to get her. But it was too late. She’d died in the brothel.” His voice broke with emotion.

More murmurs.

“Do you understand what this poor woman had endured? Did you know that she loved the Lord and had hoped to marry a minister one day? She was precious in the eyes of the Lord. Special to Him and yet . . . like His Son . . . despised and rejected of men.”

A few gasps floated to Lillian’s ears. But she couldn’t care less what the people around her were thinking. She wanted—no needed—to know the end of the story.

The pastor moved forward again and gazed around the room. “My dear people, I’d heard the story and the rumors of this young woman before. But what I had been told wasn’t even a shred of the truth. And yet, it has been what was believed.” He sighed. “The brother of this poor young woman was devastated. And angry. He wanted revenge. So he went after the young man. Went to his large home in Sacramento to confront him. But the young man wasn’t there. He’d traveled here to find the brother. When he found out that the brother was gone, he wrote a long letter, saying he couldn’t live with himself any longer for what he’d done. He confessed and asked for forgiveness. And then he hanged himself.”

More gasps and whispers.

The pastor pulled a letter out of his Bible. “This . . .” he choked. “This is the letter of confession, anguish, and regret that the brother held on to for all those years. Oh, he could have come into town and shown it to everyone and belittled the man and his family. He could have sought retribution in any number
of ways. He could have spread his own story to squelch all the rumors and prove to this town that his sister was innocent. But when he found the young man, the loss of both young lives broke the brother. He realized that he didn’t want to have anything to do with anyone who called themselves Christian. Because this . . .
this
is what Christians did.”

He stopped and put the letter inside his coat. His tone became more stern—that of a rebuking father. “This man, on his deathbed, had lived a life as a recluse because he didn’t want to ever have to deal with the pain that Christians caused. I spent an hour with this man as he breathed his last, trying to give him the hope that is only in Christ. And yet, how hard it is for one to believe when the example we set before them is so poor.

“I don’t know if the man ever believed. That is not for me to say, because only God knows the heart. But I pray that God drew this man to himself in that last hour. Shame on us all for allowing this sort of thing to happen.

“In closing, I would like us all to bow our heads and think about people we have hurt with our words. And I would hope to challenge you all with the words of James, chapter one, verse twenty-six: ‘If any man among you seem to be religious, and bridleth not his tongue, but deceiveth his own heart, this man’s religion is vain.’”

As the pastor closed in prayer, Lillian felt hollowed out. The gut-wrenching story had torn at every corner of her heart. Gone were the thoughts of the others and if they had been listening. Her own heart was convicted and tender.
Lord, help me to bridle my tongue and use it only to glorify You.

The pastor dismissed the congregation, and there wasn’t a word said as they shuffled out. Not even in greeting to him as
they exited. It seemed people couldn’t get away fast enough. Lillian held back with Jimmy and waited until they were last.

Reaching the pastor, she shook his hand. “Good morning, Reverend. My name is Lillian Porter.”

“I’m glad to meet you, Miss Porter. I’m Pastor Seymour. How is it you have come to share our fellowship today?”

“I’m this handsome young man’s nanny.” She looked at Jimmy and smiled. “This is Jimmy Colton.”

“Yes, I thought I recognized him. It’s been a long time, Jimmy. Do you remember me? I used to be good friends with your father and mother.”

Lillian felt Jimmy take a step back and move closer to her side. She knew he felt uncomfortable with strangers, but she’d hoped he might remember the pastor. Instead of making an ordeal of the situation, Lillian hurried to continue her thoughts.

“It was Jimmy’s father who suggested this church. I’m glad he did.” Just then an older woman came to join them.

“I’d like you to meet my wife,” the pastor said, putting his arm around the woman. “My dear, this is Miss Porter. She’s Jimmy Colton’s nanny.”

The woman smiled and nodded. “I’m so glad to meet you and see Jimmy again.”

Lillian realized that time was getting away from her and didn’t want to give Woody and Mrs. Goodman any reason to worry about them. “It was wonderful to meet you both. Thank you for the sermon today, Pastor Seymour. I am sure I will be thinking on it for a long time.”

He smiled back at her. “Thank you, Miss Porter. I’m so glad you all came today. I hope you will return.”

“We will.” She squeezed Jimmy’s hand. “We definitely will.” She turned to go.

“Oh, and Miss Porter . . .”

Lillian paused. “Yes?”

“Please tell Woody I send . . . no,
we
send our love.”

Lillian smiled. “I will, Mrs. Seymour. I’m sure it will mean a lot to him.”

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

D
arwin paced the mine. Why did his dim-witted brother have to get involved? Of course, if Harry hadn’t moved the gold, someone else probably would have it. So in a way he should be grateful, but his no-good uncle and cousins had obviously beat Harry’s head a few too many times, because the kid couldn’t remember anything.

Harry was crouched up against the wall, chewing on his fingernails. “I’m sorry, Brother, I really am. I’m tryin’ real hard to ’member.”

Darwin leaned up against the wall and beat his head against the stone a few times. It infuriated him. His gold. And he couldn’t even find it! The entire world was against him. It always had been. He’d never got an easy deal even once in his life.

Moans came from his brother. “I don’t mean to make you mad, Darwin. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, really sorry, really sorry.” The big guy cowered and covered his head with his arm.

Darwin sighed. He didn’t have patience for this. But every time he raised his voice or got angry, Harry got even more worked up and couldn’t remember. If Darwin could keep himself calm for a little bit and talk to Harry the way Ma did, then
maybe that would help the kid conjure up where he’d hidden the sacks.

So he crouched down in front of his kid brother and put on the sweetest tone he could muster. “It’s all right, Harry. I know you’re trying. I just need to find it because mean Uncle John told the constable a lie about me, and he’s trying to find us.”

Harry frowned. “Uncle John is very, very mean. I don’t want him to find us.”

“I know, little brother. So we don’t have a lot of time. I just don’t want them to hurt you anymore.”

“You know that they hurt me?” Harry jumped up. “No, no, no. How did you find out? They told me if I ever told you, they would kill me and you, too.”

Darwin almost laughed. Kind of like the threat he’d given the Colton kid. But he had to calm Harry down. So he placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “They won’t get to you, Harry. I promise. I found out because I’m your brother. That’s why we went away, so I could protect you.”

“And I could help you.” Harry smiled.

“Yes, so you could help me.” He had to work at keeping his voice soothing. “All we need to do is help you remember, right?”

“Right.” Harry seemed to have forgotten about everything else and paced the open area of the mine like Darwin had been doing. He furrowed his brow and clasped his hands behind his back.

Darwin waited, but nothing happened. So he slid down the wall and covered his face with his hat. Maybe he could shut his eyes for just a few minutes. . . .

“Brother, Brother!” The singsong voice was back.

Darwin opened his eyes and lifted his hat.

“I remember!” His brother walked around clapping. “Well, I remember a few things. How many bags were there?”

“Ten.”

“Well, I ’member five for sure. There was one biggest one, right? And another big one?”

Darwin nodded.

“Those’re in the well.”

“Okay.” He leaned forward and tried to remain calm.

“There’s another one in the attic of the big new house. Under the floorboards. I snuck in there and hid it when they were building the house ’cause they dug up where I hid it first and I was afraid they’d find it.”

“Go on.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut tight and chewed on his lip. “Oh, oh, I had another one. . . .” He pointed to his head and his eyes popped open. “In Ma’s rose garden. Under the chicken. Two are there.”

“Huh? What chicken?”

“The chicken you killed when you got angry. You were mean to it and Ma said you hurt it so bad we couldn’t even eat it. So we buried it under a stone in the rose garden.”

“I don’t remember killin’ no chicken.” Darwin realized he’d raised his voice again, but at least the kid had remembered something. And something was better than nothing.

“Oh, I do.” Harry nodded. “And it’s a reminder to not lose our tempers.”

Yeah. Sure. A chicken as a reminder to not lose his temper? Poor, innocent Harry. If he thought the worst thing Darwin had ever done was kill a chicken, then the kid was dumber than he thought. But if keeping calm would keep Harry remembering, then Darwin would put his best foot forward. After that, he’d have his gold, and his brother . . . well . . . his brother could have a good, long rest.

The sun beat down on Woody as he gazed out at the olive grove. When he’d checked the trees earlier, they were sorely in need of water. And a lot of it. Even with all his men, they couldn’t keep up with the hand-watering. They just couldn’t do it.
Lord, we need some rain. In a bad way.

Some of the olives were showing the signs of the drought. If he didn’t do something and soon, he might even lose a good portion of the crop. The only way to get water to all the trees would be to dig an irrigation ditch. If they could get water directly from the spring-fed pond to the grove, then they could water all the trees at once. It might be worth the time and effort. And it might be the only way to save the farm if the drought continued.

Gathering his men together, he laid out the plan. They’d need more shovels, and if he could find some trenching spades in town, that would be even better. The men would set out to start digging the trench at the pond, and Woody would go into town for supplies.

As he walked back to the house, he decided he wanted to ask Lillian to go with him. He’d been encouraged by her words about church on Sunday and Pastor Seymour’s prudent message. But even more than that, he wanted to spend more time with her.

He took the steps up the porch two at a time and swung open the screen door. The most beautiful music rose up to greet him. Following the sounds, Woody momentarily forgot his mission. He stood in the open entryway to the music room and watched Lillian as she played the piano. Jimmy sat beside her on the bench. He watched her hands the entire time.

“She’s quite accomplished, isn’t she?” Mrs. Goodman whispered, coming up behind him.

Woody nodded and continued to listen until Lillian finished. Jimmy clapped his hands, so Woody thought it only appropriate that he clap, as well.

Lillian looked over her shoulder, then jumped to her feet. “I was just showing Jimmy how the simple song I’ve been teaching him will one day sound when he learns more about the piano and how to play.”

“Well, it was beautiful. I seem to remember Rebecca playing that same song.” Woody waited for a painful memory of his wife to come and put a damper on his mood. When it didn’t, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“I need to go into town for some supplies. I was wondering, Mrs. Goodman, if you had a list you could give Lillian and if you’d watch Jimmy for the afternoon so that Lillian could go with me.”