Running Barefoot
Page 80

I walked to the water’s edge and knelt next to him, reaching my hand out as he had, feeling the cold silk of the water kiss my palms. I brushed the tips of my fingers against his hand, wondering if he’d pull away. In the bruised dark my skin shone pale against the starlit surface. I laid my hand on top of his, twining my fingers through his fingers, light on dark. I watched him as he turned his face towards me, his expression full of question. I leaned into him, my eyes on his, and answered in the only way I knew he would really hear me.
I brushed my lips gently across his, the way he had done after he’d washed my hair the night before. Only this time, I stared into his eyes, black pools reflecting the water we knelt beside. I heard his swift intake of breath, but other then the clenching of his hand in mine, he held himself completely still as my lips played softly over his. Still, I didn’t close my eyes but watched him, silently soothing him.
“Do you really believe what you do in the service of your country, for the men you fight beside, is something you need to explain to me?” My voice was just above a whisper, my face a breath from his.
“You think you have to justify yourself to me? Me? Someone who’s never had to march umpteen miles with 150 pounds on her back, or been shot at, or gone days on little to no sleep? Someone who hasn’t spent the last ten years in harsh conditions, with few comforts, someone who’s never been asked to do incredibly difficult things to keep people safe?” I kissed him again, the tips of my wet fingers resting lightly on his jaw. “Where would we all be without people like you?”
Samuel’s eyes shone down at me, emotion tightening the corners of his mouth. And still he made no move to kiss me in return.
“Do you remember what God told David? How He said David had too much blood on his hands?” Samuel’s voice was a hoarse whisper.
“No. Remind me.” I remembered the story of David, of his lust for Bathsheba, his plot to murder her husband, and subsequently the death of their child. The bible was full of such stories. Anyone who said it was boring hadn’t read past Genesis.
“God told David he couldn’t build the temple because he had too much blood on his hands. He allowed him to gather the materials for the temple, but God commands David’s son Solomon to actually build it.”
“I don’t understand what you are trying to say to me, Samuel. Do you think you have too much blood on your hands? That you’ve fallen from grace?”
Samuel simply stared down at me.
I floundered, not following his line of thinking at all. “David caused the death of Uriah, Bathsheba’s husband, because Bathsheba was pregnant with David’s child, and David wanted her for himself. Maybe that is the blood that is referred to, the blood God couldn’t overlook. Not the blood of those that David had commanded in war, or killed in battle.”
“Am I really so different?”
“Samuel! I don’t understand how you can equate yourself with David. Even so, David died in God’s good graces. He had repented for his sins, and we have the book of Psalms to prove he was favored by God.” I was truly befuddled. Samuel’s silence lasted several minutes this time. I was getting better at waiting him out. When he spoke the subject had seemingly changed, and I mentally cart-wheeled to catch up.
“I got a letter from my Grandma Nettie when you got engaged, Josie. She thought I would remember you; she mentioned it kind of in passing, kind of ‘Oh by the way.’” Samuel paused.
“I remember where I was when I read that letter, where I was sitting, what I had been doing in the moments leading up to it. I was completely leveled by the news, to say the least. I’d been gone for almost five years; I hadn’t seen you for more than two. You were still so young, and I thought I had time. You see, in my mind, I always kept track. I would mark time with your birthdays. Josie is sixteen - but I’m 21. Josie is 17, still too young. Then out of the blue this kid came in and snatched you up, and you were suddenly taken.”
I stared at Samuel, my mouth hanging open, completely undone by what he had revealed. Samuel expelled a short, harsh laugh at my stunned reaction, and suddenly his wet hands gripped my shoulders, and he rose to his feet, pulling me with him.
“I didn’t know who Kasey was; my grandma mentioned his name and said that he was a nice local kid. I just remember how angry I was and how much I wanted to hunt him down. I had another two years on my contract with the Marines, but all I wanted to do was come to Levan and kill him and plead my case to you. I wanted to beg you not to marry him. I even wrote a letter to you telling you to wait for me.”
“I never got a letter.” My lungs were burning. I realized I was holding my breath.
“I never sent it. I couldn’t. I had absolutely no right.”
Samuel suddenly held my face in his hands. They were cold and still a little wet from the water. I shivered as his eyes burned holes down into mine. “A few months after that, my grandma sent me a letter telling me Kasey had been killed. I felt sick, because in my heart of hearts I had wished it. I had wanted him gone. So am I really so different than David?”
I couldn’t answer immediately; my head was spinning with the passion in his voice and the intensity in his eyes. He interpreted my stunned silence as censure once more, and he dropped his hands from my face. “I’m sorry, Josie. I had no intention of telling you any of this. But I just couldn’t let you kiss me and comfort me, and let you tell me what a good man I am, without telling you everything. And the worse part is…I’m glad he’s gone. I’m not glad he’s dead, I don’t wish that. But yes, I’m glad he’s gone. And I don’t know what kind of man that makes me.”