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“Well, we haven’t worked out all the details, but she would leave a ransom note and then sneak out of the house. I’d meet her nearby, and we would take her someplace safe.”
“Her father has a cabin up in the mountains,” Jorge offered. “I’ve been there a couple of times, helping the boss. I even went up there once on my own when I wanted to get away from everything. I knew Señor Garcia wouldn’t be there, so I took advantage of it.”
“That sounds perfect. I doubt he would think to look right under his nose. He’s going to believe the kidnappers would have taken her away on the train.”
“We could make it look like that,” Rudy agreed. “We could get on the train in disguise, a couple of us traveling with Señorita Garcia. One of us could wait at an appointed place with the horses, then whoever was on the train could sneak off, and we’d all ride to the cabin.”
“It would work too,” Jorge added. “There’s another road that goes up the back side of the mountain and meets up with the path that goes to the cabin.”
Diego nodded. It was starting to sound like a real plan. Now, if he could just convince Isabella to participate.
“But folks would know it was us when we didn’t turn up at work,” Rudy said suddenly. His expression of interest turned to worry. “How would we explain that?”
“We would show up for work as always. If Isabella is helping us, she can be by herself in the cabin, even for several days if need be. She’s very resourceful.” At least he hoped she was. He’d never known her to be afraid of much. “We can go to work as usual, and I can go visit her at the cabin after everyone’s gone to sleep.”
Rudy nodded, looking relieved. “Sure, and you can borrow my horse, Dusty. He’s surefooted and shoed. Not like most of the ponies around here that go barefoot. Unless you’re rich like the Garcias. They shoe all of their horses.”
“Better take the preacher too,” Jorge teased. “That’s a long way up and back down. You might just want to stay the night.”
Rudy laughed. Diego forced a grin. At that moment, intimacy with Isabella Garcia was furthest from his mind. Her father’s millions was the thing he wanted to cozy up to.
Isabella sat beside her mother, rolling bandages like the other dozen or so church ladies seated at the table. Mother had explained that each of the three churches did a variety of things to help prepare their community for tragedy or problems, such as a collapse or explosion at the mine. They also worked together to assist the poor in town.
Mama said it was God’s will that they should treat each person with care and be helpful to all. These were people who had far less and deserved help. Papi would meet with each family or individual and observe what their needs might be. He had some family housing for mine workers as well as individual apartments that could be shared, like the one he’d put Diego in. Isabella still thought it a shame that Diego couldn’t just stay at the house like one of the family. He couldsurely prove his goodness all the faster if her father were able to oversee his private life as well as his working day.
The women settled on a hymn and broke into harmony as they praised God for His goodness. Isabella had to admit the singing made the day pass much more quickly. The work didn’t seem much like work at all when everyone pulled together.
“The women at one of the other churches are sewing baby blankets today,” Mama had told her before they left home that morning. “And the Methodist church ladies are knitting wool socks for older people. All of the women are working in spirit as one. Even though we attend separate churches, we are still part of one body.”
“What makes us one? Doesn’t each church worship in different ways and believe different things?”
“The most important thing is that we believe Jesus came to earth as our promised Messiah—our Savior. He gave His life for us, dying on a cross and taking our sins onto Himself. Then He rose again from the grave to conquer death. Without Jesus we cannot have salvation—He is the only way to the Father. The churches here in Silver Veil are all in agreement on that. We try not to let the rest of it concern us overmuch.”
Her mother’s comments had remained with Isabella throughout the day. She knew there were great fights over what should and shouldn’t be believed. She had even read in the newspapers about problems between local churches when she lived in California. It made her not want to be a part of any church. If they were that ugly amongst themselves, why should she want to join them?
But if Mama was right—and Isabella had no reason to think otherwise—it made more sense. It wasn’t their differences that mattered. It was their agreement that Jesus was Lord.
“Your father says that as people read the Bible,” her mother had said, “they will soon enough see the flaws in man-made religions. As we study God’s Word, we will come to understand what is truth and what are lies. That is why it is important to be in the Bible daily. He will open our eyes to see the truth, and the Holy Spirit will enable us with understanding.”
When she was little, Isabella remembered praying with her mother and asking Jesus to come into her heart. Attending church as a young child, Isabella felt a sense of belonging. When she left California for New Mexico, however, that feeling was lost amidst her anger and confusion over why her parents would take her from all she loved. She honestly figured God didn’t love her anymore, just as she knew her parents didn’t. After all, how could they love her and take her from all that was important to her?
Since then, a hardness in her heart had kept Isabella from even praying. She didn’t want to talk to God if He was mean and heartless. Yet something in her kept calling back to those moments when she was little and had prayed that Jesus would be her Lord and Savior.
Now, Isabella felt that hardness giving way. She listened to the women talk about the blessings they’d received or given. They talked about answered prayers, and always they praised God for His provision. Perhaps she would find comfort and wisdom in reading her Bible.
The song ended, and a woman Isabella knew as Señora Julietta stood. “I want to tell you a story,” she said softly in Spanish. “When I was a young bride, I prayed for my husband and the children God might give us. I prayed that our children would be a blessing and follow God.”
Several of the other women nodded in agreement.
“I prayed,” Julietta continued, “that they would remainclose to us and bring us much pleasure and honor. When our children were born, I continued to pray over them, and as they grew, I prayed more and more. When they became adults, some of them left and chose their own way. It grieved me, and I cried out to the Lord. I used to cry, ‘But, Lord, I prayed for them. I gave them to Your care. Why are they not doing good and serving You?’ I felt that God had turned away, and it made me both sad and angry.
“Then our youngest son got in with bad people. He deserted our teachings. I shook my fist at God and ranted and raved. I thought I could trust Him, but He had betrayed me. I told this to my mother, and she wisely sat me down and said, ‘Julietta, God has not betrayed you, your son has betrayed God. He has betrayed his family and the truth that he was taught.’”
Again, many of the women nodded and murmured amongst themselves.
“Then my mother reminded me that God is love. He does not force or impose His will on us. He does not force our obedience but allows us to choose our way. My son chose his path, and it grieved me deeply, but it also grieved God. I learned from that time to pray for my son, to pray that God would reach him—that he would yield himself to God, no matter the cost.
“Not long ago, my son was in a terrible fight, and he was injured so badly that the doctors didn’t think he would live. I went to him and knew he would die by nightfall.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I told him that it wasn’t too late—that Jesus was patiently waiting with open arms.”
