If You Believe

Mad Dog glanced sideways at Mariah.

She sat as stiff as a hat pin, her gaze stoically focused on the gloved hands folded primly in her lap. She didnt so much as look at her father or the tombstone. Even in profile, he could see the tension that held her rigid. Her mouth was drawn into a thin, unforgiving line. A network of worry wrinkles creased the corners of her eyes.

She seemed . . . agitated—even more so than usual. As if she were holding on to her precious self-control by a fraying thread.

A sweet, lavender-scented breeze ruffled through the grass. Rass closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A slow, potent smile worked across his face. "I think so, too,"

he whispered, though the words were lost almost immediately on the breeze.

He turned, looked up at Mad Dog. "Do you feel it?"

Mad Dog forced his thoughts away from the woman sitting so silently beside him, trying not to care why she looked so sad and alone and lost. "Feel what, Rass?"

"Close your eyes. "

"Okay. " He did as he was asked.

"Listen. Hear the wind . . . "

Overhead, the leaves chattered together, the breeze was a melodic, whistling echo.

"Smell the fruit. The apples, the pears . . . "

The sweet fragrance of the orchard engulfed Mad Dog, filled his senses. A reluctant smile pulled at his mouth.

He heard Rasss slow, shuffling footsteps crunching through the grass toward him.

Then came the quiet creaking of old bones, and a gusting exhalation of breath.

Mad Dog opened his eyes and found Rass kneeling directly in front of him.

"Thats God," the old man whispered. "Hes not in some church, some building erected by hammer and nails. Hes in us, in the goodness we show to one another. In the love we let ourselves feel. "

Mariah snorted. "Ha. "

Pain glazed Rasss eyes. He sat back on his heels and drew his blue-veined hands into his lap. "My daughter doesnt believe. " There was a wealth of tired sadness in his words.

She stared down at him, her face curiously devoid of emotion. "I did once. "

Rass met her cold gaze with his own warm, caring one. "God isnt like a game, Mariah. You dont roll the dice once and then give up if you lose. "

She didnt even flinch. "Let it go, Rass. "

"You let it go. "

She rose slowly to her feet. "Im done with church for today. " Her gaze flicked to the tombstone and stuck. "Tell Mama hello for me. "

"Tell her yourself. "

Mariah didnt answer, didnt seem even to hear. She was staring at the small patch of clipped grass beside her mothers grave. Something glinted in her eyes, something dark and agonized, then she looked away. Without another word, she picked up her heavy skirts and left for the house.

Both men watched her leave, Mad Dog sitting on the half-empty settee, Rass kneeling in the grass at his feet. Neither said a word.

Then, when she disappeared into the house, Rass sighed tiredly and pushed to his feet. Walking to the edge of the mowed grass, he stared down across the farm.

Mad Dog went to the old man and laid a hand on his rail-thin shoulder. He wanted to say something to comfort Rass, but such a thing was so alien, so totally foreign, he had no idea how to go about it. So he stood there like a fool, his hand planted on Rasss shoulder.

"Ah, Greta," Rass whispered to himself. "Our little girl is hurting so bad-----"