Chapter 7

After a bout of nightmares, Tabitha had woken up to the season's first frost. It was a cloudy, dreary day and the wind was blowing. October was already hinting that their winter was going to be a long one.

The wool shawl she wrapped around her shoulders felt like tissue paper as she hurried to the barn to milk the cow and feed the chickens. She worked as efficiently as she could so they could go back to sleep. Bessie the cow seemed particularly pleased when Tabitha closed the barn door again.

Back in the house, she washed the eggs and put the milk into a Mason jar in the refrigerator to allow the cream to rise. She'd skim the top and separate the cream later and then eventually make yogurt and butter.

When everything was clean and neat again, she finally poured her first cup of coffee of the day. The fire she'd lit in the fireplace before she'd gone to the barn provided a welcome warmth to the living room, and after retrieving another blanket from the closet, she wrapped it over her legs and took a sip of the warm drink.

It was impossible to not take a moment to give thanks for her blessings, as she did each morning. She had so many things to be grateful for these days—the house, her animals, the money her crafts brought in that enabled her to live without too many financial worries. But most of all, she gave thanks for peace.

There had been so many mornings when Leon had woken up in a mood and taken it out on her before the sun had completely risen. He'd been so cruel, and that cruelty had transformed her life. She'd become a person she hadn't known she could be, someone who was timid and nervous and desperate.

Tabitha was sure that if Mia Rothaker hadn't visited her in the hospital and assured her that she could leave Leon and still be safe, she would've never left him. Leon's rages had gotten worse and worse. She would've been dead now.

As it was, she would carry the scars from his last beating for the rest of her life.

As dark thoughts filled her again, Tabitha had to admit that she would've done anything to find her freedom. Even things that she knew were wrong. She should be ashamed about that, but she couldn't quite bring herself to be. When fear ran rampant in a person's life, it overtook most everything else.

Her lawyer had assured her that such a thing was natural. Mia had sat Tabitha down with a counselor friend of hers and talked her through something called Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. According to that, one's body and brain sought food and water and safety before many other things. Even before something as basic as shelter. And that desire to live free of pain was so strong that a person could develop the strength and the will to fight or flee or even do things one wouldn't have thought possible in "normal" circumstances.

Tabitha had listened to the counselor's words with a combination of confusion and hope. All that had been laced with a hefty addition of renewed faith. She'd prayed for so long for Leon to get better. Or for her to be safe and to shield her baby from harm. When she'd lost the baby, her faith had wavered ... but then she had gotten stronger and left Leon.

When she'd been released from the hospital, she'd been taken to a safe house in the middle of the night. Jeanie and Marv, the folks who had run the house, had been godsends. They'd let her heal and rest for several weeks. Little by little, she'd begun to feel more like herself.

The worst day of her life had enabled her to have many more days of life. That didn't mean she lived without worry. But it did mean that she could wake up without the gnawing sense of dread that had been a constant presence during her marriage.

Perhaps that was why she might be wary around Seth but she didn't automatically assume that he was a horrible person. All sorts of things could make someone do something unexpected.

Even something most people found unforgivable.

A scratching at her front door brought her to her feet. Carefully she went to the door and peeked out through the peephole. No one was there. But then the noise came again, and she hurried to a window and looked out.

That's when she saw the dog. A skinny thing with matted blond fur and brown eyes. And soaked from the morning's storm.

After grabbing a towel from the closet, Tabitha pulled open the door. The animal flinched in response but didn't move. He shivered, looking at her but too afraid to approach, and she felt a fresh burst of pity flow through her.

"I know," she whispered. "I know how you're feeling. I really do."

The dog stared up at her, silently beseeching.

She knelt in the doorway. "It's cold and wet out here," she whispered. "I've got a clean dry towel for you to use and a warm fire too. Come on in."

The hund cowered, but the new glint in his eyes looked everything like hope.

Tabitha got to her feet and stepped back. "Come on, then. I'll give you some milk too. And maybe an egg? Surely you're hungry."

The dog tilted his head to one side and seemed to weigh his options just as a gust of wet wind reached them. It whistled as it shook tree limbs, reminding Tabitha that violent weather was always possible.

She needed to close the door. "It's time to trust me, dog. I know you want to. Otherwise, why would you have come calling?"

Maybe it was her words or maybe the dog was simply enough of a realist to realize that being warm and dry was better than being cold and wet. Whatever the reason, he finally stepped through the doorway.

"You made the right decision," she murmured. "I know you don't trust me, but you don't have to. All you have to do is rest for a spell. Go on now, lie down on this towel in front of the fireplace. We'll take things one step at a time."

Five minutes later, the dog was asleep in front of the fireplace and Tabitha was sitting in her chair once again. Gazing at him, she wondered if he would stay for a while. Hopefully he would, but if he changed his mind, she wouldn't try to stop him.

She'd learned better than to do that.

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By seven that night, Tabitha had come to the conclusion that she now had a dog. He seemed inclined to stay. She supposed she couldn't blame him. A lingering chill hung in the air now that it was mid-October, but it was warm and cozy in front of the fireplace.

Then there was the fact that she had not only fed him but treated him kindly. Tabitha knew from experience that kindness mattered a lot. After taking him outside to go to the bathroom, she'd waited on the porch to see what he would do. He quickly did his business and returned to her side, where he sat patiently with a look of hope in his big brown eyes.

She'd had a feeling that if she'd told him to leave, the dog would've gone. He didn't expect much. Which was all she'd needed to know to cement her decision. "What am I going to call you, dog?" she'd asked as she opened the door and led him inside.

His only response had been a head tilt, as if to signify that choosing a new name was an important undertaking.

"I've never had a dog," Tabitha had said as they returned to the living room. "My mother liked cats. And Leon? Well, Leon didn't like a lot of things."

The dog stretched out on the rug, then curled into a ball. He even went so far as to curl his tail around his snout.

Tabitha watched as the firelight flickered against his blond fur, turning it almost a copper color. And then she remembered Seth Zimmerman's little speech about how she and he were like the field to her west. How there was more to that dead-looking grass than met the eye. Just like the two of them.

No, just like the three of them. She was fairly certain that this dog, just like her and Seth, was full of something good on the inside. If only one took the time to look.

No, if only someone took a chance on him.

Chance.

"What do you think, dog? Are you partial to Chance?"

The dog wagged his tail.

Tabitha knew little about dogs but figured they wagged their tails for all sorts of reasons. Even if it was just to say hello. But since she didn't know much about pet ownership, she reckoned that she was allowed to make some mistakes. "I think we should give Chance a chance. What do you think?" She smiled at the play on words.

The dog lumbered to his feet and walked closer.

She smiled. "Chance it is."