Fascinated, he continued to feed the small fire and read the book. He flipped page after page, reading where Walks the Fire had marked. “Hope in the Lord : for with the Lord there is mercy, and with him is plenteous redemption.” Finally he came to one of the gospels and read the complete story of the Jesus that Carrie Brown had insisted he come to love. He had heard the story often at the mission church. But this night, as he sat by the fire, it was as if he had never heard it. He was perplexed when men hated Christ and angry when they killed him. He rejoiced when Christ was found alive again. Soaring Eagle read through the night.
James and Martha Red Wing stayed at the mission, worrying and wondering why he had left and hoping that he had not finally gotten his fill of the white man’s religious ceremonies and taken to the hills.
But Soaring Eagle would never get his fill of the faith that had been introduced to him by the whites. As he read and pondered, he believed. As he believed, he read more. Suddenly it was dawn, and the fire had burned out, and the black mare was stomping and snorting and demanding her breakfast.
Soaring Eagle got up stiffly to tend the stock. The snow shone whiter than he had ever seen. The sky was a deeper blue than he remembered it ever being. As he tended to the livestock, Soaring Eagle began to sing an old Lakota song. He was surprised to realize that it brought him no pain. He looked back on his youth without bitterness. He remembered Walks the Fire and Rides the Wind with joy.
It would be some time before Soaring Eagle could articulate what had happened. In that night, he had come to realize the truth that Carrie Brown had written so carefully on a small paper cross: “Jesus Loves Soaring Eagle.” It was a simple message, but it filled the hole in Soaring Eagle’s heart and turned him away from the bitterness of the past.
Chapter 33
If riches increase, set not your heart upon them.
Psalm 62:10
E arly in December, Augusta and LisBeth were greeted at the train station in Philadelphia by Sarah Biddle. The station had been decorated for the holiday in a grand fashion, with festoons and greenery everywhere.
At seventeen, Sarah had the mature bearing of a young woman. Her blue eyes shone with pleasure as Augusta commented favorably on her snow-white waist and linsey-woolsey skirt. Skipping along at her side, young Tom whooped with delight and pounced on LisBeth and Augusta with such energy that the two women were momentarily the center of attention in Philadelphia’s railway station.
“Tom! Do calm down,” Sarah pleaded, but her smile encouraged him. “What will all these people think of this racket?”
Tom answered readily. “They’ll think we really love Aunt LisBeth and Aunt Augusta!”
Sarah laughed. “And they’d be right.” Sarah surprised both LisBeth and Augusta by offering a shy hug and saying earnestly, “I’m so glad you’ve come! Mr. Braddock hasn’t given us a moment’s peace getting the house ready for you.”
They walked briskly through the railway station and were duly impressed by the four-horse team that drew an elegant carriage sporting a holiday wreath on its polished black door. Their arrival at the Braddock mansion caused no small stir. As Abigail deftly ordered each trunk to its destination—by way of the back stairs—and escorted Augusta and LisBeth into the parlor for tea, LisBeth looked about her in wonder. She had only seen the music room and the veranda on their brief visit during the Centennial. Now she was introduced to the rest of the manse, which was so vast that it made the house built in Lincoln truly resemble a summer cottage. When they finally were escorted upstairs to freshen up, LisBeth was happy to learn that she and Augusta would have adjoining rooms. Actually, they had their own small wing of the house and shared an elegant private parlor. Just off LisBeth’s room, there was a small maid’s room.
When Grace, the maid, presented herself to help LisBeth unpack, LisBeth fled to find Abigail, who was giving orders to the cook about supper.
“What is it, dear?” she asked kindly.
“Mrs. Braddock, I can’t . . . I mean . . .” LisBeth blushed. “I can’t have Grace, Mrs. Braddock. I’m just not used to it. I know you mean well, and I hope you can forgive me for being so common, but, really, I’ll unpack my own clothes and things. Could Grace just go back to doing whatever she does when you don’t have guests?” LisBeth turned redder with embarrassment.
Abigail patted her hand. “I told David it was a ridiculous idea, dear. But sometimes he just won’t listen. He just doesn’t understand that all his generosity is sometimes—well—misplaced.”
“I hope he won’t be offended.”
“Of course he won’t.” Abigail smiled. “He’ll just be embarrassed when I get to say ‘I told you so.’ I’ll love it.” Turning to the cook’s helper, Abigail said, “Jenson, please inform Grace that she won’t be required to tend our guests. Tell her they are from the independent west, and they are used to doing things for themselves.”
David had been previously committed to a business meeting, so he didn’t join them for supper. LisBeth and Augusta got reacquainted with Abigail in her Philadelphia role as a grand hostess and were delighted to learn that the Abigail Braddock of Philadelphia was no different from the Abigail they knew from Lincoln. She handled a number of servants with ease, and she was obviously accustomed to three forks and as many spoons at every meal. Still, she was the same warm and loving person who had stayed at Hathaway House.
Sarah flitted between being a friend of the guests and her role as housekeeper-in-training with amazing ease. She relaxed into familiarity when she could and maintained an appropriate deference in the presence of other servants.
The first evening, Augusta and LisBeth retired early. LisBeth heard hoofbeats on the street below and went into the private parlor where she could look out a window onto the street. She saw David emerge from a fine carriage.
With a start she realized that Augusta was watching her watch David. Settling into an overstuffed chair, Augusta offered, “I’m sure he’ll be disappointed that you’ve already retired, LisBeth.”
LisBeth sat down and sighed. “I’m glad we came up early, Augusta. All this is just a bit too—grand. I’m homesick. And I’ve a knot in my stomach just thinking about the balls and dinners Abigail has planned. I don’t know the first thing about such grand living.”
“Just be yourself.” Augusta advised. “You’ll make some mistakes, but if you’re honest, those that are worth their salt will appreciate you and like you. The ones that raise their eyebrows and ‘tut-tut’ your frontier ways aren’t worth worrying about.”
“I just don’t want to do anything wrong to embarrass David.”
“David won’t be embarrassed by you,” Augusta said with conviction before adding, “and I’m pleased to see that you’re getting on with your life, dear.”
LisBeth sighed. “I’m trying.”
A soft knock came at the door. Augusta answered it and brought in a huge bouquet of red roses. “Delivered by another servant—I don’t remember seeing this one before. How many do you suppose they have?”
LisBeth retrieved the card from the flowers and read aloud, “Welcome to the ladies from Lincoln. D.” Turning to Augusta she smiled. “I guess David has his own servant too. Since I sent mine away, and I have to do the abominable task of turning down my bed myself, I think I’ll get started!” She laughed and tossed the card on a small table that sat by the doorway.
The Christmas season in Philadelphia was an extravaganza of sights and smells and tastes. The mansion was decked with splendor. Evergreen bows and great red velvet ribbons wrapped the banisters of the staircase and spilled over every mantle in the house. A few days before Christmas a ten-foot blue spruce was hauled into the parlor. LisBeth and Sarah were joined by Abigail and Augusta, and the four women spent the entire day cutting elaborate paper ornaments and tying ribbons and feathers and dried roses to every branch.
Tom presented them with an enormous gold-foil angel for the top. “The wing’s torn, but it’ll still be all right, won’t it?” Tom s
aid with concern.
David had just come in to admire the tree, and he hoisted Tom up to place the angel in its rightful place at the top of the tree. “It’s more than just all right, Tom,” he insisted. “It’s the best angel this house has ever had. Wait until you see this tree on Christmas morning,” David added. “We’ll have every branch tipped with a lighted candle.”
“Will we have presents too?”
“Tom!” Sarah implored, embarrassed.
David laughed. “You bet we’ll have presents, Tom! Mother and I can’t wait for Christmas this year. It’s going to be wonderful!”
Augusta and LisBeth went with the Braddocks to balls and the opera, to church and concerts. Every morning LisBeth and Augusta slept until a fashionable hour, recovering from the previous late evening. They awoke to tea and toast served on silver trays by Sarah, who they usually convinced to sit down and eat with them. The breakfast hour was followed by reading and writing letters. David had somehow arranged for the Lincoln paper to be mailed to Augusta, “The dear boy,” Augusta enthused, as she scanned the papers and fretted over an increase in business at the Cadman House.
At lunch, Tom Biddle usually bounded into the room and recited his morning lessons. He was enthusiastic about his upcoming holiday break from school and loudly critical of his strict tutor, Mr. Powers.
Every afternoon Abigail went calling or was called upon. Augusta and LisBeth sometimes accompanied her, but Augusta spent many days in the library with David, planning and replanning her new hotel. While they talked, LisBeth read. She ran her hands lovingly over the shelves of leather-bound books and despaired of enough time to enjoy them all.
David Braddock was charming and attentive without being overbearing. He made suggestions for the hotel with honest humility and respect for Augusta’s business acumen. The new hotel was to have sixty-two rooms. Augusta and David planned every detail, including the advertisement to be placed in the Daily State Journal announcing its opening.
The new Hathaway House Hotel
The most select hotel in the city.
Augusta Hathaway & LisBeth Baird, Proprietors
New Brick Building—Steam Heating—All Modern Conveniences—Everything Genuinely First-Class—Rates, $3.00 Per Day—Special Rates Available to Parties Stopping Several Days and to Regular Boarders—Corner 8th & P Streets—Only One Block from the Depot—Free Baggage Handling for Our Guests.
Augusta had plans for Joseph’s livery, as well. “Of course we’ll move it. I want him right next to me, as always. I bought enough land for it. I want to offer my customers the best stabling in town.” And so, another ad was prepared, to be adorned by a drawing of a fine horse.
Joseph Freeman,
Owner of Freeman’s Barn,
Livery, Feed, and Boarding Stables.
Dealer in Fancy Horses.
Turns Out the Most Stylish Single or Double Rigs in the West. The Prices Are Made So Reasonable That It Is Cheaper to Hire from Freeman Than to Keep a Rig of Your Own.
LisBeth read the ads and commented, “What’s this about Joseph being a dealer in fancy horses, Augusta? He won’t like that. It promises something he can’t deliver.”
David answered. “Well, LisBeth, it seems that Augusta has an interest in bringing some new bloodlines to Nebraska. We’re going to work out a plan where I’ll bring out my stallion in the spring when Mother and I come to open up the house. I’ll stable him at Joseph’s livery and—” David blushed at the frank talk and didn’t finish the sentence.
“You’ll have to take the stallion out to Jim Callaway’s, David. Joseph keeps his best mares out there. He’s been trying to improve his stock already with Jim’s help.” LisBeth smiled primly and apologized. “I’m sorry if I’ve shocked you with my open conversation about such private matters, Mr. Braddock. You must realize that we frontier women don’t have the same sensibilities as your refined ladies here in the city.”
David laughed heartily and LisBeth decided that she liked him immensely. She began looking forward to his return from business luncheons. She especially enjoyed the afternoons in the library when he invariably ended up discussing business and politics with Augusta.
One afternoon when Augusta went shopping with Abigail, David went into his library to find LisBeth curled up in a chair reading. He flushed with pleasure and immediately sat down across from her. “I hope you’ll enjoy the ball at the Grants’ this evening, LisBeth.”
LisBeth laid her book aside and looked out the window with a sigh. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Just fine? Don’t you like social evenings?”
“Oh, I’m just homesick, I guess.” LisBeth brightened. “I must sound like an ungrateful brat to you, David. I’m sorry. We’ve had a lovely visit, and I thank you for outdoing yourself to see that we were properly feted. It’s just,” LisBeth hesitated, “all a bit grand for me—that’s all. We settlers don’t really fit into grand Philadelphia society—Augusta with her booming voice and opinions.” LisBeth chuckled. “I thought Rebecca Braxton was going to faint last evening when Augusta began to talk to the men about politics. I’m sure that just isn’t done here in Philadelphia.”
David smiled indulgently. “Perhaps it should be.”
LisBeth smiled back. “Perhaps it should. But I don’t think Augusta will be the one to convince your friends of that.” She got up and walked to the window to look out into the darkening street.
“What else, LisBeth? What about you? Has someone done something to make you feel that you’re not welcome?”
LisBeth shook her head. “Oh, no. Everyone’s been very gracious, really.” She turned her back to the window. “As soon as they learned that I was a military widow, when they heard about Mac being at Little Big Horn,” LisBeth smiled wistfully, “well, it rather romanticizes the shabby black dress.”
“You’re not shabby.”
LisBeth smiled again. “By comparison to Rebecca Braxton and all your elegant friends, I’m quite shabby. Now if they were widows, they’d have the latest fashions made up in black silk, trimmed with black jet buttons and beads. I don’t mean they’d be insincere. They’re all just very—different. They’ve been raised by two parents in surroundings very different from mine. It shows. I’m not saying they are better than we Lincolnites, but face it, I’m not exactly fashionable .”
David moved closer to her. “I don’t care if you’re fashionable or not. You’re a fine woman. You’ve been through a lot, and you deserve every good thing that comes your way.”
LisBeth looked out the window and was quiet for a long time. When David spoke up again, she jumped. He reached out to turn her face toward him. “Where did you go? What are you thinking?”
“I was just trying to picture what Mama would say about this grand life I’ve been living these past few weeks. She would be wondering what all these fine people do to make a difference. And can’t you just imagine Jim Callaway at one of your dinners introducing himself? ‘Yes, ma’am—I’m Jim Callaway—no ma’am, just plain Jim Callaway—call me Jim.’ ”
David was careful with the new topic. “Jim might be out of place here, but he’s a good man. People would eventually see past ‘plain Jim,’ and they’d like him.”
“Yes, they would,” LisBeth agreed.
A servant quietly knocked, opened the door, and announced that dinner was served. After the main course, LisBeth rose abruptly and excused herself. “I hope you won’t take offense, Mrs. Braddock, but I don’t think I’m up to a social evening. I’d just like to rest if that’s all right.” LisBeth went upstairs and changed into her nightgown. She turned out the gaslight in her room and sat by the window looking out at the golden circles of light cast by the gas streetlights on the cobblestones below.
It was Christmas Eve, and Lisbeth found herself longing for the narrow streets of Lincoln. She smiled at the memory of Agnes Bond’s weak soprano voice trying to sing the descant she attempted at every Christmas Eve service at the Congregational Church in Lincoln. Clo
sing her eyes, LisBeth imagined the candlelit church and the scent of evergreen. Folks would crowd into the pews, and if it had snowed, the aroma of the evergreen would soon by challenged by the smell of wet wool and leather.
Pastor Copeland would be climbing into the pulpit about now to retell the story of shepherds and angels. And maybe a tall, redheaded farmer would have found his way into town to slide into the back pew.
Christmas morning began with a boy’s loud whoop just outside LisBeth’s door and a “Ssshhhhh” from what LisBeth knew must be Sarah. LisBeth jumped out of bed, pulled on her wrapper, and ran to her door. Peeking out into the hallway she whispered at Sarah, who was already dressed and motioned her and Tom into her room. Her eyes sparkling, she presented each with a small package.
“This is a secret, you two—from me, to you. It’s not much.”
Tom was already tearing into the paper and exclaiming over a small stack of gigantic feathers.
“Jim Callaway assured me that they’re honest-to-goodness eagle feathers, Tom.”
Sarah had already opened her package and was fingering a small beaded pouch. “The children at the mission made it, Sarah. I thought you might be able to use it on your chatelaine.” Looking at the ornate chatelaine that was clipped onto Sarah’s waist, LisBeth said doubtfully, “I didn’t realize that you’d be dressing so fancy. You have a silver one.”
“It’s beautiful, LisBeth,” Sarah said, tying the small pouch through an opening in the silver filigree. “And a perfect size for my thimble. Thank you.”
Sarah and Tom grinned simultaneously and Tom demanded, “Can I go get it now, Sarah?” Sarah nodded and Tom was out the door.
Soaring Eagle (Prairie Winds Book 3) Page 27