by Barbara Goss
“You've worked miracles in my life before, Lord. I need Your help, again. Your Book says 'Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee.' Here's my burden, Father. Sustain me. Give me the strength and knowledge to do Thy will. Amen."
Storm sat with head bowed after ending his prayer, giving Sarah time to scurry back to the others, but his prayer stuck with her. How she wished she could pray like that—to have a loving friend to guide her, as he did! She made up her mind to ask him how she could get on similar terms with God.
The sun was just setting when they reached the approach to the ranch. A large wooden sign arched over the gravel road, anchored on either side by large, weathered posts. A giant arrow, bent to form the letter C, dominated the sign, and carved letters spelled out Arrow C Ranch beneath.
Sarah rode beside Storm as they passed under the entrance
"Welcome to your new home."
"Do you mean that?" she asked.
"When I find the will, you'll be welcome as long as you wish to stay."
"Thank you. And may I extend the same courtesy to you? As long as the ranch is mine, you're not only welcome, but also needed. I don't know the first thing about running a ranch."
"May the Lord find an answer for us both," he said.
As a plain structure came into view, he asked, "Well, what do you think?"
Sarah's enthusiasm faded. It seemed small compared to what she had been used to in Chicago. Wooden and only one floor, it appeared bleak and unwelcoming. Her disappointment showed, and Storm let out his stifled laugh.
"Sarah, that's the bunkhouse!" He sobered and pointed beyond, to his far right. "There on the hill stands the house."
"Oh-h, it's beautiful!" Sarah sighed, noting the proud look her remark brought.
The sun, slowly sinking behind the large gray-and-white house, framed it in blazing red. The fieldstone structure, graced by a full-length front porch supported by six square posts, stood proudly on the hill and seemed to beckon her warmly. She felt welcomed by the house, as if she'd come home after a long absence.
People poured out of the house and adjacent barn. A large Mexican hurried out to take their horses.
"Thanks, Joseph, how is everything?" Storm greeted.
"Si, everything good, senor," he replied jovially.
Storm introduced Sarah to many new faces in the next few moments, but only two immediately impressed her. Storm's mother, a lovely, bronzed, middle-aged Indian woman received Sarah with curious eyes but definite aloofness.
The next introduction sent Sarah's hand flying to Storm's arm for support. Almost reluctantly, he introduced Little Bird, whose lovely, dimpled cheeks smiled up at Storm in obvious admiration. But that wasn't what alarmed Sarah. Little Bird's swollen form caused Sarah to lose her balance. The lovely Indian girl stood proudly, heavy with child.
~ C H A P T E R 6 ~
As if embarrassed by Little Bird's condition, Storm hurriedly excused himself, leaving Sarah and Aunt Emily in his mother's care. Dawn motioned them toward the house.
Storm's mother dressed not in buckskin or a blanket, as Sarah had envisioned, but a loose, flowing, yellow dress. She looked as much the lady as—Sarah looked down at her own dusty blouse and Storm's remodeled pants—certainly more the lady than she!
As Dawn led them through the front door, Sarah marveled at her gracefulness. She appeared almost regal, with her hair parted in the center and long braids wound around her head to form a crown. Her prominent forehead and high cheekbones were held proudly, while only slight mouth and eye creases marked her as old enough to be Storm's mother.
Little Bird's eyes narrowed as they followed Sarah into the house. Sarah would have recognized her as Black Feather's sister, if only by her unwelcome stare.
They entered into a spacious living room with a two- story-high beamed ceiling. A curved staircase wound up to the second floor, where every door was visible over a white-latticed balcony framing the length of the hall. Sarah was pleased to find the house not only lovely, but also clean, tastefully furnished, and cool.
The floor plan suited Sarah. The four bedroom doors stood in full view of the living room, giving her a comforting sense of security.
Dawn spoke slowly but with perfect diction. "I'll show you and Miss Ruggles to your rooms." Her tone, however, showed no sign of warmth.
A stout, robust-looking Mexican woman burst into the room.
"Here's Rosa," Dawn announced. She introduced the house cook to the ladies, stiffly.
Rosa smiled amicably, fairly bursting with excitement.
Sarah liked Rosa immediately. Her greeting offered friendship and hospitality, something not yet offered by anyone else at Arrow C.
"Welcome, welcome. Ah," Rosa inspected Sarah from head to toe, "it will be pleasure to work for so pretty a young lady. Si."
Rosa also extended a friendly welcome to Aunt Emily before turning back to her kitchen. Before disappearing through the large swinging door, she called over her shoulder, "I make special supper, si. One hour."
A large four-poster dominated the master bedroom, the last door along the open upstairs hallway. The room and its furnishings were decorated with a definitely masculine touch. A brown quilt covered the bed, which stood between two floor-to-ceiling windows, draped in gold velvet pulled back to let in the light. The colors complemented the brown- hued carpet and walnut furniture.
On the other side of the room stood two gold brocade Queen Anne chairs, placed at a tete-a-tete angle.
Sarah's puzzlement at the decor prompted Dawn's explanation.
“This was Wilson's room. I thought it should now be yours."
Sarah glanced about the room slowly. The thought of staying in her grandfather's room pleased her and gave a feeling of closeness to the man she'd never met.
"But where is your room?" Sarah asked, wondering why her grandfather's wife wasn't staying in the room they must have shared so recently.
Dawn remained cool but polite. "When Wilson became ill, I moved into the smaller room next to this one." She nodded to the small adjoining door. "But it's your home now. You tell me where to sleep." Dawn stood tall and met Sarah's eyes head-on. "I wanted to leave, but Storm insisted I stay. I hope you don't mind. I'll work, of course, to earn my keep. I do most of the cleaning."
Sarah studied the proud woman and chose her words carefully. "I have no wish to disrupt the home you've known for so long, and I wouldn't think of your leaving. I'll need you to teach me the workings of a rancher's home. As for the cleaning, I hope you'll let me help."
Sarah hesitated. "Where does Storm sleep?"
Dawn searched Sarah's face intently. "Storm sleeps in the bunkhouse usually, although sometimes I find him on the couch in the study after a long night working on the books."
Dawn bit her lip before blurting, "Are you sure you wouldn't rather have your aunt in the adjoining room?"
When Sarah shook her head, Dawn turned toward the door. "You had better rest. I'll have water and towels sent up so you can wash. Don't forget supper is in one hour."
Sarah had to admire Dawn's graciousness, if not her warmth. What did she expect? She was the enemy—to these people anyway.
Sarah's mind didn't dwell on Dawn or her lack of hospitality, but skipped to Little Bird and her condition. So that was Storm's responsibility! How could she fight it? She couldn't. Breaking up a loveless relationship was one thing, splitting a family another!
Wearily, she sank into the armchair. What could she do? There was only one solution. She'd give Storm the ranch so he could marry Little Bird, and she'd return to Chicago before she got too fond of the place. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she didn't bother to wipe them away. What was the use? New ones would only replace them.
The memory of Storm's prayer jarred her from self-pity. Should she try talking to God? She'd never prayed with her own words, for her family had specific prayers for every occasion. Storm had made talking to God seem easy and natural. How she needed a friend like that!
Slipping to her knees as she'd seen Storm do in the woods, she folded her hands and looked upward. "Dear God. You know me, though I don't know You. I'd like to change that. Storm doesn't worry about things, for he claims You'll take care of everything. Will You do that for me, too? Knowing my feelings for Storm, will You help? Can I leave this burden with You as Storm left his burden?
"I know our relationship is not like Yours and Storm's, but maybe You could show me how I can know You better. I haven't lived according to the Bible, like Storm, but I intend to learn. Thank You, Amen."
Her own words echoed back: "I haven't lived according to the Bible, like Storm." That was her answer! Storm lives the Bible! He couldn't be responsible for Little Bird's condition! Her discovery pleased her. Something else linked Storm to Little Bird.
"Thank You, God," she whispered. "You've helped me already. How could I have thought, even for a moment, that Your friend Storm could possibly . . .?”
Yet, she pondered, something linked Storm to Little Bird. But what?
A light knock sounded. Sarah looked up to see Aunt Emily tiptoeing in like a naughty child.
"It's only me. What are you doing on the floor? Did you lose something?"
"No, Aunt Emily, I'm praying—like Storm!"
"I knew he'd be a good influence on you." She sat down on the bed. "Which is why I sneaked in as soon as I could. When I saw Little Bird's condition, I knew the time had come to question Manny."
"Storm would never—" Sarah faltered, at a loss for words.
"You're right, it wasn't Storm," her aunt stated matter- of-factly.
Sarah's bewildered look prompted Emily to confess: "His father, which is why he feels responsible."
"My grandfather? But I thought he and Dawn . . . ?"
"Manny said Wilson Clarke's marriage to Dawn was a Comanche ceremony, recognized by Indians only. Manny claims Wilson seemed a virtuous man, but it appears he turned out to be quite a scoundrel. Dawn herself admits her husband's probable guilt."
"I see. So that's how it was. Grandfather could be the baby's father. He's only been dead six months." Sarah put her hands to her cheeks and exclaimed, "Poor Storm!"
The wet grass darkened the tips of Sarah's walking shoes. Rising early, dressed in Storm's remodeled pants, Sarah made her way to the stable for Red. Before entering the barn, she gazed back at the ranch in the morning sunlight.
Thick, green lawns framed the three largest structures: the ranch house, the stable, and the bunkhouse. Beside the bunkhouse stood a small barn, and Sarah could see several other small buildings scattered randomly about the ranch. Several beautiful trees graced Arrow C, and Sarah recognized the white oak, bald cypress, mesquite, and southern magnolia. She selected the large cottonwood in back for afternoon reading; its thick branches would supply good, cool shade.
This morning, from her bedroom window, she had spied a stream running behind the house, and she was anxious to explore.
She quietly entered the stable. Except for a dozen or so horses, it looked empty. Spotting Red, Sarah greeted him with a pat on the nose. Could she saddle him herself? She'd better learn if she was to be mistress of the ranch.
Grabbing a saddle she found hanging over the stall divider, she tried to swing it over the horse's back as she'd seen the crew do numerous times. But the heavy saddle slipped from her grasp, plunging to the ground with a loud thump.
Next thing she knew, Broken Wing's head appeared over the side of another stall, and he had his rifle aimed at her with his good arm.
"Broken Wing!" she gasped.
"I almost shoot you for horse thief!"
"Were you sleeping here?"
"I always sleep with horses."
"Sorry I startled you," she apologized. "I want to ride, but can't quite manage saddling my horse."
"Broken Wing show." He stood his rifle against the wall. His useless arm swung heavily at his side as he walked around the stall.
"I teach you to care for horse good."
Sarah noticed that while Broken Wing seldom smiled, his warm friendliness was easily perceived through his gentle kindness.
With Red saddled and her first lesson on horse care over, Sarah loped toward the fields behind the house.
She delighted in the crooked, shallow stream of rapidly flowing water bubbling over smooth, shiny rocks. Seeing a wooden bridge crossing the brook, she dismounted, tying Red to a bush nearby.
Stopping midway across the bridge, she leaned over the smooth, well-worn railing. How lovely! In the distance she saw the back of the ranch and nearby a field of bluebonnets and daisies. The meadow reminded her of the one she and Storm had romped through in Oklahoma.
She closed her eyes. How peaceful! The only sound was the gurgling of shallow water rushing over rocks. This would be her spot, where she would come to be alone with God and nature.
Daydreaming, Sarah thought about last night, her first at the ranch, and the wonderful dinner Rosa had cooked— especially appreciated after the simple meals on the trail. Storm, quiet and curiously glum, had been there, of course. Dawn, still cool but cordial, had continued to scrutinize Sarah closely. Little Bird had remained silent and sullen, her regular duties as assisting housekeeper relieved, due to her condition.
Approaching hoof-beats broke into the morning stillness and Sarah's thoughts. Her heart pounded in recognition. Storm!
He dismounted and joined her on the little bridge. "So you've found my secret place!"
"No," she blurted, "my secret place!"
His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. "Sorry, I forgot. Your place."
"Oh, Storm! When I said my, I didn't mean 'own.' Anyone can have a special place without actually owning it. Honestly, I didn't mean it the way you think."
Ignoring her apology, he leaned against the rail and looked out over the brook. Sarah watched him loosen and relax as he gazed over the lovely scenery as she had moments earlier.
"Our place is lovely," Sarah whispered.
Still he said nothing.
"Storm," she touched his arm lightly, "why didn't you mention Little Bird's condition?"
He frowned. "I had thought of it. But how does one tell a properly bred young Chicago woman that her deceased grandfather is to become a father? To say nothing of the fact that the mother is not his wife and an Indian to boot." He shook his head. "Things are so messed up; you'll never understand how this all happened."
"When I first saw Little Bird," Sarah said shyly, "I thought. ... I thought. ..."
"I know what you thought. You nearly fainted." He stared ahead at the swift-running water.
"But before anyone told me, I knew it wasn't true. Know how I knew?" she asked, smiling up at him. "I talked to God, just like you do, and before the prayer was over, He'd already given me an answer. I knew you lived from His Book and could never dishonor anyone."
"Thank you, Sarah," he said. "Now do you understand why I'm committed to Little Bird?"
"I understand why you think you are. We can provide for Little Bird and her baby. You don't have to marry her."
"I gave her my word."
"Couldn't you explain? Tell her about us?" Sarah pleaded. "If she knew you were in love with another, would she still want to marry you?"
Storm turned and looked at her for the first time since joining her on the bridge. "What makes you think I'm in love with another?" His face remained serious, yet his eyes teased.
"If you aren't, your kisses lie, and so do your eyes!"
"But you're my enemy, remember?"
She looked up at him in puzzlement. "Why have you treated me so kindly, if I'm such a threat to you?"
"I told you before, the Bible says to love our enemies, but perhaps I carried that too far." He walked slowly toward the homeward side of the bridge.
"Storm," Sarah called, following him. "Will God be my friend, too? Will He listen to me even though I've never thought much about Him before?"
"The Bible says all who come will be received." He turned
and placed his hands on her shoulders. "But there is something you can do to assure yourself that you belong to him."
At her puzzled look he beckoned, "Come, sit under this tree with me for a moment."
When she obeyed, he took her hand. "Do you believe the Bible is the True Word of God?"
She nodded.
"Then you'll want to obey God?"
"Yes."
"It says in the Book of John, if a person wants to see the Kingdom of God, he must be born again. Now you've already been born once; we all have. God wants a second birth for us. He wants us to be born of His Spirit. In other words, let God's Spirit dwell here," he thumped on his chest, "within your heart."
"How can I do that?"
"He's always willing to enter but must be invited."
"And when I invite His Spirit, I'll be His?"
"If you're sincere, yes."
Sarah stood and walked purposefully toward her horse.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"To my room. I'm going to invite the Spirit in right now. God and I have a lot of catching up to do!" As her horse galloped away, she waved and shouted over her shoulder, "Thanks, preacher!"
While Sarah dressed for dinner, Dawn paid her a visit.
"My son asked me to give you this." She held out a small Bible.
"Storm!" Her eyes sparkled as she hugged the Book.
Dawn watched her carefully before whispering, "You love Storm, don't you?"
Apprehensively, Sarah nodded. "Does that anger you?" she asked softly.
Dawn smiled at her for the first time. "It pleases me."
"But I thought you didn't like me. I own the ranch that should belong to your son."
"Come, sit down," she urged Sarah. They settled into the two Queen Anne chairs. "Storm and I had a talk last night. He told me everything. What touched me most was your offer to give him the ranch and go back to Chicago if he gave up Little Bird. Only in love could you do that. Anyone who loves my son that much has me for a slave."