by Lily George
She fell silent. Somehow, she wasn’t saying things properly, but she felt a kinship with her stepdaughter.
“Ada.” Laura hiccupped a little. “I’m sorry. I didn’t love you at first. I thought you were trying to be my mother. I hated you for that.”
“It’s all right,” Ada replied soothingly. “I understand how you must have felt.”
“I see you taking care of Father every day. I see how much he cares for you. I don’t hate you anymore. I don’t think I hated you personally as much as I hated…the idea of you.”
Ada smiled a tiny bit at that last admission, but her head whirled a little. Did Jack really care for her, enough that Laura could tell? Her heart skipped a beat as she considered Laura’s words.
“There are a lot of people who care about you, too,” Ada continued, praying for the right way to say everything in her heart. “Your grandfather is very concerned about you. He allowed us to bring you here on a sort of trial, but he is not convinced that this is the right home for you. I imagine he will have a great deal to say once he hears of the tornado. Shall we wait and see what he says?”
“Maybe.” Laura wiped her eyes with her fingertips, and Ada pressed her own handkerchief into her stepdaughter’s hands. “I don’t know. I don’t like him making the decision for me.”
“I understand that more than you can imagine,” Ada rejoined heartily. “He will, as your legal guardian, have more of a say in the matter than any of us adults. Only you, I think, can convince him to do what you feel would be right.”
“Would you miss me, Ada?” Laura blew her nose on the borrowed handkerchief.
“More than you can imagine.” It was true. She had never considered herself a maternal sort of person. Growing up, she would get annoyed by her younger sisters’ neediness, but what could she do? She was the closest thing to a mother they had, and so she performed her role dutifully if not particularly cheerfully. Her time with Laura had taught her the tenderness and the selflessness of raising a child. She was reluctant to let that feeling go.
But they had to do what was best for Laura. They had to allow her a say in her own life.
“I’d miss you, too,” Laura admitted, balling up the handkerchief in her fist. “Thank you for letting me talk about this without getting mad.”
“Of course,” Ada replied. “But what is the plan? Should we wait for your grandfather?”
Laura shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll pray on it. Mostly, I wanted to talk to you.”
She blew Ada a kiss before leaving the room, closing the door firmly behind her. Ada sank back against her pillow, her hair rippling around her in waves. In some ways, she wanted to press everyone for an answer right away. Her life was now inextricably bound up with so many other people’s lives and she no longer had the autonomy she had once craved. If only she could stamp her foot and force other people to make decisions now, without delay.
Least said, soonest mended, indeed. That counsel was becoming ever harder to bear.
*
Jack stood a ways back from the men, gazing up at the chapel. It was remarkable how much work they had done in just a few days.
The foundation had been laid, and all four walls had been framed. Today the men had worked on the beams for the roof, and tomorrow they would work on the steeple. At this rate, they would have the chapel finished in plenty of time for the preacher’s arrival. Watching the men work was like watching faith in action. They were striking out, hopeful of the result, ready to show their love of God through their work. It was a heady, compelling feeling, one he had not truly experienced in years. It both humbled and gratified him.
The sun was beginning to set in the west, causing the clouds in the sky to turn purple. The wind had died down to a sweet, gentle breeze. Out in the pastures, cattle lowed and the occasional quail chirped, “Bob White? Bob White?” Jack whistled back to them, reveling in the feeling of being alive.
This was the perfect evening for a walk with his wife.
“Say, Mack,” he called to his hand. “Would you have one of the men feed the cattle in the lower pasture? I need to head up to the house.”
“Sure thing.” Macklin gave a sharp, shrill whistle. “Quittin’ time!” he bellowed, and the men put down their hammers and saws. Laughing and talking among themselves, they put their tools away and walked back down the hill. Macklin followed after giving his boss a quick nod.
Jack waited until the men had disappeared and then made his way back to the house. Pearl’s words kept echoing in his mind. I’ve seen the way you look at her. I don’t think I ever saw you look like that at Emily.
What he’d felt for Emily had been different. He had fallen head over heels with an ideal. He had wanted a pretty little wife who would hang on his every word. He’d wanted someone with culture and refinement, a lady who would be different from all the other women he met before.
He hadn’t wanted Emily for Emily. He’d wanted her for what she had represented to him.
Ada was different. She was as cosmopolitan as Emily, but more gentle and tender. She was warmer and more mature. Most important, she made him a better person. He wanted to earn her regard, and he wanted to consult with her on everything that came up in his life, from managing the ranch to raising his daughter.
Ada was a true wife, even if their marriage was a sham.
He had to tell her that. He had to make sure she understood it.
He grew as nervous as a schoolboy when he approached the house. How was he supposed to ask her for a walk? Would she want to go?
Stop it. He would not turn into a bowl of jelly over Ada, even if he suspected he was in love with her.
Ada was outside in the yard, watering the zinnias. He paused for a moment just to look at her. Her dark hair, usually twisted and piled on top of her head, was now loosely tied so that it hung in waves to her waist. She wore a lavender dress, and its simple lines suited her. Before, he had always thought of her as a really pretty girl. Now, seeing her there as she tended the flowers, she was beautiful.
“Ada,” he rasped. His voice was getting caught in his throat. He cleared it and tried again. “Ada, honey.” He had to tell her the truth. He had to tell her how much she meant to him.
Ada dropped the watering can she was holding and looked over at him, her blue eyes wide. “You frightened me,” she gasped. “I had no idea you were there.”
“Sorry.” He took off his hat, holding it in his hands as though it would give him strength. “I thought maybe we could go for a walk.”
“Certainly.” She paused for a moment. “I suppose I should go inside and get my shawl and pin my hair up.”
“No,” he replied. He wanted her with him as she was, naturally exquisite. If she went inside, there would be maids and aunts and stepdaughters vying for her attention, too, and he wanted to share this moment with just her. “The sun is setting over the hill and it looks so pretty. I thought you might like to see it before dark.”
“That sounds lovely.” She gathered her skirts and walked to the gate.
He opened it for her, and she passed through. He caught a whiff of her familiar scent coupled with the earthy smell of the zinnias and garden dirt. He closed his eyes for a moment. Lord, make me worthy of her. Help me to say and do the right things.
Ada took his arm, and they walked side by side across the pasture. The last time they had come here was just before Asesino got out and he broke his ribs. On that evening, she had asked him to allow her to help him. He had. “Are you done with running the cows?” Ada asked, her voice quivering a little.
What was she talking about? He glanced down at her in confusion. Then he remembered Macklin’s excuse for keeping her out of the pasture while they worked on the chapel. “Oh, sure.”
“Are we…are we going to the hilltop?” She bit her lip distractedly. “I don’t think I can go there.”
“It’s all right,” he soothed. “We’ll go together.”
“I just mean… I can’t bear to see how badly
the chapel was hit,” she replied, her voice still quivering. “Honestly, Jack. I don’t think I am strong enough.”
“Part of being married is being strong together.” He drew her a little closer to his side, trying to keep a silly, telltale grin from stealing over his face. “Besides, the view of the sunset is magnificent up there.”
Ada said nothing but turned her eyes downward. He led her up around the back of the hill, where it would be more difficult to see the framework of the chapel. Then, as they crested the top, he nudged her. “Look at that sunset.”
Ada lifted her eyes and gasped. “Jack.”
The sun was glowing, its last rays touching the wooden frame of the chapel with streaks of gold. Ada shook her head as though she couldn’t quite trust her own vision. “What happened? Is this the chapel? I mean, of course it is, but—”
He could not contain his joy any longer. “We’ve been working on it for days now,” he replied, taking her hands in his and pulling her over to the building site. He wanted to thank her for all she had done and apologize for being hateful in the moments leading up to the twister.
Because of her, he was ready to accept God as the only guiding force in his life, and he wanted her to bear witness.
“Ada, I guess I have been a fool. Not entirely without reason, because I’ve got to admit that Emily broke my heart. I was in love with her, in my own way. I think I was too young and too green to understand what love really was.”
He drew her a little bit closer, and her hands trembled in his.
“When I first married you, it was because I needed someone to care for Laura. But what happened just kind of knocked me sideways. You cared for me, too. While I was recovering from my busted ribs, you took over hard work on this ranch. No one asked you to do it. You did so because you cared. You always wanted us to be a team. You even bore my insults when I got angry about Laura walking to and from school.”
Ada looked away from him. “It’s all right, Jack. No need to feel you should apologize.”
“This isn’t just an apology.” He gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “This is an expression of gratitude, and it’s a truthful confession. I started building this chapel because I felt I owed it to you. As the men pulled together to make it happen, and as I saw the whole town working hard to set Winchester Falls back to rights, it was a humbling sight. Most importantly, though, I watched you living out your faith in the way that you cared for others—even me. It brought me back to God.”
She returned the pressure on his hands. “That is good, Jack. I’m so happy.”
She did not look happy, though. Her eyes were turned stubbornly toward the ground, and the glow that suffused her earlier had disappeared.
He had to recapture that glow, somehow.
“You should know something—I just can’t hold it in any longer.” She spoke so quietly that he had to lean forward to catch her words. “Laura told me today that she wants to go back to St. Louis. She is unhappy here. If St. Clair hears enough about his attorney’s disastrous visit, then she may not even have a voice in the matter. As it is, if it were her choice alone, I think she’d leave today.”
Her words knocked him back a pace. He’d been too busy to notice what Laura was up to. Too preoccupied with his own recovery to observe his own daughter. Ada had, though. Laura felt close enough to Ada to tell her the truth, even though it was hard for Ada to hear.
“Well, I am glad she told you,” he began slowly. “It means she trusts you.”
“Yes, but if she does leave, there is no need for us to be married any longer.” Ada pulled her hands free from his and turned away.
He fell silent. If he was losing Laura, would he lose Ada, too? He couldn’t lose them both. Not when he had just found them.
He was caught unaware by the knowledge that Laura actually wanted to leave. He’d been thinking all this time that she had grown to love the ranch and the people on it, including himself.
How could he save all that he had built with Ada?
How could he make Ada love him and stay with him and fight for Laura?
“Try not to worry, Ada. I haven’t been a praying man most of my life, but you’ve brought me around to it. I’m going to pray on it.” He hesitated for a moment, unsure how to proceed. If he said what was in his heart, would she consider it weakness?
Well, she had seen him laid low by a bull and then survived a tornado with him. There wasn’t much he could say that would be more tumultuous than those events.
He took her hand in his.
“Pray for me, too, Ada.”
Chapter Eighteen
Jack awoke the next morning after a few precious hours of sleep. For the first time in his life, he knew what it was to pray on something. Over the years he had heard that saying, for it was something the adults in his life would say when faced with a crisis. “I’m gonna pray on it.” He had never fully grasped the meaning of it and had always assumed it was the nice, polite thing to say when faced with tragedy. Just as he would say “Bless you” if Ada sneezed, so, too, would he say “I’ll pray on it,” when faced with the possibility of his daughter leaving.
If he lost his daughter, he also faced the probability of losing Ada. She blamed herself for St. Clair’s anger, and she had convinced herself they could stay married only if she could care for his daughter. It was as if she was blind to the truth. He loved her, and he meant to stay married to her no matter what happened.
He needed to talk to his daughter. He needed to keep his wife. So he had prayed on it.
Only this time, he really meant it. He had prayed all night for wisdom and guidance. He knew what he should do.
He glanced out the window after dressing quickly. The first faint streaks of dawn were lighting up the sky. If he hurried, he could catch Laura before Ada took her to school. No, he would talk to her before school, and then he would be the one to take her. The cattle could wait for one morning. This was far more important.
He hustled down the hall to Laura’s room and rapped gently on the door.
“Yes?” Laura’s voice was still slurred from sleep.
“Put on your riding duds and meet me outside,” Jack whispered urgently. “It’s about time you saw the sunrise while riding, like a true cowgirl.”
Laura’s answer was a low groan. At first, anger surged through Jack, but he fought it back. She was only ten years old, after all. Very few youngsters would be excited about riding out at dawn.
“Hurry up.” He eyed Ada’s door. If she wasn’t up already, she would be soon. Though she would surely understand his need to have a father-daughter chat, he didn’t really want to explain everything to her. This moment, this entire morning, was borne on the impulse of prayer. He didn’t want to slow down for anything. “I’ll be out front with the horses.”
He made his way out to the barn, but not before stopping at the kitchen to snag a few biscuits and a tin mug of coffee. Then he got the horses ready and brought them around to the front of the house. Surprisingly, Laura was already waiting, ready for school, with her lunch pail slung over one arm and her hair neatly braided. Had Ada spurred her to rush, knowing that he wanted to have a chat with his daughter? If so, she kept out of sight. He couldn’t catch a glimpse of her anywhere in the windows or on the porch.
He handed Laura up onto Blue and then swung into his own saddle, leading her out onto the prairie without saying a word. He didn’t really know how to begin. He just had a feeling that after weeks of struggling with his own offspring, it was time for an honest discussion.
After they had ridden out a fair distance over the pasture, he pulled his horse to a halt. They were looking out over the horizon, and the sun was lighting the clouds so that they turned pink. Now was as good a time as any to try to speak his heart.
“Laura, my little chickadee, Ada told me you want to go back to St. Louis.” His voice sounded rough even to his own ears. He paused for a moment to gather his strength. He couldn’t fall apart right now.
“I
wish she hadn’t told you.” Laura wailed, a sharp change from her sleepy demeanor. “I only meant to talk to her about it. I didn’t want to tell you.”
“Well, why not?” He was genuinely curious. Why would she want to tell Ada but not him? After all, he was her true father.
“I didn’t want to hurt you.” Laura sniffled. “And besides, I didn’t want to start a fight.”
He reached into his shirt pocket and handed Laura his bandanna. She took it, grimacing as she unfolded the bright blue fabric and blew her nose.
“Laura, I don’t want to fight about this, either,” he admitted. He sighed. “You know, I brought you out here thinking I could recapture what it was like when things were good in our little family. Before your mother died. I wanted to bring you home and raise you here on the prairie. But I never asked you what you wanted. In fact, I just kinda demanded that you come here.”
Laura gave a halfhearted chuckle and dabbed at the end of her nose. “Yes, you did.”
He smiled ruefully. “Sorry, chickadee. You know, I had your best interest at heart. I made a lot of changes and promised your grandpa a lot of things in order to bring you back to Winchester Falls. You wouldn’t believe everything your stubborn, headstrong daddy did to spirit you back to Texas.” Marrying Ada, changing his house, agreeing to summer visits, agreeing to nosy attorneys dropping by—oh, he had certainly done more than he ever thought he would. “I just assumed you’d like it here, too.”
“I do like parts of it,” Laura interrupted. “It’s not all bad. It’s just that sometimes I miss St. Louis.”
He’d never understand anyone wanting to go back to that crowded, dusty, highfalutin town, but he let that remark pass for the sake of peace. His role, after all, was to bring her up right, and his responsibility was to love her and to cherish her. That meant that he would have to check his habit of insisting on his way or that his opinion was right, and instead allow his daughter to have a voice every now and then.
“Well, I guess I could understand that,” he said.