Mr. Meeker, with his salt and pepper hair impeccably combed, approached with an older white woman dressed in a somber dress with her hair slicked back so tight in a bun Samara doubted even the wind dared to ruffle it. A young woman walked with them, her shoulder-length hair blowing in the breeze and dancing beneath her broad-brimmed hat. The young woman surveyed the festivities with joy radiating from her face. Samara wondered at the stark difference between the three’s expressions.
“Well, this is unexpected and unconventional.” A note of disapproval threaded through the man’s voice.
“Mr. Meeker, Mrs. Meeker, Miss Josephine, I’d like to introduce my wife, Samara Thomas,” Orlando stated. The shock of hearing her new last name sent a jolt through Samara.
She pushed the feeling aside and focused on the Meeker family, hoping to pave a smooth path toward a meeting she hoped happened before they left. “What a pleasure to meet you all. Thank you for joining us in this joyful celebration.”
Josephine smiled broadly and shook her hand. “How romantic this day has been. Congratulations on your marriage. I pray it’s one full of joy and strength.”
Samara smiled and nodded at Josephine in return as Mrs. Meeker spoke. “Well, I never. How did you two even meet, and how long have you been living on the mountain in sin?”
Josephine gasped. “Mother!”
Orlando squeezed Samara’s hand tight, as if he feared Samara would judo chop the woman or something. He knew her well. She was certainly tempted. “God dropped her in my path, I suppose you’d say. I found Samara injured not long ago, and after she became well again, we headed down here.”
Samara sent Orlando a glare at his quirk about God dropping her, which he returned with a wink. She inwardly huffed out her frustration at the snotty woman’s attitude. It wouldn’t do her any good if she let herself get riled and ruin any chance she might have to talk some sense into Mr. Meeker. She turned from his wife and smiled at the man in charge, the man who held all of the village’s fate in his hands.
Samara gestured toward his arm in the sling. “It appears you’ve been injured. My Orlando is the best doctor I’ve ever seen, be it back east or across this great nation. He could take a look at your arm tomorrow before we leave if you’d like.” Samara hoped a private meeting might come from the examination.
“I’d appreciate that, Mr. Thomas. Many people from here all the way up to Rawlins say that you’re a man wise about the ways out here and blessed with a healing hand. Why stories of you are told with such reverence I half expect people to bow down as you walk by. If I would’ve known last time we met, I would’ve tried to convince you to stay on our expedition here,” Mr. Meeker expounded, his tone serious as he gushed.
Samara looked at Orlando, a new understanding of who her husband was expanding in her mind. He was what legends were made of, bigger than life, told across space and time. How could she ever be enough for him? His neck turned pink beneath his beard as he shook his head.
“I’m not anyone but a man trying to live the best he can. I mean no offense, but I wouldn’t have accepted. I like my life among the mountains.” Orlando pulled her to his side.
“I figured as much,” Mr. Meeker said. “Please stop by before you leave.”
As Mr. Meeker pulled his family away, Orlando turned Samara to him. “That was mighty nice words you spoke back there, wife.”
Samara shrugged nonchalantly. “They were true. You are the best doctor I’ve ever been to. He doesn’t need to know you’re just about the only doctor I’ve ever been to, though.”
Samara chuckled as Orlando’s blond eyebrows winged up his forehead, and his eyes widened in shock. Then he burst into such lighthearted laughter, she giggled with him. He descended upon her so fast, her laughter caught within his as he kissed her deeply, yet quickly.
“I had to see if that laughter tasted as wonderful as it sounded,” Orlando whispered in her ear, causing her knees to threaten to buckle beneath her.
He smiled down at her before pulling her close and marching toward the musicians. Her heart swelled with a happiness she couldn’t ever remember experiencing, buoying her so high she feared the inevitable drop would instantly kill her. She supposed that would be preferable to a long drawn out death. She shook off her melancholy and forced herself to just enjoy the moment, not worry about the tomorrows.
The musicians played with such jovial enthusiasm, she found herself wishing she could join them. She looked up at Orlando, preparing to ask if he cared if she did. He captured her lips in a kiss and then pointed to where her case sat propped close to the make-shift stage. She smiled at his anticipating her desire to play, bounced up on her toes to kiss his cheek, and rushed to play the exultant music dancing within her heart.
Chapter 16
Orlando watched with joy as Samara rushed to her case and pulled her dulcimer out with a look of reverence. She was an angel, floating in her deerskin dress as she glided over to the men playing and asked to join them. The men stumbled over their feet, trying to make room. Another worker rushed up with a chair for her to sit in. When Samara smiled at the man in thanks, he stood there holding the chair, staring at her smile. Orlando chuckled. She laughed, pointed to where he could place the chair, and then rewarded the man with a pat on the shoulder. The man’s ears turned a stunning shade of red as he backed away, tripping in the process.
Samara joined in with the musicians playing Turkey in the Straw, her fingers flying over the fret as they played faster and faster. The crowd danced along, spinning partners until the music flowed too fast to follow. When the musicians finished with a flourish, the crowd cheered wildly.
Samara held up her hand, quieting the crowd. “I’d like to thank you all for celebrating my wedding with me. This next song is by a family from where I come from called the Petersens. It used to be one I played often, but after today, I guess it’s not so true. It’s called The Ring Song.”
Orlando listened as she started playing a quaint melody. When her mouth opened to sing, he swore he heard a collective gasp at her beautiful voice. She drew the crowd in with her song about a ring around the moon, but no ring around her finger. The crowd laughed out loud, some holding their sides when she sang about punching Johnny in the throat as she winked dramatically. She sang on about not finding love, singing some things that he knew were from her time, but the crowd didn’t seem to look confused. When she finished, the crowd cheered wildly, completely captivated by her.
Samara completely captivated Orlando as well, pulling him in so his only focus was on her. Her entire body communicated her love of performing, playing through song after song the crowd knew with flair and delight. Her face held dramatic expressions, and the intimate way she interacted with the crowd had everyone listening intently. His mind wondered if it was wrong for him to take her to the wilderness, where her only audience would be her husband, a flock of sheep, and a few dogs, at least until children came.
The thought of children had Orlando’s knees going weak, making him glad he leaned against a large, solid oak. Over the last few weeks, he’d tried to keep thoughts of children with Samara at bay, since that usually led to thoughts appropriate for married couples. However, now the image of a little girl with auburn curls like her mother sprang to his mind. Of little boys with blond hair and amber eyes playing in the creek. They could make a large crowd for her to play for at home.
Orlando stood propped against the tree as Samara played song after song. She included the other players in her joy, handing off solos as much as she did her own. If one didn’t know any better, one would think the musicians performed together often. She sang lively songs that had people dancing in the packed dirt. She played songs of lands remembered. Her version of Shenandoah had men from the agency wiping their eyes and sniffing. Orlando contented himself with watching his lovely bride woo the crowd and his friends.
“You’ve got yourself a fine woman, Orlando,” Trapper Dan proclaimed as he slapped Orlando hard on the back. “How did y
ou find her again?”
“The Lord led me to her, Dan. I woke up needing to go scout an area I hadn’t been in ages, the need so strong I couldn’t not go. So I saddled Loco up and headed off. I found her in the bottom of a ravine. She’d been attacked, and I couldn’t leave her,” Orlando answered ending on a whisper, his eyes glued to her.
Trapper Dan sucked in a breath, his voice harsh and raspy. “Did you find the varmint who hurt her?”
“No, he’s long gone. I almost had her to safety when the wolves attacked. Almost wouldn’t have made it through the ordeal if she wouldn’t have shot a wolf right off my arm, injured like she was.”
Trapper Dan whistled. “That’s one fine woman and a story for the campfire. Your legend increases without you even trying, son. Your pa was so proud, just like I am. I can’t wait to watch your family grow, to be a great uncle to them.” Trapper Dan pulled Orlando in for a hug. Orlando took Trapper Dan’s shoulders and tugged him close so only he could hear Orlando speak. “I need you to be praying, Dan. She knows the Lord in her heart. Her parents were missionaries. Yet, she’s pushed Him away, says God abandoned her. I think she’s afraid to let Him in. Pray for her heart to be softened and for me to be patient. I don’t want to push her so fast she runs forever.”
Trapper Dan looked Orlando in the eyes. “Son, I’ll be knocking so earnestly on God’s door He’ll get tired of hearing from me.”
Samara started picking a slow, difficult song. The other players stopped as they had occasionally to listen to her play. Her head lifted from where it had bowed over her instrument, her face raised to the sun and her eyes closed as her hauntingly beautiful voice rose above the notes.
I give thee all— I can no more
Though poor the off'ring be;
My heart and lute are all the store
That I can bring to thee.
A lute whose gentle song reveals
the soul of love full well;
And, better far, a heart that feels
Much more than lute could tell.
Orlando’s heart slowed to a crawl as Samara turned her face to him, her eyes shining the love she sang of. He started moving to her, barely cognizant of Trapper Dan’s joyful laughter that preceded Dan slapping Orlando on the shoulder. Amber eyes pulled him through the crowd as she continued to sing, her words only for him.
Though love and song may fail, alas!
To keep life's clouds away,
At least 'twill make them lighter pass
Or gild them if they stay.
And ev'n if care, at moments, flings
A discord o'er life's happy strain,
Let love but gently touch the strings,
'Twill all be sweet again!
Samara’s song ended on a whisper as Orlando stepped up to her. He lifted the dulcimer from her lap and tucked it under his arm. He then grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. He claimed her lips with his as cheers erupted around them.
Orlando adjusted his grip on Samara’s hand and led her to Chief Johnson’s lodge he’d offered for them to use for the night. His Ute friends sang and banged their drums as they followed them to the tepee. He opened the flap and followed her in, the din of the crowd fading as they turned back to the remaining performers.
Samara walked into the tepee and turned, her hands wringing before her. Orlando placed the dulcimer next to the door and ambled to her, his eyes holding hers for ransom. He grabbed her hands in his and brought them to his lips, kissing each one once. He then slid his hands up her arms, across her shoulders, and anchored them at the back of her head, deep within the silky red curls.
He pulled her close, leaning his forehead to hers, and whispered, his voice husky and deep, “I accept your offer and give you all of me in return, lock, stock, and barrel.”
Samara let out a cry of joy that Orlando captured in his mouth. He kissed her, desperate to show her all his passion, all the love he’d held deep within, not wanting to scare her away. She clung to him with equal desperation, following his deep kisses with her own, dragging him close to her. He lifted her into his arms, not breaking the kiss, and stumbled to the pallet of furs and blankets against the tepee wall. He whispered her name as he laid her down, claiming her as his own forever.
Samara woke to the sounds of a village waking up. Her husband’s heart beat solidly beneath her ear as she lay upon him, anchored to his side by his arm. Men coughed as tent flaps slapped against tepee sides. Women built fires into crackling flames, calling softly to one another. A rooster crowed. A baby cried. Sounds of a village content in life, working and surviving together. A village that would soon be forced on a journey of mourning to a land not their own if Samara couldn’t convince Mr. Meeker to compromise.
Though she loathed moving from the cocoon wrapped around her, the love they’d expressed hanging thick in the air, she knew they needed to meet with Mr. Meeker before they headed home. She opened her eyes and looked at Orlando. His face seemed peaceful, more than just relaxed in sleep. It appeared less weighted somehow. She’d never realized how much tension he held in his features, how much worry creased his forehead. Had the worry and strain been for her, or did he always wrestle with the pressure she couldn’t find evidence of while he slept?
Samara wondered what her parents would’ve thought of him. She knew right away they’d love him with how he always looked for ways to help others, even though miles separated them. He had a missionary spirit, a spirit that loved and helped others as Christ would. A spirit that found ways to aid others in bettering their life without simply giving it to them. The type of person that would see to others’ safety and comfort at the cost of his own, even unto death.
Samara’s mind balked at that thought. How could she have let herself get pulled in? What was she going to do now that love for this man bloomed in her heart? How was she to protect herself when her soul drank in the love he poured out to her like the parched desert after a drought and exploded into life as abundant and beautiful as the stark landscape after rain? She hadn’t realized how arid she was, how scorched to the very marrow she’d become. She didn’t know how to protect herself from this. Her spikes hadn’t just been sheared but plucked out, biting into the flesh, ripping them from the root. Could she even get the protection they provided back? Did she want to?
“What has such a troubled look upon my beautiful bride’s face?” Orlando drew Samara’s thoughts away from introspection.
He peered at her from hooded eyes, his thumb running over her cheek as his fingers delved into her hair, kneading her head in a massage. The subtle lines of worry had returned to his face, and she realized she’d chased away his peace. Would she chase away more than that in time? Like her parents and God, would she chase him away as well?
“I was just thinking about our meeting with the Meekers, wondering if we can convince Mr. Meeker to see reason and compromise.” Samara shrugged, not willing to expose all her thoughts.
Orlando examined her, scrutinizing her face as his lips pressed into a fine line. “Arvilla Meeker invited us over for breakfast, so I promise we’ll talk with them.”
“I feel like if there is a purpose to me being here, if God really brought me back for a reason, this has to be it, to save so many from pain and hurt.” Samara heard the desperation in her voice.
Orlando moved up onto his elbow, pushing her softly to her back. He brushed his fingers through her hair, trailing and twirling them through the curly mass. She noticed last night he liked his hands embedded deep within her hair. He leaned down and kissed her neck beneath her ear, tightening her insides like the strings of her dulcimer. He trailed slow kisses along her jawbone, coiling her body so tight she knew she’d snap like strings tuned too taut.
“What if God brought you here for just one person?” Orlando whispered, pulling his face away enough for her to see his eyes. “What if you’ve come to pull me out of the shadows of grief and doubt that I’ve been stumbling in, your very presence lighting my life with joy again? Would
that be enough of a reason?”
Samara nodded her answer, her throat too thick to talk. His lips trembled as he kissed her, a desperation she hadn’t felt the night before thick upon them. Yes, he’d be more than enough, but the question remained, would she?
Chapter 17
Samara ventured through the village an hour later with the reins to Midnight in one hand and Orlando’s fingers intertwined in the other. She shouldn’t get accustomed to the bliss that coursed through her. Didn’t the Good Book talk about life withering away? She knew this would shrivel just like everything in her life did, but she figured she might as well breathe deeply and enjoy it for a moment before she pulled up the arduous shield she carried.
Josephine Meeker stood outside the Meeker cabin sweeping their porch. She waved when she saw them approaching and turned to yell into the house. A moment later Mr. Meeker and his wife stepped out onto the porch. He waved his good arm to them before his attention focused on the Utes roaming about the area. His face hardened in a look of scorn, and Samara’s heart twisted. Were they too late? Was Meeker’s heart already turned? Orlando squeezed her fingers, drawing her attention to his thumb circling comfort on the back of her hand.
“We’ll do our best and pray God softens his heart to truth. Meeker will do what he will do. People seem to be good at that, at blazing their own path without thought of the One who laid it.” Orlando glanced down at her.
Orlando’s words scorched her, making her flinch. She knew he talked about Meeker, but the accusation hit her square in the chest. Yet, if she didn’t blaze her own way, she’d perish, trampled by those stronger than she.
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