by Lynn Squire
The man smiled at her.
Her heart fluttered like the butterflies that Lord Dunsbury had released in her father’s cornfield—a token of his undying love, he had said. The stranger’s pale face and blond hair could very well have been the lord’s but for the braid.
Tipping his head and smiling like the lord, the man rose from his seat. “May I have the pleasure of introducing myself to you?”
Wasn’t that what Lord Dunsbury had said the morning she first met him along Shanty Bay? He looked so handsome in his straw hat and black cane with a gold topper. However, her father had thought him too forward. “Sir?”
The stranger glided across the room and sat in the chair before her. He then proceeded to pull his gloves off, one finger at a time.
Her breath caught in her throat. That was the very thing Lord Dunsbury would do.
“You miss Ontario.”
How could he know she came from there? “Yes.”
He lifted his chin and smiled. “After all you’ve been through, I’m sure you wish you’d married Lord Dunsbury.”
Sarah studied her gloved hands. How could this stranger possibly think these things when he didn’t know her? And, oh yes, how she did long for home. “Sir, what would I know of Lord Dunsbury?”
He leaned forward across the table and whispered, “Butterflies and midnight skies.”
Butterflies and midnight skies. Lord Dunsbury had breathed those very words into her ear that evening, in the cornfield, behind the farm. Where he released the butterflies. The freedom of my soul and the sky the depth of my love, he had said.
Her body grew warm with the thought and then suddenly cold. She slipped her hand across her neck. Lord Drake Dunsbury proposed that evening. What would have become of her had she said yes?
“A life of luxury in a townhouse in London, England.”
“Pardon me?” Lord Drake Dunsbury had intended for them to live in his home in Belgravia, London, but how could this man know that?
“The lord would have made you a lady.”
Sarah looked away, but the image was too strong to suppress.
There stood Drake, looking so very gallant in his white wool trousers and navy blue vest. His double-breasted jacket hung off his finger, and he swung it to the rhythm of the romantic melody he hummed.
She twirled her parasol, a pink one with white pompoms. She felt so pretty standing before him, draped in the light of a setting sun.
Earlier, they had ridden along the shores of Kempenfelt Bay, laughing and relishing each other’s company. His eyes twinkled, and every move, every gesture, one of refined upbringing mingled with love. Or what she thought was love.
After releasing the butterflies, Drake sacrificed his white trousers to bend on one knee. “Sarah Sperling, it would give me great pleasure if you would be my wife.”
She looked away, across the field to a humble, yet neat farm. A neat white picket fence outlined the yard that surrounded a well-kept red brick house. The lush green grass augmented the red roses that graced the walls of the house. Mr. Black’s farm, Joab’s father.
Her heart skipped. Joab’s loyalty ran deep. His faithfulness he proved daily throughout their school years together. Even as a young man, he remained her closest and dearest friend. It was through his tender counsel she had come to know the peace of God. No one cared for her as Joab did.
Lord Dunsbury was of the past. Joab had become her future.
She set her gaze on the man who now sat at the table across from her. “Lord Dunsbury was a pompous fool.”
The man toyed with a serviette. “But he would provide you with everything you ever desired.”
“And what do you know of my desires?”
He leaned forward. “More than you are willing to admit.”
She stared at the door. Indeed, Lord Dunsbury could have provided her with everything she thought she desired. His gifts. Oh what wonderful gifts. A thoroughbred horse, a pearl necklace, a jade statue from China—she had swooned at each one.
Her hand traced the line of her throat where the sapphire pendant the lord gave her for her birthday once rested. She loved sapphires.
“My darling,” Drake’s deep voice had rolled with passion, “this sapphire is but a mere replica of your eyes.”
Her neck had tingled as he closed the clasp.
“This is a small token of what I hope someday to give to you.” Then he had settled beside her and opened a photo album. Flipping through it, he had showed her the splendor of his home in London and his spacious estate outside Exeter.
She had nearly given in to him that night, but Joab had come.
“Joab is a religious bigot.”
Startled, Sarah snapped her attention back to the man across the table. “Pardon me?”
He raised his eyebrows, and a sly smile arose upon his lips. “I didn’t say anything.”
But she could have sworn he did. Those were the very words Drake had said after Joab left that night.
The stranger tapped the table. “Lord Dunsbury is visiting Premier Frederick William Haultain in Calgary.”
Sarah clutched her serviette.
“I know he would love to see you. In fact, one might say he sent me here to find you. It would be good for you to get away from this place and become the lady you were meant to be.”
Lord Dunsbury was no longer a part of her life. She fumbled for her purse. He was cruel. She stood. He could not see the value of anyone but himself.
“I’ve spoken to him recently, and I know he would gladly take you home.”
Home. That sounded so good.
She straightened and directed her gaze into the stranger’s eyes. “Home is with Joab.”
What a fool she had been. She stepped away. Joab had given her a full life, but more than that, he had been her spiritual leader. She hurried to the door. No one could replace that. God help her, she would not make the mistake of deserting him again.
Chapter 26
“We haven’t had any snow, yet. Touch wood.” Mrs. Kirkland said to Ruth Clumpit from the parlor’s entrance. On her head perched a most elegant hat with a stunning red bow held in place by a sapphire brooch with diamonds outlining it. Puffs of white feathers rose like clouds behind the bow.
Sarah folded her hands in front of her and waited in the hall. Mrs. Kirkland could go on so, but since the lady stood at the door, she’d likely finish soon. Sarah admired the woman’s shapely blue dress with a wide white collar and large white buttons. Mrs. Kirkland’s gloves were quite elegant as well. Sarah pressed her fingers to her lips to hide her smile. The woman looked ready for a formal afternoon tea at the Banff Springs Hotel.
“Didn’t you get that bit last week?” Ruth’s sweet voice seemed a bit preoccupied.
Sarah peered around the parlor door. Her friend knitted furiously, something Sarah knew Ruth did only when agitated.
“No, no. Our farm being so low in the coulee, well the snow just doesn’t settle there. Although, I will admit the pasture by the Blacks’ got a good dusting.”
Sarah cleared her throat, and Mrs. Kirkland jumped. The woman touched her hat then settled her hand on the handle of her white parasol.
“Mrs. Black, how nice to see you. Feeling better these days?” Mrs. Kirkland slipped out of the parlor entrance like a nervous gopher, her head looking in all directions while holding her purse and parasol with both hands at her chest.
“Yes. Thank you for asking.” She mustn’t think poorly of the woman. Mrs. Kirkland really was a nice person, but Sarah was tired of everyone tiptoeing around her.
“I had just come with a dozen eggs for Mrs. Clumpit here.” Mrs. Kirkland touched her hat again and scurried to the door. “Best be going now. Do say hello to your hus—oh—ah. Well, do have a nice day.”
Sarah smiled politely and waved good-bye as the woman dove out the front door.
“Everyone’s embarrassed, you know.”
“Pardon me?” Sarah stepped into the parlor. She loved this room. Ruth ha
d such a gift for decorating. The white walls gave a cheery appearance, and chairs dressed with flower-patterned cushions gave it a summery feel.
“Everyone feels sorry for you, but they don’t know quite what to do.” Ruth looked up from her knitting. “They were that way when I lost Mr. Clumpit and baby Joe. Everyone, that is, except your husband and Sergeant Dixon.”
Did Ruth blush? Sarah suppressed a smile. It was no secret that the sergeant and Ruth had been making eyes at each other for the past year. “Yes, I suppose it is difficult to know what to do.” She raised her hands dejectedly. “I’m in the middle of it, and I don’t know what to do.”
Ruth nodded and motioned for Sarah to sit in a rocking chair by the wicker teacart.
“I lost my Bible in the fire.” Sarah squeezed her hands. Before she could return to Joab, she must gain some strength. Had he not always said strength could be found in God’s Word? Bibles were expensive, and, while much could be brought on the train, it always took a while. Then, she didn’t have any money. Oh, why did God bring all this upon her?
Ruth raised her eyebrows. She rested her needles on her lap and settled her pleasant gaze on Sarah.
“Would you mind if I borrowed yours?” It had been so long since she had even prayed. If her encounter with that man who seemed to know so much about her did anything, and he did seem familiar, it made her realize she needed to get right with God. “I’d like to walk up to the farm.” She gulped back the humiliation. She wasn’t some sinner in need of great repentance—or was she? “I need to pray.”
Ruth set her knitting in the wicker basket at her feet and reached for the black book on the end table. “You go right ahead, dear. I’ve done my reading this morning, before the sun rose. I’ll not need it until tomorrow.”
Sarah clutched it against her bosom. “Thank you.”
“Hurry along and don’t worry none about getting back.” Ruth settled back with her knitting. “I’m sure Joab would appreciate a visit, too.”
Joab. She wanted to see him, but could she bear to look at him? Oh Lord, help me.
Sarah stepped off the dirt road to cross the small coulee that wound past their farm like a moat around a castle. The smell of sage crushed beneath the feet brought memories of breaking land so many years ago, when they first arrived. They were so full of hope and promise. “Lord, how could you have let all this happen?”
A tear trickled down her cheek. Over there, at that low spot, they had planted their first flax field, a sea of blue blossoms surrounded by the greenish-gold of prairie grass. “We were so proud then, Lord. What did we do to deserve this—this destruction?” She gagged and fell to her knees by the burnt grass that crowned the top of the shallow coulee.
“How do we move forward? How do we recover? God, I see no hope.”
A breeze’s gentle finger ruffled her bonnet.
“How can we begin again? We’ve nothing but the clothes on our backs and even those are tattered rags. If it were not for the gracious loan of my friends, I would stand here nigh naked.”
The horizon wavered in a mirage, making the low rise of the Buffalo Hills come alive, like a gigantic moving caterpillar. Those hills had no relief. They provided no protection. Too far away to block the winds that rose against them and too near to allow the vision of the destitute to see hope on the horizon.
“Oh my God, my God, why have You done this to us?” She bent forward over her stomach as though punched by nature. “What evil thing did we do that You have chosen to punish us?”
The wind brought no words. Even the birds were silent. Sarah pressed her hand against the black, charred ground. This land had turned against them. The weather the night before the fire must have been God’s wrath unleashed, for now they were as desolate as the land in which they lived.
“Why didn’t You take my life, too?” She cried and fell prostrate on the powdered remains of their labor. She coughed as ash floated up her nose, and the Bible, held in her hand, pressed against her head.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
“But You weren’t there. I walked through that valley, and You deserted me.”
Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words without knowledge?
“What words? I know nothing. I only want to understand … to have hope.”
Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth?
“I know, Lord, that I am a miserable sinner. I know, Lord, that I deserve none of what You have given me.” She pressed her face against the blackened soil. “Joab was right when he said, ‘The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.’ for You have taken it all away. I have no hope.”
“Anyone who has Christ as their Saviour has hope.”
Pastor Perkins’ voice startled Sarah, and she pushed up from the ground. “Sir, forgive my appearance.”
He raised his hand. “You were baring your soul to your Heavenly Father. You need not apologize.” His round face beamed with graciousness. Tall and muscular, his stature emanated strength that was tempered by his kind eyes beneath thick brows. His rosy cheeks brought cheer and only increased the pleasant feel his smile gave.
“How long have you stood there?”
“Not long, but enough to know that you are hurt, and alone, and scared.”
Sarah looked at her hands. “I don’t know where we go from here.”
“You have lost everything but the most important thing.”
“My salvation.”
He nodded. “The difficulties of this world seem to weigh heavy on us, might even seem unjust, but in the light of eternity …”
Sarah lifted her eyes and beheld a new farm in the distance, an oasis in a desert of stubble. Whose place was it?
“The vastness of God’s love extends the length of eternity.” Pastor Perkins turned and walked to the edge of the coulee. “A new beginning takes courage and faith, but is not impossible when God is in control. Tomorrow may seem a little less void of hope than today. And so the next day, and one day you will find yourself once again seeing the blessings of God and knowing His tender mercies. Until that day, remember the hope of eternal life.” He stepped down into the coulee. “The troubles of today will seem a mere speck from the panoramic view of eternity.”
In the horizon beyond the pastor’s head, the white peaks of the Rocky Mountains turned purple in the setting sun. A distant hope, Joab once called them. Was that what she faced now? A distant hope?
Between her and those mountains stood a great expanse. Could that be as the vastness of God’s love? She rotated a full circle, taking in the endless miles of prairie. Could it be that this was not the end, but merely the beginning? Did God have more for her and Joab?
A hill, set out from the rolling terrain of the Buffalo Hills, stood capped by a farm. Above it the great expanse of blue sky darkened. She lifted her hands and tilted back her head. “I am Thine, oh Lord, I have heard Thy voice.” The song sprung from her spirit, setting it free to soar through the blue sky, which now spoke to her of God’s glory.
How could she have forgotten to Whom she belonged in the wake of all that happened? Even in the midst of the fire and in the valleys of her sorrow, God had been there, touching her with the hands of kindness. She would hope again.
Chapter 27
Dixon reined his horse to a halt a few feet from Mrs. Black. He saw the pastor leave her just moments before. Why did the man not escort her to the soddy? Not long now, and she’d have to cross that burnt ground in the dark. Surely it would frighten her. Yet, here she was singing, as though no tragedy had touched her life. “Mrs. Black.”
She opened her eyes. “Oh, Sergeant, I didn’t know you were there.” She smoothed her skirts. “I mean, I was just singing.”
“Yes ma’am. I never knew you had such a beautiful voice. Angelic, almost, and certainly moving.” He removed his gray Stetson. “It’s getting late …”
“I love th
is time of night. The heavens open up and reveal God’s splendor.” Her face glowed in the early evening light.
Dixon cleared his throat. He should be used to the Blacks saying such things, but it always knotted him up inside.
He dismounted. “Are you going to see Joab?”
Her shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. “Yes. It is time I moved past myself.” She touched his gauntlet. “I’m afraid I’ve been terribly selfish.”
“You’ve experienced great losses. No one would deny you the time to grieve in your own way.” He patted her hand, noting that she wore a pair of Mrs. Clumpit’s kid gloves.
“But I lost my focus.” A light shone from her eyes, like a torch at night, strong and dependable. “I forgot eternity.”
Eternity. He never gave it much thought. Was hard enough living in the here and now. Why should one worry about eternity?
She swept her delicate fingers through the air. “When I look at this prairie sky, with its millions of stars and endless depths, I think of eternity. There is no end up there. Each star leads to another, and then to another, and so on, without boundaries or walls. Death doesn’t exist there, in the universe. Instead, the dark lives with the light in an endless dance of rejoicing.”
Dixon pushed his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The night only brought him fierce memories. How could anyone find joy in it? “Please, ride my horse. I’m on my way to the soddy as well.” The sooner the better.
“I’d rather walk, thank you.”
“Then I shall walk as well.” He took a step forward.
A coyote howled in the distance. A forlorn sound—one he had come to both love and hate, like the extremes of the prairie weather. “They feel the cold.”
“Another of God’s creatures. A reminder, perhaps, of our need to be dependent on Him.”
He slapped his Stetson against his leg. Why could she not be silent? But she was his friend’s wife, and he owed her respect.
“Something bothering you, Sergeant?”