by Karen Baney
Silence, except for the swishing of dish water answered her. At least he could make an effort to answer, even if he found her boring. Glancing his direction, she caught him staring at her. Quickly his gaze darted away as he cleared his throat.
After several more dishes changed hands and just when Hannah thought he was not going to answer, Mr. Colter spoke, “After my father died, my older brother got the ranch back in Texas. He and I got along as well as Cain and Abel, him being more like Cain. My inheritance was half the herd, half the money, and half the breeding stock. All I needed was land and I would have myself a ranch.”
Hannah almost stared in surprise—so many words strung all together coming from the quiet cowboy.
He continued, “My father talked about the Arizona Territory often during the spring before he passed. Thought it would be a good place to raise cattle. When my sister, Julia, was clearing out his things she found several letters about the territory. The letters were quite detailed about this area and included information on the best route to get here. I was surprised my father even received the letters, given that Texas sided with the Confederacy. But somehow those letters arrived and somehow they were discovered just when I had to make a decision.”
He paused, setting the plate in his hand aside. Turning his head, his eyes connected with hers. “It might sound silly, but I knew this was where God wanted me.”
The circumstances that led him here could hardly be described as anything less than Providence, as he suggested. “No, it doesn’t sound silly.”
“What about you?” he asked, taking the mug from her extended hand.
“I’m afraid my story is a sad one,” she answered, handing over another of the never ending supply of dishes. “My husband was a doctor in Cincinnati, Ohio. His brother ran into trouble with the law that left us ostracized by the community, forcing us to leave for a new home where Drew could continue to provide for us. Drew learned about the Arizona Territory from the newspaper. We originally thought to settle in La Paz but, on the way here, Betty and Paul convinced us this would be a better area.”
Hannah paused, staring at the mug in her hand. “Like you, Drew thought the Lord was directing us here…only he did not know it would ultimately lead to his death.” Her voice wavered on the last words and she stopped abruptly.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, taking the last mug from her hand.
Swiping at the lone tear trickling down her face, she added, “What is done is done. No amount of wishing or praying will change what happened.”
The silence stretched. Hannah blinked several times rapidly, hoping to hold any further tears at bay.
Mr. Colter’s voice was soft and compassionate when he spoke, “You must miss him.”
The lump in her throat kept her from saying more than, “I do.”
As she stared into the dish water, Drew’s reflection appeared. She missed those blue eyes, the laughter, the teasing. The years in Ohio had been wonderful. She hated that he never made it to their new home to see this beautiful land of his dreams.
A scuff of Mr. Colter’s boot against the wooden floor reminded her she was not alone. Sighing heavily she said, “Thank you for your help. I don’t think I would have finished before supper otherwise.” She smiled, letting the sad memories melt away.
“Any time, Mrs. Anderson,” he said as he touched his hand to the tip of his cowboy hat. Turning, he left the way he came, quickly and quietly, leaving Hannah to wonder about what the tall rancher said.
Chapter 26
Hannah rolled onto her side, stuffing her arm underneath her pillow. Why could she not get what Mr. Colter said out of her head? How could he be so sure God led him here? Rolling onto her other side, she closed her eyes again, but her mind would not be still.
Did God lead her and Drew here? It was a question too painful to contemplate. Drew seemed to think so. But, if it was true, did it mean God planned to take Drew? Did He plan to leave Hannah here alone?
Flopping onto her back, Hannah sighed. Light barely colored the sky, spilling in through the window as shades of gray. Resigning herself to starting her day, she threw back the light cover and plopped her feet on the floor. Propping her elbows on her knees, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes before standing. Donning the gray work dress, fitting her sullen mood, Hannah quickly brushed out her long hair. Then she slipped on her shawl without taking time to pin her hair back.
Picking up her Bible, she quietly exited through to the kitchen. Opening the door to the outside, she took a seat on the bench Paul built next to the back of the building. She sat there silently for a moment gazing out across the town square. A gentle breeze tickled her face. She closed her eyes and soaked up the early morning sun.
Opening her eyes she placed her Bible on her lap, reluctant to open it. Since the baby died, she had not really been on speaking terms with God. She didn’t understand why he would take her child and her husband. It was so hard to be left behind. Even though she spent most Sundays studying the Bible with Charles and Martha, she had yet to open the pages and seek him on her own. She wanted to believe that God had some good purpose, some meaning for the tragic way her life turned out. Yet, she was afraid to ask—to learn that there might have been no purpose at all.
Lord, if it was your hand leading us west, what purpose could you possibly have in taking Drew’s life and leaving me behind? A lone tear trickled down her face. The breeze lifted strands of her loose hair, carrying them over her shoulder. Fragrant pine tickled her nose.
The stillness of the morning failed to answer her question. Perhaps it was one that needed answering over time.
She desperately wanted to find her way. Questions poured from the depth of her heart. Who was she apart from Drew? Was it possible that God had some purpose for her life—something more than just going through the motions like she had since Drew died? What did the future hold for her? Was it his purpose that she work at Lancaster’s? For how long? Would she ever have a family of her own? Would it last more than a few fleeting breaths on the face of this earth?
Looking back down at the Bible laying in her lap, she opened it to the Psalms. Eyes darting across the words, she read several chapters. Over and over, one word stood out above the rest: refuge. And each time the word was mentioned, it was always in conjunction with the Lord being her refuge. Though none of her questions seemed to be answered, the one she had not asked was. She was not alone. She had a refuge, a shelter in God—a shelter from the questions, from the unknowns.
Lord, help me to seek you as my refuge. Help me to know you are with me. Guide me in the path you would have me pursue. Show me for what good thing you brought me here.
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Will woke early, not used to the strange noises of so many boarders crammed into a small space. Longing for the quiet, he threw on a pair of levis over his drawers. Not bothering with a shirt, he stepped from the bunkhouse towards the outhouse. When he headed back to the bunkhouse, something caught his eye. Ducking behind a tree, he glanced past it to see Mrs. Anderson seated on a bench behind the dining hall. Her face was obscured by her long strawberry blonde hair as her head was bowed. Annoyed with himself for not taking the time to put on his shirt, he waited behind the cover of the tree for her to go inside.
Minutes ticked by and still she remained with her focus intent on the book in her hand. The sound of pages being turned seemed loud in the early morning stillness. Afraid he would draw her attention if he darted back to the bunkhouse, he stood still. Such a private moment, and he was gawking at her, unable to take his eyes from her.
His pulse quickened the longer he stared. She was lovely, attractive. Something about her drew him in. A flash in his mind’s eye painted a picture of her standing over the stove in his ranch house. She seemed like she could belong there. Inwardly sighing, he chided himself for such thoughts. It was clear from their conversation yesterday afternoon that she still grieved for her lost husband.
Patience, Will. In time he would fi
nd a wife and make a family. No need to spend too much time thinking about it and trying to fit every pretty, unattached woman into that picture.
Stifling a laugh, he thought back to what his mother had called him—brooding. She said he was always working his mind over every little aspect of life. Too much brooding, she said, was a bad thing, making a man put too much faith in his own judgment instead of seeking God. His mother was right. He needed to stop brooding over his loneliness and let things be what they would be.
Pushing away from the cover of the tree, he considered making a break for it when a commotion from the front of the dining hall drew her attention. As soon as she was inside, Will ran back to the bunkhouse. He donned his shirt and belted his revolver holster around his waist. As he ran toward the front of the dining hall, he hastily buttoned his shirt. Several other boarders in various stages of dress, guns in hand, followed him.
Two uniformed men carried a third into the dining hall. Mrs. Anderson instructed the men to place their wounded compatriot on one of the tables. Will stood by ready to lend aid, amazed by her ability to stay calm.
---
Hannah quickly recovered from the shock of three soldiers storming through the front door. One of the young men explained they were on patrol south of the town when they stumbled across a gang of Mexican cattle thieves. The altercation left one of the men with a gunshot wound in his leg. Having assisted Drew with similar patients, she squared her shoulders and took charge.
“What’s your name?” she said in a calming voice to the injured man.
“Jensen, ma’am.”
“Well, Jensen, we will have you fixed up shortly.”
Looking around for someone to help, Hannah’s eyes landed on Mr. Colter. Looking directly into his eyes, she asked, “Would you place your hand here to help with the bleeding, while I go get a few supplies?”
When he failed to move, she took his hands and placed them over the wound. Turning on her heel, she hurried back to her room. Opening her trunk, she dug around for Drew’s medical tools—the few she kept—and some laudanum. Grabbing a ribbon from her dresser, she ran back into the dining hall.
As she leaned forward to study the man’s injuries, her long loose hair fell over her shoulder. Feeling a little scattered, she secured her hair with the ribbon, despite her shaky hands.
By now, Betty arrived with a stack of towels and bandages of every kind. Mr. Colter still stood over Jensen, pressing his hands against the wound. His eyes connected with Hannah’s, his kind look giving her courage. She nodded, instructing Mr. Colter to move aside as Betty handed her several bandages. She placed the bandages over the wound to soak up some of the blood, as she had done dozens of times at Drew’s side.
A moment of fear and self-doubt threatened. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She could do this.
Betty whispered near her ear, “I already sent one of the soldiers for Doc Murphy.”
Relived by the news, Hannah knew she would not have too long to wait for help.
Jensen groaned. When she looked at him, he seemed frightened. “You’ll be just fine,” she encouraged.
As Betty tied a tourniquet above the wound, Hannah poured a dose of the laudanum. Lifting it to his lips, she said, “This should help with the pain.” He swallowed.
Removing the first set of bandages, Hannah took a clean one to mop up more of the blood. Studying the injury carefully, she looked for the corresponding exit wound. Only finding the entry wound, she assumed the bullet must still be lodged in Jensen’s leg.
Looking through Drew’s instruments, she failed to find a scalpel. She would need something sharp to cut open the wound in order to fish out the bullet.
“I need a knife,” she said and several were proffered. She took the one from Mr. Colter, testing the blade to make sure it was good and sharp. It was—as she expected from the experienced rancher.
“Mr. Colter, Mr. Boggs, please hold Jensen down.” Turning her attention to the young man writhing in pain she said, “I need to get the bullet out and to do that, I will have to cut near the wound. This is going to hurt.”
He nodded, though his eyes started to gloss over, and she began. When Jensen jerked away, she glared at Mr. Colter. Voice still calm she said, “I need him still.”
Mr. Colter tightened his hold as she carefully made the cut with the large awkward knife. Having Betty assist, she was able to quickly locate and extract the bullet. She poured some whiskey over the wound to clean it. Either the pain intensified or the laudanum started working, for Jensen passed out. She adeptly threaded a needle and stitched up his leg as best she could. Then she wrapped the leg in bandages.
“Let’s get him to one of the bunks to rest,” Betty suggested.
Mr. Colter and Mr. Boggs, carried the young man the short distance to the Mother Lode, followed by Hannah and Betty. One of the miners cleared his things off his bunk, offering it up for the injured man. Betty stayed with Jensen and shooed Hannah and the rest of the men out of the room. Having no other place to go, many went back into the dining hall.
Hannah started cleaning up the dining table turned surgery. Even though there seemed to be a large amount of blood staining her hands and apron, she was certain Jensen would survive. She had seen men recover fully from worse.
Scrubbing the table with vigor, the reality of what she had just done set in. She just cut open a man’s leg and removed a bullet! Feeling light-headed and queasy, she started to make her way out back. As she crossed the threshold from kitchen to grassy lawn, her legs buckled beneath her. Strong arms clasped her waist keeping her from falling to the ground. She felt herself being eased to the bench where she sat just moments ago in silence with the Lord. Her head still swam, so she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cabin wall. With the first deep breath through her nostrils, she smelled a light scent of horse and man. The second breath added pine to the mix. A gentle hand held hers, giving her strength. As she opened her eyes, Will Colter stood before her, keeping her steady.
As the events of the morning hit her full force, she felt the bile rise to her throat. Twisting her torso to the side of the bench, she leaned over and retched. With unsteady hands, she found a non-blood-stained corner of her apron and wiped her mouth. Taking deep breaths she managed to recover. Mr. Colter handed her a cup of water, which she sipped slowly until it was gone.
“You did good,” Mr. Colter said with an encouraging smile. “Without your quick action, that young man might have died.”
Hannah nodded numbly as her nerves began to settle.
“How did you know what to do?”
“I assisted my husband many times with similar wounds. This was the first time I’ve done that on my own.” She managed a half smile.
Standing, Mr. Colter offered her his arm for support, leading her back to the kitchen. The fragrance of frying bacon filled the air, causing her stomach to flutter. Entering the dining hall she saw it had been set to rights. Men stood slowly removing their hats or placing one hand over their hearts. The admiration in their eyes was clear and Hannah was humbled.
Dr. Murphy arrived with several mounted cavalry men. Hannah directed him to the patient and stood by while he conducted an examination. He was obviously impressed with how well she took care of the young man, because he praised her efforts several times. Another group arrived from the fort with a wagon to transport Jensen back. Since he was still out cold, they decided it would be best to leave in short order.
It wasn’t until after they left that she noticed Martha Murphy.
“You look exhausted,” Martha said. “Don’t worry about fixing breakfast for these men. Betty and I will take care of it. I’ll be here to help all day, so you lie down and rest for awhile.”
Hannah quickly complied, her energy drained.
Will still thought about the events of the morning as he sat down for supper in the dining hall. The image of Mrs. Anderson sitting on the bench, Bible in hand, kept coming to his mind. She seemed at
peace this morning in that private moment. Private. That is what it should have been—not with him looking on.
Then, she transformed into this confident skilled woman, removing the bullet from a young man’s leg. How could he be anything but impressed with this woman?
As if thoughts of her could conjure her presence, she entered the dining hall. Mrs. Anderson missed the morning meal, but made an appearance at dinner earlier in the day. Now here she was, looking beautiful as ever, filling up coffee mugs for the supper hour. Her color returned and she looked more refreshed as the day went on. He smiled as she filled his mug.
When she moved to the next patron, Will turned his attention to the conversations around him. The town meeting was scheduled for this evening. Speculation abounded. Excitement mounted as the men looked forward to what Bob Groom and the town leaders would say.
Shortly before seven, Will arrived at Don Manuel’s store, the site selected for the town meeting. They squeezed together to make room for as many men as possible. Bob Groom led the meeting. After a few cursory comments, he announced the leaders selected a name for the new town. Prescott was the name chosen in honor of the famous historian and writer. He also confirmed the rumors that Prescott was now the official capital selected by the governor. A large round of applause followed.
When the crowd quieted, Van Smith joined Bob in the front. They recently completed a survey of the town site, mapping out lots which would be auctioned on the fifth of June. These two men would act as the land agents for the town and supervise the collection of funds from the auction. The money would be used for the town.
The townsmen were pleased with the information from the meeting. Many were already discussing which lots they would bid on. Being chosen as the capital meant the town would grow at a rapid pace. Following the meeting, the boardinghouse dining hall was open for refreshments and dessert. Many of meeting attendees lingered over the apple pie discussing the events of the day and plans for the future.