by Ginny Aiken
She glanced over her shoulder, and saw that Roger had finished his meal and returned to his armchair, a bottle of whiskey on the small table beside the chair. She cleared the table quickly. When done, she turned away from Roger to mask the bitter tears that stung her eyes. He took advantage of any opportunity, and he saw her tears as pure weakness. He’d come after her, seemingly for the sheer pleasure of asserting his dominance.
Sure, he controlled every aspect of their lives. But he couldn’t touch her heart. She’d encased her feelings in a steel box.
And despite all he did, she sheltered still-smoldering embers of trust in her heavenly Father. Mama and Papa had lived with blessed assurance of His goodness, mercy, and love, and they’d passed it to Faith. She held on—weakly these days, true, but she still did—to God’s promises. Her one personal possession, beyond the clothes on her back and the change hanging on the peg in the bedroom, was Mama’s old, leather-bound Bible. She started each morning at the kitchen table with that battered but treasured book open before her, a cup of coffee by her hand, tears in her eyes, pleas for mercy on her lips.
She’d thought of leaving…oh, at least ten times a day. But where would she go? What would she do?
If she ran, she’d wind up right back where she’d been the day her parents died. And this time, she’d be a runaway married woman.
For better…for worse…’til death do you part…
A rumbling snore tore into her thoughts. She glanced at Roger, noticed the bottle, its contents far lower than they’d been the last time she’d checked. Once again, he’d drunk himself into oblivion.
Thank you, Lord.
She couldn’t believe she’d reached the point of gratitude for unbridled drinking, but it was only in times like these that she found a few hours of peace. During those moments, she heard no ugly words, submitted to no unreasonable demands, endured no pain for her slightest infraction of Roger’s multitude of rules. She dried her hands on the length of towel she kept hung on a hook to the far side of the stove.
No. She’d given her word. Running at this time wasn’t the answer, for more than one reason. She trusted God to provide the answer in His perfect way and in His perfect time. If she was to run, He’d make it perfectly clear. If Roger was to change, she’d welcome the change the moment it happened. She only hoped the Father’s time would come soon.
No matter when it came, it never would be too soon for her.
The earthy, musky scent of the dark rickety barn that stood a handful of yards behind the general store embraced Faith as nothing else did these days. Her kerosene lamp gave off a golden glow in a halo around her, casting shadows in every nook and corner of the immaculate barn. Gentle snuffles and shifting hooves on hay let her know her presence was noted and mighty welcome. She smiled.
“Maisie, my girl.” Faith picked up a small tin pail of alfalfa chunks, and approached the odd, wide stall where Roger housed their animals. While he could have built three proper stalls, one for each creature, he certainly hadn’t been willing to go through the bother. A cross between a horse’s whicker and a donkey’s bray burst from the animal’s lips. “Hush! You don’t want Roger to hear. I’ll have to leave, and you won’t get any treats if I do. You want these goodies, right? Tonight I brought you carrots. They’re awful sweet.”
The mule propped her chin on the stall door, rattling it under the weight of her head, her lips baring chunky ivory teeth. With a lightness that never failed to impress Faith, Maisie nipped up the alfalfa in the middle of her palm, gave it only the briefest chew, then gulped it down. Another whickery bray followed.
Insistent stomping broke out a few feet down the length of the stall. “Wait your turn, my friend,” Faith responded.
At the spot where Roger had placed the next feed bin in the stall, Daisy was already waiting for her share of goodies. She greeted Faith with a warm, damp nuzzle on the neck. “Be careful there, my dear one. Don’t you go getting any spit on Roger’s old coat.” She snugged the wool garment closer, and ran her hand over the lapels to check for moisture. “You’d think he’d have given up on this old thing, what with all the mending I’ve done to it. But he’s just as tetchy about anything happening to it as if it were his newest one.”
The old coat was the warmest garment available to Faith. She used it any time she came out to see the mules at night, when Roger was sleeping off another bender. Her knitted wool shawl wasn’t adequate for the winter weather here halfway up the mountain. Still, she loved it, since she’d raised and shorn the sheep that had provided the wool, she’d spun the yarn and knit the wrap. It was the last one she’d made before the Indian raid.
The stomping at the third bin let her know someone was impatient. “I told you many a time. It’s ladies first.”
A snort told her what the male mule thought of that.
Faith rubbed Daisy’s head and received another loving nuzzle in response. “You’re a sweetheart, too, missy.”
Maisie gave her distinctive whickery bray.
Faith sent the mule a sideways glance. “Ah, you’re jealous, are you? Never to worry. I love all three of you, and you all know it. But you, my Maisie? You’ve got yourself a special corner of my heart all to yourself.”
The sweet, gentle animal had shown Faith an uncommon affection from the moment she arrived at the Nolan property. Many a night, she’d spent hours weeping into the thick coat over Maisie’s warm neck, despairing of ever finding any more joy in her days than what she found with these animals. They always welcomed her, responding to her tender care like flowers did to rain. Roger wasn’t rough-handed with only Faith.
More stomping. This time, the stall door rattled in unison with the irritated, impatient clomps.
Faith chuckled. “Well, mister. I suppose it is your turn, now, isn’t it?” She slipped the pail’s wire handle over her arm, then sidled over to the last mule. He was waiting for her. “I fed you already today, didn’t I? You can’t be as hungry as you make it seem. Besides, all I have for you tonight is alfalfa and carrots.”
It didn’t matter. He would eat anything and everything she offered him, and always asked for more. He had been growing rather plump around the middle, a fact that Faith had noted and was taking pains to correct. “You can’t spend your days sleeping and eating, you know. Why, the girls work more than you do. And you’re supposed to be the bravest and strongest one, the leader of our little pack. But, no. You leave that job to Miss Maisie, don’t you?”
Oh, yes. Stronger, he was. But he was also prone to complain whenever asked to do his duty. Each time Faith loaded the three animals to take the supplies up to the logging camp, the girls went fairly well. At least, Maisie always did. Daisy followed placidly along behind Maisie.
But this fella…?
“You know, big boy?” She scratched his head. He rubbed the velvety area between his forelock and muzzle up against the underside of her chin in gratitude. The big, old foot-dragger was a sweet boy, too. “Roger did at least one thing right. He gave you the perfect name, now didn’t he? I’ve never known a more slothful critter than you, Lazy!”
Holding out the last carrot to the greedy animal, Faith sighed. Who’d have thought she’d end up all alone but for three mules as friends? “Isn’t that a sorry state? But, at least you are here. I’d have gone mad, pure raving mad indeed, if I hadn’t had you.”
She thanked the Lord for providing the easy, undemanding, unquestioning, and never belittling companions. True, she knew practically everyone in Bountiful, the nearest town to her parents’ ranch and also to the foothills at the base of Mr. Bartlett’s mountain, where the small Nolan spread sat. But she never could abide the pitying looks they all gave her these days. It would seem Roger had earned himself a reputation for his willingness to argue and his speed with his fists. While she knew she’d hidden the bruises well the rare time she went to town, she feared everyone there knew what was what.
“Well, friends”—she returned the pail of alfalfa to the hook where
Roger always wanted it kept—“I’d best be on my way back in. A body never knows when he’ll snore himself awake, he’s so loud. Reminds me of a train rumbling on nearby rails—very, very near.”
Always mindful of the danger of fire, she took care when she picked up the kerosene lantern, as she headed to the privy. Pines surrounded the structure, and while during the day their emerald presence reminded her of a protective embrace, at night they seemed to loom with a touch of menace, a stark warning that an inexperienced soul could get lost in their midst, never to be seen again.
She shuddered, and swiftly took care of her needs. When done, she gripped the lapels of the much-repaired coat with one hand and the lantern with the other, and headed back to the house.
Everything within her rebelled. Every instinct reared up. Every bit of her being recoiled at the thought of returning to Roger’s side.
If only she’d known.
If only she’d had a better choice. Perhaps if she’d chosen the young ranch hand…
“Why, Lord?” she asked for the latest of countless times. “Your Word says you’ll never leave me nor forsake me. Have you forgotten me? Do you hear my prayers? Must I endure this for the rest of my life?”
Chapter 2
“This last order…well, I have to say I’m troubled,” Nathan told Matt Murphy, a fellow war veteran and his employee of longest standing. “The reality is that we still have to have supplies. Woody says we’re running low on some of the foodstuff staples we need to see us through to spring. It’s a concern. Especially since winter’s just around the corner. But I hate to have to count on someone as unreliable as Roger Nolan.”
“Then don’t.” The wiry redhead crossed his arms and gave Nathan a challenging stare. “It’s not as if I haven’t pressed you to do what I reckon you’ll likely have to do in the end.”
Nathan ran a hand through his hair. “I struck a deal with the brothers, Matt. It rubs me wrong to go back on my word.”
“Looks to me, boss, like they break their word to you over and over again without the least bit of shame. Been wondering, how’d you get yourself in this pickle, anyway? I thought you said your pa owned this whole mountain. But when I came out to join you, there they were, right happy as hogs, squatted on that piece of land.”
“I thought my father had the deed to the whole thing, too, but they were here before I even had the chance to go scout out a good spot for the logging camp. Seems they’d come out west a short time before the end of the war…”
The men exchanged pained looks.
Nathan cleared his throat. “Yes, well, they produced a deed when I asked them what right they had to the land, so I couldn’t run them off. Looked like some sort of homesteading agreement.”
Rusty eyebrows drew close as Matt narrowed his eyes. “You sure that deed’s all legal-like? Wouldn’t put it past those Nolans to try and pull a swindle over on you.”
“Looked all legal to me. Besides, they’ve settled down there, close enough to the edge of my land that it doesn’t make much sense to argue. There’s enough land in these parts for the Nolans and me.”
Matt shook his head. “Looks to me like you’re too goodhearted for your own good.”
Nathan shrugged. “I have this recollection of my mother saying over and over when I was little that I needed to treat others like I wanted folks to treat me.” He stood, began to pace. “But this isn’t about me. It’s about them. They seemed interested in setting themselves up as businessmen when we started out, and they offered to supply me and my men. They already had those three sturdy little mules, plus the cash to buy the supplies so they could add the back storeroom to their place. They insisted they wanted to handle large orders for the camp.”
“A body would reckon they’d be obliged to you, seeing as you didn’t chase them off the mountain—your mountain. I’m thinking you surely could have. After all, it’s your regular orders for supplies that’s let them open their general store.”
Nathan chuckled. “Yes, since I provide the bulk of their business, I should be able to expect superior service. And at first, that was the case. Lately things have not gone as well.”
“Indeed they haven’t.” Matt slapped the tabletop, making the two empty enamelware coffee cups rattle. “How many of these paid shipments have mysteriously disappeared between Bountiful and the Nolan Brothers’ General Store?”
“This one’s the third. The two other times, Roger came through with our order just as we were about to run out of food. He’s yet to offer a single word of apology for his unreliable service.”
“Hope you’re not still waiting for that apology.”
Nathan shrugged. “The first time, I didn’t make much of this kind of thing. The second time, it irked me, so I had a talk with Roger. But that doesn’t seem to have done much good, now does it?”
Matt stood. “Nothing, I’d say. I reckon you’re going to wind up opening your own store sooner or later, so if it was me, I’d open it sooner.”
Nathan shook his head. “I don’t have the animals to get the supplies up here, nor do I have the cash to buy them.”
“Seems to me you do have one thing you can do. You can finish that flume, and fast as you can, so’s we can sell enough lumber so you can open yourself a store.”
“I do admit, I wouldn’t mind if I never had to deal with either of the Nolans again. I haven’t seen it myself, but I hear Theo’s temper has landed him on the wrong side of Marshal Blair’s jail more than once.”
Matt rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Theo is little more than a ne’er-do-well. He spends the better part of the day sitting out front of Folsom’s River Run Hotel with his pal Hector Swope, the two of them, more often than not, drunk no matter what hour of the day.”
Nathan weighed the wisdom of discussing something else he’d heard last time he’d gone into Bountiful. He figured Matt was a discreet and sensible man. “I’m not one for gossip, but I’ve heard talk about Roger. I hear he’s made connections with some of the soldiers who came to fight the Bannock War down south of here by the Malheur Reservation awhile back.”
“I’ve heard the same. Rumor has it, the Nolans charge a pretty penny to supply them with spirits.”
Nathan grimaced. “I’ve heard the same. I can’t imagine Captain Roberts approves. He seems too sensible a man to have his men drinking while on duty. But I hear the Nolans will sell the stuff to anyone willing to pay for it.”
Matt placed his coffee cup in the washbasin, then headed for the cabin door. It was late, and he likely wanted to call it a night. The other men had already gone ahead, and had hours of sleep on the poor fellow. “Doesn’t surprise me none.”
Nathan followed his friend to the front door of the logging camp’s main cabin. “Can’t say it does me, either. But it is alarming. Liquored men’s minds are mighty changeable. One never knows how they’ll react.”
“Sounds to me, boss, like the perfect mix for trouble of some kind.”
“We’ve had enough of that around these parts. Nothing good’s going come of all this, I’m afraid.”
“Reckon you’re right, boss. I only hope it happens far from here.”
Nathan figured it’d be better to pray the Lord kept any such disaster far from his budding business rather than hope it happened that way. He couldn’t afford to expand as he needed, much less could he afford to start all over again, no matter what the cause.
Later, hours after he should have been asleep, Nathan continued to mull over the state of affairs with the Nolan brothers. He’d known from the start most men in his position opened up a company store of their own. That way, they could control what came in and what went out, and, he suspected, sooner or later he’d have to do just that. But, as he’d told Matt, his funds were much too tight at the moment, and he had a partly built flume to finish.
Now that a spur line was coming to Bountiful, he wanted a direct means to get his lumber to the railroad. He couldn’t see his way to where he could finish the flume and
open a store at the same time.
On the other hand, he couldn’t very well run an efficient operation if the camp lacked the most basic supplies because of a pair of scoundrels at best and dishonest crooks at worst. That would simply endanger his men.
On top of all that, he now felt a great deal of distaste whenever he had to deal with the Nolan brothers. Nothing upright or decent about either one of them.
And yet, in the middle of that mess, one found Mrs. Nolan running the store a good deal of the time, working far harder than either Roger or Theo ever had. She was much younger than her husband, and he knew she’d married him after her parents had been killed by a band of rogue Indians. Nathan understood her desperate need back then, but why had she chosen Roger from among the men in the area? Surely at least one other bachelor had offered for her. He himself would have helped her out and given her his name if he’d known what had happened. But he’d been minding his business up the mountain.
Maybe what Eli Whitman said was true. Maybe he was turning into one of those wild mountain men, like the ones that had settled up in the untamed Rocky Mountains years before, trapping fur animals for a living.
It wasn’t that he had any great liking for a hermit’s life. It was more a matter that he’d come back to Oregon with too much in his head. Even all this time after the war, he couldn’t get away from all of what he’d seen.
Death.
Everywhere.
A ravaged land.
His mother’s family, dead or destitute, devastated.
They hadn’t been the only ones. After the fighting was over, Nathan had known he had to return to Oregon. He couldn’t bear to see what had become of the South. He couldn’t bear to hear one more horrible tale.
Indeed, war was truly Hell on earth. He couldn’t imagine a worse fate for those who rejected the heavenly Father’s gift of His Son.