Prairie Fire

by Catherine Palmer

  A tap on her shoulder halted her recriminations for an instant. Jack? She looked over her shoulder to find a pair of warm gray eyes crinkling at the corners, a thatch of shaggy blond hair, and a smile as bright as heaven itself.

  “Ist beautiful, the mercantile,” Rolf Rustemeyer said, his words thick with German accent. The huge, solidly built farmer leaned closer and patted her arm with his heavy, work-worn hand. “You maken fery pretty, Fraulein Murphy. You maken happy day für Rosie und Seth.”

  Rolf’s determined effort to communicate softened Caitrin’s dismay. She gave him a warm smile. “Thank you, Mr. Rustemeyer. It is a lovely day.”

  “Ja.” He nodded. “Goot day für vedding. Zoon Rolf Rustemeyer vill builden big Kirche. Kirche. Für veddings, peoples dying.”

  Caitrin frowned. What on earth was he talking about? “Kirche?” she repeated. “What is that?”

  “Ach.” He slapped his knee in frustration. “Kirche. Is Gott’s Haus.”

  Caitrin used her knowledge of the Gaelic tongue to decipher the message. “A Kirche is like a kirk? A church. You’re going to build a church for the town of Hope, are you?”

  “Ja, ja, ja!” Rolf beamed.

  The band began to play louder, and Caitrin glanced toward the mercantile door. Seth Hunter—straight, tall, and handsome—entered with little Chipper holding tightly to his hand. The proud father’s new white shirt fairly gleamed, and his son all but danced in his shiny new shoes. Aye, but they were a fine pair, the boy a mirror image of his papa. Rosie had made herself a wonderful match indeed.

  “Fery zoon, I vill Kirche builden,” Rolf whispered, tapping Caitrin’s shoulder again. “Here I builden. Near mercantile. You vill zee me on daytime. All days, ja?”

  Caitrin’s smile froze as the significance of his words sank in. Rosie had told her that Rolf would like to court her. Perhaps he would even want to marry her. To Rosie, that would be a wonderful solution to Caitrin’s loneliness. And if Rolf spent day after day building a church near the mercantile, she would have no choice but to acknowledge him.

  Caitrin studied the big man, all brawn and hardy good humor. Though his reputation in the community was spotless, Caitrin viewed Rolf more as a potential project than as a suitor. He needed a good haircut. A cake of strong lye soap would do wonders with the dirt embedded in his hands. And a few more English lessons would serve him well socially. Just as Caitrin had helped transform a barn into a mercantile, she might change a rough-hewn farmer into a gentleman. But to put her future into those large hands? To give her heart to Rolf Rustemeyer? Oh, heavens!

  “’Tis the bride!” Sheena whispered, elbowing Caitrin.

  Everyone stood as Rosie stepped into the mercantile. She was a vision … her yellow dress lit up the room, her brown hair gleamed, and her smile could have lit a thousand lamps. Seth looked as if he might burst with pride as she came to stand at his side. Love fairly poured out of the man’s blue eyes. Rosie bent to kiss Chipper’s cheek, and the little boy threw his arms around her neck.

  “Hi, Rosie,” he cried out. “We’re gonna get married now!”

  The nervous excitement in the room broke, and everyone chuckled as the happy threesome moved to stand before the preacher. When the familiar words of the wedding ceremony filtered through the room, Jimmy took Sheena’s hand. It was a perfect moment, Caitrin thought. Two hearts joined as man and wife. One little soul given a brand-new mama.

  The women in the congregation dabbed their eyes. Children sat transfixed. Men turned their hat brims in their laps and grinned with satisfaction. Chipper’s gangly puppy, Stubby, wandered into the mercantile and lay down at Rosie’s feet, his big tail thumping up puffs of dust.

  “Seth, you may now kiss your wife,” the minister said at last.

  For a moment, silence hung in the room. Then Seth folded Rosie in his arms and gave her a kiss that was warm, tender … and much too long. The children giggled. One of the men called out, “Save it for later, Seth!” and everyone burst into laughter.

  As the congregation rose, Caitrin stuffed her handkerchief into her pocket, determined to make a joyful occasion of the event. Rosie and Seth turned to walk out of the mercantile, and everyone rushed to engulf the couple. Caitrin worked her way through the throng until she was able to give the bride a warm hug.

  “God’s richest blessings upon you, Rosie,” she whispered. “I wish you every happiness in the world.”

  “And you, too, Caitrin!” Rosie said. “I pray that you’ll find as perfect a man for you as Seth is for me.”

  Seth leaned through the crowd and laid a warm hand on Caitrin’s shoulder. “Thank you, Miss Murphy. The place looks great.”

  And then the couple were whirled away … out into the fresh air where tables and benches had been set up to feed everyone. Caitrin squared her shoulders against the tide of melancholy that threatened once again, and she headed for the serving line. Rolf Rustemeyer and Casimir Laski had been roasting a pig since dawn. Neighboring women had brought dishes filled with steaming corn, green beans, and black-eyed peas. There were bowls of mashed potatoes and crocks of brown gravy. And the fresh rolls piled in baskets almost could have fed the biblical five thousand without a miracle.

  Caitrin rolled up her sleeves and took charge of the potatoes and gravy. By the time she had dished out a dollop for every visitor, her arms were aching. She filled her own plate and headed for a table near the barn.

  “Caitrin, come over here!” Rosie called, beckoning from the heavily festooned central table. “Sit with us!”

  Obedient, Caitrin turned and set her plate beside Chipper’s. The little boy had fed half his pork to Stubby, who was licking his chops for more. “A grand day this is for you, Chipper,” she said. “Sure, I never saw a pair of shoes so fine.”

  “Yeah,” Chipper managed around a mouthful of bread. “Papa bought ’em for me. I gots a mama an’ a papa now, Caitrin. Rosie’s gonna live with us in the soddy, did you know? An’ Papa’s gonna build us a new house this winter. A wood one.”

  “Truly? Not a sod house?”

  “Nope. Wood.” Chipper swallowed the bite. “Papa told me that Rosie might have a baby brother or sister for me one of these days. You need to get yourself a daddy, Caitrin. That way you can have babies.”

  “Now, Chipper,” Seth said sternly.

  But Rosie was laughing. “You’re exactly right about our babies, sweetheart. I’m going to pray that you’ll have lots and lots of brothers and sisters. And then won’t we all have fun?”

  “I sure do wish Gram an’ Gramps could be here now,” Chipper said. “Uncle Jack, too. I miss ’em. Maybe they could all get married to us, an’ live with us, an’ then we’d be one family.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence, but Caitrin finally found her tongue. “What a big family that would be, Chipper,” she said. “I think you and your new mama must want a family as big as the O’Tooles’. And where is poor Will O’Toole today? In all the excitement, have you forgotten your best friend?”

  “Look down there at the end of the table,” the child said, pointing. “There’s Will with Erinn an’ Colleen. They watched Rosie get married to Papa an’ me today. Will says Rosie will be a good mama. Why don’t you want to be a mama, Caitrin?”

  “Oh, look, Chipper,” Rosie cut in. “Jimmy’s going to make a speech.”

  The gangly Irishman rose and lifted his mug of hot apple cider. “’Tis a fine day for our good friend Seth Hunter, and as fine a day for the rest of us here to have the pleasure of rejoicin’ in his wedding. Sure, there never was a man as good, honest, and hardworkin’ as our Seth. Nor was there ever as pretty and lovin’ a woman as dear Rosie—save my own sweet Sheena, of course. And if I didn’t say that I’d be sleepin’ in the barn tonight.”

  Jimmy paused amid the chuckles. “So, here’s to the happy pair,” he continued. “Seth and Rosie, may you live long, grow rich, and bear more wee brablins than you can count in a day!”

  A chorus of hurrahs followed the toast. C
aitrin glanced around, wondering who would stand up for Rosie. Sheena—though happy to speak her mind in private—would never have the courage to make a public pronouncement. And then Caitrin noticed that everyone’s eyes were trained on her. Flushing, she realized that she was Rosie’s close friend, and by all good grace she should offer a toast.

  She stood, lifted her mug, and prayed hard for words to form on her tongue. “Rosie has brought the light of happiness to many here on the prairie,” she began. “And I count myself blessed to be among those her life has touched. Not only is she good and kind, but she bears witness to the joy of Christian love that flows from her heart. In marrying Seth, our Rosie has found a partner … a friend … a true love …”

  Caitrin squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. “Rosie has found all the happiness she so richly deserves,” she finished quickly. “Rosie and Seth, may your marriage be one of tenderness and everlasting love from this moment forward.”

  Sinking onto the bench, Caitrin buried her nose in her mug and took a deep drink. Oh, it had been a poor toast … unplanned and awkwardly spoken. Just when she meant to be strong, her own silly woes had swarmed out to engulf her. She must move past this self-pity. She must stop dwelling on a man who had been barely a flicker in her life. And she would. Truly, she would. God help her!

  “Me now!” Chipper cried, climbing up onto the wobbly bench. “Who’s gonna talk about me?”

  The child looked around the crowd. Caitrin’s heart went out to him. Perhaps Will would stand up for his little friend. She glanced down to the end of the table to find Sheena’s son deep into a slice of cherry pie.

  Chipper turned in a circle on his bench. “Does anybody have a speech about me? ’Cause I gots a new mama today, an’—” He paused and his face lit up. “Oh, look everybody! Here comes somebody to talk about me. It’s Uncle Jack!”

  CHAPTER 6

  JACK rode his horse to within five paces of the nearest table, and the crowd broke into screams of terror. Women covered their children’s heads. Men threw protective arms around their wives. A blond giant of a fellow leapt to his feet and came at the intruder. Heart hammering, Jack jumped to the ground and held up both hands.

  “I’m unarmed!” he shouted over the roar. “I come in peace.”

  Head down, shoulder butted forward, the giant kept coming. Jack kept his hands up as long as he could. When he realized the fellow meant business, he went for the shotgun in his saddle scabbard.

  “Stop, Rolf!” a woman’s voice cried out. “Rolf, no!”

  The giant skidded to a halt. Caitrin Murphy materialized at the man’s side and grabbed his arm. “No, Rolf!” she said. “Look. Mr. Cornwall holds no weapon. You must let him speak.”

  Breathing hard, Jack waited in tense silence as the giant assessed the situation. “You not fight Seth?” the man growled, pointing a beefy finger. “Not little boy to take?”

  Jack held out his empty hands. “I’m unarmed,” he repeated. “I’ve come in peace.”

  “What do you want with us, Cornwall?” Seth called across the clearing. One arm clamped around Chipper, he rose from the wedding table. “You know you aren’t welcome here.”

  Jack stepped forward, determined to keep his attention away from Caitrin. “I came to talk to you, Seth,” he said. “You and everybody else.”

  In the wary hush, a child’s voice rang out. “Hi, Uncle Jack! Guess what! Me an’ Papa an’ Rosie got married today.”

  “Hey there, Chipper.” At the sight of the little blue-eyed boy, Jack’s defenses faltered. This was his sister’s son, the baby he had cuddled on his lap and rocked to sleep a hundred times. Oh, Mary. If only you could see your child one more time. If only you could hold him … sing to him … Jack swallowed at the knot in his throat.

  “You know what, Uncle Jack? Nobody made me a speech.” Chipper frowned. “Did you come to say a speech about me? Or … are you gonna fight Papa again?”

  “I didn’t come here to fight anybody, Chipper,” Jack said, taking another step into the midst of the gathered tables. He searched the child’s blue eyes and read the longing in them. “All right, little buddy, I’ll make you a speech. How’s that?”

  “Yeah!” Chipper said, pumping a little fist. “Get a cup.”

  Aware of the tension racing through the crowd, Jack knew one wrong step could put him in danger. These people didn’t trust him … and rightly so. He had tried to take the boy. He had disrupted previous gatherings. He had battled Seth Hunter with words, weapons, and fists. Any one of them might choose this moment to exact revenge.

  If he had his way, Jack would speak his piece and get out. But Chipper was gazing at him with a plea for reconciliation. Jack glanced to a table in search of a cup.

  “Take this, Mr. Cornwall.” It was Caitrin’s musical voice. Both hands outstretched, she offered a tin mug filled with cider.

  Jack met the woman’s eyes for an instant. It was all the satisfaction he could permit himself. Even so, the sight of shining green eyes, fiery hair, and lips soft with pleading nearly derailed him. Forcing his focus back to the boy, he lifted the cup.

  “I’ve known Chipper since he was born,” he addressed the gathering. “He used to weigh not much more than a sack of dried peas. Yep, he was a wrinkled little thing and about as bald-headed as an old fence post.”

  “Uncle Jack!” Chipper clamped his hands on his head and squealed in delight.

  The crowd murmured, and a few low chuckles gave Jack the encouragement to continue. “Fact is, at the start I could hold Chipper in one hand. Right there in my palm, just like that. When he got bigger, he liked to ride around on my shoulders. Liked to eat mushed-up pawpaws. And he liked to holler, too. That boy could put up quite a squall to get what he wanted.”

  Chipper giggled, and the party guests began to relax. The blond hulk sat down on a bench next to Caitrin. “My nephew always knew what he wanted,” Jack went on, “and not a one of us who loved the little rascal ever had the heart to tell him no. Now Chipper’s made up his mind to have himself a papa and a mama.”

  Jack turned to Seth Hunter—the field hand Jack’s father had driven from the Cornwall property, enraged at his Yankee sympathies and his secret courtship of beautiful, golden-haired Mary. Seth stood straight and tall, his hand on his bride’s shoulder and his arm around his son. Behind Seth stretched his properties—a house, a barn, and fields that had brought in a good harvest. Around the man sat friends and neighbors who would defend him with their lives.

  “The boy chose well,” Jack said, lifting his cup to honor the man who had been his enemy for so long. Then he returned to his nephew. “Here’s to Chipper. May his days be filled with fishing, swimming, kite flying, and all the joys of boyhood. And may he live a long, happy life in the sheltering arms of his parents … Seth and Rosie Hunter.”

  A stunned pause gripped the wedding guests for a moment. And then they lifted their cups and sang out, “To Chipper!”

  Before he could choke on words that had been torn from his gut, Jack tipped up his tin cup and downed the cider. That’s right, that voice inside him whispered. Make peace. If you want to win, you have to lose. The last shall be first.

  His stomach churning in rebellion at words that reeked of weakness, Jack leaned over and slammed the tin cup on a table. No! Fight. Stand up for yourself. Take the boy. Take Caitrin.

  Bitterness rose in his throat, threatening to strangle him. From the moment he had ridden away from the woman, he had searched for a way to make her his own. But every scheme he cooked up involved violence and bloodshed. Every plan except this one.

  That quiet voice had whispered a different approach. A new way. Surrender. Let go. The last shall be first. Jack never even got as far east as Topeka. In the stillness of a night as cold and alone as any he had ever known, he had hunkered down on his knees next to his horse and tried to listen to that voice.

  Amid the blackness inside him, his own failings came to him one by one. He heard the clangor of his rebellion,
his rage, his deceit. The echoes of his violent rejection of God drifted through the cavern of his empty soul. As he listened to the din of his stormy life, Jack recognized a future as hopeless as his past. Remembering the Jesus Christ to whom Caitrin’s soul belonged—that refining fire who could bring gold from raw ore—he surrendered to the Master, begging to be filled with the harmonious melody of forgiveness.

  At that moment the raucousness had stopped. Silence reigned.

  And then a sweet song began inside Jack. Peace filled the cavern.

  Hope stretched out before him like a bright pathway leading to eternity.

  For the next few days after his night of repentance, he had walked on that shining path. He had listened to the music of that quiet voice. Drifting in a sort of daze, he had decided that a return to Hope was the answer he’d been searching for. He would make a public offer of reconciliation with his enemies. Then he would go one step further.

  And that’s when the buzz of rebellion stirred to life inside him. Revenge, chaos, hatred, it screeched, all but drowning the heavenly music in his soul. From that moment, Jack had been engaged in a different sort of battle, a fight that only prayer had seen him through. Gritting his teeth against the torment inside him, he lifted his head and faced his former foe.

  “Seth,” he said, “I’ve come to make peace.”

  Seth’s dark eyebrows lifted a fraction. He looked down at Rosie. The woman’s face had paled to an ashen white, but she gave her husband a nod of reassurance and gathered Chipper into her lap. Leaving her side, Seth walked around the table to stand in front of Jack.

  “You want peace,” he said. “Why?”

  “For the boy. I don’t want him to grow up with the notion that you and I hate each other.”

  “I’ll see to that. I’ve never been a man of vengeance, Cornwall. The trouble between us doesn’t change the fact that you’re his uncle, and I’ll make sure he always remembers his Gram and Gramps. Rosie and I plan to raise Chipper in a home where godly love is the rule.”