Prairie Fire

by Catherine Palmer

  She hadn’t known what trouble was.

  Dear God, please protect Jack, she lifted up in silence. Felicity Cornwall had returned under cover of night to report that Seth had cut out the bullet, the wound looked clean, and her son was resting. Caitrin tried to feel relieved. Father, what am I to do about that man? Why did you bring him into my life? I can’t deny the stirrings of my heart for him. Jack is … he’s so … what? He’s interesting. He’s dreadfully handsome. He’s kind to children and to poor Lucy. He’s intelligent. He’s determined and hardworking. He loves you, Father, the best he can. But, Lord, he isn’t altogether tame.

  She looked at Lucy lying beside her. Lucy wasn’t tame, but God loved her all the same. She was his child. And Sheena? Caitrin turned her head to study her dear sister. Certainly she wasn’t perfect, yet it appeared she was willing to leave past troubles with the Cornwalls behind.

  Caitrin’s thoughts again turned to the shattered plate. She herself was far from docile. She had a fiery temper. She argued vehemently. She stood up against her brother-in-law. Jack once had referred to her as stubborn and mouthy. Imperfect. Yet, God loved her, accepted her, gave his life for her. And his Spirit willingly lived in her heart.

  Sheena’s always scolding me, Father, about wanting to change the world. I do expect the best of everyone, including myself. But you loved us in the midst of our failures, didn’t you? You loved us in spite of our sin. Is it all right with you if I love Jack Cornwall? He’s not everything he could be or everything he will be in time. But, dear Father, may I have your permission to love the man?

  Caitrin closed her eyes and hugged the two broken women beside her more tightly. “Beloved, let us love one another,” the apostle John had written, “for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God. He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love.”

  Though the sunshine crept across the soddy floor, Caitrin slept again, wrapped in an exhausted peace.

  Dark clouds and an unexpected heat rolled across the prairie from the west. The promise of rain lifted Caitrin’s heart as she hurried down the path worn in the creek bank. In spite of the town meeting’s few prayers and violent battle, it appeared God had heard the people’s plea and was sending water for their crops.

  After feeding her two guests a late breakfast, changing the bandage on Sheena’s forehead, and finding a complete set of clothing for Lucy, she convinced the younger woman to bathe.

  Never had Caitrin seen such a horrific sight as the self-inflicted scrapes and scratches that covered Lucy’s pale skin. Sheena had gasped aloud, but she quickly took up a soft cloth and assisted Caitrin in the process.

  When they finally had Lucy clean, dry, and dressed again, Sheena volunteered to brush out the tangled, matted hair. Though Caitrin’s heart quaked at the trouble that might befall her two charges, she used the opportunity to leave them alone for a few minutes.

  “Mrs. Cornwall?” she called outside one of the canvas tents.

  “Mrs. Cornwall, ’tis Caitrin Murphy, so it is.”

  Lightning flickered on the horizon. Within two hours, the rain should arrive. And it was about time. The long, dry prairie grass fairly stretched toward the heavens in a plea for water. Birds flocked around the wells hoping for a spare droplet spilled from a bucket. A child could ford Bluestem Creek without wetting his knees. The farmers would be thanking God at this very moment.

  “Mrs. Cornwall?” she called again. “I’ve come to look in on Jack.”

  “Please go home, Miss Murphy.” Felicity’s voice grated like gravel. “I’ll thank you to bring my daughter to me at once. After I’ve taken the horse and wagon to the smithy to load up Jack’s tools, we’ll be away by dusk.”

  Caitrin clasped her hands tightly. If Jack were too weak to resist, his mother could actually follow through on her plan. She might never lay eyes on him again.

  “Please, Mrs. Cornwall, I’ve just come to see about your son. Is he all right?”

  She listened to the silence from the tent. Finally she heard a groan. “Who’s out there, Mama?”

  “Jack!” Caitrin called. “’Tis I, Caitrin Murphy. Are you all right?”

  “Come inside, Caitrin.”

  Fearing to incur Felicity’s wrath after the previous night’s fragile peace, Caitrin hesitated a moment. But her need to be with Jack overcame her concerns. Pushing aside the flap that blocked the entrance, she stepped into the shadowy tent. Felicity sat on a low stool near a pallet on the floor. She looked up from her knitting, her eyes swollen with crying.

  Caitrin knelt beside the pallet and took Jack’s hand. “Your mother told me the wound was clean. You’ll be all right, won’t you?”

  “I reckon so.” He reached up and touched a curly tendril of her hair. “You okay?”

  “Aye. But worried.”

  “Listen, Caitrin.” He winced as he elbowed himself upward. “About last night. I’m sorry for losing my head. I couldn’t take Jimmy mean-mouthing my family, and I just—”

  “Jack, you acted out of a right heart.”

  “A right heart maybe, but a reckless brain. Fact is, I didn’t think. I just jumped up there and went after the fellow.”

  “And got a bullet for it,” Felicity said. “That’s the second time somebody in this wicked place has wounded my son.”

  “Now, listen here, Mama—”

  “We’re leaving, Jack, and don’t argue with your mother. As soon as Miss Murphy brings Lucy to us, I’m going to load the wagons, and we’ll be off. And none too soon.”

  Jack gazed at Caitrin. She could all but read the question in his eyes: Do you want me to stay in Hope, Caitrin? Do you want me to stay?

  “Mrs. Cornwall,” a man’s voice called from outside the tent. “This is Seth Hunter. How’s Jack?”

  “Alive,” she returned.

  “I’ve come to give you a message. In light of what happened last night, the men around here feel it’s important to discuss the future of the Cornwall family in Hope. We’ve called a meeting over at the mercantile one hour from now. Rustemeyer and I will keep order, and there’ll be no guns and no fistfights. Jimmy O’Toole is coming to speak his piece in an orderly manner. We’d like you to come and stand up for yourselves.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Felicity said. “We’re leaving this wretched town.”

  Jack’s gray eyes locked on Caitrin as if seeking strength and confirmation. “I’ll be there,” he told Seth. “I’ll be at the mercantile in an hour.”

  CHAPTER 17

  JACK hobbled into the mercantile at five that afternoon. His mother was busy packing up the tents and gathering the cooking gear and furniture they had used during their stay. Felicity had made up her mind to leave, and Lucy would go with her. The two women had no place to go in Missouri, and Jack knew he could not allow them to head off into the unknown. If he couldn’t talk these stubborn townsfolk into letting them stay, he was going to have more trouble on his hands than he knew how to manage.

  He eased himself down onto a bench and watched as the local homesteaders filed into the building. There was Casimir Laski, whose Polish hymns were a regular part of the Sunday services.

  Salvatore Rippeto entered the mercantile, glanced at Jack, and then turned away as if embarrassed. LeBlanc, the mill owner whose bevy of lovely daughters graced the community dances, followed Rippeto. Rolf Rustemeyer, Seth Hunter, and Jimmy O’Toole walked in, conferring in low tones. A handful of others, single young homesteaders—several of them sporting black eyes or swollen noses—took the benches around Jack.

  “I reckon we ought to get started,” Seth said, stepping up to the pulpit usually reserved for Sundays. “Some of you fellows have come a distance and need to get back before dark, so we’ll try to make this quick. You all know Jack Cornwall here. Jack, would you mind coming up to the front here and taking this chair so we can all hear what you have to say?”

  This was beginning to take on the aura of a courtroom trial, and Jack knew he didn’t
have much of a defense. All the same, he stood and hobbled painfully to the front of the room. As he turned to the chair, he saw Rose Hunter, Sheena O’Toole, and Caitrin Murphy enter the mercantile.

  “Hold on a minute, ladies,” Seth said. “This is men’s business.”

  “Is that so?” Rosie returned, setting her hands on her hips and giving her husband a bold look. “It seems to me the Cornwall group is made up of one male and two females. That’s more of us than you, by my calculation, and I think the women of this town deserve a say-so in the matter.”

  Some of the men chuckled as a flush crept up Seth’s neck.

  “Now, Rosie, I don’t need to tell you that women don’t have any voice in the government of the state of Kansas. And since Hope is in Kansas—”

  “We’ll not vote then,” Caitrin said. “But give us permission to listen to the proceedings. After all, we’ve done our part to make this a town.”

  “Suffragists,” LeBlanc muttered. “I have a house full of them. You must be strong, Seth, or soon we will have women wearing trousers and putting their fingers into our politics.”

  “Aye,” Jimmy agreed. “What are you doin’ out of bed anyway, Sheena?”

  “I’ll be plucked for a goose if I won’t watch this, Jimmy O’Toole!

  ’Tis my children who must grow up in this town, and I’ll know what you men are about, so I will. Now will you kindly permit these ladies and me to sit down before we swoon in this unseasonable heat?”

  Seth looked from Jimmy to Rolf, and then he surveyed the room for a reaction to the request. Jack noted that some of the farmers appeared more bemused than angry, but others looked downright irritated. “All right,” Seth said. “You can stay and listen. But you’re to keep quiet, and there’ll be no female voting.”

  Jack watched a light of victory suffuse the women’s faces. As glad as he was to see Caitrin, he wasn’t too sure himself about letting ladies in on a matter like this. It was the men who would decide his fate.

  “Back to business,” Seth said. “There’s two sides to the matter that has turned our town on its ear. On the one hand, we have a hardworking man in Jack Cornwall, a man who had the courage to put his past behind him and try to start a new life among us. He’s built a fine smithy, and from what everyone tells me, he does good work. Matter of fact, I hear he’s the best smithy from Topeka to Manhattan. Not only does the man do good work, but he stands up for his family. He has protected his widowed mother and his sister, and he has some loyal friends. I’d call myself Jack Cornwall’s friend, despite some troubles we had in the past.”

  Jack shifted on the chair, trying to ease the pressure from his injured leg. He could see the thick black clouds moving closer across the horizon. Flickers of lightning licked the prairie. Puffs of dry dirt lifted into the air, spun around into dust devils, and danced away. That rain ought to be here before long, he thought, and a good thing. It would trap all the farmers inside the mercantile and give him time to argue his case. He had prayed for the chance to speak his mind. Maybe this rainstorm was God’s answer.

  “On the other hand,” Seth said, “Jack Cornwall has brought with him quite a collection of troubles. Now as you all know, we gave him a month’s grace here in Hope, and we’ve let him stay longer than that. But last night’s ruckus over at the prayer meeting has brought us together to take a second look at the situation. Now let’s consider that …”

  Jack’s attention wandered to Caitrin, and the hammering urge to defend himself with violence and revenge subsided. As long as he lived, Jack would never forget the night he met the red-haired Irishwoman for the first time. I love you, she had told him. You are precious to the Father, and I love you. Because of those words, he had eventually surrendered his heart to Christ, given up his old reckless ways, and stepped onto a new path. He had left Missouri and the companions who had led him into trouble. He had done everything in his power to build a new life here on the prairie.

  Love had always been a mystery to him, a word that had no real meaning, no definition. But through Caitrin, that word had become as bright, glowing, and real as the fire in his forge. By watching her example, he had come to understand that true love—for God and for people—couldn’t just hide away in someone’s heart like a cozy, personal secret. Love demanded an open demonstration in both words and actions.

  Caitrin’s love had led her to defend Jack, to believe the best of him, to trust him, and to honor him. In love, she stood by him with more than her words. She stepped out in active faith, taking his troubled sister into her home and helping Lucy find reason to hope. Caitrin respected his mother, in spite of Felicity’s brusque ways and bitter tongue. Through love, Caitrin had stood tall against every flame of fire that threatened to consume her.

  Faith, hope, and love, Jack thought, recalling the verse he’d read somewhere in the Bible. The greatest of these is love. He had learned how it felt to be loved. And Caitrin Murphy had taught him to love in return.

  He loved her, he realized as he studied the woman across the room. He loved Caitrin Murphy with his whole heart. It was time she knew.

  “I have something to say,” he began, cutting into Seth Hunter’s speech. He stood with difficulty and faced the congregated farmers. “I want to tell you why I came here to Hope and why I’m not leaving. It’s Caitrin Murphy. I love her, and I’m—”

  “Oh, Jack!” Caitrin cried, coming to her feet.

  “You’d better shut your smush, Jack Cornwall,” Jimmy O’Toole shouted, jumping up. “We’re only halfway through the list of trials you’ve caused us, and you have no right to speak. And furthermore, Caitrin Murphy is my wife’s sister, and she won’t have you! We’ll not allow it.”

  “You gentlemen better both sit down right now!” Seth ordered.

  “We’ve got a storm coming, and we need to get this over with so everybody can go home. Now, I already mentioned the problem with Miss Cornwall and her spells. Jack’s sister has a passel of troubles, and those chains she wears don’t help her a bit. But even though we all feel sorry for Miss Cornwall, a lot of you have confided to me that you don’t like the notion of a grown woman throwing herself in front of stagecoaches, trying to drown herself in the Bluestem, and running around without her clothes on.

  She’s scaring the children, and the women are complaining that they don’t trust her not to hurt somebody.”

  Jack couldn’t bring himself to sit. He didn’t want to listen to a recitation of the trials that beset his family and in turn brought trouble on this community. Didn’t everyone have troubles of one kind or another? And hadn’t Jesus said something about bearing one another’s burdens? Caitrin once told Jack that faith in Christ didn’t take away the problems, but it gave a believer comfort and strength to bear them. Why couldn’t these men just let him walk in that faith through the fires of his life? Why couldn’t they support him with their concern and prayer. Was that too much to ask?

  “And then there was that problem between Mrs. Cornwall and Mrs. O’Toole a while back,” Seth continued. “We all know Sheena has been suffering for some time as a result of her fall on the creek bank. Now I certainly don’t believe Mrs. Cornwall has the same notions as her daughter, but she’s caused a good bit of trouble in her own right. Which brings us to last night at the prayer meeting.”

  “First, I’d like to speak to the matter of the trouble between Felicity Cornwall and myself,” Sheena said, rising. “I’ll have you know—”

  “Sit down, wife!” Jimmy commanded. “You’re not to talk, lass, and I’ll thank you to mind the rules Seth set out.”

  Coloring a bright red, Sheena sank back onto the bench as Seth went on. “Now, things were going along all right, until—”

  A crack of thunder shook the mercantile. Jack glanced out the window. A rusty glow had joined the boiling black clouds moving toward the town. Dust blew against the glass windows. A loose shingle slapped on the roof.

  “Anyway,” Seth said, speaking quickly, “you all know what happened. J
ack jumped up on the wagon and threw Jimmy over the side, a fight broke out, Jack got himself shot in the leg, and about half the men in this room wound up injured. So, now you know both sides of the matter, and it’s time to vote.”

  “Both sides?” Jack spoke up. “You told me to sit up here at the front. Now it’s my turn to speak for myself and my family.”

  “Your actions speak louder than words,” Jimmy shouted. “You came to us with a bullet wound in your shoulder, and you’ll leave with one in your leg. That tells us all we need to know about you. Let’s vote, men! I’ve chickens to pen up.”

  At that moment Jack’s old comrade, Bill Hermann, walked into the mercantile with a badge-wearing lawman at his side. Jack let out a groan as the farmers turned to stare. Caitrin gave a muffled cry.

  “I think I can make this whole mess easy for you, gentlemen,”

  Hermann announced. He turned to Jack. “I’ve been searchin’ for you a long time, buddy. Seems you stir up a ruckus no matter where you go.”

  “This is none of your concern, Bill,” Jack said. “You stay out of it. I’m going to work things out with these men, and then I’ll talk to you outside.”

  “I don’t believe there’s any workin’ out to do.” Hermann held up a sheet of paper and unrolled it before his curious audience. “This here’s a subpoena, gentlemen. Your friend, Jack Cornwall, is headin’ back to Missouri.”

  “Now just a cotton-picking minute, Bill,” Jack exploded.

  “You gonna come peaceful?” the lawman spoke over the hubbub.

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “No, sir, but if you resist me, I can have you arrested sure as shootin’. This subpoena says you’re to appear at a trial in Jefferson City to testify for the defense in the matter of the Easton lynchin’.”