“I didn’t stop to decide,” Mike admitted and patted Peso’s neck. “I’ll tell you, if it hadn’t been for God and this old man here—”
“Don’t say it,” Rose pleaded and tightened her hold on the sister she had never before known she loved so much until she almost vanished in the dirty, rolling waters.
Joe Perkins didn’t say a word, but Rose noticed how serious he looked when the others talked about God saving them. Her cold heart warmed. Maybe someday… She didn’t finish her thought. Right now they needed to get home.
“We lost two horses,” Adam said. “Columbine’s and mine. There’s a chance they’ll get out somewhere below and come home, but even if they don’t, that’s a small price compared with—”
“With what could have happened,” Laurel finished quietly.
“We’ll redistribute the pack ponies’ loads onto the other horses and Rosy and I will ride them bareback,” Nate offered.
“I’ll ride a pack pony and Miss Birchfield can ride Peso,” Mike corrected, without looking at Joe Perkins who made a funny sound in his throat. Was he thinking of Mike’s boast months ago that no one would ride Peso but his owner?
“After all we’ve been through, this Mr. Carey and Miss Birchfield business sounds downright unfriendly.” Nate’s spirits had already bounced back.
“I agree if Miss, er, Rose does,” Mike quickly inserted.
A lovely light shone in her eyes. “I do. Thank you for the loan of your horse, Mike.” She stepped into the stirrups and stood while he adjusted them to her shorter height. “Now let’s go home. Not to Antelope, but to the Double B. We can get dry there and Grandma will feed us.” She paused. “That includes you two,” she told Mike and Joe.
“Grub sounds good to me,” Joe said heartily, and a murmur of assent rippled through the stained but thankful band.
Hours later, in the crisp, clear evening, Mike and Joe rode home to the Circle 5. Bright stars guided their way, yet none glowed more brilliant or beautiful than the girls’ eyes when they told the cowboys goodnight and thanked them again. Mike didn’t notice how much distance they had covered in silence until Joe heaved a sigh. “I reckon that trailmate of yours came in mighty handy today.”
Mike’s heart lurched with gladness. “I reckon He did,” he repeated. When Joe didn’t respond, Mike added, “He’s waiting to be your trailmate, too, as soon as you invite Him along.”
“I know.” Joe sighed for a second time. “A feller’d be an ungrateful cuss for not acceptin’ Him, wouldn’t he?”
Mike reined in Peso, their forms silhouetted in the starlight. “Joe, I’d give almost anything in the world to have you accept the Lord, but it can’t be just because He sent a miracle and saved the Birchfields today.”
The pale light didn’t hide Joe’s astonishment. “Who said anythin’ about that bein’ the reason?” he demanded. “Didn’t you say Jesus came to save everybody an’ died to do it?”
“All those who believe and claim the promise.” Mike didn’t move a muscle. The night wind held its breath and the mountains loomed as if waiting for Joe to answer.
“Well, I guess if He wants a poor, sinful cowpoke who’s sorry, I’m willin’.” Joe rode away before Mike could recover his wits enough to realize what had just happened. How like Joe Perkins to confess his sins and invite Jesus to be his trailmate in his own unique way! A few long lopes and Peso overtook Splotch. Mike didn’t say one word. He just held out his hand and gripped Joe’s and sealed the brotherhood between them.
An errant thought that maybe someday they might truly be brothers in the eyes of the world as well crossed Mike’s mind, a thought only shared with his loving and merciful Creator.
Chapter 11
Nate Birchfield never expected God to solve his dilemma by sending a flood down a narrow gulch and scaring the daylights out of him. All summer and into early fall he had sought God’s guidance about going into the ministry. When it came time to think about returning East for school, Nate had to confess to his parents the reason he didn’t want to go. If he lived a million years he wouldn’t forget the look on his father’s face.
“I—I feel like I might be called to be a minister, but I need some time,” Nate implored. “I have to be sure.”
“We understand, Son.” Nat placed both hands on Nate’s strong shoulders. “Unless God specifically calls you, you must never take on yourself this work.”
All the time Nate rode and teased Rose, helped out on the Double B, and lay awake nights, his mind stayed close to his decision. Then on a soggy chunk of benchland above a death-dealing stream his answer came.
He could pinpoint the instant, the one that Columbine was swept around the curve and his mother screamed. Nat was still at the end of Joe’s rope getting hauled in. With all his boyish heart, Nate longed to comfort his mother but had no words. If only he were like Dad who seemed to say the exact thing needed for every occasion! All he could do was to put his arms around Ivy Ann and hold her until Nat finally reached the bench and took over.
The next day he sought out his father. “Dad, does being a minister tell you what to say when people need you?”
Wise Nat! He made no effort to explain things to his son in an easy way. “I believe God gives us the words but only after we have done everything we can to prepare, which means praying, fasting, and studying the scriptures. It’s like when your mother cans for winter. If she puts up fifty quarts of peaches, most of them probably won’t be needed for a long time, unless you’re around with your big appetite!”
Nate grinned but listened intently, and his father went on.
“Learning the Bible verses is like that. It may be a long time before we need all of them.” He paused and his face softened.
“But when you do, you know they’re right there waiting,” Nate said. “Just like the peaches.”
“That’s right. Yet times come when all our knowledge and wisdom fail. That’s when the Holy Spirit steps in and guides our thick and stammering tongues.” Nat’s eyes glistened. “I believe you are very close to finding answers to your questions, Nathaniel. Be patient and don’t try to rush God. He answers the way He chooses in the time He chooses.” A kindly thump on his son’s shoulder betrayed the father’s joy and peace that had come with years of struggle and hard work.
Nate had never felt closer to his father. Gradually his questions ceased. Not that he had all the answers—he probably never would. Yet the growing knowledge of what trail God called him to ride became a certainty. A few days after the flood Nate and Rose rode to their favorite bald knob viewpoint. With Columbine and Sam back in school, extra chores fell on the older brother and sister and left less time for rides.
Desert Rose sat on the dry, needle-covered ground, her jean-clad legs pulled up, arms wrapped around her knees. The drenching rain had muted the once-gorgeous fall colors, creating a somber scene. “It’s sad, isn’t it, the dying of the year. Soon the snows will come and bury all this—” She waved at the rolling hills and mighty peaks.
“Yet we know that life in the trees isn’t dead, just sleeping until spring,” Nate reminded. He abruptly added, “How anyone who watches the seasons change and sees the dry, barren trees put on green after the snows and not believe in the resurrection of Jesus is beyond me.”
Something in his voice turned Rose’s dark gaze from the valley and mountains toward her cousin. Gladness filled her. “You’ve decided.”
“I have.” His unflinching face showed the hours of struggle that had changed him from a boy to a man. “I told my folks last night. It’s all settled. After Christmas, I’m going away.”
“Oh no!” But Rose instantly regretted her selfish cry. She blinked hard. “I’m happy for you, Nate, really I am. It’s just that I’ll miss you. Where are you going?’
“Back to Concord and Grandpa and Grandma Birchfield’s.” The quietest smile Rose had ever seen on Nate’s face appeared. “I’ll study hard until summer, come back here, then go for one more year. After that i
s up to God.”
His reverent trust almost unleashed her tears, but Rose valiantly held them back. She mustn’t spoil this precious moment with foolish regrets. A new thought came. “Why, you’ll see Michael!” Warm color swept to the roots of her hair.
“He isn’t there, remember?” Nate changed to the laughing companion she adored.
“Well, he won’t stay away forever, will he?” She flounced a few inches away from him. “My goodness, he will have to work again when his vacation is over.”
Nate choked. “Oh, I can’t imagine him not working.” He grinned. “I’ll wager that if he stays in a place long he will find some kind of job while he’s there.” Nate lay back with his head on his crossed arms and stared at the sky. “Rosey, have you ever been sorry you took my dare and wrote to Hand and Heart?”
“No.” The word shot out. She nervously plucked at the button on her shirt sleeve. “I made a wonderful new friend.”
To her mystification, a look of—was it relief?—crossed Nate’s face. “Then everything will be all right.” He sprang up and gave her a hand and together they walked to the patient Mesquite and Piebald who stood with reins hanging. “By the way, have you seen anything of Mike Carey lately?”
To her annoyance, Rose found herself blushing again. “Not since they came home with us after the flood. Why?”
“Just wondered.” The teasing left Nate’s eyes. “You like him, don’t you?” he asked irrelevantly.
Rose stared at Nate. “Of course I do. Don’t you? He’s the nicest cowboy around and he doesn’t make sheep’s eyes at me the way most of them do. He must have been a gentleman to have such good manners.”
A curious stillness settled between Nate and Rose that lasted until after they mounted and headed down the long slope toward the Double B. At last Nate said in a hard voice, “You think a cowboy can’t be a gentleman? Isn’t that a bit snobbish?”
Angry flares streaked Rose’s face. “I didn’t say that. It’s just that Mike Carey is not like our Wyoming riders.” She dug her heels in Mesquites sides and he pranced away before her cousin could reply. Yet his question stayed with her. Was she guilty of snobbery, a trait she hated? Rose impulsively wheeled Mesquite back toward Nate. “I’m sorry, Nate. I guess some of the old South is in me, you know, the importance placed on family lineage and all that.”
Nate visibly relaxed and his old friendly grin came out like the sun after a shower. “Rose Red, you just need a strong man like me around to keep your feet on the ground.”
“Don’t call me Rose Red,” she automatically protested, but she couldn’t hide the little smile his comment brought.
Hours later, not even the whisper of a smile remained. The same brooding atmosphere that had hung over the Double B and other ranches in 1892 when the Johnson County Cattle War raged in north-central Wyoming plagued the ranches again. Rose remembered the newspaper accounts during that time. Cattlemen suspected their herds were being rustled but had no proof. Owners of the large ranches made a list of suspects, imported two dozen Texas outlaws, and formed a force of over fifty-five men called the Invaders. They raided the Kaycee ranch near Buffalo and killed two men.
When word of the killings reached Buffalo, a group of armed men rode out after the Invaders and confronted them on the TA ranch, but federal troops got there in time to prevent any slaughter. Although the Invaders stood trial in Cheyenne, witnesses didn’t show. The Invaders were set free and the so-called war ended.
During that time Antelope breathlessly waited, armed and ready in case the violence spilled over into the little mountain hamlet that liked to call itself a town. When nothing extraordinary happened, the townspeople and ranchers got back to the business of daily living, but many remembered sleepless nights when the slightest noise brought husbands and fathers out of bed.
No one knew how or where, but talk of a new band of rustlers now ran rampant. Folks who hadn’t oiled up guns except for hunting took down their firearms in case they were needed. Grim-faced riders reported missing cattle and horses. Some told of seeing lights in uninhabited areas. Unease and furtive glances between formerly friendly neighbors increased the tension. Who could be trusted? Rustlers could be living right in the middle of honest people, masquerading as others had done under the guise of upright citizens. Even the approaching celebration of Desert Rose Birchfield’s eighteenth birthday couldn’t compete with the restless waiting.
On November 2, 1895, a light snow fell then surrendered to the late autumn sun. Why don’t I feel grown-up? Rose wondered when she awakened and hurried to her window. Is it because everyone acts so worried? A flash of perception stilled her fingers on the curtain. Perhaps I don’t want things to change. She expressed that idea to her mother in a private talk later that morning.
Laurel smiled the contented smile of a happy woman, but her rich brown eyes held understanding and memories. “I felt very much the same way twenty-two years ago,” she confessed. Her beautiful hands, slim and graceful yet strong, lay idly in her lap. “Because the years after the war were so hard, Ivy Ann and I didn’t have an eighteenth birthday party, but oh, what a glorious celebration we had on our twentieth birthday!” She laughed. “I can’t say it was the happiest night of my life, but now I see it as a turning point. I had walked in my twin’s shadow far too long, and it wasn’t good for either of us.”
“Then Dad came.” Rose loved the story.
“Yes.” Dreams turned to joy but Laurel shook her head. “I’m afraid I had some very un-Christian thoughts toward Ivy Ann over Adam!”
“I wonder if I’d have the courage to do something as outrageous as traveling alone to Wyoming from West Virginia in a time when women wouldn’t dream of such a thing,” Desert Rose mused.
Laurel cupped her elder daughter’s face in her hands. “My darling girl, when you fall in love I shudder to think what outrageous thing you may do.” Her gaze probed deeply into Rose’s heart. “One thing I know, whatever that thing might be, I know that with your faith in your heavenly Father you will never act in any way except an honorable one.” She pressed her lips to Rose’s tanned forehead then changed the subject.
“I know you don’t like dresses, but isn’t your party gown lovely?” She glanced at the cobweb-like white froth swaying gently in the breeze from Rose’s open window.
Rose scrutinized the dress from its tiny standup collar to its puffy sleeves and fitted bodice down the sweep of flaring skirt to the wide hem. “It’s beautiful.” She giggled. “But I’ll never forget how outraged the dressmaker acted when I told her I would not be laced into an instrument of torture to make my waist smaller and that I would not wear any hourglass dress.” Rose stretched and admitted, “She did a wonderful job, though. Since it’s my first dress from a dressmaker, I’m glad. Besides, after I wear it tonight I’ll pack it away and it will do for a wedding dress. I suppose whoever—I mean whomever—I marry will like it.” She felt warmth all over when the name Carmichael Blake-Jones came to mind. How would he react if he could see her in this white confection?
Rose suddenly felt she was holding on to childhood with one hand and mentally reaching toward womanhood with the other. Please, God, don’t let me…don’t let me what? Rose broke off her unspoken prayer and quickly substituted: Just keep me strong and true to You. Make me worthy of my mother’s trust, and Yours.
The change from boyish, laughing rider to what Columbine labeled “a vision of loveliness” vanquished even the rumors of rustling from the birthday guests’ minds. The moment Desert Rose donned the gossamer gown, so modest yet enhancing, and submitted to her sister’s expert arrangement of her long, shining auburn hair, a certain wistfulness hovered in her eyes.
Mike Carey, resplendent in the dress suit some whim had included in his packing, couldn’t keep his gaze off the slender figure that had taken on some of Columbine’s deceptive fragility. Yet a feeling of loss for the thick braid of hair, jeans, and old shirt haunted him. Tonight Rose Birchfield bore little resemblance to the Desert Ro
se in the picture above his heart. He couldn’t know how her pulse raced when she saw the transformation his dark suit made. Even for church Mike had clung to more casual attire so Joe, who now went with him, wouldn’t feel outclassed.
Dan Sharpe turned out to be most thunderstruck. His tawny eyes gleamed above his sparkling white shirt front and dark suit. Alarmed by the predatory look in those eyes when he greeted her, Rose braced herself for his dreaded move. Immediately Dan turned to Columbine, whose pale blue and white dress made in much the same style as her sister’s set off to perfection her brown hair and light brown eyes. Although Columbine looked kindly on dashing Joe Perkins, some of the old dazzlement remained in her eyes when she faced the immaculately attired foreman.
Thomas Brown had taught the girls, “If you have a job to do, do it. No sense putting off hunting down a skunk if it’s under your house and you have to get rid of it.” The longtime advice lent courage to his granddaughter even though her lips trembled with unspilled laughter. How would Dan Sharpe feel if he knew she considered the next hour even more disagreeable than hunting down a skunk?
Rose didn’t have to do much to encourage Dan. Just after the generous supper and cutting of the tall white-frosted layer cake with its eighteen candles, Dan whispered, “It’s so warm in here. Will you walk outside, Miss Rose?”
“It is warm,” she agreed and took his arm in spite of the dark look Nate sent her. She barely heard Sharpe’s lavish compliments on how he had fallen in love with her until they reached a clump of cottonwoods.
Suddenly bands of steel pinned her arms to her side and Dan kissed her full on the mouth.
“Oh–h!” The soft sound effectively separated them. Unknown to Rose, Columbine and Joe Perkins stood a few feet away in the moonlight.
“You monster!” Rose forgot the role she played in a wave of fury. Her right hand lashed out and struck Sharpe in the face with such force he staggered. “Get off the Double B and don’t come back, ever.” For the moment, she didn’t care about range hospitality that made such an order taboo. “Go! Do you hear me?”
Wildflower Harvest: Includes Bonus Story of Desert Rose Page 25