His guilt and shame issues were never dealt with and the next year his parents left for the West. They visited him before they left and seeing them so happy to be leaving him behind, he felt more alone. They wanted him to join them after completing college and he knew he would. He didn’t want to go but he would, and he resented it.
It was all wrapped up inside him like a hot ball of pain and now he rode his horse alone, on the Oregon Trail, a graduate of Harvard, in a marriage to a girl he resented and had never even kissed. His actions, all came together as a hammer to his brain. What had he done?
He was heading to Fort Kearney to fix it, he had to fix it. There was no way out unless he could find a way to save her. He kept seeing that blanket covered in Angela’s blood and he thought now of that child he had conceived a few years ago. He never thought of that child, ever. The maid had been pregnant, she had lost the child. He could not even remember the maid’s name. She was a brunette, he remembered fuzzily. But now the maid from his past and Angela bleeding in the ravine merged together to show him the man he truly was.
He needed help and he pulled into the fort just as the sun was beginning to rise. He spoke with the man running the Hudson Bay store. He bought supplies and spoke with him about his situation, keeping it simple.
He was led to a cabin of a Captain Henry Sparks. The Captain was eating his breakfast when Andrew knocked on the wooden door. A pleasant lady answered and when he was invited in, no questions asked, he was surprised. These folks were very trusting.
“I was told you may be able to help me. I have a girl in my wagon outfit that has been injured badly. She has been cared for the best we can but she needs to heal and rest and I fear the journey and jostling of the wagon would finish the young woman.” Andrew realized he was calling this servant a woman. He had never thought of her as anything but a servant, one step above trash until today. “I truly fear the journey will kill her.”
The woman gasped and she looked to her husband, wordlessly they made a decision and the man spoke quickly.
“Absolutely, bring her to us. We will care for her.”
The woman next to him nodded.
Andrew provided them with passage money for her, after she was healed and some money for their care of her. They tried to refuse but his desperation to do the right thing had urged them to finally accept all he offered.
Andrew rode back to the wagon outfit relieved in a way but also dreading the confrontation with his wife. His face still bore the scratches from her attack from a few nights before. Her friendship with Angela had been a sore spot between them and he had threatened Corinne many times that he would leave Angela behind if she even spoke to her maid. He wondered now why he had ever cared. But, he knew why, he had lost his closest friends and he envied his wife for having her own friend. He was angry over her happiness. He had done everything in his power to split them apart. Now he would tell his wife they would be leaving her friend behind.
Andrew’s surprise over his wife’s acceptance was brief. He thought she would be pouty and mean to him, and he would have deserved it. Instead, she accepted it bravely and he left them alone to prepare.
Angela was delivered safely into the household of the Captain and his wife Edith. He thanked them one last time and left his wife alone with them. Corinne needed to know that Angela was in a safe place in order to feel comfortable. Andrew knew from his conversation with the Sparks that they were good people. There had been a cross on the wall and a bible on the table. They were like his parents. His mother would have called them brothers and sisters in Christ.
His heart was hurting as he walked back to the wagon train. There weren’t many people around, for everyone was excited to resupply at the fort or refill water stocks at the creek nearby.
Andrew ran into Clive Quackenbush when he was near his wagon outfit. Clive waved a hello but stopped in his tracks when he saw the young man’s face.
“Something troublin’ ya?” Clive said in his easy mannered way.
Andrew’s throat was thick with emotion and he was at a breaking point. His guilt and shame had piled so high on his shoulders he wanted to crawl into a hole.
“Yessir,” was all the Andrew could manage. He couldn’t believe that Clive even cared to speak to him. He had been the one who stopped his fist from hitting Corinne. Clive and Corrine were friends. He treated her like a treasured daughter.
He must despise me. Andrew thought.
“You wanna talk about it Andrew?” Clive asked with a concerned look crossing his weathered face.
“I am certain you have other things to do.” Andrew said, with his internal bitterness creeping forward. He didn’t want to be judged by this man. Clive was the most respected man on this wagon train. Andrew wanted to find a hiding place for a while.
“Can’t think of a thing to do that would be more important than talking to you right now.” Clive said and put his arm on Andrew’s shoulder.
Feeling Clive touch his shoulder was the moment of release. It was all he needed to allow his pain out. Clive was a willing person to listen, a good person.
“Clive, I am a wretch.” Andrew blurted out, his throat hoarse with pain.
“As I am too, Andrew.” Clive said. He could sense that Andrew needed to share. Clive took him by the arm and led them both over to a shady tree. They both sat and Andrew lost his composure.
“I nearly got her killed.” Andrew exclaimed.
“You didn’t do it on purpose.” Clive answered.
“Yessir, I did.” Andrew confessed. He began to weep.
Clive shook his head and said a prayer for the young man. He had had many talks with God about this fellow, his treatment of his young wife and Angela being the main reasons for most of the prayers. He had seen many a young fellow like him in his days. Full of something that made them lash out and treat people rotten.
He listened as Andrew spilled his story about his grandfather, his parents and even the maid he misused in his college days. His heart was broken and Clive let him talk. When a man faced up to his sins no matter if he was twenty-five or fifty he felt like a fool. He didn’t want to give Andrew any reason not to trust him.
“God forgives even those things.” Clive said simply after all the tears were done and stories shared.
“I don’t deserve it.” Andrew said quietly.
“None of us do.” Clive said simply.
Clive and Andrew prayed together under that tree. Andrew confessed his anger to God and received the forgiveness he needed. Clive prayed for the young man who struggled with anger and hoped the journey to healing would be fast for everyone involved. The men talked for a while longer. Clive shared some bible verses that had helped him through some hard times. Clive encouraged him to keep a journal to help him through the tough days. They talked about Corinne and Clive encouraged him to give her plenty of space and that God could work on her heart to forgive him, too. Andrew cried a few more times during that talk when he thought about all the people that were hurting because of his actions.
Clive was grateful to see Andrew in that broken state. Sometimes that was how the healing started. The wall had to break down to be rebuilt. Clive knew the man would struggle with anger again but he was one step closer to working through it.
They split up later with a promise from Andrew to talk to Clive whenever he was struggling. Andrew could not put Angela back together again, or unsay all the hurtful words he had said since the journey had started to his wife. But he had a peace in his heart, undeserved, but by the grace of God he would try to be better. Only God could help him.
Chapter 1 – Angela Fahey
May 4th 1848
Angela was tucked in, snug as a bug, according to Edith Sparks, her new caretaker. Angela spent a few hours with her closest friend in the world, Corinne Temple, and it distracted her from the pain that rolled through her body unmercifully. The pain in her heart was just as terrible. The Sparks were wonderful people. Henry was a jovial sort with a friendly smile a
nd a mustache that smiled too. He loved to tell funny stories and even though it hurt to laugh, it was good for Angela to have these last fleeting moments with her friend as good memories to hold on to. Corinne had finally left with many tears and Angela was tucked into her bed. She had several more visitors from the wagon train who left her notes and gifts but it was over too soon and they were all gone. Angela was alone in pain and talking to God.
Had it only been a few days since she fell into that ravine, breaking bones and tearing flesh on branches and brambles as she went. The darkness of that night still lingered with her, and the sounds of the night terrifying her mind in dreams and waking thoughts. She wanted to shake away the fear, the perpetual fear of being left alone. It seemed to be her lot in life. Now here she was, only weeks into the Oregon Trail and her journey ended because of a fool.
The building she was in was the cozy and comfortable cabin of Captain Sparks. He was in charge of the men at arms at Fort Kearney. His loving wife was a sort of mother for everyone in the fort. They had only had one child who had died of scarlet fever years ago and they hadn’t had any more children. They were in their early forties and ready to be caretakers for the ‘poor sweet girl’. Edith and Henry had gladly allowed their lives to be flipped asunder to make room for this wounded girl. Edith’s heart was full of love in an instant. Her longing to be a mother again filled her soul with purpose to have a new charge.
Angela’s hot tears were a permanent fixture for several hours. Angela had bouts of crying jags that would make her whole body hurt. Edith Sparks was there to be supportive, as much as a stranger could be. There was a stack of fresh handkerchiefs on a nearby table for Angela to use and plenty of hot tea to sip when her crying would slow down enough to breathe. Angela felt like a child when she started hiccupping for a while. This kind of grief was never attractive, but she had to get through all the phases of it.
Angela had a lot of emotions to get through in that first hard night.
“It will be just one step easier tomorrow dear. I know.” Edith Sparks patted a comforting hand on Angela’s and spoke soothing accolades. It helped better than having no one. Angela so desperately wanted her mother to be near her. The faded memory of her face but that soothing presence still remembered, it lingered like a bitter pill.
“I feel like every good thing is always taken away from me.” Angela said to Edith. A sob threatened to come out again but she swallowed it down, making her throat ache.
“I knew a hard life before I met my dear husband, I have known many who lived to see so much heartbreak. All my younger brothers died on the ship that brought my family to America, my father was so angry that I, a mere slip of a girl lived when his boys, what he called ‘his future’ all perished on that horrible stinking ship that brought us here. My mother and I ran away from my father just a year after we came here to America. I begged in the streets and my mother sewed and worked at a hotel for low pay, cleaning rooms to save enough for us to leave the city. It was a horrible struggle.” Edith shared, knowing the things she saw in the young woman’s eyes before her told their own story of loss and heartbreak.
“I know you are broken child, but you are not beaten. God will heal you, and mend your heart. I feel it in my bones. Like me, you have hope still. It burns behind those green eyes of yours.” Edith dared a kiss on Angela’s forehead and felt the girl begin a soft sob again, her emotions so raw and open.
Lord, please bless this child. Calm her heart and heal her pain. Edith prayed and held the girl’s hand through the night.
* * * * *
Angela woke several times when her pain increased. Edith would wake and give feverfew and sips of a foul-tasting tea to Angela and then helped her shift positions if need be. Her seeping wound on her shoulder would bleed if she moved too quickly or shift the wrong way. The bruise on her thigh ached the worst. Sleep was fitful when even the slightest movement would touch the bone deep bruise.
“Your fever is gone child.” Edith said the first morning after Angela woke. Edith smiled just the tiniest bit. She knew how difficult this day would be.
“Has the wagon train left yet?” Angela asked. It was torture knowing her best friend was rolling away. The feeling of her heart ripping from her chest was renewed, but she refused to cry. She held it in and took a deep breath.
“They pulled out at first light. I have a letter for you that was delivered by a young lad named Reggie. I think it is from Corinne. You want it now, or would you like to read it later?” Edith showed her the letter on the table.
“Later is better. I can look forward to it for when I really need it.” Angela dabbed a stray tear but felt stronger than last night. Her prayers had never ended. “This is the day that the Lord has made. Just yesterday I was in such misery in the jostling wagon. I knew I would die if I stayed in it. How could I have healed in such a place? I will rejoice in having a safe place to heal with kind souls who will care for me. Thank you Edith, for helping me through the night.” Angela moved her head just the slightest bit and smiled so warmly at Edith that the woman’s heart melted.
“God has a plan for you child, I am so blessed that I get to be part of it.” Edith scurried away to get a breakfast prepared and left Angela to her thoughts.
The day had been hard but the two women battled through it together. Angela fought the tears and pain, and Edith was by her side constantly throughout the day. Her hands always there when Angela needed them, to comfort or to help her move positions. Angela held herself together as well as she could. Let the tears fall when they had to and dried them when the crying jag was over. Angela finally asked for the letter from her friend. It was sitting on the mantle of the small fireplace in her room. The pain was in so many parts of her that she wasn’t sure how she would ever sleep. The letter would work as a distraction.
Edith brought her a stack of fresh handkerchiefs earlier and she knew she would be using them. She handed her the letter and let her have some alone time, Angela knew she would be hovering close by.
Dear Angela,
I was remembering that day just weeks ago, a good and terrible day it was, when my husband separated us. We snuck into the wagon and arranged everything and whispered. I wanted you to feel safe and protected, though we know better now that there is no perfect plan for that, especially on a dangerous road.
I do not want to lie to you or myself. I feared for your life, nearly certain the jarring wagon ride and the dirty trail would finish you. I cannot be angry at Andrew for leaving you behind, and it was good of him to find you a place. Writing these words hurts me, waves of anger and perhaps some bitterness fills me so fully to prevent me to even thank that man for anything. I am in constant prayer trying to forgive him. God is going to have to really help me for I want to loathe him, but my mother taught me better.
When my father left for the West I was never truly angry with him, not the anger I have now in my heart for Andrew. I was sad when my father left, and sad that my mother had died. This sadness I feel tonight is something so different. Already I feel so separated from you. This feels like a knife to my heart. I dearly want you as my sister. That is the truth.
So I will make it as official as I can in this letter. You are my family and until we are back together I will be only a part of myself. Just as I am with my father, missing a link that holds me together.
I will lean on God as I pray you will too. We will need the Lord’s guidance through each of the hard days at first. I know your pain must be nearly unbearable. I am praying for the Sparks to take good care of you.
I feel I must truly set aside all thoughts of your injuries, somehow – if I ever could – and focus instead on the words I must say.
You must accept my financial help. I cannot accept a refusal or a repay of the funds. Both my parents were fortunate and money has never been a burden to me. I was told hundreds of times from a young age that generosity was the responsibility of those who have been blessed. God allowed us to stay blessed because our family w
as always being generous with those in need.
My father loved talking about bible stories where people would get a double blessing after good deeds. I wish my bible wasn’t buried so deep in the crates and I could find the verses. Trust me, I just spent a few minutes digging around, I made a terrible mess to clean up. I am laughing at myself, even as I have tears in my eyes over my loss of you on the rest of this long road. I dread the fact that you must cross without me, once you heal. It digs at my stomach and makes it hurt sharply.
Please set aside your thoughts about the charity of money. Consider it a gift from someone who loves you as family. You need to be blessed. Your turn to be a blessing will be in God’s timing. There is no shame in a fresh start. If anyone has ever deserved it, my friend, it is you.
I will be praying daily for you.
Sincerely,
Corinne
* * * * *
Life on a fort was one of structure and a few surprises. Though for six weeks Angela had little experience outside the four walls of her room. She heard stories of a few Indian skirmishes miles away from the fort. She also benefitted from the supplies that came in from the East. Fresh fish and game was prevalent and Edith and Henry Sparks kept Angela well fed. The broken bone in her arm had set nicely and her movements were becoming less stiff. It had been much easier for her to sleep and the healing in her heart was mending too.
Many long hours of talking with Edith and Henry Sparks had helped her empty her thoughts about the numerous hurts done to her. Her forgiveness was a growing thing, but also a daily one. Henry’s big mustache matched his wit and his heart. He made plenty of room for Angela as part of the family immediately.
“There are some days the reminder is so close to me of how much Andrew Temple hated me. How could he have done such a thing? To send me out when it wasn’t safe. But he also did it to punish Corinne, because she cared for me. I cannot understand it. What had I done but be a servant, to fetch and carry, and gather firewood? He disliked my friendship to Corinne, my better according to station and propriety. I had been drilled so often to know my place. Perhaps this really is my punishment. I have known worse. Horror stories at the work house led us all to believe that acting above your station only led to starvation.” Angela saw Edith nod. Her own experience as a child on the street had taught her that.
Angela's Hope (Wildflowers) Page 2