“Sam.”
He looked up. Edie crossed to where he was sitting beside Emma. Without asking, she thrust a bundle into his arms. He stared down at the baby. Her face puckered and she let out a wail pathetic enough to pierce a heart of stone. Sam fell in love. Edie handed him a bit of cloth with something tied up in the corner. When it touched her mouth, the infant smacked her lips, suckling with gusto. Sam smiled in spite of himself.
“She’ll be all right,” Edie said. “We’ll take her to Mollie at the ranch. Edmund says it will take a week or so, but in no time things will be fine. She’ll have a wet nurse and all the love she can abide. We’ll take very good care of her, Sam.”
He nodded. “I-I … want . . to come.”
“Of course,” Edie said. “You must.” She stroked the baby’s cheek.
Let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking
unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith.
HEBREWS 12:1–2
The wind had picked up by the next afternoon, blowing bits of dried grass and debris along the hard earthen streets, rattling loose boards, and driving nearly everyone indoors. The team pulling the wagon to the graveyard lowered their heads and laid back their ears as they faced the wind. Fannie held Patrick’s hand as they walked along behind the wagon. With her free hand she clutched at her black cape lest it blow open. Every few steps she glanced over at Samuel, but he was looking straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the rough wood coffin in the wagon ahead of them. His shoulders were stooped and he walked with a shuffling gait that had nothing to do with the fall he’d taken up on the trail. Emma’s death had done something to him, something that frightened Fannie every time she looked at him. He seemed interested enough in the baby, but he hadn’t eaten a thing all day, and Lamar’s attempts at conversation had been even more one-sided than usual.
Abe had known where to procure a coffin. Fannie and Edie dressed Emma’s frail body in the silk walking suit Mrs. Tatum had given Fannie in Sioux City. And now Pete drove the wagon toward the burial ground while Sam and Lamar, Edie and Fannie, Edmund and Patrick and Abe trailed along behind through the cold, bleak day.
Just as the men lowered the coffin into the grave, Emma’s baby began to cry. The service was short. At the last minute, Samuel handed his Bible to Lamar and stood, tight-lipped and expressionless, as Lamar read from the New Testament about Jesus’ return and how the dead in Christ would rise.
And that … was that. The men filled in the grave and everyone walked back to Abe’s together. No one said more than two or three words. Fannie held the baby while Edie and the others gathered their things from their rooms. Abe brought an Arbuckle coffee box into the dining room. He’d put a thick layer of straw in the bottom, nestled hot stones he’d been heating in the oven into the straw, then folded a coverlet atop the stones. “That little darling’s going to be warm as can be,” he said with a determined nod.
Fannie settled the sleeping baby atop the comforter. They covered her with yet another, and then Samuel loaded the box into the back of the wagon, coming back inside to help Lamar with carpetbags and Edie’s things.
Edie drew Fannie aside. “Are you certain you won’t come with us?” She glanced at Edmund. “You haven’t forgotten what I said?”
Fannie shook her head. “I haven’t forgotten, but—” Samuel doesn’t want me. “I promised to teach Patrick the basics of Braille—if I can remember them.” She forced a smile. “I’ll be busy punching holes in paper for the next few days.”
Edie turned to Edmund. “You’ll come check on the baby?”
He nodded. Smiled Fannie’s way. “We’ll drive out next week.”
Lamar hugged Fannie, murmuring, “He’ll be all right, little miss. He just needs some time.” Fannie looked over at the wagon. She wanted to believe what Lamar was saying, but Sam seemed so broken. So lost.
Right before Sam climbed into the wagon bed, he came and kissed her on the cheek. She kissed him back, murmuring, “God bless you, Sam.” He didn’t smile, just climbed into the wagon bed and settled opposite Edie, the makeshift cradle between them.
Lamar climbed up beside Pete, and with that, they pulled out. Edie waved. Fannie waved back, barely resisting the threatening tears. As the sound of the wagon faded in the distance, Patrick turned to Fannie. “Bet I can beat you at checkers.”
Edmund tousled the boy’s hair. “It’s not the best day for checkers, son.”
Abe spoke up from the doorway of the boarding house. “But it’s always a good day for gingersnaps. Want to help me make some?” Patrick headed off with Abe.
Edmund put an arm around her. “You look exhausted. Why don’t you come back to the clinic with me and take a nap? I promise to be quiet as a mouse. I’ll busy myself in the clinic and when you wake up, we’ll have a quiet dinner and I’ll read to you. Anything you choose.”
It sounded comforting. Perhaps even restorative. Fannie nodded. “Thank you. I’ll just get my knitting from my room.”
“You … knit?”
“Thanks to Mother’s insistence and Hannah’s never-ending patience, yes. I noticed a hole in one of Abe’s sweater elbows the other day. I offered to mend it for him, and now that I think of it, he was surprised, too. At any rate, now that there’s little work at the hostelry, Abe agreed to let me earn my keep by knitting him some socks—maybe even a new sweater—once he sees proof I know what I’m doing.”
Edmund smiled. “I like the idea of an evening of reading and knitting.”
The look on his face made her think of Edie’s warning. He’s going to propose. You must say no. Perhaps going back to the clinic wasn’t a good idea. On the other hand, why should she spend an evening alone?
“I won’t be long,” she said, and headed for her room. Someone had shoved what looked like a letter beneath the door. She bent to pick it up and perched on the edge of her bed as she read.
Dear Fannie,
I realize I should have known when you wrote me in Virginia City that something was different. Now that I’ve seen the special affection you have for Patrick, I can only assume you feel the same for Dr. LaMotte, and that that is why things seemed different, both in your letter and when I returned. I’m assuming you are not yet officially engaged, although I cannot imagine it will be long before the doctor speaks the words.
Things have not turned out the way either of us expected, but please know that I wish only the best for you. If you think of me, please pray for me. I thought that I had found my calling, but in light of recent events, I find myself questioning everything. Of course, if my speech doesn’t improve, it will be even more obvious that I have been mistaken about a great many things.
Lamar tells me that everyone must endure a “dark night of the soul” and that I will endure mine. I hope he is right. He is a good friend, as are you. I wish for you, dear Fannie, great happiness.
Yours respectfully,
Samuel
P.S. I write this note so that you can visit Edie without any awkwardness regarding my presence at Bonaparte’s.
Fannie sat on the edge of her bed for a very long time looking down at Samuel’s letter, reading it over and over again, until someone rapped sharply on the door.
“Are you all right, Fannie?”
Edmund. She put the letter down. “Yes,” she called. “J-just a minute. I’ll be there in a minute.”
She sat alternately looking at the letter and gazing at the work bag that held blue yarn and knitting needles from which dangled a half-finished sock. Finally, she went to the door and opened it a crack. “I’m sorry, Edmund, but I just … I’m exhausted. I think I’ll stay here.”
“Are you sure?” He glanced toward the dining room. “Patrick’s counting on our savoring the cookies he’s baking.”
“I know … and I don’t like disappointing him, but really … I just want to be alone for a while.”
He nodded. “I understand.”
But he didn’t understand. Fannie could hear the truth
in his tone of voice. She could see it in the way he turned away. He didn’t understand … and it made him angry.
Poor Edmund.
The moment the wagon came to a halt at the side door to Edie’s ranch house, a gaggle of chattering women gathered around the wagon to welcome Edie home. Edie introduced Sam as he was lifting her out of the wagon. “This here’s the parson that Roberta found on our doorstep. As you can see, he’s almost fit as a fiddle.” She smiled up at Sam, then looked back at the girls. “He took a bad bump on his noggin and the doc says to take it easy on him, so if he doesn’t talk much you all just leave him be, you hear?” She turned to Lamar. “And this is Lamar. He’s staying on if he takes a liking to it.” She grinned. “So let’s do what we can to see that he does.”
“I’ll do my best,” a mahogany-skinned beauty said.
“Saints above, Ruth,” a buxom brunette teased. “You’ll make the poor man blush. We’re not in that line of work anymore.” She nudged Lamar’s good arm. “My name’s Fern. I’ll do my best to keep her in line.”
Feeling himself in danger of blushing, Samuel reached into the box for the baby.
“And this is our newest boarder,” Edie said. “But let’s get inside for the rest of the introductions.” With that, she spread her arms and, like a sheepdog driving its flock, herded everyone toward the door.
Sam noticed that one of the women stayed behind with Pete, apparently intent on helping him with the team. “That’s Lily,” a petite blonde said as she came up behind him. “She loves animals. And Pete. But he doesn’t seem to know it.” She smiled. “I’m Roberta. You nearly scared the life right out of me that morning, by the way. I’ve seen a lot of things in my life, but I never tripped over a dead body before.” She grinned. “Of course, you weren’t dead. Which was real nice to find out.” She nudged Sam’s arm. “Didn’t realize you were so handsome.”
Once inside, all the girls gathered around to exclaim over the baby’s red hair, admire her dimpled cheeks, and coo over her perfect, tiny hands. Edie spoke up. “This is Sam’s little niece,” she said. “Born just this morning.” She cleared her throat. “Her mama’s gone on to heaven.”
In the chorus of sympathy, the one girl who had yet to say a word squeezed past Roberta and stood on tiptoe to peer into the baby’s face.
“This is Mollie,” Edie said as she put her arm around the girl. Mollie touched the sleeping baby’s cheek. She looked at Edie then and said abruptly, “I could try and feed her. My ma was a wet nurse. I could try.” She looked up at Sam. “If you want.”
“That’s exactly what we and Doc LaMotte were hoping you’d say,” Edie said. “God bless you for offering.”
Mollie held out her arms. When Sam handed the baby over, she leaned down and nuzzled her cheek. “Hello, little one,” she murmured, then wrinkled her nose.
Edie laughed. “Well, I’d say that’s the official word that both ends work. You want me to change her nappy?”
Mollie held the baby closer. “No, ma’am. I’ll do it.” She sighed happily as she looked up at Sam. “I never expected God to care one way or the other when I told him I missed my baby.” Her voice wavered. “I know she isn’t mine, Parson, but I’m so glad you brought her out here.”
Sam swallowed. “Thank … you.”
“What’s her name?” The question came in a chorus. Sam had been thinking about the problem of a name since he stood at Emma’s grave. “Nnnn.” He closed his eyes. Pursed his lips and shook his head.
“It’s all right, Parson,” Edie said. “Nobody here’s in a hurry. Take your time.”
Taking a deep breath, he finally managed to say the name. “Josephine.” Opening his eyes, he looked first at Lamar, then at the women. “She was … my … moth … errrr.” He reached into the pocket of his black coat and pulled out her Bible. Held it up and said, “This is all I h-have … of … her.”
“Not all,” Edie said, smiling. “Now you have her granddaughter.”
Sam nodded and blinked away tears. He put the Bible back in his pocket and, together with Lamar, followed Edie up the stairs at the back of the house and into the room that Edie declared theirs for as long as they wanted to stay at Bonaparte’s. “Including forever,” Edie said, then glanced at Sam. “Although I think once you’ve had a chance to pray on it, you’ll realize you belong somewhere where you can tell a lot of people about the One who wrote that book you love.”
She headed back out into the hall. “Supper should be about ready, so you two come on down to the parlor soon as you can. I imagine it’ll be a bit overwhelming until the girls get used to having you around, but they don’t mean anything by all the joshing they do. They’re good girls.”
———
When Sam put the Bible in his carpetbag, Lamar got it back out and put it on the nightstand by the bed. Sam shook his head. “Don’t … need it.”
“You need it now more than you ever did,” Lamar said. “I know you’re hurting, son. You prayed as hard as you’ve ever prayed for anything, and God didn’t take you to Emma. And then he brought her to your doorstep and let her die.” He tilted his head and looked up at Sam. “Is that about right?”
Sam shrugged.
“Answer the question, son. Do you know of anybody in the Bible who begged God for something and didn’t get it?”
An entire flood of names cascaded into Sam’s mind. He wouldn’t be able to say them anyway, so all he said was, “Lots.”
“That’s right.” Reaching for Sam’s Bible, Lamar thumbed to a passage and pointed to a verse. “Read it,” he said.
Sam sat down and began to read.
“No … read it out loud.”
Frowning, Sam shook his head.
“How are you going to ever learn to talk again if you don’t talk?” Lamar stood up. “Tell you what, Sam. I’m going to go on downstairs. But I don’t want to see you until you’ve read from verse 32 all the way to the end of the chapter. That’s only eight verses. Might take you half an hour. That’s not much. You’ve got a whole lifetime of talking to do. Get to learning how again.” Lamar went to the door. “I’ll see you at supper.” He left, closing the door firmly behind him.
Sam sat on the bed, listening to him clomp down the stairs. For a while, he ignored the open Bible on his cot. Finally, though, he decided it wasn’t worth the argument to resist what Lamar wanted him to do. He’d ask if Sam had read the verses, and Sam couldn’t lie to Lamar. He reached for the Bible.
Hebrews. Frowning, Sam stared at the verse Lamar had pointed out. He looked back to the beginning of the chapter. By faith Abel … by faith Enoch … by faith Noah … by faith Abraham … Hmph. It seemed like his own faith had dropped into the hole they’d dug for Emma’s coffin. With a sigh, he found verse 32 and started to read aloud.
“ ‘An’ wut shallll I mmore say? F-For the time would fail me to tell of—’ ” Great. A long list of names. Bible names he probably couldn’t say even if he could talk right. He limped through them as best he could. At least he knew how to say one of them. Samuel. He kept reading. The first verses were all about amazing things men had done “through faith.” But then … “ ‘They were stoned, they were sawn asunder, were tempted, were slain with the sword … destitute … afflicted … tormented …’ ” And they “ ‘received not the promise.’ ”
It probably did take half an hour for Sam to mangle the entire passage aloud. By the time he’d finished, he’d broken out in a cold sweat and was in no mood for supper. His jaw and throat ached with the effort. Still, something drew him to reread the passage, and when he came to the end he kept going into the next chapter. Wherefore … let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus … who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross … consider him … ye have not yet resisted unto blood, striving against sin… .
Sam closed his eyes. He felt so weary. So filled with anguish … anger … confusion … grief.
He glanced at the quilt on the bed and the pillow covered
with a pristine white pillowcase. He set the Bible back on the table. Pulling off his boots, he stretched out on the bed. And fell asleep.
A baby … wailing … Sam started awake. When had it gotten dark? He sat up and looked around the room. Lamar was asleep in the other cot, snoring softly. Footsteps sounded in the hall outside the door. Whispers. And the baby … still wailing.
Someone had covered him with a patchwork quilt. Sam threw it back. He padded toward the door and opened it, then continued on downstairs in his stocking feet, pausing at the base of the stairs and peering up the hall toward the parlor. The baby wasn’t crying anymore. Someone had lighted a lamp, though, and Sam made his way toward the light. As he neared the parlor, he realized that Mollie was sitting in the rocker, her back to the stairs, her shoulder bare. Samuel couldn’t actually see Josephine, but he knew she was there in Mollie’s arms, for she was suckling with enough gusto that he could hear it halfway across the house.
“You’re a greedy little girl,” Mollie whispered, “and you aren’t mine … but I’m going to love you, Josephine. You are God’s gift to me for a little while, and I am going to love you.” She began to hum.
Sam sat down on the bottom step. The psalm he’d read over Emma came to mind. Thou hast beset me behind and before, and laid thine hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain unto it. As he looked toward the golden circle of light in the parlor, and listened to Mollie humming to Josephine, something changed. He didn’t know what it meant. He was still angry about everything. He still had the same questions, and he was more certain than ever that he wasn’t going to find an answer to some of them. And yet … something had changed.
Mollie lifted Josephine onto her shoulder. The baby’s red hair fairly glowed in the lamplight.
Sam retreated to his bed and fell asleep, delighting in the beauty of the newborn baby girl.
There be three things which are too wonderful for me,
yea, four which I know not… the way of an eagle in the air;
the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the
A Most Unsuitable Match Page 25