The Pony Express Romance Collection

by Blakey, Barbara Tifft; Davis, Mary; Franklin, Darlene

  “I don’t deserve any credit. Some things just happen. Rocky volunteered to go for the doc. It’s all God’s mercy.” His face brightened a smidgen.

  Abigail poured herself a cup of tea. “You were a missionary once, right?”

  “Tried to be. Didn’t go so well. But I haven’t given up.” More light shone from his eyes. “I know God has a plan for me. Someday, very soon I hope, He will send me on another mission and I’ll spread the Gospel of Jesus.”

  The emotion in Jacob’s voice touched Abigail. She sensed he was sharing something important, something intimate. She’d never known anyone passionate about Jesus, and she didn’t know what to say. They stood in silence as Jacob ate, then he set his empty plate on the counter and headed toward the door. He looked over his shoulder. “Thanks for breakfast.”

  As Abigail watched him leave, his words took root. He didn’t intend to stay. God was sending him on a mission. Away from them. She ran the sagebrush broom over the rock-slab floor with halfhearted swipes. It shouldn’t matter that he was leaving—so was she. But it was different for her. She wasn’t needed. He was.

  How could they get on without him? Of course they would hire someone, but no one ever stayed long, and no one else had ever become such a part of the ranch. Jacob had been with them for about two years, if she remembered right, but it was hard to recall how they managed before he came.

  It was ironic, actually, how opposite they were. She wanted to leave the ranch to find a home, a place to belong. He belonged at the ranch and wanted to leave to—why did he want to leave? Couldn’t he “spread the Gospel” here? Plenty of people came through. A few of them were probably heathens.

  Abigail put away the broom and glanced at her new shoes again. Her heart smiled. She wanted to show someone else. “Sammy,” she called as she entered the room. He was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Are you better?”

  “No. Still can’t see.” His chin nearly touched his chest.

  “But you will. The doctor said so.” She sat on the bedside chair. “I’ve got news that you will like.” She paused, waiting for him to ask, “What?” But he didn’t. “Here, feel this.” She stretched out her legs and rested her feet on his lap. “Jacob made these shoes for me. Can you feel what he did? He made the right sole extra thick—thicker than the left one, so now I don’t limp and you won’t have to serve the diners or get water or—”

  “Instead you’ll be doing my chores for me. I’m pretty much useless, Abby. We both know that.” He pushed her feet away. His chin quivered. “I won’t ever be a Pony Express rider now. Not ever.”

  Abigail sat beside him and took his hand. It would be two more years before Sammy was old enough to apply for a Pony Express job, and in that time, not only would he be well over the 125-pound limit, the railroad would be completed and the Pony Express not needed. Maybe it was wrong, but she couldn’t tell him those things. She couldn’t dash his dream. “How about this? You follow the doctor’s orders, and when your sight returns, I’ll help you practice mounting and dismounting the ponies.”

  Sammy let out a sharp breath and shook his head.

  She stood. “Come out to the dining room. It’s stuffy in here and I need to clean.”

  He put his hand on her shoulder as she led him out of the bedroom.

  Hooves pounded the hard ground as an Express rider entered the yard. Through the window Abigail watched as Jacob held a fresh pony’s reins and Rocky waited for the mochila. He hadn’t bothered to tell her good-bye. Not that he ever had before, but she thought she meant something to him now. She had shared her sketches with him. He’d promised to take her home. They’d ridden together that morning. He’d tried to kiss her. Didn’t that mean anything?

  The incoming Express rider dismounted before his horse stopped. He swept the mochila off the horse’s back and tossed the twenty-pound bag to Rocky. As his pony began to trot, Rocky ran beside it and threw the pouch in place. The pony’s trot increased to a canter. He swooped astride, and they were gone. The entire process took maybe ninety seconds. But in that time, Abigail’s thoughts turned from the riders back to Sammy.

  Mounting and dismounting moving horses? Oh dear. What had she promised?

  As Jacob turned back toward the barn, he saw Abigail waving from the porch. Was something wrong? He loped to her. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I just wanted you to know I brought Sammy to the dining room. Your idea to get him out of the bedroom is just what he needs.”

  Jacob walked to where Sammy sat with his elbows perched on the table. “Heard the doctor had a great prognosis.” He patted the boy on his uninjured shoulder. “You’ll be back mucking stalls and picking up cow chips in no time.”

  “Hey, we’re supposed to be encouraging him.” Abigail grinned.

  “I know what would do that best. A plate of those cookies you’ve hidden in a tin.” Jacob nudged Sammy. “Am I right?”

  The boy shrugged.

  Jacob sat on the bench. Chores called outside, but a few minutes wouldn’t make much difference to his workload. It might matter to the boy.

  “It’s a hard thing, Sammy, what you are going through, but we’re all here to help you.”

  “What if the doctor is wrong? What if I never see again?”

  Abigail brought in a plate of oatmeal molasses cookies. “Don’t say that. The doctor isn’t wrong. Remember my promise to you?”

  “But what if he is wrong?”

  “He isn’t.” Abigail looked at Jacob and mouthed, “Say something.”

  He knew she meant for him to back her up, but Sammy was old enough to know that doctors could be wrong. Bad things happened. He wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. “Then we’ll accept it as part of God’s plan and move forward.”

  “Hogwash!” The door slammed behind Frank.

  Jacob rose quickly. “I don’t mean that Sammy won’t get his sight back, but whatever happens is part of God’s plan.”

  “And I said hogwash!” Frank scowled. He stood within inches of Jacob, almost nose to nose, his fists clenched, his face red. “You sayin’ my wife’s death was part of God’s plan? That Abby here, being an orphan, was part of God’s plan? Sammy gettin’ attacked was part of God’s plan? That’s horse pucky.”

  Spittle sprayed from Frank’s lips. Jacob stepped back. He glanced at Sammy, then at Abigail. He wouldn’t argue with his boss, not in front of others anyway. “I’ve got chores to do.”

  He strode to the barn, every muscle tense. Since when did Frank get so knowledgeable about God? He’d never seen him read a Bible. Never heard him quote scriptures.

  And his words were nonsense. Of course God had a plan. God was sovereign and it wasn’t man’s right to question the Great I Am. Everything that happened was part of a sovereign design. How could he explain that to Sammy without contradicting his boss? He paused. He would find the verses and read them to Frank, Sammy, and even Abigail. His boss couldn’t argue with words straight from the Good Book.

  Chapter Nine

  Jacob went to his room and opened his Bible. Using his memory and the crossreferences, he found God’s promises to be with His children no matter what. To work all things for the good. To grant the desires of their heart.

  He found the words proclaiming that God knew Sammy and all he would be before he was born. But there was nothing about His having a plan for each person. Except the plan of salvation, of course. God didn’t want anyone to perish. But none of that spoke to the plans God had for Jacob’s—Sammy’s life.

  Somehow Jacob’s search through the scriptures to prove God’s plan for Sammy became about God’s plan for himself. Sweat beaded on his forehead. The passages had to be there. God had a plan for him. He knew it. If there was no plan, then why had he wasted these past two years waiting for clarity? If there was no plan from God, how could he succeed?

  “Thou King of the universe, direct me to the verses I seek. Help me reveal Thy truth to Sammy, Frank, and Abigail.”

  And then he remembered. Jer
emiah. Didn’t God give a message about plans to Jeremiah? His hands trembled. He couldn’t turn the pages quickly enough. They stuck together, and in his haste he found himself in Isaiah, then Ezekiel. Finally Jeremiah 29. He ran his finger under the words. Then he read them again. How could he have misunderstood? Jeremiah spoke of the good thoughts the Lord had for the nation of Israel, His plans for them. Plural. It said nothing to or about an individual. Jacob had somehow taken the words out of context and made them mean that the Lord had a specific plan for him, but unless he found himself in Babylonian captivity, the words were not about him.

  The truth overtook him like a dust storm. In vain he had waited for God to reveal His next plan. He pondered the enormity of what that meant. And slowly the burden of searching for clarity lifted. Jacob had never felt so free. He always wondered what weakness prevented him from hearing the Lord clearly. He had experienced answered prayers, felt the Lord’s presence, but seeking direction for his next step came up empty.

  But now there was this freedom to stop waiting for an answer he was never promised. He was free to make a decision. Of course he would pray for wisdom. Of course he would seek guidance from the scriptures, but he was at liberty to choose.

  God would be with him, regardless of his choice. A negative result did not mean he’d chosen wrong or that he’d misunderstood his Creator. Life was filled with hardships and obstacles. The promise God made was He would be with him through the hardships and successes always and forever. He thought through the stories of God using people at specific times and realized God did not hide His intentions. He sent a burning bush or talking donkey, signs that could not be misinterpreted, but not everyone received a sign. In fact, very few did.

  Another scripture came to mind: “A man’s heart deviseth his way: but the LORD directeth his steps.” A person had to be moving in order for steps to be directed. Had the Lord directed his steps to the ranch?

  He left the dimness of his room and strode into the bright sunlight. His soul sang within him. As he poured water into the horse trough, his emotions settled. He began to consider his options. He could glorify God right here at the station. When a stagecoach stopped, he could pray for the travelers, read scriptures in the dining room, hand out tracts about the plan of salvation! His thoughts turned to Abby. Paul said it was wise not to marry, but God said it was not good for man to be alone. Jacob had clung to Paul’s words because he believed it was God’s plan for him to remain single. Where had he gotten that idea? He almost whooped out loud. He was free to choose her.

  When the dining room grew stuffy from the sun’s persistent rays, Abigail took Sammy to the side of the house where the garden flourished in the afternoon shade. He sat on a stool as she drew buckets of water to pour on the vegetables. She hummed as she made trip after trip, thankful to Jacob for the new shoes allowing her to do this task. Unhindered by her limp, no water sloshed over the pail’s rim.

  When the plants were drenched, she knelt and pulled weeds. “Hey, Sammy, sing with me.” She brushed hair from her eyes and began, “Camptown ladies sing this song, Doo-da, Doo-da…”

  The boy sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

  “Oh, come on, Sammy. Sing. Your sight will return—I know it will.” How could she cheer him up?

  “Why did you make a promise you don’t mean to keep?”

  Abigail stared at him. “Sammy, I meant what I said. I’ll help you practice mounting and dismounting.”

  “No, you won’t. You won’t be here.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m blind, not deaf. I heard you and Rocky making plans last night. You can’t wait to get out of here. When are you going to tell my father?”

  “Oh, Sammy, I’ll keep my promise to you. But I can’t accept Uncle Frank’s charity forever.”

  Sammy ran his sleeve across his eyes. “It isn’t charity. You work hard. I heard you say you want to leave us.”

  Abigail knelt beside him. She touched his hand, but he pulled away. “You and Uncle Frank have been so good to me. And I’m grateful, but this is your home, not mine.”

  “Only because you don’t want it to be.” Sniff.

  How could she explain? More than anything she wanted a home, but she hadn’t considered how Sammy might feel about her leaving. Or how hard it would be to say good-bye. She fought her own tears as she went back to weeding.

  “Abby?”

  “I’m right here, Sammy.”

  “You know he’s lying, right?”

  “Who is lying?”

  “Rocky. He just likes to talk. He doesn’t care how much truth is in what he says. He don’t know where your home is. He wanted to say something that might get him a kiss, that’s all.” Another sniff.

  Abigail stood. She put her hands on her hips. “Samuel Eli Robertson. Calling a man a liar is a mighty strong accusation.” Her words came out just shy of shouting. “Rocky is a gentleman and my friend. He not only knows where my home is, he’s stood on its porch. And he will take me there.”

  “You’re leaving? With Rocky?” Jacob lingered at the edge of the garden. His mouth was desert dry.

  “No, not like that. I mean, he’s going to take me home.”

  The words made no sense to Jacob. The ranch was her home. She was already there. So how could Rocky take her where she already was—especially since he wasn’t around anyway?

  Jacob strode to her. “What are you talking about?”

  Abigail wiped the dirt from her hands onto her apron, then pulled a book from her skirt pocket. “This!” She roughly flipped through the pages. “I’m talking about this.”

  Whoa. She was red faced. Breathing fast. Her hands shook. Perhaps Jacob shouldn’t have interfered. He stepped back and glanced behind him. He wished a horse would whinny or Frank would call him, anything to avoid another emotional scene—unless it meant he’d get a second hug out of the deal.

  “Look at this.” Abigail held the book open to a page with a drawing of a log cabin. She shook the book as she held it out. “I’m talking about my home. My place to belong.” She shouted the last words, then collapsed on the ground sobbing, clutching the book to her breast.

  Jacob dropped beside her. He had no idea why she was crying, but he was pretty sure these were not happy tears. He put a hand on her shoulder. “The picture is your home?”

  She didn’t move away from his touch, but she didn’t answer either. He sat on the ground, gathered her in his arms, and rocked back and forth. His pulse quickened at the pressure of her head against his chest, the faint smell of honey in her hair. Every sense heightened with the awareness of her closeness. He wanted to lift her face and kiss away the tears. Instead, he buried his face in her hair, kissed the top of her head, and whispered a prayer. “Thou great and merciful Father, soothe the hurt in Abby’s heart. Assure her that Thou hast always been her Father.” He let the words come as they would. “Thou art holy and compassionate. Be Thou Abby’s refuge.”

  Sammy rose from the stool. “Don’t cry, Abby.” He stepped forward several paces, stumbled over a rock, and fell to the ground.

  “Sammy! Don’t move.” Jacob raised his gaze heavenward. “Could use a little help here.” The doctor had stressed the importance of complete rest for the boy. If he so much as jarred his head, the results could be disastrous.

  “Stand up with me, Abby. We have to help Sammy.” He eased her to her feet. Her book dropped, and he picked it up, then in three long strides he was at Sammy’s side.

  “I’m tired, Jacob. I want to lay down.”

  “Put your hand on my shoulder. I’ll take you back inside.” Jacob glanced at Abigail. “Come with us?”

  She ducked her head and crossed her arms over her face. “I’m sorry.” She ran toward the barn.

  After Sammy was settled back in Abigail’s bedroom, Jacob sat in the chair looking at the sketchbook. It hadn’t been a diary after all. But most of the sketches were scenes and wildlife that Abigail couldn’t know about well enough
to draw. Frank had told him that Abby had lived there since she was a young girl. So if the pictures weren’t all hers, someone else made some of them? He stared at the log cabin. This was her home? The one her parents left behind when they came west?

  Frank entered the room. Jacob stood. “I owe you an apology, boss.”

  “Accepted. And I shouldn’t have yelled.”

  “You were right about God’s plans.”

  “No need to explain, Jacob.”

  “But I want to. I understand now that what God has promised is to be with us through the hard times that come because we live in a fallen world. We aren’t puppets on a string. God isn’t the master puppeteer. Some things happen because of poor choices we make, and some happen because life is hard. God walks with us through it all.”

  Sammy stirred. “But God could stop the bad things if He wanted to.”

  Frank patted his son’s shoulder. “Just because God doesn’t stop a bad thing doesn’t mean He planned it or that it was His will. We don’t get to blame the Almighty just because we don’t understand, son.”

  Abigail walked in as Jacob was leaving. She sighed and looked at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

  “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

  Abigail took a deep breath and looked from Jacob to Uncle Frank. Sammy had been right. She should tell them her plans. She certainly couldn’t just ride off. “About what you overheard, Jacob. I can explain. Uncle Frank, you need to hear this, too.”

  Sammy moaned and put a pillow over his head.

  “May I have my mother’s sketchbook back, please?”

  “Sure.” Jacob handed it to her.

  Abigail opened the book to the picture with the log cabin, trees, and mountain, but before she could say anything, Uncle Frank smiled and gently took it from her.