A Promise to Believe In

by Tracie Peterson

  Beth tried to think of a good solution, but answers weren’t coming to mind. “Well, I don’t know exactly.”

  “That’s the trouble with you Christian do-gooders. You’re always willing to judge and tell everybody what they’re doing is a sin, but you offer nothing else. You can’t help us—so why don’t you go back to your safe little house and pretend you did your best to change the ills of the world.”

  “Marie, don’t be so mean,” Ellie interceded. “She’s just being nice.”

  “But nice doesn’t change a thing. She thinks she’s better than us, because she doesn’t have to stoop to our way of living.” Marie looked at Beth and for just a moment seemed to drop her guard. “She doesn’t understand how hard it is or how we’ve tried to find our way out.”

  Beth was humbled by the woman’s comment. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

  Marie shook her head. “For all the good it does.”

  “I think admitting one’s mistake is important,” Beth said quietly. “I know very little of what you’ve endured… I suppose I have made it all sound rather simplistic.”

  “But not because you were trying to be thoughtless,” Ellie said, smiling. “You just didn’t know.”

  “And since you don’t know anything about it,” Marie said in a tone that froze Beth to the bone, “you really should keep your nose out of it.”

  Beth nodded. “I suppose you’re right. I can’t change your situation, but you should know that if you need something, you can come to us. My sisters and I will help in any way we can.”

  “You already help by bringing us clients,” Marie said, laughing. “You keep doing your part, and we’ll do ours.” She walked back to her laundry without another word.

  Beth tried to think of something she could do to show her goodwill. She wondered if they would like a cake, then scoffed at her own idea. A cake? What in the world would a cake do to benefit these poor women?

  “I heard you got one of those hot springs baths,” Regina said in a barely audible voice.

  Her words immediately put an idea in Beth’s head. “Yes, we do. Would you three like to take a soak?” Even Marie perked up at this and made her way back to Ellie and Regina. “It’s quite pleasant,” Beth continued. “I have towels, and you could stay as long as you like. We won’t have a stage in until late.”

  “You sure your sisters won’t care?” Ellie asked.

  “I know they’d be pleased.”

  “Let’s go right now while Rafe and Wyman are still sleeping,” Marie suggested. She looked at Beth and narrowed her eyes. “That is, if it’s all right with you.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll fetch some towels for you.” Beth smiled and headed to the back porch as the young women darted across the yard to the fencing that surrounded the hot springs pool. She felt a sense of accomplishment, even if it was just to offer these women some simple comforts.

  Picking up three thick towels, Beth walked back to the hot springs and wondered what other ideas she and her sisters might come up with to better the lives of these soiled doves.

  At the pool gate, she heard the women inside. They were happy. Ellie was commenting on how it was the first hot bath she’d had since leaving Missouri. Marie said she’d never seen anything like it. Regina was saying something that Beth couldn’t quite make out.

  “I brought the towels,” Beth said, closing the gate behind her.

  The pool had been constructed from a wooden frame built by her father and Harvey. It was about ten-by-ten and was situated with piping that brought the hot water into the pool at a constant rate. On the north side there was a drainage area where the water could trickle over the pool edge and run into a stream that emptied into the nearby river.

  Somewhere along the way, her father had added a few benches, as well as a ledge on which folks could put their towels and other things they wished to keep dry. It was here that Beth placed the towels. She turned to the women and let out a shriek.

  “What’s wrong?” Ellie asked. She stood and turned as if something were creeping up from behind them.

  “I . . . uh . . . well, you’re . . .” Beth’s words faded. They were stark-naked. Each of the women had left their clothes on the benches. She didn’t want to add to her own embarrassment or insensitivity, so she forced a smile. “Nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all. The towels are here.”

  She glanced down at Ellie, who was just turning back to face her. Beth noted a crisscrossing of reddish purple bruises across the woman’s back. Someone had obviously beaten her with a belt or strop. Beth cringed inwardly and bit her tongue to keep from asking what had happened.

  Ellie smiled up. “This is wonderful, Miss Gallatin. Thank you.”

  Beth nodded and glanced to Marie, who was floating quite shamelessly without thought to who might gaze upon her unclothed body. “I’m glad you like it. I have to get back to my laundry now. Oh, but please do just call me Beth. No need for us to be formal.”

  She hurried back to her washing and tried to put the scene from her mind. She’d read stories in the past of public bathhouses. In Roman times, it was especially popular, but she found it rather shocking nevertheless.

  Picking up one of Mr. Bishop’s white shirts, Beth could hear his instructions once again. He acted as though she hadn’t the first clue about laundry. “Well . . . maybe I am rather careless,” she murmured. She glanced at the pile of shirts and then smiled. “Accidents happen. Who can say what might happen to Mr. Bishop’s precious shirts?”

  “I can see you’re still hard at work,” Gwen said as she came from the direction of the chicken coop. “The hens are laying well, finally. We have plenty of eggs now, and I believe I’ll make a pound cake.”

  “Sounds wonderful. We’ve not had one for some time.” Beth pushed the white shirts into the boiling water.

  A shriek of laughter came from the direction of the pool, causing Gwen to start. “What was that?”

  “Oh, I invited Rafe’s girls to soak in the pool. I hope that’s all right. They . . . well . . . we were talking, and I felt so sorry for them. I just wanted to do something nice.”

  Gwen smiled. “I think that’s wonderful. Of course it’s all right.”

  “I can’t imagine being stuck in a place like they are,” Beth said softly. She stirred the shirts and sighed. “It seems so hard—so unfair. We have it so much better than they do.”

  A thoughtful expression crossed her older sister’s face. “It’s true. We should definitely count our blessings. Our future is not nearly as bleak as theirs.”

  “But our future could be,” Beth replied. She put aside the laundry paddle and looked at Gwen. “Do you ever think about that? I mean, if Pa hadn’t left us this place, we could be just as bad off.”

  “I know.” Gwen placed the basket of eggs on the ground. She stretched as she straightened and shook her head. “Do you ever think about a different life?”

  “I think about it,” Beth admitted. “All I’ve ever really wanted was to stay in one place. Pa dragged us all over the earth, it seemed. Sometimes when we’d be somewhere for a couple of years, I’d get hopeful that we’d never move again. Then he’d up and decide we were heading for some other part of the country.”

  Gwen nodded sympathetically. “I know. We left many good friends behind.”

  “It’s true. If I could ever have hated Pa for anything, it would have been that,” Beth admitted. Then she immediately realized her words and added, “Of course, I couldn’t have hated him.”

  “Of course not, but it was a hard life at times.”

  “Not as hard as what those girls have to face,” Beth admitted. Feeling a sense of relief in her father’s inability to move them to yet another location left Beth awash in guilt.

  “Do you believe that we’re doing the right thing?” Gwen asked.

  Beth looked at her older sister and cocked her head to one side. “What is this really about?”

  Shrugging, Gwen reached once again for her basket. “I don’t know. I j
ust worry that maybe we should sell the place and move on.”

  “Sell to Rafe?”

  “He seems to be the only one interested.”

  Beth couldn’t believe her sister was even considering such a thing. “Well, I’ll never sell my share to Rafe. Besides, like I said, I’m glad to be in one place for a while. I, for one, do not intend to move again for a good long while.”

  “But you and Lacy might suffer for something that was completely my fault.”

  “What was your fault?”

  “Pa getting killed. If I hadn’t sent him out there—”

  “He’d have gone anyway. He always liked to go talk with the Lassiter boys. If you hadn’t given him a reason to go, he would have come up with his own.” Beth walked to her sister and touched Gwen’s arm. “You aren’t cursed. You have to forget all about that nonsense. It’s not true. It doesn’t exist.”

  “But plenty of people were cursed in the Bible. There are a lot of examples of it. You can’t just say that curses don’t exist.”

  “Maybe they exist, but I don’t think they apply to you,” Beth said. She could only pray that Gwen would let go of the past and the things she’d been told. “I think when you belong to Jesus, you don’t have to worry about curses. I’m not sure, but I’m thinking the Bible probably says as much.”

  “Could be. But, Beth, if you ever feel that I’m a danger to you, I won’t be offended if you ask me to go.”

  Beth shook her head and hugged Gwen close. “That will never happen. We are family.”

  “Thank you. I love you so dearly,” Gwen said as they pulled apart.

  “I know you do. I love you, as well. Now I must get back to work. I have Mr. Bishop’s shirts to finish.”

  Gwen frowned. “I’m sorry you have that extra work. Would you like me to take it over?”

  “No, I’m perfectly content to wash his shirts for pay.” Beth smiled. “I just hope he’s satisfied with the results.”

  Laughing, Gwen made her way up the steps. “I’m sure he’ll be amazed at your abilities. Well, I’d best see to getting lunch on and finishing with the baking. The stage will pull in about six, unless they’ve met with trouble.” Gwen disappeared into the house, while Beth went to the back porch and rummaged around in their laundry supplies. Finding what she was looking for, a wicked grin spread across her face.

  “You’re so right, Gwen. He will be amazed at my abilities.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Hank rode his black gelding out across the field and marveled at the territory around him. Mountains seemed to encircle him, yet there was openness to this valley that yielded vast fields of farm and grazing land. Cattle dotted the landscape; many were new mothers with calves at their side. He had asked about the herds, not having any understanding or knowledge of such animals. To him, beef was something served on a plate. Joe, the stage driver who’d brought him to Gallatin House, laughed at his ignorance but tolerated his questions. It was through Joe that Hank learned there were different breeds for beef and milk. Joe also explained a bit of the territory’s history. For the life of him, Hank couldn’t remember ever hearing much about the place before the private investigator had learned of Harvey’s journey here.

  Now that he was here, Hank was rather taken aback by what he found. Nothing in his travels had gripped him like Montana. He wasn’t sure why, but something here spoke to his soul. It was really the only thing that had spoken to him in years. Most of his decisions and reactions had been driven by pain or anger, but this territory promised a measure of peace and refinement.

  It wasn’t that Hank couldn’t recognize the difficulty of living in such an isolated territory, nor that he figured life here to be easy, by any means. But there was a feeling—a sort of personality to the land. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt a sense of belonging here.

  “That’s foolishness. I have a business and home in Boston. I don’t belong here,” he said aloud. The horse snorted, as if disagreeing, but Hank ignored him. What could the beast possibly know?

  The gelding seemed to follow his own path along the river, pausing now and then as if to give Hank an opportunity to direct him. Hank had only owned the black since coming west. He’d purchased the animal in Corrine after departing the train. The thought had been to ride to Gallatin House, but seeing the terrain, he knew it would be an arduous journey for a novice to take alone, especially since he’d spent more of his time in the city and knew little of life on the trail.

  A rabbit darted out from brush along the river and paused momentarily as he sized up Hank and his mount. The horse danced nervously at the interruption but quickly settled down. The rabbit’s nose wriggled as he sniffed at the unfamiliar scents, then just as quickly he dove back into the heavy vegetation and was gone. Overhead, geese made their way north, honking in such a way that it almost sounded like a bark. The skies and earth were alive with activity.

  “A fellow could get used to this place,” he said.

  Hank glanced at his pocket watch and saw that it was nearing lunchtime. The girls were always quite prompt with their meals, and he didn’t want to be late. Of course, given the oatmeal incident, Hank couldn’t say he was all that excited about any meal that Beth Gallatin had a hand in making. His stomach growled loudly, as if to protest his thoughts, however. He would simply have to be careful about what he ate. Maneuvering the black back in the direction of the roadhouse, Hank couldn’t help but think of the situation and his mission there.

  He didn’t want to believe the sisters were trying to hide the truth from him. And he didn’t really feel that Gwen meant to deceive him, but there was still a secretive nature about all three girls that left him feeling like the only one who didn’t get the joke.

  Major Worthington came bounding out to greet him. He had tried to follow Hank earlier, but Beth called him back and leashed him to the porch. Apparently she’d seen fit to set him free, for now the dog was at his side.

  “Hello there, Major. Good to have you along. Sorry your mistress wouldn’t allow you to join me earlier.”

  The dog trotted along with an occasional upward glance. He seemed to understand that Hank had no choice in the previous decision. Across the way, Hank spied Gwen out in the garden. She attacked the ground as if trying to kill something, yet he could see she was merely attempting to till the soil. Having never planted or worked land himself, Hank was really in no position to criticize, but it looked to him like she was going about it all wrong.

  Hank brought the horse to within twenty feet, and Gwen still didn’t acknowledge him. She appeared lost in her thoughts, and he almost hated to interrupt her. Major had no such concerns, however, and went up to his mistress.

  “Well, hello,” she said, pausing from her work. Her whole face seemed to light up with delight at the sight of the golden brown dog. “Are you feeling less forlorn?”

  Hank dismounted and approached with the black close behind. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “What are you planting?”

  A worried expression overtook Gwen’s previous look of delight. “We grow a hearty crop of rock in this area,” she replied.

  Hank noted the pile of rounded stones and nodded. “Looks tiresome.”

  “It is. I did manage to put in some potatoes earlier,” she said, looking back at the square of earth. “There’s so little time to grow things. When we lived in Missouri, it wasn’t hard at all. We had long, mild springs and hot summers. Day after day, we canned fruits and vegetables until I was able to do it in my sleep. Up here, however, it seems the snow is scarcely off the peaks before winter starts up again. I’ve seen snow fall in every month on the calendar.”

  “You’re jesting, right?” He could hardly believe she was speaking the truth.

  Gwen smiled. “Sorry, no. One year it actually snowed on the Fourth of July.”

  Hank shook his head. “That’s hard to imagine.” He took a step closer, knowing that he had to somehow begin to put her at ease and gain her c
onfidence—or he might never find the missing stocks and jewelry. “It seems I’m always apologizing to you, and now I find I need to do it once again.”

  Gwen looked at him and shrugged. “Whatever for?”

  “The way I spoke to you the other day. The way I’ve acted since coming here.” He smiled and hoped that his expression would prove his sincerity. “It really isn’t in my nature to be so harsh.”

  “You’ve suffered a shock in the loss of your brother. That’s never easy to deal with. You never told me when you found out about his death.”

  “It actually wasn’t until I got to Corrine. A private investigator had been able to locate him. I asked around and finally met up with the freight driver. It just so happened he knew my brother—or of him. When he talked about his having married and then dying shortly afterward, I . . . well . . . I found myself in a state of shock. I never expected that he would be dead.” It was the truth, and Hank couldn’t disguise the sadness in his voice.

  Gwen looked away. “I don’t think any of us ever really anticipates the death of a loved one.”

  “No. I don’t suppose so.”

  “The loss is so painful in its own right, but it also leaves such a ripple of other issues—loneliness, fearfulness, confusion, and an emptiness that goes on and on.”

  Hank was taken aback by her words. That was exactly how he’d felt after his grandfather’s death. Hank’s grandfather had been a good man who had filled the gaps left by an often-absent father. The void Hank had experienced upon the death of his grandfather had been difficult to bear. When his own father had died a year later, it hadn’t hurt nearly as much as losing that old man.

  “I always thought I’d see Harvey again,” Hank finally murmured. “I still can’t quite bring myself to believe he’s gone.”

  Gwen turned and met his eyes. “I’m so sorry.” She stretched her shoulders. “It’s nearly lunchtime. I imagine the girls have things just about ready.”

  She started to walk toward the house, and Hank followed along. “Is it true,” he began, “that Harvey would have died if your father hadn’t taken him in? Or was that just an exaggeration for dramatic effect?”