Year of Jubilee

by Peggy Trotter

  After he left, the cabin became so still and hot. He reached up and smoothed the hair from her forehead. Dear Lord, why was the woman in that tree? He parked his elbows on his knees and leaned his face into his hands. And he prayed. He prayed with all his might, well into the night. And somewhere toward dawn, he laid his head against the mattress and fell asleep.

  Rafe gave a startled jerk and woke himself. He was bent over with his head pillowed on the bed. What awakened me? Something stirred his hair. He jerked his head upright and met Jubilee’s dark gaze, dull with pain, her hand resting near where his head had been. Moisture filled his eyes, and he broke into a slight grin.

  “Good morning,” he said softly.

  She blinked slowly and licked her lips.

  “Here, let me get you a drink.”

  He scrambled around the room, searching out a glass and the water bucket. She sipped the water as he supported her head.

  “How are you feeling?” He set the cup down on the small table near the bed.

  She swallowed and shut her eyes for a moment, and Rafe feared she’d gone back to sleep. But then her eyelids fluttered open.

  “I…hurt...” Her voice rasped.

  “Where?” He clutched her hand.

  A flash of pain shot across her face. “Everywhere.”

  Rafe nodded. “Doc said you had several bruises and bumps to the head. I can give you some of Doc’s headache medicine.”

  She closed her eyes once more and answered without opening them. “No…just…too…tired.”

  Her expression relaxed, and he thought she’d drifted off to sleep, until she mumbled in nearly unintelligible words. “The snow was…pretty.”

  A sad smile quirked across Rafe’s mouth. He longed to draw her up and hold her until the hurt went away, but he knew he’d best leave her to rest. He leaned back in the chair, thanking God she’d awakened. He closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable, a warm rush of relief seeping through his body. He’d need his rest so he’d be alert when she revived again.

  But it was Ivan who woke him next. His friend took care of the morning chores in the barn. At the door of the cabin, Rafe realized in the clear, cold of the early dawn that six inches of snow covered the landscape. Doc Adams showed up thirty minutes later in a sleigh and, to Rafe’s relief, Jubilee’s eyes opened for the second time. He hovered close by as Doc leaned to examine her and to ask several questions. Finally, Doc stood and fixed his gaze on his patient.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Well, little lady, you’ve got a concussion and a couple of broken ribs, not to mention bumps and bruises here and there, that are bound to be sore for several weeks. You need to stay in bed for at least the next week or two. Get up and stretch a bit when you can. Bending over will probably be painful, so my advice is, if it hurts, don’t do it. No lifting anything heavier than a cup of milk.” He turned to Rafe. “I’ll leave you something for the pain, and I’ll be back to check on her tomorrow.”

  Doc walked to the table and Rafe stared at Jubilee, who drifted off to sleep. The sound of the door opening brought him out of his thoughts. He turned and darted out the door, closing it with a soft click.

  “Wait. What about her back, Doc?” Fear sliced through him as ominous possibilities haunted his mind. Doc set his black bag down on the sleigh’s seat before he answered.

  “She feels her toes and can move her extremities. All good signs everything’s fine. Since she’s conscious this morning, I figured her injuries weren’t as serious as what I initially thought. You baby her for several weeks, because she’s in for some pain while she heals.”

  Rafe nodded, his tightened muscles relaxing a bit, and he waved to Doc as he pulled away from the house. Rafe murmured in the cold, “Thanks for the miracle, Lord.”

  The next week and a half, Rafe spent most of his time waiting on a groggy Jubilee, cooking, cleaning, and sleeping on a pallet of quilts by the front door. Thanksgiving came and was a quiet affair. Elsa brought turkey and fixings, yet Jubilee, propped in bed, ate only a few bites. Slowly but surely, she started moving around the cabin. She was silent for the most part, and Rafe blamed the discomfort of healing.

  He set a bowl of his poor excuse for oatmeal in front of Jubilee before attempting a conversation. “Christmas will be here in a couple of weeks.”

  Her head shot up. “What?”

  He chuckled softly. “Christmas.”

  Her mouth fell open and she fixed her eyes on the wall in front of her. When she spoke, her words were a whisper. “What’s today?

  Rafe’s brows drew together. “It’s the seventh. December seventh.”

  He stared at her as her face turned sheet-white. Jubilee’s throat worked convulsively a couple of times before she stood up, knocking the bench to the floor with a crack.

  “Jubilee?” He rushed to her side. “What wrong? Are you sick?”

  * * *

  Jubilee closed her eyes for a long moment. How she longed to bolt from the room, but she could barely stand and toddle across the floor without pain radiating from her back and chest. Instead, she forced herself to move out from behind the table. In moments Rafe appeared, his hand on her arm, pulling the bench out of the way. She froze.

  “Stop, Rafe. I’m not a child. I can walk to the bed.” Her voice was pure ice.

  He let go and swiped his hand on the nape of his neck. She ambled to the other side of the room and struggled into bed, trying to keep the expressions of agony from flitting over her face.

  “I’m going for a walk.” His heels pounded a beat to the door. He grabbed his coat from the peg and yanked the door open.

  Jubilee panted in the bed, covered with a thin sheen of the sweat of struggle, thankful he’d left, yet moisture sprang to her eyes. Rosemary would be here anytime. Perhaps even today. Tears that had begun in her pain now flowed from a heart of misery.

  Her thoughts shamed her. What must he think of her, running to the woods and hiding in a tree like some child? She could barely lift her eyes to look at him, at his face so set and stern. However, he’d waited on her hand and foot during the last two and a half weeks. How he must hate her. The claw marks she’d discovered on her skirt indicated more had occurred than even she knew. She cringed, trying to remember her fall. She recalled the snow and turning cold and sleepy. After that…nothing.

  Yes, this physical pain was overwhelming, and intercepting Rosemary’s love letter pure agony. But the greatest torture would be when he returned to the cabin, picked up his blankets and belongings, and turned his back on her.

  * * *

  Rafe quietly pushed the door shut, threw his coat on, and set out. He shoved his hands in his pockets with frustration. They still hadn’t discussed the reason she’d climbed that tree in the first place. A cloudy fog preceded him as he exhaled into the freezing air. His chest tightened and he clenched his cold hands in his pockets. He’d thought the night they’d shared would solidify them into a couple at last, but that hadn’t happened. In fact, she’d drifted farther away. Jubilee barely acknowledged him, refused to meet his gaze, and hardly spoke two words to him. She slept so much. There had to be some explanation. Maybe her injuries were more serious than Doc thought. Rafe missed the spring in her step, but mostly worried about the lack of hope in her eyes.

  Rafe lifted his head and found himself in the very woods where he’d discovered Jubilee. With a gruff sigh, he wandered through, soon in sight of the tree from which she’d fallen. The cougar carcass at the foot of the trunk had disintegrated to just a few bones and a skull. A large amount of the snow had melted, and the landscape appeared grey and rust from the leaves littering the ground. He kicked at a mound of them, and the light breeze tossed them in a flurry of brown with chunks of snow. A larger white object grabbed his attention. What in the world is that? The wind whipped the slip of paper away, and he gave chase until he finally captured it.

  He pressed the sheet open and searched the faded letters across the page. The flowing script was difficult
to decipher. He studied it for a long while, trying to make out the words. At last, he shook his head. There was a five, he was sure of that. He squinted at the missive, and a sudden recognition of the flowing slant of the letters sent a chill through him. This was Rosemary’s writing. But this wasn’t the letter he’d received. His freezing fingers held up the paper to squint at the signature in the low winter light. Satisfied the signature said ‘Rosemary’ at the bottom, he stuffed the offending material into his pocket.

  How had this gotten out here? And why hadn’t he received it? His head jerked toward the cabin as a theory percolated in his mind. Jubilee. Was this note the reason she’d run and hidden, or had she fled because of the cougar as he’d assumed? He deliberated through the painful events of the day after he’d spent a glorious night in Jubilee’s bed. The Larssons had arrived to butcher hogs, an arrangement he’d totally forgotten, and he and Jubilee had been thrown for a loop. They’d overslept, leaving the chores undone. But none of this explained how Jubilee had received this letter. Had Elsa brought it?

  He strode toward the cabin, then stopped. If he burst into the cabin, talking all kind of gibberish about this, and not one iota proved true…well, it would have disastrous results. He took a deep breath. He’d go talk to Elsa first. Back at the barn after a brisk hike, Rafe saddled the horse in no time.

  * * *

  Elsa looked at him coolly from the door. Rafe’s face was chapped from the cold, but he wasn’t planning on staying long.

  “You ask much questions, Rafe. Jubilee might not like again I tell you.”

  “Please, Elsa. I’ve got to know if you delivered any letters to Jubilee that day.” At Elsa’s pursing of her stubborn lips, he decided to spill the beans. “Look, Elsa, I love Jubilee and I need to understand how this happened.”

  Her eyes studied his for a moment. “Yah, two.”

  Nodding his head and yelling his thanks, he bolted for the horse. His heart soared all the way back to the house. Perhaps now they’d get everything straightened out. What had he been thinking by not telling her about his ex-fiancée’s silly letter? He simply hadn’t told her because Rosemary meant nothing to him. Why, he’d recognized his love for Jubilee months ago. Rosemary’s problems were Dale’s. Not his. Now he’d calmly explain everything to Jubilee. Then he’d finally take the chance and bare his heart. He’d tell her that he loved her.

  * * *

  “I’m so glad you’re feeling better,” Esther chimed, setting the dried-peach pie on the table. “We’ve been praying up a storm for you, little lady, haven’t we, hon?

  Pastor Barnett nodded with a kind smile, settling his lanky body on the bench across from Jubilee.

  “I baked you and Rafe a chicken in the big roaster pot. I know your man has been taking care of you, so I thought I’d help out a bit.” She sat at the table next to Jubilee, who was wrapped in a quilt. Esther patted her hand. “I can tell you’re right suffering, poor girl.”

  A sob rose in her throat and she wished Miss Esther wouldn’t be so kind. It tore down her weak defenses plumb quick.

  “I’m fine, really.” But the words came out riding a bubble of hysteria.

  “Oh, hon.” Esther wrapped her arms about her.

  Jubilee cried and rested her head on the table, yet the comfort of the woman’s embrace enveloped her.

  “Why don’t you go check the livestock, Raymond?” Esther murmured to her husband.

  Jubilee kept her head down, hearing the door open softly before closing again.

  “You poor dear. You poor, poor thing,” Esther crooned, stroking her hair.

  Never had anyone consoled her with such compassion, and a fresh wave of tears trickled down her cheeks. Jubilee raised her head and peered at Esther through disheveled hair.

  “Please let me go home with you.” Oh, she’d stored those words in her heart for so long. For years she’d hoped to say them to an adoptive family as the time passed at the orphan’s society, and now she hated uttering them.

  Surprise shot across Esther’s face, and then concern. “Hon, what are you talking about?”

  Jubilee shook her head in misery. “I won’t be able to bear it, I know I won’t.”

  Esther smoothed the hair from her face and cupped her cheeks in her hands. “What, sweet girl? What are you talking about?

  “Rafe. He’s going to leave me.”

  Silence reigned. Esther searched her eyes. “He’s told you he’s leaving?”

  Jubilee’s chin quivered. “I…I just know.”

  Esther pulled her hands from her cheeks before putting her right one to Jubilee’s forehead. She arranged the quilt around her quivering body. “Let’s get you in bed.”

  Anguish weighted every step as she trudged across the floorboards. Esther fussed over her and straightened the covers while Jubilee settled back onto the mountain of pillows. The older woman returned to the table to fetch a book before settling in the chair next to her bed.

  “Listen to me, Jubilee. I don’t know a lot about you, but I know you were an orphan child. You grew up not depending on a great deal of folks, which left a scar of distrust on your heart.” Esther’s weathered eyes were blue pools. “But you’ve got to open yourself to the Lord and allow him to take the heartache away.”

  She patted the book in her lap and a small smile lit her wrinkled face. “Proverbs 3:5-6 says, ‘Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct thy paths.’”

  Jubilee swallowed a rising sob and blinked the tears from her eyes as she thought of Sarah’s sampler. The stitched verse constantly mocked her from its lofty spot above the fireplace and her gaze flicked to it. “Scripture doesn’t always come true.”

  Esther snorted. “The Lord’s words aren’t fairy tales, hon. They’re promises from an all-powerful God. And God keeps every single one. He may not answer the way we figured, or in the manner we plan, but he most certainly fulfills every vow.”

  Esther pressed the book into Jubilee’s palms. The leather-bound volume and Esther’s comforting hands clasping hers warmed her soul.

  “No matter what happens,” Esther whispered, “God will take care of you.”

  Jubilee’s mouth parted and her heart swelled. Could the answer be so easy? No, of course it wouldn’t be easy. But it’d be bearable. Understanding flooded her soul. Suddenly Esther’s words were clear. Yes, with God’s help, she could endure Rafe’s departure.

  At that moment, the thunder of hooves sounded from the front yard.

  “You think on what I said and read the good book.” Esther squeezed Jubilee’s shoulder before setting off to answer the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “Fire. Fire at the church. Hurry, Pastor,” young Patrick Riley yelled from the back of his horse.

  The yell echoed into the cabin with a blast of chilly air and Jubilee rose up in bed.

  At the door, Esther caught her breath before grabbing her cloak. “Oh, my glory.”

  “We’ll be right there.” Pastor Barnett’s voice was louder now as he called from the porch. “Hurry, Patrick, and tell the neighbors. We’re going to need lots of help.

  “They’ve already started a bucket brigade, Pastor.”

  “Good. We gotta go, Esther.”

  “I’m sorry, dear. It’s an emergency. Please forgive us.” Esther swung the black wool cloak around her shoulders and picked up her empty basket from the table. She hurried to the bed and leaned down to hug Jubilee and kiss her cheek. “Please be praying…about everything.”

  “I will.”

  The door closed, and Jubilee slid to her knees beside her bed.

  * * *

  “They need everyone’s help.” Patrick was off like a shot aboard his quick Morgan pony.

  Rafe urged his own mount to a gallop and covered the ground to his home in a matter of minutes. Once at the cabin, he slid from the horse and burst through the door. Jubilee knelt beside her bed and alarm jangled his nerv
es. “Jubilee?”

  “I’m fine.” She struggled to a standing position before he could assist her. “You’ve got to get to the church.”

  A million thoughts raced through his head and he searched her tear-streaked face. So much to say, but this crisis left so little time. His arms ached to gather her to him, his lips longed to press against her ear to whisper endearments. Plus, there were countless things to discuss and restore. But these matters would have to wait. Mutely, he nodded and made for the door. He caught her words as he pulled the door shut.

  “I’ll be praying.”

  * * *

  The next two and a half weeks disappeared in a flurry of cleaning the charred mess that had been the church. The people of the surrounding community rallied around the tragedy and donated the necessary building materials in a matter of days. Rafe and the men of the church were determined to raise the new structure before Christmas, and celebrate the sacred holiday within its fresh walls.

  Rafe, Ivan, and several other men stayed nights at the Barnetts. They rose in the dark of early morning and worked throughout the day until well past nightfall, lighting the area with lanterns. Ladies of the church took turns checking on and preparing meals for Jubilee, and Elsa and little Britta became a permanent fixture at the Tanner cabin.

  By the 24th, the men had accomplished their goal. The new church graced the landscape where only burnt ruins had been. On the last day, the men joined forces to pick up the tools and scraps of wood scattered across the frozen terrain.

  When they had finished, Ivan, fatigue outlining every crevice of his face, clapped a thick, chapped hand on Rafe’s shoulder. “What say ve go home, yah?”

  Rafe filled his lungs with icy air and grinned as he skimmed his eyes over the clean new building, bald without a coat of paint. That’d have to wait for warmer weather. “I’m all in, my friend. Let’s go.”

  Arriving at home, he stabled Horse while Ivan collected his wife and daughter from the cabin. As Rafe hiked from the barn, his friend tied his horse to the back of the wagon. Rafe approached and shook his hand.