“I didn’t know there was another Mrs. Smith in Dawson County.”
“Well, there isn’t. I mean, it’s the same Mrs. Smith. The one that came with you ladies.”
“But…they hardly know each other.”
Linney shrugged. “I guess they know enough.” She leaned forward as if about to share a secret. “If you want to know what I think, I think it was Davey McDonald that made Mrs. Smith say yes. He needs a ma worse than anything, and he is awful cute. Mrs. Smith said it was love at first sight with her and Davey. Mr. McDonald telegraphed over to Cayote to have the circuit rider come here after he does all the weddings over there.”
“All the weddings?” Caroline said.
Linney nodded. “Uh-huh. Five so far. All on the Sabbath.”
I wonder if the sisters are getting hitched. I wonder if they’ll wear plaid. Stifling a soft laugh at the idea, Caroline rolled the length of cloth up, tied it with a string, attached the paper with the measurement, and tossed it in the washtub. “Did you say Martha’s opening the store on Sunday?”
“I know. It’s the Lord’s Day. But Martha says the Lord will understand that folks need a store open when they come to town, and sometimes that’s Sunday.” Linney tilted her head. “Do you think she’s right? Will God understand that?”
Caroline didn’t feel qualified to speak for the Lord. She could just imagine Mother Jamison’s reaction. But then, Mother Jamison wasn’t someone Caroline had ever wanted to emulate. Martha, on the other hand, was exactly someone to admire. God had always seemed so far away, Caroline had never considered that he might have an opinion about things like running a store, much less “understand” a business-woman’s decision about hours. She reached for another bolt of cloth.
“Not that one!” Linney snatched it away. She counted the folds along the end. “Martha would have my head. There’s still enough here for a dress.”
“But who would want to wear it?!” Caroline blurted it out before she thought, then forced a laugh as she pointed to the bright orange calico. “Can you imagine twenty-some yards of that sashaying down Main Street?” She shuddered.
Linney giggled. “Well, you do have a point.” She considered the fabric. “I think maybe the mill included it by accident.”
“Or to get rid of it, hoping no one would notice.”
Linney began to unwind it. “It wouldn’t be so awful…in little tiny pieces. Maybe in a patch quilt?”
“There’s no way to make that blend,” Caroline said. She pondered the rest of the cloth in the washtub. “But maybe…if a woman scattered it about…with some dark blue…then it might…” She searched for a word…“glow. Or glimmer?”
“Shimmer,” Linney said, savoring the word.
“Yes.” Caroline nodded. “That’s it. It will make your quilts shimmer.”
“We should make a sign. If Mrs. Bailey comes in and we can get her to use it and talk about it, the rest of the ladies who come to town will likely buy it all by day’s end. Everyone admires Mrs. Bailey’s quilts. And wouldn’t Martha be pleased if we sold all of it?”
The bell rang, announcing a customer. Linney looked up from her work and, with a squeal of delight, launched herself at the man who’d just come in the door. The man who’d rescued Caroline’s parasol…carried her into the Immigrant House when she twisted her ankle…and now stood with Linney on his arm…staring at Caroline with those blue eyes.
“It’s Mrs. Jamison, Pa. You remember her. From the dance.”
Caroline could feel herself blushing. “A-actually, Linney…I didn’t see your…pa…. I left when—”
“Oh…right. You left after Mr. Cooper escorted Lowell Day—” She cleared her throat. “Well…” Linney looped her arm through her handsome father’s. “This is my pa, Matthew Ransom.” She gazed up at him adoringly. “This is Mrs. Jamison, Pa. She’s one of the Emigration Society members who stayed here in Plum Grove. And they’re really staying. They’re getting homesteads!”
Beneath the gaze of those blue eyes, a self-conscious Caroline reverted to her upbringing and bent her knees in a little curtsey, even though it pained her ankle to do it. “How do, Mr. Ransom. Pleased to meet you.” She was aware that she grimaced and apologized. “I really am pleased…it’s just that my ankle still pains me some.”
“Pa-a,” Linney sang out, sounding embarrassed when he still didn’t speak.
Ransom started, then walked to where Caroline was standing beside the mercantile counter and held out his hand. “Excuse me, Mrs. Jamison. I’ve been out of proper society for so long, I’m afraid I’ve forgotten my manners.” When Caroline extended her own hand toward him, he bowed low and touched the back of her hand with his lips. Or his beard. Either way, it deepened Caroline’s blush.
Her heart hadn’t pounded this way since that day at Union Station. That had been fear. What was this? You are losing your touch, Miss Caroline. The ladies of Mulberry Plantation—well. Whatever it was they did in situations like this didn’t apply anyway, because now it was Caroline’s turn to stare as she realized all in a rush that the man who rescued parasols and such was the very same man about whom Martha and Will had despaired for so long. The one they said was doing better. The one who had abandoned a perfectly nice little homestead on account of his wife’s death. All of that flew through Caroline’s mind in such a rush, she had to ask Mr. Ransom to repeat whatever it was he had just said.
“I was wondering if you would mind watching over the store for a few minutes for Linney,” he said. “I’ve something I need to discuss with her. Something I intended to talk over last Friday.”
How she knew it Caroline could not say, but at that moment the thought flashed through her mind and then fixed there. Matthew Ransom had not yet told Linney he’d sold her birthplace. She looked away to keep from showing her disapproval. She could see the flash of dread in Linney’s eyes. The girl knew her father well. Caroline spoke, not to Matthew Ransom but to Linney. “I’ll be right here, honey. You take all the time you need.”
Martha returned to the store before Linney came back. Caroline told her what had happened—without her personal opinions attached as to a man’s being a coward to do something so monumental behind a child’s back—and then asked, as coolly as possible, “What is it exactly that Mr. Ransom does? Linney seemed surprised to see him.”
“Oh, Matthew traps. Trades. Hunts.” Martha frowned. “I can’t remember the last time he came into Plum Grove twice in one week. Did he say why he was in town?”
“Only that he needed to speak with Linney,” Caroline said. She bit her lower lip to keep from saying more and concentrated on tying the knot around a small roll of calico.
“By the way, that ‘shimmering’ idea is a good one.”
“It was as much Linney’s idea as it was mine.” The silence grew uncomfortable. Finally, Caroline spoke up. “This is none of my affair and I will say that for you. But the fact is, I like Linney.” She swallowed. “He came to town to tell her he’s sold her home, didn’t he? Without discussing it with her. He just went and did it.”
Martha gazed out the front store window. “I’m afraid so.” She sighed.
“Well,” Caroline said. “I can understand why he might not want to go on livin’ there. And I can even see his sellin’ it if he’s wantin’ to move forward. But not tellin’ Linney until it’s done? That is just downright cowardly.”
Martha sighed again. “You’re right. The thing is—Matthew would probably agree with you. That’s not who he is…who he was—” She broke off. Shook her head. “If you could have seen him with Katie.” Martha paused. “I am so sorry, Caroline. Now I’m the one who’s being insensitive. You know how Matthew feels much better than I ever could. You’ve been widowed, too. Again, I apologize.”
Caroline waved the apology away. “Marryin’ Basil was a childish act of defiance. My daddy said it was a stupid thing to do, and he was right. I may be a widow, but I’ve no idea what it’s like to have someone you deeply love die.” She fa
ltered. “Which, I suppose, means I’ve got no right to say unkind things about Mr. Ransom behind his back.”
Martha didn’t speak to that. Instead, she spoke of Linney. “She likes you, and she’s getting to an age where a girl needs someone besides her mother—or the woman who raised her—to talk to.” She covered Caroline’s hand with her own and squeezed it, then went back to measuring calico, talking while she worked.
“Matthew and Katie had just set up camp on their claim when Will carried me across that threshold.” She nodded toward the mercantile doorway. “My, but they were a beautiful pair. Purely crazy over one another. Matthew had just finished the soddy you saw yesterday when his team bolted. The wagon overturned and they were all three thrown out. It’s a wonder they weren’t all killed.”
Caroline glanced up at Martha, who was standing still, gazing into the past as she murmured, “I’ll never forget it as long as I live. I was standing right behind this counter and Matthew came into the store. He looked like he’d been in a terrible fight. And he moved like he was a hundred years old. He’d been hurt in the accident, too, but he didn’t even seem to feel it. He had Linney by the hand and a little bundle tied up with her things in it. He picked her up and set her right here on this counter,” Martha said. “And all he said was ‘Katie’s gone, Martha. I lost her. And our baby.’ I didn’t even know Katie was expecting again. They hadn’t told anyone. He almost broke down when he said that, but he managed to ask me if I could keep Linney for him until he decided what to do.” Martha sighed as she returned to the moment, her gaze meeting Caroline’s. “That was nearly eight years ago.”
Just hearing the story opened up something deep inside Caroline. She thought of Hettie and the way she trembled when the subject of husbands came up. Poor Hettie couldn’t even talk about her husband without crying. Ruth made no secret of the fact that her General had been “the love of her life.” And now all of this about Matthew Ransom’s broken life. It shamed Caroline that all she felt about poor Basil’s being gone was relief.
Martha sighed. “Linney’s grown up with Will and me just as much as her pa. But Matthew loves that girl. Oh, how he loves her. You call him a coward and maybe you’re right. Maybe there is cowardice in not telling her about selling the place. But it was no coward who brought me his little girl all those years ago. That was a man protecting his child from seeing what he might do or say while he grieved for Katie. He gave up everything when she died. Moved out of the house…just left it all the way it was. The last time I went with Linney to put flowers on her mother’s grave, the house hadn’t changed a bit. Katie’s needlework was still hanging above the front door.”
“Hope On, Hope Ever,” Caroline murmured.
“That’s it. That’s the one.”
“Linney will be devastated.”
Martha nodded. “Yes. At first. But she’s also uncommonly wise for a child her age. And after she gets past being angry with him for the way it was done, I think she’ll see it as a sign he’s letting go of the past—in a good way. She dreams of keeping house for him. She’s even begged him to move to town. Maybe that’s going to happen.” Martha smiled. “Wouldn’t that be something. After all this time.”
Caroline finished tying up the last bundle of orange fabric. She carried the washtub full of remnants to the door and placed it right where a woman would see it the minute she set foot in the mercantile. She gestured to the tub. “I could make a sign.”
“A sign would be grand.”
As Caroline lettered a sign, Martha cleared the countertop of the empty cardboard around which the fabric pieces had been wrapped. She brought another box from the supply room and began to arrange cards of black jet buttons on a shelf inside one of her glass display cases. Every sound had her looking toward the door.
Look! Remnants at the best prices! Make your quilts shimmer! Caroline had just set her sign in place in the washtub when Linney bolted through the door, her face streaked with tears, her father at her heels, pleading for her to listen.
“I’m sorry. I was wrong. I’m so sorry, baby girl.”
Linney whirled about. Swiping at her tears with the back of one hand, she said, “Don’t call me your baby girl! Don’t you ever say anything to me again!” She ran out of the room. Caroline could hear her stomp up the outside staircase leading to the living quarters over the store. The door slammed. Caroline couldn’t think what to do. A trapdoor beneath her feet would have come in handy at that moment. When she finally managed to move, Matthew Ransom was still standing by the washtub. Caroline slipped by him and out the door.
Matthew sat up, his body drenched in sweat, his beard soaked with tears. Time was supposed to heal all wounds, wasn’t it? Then why was he having more nightmares just when he was trying to break the bonds that kept dragging him into the past? Selling the homestead was the right thing to do. And yet these past couple of nights had been among the worst in recent memory. Well, what do you expect? You’re such a coward. Afraid to face your own daughter. Going behind her back. You should have told her and taken her out there. Packed Katie’s things together. Made sure she met Jeb Cooper right away. She’d like Jeb and you know it. That would have helped. Coward. Fool.
With a sigh Matthew swiped at his face with the back of his hand. Some nights he thought that if he had eyes to see the spirit world, he would see Katie or an angel or his mother or maybe even Jesus himself looking down on him with sad, disappointed eyes.
At times like this it didn’t do any good to try and go back to sleep. He’d just lie there and debate the ghosts in the room, and he’d end up in the same place he always did.
Feeling lost and bitter and as if those things Jesus said about forgiving others just didn’t apply in some cases. It had taken Matthew long enough to get to the point of forgiving Katie. But he’d done it.
He’d finally gathered enough pelts for Martha to order a proper tombstone, too. A metal one from Iowa with a border of oak leaves all around the lettering that no amount of weather would ever wear away. Katie had lamented the absence of oak trees out here. She would have them on her gravestone at least, and he would plant another one this year. Cooper would be glad to keep it watered, and Linney would like that, too.
Linney. What a mess he’d made of things earlier today. And right in front of Caroline Jamison. At least she had the decency to slip out the door and give him some privacy. He’d wanted to chase Linney up Martha’s stairs, but Martha said no. Give her some time, Matthew. You’ve handled this badly, but she’ll come around. Just give her some time. How much time was what Matthew wanted to know.
Time. It had taken him eight years of time to get to this point, but he had made progress, and with Jeb Cooper on the homestead, Matthew somehow felt that would free things up for both him and Linney. He wasn’t ready to buy a place again, but he was at least thinking of spending more time in Plum Grove. In fact, he was almost ready to tell Vernon Lux he’d take that job building wagons and move into his back room. And didn’t that show the progress he had made? As for the rest of it, the best he could do was to keep it buried where it could do no harm beyond his dreams. Some people did not deserve forgiveness, and no amount of dreaming or imagined whispers from the very mouth of God could change that.
With a sigh, Matthew threw back the tangle of furs he used for bedding. He rose and made coffee and fried an egg, savoring the rare treat. Martha had nestled a few eggs in straw in the pocket of his buckskin coat before he left town yesterday. “They won’t make it back to the dugout,” he’d protested.
“But even if only one does, won’t it be a nice treat?” And it was. Especially with the yolk left runny to soak into the biscuit crumbs he sprinkled on top. Wide awake now, Matthew sat at his table and looked around the dugout. That stack of pelts collecting in the far corner might just be his last. With people pouring in to settle the area, the good days of trapping would be over soon.
Thoughts of newcomers in Dawson County made him think about Caroline—Mrs. Jamison—again. W
ith a last swig of coffee, he stood up. After collecting a few tools, Matthew slid his rifle into its scabbard and stepped outside. As daylight washed the deep shadows off the hillside above his dugout, he pulled his door closed behind him. It was going to be a fine day. Sunshine. Warm air. Lifting his face toward the sky, Matthew said thank-you to whatever spirits might be listening. As he mounted his pinto pony, he saw a hawk soar across the sky in the distance.
Linney had a right to be upset with him. But she’d forgive him. She was better than he was in that. Linney had a forgiving heart.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.
ISAIAH 55:8
One loud thwack, a few beats, another thwack, a few beats, another thwack. Whoever was working—and Matthew assumed it to be Jeb Cooper—was taking exactly one smack of a hammer to drive nails. That indicated both physical power and prowess. But what would Cooper be building? On a day like this a man should be plowing and planting. He’d never be a successful homesteader if he didn’t. It’s not your homestead anymore. And it’s definitely not your place to tell a man how to farm.
Even after he topped the rise just behind the house and could see Cooper down below, Matthew wasn’t sure what the man was building. The wagon stood near the back of the house. It didn’t look like he’d unloaded anything, save for the pile of lumber they’d strapped atop all those boxes. A series of rectangular frames leaned against the back wall of the house to the right of the door. As he got closer, Matthew realized Cooper was hammering at yet another. Why would a man need that much shelving? Was he one of those hermits who laid in stores for a year so he wouldn’t have to go to town? Look who’s talking.
Cooper’s oxen grazed off in the distance near a couple of cows, the latter staked out. They’d already grazed a semicircle clear. As Matthew watched, first one and then the other folded its legs and sank down into the grass, content to bask in the morning sunshine and chew their cud. A sow suckled her newborn farrow inside the small sod enclosure built for such. And then Matthew saw the spot on the prairie where his heart lay buried. Inside an iron fence.
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