by Tricia Goyer
A week had passed since her conversation with Mrs. Hamlin, now Gaffin. The moon’s dreamlike beams cast faint shadows on the street as Julia sat on the cool stone steps outside the orphanage.
The church bells chimed midnight. Though her own cobblestone street was quiet, the rumble of hooves and wagons and the shouts of impatient hansom cab drivers blended in a comforting dissonance from a few blocks away. Sounds she’d fallen asleep to for the last eleven years.
A crisp breeze swept through, and Julia rubbed her arms to fight off the chill. An old newspaper fluttered and caught on the breeze. It landed against the boardinghouse across the street, leaving The New York Times plastered on the stone wall.
Julia remembered an article she’d once read in the Times about a woman who had traveled from Albania to the United States with her five young children, all under the age of eight. She’d longed to escape her abusive husband, a leader in her home city’s government. When she arrived on Ellis Island, the authorities arrested her for kidnapping and wrenched her children from her. The article said they had to pry the woman’s fingers from her baby, who was screaming from the pain of his mother’s grasp. The picture in the paper showed the woman crouched on the ground, her hand reaching out as if to reclaim her children by sheer will.
Heaving sobs shook her shoulders. Each night since Julia had learned that the orphanage would be closing, she’d sat on these steps in the humid May air and wept. Tonight she wiped tears from her cheeks and shuddered, struggling to calm herself. In a few hours she’d march her thirty-two girls to Grand Central Depot. At nine o’clock they’d board the train, and in the weeks to come at each stop along the way, it would be her duty to hand her girls—whom she loved as sisters, daughters—into the care of unknown families.
I don’t know how I can do this. She longed for her father’s strength—his sturdy build, his warm smile, the safety she so clearly remembered feeling in his arms—and her mother’s wisdom and sound advice.
“Trust the Lord.” Julia twisted a strand of her long dark hair around her finger as she repeated her mother’s words. “You may not always understand His ways, but He will never leave you.”
Julia pulled in a shaky breath. God, please don’t leave me.
This was the last night she’d spend in New York for a long time. She stood and gazed at the brick buildings lining the cobblestone streets. So familiar. In her mind’s eye she traveled one last time through her weekly routine. She imagined the vendors who knew her by name when she shopped down by the waterfront. Her Saturday afternoons with the girls at Central Park. And church on Sundays. She glanced at the tall steeple of their church looming above the city buildings like a shepherd watching its sheep. She’d miss it.
This was also the last night she’d be able to weep over losing the girls. Once on the train, she’d smile, laugh, sing, and play. She’d be strong and brave and never let her dear children see a hint of her concern. She’d be their mother.
One last time.
Chapter Four
“Oh, Lord, no!” Isaac flew to his friend’s side.
Milo’s wife, Aponi, dashed to her husband. No tears flowed. Only quick determination showed on the woman’s face. Her hands, skilled from years of caring for wounded and ill neighbors and travelers, tore through Milo’s several layers of shirts. A bullet wound, ripped and ragged, trickled blood onto his chest. Aponi gasped despite her obvious attempts to remain controlled. From Milo’s strained breaths, it was clear the bullet had punctured his lungs. Isaac just hoped it had missed his heart. Blood pooled on the floor.
“Move chairs, girls.” Aponi pressed the skirt of her fashionable Sunday dress into the wound in the left side of his chest as she directed her daughters. “Ruth, watch little ones. Alice, boil water. Dusty!” she hollered at the bartender. “Whiskey!”
Isaac knelt next to her, silently awaiting her instruction.
“Need bandages,” she said in a deep, focused voice, without shifting her eyes from her husband. “And your shirt.”
Isaac took off his only preaching shirt and handed it to her, smoothing his undershirt. Yet he knew Aponi’s attempts to stop the bleeding wouldn’t be much help if Milo’s internal organs were damaged. It was the bleeding in Milo’s insides—if there was any—that would take his life.
Pressing his shirt on top of her dress, Aponi tilted her face toward Isaac. Her gaze pierced his. “Pray, Parson Ike. Pray.”
“I am praying.” He glanced up to see Horace, Giant Jim, and Mabelina sitting at one of the poker tables holding hands. Their eyes were closed and Giant Jim’s mouth moved. “And so are they.” He pointed to the table. “We’re all praying.”
He gazed into his friend’s pale face and panic gripped him. He couldn’t lose Milo. Please, Lord.
Years before, Milo had attended the same seminary as Isaac, but the Lord had called the successful sheep rancher to support the church rather than to lead it. How would Isaac survive without his mentor’s advice, love, and support? Please, Lord. I need him. Need his wisdom, sound judgment, friendship.
And Milo was also the only person who respected Isaac’s decision to stay single. What a relief to have one person in Montana Territory who didn’t badger him about finding a wife.
Mary, one of the near-grown daughters, rushed to her father’s side with a water bucket and washrag in her bronze hands. She mopped his forehead. “You will be fine, Papa. You will be fine.” A strand of long black hair slipped from her braid to her moist cheek. She pushed it behind her ear, wiping the tears as she struggled to speak words of comfort.
Isaac longed with every impulse to comfort Mary and the other girls. O Lord, please don’t let these children lose their father. He knew the years of loneliness that losing a parent would bring—knew the missing never went away.
Isaac laid a hand on Mary’s arm. “You’re doing well, Mary. You are a good nurse.”
After a moment, Milo’s eyes pried open and he uttered a name. “Warren.”
Milo’s stepson rose from his place at the corner table. All color had drained from Warren’s face. “Dear God.” It was an exclamation rather than a prayer. Milo motioned with his hand and the stocky, young upstart approached and knelt next to the wounded man.
“I’m here.” Warren awkwardly patted his arm. “What do you need, Father?”
“We never finished my will.” Milo’s voice was hoarse. “Promise me you’ll take care of Aponi and my girls. Make sure they have enough.” A rasping cough seized him, before he finally added, “And the school. I promised to pay for the supplies. Take care of that.”
“I promise.” Sweat dripped from Warren’s forehead onto Milo’s neck. “Don’t worry.”
“Isaac,” Milo called next, dismissing Warren.
Isaac leaned in. “Don’t give up, my friend.” His throat felt thick. “We have too many plans. I can’t do it without you.” He grasped the sheep rancher’s hand—a hand rugged from years of laboring with sheep in the fields, a hand gentle from shepherding God’s people with kindness and love.
His and Milo’s plans emanated from their passion to redeem this land. Both men knew the only way to “civilize” the West was for God’s sanctifying work to change men’s and women’s hearts. They’d spent many prayerful hours laying out a plan. First, Isaac would preach the Word at every opportunity—something he craved to do.
Second, the orphan train. Isaac had persuaded the Children’s Aid Society to send a crop of destitute city children right here to Big Sandy via the train depot, and the first group would arrive in less than a month. He’d hoped many families would take in the children, and many here and in the surrounding townships had promised they would. Caring for orphans had been Milo’s dream. Let him live to see the children arrive…please, Lord.
Their final dream was the school. How many hours had they spent planning it? The school that would be a refuge for prairie children and Indians alike. The school that would keep children with their families rather than away in boarding institu
tions. The school that provided another step toward spreading the gospel to the western territories.
“Isaac…finish all we started….” Milo struggled for breath.
“I won’t give up, my friend,” he said, but doubt gripped him. Without Milo Godfrey, could there be a school? Would everything else crumble as well?
Now wasn’t the time to worry about that. Isaac needed to exemplify strength for his parishioners—to help and comfort his sheep.
Milo turned to his daughters. As Isaac stepped back to give them a moment together, a woman’s jovial voice called from the swinging door of the saloon, an awkward interruption to the somber setting. “Where’s my brother?”
Isaac looked up and saw his two sisters and their families standing in the doorway. Milo’s daughters crouched around their father as Isaac slowly rose and walked toward the door.
Isaac herded his family onto the porch, and their countenances fell when they noticed the pain on his face. The blood on his hands.
Miriam, his oldest sister, peered past him. Her belly bulged with child, and Isaac’s nephew Josh hung on her leg. Seeing Milo on the floor, her hand flew to her mouth as if blocking a shriek. “Is that Elder Godfrey? Oh, Isaac, what happened?”
Isaac explained.
“We came to hear your sermon,” his sister Elizabeth added, “but one of the wagon wheels got stuck in a rut. All the mud…”
“In a week it’ll be dry,” Isaac commented absently.
“Go to him,” Elizabeth whispered, patting his hand. “We’ll pray.”
His family joined those at the table in prayer, and Isaac returned to Milo.
His friend’s face had faded to a pale, greenish hue. His breathing faltered.
Aponi’s eyes fixed on Isaac, her face stoic, but her brown eyes brimmed with fear and disbelief. “He will not live.”
“I know.” Isaac wrapped an arm around her.
“Isaac,” Milo mumbled, his blue eyes opening. “You need a wife. A good one like Aponi.”
He’s delirious. Isaac nodded. “She is a wonderful woman,” he said, avoiding Milo’s point. “God has blessed you.”
“That vow you made is stupid. ‘It is not good that the man should be alone.’ Remember.” The dying man grumbled and lifted his head slightly.
“Stupid? I thought you understood why I—”
“I was trying to let you figure it out yourself.” Milo coughed, and a trickle of blood seeped from his lips. “But you need a good woman. Find one. Promise you’ll try.”
“I’m sorry, my friend, but I can’t.” Isaac patted Milo’s hand. “Don’t worry about that now.”
“Promise.”
Isaac shook his head.
“Stubborn!” Milo’s head sank back, his eyes closing again.
After what seemed like a long time, Milo’s eyes opened and searched for his wife. “Aponi, I love you.”
“Your eternity. It has come.” Her voice faltered. “God is with you.”
Isaac opened his Bible to Psalm 23. “‘The Lord is my shepherd….’”
And by the end of the psalm, as Aponi rested her head against her husband’s chest, it had stilled.
Chapter Five
“I’m bored,” Liza, one of the five remaining girls, whined in her Italian accent. She twisted around in the bench in front of Julia and rested her chin on the tall seat back. “Three weeks is too long to sit on this rumble-tumble train. My sedere hurts.”
Julia rubbed her forehead and threw the girl a cynical glance. “I know. We’ve heard you at least a dozen times…today.” Julia patted Liza’s dark hair. “And it’s so much harder on you than the rest of us.” Julia winked.
Liza stuck out her lower lip. “It is, Miss Cavanaugh. It really is. I’m more miserabile than anyone.”
“Oh brother.” Shelby, sitting next to Julia, rolled her eyes.
Julia tucked a bookmark into the last Wild West novel she’d brought with her, The Prairie Knight, and returned it to her valise. She was eager to find out what happened but knew she’d have to wait.
Soon I’ll have lots of time to read. She needed to focus on the five girls who remained. The twenty-seven others had already gone to new homes at stops along the way.
At first Julia had been uncertain of the system. Who were these men and women who would be taking her girls into their homes? Thankfully, the nun from the Children’s Aid Society had explained everything to her. Local clergy recommended the families, who promised to provide the girls with the same food, clothing, education, and spiritual training as they would any biological children. Yet Julia had wondered if her girls would receive the same love.
Julia’s worries had eased when she’d met the mothers and fathers along the way. Their tender gazes, open arms, and kind words assured her the girls would be cared for.
At the next town, the five sitting in the seats around her would also be handed over to new parents. And though she was grateful the girls would have new families and hopeful futures, she realized that for the first time in her life, she’d be alone. The wrench tightened in her stomach, but Julia chose to focus on the present—not her fearful future. I should enjoy my girls while I still have the chance.
“Did you finish your stitching, Liza? Do you need help?”
“I’m sick of stitching!” Liza pinched her lips together. Standing, she announced, “I’m going to ask the conductor how much longer. He’s sitting in the dining car. I saw him.”
“That’s fine. A walk’ll do you good.” Julia blew out another breath and focused on the never-ending Montana prairie that passed by the window like a blurred Monet painting.
“Maybe you should go, too, Miss Cavanaugh,” Shelby said. “That conductor’s so handsome.”
Julia’s cheeks warmed, thinking of the tall young man who’d “conducted” them on their journey. “He does have really nice eyes, doesn’t he? So dark and mysterious.”
“I think he likes you.”
Julia shook her head. “Oh, he’s just a friendly sort. Besides, who’d want a husband always gone on another train trip? Not me.” She adjusted in her seat. The trip had been long, and if Julia was honest, her sedere hurt, too.
Over the miles, the landscape had transformed from bustling cities of the East to small townships to miles of uninhabited wilderness. Small depots and water towers located at regular intervals provided brief respites from the smoky, chugging train ride. For the first few days, the girls had awoken every time the train stopped to have its water tanks refilled for the steam engines. After the first week they learned to sleep through it all.
At many depots farther west—out past Nebraska and into the Dakotas—the sound of new construction filled the air. Town plans were a common topic among land scouts, who frequently joined Julia and the girls on the train while surveying the prospective new communities. They talked about the six-mile-square townships and showed one another their sketches of roads and buildings.
Peering out the window in the evenings, Julia caught glimpses of the first residents’ flickering campfires in these sprouting gardens of America. She wondered what dreams and hopes these late-century pioneers had carried with them—and what they had discarded along the way.
Julia fumbled through her bag for the letter she’d started writing to Mrs. Gaffin in Bismarck, North Dakota. She remembered that remarkable territory and how, at one of the depots, she’d seen a mighty elk, antlers stretching against the sky, chest puffed proudly. She ran a finger over her penciled descriptions.
Dear Mrs. Gaffin,
First, as we passed the Mississippi River (I can hardly believe I was finally able to see the “Mighty Mississippi”), I saw loons and eagles swirling for prey over the waters. As we traveled farther west, you wouldn’t believe the prairie critters! Meadowlarks, coyotes, prairie dogs—their diminutive forms propped up like little street beggars. I even saw a herd of bison. How huge they were! Pictures in books do not portray their strength and power. I am eager to see more.
The girl
s have been good. I’ll write again soon.
Yours,
Julia
Intending to post the letter at the next depot, Julia placed it on the top of her new valise.
The wind outside picked up, and the prairie grass swayed gently. So far the West had been all she’d dreamed. Looming buttes, acres of lush sage, wild prairie roses and foxgloves, vast skies, and rambling streams. And how she loved the people she’d met at the depots. Such peculiar characters, just like out of her books.
Just this morning they’d met a woman, Mabelina, in Fort Benton. The stocky, cherry-haired woman lavished warm greetings on them. When she learned their last stop would be Big Sandy, Mabelina grasped Julia in a full hug.
“We need good womenfolk in my town.” A twinkle lit her brown eyes. “Our parson needs a wife!”
Julia had chuckled and explained she was only dropping off the remaining girls and would immediately return to New York. The woman’s whole face frowned, and then, as quick as a city rat could scamper off with a dropped morsel, her face depicted sweet joy once again.
“Oh well, the Good Lord’s sure to bring someone, someday.”
“Miss Cavanaugh.” A voice jolted Julia from her thoughts, and Liza rushed in. “The conductor said Big Sandy is five miles away. Fifteen minutes. We’re almost there! I can’t wait to meet my new parents. I just know they’re good people.”
“I good people!” Bea, who’d been snoozing in the seat behind Julia, wobbled to her and clambered onto her lap. Julia lifted a ledger from her bag. The nun at Grand Central Depot had given it to her before they’d left New York. It listed where each girl would be living.
Bea sat up on Julia’s lap. “I go Wonesome Pwaiwee.”
Julia viewed her list. “That’s right. I suppose it must be a town close to Big Sandy. Sounds wonderful, doesn’t it?”
Shelby scooted next to Julia and leaned her head against Julia’s shoulder. “It doesn’t sound good to me. Sounds lonely.”