by Tricia Goyer
His dark eyes unsettling her, Julia sucked in a breath.
The parson fixed his eyes on her and seemed to shift uncomfortably in his saddle. “Miss Cavanaugh, uh, I need to tell you”—the man sucked in a slow breath—“I’m sorry…”
Perceiving his purpose, she nodded quickly and looked around him toward the train. “There’s no need to apologize. Thank you, but,” she pointed ahead, “the train will be leaving. I have just a few minutes.” She walked around the horse, moving forward again. So he wanted to make things right. Maybe he wasn’t so rude after all.
Isaac jumped down and hurried toward her, leading his horse.
Julia curved stray strands of her hair behind her ear. “It’s really all right, Parson,” she called over her shoulder. “My behavior also left much to be desired.”
He reached her. “No—you were—fine.” His eyebrows slanted as he gazed at her, and Julia couldn’t help but notice his strong jaw line.
Her knees softened. Her hands trembled. A new nervousness came over her that had nothing to do with the train. What’s wrong with me?
He kept pace beside her. “You’re an admirable woman to take care of those children as you have. I’m sorry for the way I treated you. It was inexcusable.”
She looked to him again.
His lips formed a crooked grin. “I am a rude parson.”
Julia halted her steps and shifted her gaze to him. “No, you’re not.” She shook her head. “It was awful of me to say. I’m sorry.”
A surge of wind tugged at Julia’s skirt. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed it also tipped Isaac’s hat. He moved his hand to settle it.
“I also wanted to tell you,” Isaac continued, as they set off again, “that I’ll be praying for you.” After a quiet moment, he continued. “Do you have a Bible?”
“Yes, in my valise.” The bag weighed heavy on her arm. Isaac took it from her, his fingers grazing her sleeve.
“I don’t mean to assume anything,” he continued. “I don’t know if you’re a Bible-reading person, but if you think of it, you may want to read Psalm 63:1. It brings me a lot of comfort.”
Julia tilted her face toward his. A soft smile, genuine as if springing from a soul at peace, graced his features. Julia understood why his parishioners would turn to him in times of trouble. She knew his kindness stemmed from his occupation, but she appreciated it nonetheless.
“Thank you, I’ll do that.” She viewed the train and gave an apologetic smile. “I really have to go. The train won’t wait.”
The sound of creaky wheels and a slow shuffle as from an animal broke the moment.
Isaac turned. “Oh no, I almost forgot. Horace?”
“Did I hear my name?” Horace pulled up in his wagon.
Horace eyed the parson. “Why’d you take off so fast, Parson Ike?”
“I needed to talk to Miss Cavanaugh here, and I wanted to catch her before she got on the train.”
The old character grinned and winked at the parson, then he turned his full attention to Julia. “So, little missy, can I give ya a ride the rest of the way?”
Julia glanced at Isaac. He frowned and shook his head.
“Thank you, but I, uh, think I can make it on foot,” she said, taking his unspoken advice. She moved forward. “I’m almost there now.”
Horace nudged his mule, and it pulled the wagon beside her. Isaac kept pace on the other side, leading his horse. Julia fanned her face with her hand. She needed air.
“I thought we could go somewhere to talk for a bit, miss.”
Julia’s gut wrenched. Her day had been troubled enough; she didn’t need another distraction. She forced herself to send the man a smile. “I’m sure I’d be happy to, but…the train.” It was at least the tenth time she’d said that. Why didn’t these men seem to grasp the urgency?
Horace halted the wagon and hopped off. He marched to her side, papers clutched in his hand. Stepping back, she nearly bumped into the parson. His hand caught her, resting in the small of her back. An embarrassed rush of warmth rose to her neck, and she moved herself forward.
“The thing is,” Horace grinned, “I’m gonna be talkin’ to ya. If ya wanna do it right here, that’s downright fine. Whatever suits ya.”
Julia’s gaze focused on the train waiting at the depot. Her heart pounded. They’d be boarding soon. If she hurried, she still had time to find her seat and get situated. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t quite know what you want.” Julia pulled her valise from the parson’s hand and took a step toward the train. “I really need to go.”
Horace jounced in her way, his portly body continuing its movement after he stopped. “Now hold on, thar, miss. I got somethin’ to show ya.” He handed her a photograph. “That’s you, ain’t it?”
Figuring the only way to get past was to humor him, Julia glanced at the photo. Her jaw dropped. How’d he get that?
It was her. About two months ago, long before Julia knew of the orphan train, Mrs. Hamlin had insisted she go to a photographer. Mrs. Hamlin said she wanted a photograph, for a keepsake. Julia had thought it strange. “Yes, that’s me.”
Horace took off his hat. Sparse hair bobbed wildly in the wind. “Then I’m the man you came fer. Horace Whitbaum. Your new husband.” He stuck out his hand. “Nice to make yer acquaintance.”
Isaac swayed to Horace. “I don’t think you understand,” he stated calmly—much more calmly than Julia felt. “Miss Cavanaugh isn’t planning on staying here. She needs to get to the depot.”
Julia tossed Isaac a grateful smile, still unable to imagine that this gray-haired man thought she would become his wife. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’m not intending to marry anyone.” She spoke as sympathetically, yet firmly, as she could. “So please. My train will be leaving in a few minutes.”
“Horace, you’ve got to let her go.” Isaac’s voice took on a parental tone. “Now stand aside.”
Horace pushed his lips in and out, as if he was trying to find the right words. His eyelids lowered, his nostrils flared, and he swallowed hard. For a moment Julia thought he was going to cry.
There was something sad about the grungy man; he reminded her of the abandoned puppy Ardy had brought to the orphanage. She’d had to turn that poor little creature away, too. Julia dared to touch the man’s filthy arm, telling herself she could wash later. “I’m sorry.”
“C’mon, my friend.” Isaac gazed at him. “Let’s go talk. I’ll buy you a sarsaparilla.”
But Horace didn’t stand aside. Instead, he held up the papers. “Says right here on this letter from a Mrs. Hamlin that yer my wife. Look.” He shoved the papers, flapping in the blustery breeze, toward Julia.
At the sound of Mrs. Hamlin’s name Julia felt short of breath, as if an invisible force had cinched a corset tight around her waist. I have a surprise for you, dear, the headmistress had said. Could this…could he be the surprise?
Julia’s knees quivered, and she hoped she didn’t faint like the ladies in the dime novels. Even if Isaac caught her, the embarrassment wouldn’t be worth it. Reluctantly she set her valise at her feet and took the letter. It was dated months ago.
March 13, 1889
Dear Mr. Whitbaum,
What luck! I just so happen to have a young woman under my care who is in desperate need of a husband. There’s a good chance she’s coming to your area soon. If you send the required funds, I’ll make sure she’s on the train.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Edith Hamlin
Julia blanched. Oh, Mrs. Gaffin, you didn’t. I’m a grown woman, and you—a hopeless romantic with no common sense!
A sick dread grabbed her stomach. The man was serious. He really thought he had a right to her. And clearly Mrs. Gaffin knew about the orphan train long ago. How long had she been planning this? Julia’s foot tapped the ground, stirring up the wisping dirt. She looked at the next paper. It was a promissory note.
I, Edith Hamlin, promise to use the money you wire to send Julia Cavanaugh
on the train leaving May 15, 1889, to be your wife.
A notary stamp and Mrs. Hamlin’s signature were on the bottom of the page.
“Oh dear,” Julia whispered.
“I done good, didn’t I?” Horace said, grinning at the parson. “Gotta make sure them big-city folk don’t swindle ya.” He pulled a crumpled envelope from his pocket. “Almost fergot. This one’s fer ya. I sware I didn’t open it.”
He held out a letter addressed to her. With limp fingers, Julia opened the envelope.
Dearest Julia,
I can barely contain my giggles. How surprised you must be right now. You knew I would take care of you, didn’t you? When I saw Mr. Whitbaum’s ad in the Times, I couldn’t believe he lived near the same place the orphan train was going. I knew all along you’d be staying out there! With your new husband, no less. A prospector! Imagine the luck! I can only hope you’ll be as happy with your Prince Charming as I am with mine. I know this world can be a lonely place sometimes. A husband will care for you even when I can’t. Thinking of that does my old heart good.
Please don’t thank me, dear Julia. It’s the least I could do for all your years of faithful service to me.
Love,
Your Mrs. Hamlin
(which will be Mrs. Gaffin by the time you read this)
Julia slowly looked up, avoiding Horace and sending a silent, pleading cry for help to Isaac. “It says she promised me to him.”
“Don’t worry.” His dark eyes displayed compassion. “It can’t be valid.”
Horace cleared his throat and growled at Isaac.
Hesitantly, Julia turned her focus toward the wide, gap-toothed smile that shone from Horace’s face.
“I done got you this.” Before anyone could stop him, Horace knelt down and held up a silver ring. “’Tain’t much, but it’s fer you.” He grabbed her hand. “Will you marry me, Miss, uh, hold up.” He glanced at the paper. “Oh yeah, Miss Cavaunaw-guh?”
Julia shook her head. “Mr. Whitbaum, please stand up,” she begged.
Horace frowned as he creaked to a stand.
The train whistled, and the engine’s rumble vibrated the ground. Julia clutched her valise. Every muscle in her body wanted to fly to that depot and let the train take her far away.
Horace’s eyes peered at her. “Well? Will ya?”
“No!” Julia said. “I don’t care what papers you have. I’m not going to marry you.”
Horace’s eyes squinted, and his forehead scrunched. Then he clamped onto her arm and yanked, making her fall into him. “But you got to.” His voice sounded desperate.
Isaac grasped Julia away from Horace. He settled her, making sure she was steady on her feet before pulling Horace aside, their backs to the depot.
Julia saw her chance. She grabbed up the valise and darted to the train with quickened steps. One hand held up her skirt, the other swung with the motion of her valise. She knew ladies should not run, but she didn’t have a choice.
“Parson Ike,” Julia heard Horace’s loud voice say as she scampered away. “It’s real lonesome out here bein’ by myself. None of the fine ladies out here’ll have me, I don’t think. Plus, I done paid good money.”
Any pity she might have felt for the poor man was overcome by her desperation to reach the depot in time.
Yet after a few strides, she knew the train was no use. The long chain of railway cars began to slowly chug away from the station, and as it gained speed, its black smoke streaked across the cloud-dappled sky. Julia slowed her pace. Her steps stilled. And as the wind whipped her hair again, she watched her future fade into the dust.
Isaac spied Julia’s shoulders slump when the steam engine departed, and compassion for the woman filled his chest. He couldn’t imagine the pain she’d endured earlier in the day, and now, to be left here. Isaac knew the prairie he loved seemed desolate and uncivilized to city folk—even foreboding, frightening. It had for him when he first arrived from St. Louis. And she’d come from the biggest city of all.
He glanced at her still form as she watched the train disappear and knew he should comfort her. Of course, the first way to help was to handle Horace.
Isaac returned his attention to his distressed companion. “I’m sorry, my friend. You just can’t force someone to marry you—or love you, for that matter.”
Horace shook his head like an unbroken horse. “That’s where you’re wrong. I told you. I done paid fer her.”
“Why, you’re about as stubborn as I am,” Isaac said, realizing the simple-minded settler might not be easily moved. And, looking at Julia, he couldn’t really blame the man. Were he the type to marry—which he wasn’t—he’d hope to find a wife like Miss Julia Cavanaugh. Beautiful, definitely. Brave. Kind and loving. And a hard worker—she must be—taking care of all those children. Gracious to forgive him. And when he’d touched her back… Isaac shook his head, brushing off his straying thoughts.
But what to do about Horace? He glanced at the Bear’s Paw Mountains outside of town, where the man lived. “Why don’t you take my sister’s wagon back to her and then head home? On your way, do some talkin’ with God. Miss Cavanaugh just missed her train, so there’s no rush.”
The slouching man suddenly perked up. “That’s right. I can be a real gentleman suitor.” He wiggled his fingers together in excitement and then hopped on the wagon. “I’ll be back fer ya!” he called to Julia, whose back still faced them. “You’ll see. I’ll make you love me yet.”
Julia rotated toward Isaac from her spot. The evening sun created a candle-like glow on her pretty features, and the wind sent her hair and skirt dancing softly about her. He removed his parson’s hat and palmed his hair, then stepped toward her.
She shook her head. A slight, sad smile arched her lips. She looked disappointed, but there seemed to be something else in her gaze, too. Gratitude?
Julia stepped forward and met him halfway. “Guess I’m stuck here for a bit.”
Isaac nodded, trying to exude as much compassion as he felt. “Yes, miss, you are.”
Chapter Nine
A grasshopper landed on Julia’s leather traveling boot as she inched her way toward the parson. She possessed no mental energy to plan. No tears to cry. Not enough strength to fear. The only emotion that rolled through her was a bizarre urge to laugh at the absurdity of her situation. When she awoke this morning in the sleeper car, she knew this day would be one of the most difficult of her life. Yet she’d never imagined quite this much turmoil.
She glanced at the parson. “The next train is…when?”
The parson’s brown hair caught in the wind as he tilted his head toward her. “Well, it’s supposed to come once a week, but,” he raised his eyebrows apologetically, “it’s hardly ever on time.”
Julia took in a breath. “Maybe I can send a telegram to Mrs. Gaffin to wire some money.”
Isaac shook his head. “Let me take you back to the hotel.” His lips formed a compassionate frown. “I think you should talk to my sister Miriam. She’ll come up with a plan.” Isaac picked up his horse’s reins from the dust, clutched her valise, and guided Julia beside him.
Julia trudged along in silence.
After a few moments, the parson turned to her, a hint of a smile on his lips “So,” he said, surveying the landscape, “not much different from New York, eh?”
Julia eyed him, not sure if he was serious. “Excuse me?”
His playful grin broadened. A twinkle lit his eyes. “I mean, I’ve never been there, only read about it in books, but it’s pretty much like our Big Sandy, right?”
Like Big Sandy? “Oh!” she blurted, catching his joke. How did he know she needed a distraction? She could play this. “Well, there are many similarities, but I suppose it’s a little different.”
“That’s what I thought.” Isaac grinned, spurred on by her comment. “See over there?” He pointed to the rickety wooden water tower. Loose planks stuck out and the wood appeared old and worn. Julia wondered how it managed to sta
y standing with all the wind. “It’s almost as tall as the Statue of Liberty. Don’t you think?”
“Definitely,” Julia said. “Maybe taller. And so regal, just like the Lady.”
A rustling sound emerged from the tall grass, and three antelope hopped across their path.
“It’s the New York Easter parade. I feel like I’m at home.”
Isaac chuckled softly then placed his finger over his lips and stopped walking. “Look.” He pointed toward the small mountain range to the east, where Julia’s loving new fiancé, Horace, apparently lived.
She eyed a beat-up shack tucked into the hillside. “Where do you want me to look? At my future home with my husband-to-be?”
Isaac angled his head. “Don’t worry about Horace. I’ll talk to him. He’s actually a good man, but once he gets his mind stuck on something—”
“Such as marrying a mail-order bride who didn’t know she was even up for ordering?”
“Really, you shouldn’t worry. Now look.” More antelope galloped through the field, shifting and turning as one body. Their shadows danced across the yellow grass at odd angles. “They were headed back to their herd, probably searching for water up yonder at Gold Creek.”
“Beautiful. Like a ballet.”
Isaac bent and picked a sprig of sage from a skinny bush. “Smell,” he said, holding it to her nose.
“Sage. I like it.”
“See? Old, primitive Montana’s not as bad as you thought, is it?”
The horse whinnied, and Julia reached up and rubbed behind its ears. She glanced at the never-ending prairie grass and the tiny group of shacks that made up the town. She shook her head. “No, it’s not.” She peeked up at him with a smile. “It’s worse. Much, much worse.”
“What?” Isaac gasped, a teasing glint in his eye. “How could you say that?” He nodded to her, and they continued walking.
“I never thought it’d be so empty. It’s not like this in books. Authors make it seem like the West buzzes with folks living in real towns, with sheriffs, banks, and storekeepers. Dancing girls. Like an adventure.”