by Tricia Goyer
Yet, she had to know. And—her thoughts moved a different direction—why would he have spent so much time with her if he had no intention of courting? Why did he almost kiss me? He was surely a more honorable man than that.
A few moments passed, and he turned to the window, gazing out at the blank darkness as if finding his story.
“When I was no older than little Bea, my father was off fighting in the Indian wars.” He glanced at her briefly, and then his gaze turned to his hands—the strong, working hands that had caressed Julia’s face just hours before. “He’d left my mother alone with us children. There was no man there to protect her when a band of Apaches came through looking for revenge. Those Indians—they killed her.”
Julia longed to reach for his hand. Instead she rubbed the back of her neck, squeezing it, trying to ease the tension. “I’m so sorry.”
“I love my father, make no mistake. He’s a good, godly man, and he raised us the best he could, but I always promised myself I’d never leave a wife alone.” His deep brown eyes gazed at hers. “So when I felt God’s call on my life to be a circuit preacher at the age of sixteen, I knew the transient life—always moving from town to town, sleeping on the prairie, never having a permanent home—would not provide the safety a wife would need. I couldn’t let what happened to my mother happen to a wife. So I promised God I’d never marry.”
Julia’s gaze stayed on his face, and she waited for him to continue.
“I knew Milo back then, and he encouraged me to go to seminary—to prepare for ministry—back in my hometown of St. Louis, so I did. And while I was there I met a young woman.”
“Bethany?”
Isaac closed his eyes then opened them. “Yes. We were young and full of dreams and ideas, and we got swept away by a romantic idea of love. The week after I graduated, I asked her to marry me, laying aside my promise to stay single. She said yes, and we made plans to wed in the fall.
“The next month, I journeyed here, to Montana, where Milo had hoped I’d start my circuit-riding ministry. Just as he’d foretold, I soon felt the inward call to minister to the flock here.” A slim smile formed on Isaac’s lips, and he glanced upward, as if traversing back to that time. “When the small group of believers asked me to become their pastor, I longed for nothing more than to fetch Bethany and start our life here. But when I returned to St. Louis, where she was waiting for me…”
Julia sensed the pain in his voice. She silently leaned closer, praying to be a comfort to him, whatever words came next.
“She’d been killed.”
“Oh, Isaac.” Julia ached to take his pain away—as he’d done for her. “What happened?”
“While I was gone, a group of drunken cowboys, returning from a round-up, came through town. She was out walking alone.” His voice dropped to a harsher tone. “We caught one of them—Buck Wiley. He told us when she refused them, they put their hands on her and scuffled. A gun went off—accidentally, according to Wiley—and before any of them knew what happened, she lay on the ground in a pool of blood. She died that night. Alone in the streets. If I’d been there…” Isaac’s gaze pierced into Julia’s.
“But you can’t think it was your fault.”
Such pain filled the parson’s face—and something she thought she’d never see in his eyes. Fear. An anxiety that seemed to grip him tighter than his words could express.
“I know God wasn’t punishing me for breaking my promise. I believe that now. But losing her, after I’d known the danger…” He shook his head. “I don’t think I could suffer that kind of loss—or guilt—again.” He stood and paced to the sofa.
A sick pain lodged in Julia’s throat. Even though she didn’t want to admit it, she knew what he was implying. He was no longer talking about Bethany. He was talking about her—about them.
Retrieving his hat, Isaac stepped back and faced her. “I’m sorry, Julia. I never meant for any of this to happen. I shouldn’t have…” His eyes met hers, and he squeezed them shut. “I shouldn’t have offered you anything more than spiritual guidance.” He stepped closer and softened his voice. “After last night I thought maybe I could change…to be with you.” He lifted his hand, and Julia thought he might touch her cheek, but he lowered it again. “But talking about Bethany brings back all the reasons I made the promise in the first place. It’s not safe for a wife to be alone on the prairie. I couldn’t risk your safety.”
Julia saw Isaac’s chest rise and fall. She knew he ached inside, but pain throbbed in her heart, too. “You—you led me to believe…”
Isaac’s eyes pleaded with her. “I’ve done wrong by you, and I don’t blame you if you never forgive me.”
Julia swallowed, stifling the tears, refusing to let them rise. “You never expressed any intentions.” Disappointment filled her like a flash flood, but anger did, too. Anger at herself. Why did I let myself hope? I had no right to expect a happy future—not for me, a poor orphan with no family but a flighty headmistress. She waved her hand. “I wasn’t planning on staying around anyway, so you don’t have to worry.” She stood and turned her back to him, knowing if her eyes snagged his, she’d no longer be able to tame her tears.
Behind her, she heard his boot step closer, then pause.
She continued. “Abe says the train comes through every year on the Fourth of July—hasn’t missed that arrival for years.” The idea of getting on that steam engine, going back to New York as she’d planned, now left a raw ache in her heart. When Isaac’s arms had wrapped around her, the strength of his embrace—the comfort of his closeness—had settled over her, resolving her mind with an almost unconscious decision to stay…
Yet it wasn’t to be, and allowing him to witness her disappointment would only prolong her suffering. She pushed away the pang of rejection and stood straighter. Her foolish dreams were all over now. Her choice was clear.
She whirled around, facing him with renewed intensity. “So, even if I don’t hear from Mrs. Gaffin by then, I’ll find a way to be on that train. I’ve heard of women working on the trains to pay their way. Or perhaps I could borrow the money from…someone…and get a job in New York to pay it back. However I do it, I will find a way to go back to New York on or before July fourth.” Julia waited for Isaac to respond, but he said nothing. A sparrow chirping outside the window was the only sound that met her ears.
Finally Isaac nodded, as if coming to a decision. “It’s probably best for you to go back—best for you, I mean.” His voice faltered, and Julia wondered if the regret she felt pounded through him as well. “But to go by yourself? It’s not safe.”
Julia shook her head. What did he think she’d been planning to do this whole time? She’d never even considered a chaperone. Didn’t need one. Plenty of women traveled alone these days. She’d even heard of women homesteading by themselves. They’d need a man’s name on the deed, but after that, they were able to manage it alone.
“I’ll be fine.” She turned her head to catch his gaze, which eyed the floorboards. “It’s not your concern.”
“Julia…”
“You better go on home and get some rest,” she finally said. “And I think I’ll do the same.” She crossed her arms, pain coursing from her chest to her stomach.
She’d been abandoned before. First her parents, then Mrs. Gaffin, Bea and Shelby, and now Isaac. The love of a family wasn’t to be hers after all—never would be. Her hands trembled, despite her resolve to be strong. Her knees felt weak. She closed her eyes and an image rushed before her—of him placing his hands on her shoulders once again, telling her he’d changed his mind.
But he didn’t speak. Instead he tipped his hat, his eyes sending an unspoken apology.
And he left.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Isaac told himself he needed to eat, smile, spend time with the people he’d dedicated his life to—even if it was the last thing he felt like doing.
The Captain Matthew Jay family, one of his favorites, and other parishioners sat
around the long table at the Jay home. Everything about this afternoon should’ve created joy and contentment in Isaac. He dearly loved the faithful Lodge Pole church family. Mrs. Jay’s cooking was the best for twenty miles—and Isaac had eaten at most every dinner table in the surrounding townships. He always relished the one day set aside for worship and fellowship. Yet Isaac sighed as he swathed butter atop Mrs. Jay’s honey cornbread. Why can’t I enjoy myself?
He couldn’t shake the loneliness gnawing at him. His mind had been distracted by one thing, or rather one person, all day. He just hoped no one from Lodge Pole noticed.
The Jays came from a wealthy family back East. Isaac glanced around the house. Not only did they boast a separate kitchen—a luxury in these parts—but a large parlor, too, where both children and adults were now gathered. The air from the open window blew in, swirling the scents of the fresh-baked bread, leg of lamb, and fried potatoes. Tommy Jay, seven-year-old son of Captain Matthew Jay of the cavalry, gnawed a bite from his ear of corn. “Boy howdy, Parson,” he spouted, kernels stuck between his teeth, “that sermon went on for a coon’s age.”
Isaac, slowly emerging from his thoughts, set his fork next to the fine china plate, which he knew was reserved for visits from the parson. “I suppose it was a mite long.” The boy’s comment rattled his already gloomy mood, but he searched to find something agreeable to say. “You did a fine job sitting still.”
“My pa said if I didn’t embarrass him during the sermon, he’d give me a penny.” Tommy furtively peeked at his father manning the head of the table and then plunged his hand into his pocket and pulled up a bright copper piece. His smile spread. “I did pretty good considerin’ that dull sermon. I like it better when you’re all fired up.”
“Tommy.” His mother, who’d been dishing up the dessert in the kitchen, entered just in time to hear her son’s indiscreet remark. Her brunette eyebrows scrunched in warning. “Mind your manners. Parson Ike preached a fine sermon.” She smiled sympathetically, which made Isaac feel worse.
Isaac had reached Lodge Pole early that morning, pleased for the opportunity to preach the Good News. But a few hours ago as he’d stood in their parlor—with the dining table pushed to the side—expounding on the awe-inspiring symbolism of the temple garments in Exodus, he sensed the churchgoers’ lack of interest. The drooping eyelids, yawns, and even a sustained snore from Grandpa Pete had been hard to miss.
He didn’t blame them. His sermons this past week had lost their spark. He’d attempted to remedy his sagging preaching by spending hours in prayer and meditating on the Word. Yet, perhaps because every time he grabbed his Bible the beautiful new leather cover roused memories of the person whose skilled hands had sewn it—or perhaps simply because of his own unruly emotions—his mind remained preoccupied. The peace that usually cloaked him like a garment had been lost somewhere on the trail as he headed east—away from Lonesome Prairie—leaving him feeling exposed and alone.
He took a bite of the pound cake drenched in marmalade. Gazing out the window at the gloomy sky overlooking Main Street, his thoughts churned as the conversation carried on around him.
Since walking out of his sister’s house that night, leaving Julia in his wake, he’d struggled to regain his normal routine. Maybe it was the memory of the heartbroken look on her face that made him cringe. Everything about her—her tears, smile, laugh, curiosity about the Bible—was etched in his mind. And the indescribable light in her eyes. How it felt to hold her…
Little Tommy finished his corn then reached for the piece of cake his mom offered. “Mmm.”
Isaac knew how to discipline his thoughts, and he’d done that. He’d not allowed himself to doubt his decision. It was for her safety as well as his own peace of mind. For the most part, he’d succeeded in shoving away the images of her.
Yet one phrase replayed in his mind over and over. Milo’s words. It is not good that the man should be alone.
Milo hadn’t understood. He’d thought Isaac’s choice stemmed only from his obligation to the ministry. That was only part of it. If Milo were here, he’d see the wisdom of Isaac’s decision. He’d support him as he always had.
Isaac longed to believe that.
“Do you want to play with us, Parson?” Mrs. Jay set out a board game called Parcheesi on the table. “We’ve got room for one more. It’s quite a hoot.”
“I want to play!” Tommy piped up from his spot next to Isaac.
Isaac shook his head. “I don’t know how. I’d rather watch anyway.” He ruffled the boy’s hair, returning to his thoughts as the family members moved their pawns around the board.
After he’d left his sisters’ ranch, Isaac had returned to his soddy for some rest, but at the first call of the magpie, he’d set out to return to his long-neglected circuit. He was more determined than ever to persist on the path he and Milo had charted—preaching, the school, even more orphan trains, and eventually a hospital. No more veering onto jackrabbit trails.
The school’s supplies would arrive on the train in just three weeks, and he still didn’t have a teacher. Of course, the idea of preparing for the classes sent his thoughts back to Julia. If only he could ask her to take the job. In his mind he viewed her explaining fractions and Shakespeare’s Henry V to an enthralled classroom of Montana’s youth. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more….” He could see her rousing the children’s interest.
But how could he expect her to change plans and stay in Lonesome Prairie? He picked up his mug and took a swallow of the freshly boiled well water. A wave of shame, as tangible as the liquid flowing down his throat, overtook him. He recalled the disappointment on her face when he left that night, her effort to hold back tears—tears that he caused. How could he ask her to bury the anger and hurt she must possess toward him and take on a working relationship?
The truth was he didn’t know if he could bear to be near her, either. Perhaps it was better that she return to New York. Julia had told him her plan to get a job in the home of Mrs. Gaffin. That sounded safer than trying to make it on the vast Montana prairie with its outlaws, hardships, and even the land and weather that seemed to fight against the hardworking homesteaders. Yet even as he thought this, a claw of anxiety pawed at him for her safety on the return trip. He knew the evil that resided in men’s hearts, the dangers that could steal a beloved one away forever….
His mind rolled and swayed. There had to be a way for him to get her safely home. He owed her that much. He’d do the same for any young woman under his influence.
“Coffee?” Mrs. Jay held up the tin coffeepot, waiting for Isaac’s response to her offer.
He was just about to decline, thinking he needed to head out in order to make Fort Belknap by first candlelight, but his answer was forestalled by a pounding knock on the door.
“Lemme in!” a voice demanded. “I needs ta talk ta Parson Ike.” More thumping hit the door. “Lemme in!”
The captain stood, marched to the door, and opened it. “What do you want, sir?”
Isaac followed the captain. “Horace?” He eyed the old prospector, whose face was contorted with worry. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Parson Ike. I’m glad I found ya. Done hightailed it all the way from Old Scraggy Hill.” He shoved his palms to his thighs, catching his breath. “You gotta come. Them vigilantes are headin’ up to Jim’s cabin fer Mabelina.” He grabbed Isaac’s wrist. “We gotta go right now.”
The tone in Horace’s voice told Isaac that the situation was serious. He knew Jim would protect Mabelina from the vigilantes—at all costs. “All right, Horace. I’m comin’.”
Isaac glanced around the room. “Forgive me.”
Mrs. Jay thrust his Bible into his hand. “You go on. Those folks need you.”
“Well, then, thank you.” Without another word he hurried to the stable with Horace alongside him.
“All right, tell me what happened,” Isaac said as they strode toward the stable.
“I were out
on the Beaver River pannin’ fer gold when I seen a posse take off toward Old Scraggy Hill. I overheard ’em say they were searchin’ fer the woman who done shot Elder Godfrey. Heard ’em talkin’ ’bout splittin’ the bounty.”
Isaac’s gut squeezed tight.
“The thing is, I know’d them two newlyweds were out at that ol’ cabin. Me and him used ta squat thar’. I saw ’em headin’ up that way last week when I was pannin’ out on the river. They all happy and married, an’ I thought, gee, it’s too bad she had ta use me to make ’im jealous when he done loved ’er all along.”
They reached the stable, and Isaac mounted Virginia, her butterscotch coat muted in the cloud-coated light. “Thanks, Horace.” Isaac reached down and touched his shoulder. “You did the right thing by finding me. I’m real proud of you.”
Horace beamed up at him. “The Good Lord’s workin’ on me.” He tipped his chin up. “I’ll shoot up a prayer.”
Isaac nodded then set off.
Julia lost count of how many mornings she’d risen before the rooster’s first crow this week. Sleep seemed to arrive late and depart early. Yet she plodded through her days, counting down until she’d return to New York. Despite the busyness of the household, the hours seemed to trickle by.
Finished with breakfast dishes, Julia wiped her hands on her apron and edged out of the kitchen. She passed Abe and Jefferson as they ambled through the sitting room on their way back outside to tend the sheep and, little by little, build a prosperous life for their families.
She’d been watching the two men. They were sheepherders, and while they did care about the animals, it was evident the men’s priority was to provide for their wives and children. Julia stifled a twinge of shame at the jealousy creeping into her heart.
And yet it was easy to be envious of Elizabeth and Miriam. These women had husbands to create a home with. Where was Julia’s home? She’d lost it years ago when her parents died. Now the closest thing to home was with Mrs. Gaffin. But she hadn’t heard from her.