by Tricia Goyer
No matter. In a few weeks she’d return—if she could avoid becoming Mrs. Horace Whitbaum till then.
The prospector hadn’t shown his face since that afternoon in the barn, but the threat of him always loomed over Julia. Why had Mrs. Gaffin accepted his money? If she hadn’t, Horace would probably have forgotten all about her by now. And why had Mrs. Gaffin offered her to him—a stranger—in the first place? Julia slowly shook her head. Because her former headmistress saw the lovely ad in the paper and thought it’d be the perfect way to take care of Julia. It was her way of providing.
She did love the woman’s kindness, but if only Mrs. Gaffin had more common sense! Julia had to admit, though, that doubts were starting to creep in, and the longer she didn’t hear from Mrs. Gaffin, the more those doubts took root. What if when she finally reached New York, Mrs. Gaffin no longer had need of her—or worse, didn’t want her around?
“Julia, honestly, you do too much.” Miriam patted Julia’s arm as she entered the house from outside, where they had eaten breakfast. “You already did all the dishes? I was just coming in to help.” She rubbed her lower back and leaned against a kitchen chair, then plopped into it with a winded sigh. “I’m gettin’ mighty ripe.”
Julia squeezed her shoulder. “You poor thing. Just let Elizabeth and me do the dishes from now on.”
At that moment, Elizabeth sauntered in and pinched her lips together. “Was Miriam trying to do the dishes again? I told her to come inside and rest.”
Miriam laughed. “If you two had your way, I’d do nothing else.”
Julia nodded, forcing herself to sound cheerful. “Yes, she was trying to boss me around again, but I didn’t listen. With that baby coming any day now, she shouldn’t be on her feet.”
“No, no.” Miriam dismissed their concerns. “I’m fine.”
Elizabeth shook her head as she exited through the front door with a bucket in hand. “You still need to rest,” she called over her shoulder.
A yawn pushed its way from Julia’s mouth, and she stretched. “I think I might need to sit a spell myself. Do you mind if I go back to my room? I’d like to finish my sampler—if I don’t fall asleep first.”
Her eyes angling in a compassionate slant, Miriam patted the chair next to her. “Sit down here with me first. I’d love the company.”
A twinge of anxiety hit Julia. She’d been avoiding discussing Miriam’s brother with her all week, and she didn’t want to have the conversation now. Isaac’s intentions—or lack of intentions—had crystallized the night he left, and Julia had accepted that. She only wished she hadn’t let her desires go as far as they had. She thought back, remembering the last smile he’d given her that night before she’d told him about the Bible. The smile of appreciation, admiration, even love. But it was the last smile.
What was the point of discussing it with Miriam, or anyone? “I really am quite tired.” She inched her way to her room.
Miriam opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by the sound of Shelby and Johannah padding through the house with Bea tagging along behind.
“Your students are ready.” Shelby pointed through the window to the backyard table, where all six of Miriam’s children—along with Julia’s cluster of other pupils—sat with their hands folded.
Julia smiled and pulled Shelby into an embrace. “Did you put them up to that?”
Shelby and Johannah peered at each other and giggled. “We thought if we were really good, we could do school today.”
Elizabeth re-entered, and Bea scurried over to her. As Elizabeth gathered the little one in her arms, a renewed sense of affirmation struck Julia about returning to Manhattan. The girls were in a good, safe home. They were loved and accepted. She wasn’t needed as their caretaker anymore. They did need a teacher, but someone more qualified could do that.
Julia glanced at Shelby and Johannah. “I’m sorry, girls. Not today.”
Both girls’ shoulders drooped, and Julia noticed frowns on Miriam’s and Elizabeth’s faces, as well.
“Please, it’s been a whole week.” Johannah smiled sweetly, her voice persuasive.
Julia massaged the back of her neck, wishing she could rub away the knots. She hated to disappoint everyone, but with the lack of sleep—and the weariness in her heart—she just couldn’t force herself to teach them anymore. What did it matter? She’d be gone and forgotten soon.
“Maybe tomorrow.”
Elizabeth shooed the girls away. “Off you go. I’ll come out in a few minutes. I’m no teacher like Miss Cavanaugh, but maybe we can do some reading and writing.”
Shelby and Johannah moaned as they slogged through the door.
Now even more, Julia longed to avoid Miriam’s conversation. She needed a respite from this place, these people. “You know, I think I’ll go for a walk instead. Maybe that’ll perk me up a bit.”
Miriam remained silent as Julia shuffled through the room and reached the door. Opening it, she spied a teenaged boy with his hand raised as if ready to knock.
“Oh! Howdy, miss.”
Julia stepped aside, and the boy strode in as if he owned the place.
“Homer, what’re you doin’ in these parts?” Miriam welcomed the boy inside. “Let me fetch you some water.” She went into the kitchen.
Julia closed the door behind him, noticing a letter in his hand.
“I was just on an errand for my ma,” he called to Miriam in the kitchen. “Seems this letter came in on this mornin’s stage.”
Miriam returned and exchanged the mug of water for the letter. Her eyes glanced over it, and then she gazed up at Julia.
Julia’s heart raced. Please let it be from Mrs. Gaffin.
“And I’m supposed to tell folks that we got word ’bout the train.”
“What about the train?” Julia asked eagerly.
“Well, seems like there was some kind of mudslide back in Minnesota. Real bad one, covered a huge section of tracks. They say it’s gonna take a few weeks to get it uncovered. So the train’ll be delayed.”
“It’ll be here for the Fourth, though, won’t it?”
Homer nodded. “Oh yeah, sure, but the weekly arrivals won’t be comin’. The next train won’t be till that one on the Fourth.”
Julia released a relieved sigh. “Well, those weekly ones weren’t very reliable anyway.”
“Just passin’ along the information.” Homer handed Miriam the glass, thanked her, and left.
“It’s for you.” Miriam held out the letter.
Julia grasped it and scanned the envelope. It was from Mrs. Gaffin. She closed her eyes and clutched it to her chest. Finally.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Isaac slowed Virginia’s trot as he noticed more trees spilling onto the prairie ahead.
Almost there.
The rickety old cabin, he knew, was on the top of the tree-lined hill in the distance. It wasn’t exactly what he considered the perfect honeymoon spot, but he supposed that to the newly married couple, it really didn’t matter much. He just hoped that the vigilantes hadn’t arrived yet.
A shootout’s not exactly what I had in mind for today’s agenda.
Isaac took off his hat and wiped his brow with his red bandanna. He sat back in his seat, signaling to Virginia to slow. Then, before he even had a chance to step off, he heard a familiar voice filtering through the trees.
“Step back! I’m not afraid to take on all of ya.” It was Jim’s voice, backed by Mabelina’s sobs.
Isaac stepped slowly, quietly up the hill. Lord, help me know what to do. Protect those who belong to You. Bring peace.
Isaac dropped Virginia’s reins, knowing she would stay right where he left her, and raced up the evergreen-strewn hill. The front door to the cabin was open, and he saw the backs of four men. Three, he guessed, were paid lackeys. The fourth—a stocky man with a tan, wide-brimmed hat—must be their leader.
He jolted to a stop as he approached and realized the three lackeys aimed Colt .45 pistols at Giant Jim.
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Isaac’s heart pounded as he watched the stocky man approach Jim and shove a small, pearl-handled derringer against the newly redeemed man’s temple. His back was turned, and Isaac couldn’t see his face. It was like witnessing a raccoon holding a pistol to a bear. Isaac knew that in five seconds flat, Jim could overpower the stocky man. It was the other three he worried about.
“Jim! Let them take me,” Mabelina, almost completely hidden by Giant Jim’s mammoth frame, said between gulping cries. Seeing that her husband wasn’t backing down, she turned her attention to the men. “Don’t shoot him!”
“Just hand her over!” the stocky man in the front commanded.
“You’ll hafta shoot me first.” Jim closed his eyes. “God, take me home.”
The man cocked his pistol, and Isaac sucked in a breath.
“Stop!” Isaac shouted. He raised his hands and stepped slowly onto the porch.
The three lackeys turned, guns now on him. Isaac looked upon each face. Their eyes were narrowed, their gazes hardened. No light reflected from their eyes, and he knew with one word from their boss they’d have no problem shooting him, too. Isaac’s eyes moved to the barrel of the closest gun, and faces of those he loved flashed before him. Dear Lord, help me.
Isaac swallowed hard. “There is no need for violence,” he said, voice raised.
Then, as if his feet had a mind of their own, he dashed forward and stood beside Giant Jim. “Men, put your guns down. We’ll talk about this.”
The three gunmen, seeing that Isaac was a parson, relaxed their stance. Isaac inspected the leader, whose iron was still shoved against Jim’s head. The man turned, and Isaac suddenly wanted to vomit. “Warren?”
Milo’s son was the leader threatening to shoot Jim. He smirked and cocked an eyebrow. “Hey there, Parson Ike. Fancy meetin’ you here.” He mocked Isaac’s name but didn’t lower his gun.
“Warren, what are you doing? Put Milo’s gun down.”
“Oh, I’ll put it down when this here idiot turns over that lady who killed my father.”
Isaac searched Warren’s face. Revenge? Is that why he’s doing this? Isaac doubted the man cared enough about Milo to fuel such a vengeance. There must be another reason. A bounty on Mabelina, perhaps.
“They gonna string ’er up, Parson,” Jim blurted out, his eyes wild. “It were an accident. I told ’im, but he won’t listen.”
Isaac forced a smile and stepped toward Warren. “Listen, I know you’re a law-abiding man. Why don’t you lower that fine pistol and send one of your boys to go fetch the judge? We’ll let him decide. Then, if she’s convicted, you’ll get your bounty.”
“Now there’s a fine idea.” Warren’s brow furrowed over his scornful eyes, contradicting his appeasing words. “But you see, if we bring her in alive, some judge may let her go, and then I won’t get my money.”
“Don’t ya mean ‘we’?” one of the gunmen asked before spitting a stream of tobacco on the floor. “You aren’t going to hold back on us, are you?” The man’s gun turned slightly from Jim to Warren.
Warren glared back at him. “You’ll get yours.”
Isaac stepped closer to Jim. “Well, if you’re not going for the judge, then you’d better shoot all three of us. Like Jim, I refuse to turn Mabelina over to you.”
Warren’s jaw dropped and his eyebrows furrowed—a splash of surprise mixed with fear as the ramifications of that option seemed to sink in.
“You may get off for shooting Mabelina, since she’s got a price on her head, but another innocent man and a parson?” Isaac lowered his hands. “You interested in living like an outlaw—or getting hanged yourself?”
Warren hesitated and then finally uncocked the gun, lowered it, and replaced it in its holster. The other men did the same.
“Praise the Lord,” Jim exclaimed, hands raised. “I was prayin’ fer help and then you showed up, Parson Ike.” He reached behind him and pulled Mabelina around front, wrapping her up in his beefy arms. “You all right, darlin’?”
“Buck.” Warren pointed toward the man closest to him, obviously unmoved by the lovers’ display. “You and Thad go on to Fort Benton and find out where Judge Booker is. Then go get him and bring him here.”
The weak chin on Buck’s too-long oval face tipped up. “But we ain’t got supplies to go all the way to Fort Benton.”
Warren leered, and then he reached in his pocket and took out a leather coin sack. He threw it to Buck. “Now go on. When you find the judge, bring him on back.”
Isaac held out his hand. “Hold on. Why don’t we all go to Fort Benton? We can wait for Judge Booker there. He may be there already.”
Warren’s lips clamped together, and he shook his head. “No. That big man’s too much of a risk—and that woman, too.” He pointed toward Jim and Mabelina. “I ain’t hightailing it all over the countryside with them.” He lifted his head toward the door, indicating to Buck and Thad that they should go.
They slogged out the door, disappearing down the hill.
“This is how it’s gonna work, parson. You and Lefty”—he eyed the third man—“and them two are gonna stay here till the judge comes. I got some business to take care of, but I’ll be back. Then, after the judge convicts her, like I know he will, we’ll all watch the hanging together.” He leaned over and gazed out the door. “On that tree right there.”
A sick pain hit Isaac’s gut as he eyed his best friend’s son. He and Milo had prayed so many hours that this young man would follow the truth. Milo had given him every opportunity to lead a respectable life, yet he’d chosen to ride the path through the wild briars.
Isaac glanced at Jim and Mabelina. The woman moved in front of her husband and lifted her eyes to meet Warren’s. “I done wrong shootin’ your pa.” Her eyes glistened, but her voice was strong. “I’m ready to have a judge hear it out. I’ll accept what he says, no matter what it be.”
Jim rubbed her arms. “And I will, too,” he said, to her more than the others.
Isaac eyed Warren. “How do I know your men’ll bring the judge back here?”
“Well, I guess you’re jest gonna have to trust them. They’re men of fine virtue.” His sudden burst of laughter matched the sound of a crow cawing outside. “The question is, how do I know you won’t try to overtake my man here and skedaddle?”
“We won’t,” Isaac answered simply. “But we aren’t waiting for more than a week. If you can’t find the judge by then, we’ll head for Fort Benton.”
“Fine.” Warren abruptly stomped past Isaac toward the door. “You all settle in nice and cozy.” He pointed at Lefty, who stood waiting with his thumbs in his belt loops. “Make sure they don’t leave, or you’ll pay.”
“Don’t worry, boss.” Lefty crossed his arms and squared his shoulders.
Warren tramped out the front door. Isaac followed him. How could Warren have grown so cold, hardened, since Milo’s death? Isaac had noticed uneasiness about him at Aponi’s home a month ago, but he thought it was just the freshness of grief. He hated that Warren had decided to send Aponi to the reservation and the girls to boarding school, but for Milo’s sake, Isaac had hoped Warren’s actions were fueled by good intentions.
Now Isaac wasn’t sure if Warren’s character consisted of anything but selfishness. Yet, for Milo, he’d try one more time. Isaac had nothing to offer the young man, nothing but Christ.
“Hold up, Warren.”
Warren swung around, irritated. “What? I told you I got business to take care of.”
Isaac breathed out. “Business? I’m sure you do. Is it at the saloon?”
Warren grinned, but an unsettled look lay beneath the surface of the man’s eyes.
“Maybe. What’s it to you?”
Only God’s transforming grace could reach him. Over the years, Isaac had seen many degenerate westerners—outlaws, prostitutes like Mabelina, and even the most difficult to persuade, the self-righteous—begin new journeys in Christ. No one was too far gone for Christ’s love. Not eve
n Warren.
“You have another option.” Isaac spoke softly.
Warren leaned against the porch railing and tipped his hat back. “Oh really, and just what would that be?”
“Forgiveness.”
Warren snorted and moved toward the path back to town, but Isaac reached out and grasped his shoulder.
“I ain’t forgiving anyone, Parson. Forget it.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He focused on Warren’s eyes, seeking a spark of light to show that God was working in him. Finding none, he continued anyway. “You can be forgiven.”
“You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”
“Yes, I do. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. God forgives.”
“Answer me this, Parson. How do you think the law found out about Mabelina shootin’ my stepfather anyway?” Warren didn’t wait for an answer. “I told them.” He leaned in close to Isaac’s face. “And you know why?”
Isaac waited.
“Because I told her if she didn’t start turning her ‘night work’ again with those fine gentlemen callers at the saloon and giving me a cut, I’d turn her in. Mabelina said no. Dusty was willing to let her go, but I think she’s too valuable. So here we are.” He shrugged. “Business is business, after all.”
Isaac closed his eyes as a rush of sorrow tumbled over him, not for himself or even for Milo anymore, but for the empty soul standing before him. He stepped back, releasing the man into God’s sovereignty.
A deep scorn exuded from Warren’s face. “Oh, and that business I’ve got to do,” he rasped in a low tone. “You’re right. It does involve a saloon. A new one being built in a couple weeks. Finest in Chouteau County. Guess where I’m gettin’ the supplies?” His dark eyes held Isaac’s. “A railcar full of everything I’ll need will be comin’ on the Fourth of July train.”
Isaac’s mind worked, fitting bits of information together like a puzzle.