by Lori Wick
“Family is so special, Lord,” he said reverently, “and we thank You for the ones You’ve gathered here. Thank You for the sweet fellowship we have in You. Thank You for this food, and for the strong bodies You’ve given to us. Help us to be filled without being greedy, and to remember that every bite is from Your hand. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.”
The meal began on that good note and only got better. Duffy had been called upon that day to deliver twins—always fun news. He was peppered with questions for a good ten minutes; questions he patiently answered.
“Boys or girls?”
“One of each.”
“Who was born first?”
“The boy. I think they’re calling him John after his father.”
“Did they cry hard?”
“Yes, but we kept them warm, and they settled right down for their mother.”
“Is their mother all right?”
“She’s doing very well.”
“Will you see her again this week?”
“If they call me, yes.”
“We’ll have to get over with a basket of baked goods,” Kate suggested in an effort to stem the tide.
“The pantry’s full right now, so that shouldn’t be a problem,” Liberty said as she remembered she had not brought in the gravy. She rose to do this, giving husband and wife a moment to speak.
“She brought a man in today,” Kate said for her husband’s ears alone.
“Did it go all right?”
“She said it did. Griffin is still at the jail with him.”
“I can bake,” Laura put in suddenly.
“What’s that, honey?” her mother asked, needing to let the other conversation drop. Her husband watched her for a moment.
“I can bake for the babies too.”
“Yes, you can, and we’ll just do that. All right?”
Laura nodded, looking pleased.
“Tell me, Zach,” his father said conversationally, “what was the funnest thing that happened in school today?”
“We got to read outside.”
“Oh, that is fun. Did you all have books, or did Mrs. Murch read to you?”
“She read to us first, but then the older kids took turns.”
“Very good. You’ll be having your turn before you know it.”
Zach smiled up at his father, his favorite person in the world. While other boys wanted to chase after frogs and go fishing, Zach Peterson wanted to sit with a book and read. Some of the children at school had said that such things were sissy, but not Zach’s father. Duffy had told him that reading was wonderful and that he should never feel ashamed of his love for it. Right after that, Zach had found himself very interested in fishing, and he tried it with his father, who made it the greatest outing of the entire summer.
“I’m sorry about this gravy,” Liberty apologized as she returned with the dark blue gravy boat and set it on the table. “I’m going to start parroting you, Mam, about my head falling off.”
“Did you help Griff today?” Zach suddenly asked.
“Yes, I did. I was there for a few hours.”
“Did you put someone in jail?” This came from Laura, and Liberty nodded.
“Did you need your gun?”
“Yes. The man waited a little too long to do as I asked, and I couldn’t take any chances.”
“Is Griff with him now?”
Again Liberty nodded. “That was the plan.”
Kate was thankful that the subject was dropped after that. They finished the meal on another topic, and she wasn’t forced to keep her feelings hidden. Thoughts of Liberty helping Griffin played in her mind the entire evening, but she prayed and worked to give her two oldest children to the Lord. It was a huge relief, however, when it was time for her younger children to go to bed. She kissed Liberty goodnight and finally gained the privacy of her bedroom. Duffy wasn’t far behind her. He found his wife sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from the door. Duffy slipped his shoes off and climbed onto the mattress. With gentle fingers he unbuttoned the back of her dress and then softly kissed her neck.
“Are you all right?”
“I think so,” Kate answered honestly as she slipped from her cotton dress and sat back down in her petticoat and chemise, turning a little so she could look at her husband. “She’s so calm, Duffy.”
“She has to be, Kate. You don’t want her carrying her emotions on her sleeve when she has to pull that gun.”
Kate’s breath caught in her throat, and Duffy pulled her into his arms and held her close. Kate clung to him. She didn’t want to cry, but she felt a desperate need to be held. Duffy was only too happy to oblige.
He hadn’t seen her coming. He hadn’t known she was going to walk into his life when she did. They had known each other for years, lived in the same town, and gone to the same church, but he hadn’t noticed her until almost a year after Thomas Drake died. Kate had been teaching school in those days—the town’s sheriff had not been able to leave a huge legacy behind—and still trying to do her job as a mother to Griffin and Liberty, the only two of her five children to make it past infancy. Then she had taken ill. Duffy would never forget Liberty’s pale face as she came to his office.
“Mam is sick,” the slim 12-year-old had said.
“Who is sick?” Duffy questioned her.
“Mam. She’s hot and quiet.”
Duffy had finally figured out that Liberty was referring to her mother. He had hung a sign on his door and followed her home. And Kate had been sick—very sick. Duffy still remembered asking God if He would take the children’s mother as well as their father.
Some days passed before he felt she was out of the woods, and even then she wasn’t back in the schoolhouse for more than two weeks. And that first day when school dismissed, Duffy was there. He used her health as an excuse for a long time but eventually gained the courage to ask if he could court her. He thought his heart would burst when she said yes.
“I was married to Thomas and had two babies by the time I was Libby’s age,” Kate said suddenly; Liberty was not long past her twenty-first birthday. “I don’t want Libby to marry for anything but love, Duffy, but I find myself wishing she would show more interest in some of the young men who like her.”
“Kate,” Duffy said seriously, waiting for her to look at him, “you’re trying to change circumstances that are out of your control rather than serving God in the midst of them. And you’re worrying.”
Kate looked up into his wonderful face. Older than she was by ten years, he’d never planned to marry. But he had suddenly found himself in love with her, and in time, Kate had loved him back. The day she married him was one of the happiest of her life. And his faith was so alive. He had been busy as a doctor, but not having a wife or children for so many years had left him with great amounts of time for Bible study and prayer. She learned something from him every week.
“You’re right. I need to give her back to the Lord.”
“And you need to keep asking God, in His will, to bring someone into her life. You’ve been happily married, you’ve seen Libby with people, and you naturally think she would flourish in marriage and parenthood. I do too. So we both need to keep going to God about this.”
“She is special, isn’t she, Duff?”
“Very. And although some of the men here are fine young men, I think it’s going to take someone just as special as she is, someone who understands how multifaceted she is, to claim her heart.”
Kate nodded, thinking not for the first time that it was wonderful to know he loved Griffin and Liberty as he did Zach and Laura. She kissed him and thanked him before rising to ready for bed. The week had been long, and she was weary. Thirty minutes later, her husband beside her, she drifted off to sleep, but not before asking God to help her take Duffy’s advice: Serve God where you are; don’t ask Him to take you elsewhere before you obey. She had made it flowery—that was more her way—but the meaning was still clear.
Every Little
Thing About You
If you enjoyed Lori Wick fiction, you’ll love this excerpt from Melody Carlson’s
Westward Hearts
Turn the page to meet Elizabeth Martin and the rest of her family as they prepare to travel the Oregon Trail.
Chapter One
December 1856
Elizabeth Martin sat up and blinked in the pitchy darkness. What had disturbed her dreamless slumber? With pounding heart, she shoved back the warm layers of quilts and reached for the woolen shawl at the foot of her bed. Wrapping it snugly around her flannel nightgown, she pushed her feet into her sheepskin slippers and tiptoed down the hall to peek into the children’s bedroom. Quietly listening, she waited until their even breathing assured her they were both still sleeping peacefully.
She crept down the stairs, treading lightly on the creaking steps until she finally stood motionless in the front room. Holding her breath, she listened intently to the sounds of the night. But other than the ticking of the mantel clock and the whistling of the winter wind outside, the farmhouse remained silent. Even old Flax, faithful friend and watchdog, appeared unconcerned as he snoozed blissfully on the braided rug in front of the glowing coals of the fire.
Stooping down, she set a couple more logs on top of the last remnant of red embers. She hoped they would catch and burn until morning. Blowing onto the hot cinders, she watched as flames flickered to life and then licked up the birch’s papery bark. Without even moving, Flax opened an amber eye, peering up at her with canine interest.
“Sorry to disturb you,” she whispered as she stroked a silky golden ear. “You didn’t hear anything, did you?”
His tail thumped contentedly in answer. Just the same, she gazed up at the long shotgun mounted above the mantel, wondering if she should take it down…just in case. But standing, she slowly shook her head. No, there was probably no need for that. She was confident that it was loaded and that she was fully capable of firing it—and wouldn’t hesitate to if necessary. Less than two weeks ago, she’d shot at a small pack of coyotes that had threatened to invade the chicken coop. But she suspected that tonight’s intruders were simply products of her own imagination. Otherwise Flax would have barked. Or Brady would have tapped quietly on her door. Despite his sixty-some years, his hearing was as sharp as ever. The freed slave was her dependable hired hand. She didn’t know what she’d do without him.
Just to be sure, she went over to the front window and, barely moving the lace curtain back, peered out into the farmyard. Thanks to a bright half-moon and the freshly fallen snow from earlier in the evening, she could see that all was a picture of perfect peace out there. No sign whatsoever of intruders. No farm animals stirring. She didn’t even spy any tracks of wild critters in the blanket of new snow. Brady’s little cabin looked equally undisturbed and somewhat picturesque with a thin layer of snow coating its shake roof. All was obviously well, and she knew she would be wise to return to her own bed while it still retained a margin of warmth.
But she was fully awake, and despite being worn out from a long day of holiday baking as well as her usual farm and household chores, she knew that sleep would not come easily to her now. It never did at times like this. Besides that, returning to her empty bed was always much more unsettling in the middle of the night than when she retired at her usual bedtime, not long after she’d tucked the children into their beds and listened to their prayers. At first it had seemed strange to turn in with the chickens and the children, but over time she’d convinced herself these early bedtimes conserved kerosene and candles and firewood, especially during winter, when the nights were so long. Oh, she knew the real reason for her juvenile bedtime…even if she couldn’t admit it to anyone else. It was a clear-cut case of plain old loneliness.
More than three years had passed since she’d lost James. In the beginning, everyone had promised her it would get easier with time. Sometimes her mother still reminded her of this. And in the bright and shining light of day, Elizabeth believed her. It had gotten a tiny bit easier over the years. But at times like this, awakened in the middle of the night and experiencing her solitude, the rules changed.
Elizabeth’s usual loneliness turned into a deep black pool in the night. Pulling her down, holding her under, it sometimes made simply breathing a struggle. Alone in the darkness, her grief felt as fresh and intense as if it she’d only just lost him. And she knew the ache in her heart would never heal. How could it? But eventually morning would come. She would go through her daily paces, and sometimes she would even laugh and smile, moving forward one day at a time. But nights were difficult.
She sat down in the rocker by the fireplace, and staring blankly at the flickering flames, she began to pray. It was her usual prayer, painfully familiar to her, and she hoped God didn’t grow weary of her pleading. She always began by asking God to help her to bear her grief with grace and with strength. Then she asked him to make her wise enough to parent Jamie and Ruth with dignity and mercy. Finally she asked God to grant her peace—that lovely perfect peace that surpassed understanding. And for the most part God had generously given it to her, at least in the daytime.
Recently, however, even in the light of day, that particular sense of peace seemed to be lacking. She couldn’t quite put her finger on where it had gone or when it had started to fade, but she felt certain that something had changed. Or perhaps it was simply a result of winter. The cold and ice and snow had come earlier than usual this year. Certainly, that could make anyone uneasy. At least that was what she had tried to convince herself.
But when she was being perfectly honest, like on a night such as this, she had to admit that something was definitely amiss. In all truthfulness, these stirrings had begun early in the fall. Her unsettling sense of discontentment, as if something—and not just her beloved departed husband—was missing from her life. Deep down inside of her, similar to a festering splinter or a stone bruise, something was disturbing her.
“You’re just ready for a new relationship,” her mother had happily told Elizabeth after she’d confided this sense of restlessness several weeks ago.
“A new relationship?” Elizabeth had been confused.
“It’s only natural that a young woman such as yourself should want a good man by her side.” Then, as was her habit, Elizabeth’s practical mother had begun to list the eligible bachelors and recent widowers within a twenty mile radius. This was followed by all the recent gossip tidbits her mother had overheard in town that week. And finally, her mother had ended by declaring that Howard Lynch was the perfect man for Elizabeth. “You know how he lost his wife and little girl to cholera too. Gladys Barton told me that he’s been very lonely of late.”
“That’s not what’s troubling me,” Elizabeth had declared. “I’m not looking for a man, Mother. It’s something much bigger than that. A restless sort of stirring deep inside of me. I can’t even describe it properly.”
Of course, that had worried her mother. She’d even felt Elizabeth’s forehead, thinking she might have a fever. “But remember, you have Jamie and Ruth,” she had said with concern. “Those youngins depend on you. Even if you’re discontent in some way, you do have your children to keep you going. Don’t forget them.”
As if Elizabeth could ever forget them. “I love Jamie and Ruth more than I love my own life,” Elizabeth had reassured her. “You know that, Mother.”
Smiling in a knowing way, her mother had gently patted her hand. “It is simply a season, my dear. All women suffer from these afflictions at times. Don’t fret, this too will pass.”
But as Elizabeth stared into the fire tonight, she wasn’t convinced this would pass. Something inside of her knew this was more than just a female problem or a seasonal stirring. And certainly not a desire to remarry. It was much bigger than those things. Elizabeth was fairly certain that this longing was related to an old dream that she and James had nurtured early in their marriage. Back when the children were small, she and James would sit right here in the evenings. R
elaxing in their chairs that flanked this very fireplace, together they would discuss this dream as they planned for a future that was exciting and adventurous and challenging.
It had been a very big dream, but when James was alive, it had seemed realistic and possible. However, cholera changed everything in 1853. The dream had died when Elizabeth had buried her husband and stillborn baby.
But in recent weeks, this old longing had been trying to return. It had been sneaking into her dreams, whispering into her ear, and waking her in the middle of the night—as it did tonight. But the dream was unsettling now. It felt too big for her. Too big for her children. And for the most part she wished it would go knock on someone else’s door. And yet…there was a small part of her that was still intrigued by this dream. Probably because of the way it made her feel connected to James.
Sometimes, she almost felt as if James was the one waking her in the middle of the night. That he was sitting with her by the fire, filling her mind with these strange ideas in the wee hours of the morning. She could never admit this to anyone—certainly not her mother—but sometimes she almost felt as if she were being haunted by her dearly departed husband. No, “haunted” was the wrong word because she never felt frightened. It was more as if he were sending her messages.
Even now she could imagine him sitting in his chair across from her, smoking his pipe, smiling with confidence as he encouraged her to pursue the old dream. She sensed him assuring her that this was the right path for her and the children. And sometimes, in the quiet of the night, she almost believed it too.
But common sense always came with the morning, and in the light of day she always realized how impractical, impossible, and slightly insane it was to entertain such wild imaginings. So for days, she would dismiss this crazy dream altogether. And other than that fleeting sense of discontent, which came and went, she would move smoothly through her life. But then a night like tonight would sneak up on her. And suddenly the dream seemed like a real possibility, and a part of her felt as if she almost wanted it to come true.