Sarah took Ben from Clare and looked him over. His cheeks had bits of apple stuck to them. Sarah took a cloth from a drawer and wiped his face. “He’s ready for a nap,” she said. As if on cue, Ben yawned and fussed, making the mewling sounds that indicated he was tired.
“Too much excitement for the little one,” Sarah said, and set him gently down in the basket. Ben nuzzled into the sheets and closed his eyes. Sarah adjusted Ben so that he was lying on his back, looking up at her. She said to him with a mock stern expression, “Time for sleep, little one.” And then she said something else, in a language Grace didn’t recognize. She assumed it was Cheyenne.
To her surprise, instead of crying—his usual response to being put down for a nap—Ben closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep. Grace’s mouth dropped open.
“How did you do that?” she asked Sarah, who only gave her a shrug, her eyes twinkling in a mischievous way.
“She uses Indian magic,” LeRoy said, standing by the stove and eyeing the large pot. “Is lunch ready now?”
Sarah rolled her eyes and went to the stove. “Yes, now.” She looked at Clare pointedly. “These young, strong men—they eat a lot. Do you know how to cook?”
Clare was startled by Sarah’s directness. “Oh, yes, I do—”
“She’s a great cook, Ma,” Eli said in her defense, and from Sarah’s expression, Grace thought maybe she had said that to bait him.
Eli continued. “I told ya she helped raise six younger brothers and sisters.”
Sarah nodded thoughtfully and hefted the large pot with two heavy towels. She set it on the table, on a wool pot warmer, and LeRoy pulled a tray of steaming bread rolls out of the oven. The yeasty aroma filled the kitchen, and Grace’s mouth watered.
Sarah shook her head thoughtfully and said, “She can cook—and rope calves too. Imagine that.”
“Ma!” Eli protested, “you’re gonna scare her off.”
Sarah shot Clare a smile. “Too late for that, I think.” She laughed, then pointed at the ice box in the corner. “Eli, there’s sweet tea in there.”
He promptly fetched the tea and poured it into the glasses on the table. LeRoy sat down across from Grace and Eli across from Clare. Sarah brought over a bowl of applesauce and set that down too. Then she eased into her chair and nodded to LeRoy.
“Lord,” he said, cuing them all to lower their heads. “We thank you for thy bounty and for thy grace this day. For friends and family and good health. Amen.”
Grace said amen with the others and sighed. The comfort of this gathering soothed her heart, and a pervasive sense of peace seeped into her. At Eli’s urging, she passed her plate, and he filled it with a dollop of the hearty stew of beef and vegetables Sarah had made. She chuckled watching Sarah’s boys slather butter onto their rolls and trying hard to eat with table manners, saying please and thank you and chewing with their mouths closed. She got the impression this wasn’t how they normally ate.
Little was said as they enjoyed the food, and Grace complimented Sarah on her cooking. This was the best meal she’d had all year. Charity’s meals were simple and bland—she didn’t believe in seasoning food, and had a tendency to overcook everything. But Grace had done a lot of cooking at the boardinghouse, and her aunt had been a wonderful cook. She’d taught Grace how to make a variety of dishes—from traditional to Cajun to French. She’d cooked for Monty when he stayed there, and after they were engaged, he “confessed” that he was only marrying her for her cooking. She’d laughed—because she knew how much he loved to eat, and he was a good cook too. Having lived on his own for years, and off on so many expeditions, cooking skills were a necessity—although many men were content to subsist on cans of beans and pemican. She and Monty had spent many fun and happy hours in the kitchen together, as improper or inappropriate as it may have seemed to some. But they hadn’t cared. Grace missed that—the sharing and laughing and experimenting with ingredients.
Without realizing it, her eyes had filled with tears, and everyone around the table had grown quiet. Sarah was looking at her intently, studying her as if she were a strange animal she’d never seen before. Eli and LeRoy stopped eating.
Grace’s face heated up in embarrassment. What was wrong? Had she done something to offend them?
“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” she said, not sure what she was apologizing for. She suddenly felt self-conscious, and not wanting to spoil the light mood they’d been enjoying, pushed her chair back, about to excuse herself.
Sarah held out her palm. “No, stay, Grace. Sit.”
Grace stopped. She felt all eyes on her and looked down at her empty plate, uneasy. Clare took her arm, and the touch comforted her.
Grace wanted to crawl under the table, but then she heard Sarah say, “It is a good thing to hope, no? Hope gives strength, fortitude.” She got up and came over to Grace and knelt beside her. Then she touched the silver pendant on her neck.
“This is Cherokee,” she said, studying it. “But the Cheyenne have a similar symbol for hope.” She muttered a few words in her language with her eyes closed, and Grace saw from under her lashes that Eli and LeRoy were paying close attention to their mother. The room felt as still and solemn as a sanctuary.
“You fear all hope is lost,” Sarah told her, stepping back and looking at her. Her voice was even and calm, but Grace had the sense that Sarah’s mind was far away. “But it is not. You must not run away. You must not be fearful. The terrible thing that haunts you will lift you and carry you once more. Like a raging river, it will hurl you over the falls.”
She stopped speaking and picked up Grace’s hands in her own warm and weathered ones, and Grace’s heart pounded in her chest as the memory of Monty being swept downstream played in her head, stabbing her with renewed pain, as if she’d torn a scab off a festering wound. A moan came from her throat, strangling her.
Sarah gave Grace’s hands a gentle squeeze, and then she smiled at her with the tenderness of a loving mother. “Grace, you cannot see the end to your pain. But it rests at the bottom of the waterfall. The fall is terrifying, for with it all hope seems cast upon the water. But below the falls is the calm pool, where the water gathers and rests, then flows to the waiting sea.” She touched Grace’s pendant once more. “Hope is your lifeline. Cling to it. You will see. Let the river carry you, take you over the falls. For only then will you get to the quiet, clear pool where your pain will be washed out to sea along with the silt and mud.”
Silence fell like the night—heavy, thick, and muffling Grace’s thoughts. Gradually she groped through the pain to the other side of whatever spell Sarah had enwrapped her in so tightly, like a cocoon. But in moments the burden lifted from her, and she could breathe again. She’d felt as though she had fallen in the river with Monty—no, seeing through his eyes, feeling his terror.
Then, a strange calm lapped at her heart. She looked at Sarah, whose face was soft and unreadable. Then Sarah turned and looked at her sons.
“Do not sit easy, Eli. LeRoy. There is danger in this for you as well.” She let her words hang in the air between them. Danger?
Grace, perplexed, noted a flash of alarm in the brothers’ eyes, but they did not flinch. Sarah let out a sigh and glanced down at Ben, sleeping unperturbed atop the tangle of sheets. Eli and LeRoy, as one, exhaled, and their shoulders slumped.
“So, Ma, what is it? What danger?” LeRoy asked.
A songbird warbled outside the window. Grace looked out at the calm spring day, then turned to look at Clare. Her friend sat deep in thought, somber, respectful. Grace wondered what she might be thinking of all this. She herself didn’t know what to make of it. Sarah’s sons seemed to take stock in every word their mother had said. But what did her words mean? Her heart had clenched in fear and despair, and yet, Sarah had spoken of hope. That somehow, some way, maybe . . . Maybe Monty might come back to her.
Sarah’s voice roped her attention in. “You still searching for that wild herd—the one with the appaloosa stallion?” she
asked her sons. Eli nodded, but LeRoy only narrowed his eyes.
He said, “We’ve been following tracks for weeks. They’re somewhere west of Fort Collins.”
Sarah nodded. Her sons waited for more. Abruptly, she got up and started clearing the table, stacking plates and humming quietly. When Eli and LeRoy made to get up and help, Sarah put out her hand to stop them. Grace felt she should help as well, but stayed seated, waiting. Sarah clattered around, putting dishes in the wash basin, collecting glasses and silverware. Then she stopped and looked at Eli.
“You heard about them bank robbers, over in Laporte?”
Eli frowned. “Some think they’re those two outlaws from the Dutton Gang. The ones we went after last year. But that robbery was weeks ago. The trail went cold.”
Sarah nodded at LeRoy. “You and your brother—you need to go look for those horses. And talk to the sheriff over in Fort Collins. He will need some good trackers. Some with good sense. Or good men will get killed.” She looked over at Grace, and an icy cold chill raced up Grace’s spine, as if someone had dumped snow down her neck.
“Blood will run,” Sarah added without emotion. Then, with a smile that broke the thick tension around them, said, “I know you’ll be careful. You always are. And heed what I always tell you—don’t shoot unless you have to.”
Eli and LeRoy nodded dutifully, then LeRoy pushed his chair back from the table. The noise woke Ben, who let out a little frightened wail. Grace leapt to her feet and cradled him to her chest. More chairs shuffled and shoes and boots stomped around her as the others cleaned up and put dishes away, washed pots and pans, and put things in the ice box. Sarah poured dark beans into a grinder box, and soon the delectable aroma of ground coffee beans filled the kitchen.
“Are you all right, Grace?” Clare came up to her and smoothed Ben’s wayward tufts of hair. Grace nodded. Questions hung in the air between them, and Grace wondered what Clare thought about this Indian woman who might very well become her mother-in-law someday. Now Grace understood what Eli had meant about Sarah being a seer, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about the things Sarah said to her. They sat as uneasy as a teetering rock on her heart, swaying her willy-nilly from fear to hope to worry.
Sarah came up to them and said, “We’ll have some coffee and dessert—I made an apple pie just for the occasion.” She gestured them into the small den, which had big overstuffed chairs and a ponderous sofa that looked inviting. Eli brought out two pieces of pie and set them on the low table in front of the sofa, and LeRoy followed with mugs of steaming coffee. All the food sitting in her stomach made Grace suddenly sleepy, and she nestled with Ben on the cushions, sipping her coffee and trying to get bites of pie into her mouth without Ben waylaying her fork. Sarah went into the kitchen and came back with a small wooden bowl of applesauce and a spoon.
“A snack for the little one,” Sarah said, swooping Ben onto her lap and tucking a piece of towel under his chin. Grace watched, amused, as Sarah fed Ben. She imagined Sarah was more than ready to have a passel of grandchildren, and wondered if LeRoy was sweet on anyone. Eli hadn’t made mention of anyone, but LeRoy was plenty handsome and had a kind disposition. He seemed thoughtful and gentle, soft-spoken—although Grace imagined he had no trouble speaking his mind. It was clear Sarah loved her boys. Which made Grace shiver at the thought of her sending them into danger. Just what did she think was about to happen, and why wouldn’t she say, specifically? Did she even know, or was this just a feeling, like an intuition? Her sons, though, reacted as if whatever was about to happen was unavoidable.
While Clare and Eli bantered happily with Sarah and LeRoy about horses and roping and competing in the upcoming horse races, Grace mulled over the things Sarah had said to her. Why weren’t they as worried and fearful as she? A sense of doom and danger simmered below the conversation—something to do with outlaws who had robbed a bank. Sarah had told Eli and LeRoy to help the sheriff—track those men? But what did that have to do with her? And what did Sarah mean about letting the river take her over the falls? Her relaxing visit had turned ominous, but she didn’t want to be gloomy or give in to fear. Yet, Sarah had told her to hold on to hope and not let go. So that was what Grace would do—although she didn’t see any other option.
Sarah finished feeding Ben and cleaned his face, then handed him back to Grace. To Grace’s surprise, Sarah took her hand and patted it.
“Do not fret with worry, Grace. Wait and trust. Do not forget that calm pool that waits for you at the bottom of the falls. There is where you will recover what you lost.”
Even though Grace didn’t understand what Sarah implied, the words soothed her soul. She gulped back tears and nodded, and Sarah gave her a cheering smile and patted Ben on the head.
Not long after, she and Clare had said their good-byes and were seated on the wagon bench ready to head back to Fort Collins. Sarah and LeRoy left to tend to their horses, while Eli stood next to the wagon, holding Clare’s hand.
“LeRoy and I’ll be over in a few days,” he said, his voice laden with seriousness. “We’ll go talk to that sheriff, and see if there’re signs of that herd in the vicinity.” He scrunched up his face. “We almost caught those two outlaws last year. Followed them into the mountains west of Burlington, but somehow they plumb vanished, like some magical disappearin’ act. If’n they’re near Fort Collins, I want to help catch ’em. I won’t rest easy while those killers are runnin’ loose anywhere near you.”
Clare clasped his hand tightly. “You just be careful, Eli. I know how reckless ya can be.”
He cocked an eyebrow and shook his head. “You’re starting to sound like Ma.”
“Well, I don’t want ta lose ya.” She added with a sly smile, “A good ropin’ partner is hard ta come by.”
Eli chuckled and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. He looked at Grace. “Thanks for comin’ with Clare. Ma doesn’t often see somethin’ portendin’ for a stranger—or maybe she does but just doesn’t say. I know her words kinda scared you, but if she says everythin’ will work out in the end, it will. It may be a bumpy ride, but, well, what you’re dealin’ with ain’t a bed of goose feathers. I side with Clare—like I said, the truth always comes out. I’m hopeful your man will get his memory back, and your family will be reunited. Like Ma said: wait and hope.”
Grace tried to swallow past the rock in her throat. She hugged Ben close and said, “Thank you, Eli. I’m grateful for your kind words, and your mother’s hospitality.”
He nodded and looked at Clare with a cockeyed grim. “Be sure to miss me.”
“Count on it, Cowboy,” Clare replied. She shook the reins and led the horses around, then headed out the wide drive to the road leading north and west toward Fort Collins.
“Well,” Clare said after they’d traveled a few minutes. “That went better than I’d expected.”
“Sarah likes you,” Grace said. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“Now, if I can just get Eli to propose. I already found a dress I like.” She squirmed uncomfortably on the bench. “Ugh, I can’t wait to get out of this corset and rid myself of these petticoats.”
“It makes me wonder what kind of wedding dress you have in mind,” Grace said with a bit of a laugh.
Clare laughed too. “I can bear wearing somethin’ fancy for a few hours. I found a picture in a ladies’ magazine of the prettiest dress . . . but my family has no money for such a purchase, and I’m sure it will cost a fortune. I’m hopin’ to save some money from the punch work I’m doing, but I don’t think it will be enough.”
“Show me the picture, Clare. I’m sure I can make it for you—I’ve sewn plenty of wedding dresses.”
Clare turned and looked at Grace in astonishment. “You have? I knew you worked at a dress shop, but I had no idea you could make a fancy dress just from an advertisement.”
“I’d love to make your dress for you—you can just pay for the fabric, and I’ll sew it for free. My wedding gift for you.”
Clare erupted in giggles of glee. “Thank you! Well, now I just have to get Eli in the saddle. I’m thinking of a midsummer wedding.”
“My, you aren’t wasting any time. Maybe I should get started on that dress.”
“Good thinking,” Clare said, smiling wide and settling into the rhythm of the horses trotting along the road. “I’m glad we’re friends, Grace. And I’m gonna help ya get your Monty back. I don’t know how, but there has to be a way.”
“Thank you, Clare. I’m grateful to you. And I’m looking forward to watching you and Eli tie the knot.”
Grace sat with a sleeping Ben in her arms, the warm midday breeze caressing her face, listening to the soothing clopping of the horses’ hooves and taking in the miles of farmland green with fields of wheat and hay and vegetable crops. Summer was coming, and all the snow that had dumped earlier that week had almost melted away.
Like the green vegetation around her, a sprout of hope grew in her heart. Would it thrive and come to fruition? Or would it wither and die? Only time would tell. She could do nothing but wait.
Chapter 16
Malcolm rode his chestnut quarter horse along Linden Street, keeping his head tucked as a wild wind nipped at his ears and threw grit into his eyes. He’d decided to finish up working early, not liking the looks of the gathering thunderclouds ahead. Bevington was home nursing a stomach ailment—or so Fred Wallace had told him that morning as he came into the assessor’s office to pick up some maps he needed for the sections he was laying out south of town. Few people were out on the streets this windy afternoon, the skies threatening to dump rain in buckets, from the looks of it.
He supposed he should go home, but that was the last place he wanted to be right now. When he was there, he hardly spoke to Stella, and she mostly ignored him. He’d made up a bed on the couch, and each night Stella would drink whiskey and stare out the windows and grumble about the snow. Then, she’d go into the bedroom and slam the door behind her. Night after night he lay on the couch, unable to sleep except in fits and starts, and when he did sleep, his disturbing dreams robbed him of much-needed rest. He was hard pressed to get through a full day of work without a weariness smothering him.
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