Ruth

by Lori Copeland

Ruth sighed, closing her eyes. She was safe in a warm bed now, wearing one of Annabelle’s long, flannel nightgowns that smelled of soap and had been warmed on the woodstove. Images of snow still whirled through her head as she recalled entering Sulphur Springs.

  The first building they’d seen happened to be the livery stable. They’d pounded on the wide doors until they roused someone. The door eventually opened, and a small round man with a long white beard and twinkling blue eyes appeared. “Why, he looks like Santa Claus,” Ruth had marveled. Eyes widened below the white bushy brows, the friendly man ushered in the nearly frozen strangers. Later Tom Ferry, the town blacksmith, bundled up tightly against the blowing storm, had walked the shivering travelers to the boardinghouse.

  Sulphur Springs didn’t have such an establishment until last year, proprietor Niles Seaton had explained. Two years ago the town was chosen by Welborne & Sutton Stage Lines as an overnight way station—provided the Seatons turned their residence into a boardinghouse. The town council liked the idea of the stage coming through town, so Niles and his wife, Annabelle, had done a little remodeling and created this right nice place for weary travelers. Folks would spend the night in a spacious bedroom, and the next morning Annabelle Seaton would send them on their way with a hot meal and a friendly smile.

  Mrs. Seaton was a solemn woman who had stoically gone about heating water for the weary guests. She mixed oatmeal in a pan of warm milk and fed the baby. The thin, spry woman had offered little in the way of chatty conversation, but Ruth was ever so grateful for the woman’s hospitality. Both Niles and Annabelle saw to the guests’ immediate needs and never asked about their circumstances other than to offer them comfortable rooms. Neither Ruth nor Dylan had explained why two rooms were necessary; Ruth guessed she should do that in the morning when she was thinking more clearly.

  Ruth settled into the bed, drinking in the smell of clean linens. Pot roast and rich brown gravy filled her stomach. She felt so drowsy she could hardly stay awake long enough to properly thank God for sparing them. She remembered how Annabelle had insisted that she and Dylan have a hot meal, a warm bath, and go right to bed.

  “I’m too weary to argue,” Ruth said. “Thank you … thank you so much.”

  Annabelle nodded. “I’ll lay out towels and soap.”

  Over Dylan’s protest, Ruth had insisted that he bathe, be cared for, and put to bed first. That he allowed her to win the argument attested to his grave condition.

  The town didn’t have a doctor, but at Niles’s request, Tom Ferry went to fetch a Mrs. Fallaby to look after Dylan’s injuries. Gert Fallaby had breezed into the room on a gust of cold air, her hearty laugh filling the boardinghouse. After she examined Dylan’s wounds, she clicked her tongue and shook her head, then cleaned the aggravated wounds and applied a vile-smelling salve. Ignoring Dylan’s skeptical looks, Gert made him open his mouth, and she administered a large teaspoon of laudanum for his pain.

  Twisting the cap back on the bottle, she grinned. “That ought to hold you a spell.”

  “I hope it’s nothing like Ulele’s locoweed,” Dylan muttered.

  Gert only smiled. “Let’s just say you won’t be feelin’ much of anything until morning.”

  Ruth was so thankful Dylan would spend a night free of pain. So thankful… . Now he was resting comfortably down the hall from her room. She gratefully pressed both feet against the hot-water bottle Annabelle had thoughtfully placed beneath the covers and thought she’d never be cold again.

  Her thoughts started to blur … screeching wind, blowing snow … anxiety deeply etched on Dylan’s wind-chapped features. She knew most of his concern had been for the baby, yet the thought that he might, deep down, harbor a tiny speck of concern for her wasn’t entirely impossible. Since leaving the Fords’, he’d been kind and tolerant, barking at her far less than before. She opened her eyes and looked at the little girl sleeping next to her. She seemed none the worse for wear, now that she was warm, dry, and fed. Thank you, God.

  Sighing, Ruth slid deeper into the goose-down mattress and smiled. For the briefest of moments, she pretended that God had made a rare mistake. She should have babies and a loving husband. She should love someone here on earth she could truly trust—trust to protect and care for her. Someone like Dylan. Someone like this precious child.

  Her lids grew heavier. Annabelle had brought clean clothes for the baby, explaining they were outfits her grandchild had outgrown. Ruth had once more been moved to tears as she’d dressed the child in the flannel gown and crocheted booties. Compared to Ulele, Annabelle was an angel—albeit not a very talkative one.

  Ruth was unable to keep her eyes open. Sleet pinged against the windowpane, peppering the glass. They could have been out there in the storm. They could have frozen to death on the outskirts of Sulphur Springs.

  Yet she was very much alive, lying here beside the baby. Dylan was sleeping two doors down. Her heart overflowed with gratitude; she hardly knew how to thank God. Dylan wasn’t in pain, the baby was safe, her belly was full, she was clean, and she was sleeping in a wonderfully warm bed tonight.

  For the moment, life was good. No, Lord, she amended. Good was such an inadequate word that it seemed close to a complaint, and she didn’t have a thing in the world to complain about.

  Life was perfect. The words of a psalm floated into her head as Ruth drifted off to sleep: “Bless the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless his holy name. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits.”

  Ruth didn’t stir until well after sunup. She woke to the sound of the baby cooing at her own fingers. Ruth pushed back the mound of covers and bent over the baby snuggled against her. The infant stared up at her with affectionate, dark eyes. Giggling and kicking, she happily thrashed her arms when Ruth stroked her brown cheek with the back of her finger.

  “Yes, you just think you’re a big girl, don’t you?” Ruth cooed. She tickled the baby’s tummy. “Yes, you are; yes, you are. You’re a cutie.”

  She caught herself up short. A hot flush crept up her neck when she realized she was acting like a silly goose. For heaven’s sake! Shaking her head, Ruth rolled out of bed and yelped when her bare feet hit the icy floor. The baby giggled, waving her fists.

  “You think that’s funny, huh?” Ruth tickled the little girl’s tummy. “Well, maybe I’ll just put your feet on the icy floor!” In a moment she had the baby laughing out loud. Her uninhibited giggles made Ruth laugh. A knock sounded at the door. She jerked upright at the sound of Dylan’s voice.

  “Ruth?”

  Ruth hesitated. “Yes?”

  “Is the baby all right? What’s going on in there?”

  “We’re both fine. Why?” He’d heard! He’d heard her making a fool of herself! The flush grew hotter.

  “Breakfast is on the table.”

  Clearing her throat, Ruth kept her tone neutral. “I’ll be right down.”

  She dressed and entered the kitchen fifteen minutes later. She avoided Dylan’s amused gaze and walked to the stove to spoon up a bowl of oatmeal for the baby. Dylan was dressed in clean clothing, freshly shaven, and looking incredibly handsome for a man who had spent the last weeks fighting off death. Annabelle and Niles were nowhere in sight this morning.

  Dylan poured two cups of strong black coffee. “Sleep well?”

  Ruth nodded, afraid to look at him. He’d be likely to ask what all the laughing had been about, and she didn’t want to explain.

  “Very well. And you?” She perched the baby on her lap and began feeding her small spoonfuls of oatmeal, resisting the urge to giggle out loud at the sweet smacking sounds she made after each bite.

  “I didn’t know a thing until this morning.” He moved his right arm, then his left, working the stiffness in his shoulder loose. He focused on the little girl. “Did she sleep all night?”

  “She never woke once, and she slept late this morning.”

  Dylan grinned. “That’s good. Cream?”

  Ruth nodded. Cr
eam. Such luxury! “And two sugars, please.”

  Dylan ladled sugar, then poured cream into her coffee and set the cup in front of her. “I was talking to Mr. Seaton earlier. The storm has shut everything down, but he says Ed French can use me a week or so at the mercantile to build new shelves. They need to be able to stock more for the winter, though folks say it looks to be a mild one. Since we’re not going anywhere until the passes clear, I thought I’d take the opportunity to make up for the money we lost with the Fords, before we move on.”

  Ruth looked up. “Are you able?” She thought he might be the only one leaving.

  He shrugged. “The wound is healing.” He grinned as he spread thick molasses on a biscuit. When a drop slipped onto his finger, he leaned forward to let the baby lick it off. His grin widened when she giggled and wiggled two chubby fingers to signal she wanted more.

  Ruth grinned too. “I think that’s a very sound idea.” She took a sip of coffee, still refusing to meet his eyes, though she did glance at him quickly. “Very noble of you.” Could that be relief she saw in his eyes?

  “We’ll stay until the weather breaks—those passes are snow blocked now. Meanwhile we’ll ask around and maybe come up with a home for the child.”

  She broke into another smile. “That sounds good to me.” She kept the smile in place even though her mind rebelled at the thought of ever walking away from the child. Could she do it? She had to do it. She had no way to care for this child. She needed a mother and a father, a couple with the wherewithal to rear a child.

  “Dylan,” she said softly, gazing at the little girl in her lap.

  “Yes?”

  “Could we name her?” She looked up, and her next words tumbled out. “I mean, most folks would expect a baby this old to have a name, and we can’t keep calling her ‘her’ and ‘child’ and ‘baby.’”

  Dylan concentrated on his coffee. “I’m sure she has a name, Ruth.”

  “Probably, but we don’t know what it is, and she’s too young to tell us.” Warming to the idea, Ruth covered his hand with hers. The simple touch sent ripples of warmth up her arm. “Please, Dylan. Let’s name her.”

  The idea seemed to set with him. He smiled and looked at their hands. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Rose,” she announced. “Look—her mouth is like a tiny little rosebud.”

  Dylan peered at the child. “Rose? That’s sort of frilly, isn’t it? What about Maude? There’s a good, solid woman’s name.”

  Ruth shook her head pensively. “She doesn’t look like a Maude.”

  “Really?” Dylan studied the baby. “Well, maybe not …”

  “Rose. Rose Priggish McCall.”

  Doubt crossed the marshall’s features. “McCall?”

  “Why not? Rose—for her. Priggish—my last name. And McCall—your last name. Whoever takes her will change her name anyway.” Ruth lifted the little girl above her head, the playful action resulting in a cackling drool. “Hello, Miss Rose Priggish McCall. Now you have a name just like the rest of us. In dat sweet?” She glanced up, embarrassed. “Isn’t that nice?” she amended in an adult tone.

  “Yeah,” Dylan agreed, “dat’s weal sweet. Yesitis, yesitis,” he teased. Tickling the baby’s tummy, he stepped back and admired his namesake. “What do you know? I’m a daddy.”

  Ruth grinned smugly. Yeah, she thought. And for a short time, I am a mommy.

  The snow tapered off by late afternoon. Ruth pulled the lacy parlor curtain back and looked out the front window. She counted twenty-five long, thin icicles hanging from the roof. It was still cold as a banker’s heart and that made the hospitality of Niles and Annabelle even more welcome. She didn’t know when she’d been more comfortable, and the warm bath yesterday made her want a second one soon.

  How strange that the long trek into Colorado had awakened in her the realization that simple, everyday things like feeling clean and warm constituted a luxury when one had been without them for a period.

  Annabelle bustled into the kitchen carrying a load of linens. She smiled when she saw Ruth. “You got a fine family, Ruth—a real nice husband. Most men wouldn’t function with the marshall’s injuries. But he’s over at the mercantile doing what he can.”

  Ruth nodded absently. “He’s a strong man.”

  Annabelle stored the sheets in a side drawer of a bureau and closed the door. “Been married long?”

  Ruth went silent. She couldn’t lie to the woman; the Seatons had been too good to them, and besides, she wasn’t going to ever lie again. Lying didn’t pay; goodness knows she’d learned that, if nothing else.

  “We’re not married, Mrs. Seaton.”

  The woman turned, censure mirroring in her eyes.

  Ruth hastened to explain the situation and ended by saying, “The marshall is escorting me to Wyoming, where I hope to locate a distant cousin. Mr. McCall has been the embodiment of a gentleman, although at times I’ve been quite a trial to put up with, I’m sure.”

  Annabelle nodded. “Don’t surprise me. I can read a man like a book, and I was telling Niles this morning that Dylan McCall is a fine soul.” She paused behind Ruth’s chair to rest her hands on the young woman’s shoulders. “Don’t let him get away, honey. If you’re lucky enough to find a man like McCall in your lifetime, don’t play coy.”

  Ruth smiled sadly. “He doesn’t love me, Mrs. Seaton. He’s deeply fond of the baby and he protects me with his life, but he isn’t a man looking to settle down. Not now and most certainly not with a willful, foolish girl who tricked him into taking her to Wyoming, who nearly cost him his life.”

  Annabelle’s clasp tightened. “Don’t know about the willful part—you’ll have to answer that—but I’d say there’s nothing foolish about you, my dear. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. It takes a hearty soul to survive in these mountains, and it looks like you and the marshall have pulled it off.” Annabelle left the room, bustling toward the stairway.

  Ruth was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of hot tea when the back door opened and Dylan came in. He stamped his feet and wiped his boots on the woven rug inside the door. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “Sent my boss a telegram.” He winced as he shrugged out of his coat. “Told him where we are.” He poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove.

  “Is he angry with you?”

  Dylan shrugged and sat down opposite her. “No. Kurt wired me back immediately. He says he knows travel is dangerous right now, but Dreck Parson’s leaving a trail a mile wide. If I don’t get to Utah soon, though, I’m going to be too far behind him to catch him.” His features sobered. “I don’t know if I can let that happen, Ruth.”

  She leaned closer, her eyes shadowed with concern. “Of course not—we’ll leave immediately.”

  He reached out to cover her hand with his large one. The contact sent an electrical current through her—like lightning on a hot summer day. “I’m torn. I’ve worked hard on the Parson case, and I don’t want to lose Dreck. But I don’t want to endanger you or Rose any further. Can you understand?”

  She nodded. “We made it this far, Dylan. I’m not afraid.”

  Her concern was much larger than physical danger: Dylan’s inability to accept and trust the Lord. She could never marry a man and be unequally yoked. Of course marriage was the last thing on Dylan’s mind, but the idea had started to crouch in the back of hers—like a hungry lion. How could she walk away from this man? Yet how could she fall in love with a nonbeliever?

  “I think you should stay here. You’d be safe—and so would Rose.”

  Ruth shook her head. “I’ve already asked. Mrs. Seaton says there isn’t any work for me in town—that even the residents are having a hard time keeping food on the table. If I stayed, the baby and I would surely be a burden—and I’m not willing to impose like that.”

  “But the weather, Ruth. It’s not safe. We almost died yesterday. I can’t put you and Rose in danger again.”

  She closed he
r eyes. Lord, what on earth do I do? There’s nothing for me in Sulphur Springs. How can I just let Dylan walk away?

  After a few moments, Dylan said quietly, “I asked around and found out there’s another town not too far from here that’s bigger and more prosperous because there’s gold there. Perhaps you can find work in Deer Lick. And a home for Rose. We can set off as soon as the weather clears and we’re strong enough to travel. I don’t see any other way, Ruth.”

  Ruth nodded mutely. As usual, God wasn’t giving her more than the next step of the way. “The weather will break—you’ll see. And if I can’t find work in the next town … I might just follow you all the way to Wyoming, Marshall McCall.”

  Dylan grinned. “I just can’t seem to get rid of you, can I?” They gazed at each other for a moment. What was that she saw in his eyes?

  Dylan broke contact and glanced over her shoulder. “Where’s Rose?”

  “Asleep.” Ruth stretched like a lazy cat. “I wanted to just sit and enjoy a cup of tea. Is that silly?”

  He smiled, and it hit her anew how wonderful he really was. Dylan McCall was an attractive man, even with his flaws. He was stubborn and single-minded, but he could be caring too. He had made sure nothing happened to her on the trail even though she thought she was alone. The whole time, Dylan had her in his scope much like God kept her in his sights. That suggested a man who cared, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

  “No, that’s not silly,” he said. “But I’m concerned about you, if you travel on with me any farther. We have a chance to end this right now with your reputation still intact.”

  She bit her lower lip. “We both know that nothing indecent is going on. I’ll dress like a boy again. We can go into town separately.” Her gaze met his. “I can’t stay here, Dylan. I don’t know whether God has something for me in Deer Lick or in Wyoming, but I do know I want to move on with you. Please, Dylan.”

  Dylan sighed. “I know you, Ruth. If you have a mind to follow me, I wouldn’t be able to stop you. I don’t think I can take the strain.” He grinned. “All right. We’ll set off in a day or two, as soon as we’re rested up.”