Trusting Grace

by Maggie Brendan

  Sarah hopped up, running to him with a cheerful greeting. “We’re playing a game,” she shouted.

  Robert dismounted. “Is that so? What kind of game?”

  “We’re making our dream home. Come see!” She took his hand and pulled him to where Becky and Tom sat.

  With twigs and pine needles from the forest floor, they’d outlined a two-story house with shutters and flowers in the yard, a rough outline on the porch of a couple along with three children and a dog. Robert’s heart lurched with a clear reminder—all children needed a real family. “Mighty nice, Sarah,” he choked out. “How about we eat our supper and I’ll tell you about my new job?”

  “Finally,” Tom said with a stern look at Robert. “Becky, dip soup for the honoree who’s finally got a job.”

  Becky uncrossed her arms. “Maybe soon we’ll have some real food.”

  Sarah slipped her soft, little hand into his, guiding him to have a seat by the campfire. “Everything’s gonna work out just fine!”

  “Yes, Sarah, but how do you know this?” Tom asked.

  Sarah handed Robert a bowl of soup while Becky dipped the rest. “’Cause, I had a dream last night and an angel told me, silly. You just wait and see.”

  Robert watched the expressions between the two of them—Sarah giving an angelic smile, convinced by her dream of a family, and Tom who rolled his eyes.

  Becky took her seat on a camp stool, steadying her bowl. “You and your dreams! You know nothing about the future. If you did, you’d be more worried about living with a stepfather who doesn’t want us!”

  Quick tears formed in Sarah’s eyes. “He never said he didn’t want us. Besides, with Mama gone, God will take care of us.”

  Robert’s heart squeezed, and he tried to think of a reply. “I never once said to you that I didn’t want you.” He saw Becky’s eyes lower, not wanting to look at him.

  “Children, let’s say a blessing for the soup that Becky made for us.” He looked into the bowl at the thin watery stuff and pretended it was chicken ’n’ dumplings, then blessed the food.

  “So you were going to tell us about a job?” Tom stared at him.

  “Yes I was. I’m going to work on a farm not far from here. But I want you all to stay out of sight for now. When I get enough saved, I’ll rent us a couple rooms at the boardinghouse in town.”

  “Can’t we go tomorrow?” Becky pleaded. “I’d give anything to sleep in a real bed for a change.”

  Sarah echoed her plea. “Oh, yes, please?” Her eyes flashed in anticipation. “Becky and I can share a bed.”

  “I’m sorry. Not until I earn some money.” Robert pretended he enjoyed Becky’s soup, but soon set his bowl aside. He wasn’t all that hungry anyway. “The wagon will have to do for you girls a little while longer, and Tom and I will sleep underneath as usual.”

  “I can hardly wait,” Tom said sarcastically. “Just what are we supposed to do all day while you’re gone?”

  “Your aunt packed your school books, so you can read and do your arithmetic until I can get you settled. I’ll ask about school tomorrow so you can finish out the school year.”

  “Just how I wanted to spend my spring—teaching my sisters.” Tom stood, angrily slamming his bowl down. He picked up a stick and walked over to their straw design and savagely destroyed it, leaving a messy pile of straw. “See this? It’s never gonna happen no matter what you dream, Sarah!” He stalked away from the camp.

  Becky and Sarah were suddenly quiet, but Robert saw their tears. He sighed, not sure what to do next. He was weary and wished he could be alone with his thoughts.

  Sarah reached over and patted his hand. “Don’t fret none. He hates school, but I like it. Becky can be the teacher.”

  Becky made a face. “I can try, but Tom’s a whole lot smarter than me.”

  Robert sighed. “I’d better go after Tom.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Sarah said, hopping up.

  He looked down at her. “I’d rather you stay and help Becky clean up.”

  “I need to take the dishes to the creek and wash them, so come with me. I can use your help.” Becky’s voice was softened as she tried to pacify her younger sister.

  He left them gathering the dishes and walked in the direction Tom had gone. He wasn’t sure what he’d say to the boy. Having no experience with kids left him searching for answers.

  The farther he walked into the woods, the cooler it became, as wind swayed the tall pines. A sound of rushing water in the distance led him to a waterfall that flowed into Bozeman Creek. He surmised the water fed the farmlands surrounding the adjacent area—maybe even the Bidwells’ by way of Gallatin River.

  When he drew closer, he saw Tom was standing on a boulder at the edge of the creek bed tossing pebbles into the rushing water. The roar of the water was so loud that Tom didn’t hear him walk up until Robert was standing alongside him. Tom jumped and glared at him before going back to throwing rocks with force.

  “Look, Tom—I know you don’t like the situation we have any better than I, but we need to have a truce between us until we can get something worked out.” Tom said nothing and looked straight ahead, so Robert continued. “I’m not your enemy, and I know you don’t like me, but for starters we’ve got to work together for the sake of your sisters.” The silence was heavy, but Robert waited, wishing he knew what Tom was thinking.

  “All right then. If you don’t want to talk about this, then I’ll leave you alone.” Robert started to leave, but Tom turned to look at him.

  “Why didn’t you just leave us with Aunt Mildred? At least she was family.” Tom’s eyes snapped angrily.

  Robert shifted his weight and gazed at the boy. “You don’t get it, do you? I hate to break it to you, but your Aunt Mildred didn’t want y’all around.” There. He’d finally told him.

  Tom’s face crumpled. “I thought she liked us.”

  Robert felt bad that he’d blurted out the truth. “Tom . . . it’s not that she didn’t like you. It’s hard to take care of three more children when you already have four.”

  “But she was Mama’s sister! Mama sent us off to stay with her because she was so sick—but I didn’t know she’d die!”

  “Tom—I know. I didn’t know she would either. I never even knew that your mother had any children. I will do right by you and your sisters until you decide you’re old enough to be on your own.”

  “I guess I should be grateful, but I don’t know what I feel right now.”

  “That’s understandable. You’ve had a great loss. Besides, I don’t know how I feel about all of this myself. That’s why we have to call a truce.” Robert held out his hand. “Deal?”

  Tom stared down at Robert’s hand, hesitating. After a long minute, he finally shook Robert’s offered hand. “Deal, for now.”

  Robert wasn’t reassured by Tom’s answer and tried to remember when he’d been Tom’s age. “We’d better start back to camp. It’s getting dark, and I don’t want to leave the girls alone.” He led the way until Tom fell into step with him, and both were silent on the walk back.

  5

  Grace was thankful for the display of pink clouds stretching across the sky in the evening dusk and pulled her shawl closer to her, folding her arms as she walked. She enjoyed taking walks after supper, listening to the sounds of the birds—which included an occasional eagle’s screech. It was about the only time she seemed to relax and allow herself to be surrounded by Montana’s beauty. Was it only last year she and her father took evening walks together after supper before retiring? Now walking had become difficult for him.

  She squinted, scanning the sky for what appeared to be smoke in the distance. She couldn’t tell whether it was at the Hedricks’ farm or on her land, but she doubted it was hers. Her thoughts traveled back to earlier when they’d hired Mr. Frasier.

  He looked muscular, from what she could tell, though he was trim. Most likely from the hard work of being a farmer. I shouldn’t be lingering on whether or not
he looks masculine as long as he does his work here.

  It was time she headed back down the path to the farmhouse. The light from the windows behind the curtains gave off an inviting, homey welcome along with the cottonwoods swaying nearby. She hoped when anyone neared her home, which wasn’t very often, they felt comfortable. If God had blessed her with children, this would be the time of evening she’d be getting them ready for bed. But that hadn’t happened, and she wondered if other women felt what she did—a deep desire for children to hold, sing to, nurture? Sighing, she wondered if Ginny’s advice to get out more was advisable. These days, she spent most of her time taking care of Pop. She’d skipped invitations to sewing circles or picnics at church, believing the farm work and taking care of her dad was a priority. She loved her pop and was fiercely devoted to him. Too much, some might say. But he was the only family she had, and the thought of losing him . . . well, it was too much to bear. A hoot owl’s call from a nearby pine tree echoed her sentiments.

  Grace spied Robert Frasier walking up the lane to the house just as she reached for her bonnet before stepping outdoors to milk Bessie. He still had the same somber look on his face, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he’d look like with a smile. He must have a lot on his mind.

  “Good morning, Mr. Frasier,” she said.

  He tipped his hat. “Mornin’.”

  They met in the middle of the yard and once again Grace observed his deep-set steely eyes beneath his bushy dark brows. He didn’t appear to have had much sleep. “Have you had breakfast?”

  “Yes. What do you want me to start with first?”

  “Well, I’ve been plowing the furrows to plant the potato seeds but wasn’t able to finish. If you’ll follow me to the barn, we can hook Cinnamon up to the plow and get that completed.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Lead the way.”

  A blue-gray duck waddled over and followed next to Grace. “Mornin’, Bluebelle,” she said with a smile, and the duck quacked back a friendly greeting. “Meet Mr. Frasier.” Grace paused to look over to Robert. “Bluebelle is a special type of duck—a Blue Swede—that my dear friend, Ginny, ordered especially for me on my birthday. We’re hoping to get another duck to mate with her.” Grace felt her face burn hot at mentioning mating to an almost complete stranger. What must he think of me?

  “She’s a beauty,” he said.

  But Grace was aware he couldn’t care less about her Bluebelle. She hurried to open the large barn door, allowing bright morning sunlight to flood the dark interior. Cinnamon made a loud noise of hello when she saw them. Grace walked straight to her, pulling back the latch and entering the stall to lead her out. “Cinnamon, meet your new friend, Mr. Frasier.”

  Robert strode up to her and stroked her jaw. “Yep, we’re going to get to know each other pretty well by day’s end, Cinnamon.”

  His speaking to Cinnamon told Grace that he was kind to animals. He’d better be. Cinnamon had been her horse for a very long time. “If you’ll get the harness off the wall there”—Grace pointed to the tack on the far wall—“we can go outside and get her behind the plow and in the field.”

  Grace paused with Cinnamon at the barn door, but when Robert came up from behind, the horse kicked him hard. He yelled, and a look of pain crossed his face. “What the—!” He glared at the horse and the duck squawked away, fluttering her wings.

  “Oh my goodness! I can’t believe Cinnamon would do that!” Grace was shocked and rushed over to Robert, who was grimacing and leaning over to rub his calf. His straw hat fell off in the sawdust on the barn floor. “Are you all right? What can I do?” Grace snatched up his hat and handed it to him.

  “I’ll live, but that horse of yours is not as gentle as I perceived.” Robert shook the sawdust from his hat with a tiny smile. “I reckon she’s not used to anyone but you?”

  “I suppose, and I’m really sorry. Want me to take a look at your leg?” She already knew the answer, but felt she had to ask anyway.

  “Nope. It’s just a bruise—I’m happy it wasn’t my head she kicked.”

  “I don’t know why she did that, and I’m very sorry. Shall we continue?” Grace chewed her bottom lip and caught him staring at her. Probably wishes he’d never answered my ad. She knew how painful a kick from a horse could be, and she felt awful about it. “Why don’t you let me hook up the harness, and then you can plow? That way you won’t be anywhere near Cinnamon’s behind.”

  “Suit yourself,” he answered.

  ———

  When she was done, Robert nodded and reached for the plow handles, trying to hide the sharp pain in his calf. It wouldn’t do to let on about it or Grace would consider him weak and not fit to work on their farm.

  He limped along toward the open field. The day was showing signs of being perfect, and he liked nothing better than to be outdoors. Birds twittered, then flew up to the trees with a worm or two to feed their little ones. Fluffy clouds overhead would keep the plowing cool—and he was grateful for that—but it did seem a bit odd to work alongside a lady he barely knew, much less take orders from her. He couldn’t help but wonder about her. Her voice nearby brought him back to the task at hand as she walked toward him.

  “You can see where I started a few days ago, so you can pick up from where I left off.” She pointed at two long furrows of rich soil. Long lashes framed honey-colored eyes peering at him from beneath her spoon bonnet. “Are you sure you’re all right?” She seemed reluctant to move away.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then I’ll go get the seed potatoes I started last week from the cellar and start planting on the other two rows.” She turned toward the duck. “Come along, Bluebelle.”

  He nodded and watched her walk away, Bluebelle’s webbed feet pattering behind her in a scene that was almost comical. But Grace didn’t seem to mind.

  Robert was anxious to get started before the clouds parted and the sun beat down. He threw the leather straps across his shoulders and gave the reins a snap, saying, “Giddyup, Cinnamon.” Cinnamon moved forward and Robert followed, allowing the plow to cut a straight row through the rich earth.

  He continued for a while, sharply aware that Grace had returned, basket in hand, bending and dropping potato starters, eye pointing upward in the dirt, then returning with a hoe to cover the long trenches with the plowed dirt. Once he paused to rest and glanced her way. He saw her straighten, placing her hands in the middle of her back to give it a stretch. Planting anything was hard work, and somehow he felt sorry for her.

  She caught his eye, lifting her hand with a small wave. He smiled back, knowing she couldn’t see that from where she was, then finished the row he was on. It was nearly lunchtime and his stomach was growling. The children would have bread and beans from a can just as he’d packed in his knapsack. He hoped they would stay out of trouble. Tonight he planned on moving the camp a little closer so he wouldn’t have as far to walk the next morning. When he had enough money, he’d find a place in town. He hoped he could hold it all together until then.

  Robert soon heard the dinner bell and looked up to see Grace at the back porch, tall and graceful, signaling it was lunchtime. He unhitched Cinnamon and turned her out to pasture before striding over to the house’s porch. “I’ll go retrieve my lunch and eat under a shade tree, ma’am,” he told her.

  “Why, there’s really no need, Mr. Frasier. I’ve already made lunch. Pop said to invite you.”

  “Thank you, but I’ll go rest under that big cottonwood,” he answered.

  Her face fell, but she quickly gave him a smile. “Perhaps another time then.”

  He tipped his hat to her, then walked in the direction where he’d left his knapsack. He had to admit, the smells from the kitchen were enticing.

  6

  By late afternoon, half the potatoes were planted. The rest would be completed the next day, so Robert headed back to his campsite, tired but with a sense of accomplishment. He always felt good after a day’s work. He hadn’t gone far when he hea
rd a sound on the trail behind him and glanced around. That blasted duck was following him.

  “Go away, Bluebelle!” He flailed his arm out and the duck backed away. “Go home and stay there.” Listen to me—talking to her, he thought to himself. I’m beginning to sound like Grace. Finally the duck left and he walked on, anxious to see how the children had fared and get the camp moved before dark. It was probably best not to stay in one spot too long in the woods. Besides, he wasn’t sure whose property it was—maybe the government’s.

  Sarah skipped toward him, curls bouncing and a big smile on her baby face. “You’ve been gone an awfully long time, Papa,” she said, throwing her arms about his legs, which made him wince. “Is something wrong?”

  He noticed her use of Papa and smiled down at her. She was so sweet and innocent, how could he be annoyed at her? “No, I’m only a little sore. You see, I’ve not used a few of these muscles in a couple of months. What did you do today, and where’s Tom?”

  Becky walked up to them. “He’s cleaning our supper by the creek. He caught some nice trout, but I don’t know anything about frying them. Do you?” she asked, resting her hands on her skinny hips.

  “Sure do. Let me wash up, and you can watch and learn.” Robert tried to sound cheerful, but he was reminded how after a long day in the field, his mother’s home-cooked meal would be waiting for him. It seemed like a lifetime since he’d had a good meal.

  Tom entered the clearing with a string of fish, not saying much. “Here’s supper.” He handed them to Robert.

  “Thank you, Tom. I’ll get this cooking in a few minutes, but after we clean up I want to move the campsite a little closer to the farm I’m working on.”

  “Aw, again?” Tom folded his arms. “I’m sick and tired of moving and living outside.”

  So Tom’s attitude hadn’t changed much since their talk. “You know something, Tom? I’m tired of it too, but remember it won’t be for long.”