“Cows or sheep don’t come into it. It’s a family thing. Now git, before I forget what a good man your father was and tan your hide.”
As the riders disappeared over the hill, Joe’s wire-taut muscles relaxed. Emmeline sagged against his side, and he cradled her against him.
“How’d you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Get cattlemen to defend us?”
“They aren’t cattlemen, they’re family. Weren’t you listening?” Her beautiful blue eyes mesmerized him.
“I think marrying you might’ve been the smartest thing I ever did.”
“Might have?” She jabbed him in the ribs. “I had my doubts for a while, but you turned out to be a pretty good catch yourself. Like a knight on a white charger, you rode in and stole my heart.”
In spite of the onlookers, he couldn’t resist kissing her sweet lips.
Epilogue
The kitchen wouldn’t hold everyone, so they set up tables in the yard. The brand-new pine boards of Joe and Emmeline’s house gave off a resin scent that almost overwhelmed the smell of supper. Joe clasped her right hand, and she held her left to Matt. Surrounding the table, the sisters and their families all bowed their heads for the blessing.
Gareth prayed, “Father, we thank You for Your bounty and Your blessings, and that especially includes bringing Evelyn, Jane, Emmeline, and Gwendolyn to us. We ask that You would make us good husbands, bless us with children who will grow up to follow You, and that You would go before us. Thank You for this food and the hands that prepared it. Amen.”
Joe squeezed Emmeline’s hand and raised it to his lips for a quick kiss. “Amen.”
Emmeline let her eyes rest on each face. How much they had all changed over this summer. Jamie had grown a couple of inches, and he rarely left Gareth’s side, talking like his stepfather and even aping his walk. Evelyn’s countenance had softened, as if something inside her had finally relaxed and she could enjoy life again. Gareth teased her every chance he got, and Evelyn returned in kind. Gareth’s daughter, Maddie, looked nothing like the little hoyden who had protested the wedding. Garbed in a dress and pinafore now, she looked sweet and happy, though when they’d been building the house, she’d worn overalls and worked like a carpenter.
Jane, though pale and thin due to recent illness, blossomed like a rose every time Harrison looked at her. The news that she would be a mother in the late winter had all the sisters in raptures. Harrison’s father beamed as if he had thought the whole idea up himself. And Harrison clearly doted on Jane. Their own new house had just been completed.
Gwendolyn passed Emmeline a dish across the table. Matt leaned over to whisper into Gwendolyn’s ear. She blinked, blushed, and swatted his shoulder with a laugh. Her happiness and his were almost tangible. Betsy, next to Gwendolyn, giggled at something Sean said. Those two had been inseparable since the moment Sean laid eyes on the girl. He didn’t seem to care a plugged nickel if she was in a wheelchair or not. Harrison’s father had made some inquiries back east about treatment for the girl’s ailment, and plans were in the works for a trip for the Parkers to somewhere in Arkansas that boasted hot springs said to be good for weakened muscles. Emmeline had a feeling when it came time to go, Sean might tag along. They were young, but with Betsy’s prognosis being what it was, time was precious.
Joe nudged her elbow. “You going to eat, or just day-dream? You thinking about the house?” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Or are you thinking about getting rid of all these people so we can finally be alone?”
Her face heated, and she put her hands to her cheeks. He laughed as he always did when she blushed. “I was thinking, if you must know, about how dreams can come true in strange ways. Not a one of us got what we were expecting. Who knew that a bunch of ranchers could really be gallant knights in disguise?”
Joe’s eyes softened. “So you’re not still pining to be a cowgirl?”
“I wouldn’t trade my shepherd-knight for all the cows in Wyoming. And my sisters are going to hold fast to their Sagebrush Knights, too.”
“That’s good, because we’d never let you get away.”
ERICA VETSCH
Jane and Gwendolyn’s stories can be found in the Love is Patient Romance Collection. Available wherever Christian books are sold.
The Wonder of Spring
by Carol Cox
Prologue
1877, Northern Arizona Territory
Charlene Matkin gently set her basket of eggs on the counter of Foster’s General Store and laid her list alongside it. Abel Foster glanced at the eggs, then the list of supplies. Charlene swallowed nervously. “If the eggs won’t bring enough to get everything on the list, just give me the items with a star next to them.”
Abel nodded, his solemn face breaking into one of its rare smiles. “I reckon this will do. Looks to me like it’ll come out pretty even.”
Charlene smiled in return and tried to hide her relief. She and her grandfather might be scraping by, but she wasn’t about to advertise the fact.
She accepted the wrapped bundle from Abel and turned to leave, but his voice stopped her. “Whoa, I almost forgot. You have a letter here, young lady.”
Taking the proffered letter from his hands, she stared at the unfamiliar handwriting. Mystified as to who the sender might be, Charlene carried her parcel and letter out to the wagon. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching before she examined the envelope more closely. The return address bore the imprint of a newspaper in Baltimore. With her heart beating like a triphammer, Charlene carefully slit open the envelope and withdrew the single sheet of paper.
My dear Miss Matkin,
Thank you for sending us your story, “Echoes of the Canyon.” If you are not aware of it already, let me assure you that you have a great gift with words. Nick Rogers’s adventures make a stirring tale, indeed, and I am eager to publish your story.
Readers, unfortunately, do not take well to adventure stories written by a woman. If I may suggest it, you might wish to assume a pen name, as other women writers have done. This is unfair, I agree, but it is a fact, and I would hate to deprive the world of your stories because of a groundless prejudice. I await your decision.
Yours sincerely,
Howard Emerson
Charlene tried to still the trembling of her hands long enough to read the letter again, word by lovely word. Could it really be possible that the story she penned and submitted on a whim was good enough to publish? She gathered up the reins and clucked to the horses, anxious to get home and share the news with her grandfather.
The front door swung open when she pulled the horses to a halt. Charlene barely took time to set the brake before she vaulted from the wagon seat and sprang up the porch steps to throw herself into her grandfather’s arms. Jed Matkin’s eyes widened in surprise before he wrapped one lean arm around his granddaughter and returned her hug with gusto.
“What’s the occasion?” he asked, wobbling a little on his good leg.
With a cry of dismay that he might fall over, Charlene steadied her grandfather and then helped him to one of the rocking chairs on the neatly swept porch. While Jed propped his crutch against the wall, Charlene settled herself in the rocker opposite him.
“I didn’t mean to bowl you over like that.” Her apology was genuine, but nothing could diminish the excitement in her voice. “I’ve been holding it in all the way home, and I’m just about to burst.” She drew a deep breath and reached out to clasp his left hand in both of her own.
“You remember the story I wrote about your early years out here before you married Grandma?”
“The one you sent off to that newspaper feller? Sure, I do. It was a plumb good story, if I do say so myself. Only problem I could see was that made-up character.”
“Nick Rogers? But, Grandpa, he’s based on you. What’s wrong with him?”
Jed Matkin twitched his nose and stared off at a spot over Charlene’s head. “You didn’t make him nearly good-lo
oking enough.” One eyelid lowered in a roguish wink as Charlene caught the joke and sputtered with laughter. He chuckled and squeezed her hands. “All right, enough of my foolishness. What’s your news, honey?”
Charlene felt sure her face glowed as bright as an Arizona sunrise. “I got a letter from the owner of the newspaper today. He wants to print my story, Grandpa.” She paused once more, fighting to hold back happy tears, then added in an awestruck whisper, “He says I’m a good writer.”
“Well, of course you are!” Jed roared. He wrapped both arms around her in a bear hug. “I could have told you that. The man would have to be a fool not to see it—good to know that isn’t the case.” He pulled back and gave Charlene a resounding kiss on the forehead. “So when does this momentous event take place?”
“I guess it depends on me.” Charlene sobered a bit. “He wants to know if I’ll agree to use a pen name, a male one, so readers will accept the stories. I thought about it all the way home, and I’m just not sure. Do you think that seems dishonest?”
“Hmm. Now that is a poser.” Jed leaned back and pursed his lips in thought while Charlene waited expectantly. “It doesn’t seem right not to have that fine story printed. Seems to me that what you need is a way to give the public what they want but still be able to live with yourself. Is that it?”
Charlene nodded anxiously. “That’s right. But is there any way to do both?”
Jed narrowed his eyes to slits and stroked his upper lip with a forefinger. A slow smile tilted the corners of his mouth, deepening the lines around his faded blue eyes. He moved his lips silently, then he nodded as if satisfied. “That should do it.”
“What?” Charlene leaned forward, nearly tipping off the chair in her eagerness. “Have you thought of something?”
Her grandfather gave her a smug grin. “Do you remember what I used to call you when you were, oh, maybe five or six years old?”
Charlene stared blankly, trying to recall.
“Your grandmother hated it.” A low laugh rumbled from his throat. “Said it wasn’t fit for a young lady.”
Charlene frowned with the effort to remember. Then her brow cleared, and her lips parted in a delighted smile. “Oh, Grandpa, do you really think it’ll work?” At his nod, she leaped to her feet and gave him a quick squeeze. With a lighter heart, she hurried off to unload the supplies, put the wagon and horses away, and begin preparations for supper.
After the meal, Jed made a show of setting the oil lamp and Charlene’s writing materials on the table before her. “You set right here while I clean up the dishes,” he said in response to her questioning look. “You need to write back to that newspaper feller right away, and it won’t hurt me a bit to do some work around here.”
When she opened her mouth to protest, he held up one hand. “Go on and do what I tell you. It’ll be good for me. After all the years I spent tramping these mountains, having to sit around and nurse this bum leg of mine makes me feel worse than useless. At least this way, I’ll be doing something to help out. Besides,” he added with a wink, “that story you wrote was mine in the first place, so we’ll just call it a joint effort.”
Charlene watched as he collected one dish at a time then leaned on his crutch to hobble to the washbasin. She ached to scoop the lot up in an armload and get it over with quickly, but she knew her grandfather would be mortally offended if she did so.
After her grandmother passed away, Charlene’s parents invited Jed to come live with them, an offer he accepted with the stipulation that he would be a contributing member of the family. It came as a tremendous shock to him as well as Charlene when he outlived both his son and daughter-in-law and the two of them were left to care for each other. They had become a close-knit team, and Jed gallantly devoted himself to being parent, advisor, and friend to his granddaughter.
Then came the accident that crippled him. For a man who spent his life roaming the mountains and taming the harsh wilderness, Charlene knew it galled him to watch her carry out the heavy work on their place and to know the money from the eggs her hens produced constituted their major source of income. If he was willing to help out with housework, she refused to tear away the remaining shreds of his dignity.
Wincing only slightly at the ominous rattle of crockery, Charlene selected a piece of writing paper and picked up her pen.
Dear Mr. Emerson,
I received your letter today and am happy you wish to publish my story. Your suggestion to use a pen name to protect my identity caused me some concern at first, but I believe I have come up with a solution that will satisfy us both.
Thank you for your kind words of encouragement. Writing brings me much joy, and I am glad you think it may give pleasure to others, as well.
Yours truly,
Truly? Charlene chewed on the end of her pen for a moment before continuing. Yes, it was true. The name was hers.
She held her pen poised over the paper for a moment, and then signed the letter with a flourish:
Charlie Matkin
Chapter 1
One year later.
Nick Rogers stood on the mountain’s summit and watched the rosy fingers of the sunset intertwine with the dazzling golden bands painted across the darkening sky. Nearby, the trickle of a stream formed by the melting snows fashioned a song of praise to the Creator as its icy current splashed along to bring new spring life to the valley below.
Charlene penned the final words to her latest manuscript and signed “Charlie Matkin” underneath, marveling at how natural the signature seemed now. She rested her chin in one hand and stared at the view beyond the window, lost in thought.
So much had happened in the last year. So much had changed! A year ago, she never would have guessed the letter of acceptance from Mr. Emerson and the subsequent printing of “Echoes of the Canyon” would be followed by a deluge of letters from readers eager for more stories of Nick Rogers and the West.
Raised from childhood on a steady diet of stories of Jed’s younger days, she had a rich fund of her grandfather’s tales available to weave into one Nick Rogers adventure after another. Readers clamored for more, and a delighted Howard Emerson begged her to oblige. It never ceased to amaze Charlene that she could entertain so many others through a pastime that brought her such joy.
Not to mention an income! As if seeing her story in print for the first time hadn’t been thrill enough, an envelope from Mr. Emerson arrived soon afterward, containing not only a congratulatory letter, but a bank draft. His request for another Nick Rogers story, and then another, made Charlene feel as though she were living out some lovely fairy tale.
As the demand for Charlie Matkin’s stories increased, so did the amount of the bank drafts, and for the first time since Jed’s accident, they found themselves able to afford more than the bare necessities. Charlene had worried that Jed might feel resentful about her status as breadwinner, but he cheerfully reminded her there would be no stories without his recollections. To his way of thinking, it truly was a joint venture to which he could contribute.
Charlene tapped the end of her pen against her front teeth and sighed. The story she had just finished was her best to date. She knew she had improved as a writer over the past twelve months. Jed was happier than she had seen him in years, knowing he could once again help provide for their family. Everything seemed nearly perfect. Except…
Why haven’t I heard from Mr. Emerson? A worried frown knotted Charlene’s eyebrows, and she rubbed her forehead impatiently. Two months had passed since she received her last correspondence from the newspaper owner. Two full months—when the time between his earlier missives had been measured in mere weeks. Granted, there had been delays before, but never one this long. And like it or not, Charlene was growing anxious.
Take it easy, she cautioned herself. You haven’t been to town for a while. There’s every chance a letter will be waiting when you go in to post your story today. She surely hoped so. She and Jed were down to an almost empty cupboard. It was possib
le, she knew from experience, to subsist on meager fare, but she would hate to have to return to that kind of bare existence. Not only would it mean squeezing every penny, but she didn’t want anything to dim the new sparkle in her grandfather’s eyes.
With a resigned sigh, she addressed an envelope to Mr. Emerson, sealed the manuscript inside it, and prepared to go to town.
She eased the wagon along cautiously at first. The ground, saturated by the spring runoffs, had been too soggy to drive on for the past two weeks. Today, Charlene was pleased to see that although the wagon wheels made deep depressions in the road, they didn’t sink in enough to bog the wagon down.
If the letter and draft were waiting for her as she hoped, she would be able to stock up on supplies. She made a mental list of the things she needed, adding in a few special items she knew Jed would like. With the horses plodding comfortably along the familiar path, her attention was free to wander, taking in the new shoots of grass mingling with early-blooming wildflowers. The flat, rounded leaves of the aspen trees quivered in the light breeze and seemed to wave a cheery greeting.
Charlene’s spirits lifted, as they always did at this time of year. Spring was her favorite season—a time of renewal and hope. Lord, You provided for us this time last year, far and away beyond anything I expected. Help me to trust You to do it again.
She tied the team in the shade of a pine at one side of the general store and made her way inside, making an effort to project an air of confidence. If the letter was there, well and good. If not, she’d rather exist on what she could forage from the depleted supplies in her cellar than let people know how tight their finances were. She knew her grandfather would feel the same.
“Good morning, Mr. Foster.” She offered the storekeeper a bright smile. “I have something to mail.” She pushed her manuscript across the counter to him.
“I’ll make sure it goes out on the next stage.” He accepted the postage price from her and added the parcel to the stack of outgoing mail. “By the way,” he added, “you have some letters waiting. I figured you’d be in as soon as the ground dried out enough to travel.”
Where the Heart Is Romance Collection Page 57