by Judith Pella
“How do I do that?”
“Ask Him, Deborah!”
She smiled slightly at his use of her given name. It was obvious from the earnest tenderness, the true concern in his countenance, that they had suddenly progressed leagues in their budding friendship. He was no longer a preacher trying to win a convert, but rather he was a friend who was willing to open his heart and soul to her.
“Sam, is it really that simple?”
He smiled, too. He liked hearing his name from her lips. He said, “If you really want to know, then it’s simple.”
“I want to know.”
55
Sam didn’t pray with Deborah. He sensed this was something she would have to do alone. He also sensed that there was more to her reluctance in accepting God, but he hoped that as she sincerely confronted God and as He revealed His true nature to her, her other inhibitions would melt away.
Deborah went to the post livery stable where Lt. Godfrey had generously granted her permission to board the gray stallion. She had no saddle for the animal, its Indian saddle having been lost at Washita, and the gray did not take well to the army saddles. But Deborah was proficient enough to ride bareback. The Indian bridle that Broken Wing had made and that the gray had worn since Deborah had won him from the Pawnee brave was all the apparatus she needed. She led him from the stable, mounted under the afternoon sun, and rode to the fort gates where the sergeant in charge appeared most reluctant to let her leave the fort unattended.
“There’s still hostiles out there, ma’am.”
“I will not be going far. And, besides, I am armed.” She patted the bow and quiver of arrows slung at her back, which she had traded for from an Arapahoe at the store.
“You know how to use ’em?”
“I can manage.”
He raised an eyebrow, gave her another intense glance and, sensing no reason to disbelieve her, gave the order to open the gate.
Deborah rode about a mile from the fort, confident that from this distance the gray could outrun any adversary who tried to molest her. There were plenty of grassy knolls, now dotted with colorful wild flowers, where she could have dismounted and basked in the warmth of the sun, but she felt far too relaxed and content on the back of the gray to desire to stop even for the inviting surroundings. Besides, she had always been able to think better, with a clearer head, on the back of a horse. Maybe that was half her problem; she had ridden too seldom since leaving Virginia.
No, there was much more to it than that; she could not deny it. From the beginning, when her brother was killed, she had challenged God, dared Him to prove himself worthy of her faith. She had chosen to be His adversary. Probably because of her background, her father’s faith, and her religious upbringing, she could not simply ignore the spiritual realm altogether. She could not deny God’s existence without, in essence, declaring her father a fool. But in her pain, grief, and even anger, at her brother’s death, she could not placidly say it was God’s will and leave it at that. Her emotional upheaval demanded a target.
It had seemed so natural at the time to blame God, yet would she have done so had she been acquainted with His true nature? If she had really known God? That’s what Sam had tried to tell her once when he pointed out how she had depended on her father’s faith to carry her along, never getting to know God personally. How many times had she heard her father talk of God’s love, His tender mercy, His caring nature, yet she had not once asked God to show these things to her. Could it possibly be so easy?
“Ask Him, Deborah!” Sam had said.
But how could she be sure He’d hear her? Sam, of course, would say God hears everything. So would her father. But Deborah no longer wanted to take another’s advice on this matter. She had to know for herself, and there truly was only one way to do that.
Ask.
If He wasn’t listening, if He wasn’t even there, then she’d know. But if He was … ! If there really was a God out there with the kind of character extolled by men like Josiah Martin and Sam Killion, then she’d be a fool to ignore Him. She didn’t care so much about having all her troubles erased; she knew they were just a part of life. What drew her longing heart most was the peace of mind and spirit she had observed in her father, in Sam, but especially in Gray Antelope. The transformation in the Cheyenne squaw had been simply too compelling to ignore. Something had given Gray Antelope the strength not only to go on but also to do so with hope, even though the future before her was at best uncertain … at worst, bleak. If this something was a relationship with the Jesus Christ preached by Sam Killion, then she could not rest until she found out all she could about Him.
As Deborah guided the gray stallion down a steep gorge and splashed across a little stream, a tributary of the Arkansas, she thought of that new strength she had noted in her Cheyenne friend. Strength and independence was the goal Deborah had been seeking all along. Her complete helplessness in the face of Leonard’s abuse had scarred her deeply, had made her a woman almost obsessed with grasping control of her life. Since escaping his tyranny, she had continued to find herself helpless and at the mercy of others. That had been the case even during her time with the Cheyenne. She loved Broken Wing and cherished her life with him; she would have been content to spend her whole life with him, but as soon as he was taken from her, she was helpless again. And now she was dependent on old Hardee Smith.
Was it possible that she was looking for strength in the wrong places? Could it be that with a relationship with Christ she could have been strong even in the terrible presence of her first husband? Was Gray Antelope’s example telling her that strength came not from independence but from inner peace?
Deborah gasped audibly at the novel idea. “Is that true?” she murmured into the wind. “Have I been so wrong?”
She rode on a little farther, her head spinning with this new insight.
She had heard the phrase surrendering to God, and it had always left a sour taste in her heart. But if surrendering meant peace, and peace meant strength—did surrender, then, mean strength?
Deborah smiled. This ride had been intended to answer her questions, not create new ones. But perhaps she was getting ahead of herself. Maybe all the other questions would fall into line if she returned to the original.
Who is God?
Is He a god of retribution or love, of troubles or peace, of neglect or caring?
Deborah knew she had no choice except to speak directly with God. The prospect frightened her, for if she received no answer, she must face the emptiness, the hopelessness of her life alone, and that would be much harder now that she had seen other possibilities.
She reined in the gray, stopping atop a low rise on the opposite side of the stream. From that vantage point she could see the sparkling shore of the Arkansas to the south, but the fort was farther west on the river, and several intervening hills blocked it from view. Looking all around at that height and seeing no other sign of civilization intensified her sense of solitude. There seemed no better time to find out if she were truly alone. She must speak—either to the wind or to a listening, caring God. Deborah hesitated, feeling awkward, even silly. She was alone. What did she expect to happen, anyway? Killion didn’t say if he thought God would actually answer her question. That sort of thing only happened to biblical prophets, not an ordinary person, a woman to boot. She wished she had asked Sam if God spoke to him. She at least should have asked how to be sure if He was speaking or not. Deborah’s father had sometimes spoken of a “still small voice.”
If only I knew more! Deborah thought.
She took a determined breath. There was only one way to know.
Ask.
“God,” she said aloud, her voice hoarse and unsure, “I must know who you are. I see now I will never experience peace until I find out, though I am afraid I will never know peace at all if none of what I have heard from my friends is true. But I am willing to take the risk. I have nothing right now, no hope, no joy, no strength. If it’s all a lie, I wil
l be no worse off…. No! Now that I think of it, I will be worse off, for now I am only desperate; then I would be desolate. But I’ve come too far to worry about that. I must know the truth, even if it means accepting hopelessness.
“Show me!” Deborah cried into the wind.
And she was suddenly surprised to feel tears fall down her cheeks. She realized that with the simple utterance of those words, she had come to a turning point in her life. She would never be the same after this moment. No going back … for good or ill, she must face what lay ahead, her only comfort the knowledge that she had asked for it, demanded it. She could have continued as before, in ignorance, living with the occasional confusion and the constant emptiness in her heart. But she had chosen, fully cognizant of the risks, to step off the precipice.
Would someone—God, perhaps—catch her? Or, would she keep on falling for eternity?
Deborah closed her eyes and waited. The gray snorted and stomped his hoof, craving to be on the move. But Deborah had come too far to be so impatient. Yet little doubts, like pebbles cast against her resolve, assailed her. How long should she wait? How would she know? How …
Be still, and I will come.
It was no voice she heard, no audible words, yet the impression upon her mind of having been spoken to was no less real. And with that silent thought, Be still, and I will come, she felt assurance wash over her like a cool stream on a hot, sticky day. She recalled the hauntingly beautiful song Sam had sung at his Sunday service.
There is a fountain filled with blood drawn from Emmanuel’s veins; and sinners, plunged beneath that flood, lose all their guilty stains….
Was this what it was like to stand beneath that fountain? Clean, yes, but refreshed also … and renewed. For Deborah, the mere promise of fulfillment was almost as profound as the total experience. And for the present, it was enough to know that answers were there, that she need no longer hang suspended, or fall forever with none to care or save her.
I will come.
She needed no more profound revelation. The growing sense of peace in her heart told her that God had indeed spoken to her, and that He would continue to do so until her questions were answered and her confusion satisfied. There were still questions and there was still some confusion, but it no longer frightened her. She need not fear a desolate future. And if God cared enough to assure her of this, then she had confidence that this was the kind of God who was blameless. There might be pain and grief, but it was not from this God.
Deborah bent over and rubbed the gray’s neck. “It’s going to be okay, boy. I can’t wait to tell Sam!”
She dug her heels into the animal’s broad, strong flanks and the stallion eagerly wheeled into motion, leaping almost immediately into a full gallop.
56
Sam was in the Sutler’s store, and Deborah, fairly glowing with the combined effects of her newfound assurance and the stimulating ride, burst upon him with a rather uncharacteristically effusive greeting.
“Sam, I’m so glad you are here. You won’t believe what a time I’ve had—”
But she stopped suddenly when she saw he wasn’t alone. Three men were lounging around a table, half-filled glasses in front of each man and a bottle of whiskey in the middle of the table. Sam had been standing nearby with a foot propped up on a vacant chair conversing with the men. This, however, was not what brought her excited speech to such an abrupt end. She knew those men, though she had long ago given them up for dead.
“Griff McCulloch!” she exclaimed. “Slim! Longjim! I can’t believe you are alive!”
Sam had somewhat prepared Griff for Deborah, but no words could have fully primed him for what his eyes now beheld. This woman looked like the girl he had rescued from the gallows four years ago, but he saw now that the pretty, taciturn, sorrowful girl had been a mere shadow of what had flowered over the years. If she had been lovely then, she was beautiful now in a way that only depth of experience could produce. What he didn’t realize was that much of that glowing beauty had lighted her countenance only in the last couple hours. Nevertheless, his mouth went dry, and as he stood with Slim and Longjim to welcome her, he felt wooden and awkward. He was suddenly painfully aware of the days of traveling dust clinging to his clothes, and the several days’ growth of beard on his face. But he held out a hand to her and managed a grin, though he felt he must look completely repugnant to this exquisite frontier woman.
“Howdy, ma’am,” Griff said, and his companions added similar greetings. Griff continued, “I reckon I’m as alive as I’ll ever be. And I’m glad to see the same of you. I’ve hated myself for years ‘cause I couldn’t get back to you that day.”
“Everything worked out for the best, Griff,” Deborah answered with a depth of sincerity that made Sam take a closer look at her. She’d left a couple hours ago confused and fearful, but she definitely looked different now. Sam was suddenly anxious to talk with her. He knew something wonderful had happened out there on the prairie, but the arrival of McCulloch was going to delay a private conversation.
Deborah spoke again. “I have so many questions. Let me check on the children and then we can talk.”
Carolyn and Sky, as everyone had come to call Blue Sky, were happily occupied “helping” Hardee stock the shelves with some new merchandise. The minute Sky saw his mother, he lost interest and wanted to be held. But Carolyn only gave her mother a nod, returning immediately to the absorbing task. Deborah scooped Sky up in her arms, took a biscuit from one of the cracker barrels for him to nibble on, and returned to the unexpected reunion in the Sutler’s store.
As Deborah approached the table, she took a closer look at the three outlaws. They had changed little over the years. Griff, beneath all the dust, was still the rugged man of authority, with a humorous glint in his steely eyes. Longjim had a few strands of gray in his black hair and beard, but his compact, muscular figure gave no less the impression of the tough frontiersman. Slim’s long, angular face had a few more wrinkles, but he had not added an ounce to his lean, lanky frame.
“Them’s fine-looking kids,” said Slim, reaching out a finger to tweak Sky’s chubby cheek. “Seem’s like a coon’s age since I been around young’uns. Mind if I hold him a spell, ma’am?”
Deborah looked at Sky. “Would you like to sit with Nahkoa’s friend?” she asked in Cheyenne. The boy, not yet two, gave the stranger a suspicious glance and clung tighter to Deborah.
“He’s a bit shy of strangers,” Deborah apologized.
“Oh, I understand,” said Slim. “My young’uns were like that, too.” At this Griff and Longjim swung their heads around with surprised stares at their partner. Slim muttered in response, “Well, you don’t know everything!”
Deborah smiled. “I’m sure he will warm up to you.”
And so Slim spent the remainder of the conversation entertaining Sky; making comical faces at him, wiggling his large ears or twisting his lips, rolling a ball back and forth across the table or playing “peek-a-boo.” Thus, the interchange between the others was punctuated at increasing intervals with giggles from Sky and coarse laughter from the outlaw. Deborah recalled when she had held a gun on Slim while Sam tied him up. She was glad he seemed to hold no grudges.
“Aside from all my other surprises today, Griff,” said Deborah, “I am surprised to see you come into the fort so boldly.”
“We been laying low for a spell, ma’am—”
Deborah interrupted, “Why don’t you fellows just call me Deborah. I feel like we’re old friends.”
“Be proud to do so, ma’am—that is, Deborah,” said Griff. “Well, anyway, with the war over and what with bein’ gone for so long, the law don’t seem much interested in a few ‘has beens’ like us.”
“So, you’ve been staying out of trouble all these years?” asked Deborah.
“More or less.”
“’Cept for that time in California—” began Longjim.
“Nothin’ no one does in California counts,” cut in Griff. “Mostly
we been drifting. Even spent a year scouting for Sheridan up north—imagine us Rebel reprobates actually working for Yankees. We’re okay long as no one looks too closely, and believe me no one looks close out West, ‘cause half the fellows here, including lawmen, would have to be hauled into jail if they did. We hightailed it to Mexico when we was scattered four years ago.”
“I hope Sam explained that he had nothing to do with that unfortunate incident,” Deborah quickly interjected.
“We knew that years ago,” Griff replied. “Weren’t the law at all that was chasin’ us. See, when we were at the hideout we had been planning to hold up a Wells Fargo shipment. That’s why we had to keep Killion out of the way. Well, when we got there we found it had already been robbed. We was pretty put out about that till we chanced upon them other robbers. They was so sure of themselves, they hadn’t even set a lookout. Me and the boys lifted the loot from them and got away clean—”
“Or, so we thought,” said Longjim.
“Yeah,” concurred Griff. “Turns out they had a Crow Indian with ’em, and it was only a matter of time before they caught up with us. They dogged us all the way to the Staked Plains after the gunfight on the Cimarron. We hoped to slow ’em down with the miserable heat and lack of water; though, of course, it didn’t do us no good either. I guess it was the Apaches that finally saved our necks.”
“Apaches?” said Sam with a raised eyebrow. He had fought enough of that fierce tribe to know they seldom saved any enemy’s neck, especially that of a white man.
“Durned near massacred us,” said Griff. “But it was the other outlaw gang that took the brunt of it. By then it was just Slim and me and Tom Carver, since we had separated from the rest of the boys back there in Indian Territory. Well, the Apaches killed Tom, and the other gang held off the Indians while Slim and I got away—that wasn’t their intention, of course, but that’s how it worked out. I felt a mite bad getting away at their expense, but since it was them or us, I figured I made the right choice.”