by Judith Pella
“It isn’t one of our hands,” Deborah corrected instinctively, though she was hardly thinking of grammar at that moment. She fairly skipped down the steps and ran to meet the riders as they galloped into the yard.
“Sam! Sam, I can’t believe it’s you!” Deborah cried.
Sam leaped from his horse before it came to a full stop and scooped Deborah into his arms, lifting her two feet off the ground.
“Glory hallelujah!” he exclaimed. “You ain’t forgot me!”
“Not in a million years!” Deborah almost giggled in her excitement.
Their faces came within inches of each other, and neither knew that in that instant the other’s heart skipped a beat. But, suddenly flustered, Sam set Deborah once more on her feet.
“Wherever did you find him, Slim?” asked Deborah once her balance had returned.
“Just where you’d expect, preaching the eyeballs off them poor cowboys in Dodge City.”
“And how did you put up with each other all the way from there?” asked Deborah, laughing.
“Oh, I got a tough hide,” said Slim, who was already giving each of the children a hearty embrace.
“You’ll never convince me of that,” said Sam with a good-natured chuckle.
“You always was an old diehard.”
“They been going on like this for weeks,” said Reverend Slaughter. “If Slim here ain’t converted, it ain’t for lack of trying!”
“You men must be tired and hungry,” said Deborah. “And you are just in time for Christmas dinner.”
“What’d I tell you, boys?” said Slim. “I knew we’d make it.”
“Sky,” said Deborah, “would you please take their horses out to the barn and see they are tended?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“My goodness!” exclaimed Sam. “This here ain’t that baby I last saw eight years ago! Why, he’s practically a full-growed man now. I reckon you don’t remember me at all. But if this pretty young lady here is Carolyn, maybe she’d recollect me some.”
Carolyn smiled politely but shook her head.
“This is Sam Killion, children,” said Deborah. She turned to Sam. “I guess they will have to get to know you all over again—that is, if you plan to be here long enough for that.”
“I talked him into pulling up stakes in Kansas,” said Slaughter.
“It didn’t take much talking,” added Slim. “The minute he heard about all the heathens here in Texas and the few number of preachers, no one coulda stopped him.”
“I was starting to feel kind of useless back there in Kansas,” said Sam. “There’s two new circuit riders in the area and churches with ministers springing up everywhere.”
“So … you’re here to stay awhile?” said Deborah, barely masking her eager hopefulness.
“I reckon so.”
“What a Christmas we have to celebrate this year!” An excited flush glowed from Deborah. “And we better come on in and get started before we freeze.”
Within days, Sam began to fit in as one of the family at the ranch. If the children did not at first remember him, they soon became enamored with his warm and exuberant nature. Even Carolyn softened enough to eagerly await his visits and beg for one of his wonderful stories. Though he stayed in the bunkhouse with the men when he wasn’t riding the trails ministering to the scattered settlers, he often took supper with Deborah and the children, and after the meal he never failed to have some entertaining tale to tell. Often these were Bible stories told with such interesting vigor that more than once he had to pull out his Bible to prove to the children that they were actually in there. But when Sky and Carolyn learned that he had once been a Ranger, they hounded him relentlessly with requests for accounts of his Ranger adventures. He proved to be more reticent with these, but during the telling of one, another of his avid interests was discovered.
“What’s the Alamo?” Sky asked when Sam happened to mention the famous mission.
Sam turned to Deborah with mock dismay. “Why, Deborah, what have you been teaching these poor children?”
“Only their letters and numbers, and a bit about George Washington and Thomas Jefferson,” she said apologetically.
“Well, if these children are going to be Texans, they got to know about the Alamo!”
“Tell us! Tell us!” begged the children.
“The Alamo is one of the most important places in Texas,” said Sam, needing little more encouragement. “There, a bunch of brave men fought and died for freedom. They could have quit and saved their necks, but they chose to stick it out, even though they were all doomed to die. They believed freedom is the most important thing a person can have. ‘Course, that’s one kind of freedom and it is worth dying for, but there’s another kind of freedom that only one man had to die for, and that’s the freedom of living for and in Christ. I always hope most of them fellas had both kinds of freedom. I know at least one did.”
“Who was that?” asked Carolyn.
“That was my pa. He was there at the Alamo, and maybe that’s why I figure every true Texan ought to know our history.”
“He must have been a brave man,” said Carolyn.
“I reckon he was, though I never knew him. I was born in the fall of 1836, after the Alamo, but my ma named me Sam, just like my pa wanted.”
“Was his name Sam?”
“No, his name was Benjamin Killion, but he wanted his son to be named after Sam Houston. I wouldn’t be surprised if every boy born that year in Texas wasn’t named Sam.”
“Is your pa dead?” asked Sky innocently.
“Yeah, he is.” Sam paused reflectively.
“So is mine,” said Sky.
“I know that, Sky,” Sam replied, placing an understanding arm around the boy, “but I can tell you’re the kind of boy who would have made your pa proud, just like I hope my pa would have been of me.”
“My pa is dead, too,” Carolyn interjected pointedly. “He was a war hero.”
Silently, Sam gave her a slight, vague nod, then drew her to him in his other arm. He couldn’t resist a glance toward Deborah, but she was looking down at her lap, so he received no response from her.
“Was your ma and pa born in Texas, too, Sam?” asked Sky.
“Oh no. My pa came from Kentucky and my ma from Pennsylvania, and I can’t imagine a more different pair falling in love and getting married than them—though they almost didn’t.”
“What happened?”
“That’s a mighty long story and it’s getting late. You remind me another time and I’ll gladly tell it to you.”
Not only the children enjoyed Sam’s presence. Deborah monopolized almost as much of his time as did her children. The very moment her eyes had beheld him, she realized he had come in answer to her prayers. At last she had the fellowship of another believer, and Deborah wondered how she had survived the last years without him. She realized quickly what a dear friend he was and what a gap his absence had left within her. They spent hours together, riding and talking, walking and talking, eating and talking. That there was enough of Sam to go around, between Deborah and the children and his quickly growing flock among the settlers, was a miracle in itself. But he never tired of any of them, especially not of Deborah. He sought her out whenever he could, as much for spiritual enrichment as for the sheer pleasure of her company.
It had been a long eight years. Many times in Kansas and the northern territories where he rode circuit, Sam had seriously considered quitting his ministry there and racing as fast as a horse could carry him to Texas and to Deborah. But always, his impulsive yearnings had been held in check by the stark need for his services. About four years ago he had been all packed up and ready to pull out when a distraught father rode up to Sam’s door. The man had traveled two days searching for a minister to give a Christian burial for his wife and two children who had died of the cholera. Sam could not refuse him, and the incident impressed upon him what his priorities must be. He had decided long ago to put God first and had to t
rust that somehow God would honor his faithfulness.
When so many new ministers began to filter into the area, Sam wondered if he might soon be “called” to another ministry, perhaps even to Texas. He put the matter to fervent prayer and gradually sensed his time in the Northern Plains might be drawing to a close. When he asked where he would be sent next, the only answer he received was, I will show you.
Soon, everywhere he turned he was meeting someone from Texas, or reading and hearing something about Texas. One preacher friend of his told him he ought to return and minister to his home state, which was quickly gaining a reputation for its wild and violent ways. Then Slim showed up. And a sense of uncluttered assurance had immediately filled Sam. He knew this unexpected meeting with Slim after so many years was no coincidence.
What he hadn’t known, however, was if this call to Texas also included Deborah.
The answer to that should have been clear the first moment they set eyes on each other. She hadn’t looked at Griff that way when she saw him in the Sutler’s store that first time after their lengthy separation. Was it possible that she was ready to give her heart to another?
He knew there was only one way to find out, but having been rejected once, he was understandably cautious. Thus, it was the spring of the new year before he found his nerve, and that came from a most unexpected source.
74
Sam had just arrived at the ranch for his usual Sunday supper with the family. He had his own place now, a line cabin loaned to him by one of his converts that was more central to the region. He was unsaddling his horse in the stable when Griff ambled up to him. The ranch foreman obviously had something on his mind.
“We ought to be building another stall here for that horse of yours,” Griff said in a friendly but pointed tone.
“I reckon he does spend a lot of time here.”
“Sure does.”
“I didn’t think it was causing anyone a problem, though.”
“Naw, that’s a real good horse you got there.”
Sam hoisted his saddle over a rail. “I guess I’ve been spending a sight of time here, too.”
“That’s a fact.”
“Does that bother you, Griff?”
Griff scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I guess I just ain’t figured you out yet, Preacher. Some of the time you irritate me worse than a saddle spur. But some of the time I like you, too—”
“When you ain’t drawing a gun on me … ?” interjected Sam with a wry grin.
Griff responded with a more sheepish grin. “Aw, you ain’t never gonna let me live that down, are you?”
“Someday I will, but you gotta admit I’ve been at the wrong end of your gun more times than is healthy for most men.”
“But I ain’t never killed you.”
“Not yet.”
Griff laughed, then he peered, suddenly in earnest, at Sam. “Why’d you really come back to Texas, Killion?”
“To save heathens like you, Griff,” replied Sam in fun.
“It had nothing at all to do with Deborah?”
Now Sam returned the earnest gaze. “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t.”
“So, what in blazes are you dragging your feet in the sand for?”
“Can I ask what your interest in all this is?”
“I’m interested in Deborah, pure and simple.”
“You mean—”
“Sam Killion! You were a durn fine Texas Ranger, and from what I hear, you’re a pretty good preacher, too. But you sure don’t know nothing about love! You see, I do love Deborah, but not in the way you’re thinking, so get that hang-dog look off your face. I’d do anything for that woman. I’d take a bullet for her, and I’d kill for her. I’d kill anyone who tried to hurt her, and that includes you! So, if you don’t want to be at the wrong end of my gun again, you’d better decide what you’re gonna do about her, and do it. Both of you ain’t getting no younger.”
“Are you saying I’d have your blessing to … well, to court her?”
“Heck no! After eight years, I think you better forget the courtship and go right to the wedding!”
Sam smiled, not without a hint of relief. “You surprise me, Griff, you truly do!”
“Well, what’re you gonna do?”
“I guess what I been wanting to do for eight years and more.” But Sam paused, still not fully convinced. “Since I’ve come back, Griff, she’s never said anything to encourage me, to give me even a small clue that she’s ready for marriage again. That’s one reason why I’ve been reluctant.”
Griff shook his head derisively. “Anyone that’s been within a mile of you two these past couple of months don’t need ears if they got eyes to see. Besides, I saw her every time she’d get a letter from you over the years. Why, the happiness in her eyes could light up the entire prairie.”
“Really?”
Griff rolled his eyes. “Go propose to the woman, man, before I propose to her just to spite you.”
****
While Sam and Griff were talking in the stable, Deborah was sitting in the old oak rocker in her room. The open book in her lap had long since been forgotten as her mind wandered to the person who had been on her mind so frequently of late. She not only thought of Sam Killion, but she dreamed about him at night and even imagined hearing his voice when he wasn’t there. If she did happen to see him unexpectedly, her heart was likely to skip a beat, and when she really did hear his voice, she got such a tingly, warm feeling inside that it embarrassed her. She was, after all, a matron of almost thirty-three, who had been married twice before and had two children. Yet these peculiar sensations had all the earmarks of schoolgirl puppy love.
Was she in love with Sam Killion?
She knew she did not even have to ask. Her love for Sam had never really been in question. She had always been aware of her feelings for Sam, but the deeper they became, the more she wanted to deny them. For Deborah, love had almost always been synonymous with pain.
Perhaps now, so many years removed from her grief, she could be more objective. If her attempts at love had always ended in grief, had they not also been associated with her moments of most profound happiness? Would she want to relinquish her dear memories of her friendship with her brother, or of her father’s tender wisdom, or of that special camaraderie with Jacob Stoner? If she had known that Broken Wing was to be taken from her so soon, would she have turned her back on their love, on the joy and contentment of those few short years together?
Never.
To do so would be to deny the very essence of life. Love, hate, joy and sadness, happiness and grief—God had used them all to make her life complete and, she hoped, to make her the kind of person who could respond with true empathy to the needs of others. She had been blind to that fact for so many wasted years, but now she could see it clearly.
Oddly, the only time she had become involved in a loveless relationship, she had known her greatest misery. When the terrible experience with Leonard seemed as if it would completely snuff out any desire to venture into a relationship again, especially with a man, God had brought Broken Wing into her life, perhaps to prove that life is nothing without love, that even a woman who has been wounded almost beyond repair yearns for the fulfillment it brings.
And now, Sam had come back.
Was this God’s way of telling her she had languished in her fear and reticence long enough? That it was time to take another step toward growth by trusting God to continue to use and work His will in her life? He was so patient with her! Could He be ready to take her further in her walk with Him if she would only take this new step of faith?
“I don’t want to be afraid, Lord,” she prayed. “Sometimes I think I could be strong enough to face the death of another loved one. Yet, at other times, the mere thought makes me want to curl up into a ball and hide some place far away from all possible hurts.
“I want to step out. I love Sam so much that the possible hurt from losing him through my fear is almost as unbearabl
e as his loss through death. But my Cheyenne people taught me that nothing lives long … all things must die. That, too, is a part of life.”
Sighing, Deborah closed the book in her lap. Sir Walter Scott would have to await another time to capture her interest. Instead, she reached for her Bible lying on the table next to her bed. It was the same Bible she had found in Hardee’s store—a cheap edition, really, and its boards had long ago begun to fall away from the binding. But it had ministered truth to her the same as any expensive leather-bound version, and had served as a pool of clear water in the spiritual desert of her Texas home. She opened it to the gospel of Mark where she had left off last night, but in the present flightiness of her mind, she absently began thumbing through the pages until she came to the first epistle of John. There, she stopped and smiled. She had heard these little books, or letters, referred to as the “love” books, and it was appropriate that she should read them now when love was so strongly on her mind.
She read for a few minutes until one particular verse seemed almost to leap out at her. She smiled again, then laughed out loud and reread the verse.
“Oh, dear Lord, you are so good to me! Thank you for showing me once more how real you are!”
75
Sam knocked at the ranch house door just as Deborah closed her Bible. She found him chatting with Yolanda.
“Hello, Deborah,” he said.
This time Deborah did not try to ignore the thrill that coursed through her body as he greeted her. “Hello, Sam.”
“I’m a mite early.”
“That’s fine. It’ll give us more of a chance to talk while the children are gone.”
“Would you like to walk outside a spell?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Better get your shawl, though. It’s pretty out there, but that wind has a bite to it.”
They were silent for some time as they walked, each filled with a tumult of thoughts and emotions and no easy way to express them. It was so unlike the usual flow of conversation between them. Perhaps it would have been different if they had realized they had been gently led by the loving hand of their Father in heaven to this very moment; that Sam’s conversation with Griff and Deborah’s reading in John’s letter had been planned to coincide perfectly by Him who sees both the beginning and the end of a matter. But of course they were too close to the situation, too wrought within their own temporary insecurities to see quite that perceptively.