“Thee did it all, Father!”
“Well, well…” Thomas closed his eyes, then opened them with an effort. “Marry him—have his children—!”
Grace’s eyes filled with tears as her heart overflowed with love. “Yes! I will marry him!”
Pleased, Thomas gazed upon them all; then his body arched. “Susanna—!” he cried out.
“I’m here, Tom.”
Thomas looked into her face, smiled beautifully. “You have been my darling—wife!”
Then he took a deep breath, his eyes closed slowly, and his head fell to one side. Susanna brushed his hair back, and for the first time tears came to her eyes.
“Good night, Tom,” she whispered, bending over to kiss him. “We’ll meet in the morning.”
Three days after the funeral of Thomas Rocklin, Clay rode up to the Yancy cabin. He was met, as usual, by the tribe of young Yancys, but when Melora came outside, he said, “Melora, put your coat on. I want to look at the hogs.”
Melora looked at him uncertainly. “Why, all right, Clay.” She slipped into her coat, and the two of them made their way to the hog pen. Once there, Clay turned quickly, saying, “Seems like this hog pen is the only private place around here.”
“What is it?” Melora asked, trying to read his expression but failing. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” Clay was watching her in a peculiar way, and Melora demanded, “You didn’t come here to look at hogs, Clay Rocklin! Now what is it?”
Clay said slowly, “That night before we thought Burke was to be hanged, I was with him in his cell—we both thought it was the last night he had.” His eyes grew thoughtful, and he spoke of how Burke had gotten saved.
“That’s beautiful!” Melora smiled. “You must be very happy.”
“Yes, we all are.”
When he said no more, Melora asked gently, “Will you tell me what is troubling you, Clay?”
He took her hand, smiling. “I couldn’t keep anything from you if I tried, could I? You know me better than I know myself. Well, Burke asked about us, about you and me and our feelings for each other. When I told him I loved you, he—” Clay broke off, and Melora was surprised to see a tinge of red flow into his face. “Well, he told me to do something about it. He said that everyone ought to give love a chance.”
Melora stood very still. Her heart seemed to be beating very rapidly, and she had the feeling that if she looked down she could see it beating against her chest.
Clay watched as her eyes searched his. “I’m too old for you, Melora. I’ve got a family, and when I’m old, you’ll still be young and beautiful. I may die in battle, or come home blind or maimed—” He halted uncertainly.
“What are you saying, Clay?”
He took a deep breath, then spoke the words he had despaired of ever being able to speak—the words that filled him with a great joy and wonder: “I’m asking you to marry me, Melora.”
Melora stared at him with amazement. She had expected anything but this. Oh, she had been sure it would come someday, but not now, not so soon. “But—what about your family…and the community?”
Clay took both her hands in his and drew her close, his eyes never leaving her. “I don’t care about anyone but you. My family loves you—and who cares what Sister Smellfungus says?” He slipped his arms about her, and she rested her hands on his firm, strong chest. “So I ask you again, will you have me as your husband, Melora?”
Light seemed to explode within Melora as she answered, “Yes, Clay. I’ll have you…and you’ll have me!”
Their lips met, and they clung to each other desperately. Nothing else mattered, nothing else existed in that moment in time—for they finally had their dreams in their arms.
It was sometime later when Clay lifted his head to whisper, “Oh, Melora! I’ve got the world in my arms!”
CHAPTER 24
THE OREGON TRAIL
Spring came to Independence, Missouri, early that year. The warm breezes melted the snows, and the first golden buds appeared like tiny hearts.
The wagon train that pulled out of Independence, the first one of the year, was not large—only seventeen wagons—but there was a happy spirit about it that seemed to affect everyone. The train followed the Kansas River for two days, then turned north on the Little Blue. A few days later, the scout lifted his rifle and shouted, “There she is, the Platte—a mile wide and an inch deep!”
A cheer went up from those in the wagons, and they lurched forward, anxious to make Fort Kearney off in the distance.
On the seat of the third wagon, Burke Rocklin sat loosely, his eyes searching the horizon.
“Can thee see Oregon, husband?”
Burke turned to Grace, reached out a long arm, and drew her to him. Ignoring her protests, he kissed her thoroughly. When she pulled away, looking around to see who might be watching, he laughed at her.
“You’re a married woman, Grace. You can kiss all you please—as long as you’re kissing me.”
“Has thee no shame?” Grace scolded. She pouted—which only made him want to kiss her again—and for all her protestations, she had a gleam in her eyes that she could not hide.
“Nope, not a bit,” Burke said, shaking his head. “What should I be ashamed of? You’ve got the most beautiful lips for kissing I’ve ever seen,” he declared. Then he grinned and reached for her again. “As a matter of fact—”
“Burke, thee must stop!”
Grace pushed him away, but then he winked at her, saying, “You won’t get rid of me that easy when we make camp!”
“Burke!”
He laughed out loud, saying, “I love to see you blush. Makes you even more delectable.”
“Thee talks like a fool!”
“Why, no, I talk like a man in love.”
Grace closed her mouth and moved closer to her husband. They had been married two months, and she was enjoying every minute of learning to be a wife. Now she said, “Burke, I feel so—so shameless!” Dropping her eyes, she whispered, “Do I make you happy, husband?”
Burke had discovered at once that his new bride had a fear that she would not be a good wife. He had learned that she needed to be told over and over that she was beautiful and desirable and that he adored her. And it was not difficult, for it was all true.
“Thee is the most beautiful and loving wife a man ever had,” he said, smiling at her, then drew her close. “Every day I thank God for giving you to me.”
“Truly?”
“Truly!”
She sighed and leaned against him with contentment. Finally she asked, “Do you feel lonely?”
“Lonely? Why, no! Not with you here, Grace!”
“I mean, thee is leaving thy home, husband, and all thy people. Will you not miss it?”
He smiled at the way she called him “husband”—it was something she had done often since their marriage, almost as if to reassure herself that he was hers. He touched her face tenderly. “I’ll miss my people, Grace,” he answered thoughtfully. “But I don’t believe in the war. I think the South is going down, and no able-bodied man can live in Virginia and not believe in the Cause.” He turned to face her. “Are you afraid, Grace? Of leaving your home? Oregon is a pretty rough place.”
Grace took his hand and held it. “No. I’ll never be afraid. But what will we do in Oregon?”
“Don’t know,” Burke admitted cheerfully. “I always wanted to see it, though. We’ll just have to wait until we get there and see what happens.”
They rolled along, contented and happy. That evening, they joined in the circle of wagons, cooked supper, and listened to the songs that went up from around the fires.
When it grew late, he looked up at the sky and pointed. “Look, there’s Orion.”
She looked up at the spangled night until she found the star he indicated. She leaned back against his chest, and he held her close. “You smell good, like a woman should,” he whispered.
The compliment brought tears to her eyes—what
a miracle God had worked in giving her this man to be her love and her companion! “Come, it’s time for bed,” she said and pulled him to his feet. “We’ve got to get a good night’s rest. It’s a long way to Oregon.”
“You go on,” Burke said. “I’ll take care of the chores.” She got inside, and he fed the stock, saw that they were well tied, then put out the fire. When he climbed inside the wagon, she drew him down at once.
“Husband,” she whispered. “Does thee truly love me?”
“Yes! Truly!”
He kissed her, and she held him tightly.
Overhead Orion and his fellows did their great dance as the moon turned the canvas on the wagon to silver. A coyote yelped soulfully somewhere in the distance. The small stream bubbled over rounded stones, making a friendly sound. And finally—
“And will thee love me forever?”
“Yes, wife—forever!”
THE SHADOW OF HIS WINGS
To James and Murlene Golden—
our Golden Missionaries.
You have given Johnnie and me so much
over the past years!
All of us need to see the gospel
walking around, and to us,
you two have demonstrated Jesus Christ
and the power of His gospel
to transform lives.
PART ONE
Rooney
CHAPTER 1
FLIGHT FROM VICKSBURG
For most people, terrible dreams come in the dead stillness of the night. They lie awake longing for the morning when they can escape into the world of reality.
For Rooney Smith, however, night was a welcome refuge where she escaped from the nightmarish days. She spent her waking hours fighting off men who moved through the slums of Vicksburg, for at the age of seventeen, she was a very attractive young woman. All day long she cleaned hotel rooms on Beacon Avenue, the worst street in the worst section of a river town noted for violence and vice. By the time she reached home, she was sick of the vile remarks and the grasping hands of men.
But no matter how bad the days, when she closed the door to the two-room shack she shared with her mother, Clara, and her brother, Buck, the nightmare ended and she could rest. Her mother worked in a bar called the Gay Lady and usually came home at dawn—when she didn’t stay out for several days. So each night Rooney closed and barred the door, making a safe haven for her and Buck. The two of them read together, played games by the hour, and—most important—were safe in the dilapidated shanty.
Late one Thursday, Rooney arrived home and shut and barred the door. Weariness flowed through her so that she leaned back against it, closed her eyes, and let the fatigue drain out of her. As usual, it was not the physical labor that debilitated her, but the feeling of uncleanness.
Opening her eyes, she shook her shoulders, then made a fire and heated water. Buck would not be home for half an hour, so she took a bath in a number ten galvanized washtub, sluicing herself with the warm water, and when she stepped out, dried off, and slipped into a clean dress, she felt most of the bitter, distasteful memories of the day slipping away.
Dark was falling fast, and she looked out the small window for Buck. He worked for a butcher, and she’d warned him to be home before dark. She began to put a simple meal together, and when the knock came at the door, she went at once, a smile on her face. Lifting the bar, she opened the door with a smile, saying, “It’s about time you—”
But it was not Buck, and a chill ran through the girl as she saw the big man with pale blue eyes. Quickly she tried to shut the door, but he put out a big hand and seized it. “Now this is something I like!” he sneered. “Come to see Clara—but reckon you’ll do better.” He stood there holding the door as Rooney tried to force it shut, and with no effort he pushed it back.
Rooney backed away, saying as calmly as she could, “My mother’s not here. You’ll have to go now.” When she saw that he made no move to leave but grinned more broadly, she lifted her chin. “You get out of here!” she said.
“Now don’t be like that, sweetheart.” He was a tall, heavily built man with yellow hair and a wide mouth. “I’m Dement Sloan. Know your ma real well.” The catfish mouth drew upward into a leer, and his pale blue eyes shone with a glitter Rooney had seen in many men. “Now you and me, we can have ourselves a good time!”
Sloan let his eyes run up and down the girl’s trim figure, took in the oval face, the short-cropped, curly auburn hair, and the large dark blue eyes now wide with fright. The fear in the girl pleased him, for he’d rather see women’s fear than try to earn their admiration or love. Stepping inside, he kicked the door shut with his foot and stood there staring at her. “I brought us a bottle,” he said, taking a brown bottle from his inner pocket. “We’re gonna have us a real good little party, little girl!”
Rooney backed away, her eyes darting around, but there was no way of escape except through the door that Sloan blocked. “You—you better leave or I’ll scream!”
Sloan set the bottle down on a battered table and advanced toward her. He was drunk and had come to find Clara Smith, having enjoyed her favors in the rooms over the Gay Lady. He was a handsome brute and a womanizer, though his taste ran to the coarser types found on Beacon Street. The sight of the young girl brought a surge of lust, and he grinned as he moved toward her.
Rooney twisted, moving behind a chair to escape the man, but he seized it and threw it aside. “You need a man, sweetheart, and I’m the man you need!”
Fear shot through Rooney, and she made one desperate attempt to fling by Sloan, but he caught her by the arm. “Come on, honey, don’t be so shy!”
Suddenly the man released her arm and crumpled to the floor. Rooney was startled to see Buck suddenly standing in the room.
“It’s me, sis,” Buck said. Rooney blinked, and her eyes focused on the face of her brother. “You okay?”
“Buck! What—” Rooney stopped speaking as she looked at the form of Sloan on the floor. He was lying on his back, and his eyes were wide open. A wound gaped like an open mouth on his scalp, just over his left ear, and blood dripped steadily onto the wooden floor. Wildly Rooney looked up to stare at the small form of her brother.
He met her gaze, then suddenly tossed down the heavy iron poker he’d been holding. It clattered on the floor, startling Rooney, and he said in a frightened voice, “I—I think I killed him, sis!”
Rooney stared at Buck, then dropped to her knees beside the still form. Fearfully, she put her hand on the broad chest, then looked up to whisper, “No—he’s alive!”
The explosion of violence had robbed Buck of all but fear. “I come in and he was hurtin’ you, Rooney.” He was an undersized lad with brown hair and large brown eyes, his cheeks now pale as paper. “I had to stop him!”
Seeing the boy’s panic, Rooney got to her feet and drew him close. “I know, Buck! I know you did!”
He began to tremble, his thin form shaking in her embrace. “Will—will they hang me for it?” he whispered. Pulling his head back, he stared at her, his eyes wide with fear. “Will they, sis?”
“No! No, they won’t!”
“If he dies, they will!”
Rooney said quickly, “He’s not going to die.” But looking down, she saw that the man was well dressed, obviously not a drunk or a bum. He’d come to Beacon Street, as many men did, for drink and women.
The police will believe him—not Buck and me! The thought flashed through Rooney, and instantly she knew they had to move him. “We’ve got to get him out of here, Buck.”
Buck was almost paralyzed with fear, but he was a quick-witted boy. He had to be to survive among the dregs of Vicksburg! “Yeah, that’s right,” he said with a nod. He glanced down and shook his head. “He’s so big, Rooney.”
“I know, but we’ve got to do it!”
Turning quickly, she moved to the door, opened it, and stared outside. “It’s pretty dark outside. We have to get him into the alley.”
“When he comes
to, he’ll tell on us, sis.”
“Maybe not—maybe he won’t remember. He’s drunk, and he’s been hurt.”
Hope touched Buck’s eyes, and he nodded. A thought came to him, and he exclaimed, “I know. We can use Tip’s cart!” At once Rooney nodded, relief in her face. “Go get it, Buck!”
The boy left the shack in a flash, and Rooney stood there staring down at the still, pale face of Sloan. Her knees were weak, and she was nauseated with fear, but she forced herself to remain calm. Soon she heard the sound of iron wheels rolling and opened the door.
“I got it. Lucky Tip left it here.” He was pulling a low four-wheeled wagonlike affair used by a neighboring bricklayer to haul his bricks. It was only a little over a foot off the ground and had sides no more than four inches high.
“Come on, let’s get him on it,” Rooney whispered. The two of them advanced on the unconscious man, and she said, “Grab this arm, and I’ll take the other one.” She hated to touch him, but fear of what might come to them from the law was greater than her revulsion. They took a strong grip on the man’s arms and tugged with all their strength. He weighed at least two hundred pounds, and by the time they had gotten the still form to the door, both of them were gasping.
“We’ll never get him into the cart, Buck!”
“Lemme put the wagon up to the door so we don’t have to drag him any farther than we have to.”
It was the only way they could have managed it, and as they tried to lift his massive body into the cart, his head struck the edge of the wagon with an ugly sound that made Rooney cry out, “Be careful!”
But Buck ignored her. “Come on, sis!” he gasped. “We’ve got to get him outta here!”
As soon as Sloan’s body was loaded, Rooney grabbed the tongue of the wagon, and the two of them dragged it down over the cobblestones. The loud rattle it made sounded like thunder to both of them, and Rooney expected someone to appear at any second. However, they reached the small opening that led between two of the shacks in the dilapidated row without a sign of anyone on the street. Quickly they wheeled the vehicle into the alley. “We’ll have to roll him off,” Buck whispered. “Got to take Tip’s wagon back.”
Appomattox Saga Omnibus 2: Three Books In One (Appomatox Saga) Page 61