Sophia was no better than me. I could tell by the expression on her face. And she blushed three shades of red when she shook his hand at the end of service. Tonight, she pulled out the dress patterns. She wants to have something new to wear to church next Sunday.
But something tells me (maybe only wishful thinking) that it was me whom he noticed. My heart nearly stopped beating when he shook my hand. Such a strong grip and yet so gentle at the same time. He looked directly into my eyes, and it was like he could see straight through to my heart. No one has ever made me feel that way before.
Oh, I ramble. I don’t know what to write tonight. All I can think about is Pastor Mikkel Christiansen.
Esther
Thursday, July 23, 1936
Dear Diary,
Pastor Christiansen came to call on our family today. Only a brief visit. An introductory call, as he put it. Just a few minutes to acquaint himself with members of his new congregation. He sat right here in our tiny parlor, in Papa’s favorite chair, and I was on the sofa across from him. Nervous as you please.
He is even more handsome than I remembered. Sophia was not yet home from her job in town when he came, and she was pea green with envy when she found out she had missed him.
At supper tonight, Papa said he was mightily impressed by the young pastor. He doesn’t have to convince me. My friends at school would call him snazzy, although I’m sure that isn’t a very reverent description for a minister.
Never before have I heard anyone talk about God the way he does. As if God were his closest friend, not someone far away. I think I could sit and listen to him talk for hours and hours and hours.
I cannot tell Sophia how I feel, because I am afraid she feels the very same way herself. What will happen if I’m right? We’ve been so close, the two of us, able to share our deepest secrets, the ones we can tell nobody else. Papa says we couldn’t be more alike if we’d been twins. It bothers me to think of something coming between us, and yet, I cannot help wanting him to notice me rather than Sophia.
Maybe he won’t notice either of us. But if that’s true, my heart might break right in two.
Esther
THREE
Horses belonging to the Randolph Butlers had been boarded in stables nearly as pristine and spacious as one of the Butler homes. The floors in those exclusive stables had been covered with sawdust or straw, the grounds carefully raked and perfectly manicured. There had been stable boys to clean the saddles and other tack and to groom the sleek, purebred animals when Karen and her friends were finished riding.
The barn at the Golden T was nothing like that.
This rickety building smelled of dirt, manure, and old leather, and it looked as if it were ready to collapse. The only horse in sight was a sorry-looking rack of bones that would have been better off sent to a glue factory.
Mac wouldn’t believe this if I told him, she thought as she looked around. If he’d known, he wouldn’t have suggested she come to Idaho. If he’d known, he would have—
Would have what? Kept on supporting her? Kept on paying her bills? Let her live in his house while people she used to call friends looked at her with pity in their eyes and whispered behind her back. Poor Karen Butler. Did you know about her father?
Karen set her jaw. She wasn’t going to think about that. She was going to find some way to get back the things her father had lost. She wasn’t going to let this beat her. She would show them. She would show them all.
Restless and agitated, she left the barn and headed toward the largest of the other outbuildings. Opening the door, she found one long room with several bunk beds set against the back wall, a wood-burning cook stove, a table with a couple of benches on either side, and a few other pieces of furniture. A second, smaller room to the right of the door held a single bed, a desk cluttered with books, papers, and ledgers, an old office chair with worn upholstery, and an antique wardrobe.
So this was where that cowboy and those boys lived. But why on earth would anyone hire kids to help run a ranch? Even she knew that didn’t make sense. Maybe her grandmother was senile, although the old lady didn’t seem so. Or maybe that cowboy was some sort of con artist. Maybe he was stealing from Sophia Taylor.
Karen was tempted to look through the things on the desk, then decided against it. What did it matter who they were or what they were up to? This ranch was nothing to her. For that matter, the old woman was nothing to her. This was a temporary stop.
“And I’ve got to get out of here soon,” she muttered. “I’ve got to get back to California where I belong.” She turned to leave.
But her way was blocked. Dusty Stoddard stood in the doorway, watching her with disapproving eyes.
“Find what you were looking for?” he asked after a lengthy silence.
“No … I mean, yes … I mean, I wasn’t—” She stopped abruptly. She didn’t have to explain anything to the hired man. “Excuse me,” she said brusquely. Then she walked toward him, expecting him to move out of the way.
He didn’t.
She had to stop. Reluctantly, she lifted her gaze to meet his again.
“What is it you want, Miss Butler? What are you doing at the Golden T?”
“I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”
“Maybe not.” He jerked his head toward the house. “But Miss Sophie is my business. She’s a good woman with a good heart. She’s prepared to love you, if you let her. No. She already loved you, before you ever came. So don’t hurt her. Whatever brought you here, it better not end up hurting her.”
“You are presumptuous.” She lifted her chin. “Now kindly get out of my way.”
He had the audacity to grin as he stepped back, giving her room to pass. “Don’t go breaking one of those pretty nails on your way back to California, princess.”
Did she deserve that? Dusty wondered as Karen swept past him in a huff. No, probably not. He let out a deep sigh. Definitely not.
He wasn’t proud of himself for the way he’d treated her. Not when he knew how much Sophia loved the girl and wanted her to stay.
But I’m not sorry for what I said either.
He’d seen the way Karen looked at him, at the boys, at Sophia’s ranch, and he didn’t like it. It set his teeth on edge, having people act as if they were his betters. He’d always been determined to prove them wrong.
And where did that get you?
No place but trouble.
He turned around in time to see Karen walking toward the draw, following Bonnet Creek. Muttering to himself, he hurried after her.
“Miss Butler!” he called as he approached her. “Wait.”
She glanced over her shoulder but kept going.
He quickened his stride. “Wait.”
She must have realized she couldn’t outrun him, because she stopped, hesitated, then turned.
“Look, I’m sorry.” He stopped too. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
She didn’t appear mollified by his apology. Her light blue eyes were like ice, and she looked at him as if he were a bug she should step on.
A number of comments popped into his head, none of which would have been a proper witness to Christ’s redeeming love. He had to take a deep breath and silently count to ten before he trusted himself to speak.
“Look, Miss Butler, I was out of line, and I’m sorry. Sophia is my friend. I’ve known her a long time. I know how glad she is to have you here. I just … I just care about her. That’s all.”
Her expression didn’t change. “How long have you known my grandmother?”
“Almost fifteen years.”
His answer obviously surprised her. “Fifteen?” she repeated, her eyes widening.
“Ever since I came to Idaho. I lived with Jock and Merline Carter.” He pointed toward the river. “The Carter spread was over there. Sophia was a good friend of theirs, and she sort of became the grandma I never had. Kind of like she is to the boys you met.”
“Speaking of those boys, just who ar
e they? What are they doing here? Don’t tell me they’re the hired hands, because I can’t believe it.” She made a sweeping motion in the direction of the house and barn. “And if you are the hired help, it doesn’t look like you do anything around here to earn your pay.” That snooty tone was back in her voice.
“The ranch needs plenty of work, I’ll grant you that. But it’s because there isn’t enough money to go around.”
“So why are you here?” she challenged.
He lost control of his temper again, his disdain matching hers. “Because this could be the last chance for these kids, and Sophia cares enough to give them a home and a chance.” He leaned closer. “It may not look like much to you, but it’s a whole lot better than juvenile hall or prison or a plot in some cemetery, which could be their other options unless somebody steps in to help turn things around.”
“They’re delinquents?“
“That’s an ugly label to hang on a kid.”
“But you said—”
“I’ll make you a deal, princess. You stay out of our way, and we’ll stay out of yours. Then we’ll all get along fine.”
He spun on his heel and strode away, heading straight for his horse. He swung up into the saddle and rode out, completely forgetting what had brought him back to the ranch in the first place.
Sophia was old, but she could still see pretty good and her hearing was excellent—when she wanted it to be. From where she sat on the front porch, she didn’t miss the altercation between Karen and Dusty.
It reminded her a little of Bradley and her when they’d been about the same age. Goodness, how the sparks had flown. That was more than fifty years ago, but it was fresh in her mind.
My, how we could get under each other’s skin.
She glanced down at the old diaries, some in her lap, more on the porch floor.
Esther would have liked my Bradley.
There were thirteen diaries in all, the cloth covers showing signs of age. At one time, their pages had been white and fresh and empty, but they’d eventually been filled with the script of a young woman telling the story of her life as it unfolded each day.
Dearest Esther, pouring out her heart into these books, year after year.
Sophia ran a hand slowly over the cover of the top diary, wishing she could go back in time and change the role she’d played in Esther’s life. She wished she hadn’t parted with her sister on such bad terms. She wished she’d answered just one of Esther’s letters. She wished …
But, of course, she couldn’t change what had gone before.
She glanced toward the draw, saw Karen strolling slowly back to the house, an aura of futility hovering over her.
No, Sophia couldn’t change what had happened in the past, but she could change what would be in the future, as far as it was up to her. She could change it by her obedience to the Father’s will. Esther had learned that truth at an early age. It had taken Sophia a great deal longer.
Perhaps Karen had inherited Esther’s wisdom and would see the truth sooner rather than later.
Karen stopped when she reached the porch and saw her grandmother there. She was uncertain what she should do or say. She wondered if Sophia had overheard the angry exchange with Dusty Stoddard.
“I haven’t lost my senses,” the elderly woman said. “Dusty and his boys are on the ranch because I want them here. I’m glad if God can put to use whatever I have. He’s given so much to me.”
God again. It was all Karen could do to keep from rolling her eyes.
“Come.” Sophia patted the seat of the chair across from her. “Join me. I have something for you.”
Seeing no gracious way to avoid doing her grandmother’s bidding, Karen crossed the porch and sat in the proffered chair.
Sophia lifted some clothbound books toward her. “These were my sister’s. Esther was her name. I thought you might like to have them.” She motioned toward her feet where there was a stack of similar-looking books. “And those, too.”
Karen took those that her grandmother was offering, placed them in her lap, then opened the top one. She was surprised to find handwritten entries rather than typeset print. “It’s a diary.” She checked the others, finding the same neat script in them all, then glanced up. “Why would you want me to have these?”
“I want you to read them. I think they’ll help you to know and understand your family. I suspect your mother said as little as possible about me.” She closed her eyes. “And she didn’t remember Esther.”
Karen didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to read old diaries, especially those of a poor farmer’s daughter.
Sophia looked at her. “Esther and I grew up in eastern Oregon. Then she married and moved away. I never got to see her again. After her death, her journals were sent to me. From them, I learned what an extraordinary woman she became. A woman with a remarkable faith in God and tremendous courage. I think you might discover the same.”
“All right. I’ll keep them in my room while I’m here at the Golden T.”
That was noncommittal enough to get her off the hook, in case she never opened one of these book covers again.
And, if it was in her power, she wasn’t going to be at the Golden T long enough to read anything.
Saturday, August 22, 1936
Oh, Diary,
I just returned from the Draker barn dance. I danced and danced and danced and danced. Best of all were the times I danced with Pastor Mikkel Christiansen.
Mikkel.
Oh, Mama would wash my mouth out with soap if she knew I was thinking of him by his given name, let alone writing it down that way. She wouldn’t care that I am seventeen and not a child any longer. She would still punish me.
But I cannot help it. It is how I think of him all the time now.
Mikkel.
He danced with me twice, and he gave me the most dazzling smile afterward. Both times.
Sophia did not even speak to me during the drive home, Mikkel only danced with her once, and I know she is jealous. But I didn’t care that she didn’t want to talk. The old Ford is too noisy anyway.
And why would I want to talk to her when I could close my eyes and think about Mikkel?
Esther
Monday, August 31, 1936
Dear Diary,
Sophia and I had a horrible argument this afternoon. We were picking tomatoes in the garden for Mama, just the two of us. All of a sudden, Sophia accused me of flirting with Mikkel. She said I should be ashamed for throwing myself at Pastor Christiansen the way I’ve been doing ever since he came to our church.
But I have not been flirting. I have not thrown myself at him. I am quite sure I have not done anything of the kind. I go to his Sunday school class, and he speaks to me after services every week. But I have done nothing to be ashamed of. Mama and Papa would let me know if I had, and I told Sophia so. She said they are blind to what I am doing because I am their favorite daughter.
But that is not true either. Sophia has always been the apple of Papa’s eye. She is much smarter than I am, even though she is only a year and a day older. She was the most popular girl in the class, all through high school, and Bobby Kingston asked her to marry him before they graduated. She refused because she was not in love with him. So it is her own fault if she does not have a boyfriend.
But how did she know if she loved Bobby or not?
I have never been in love. Is that what I am feeling for Mikkel Christiansen? Is it possible to fall in love with a man without ever being alone with him?
Oh, I am confused and most dreadfully vexed. Yesterday, Mikkel’s sermon was about taking all hopes and dreams to the Lord, no matter how big or how small. He said God cares about us so much, He wants to be involved in all matters of our lives. Even the smallest of details. I never thought about God caring for little everyday things.
I wonder if it would be all right to ask God to make Mikkel love me.
Esther
FOUR
&n
bsp; All her life, Karen had lived according to certain rules.
She’d attended the right schools. She’d lived in the right exclusive neighborhoods and driven the right make and model of expensive cars. She’d belonged to the right social and philanthropic organizations. She’d played golf and tennis at the right country clubs and vacationed at the right resorts around the world. She’d been surrounded with the right friends, and she’d dated the right men. Her calendar had been filled weeks and months in advance, making certain she was seen where she should be seen—at the right charity functions, at the right parties, even at the right political rallies.
But there was nothing on her calendar now. There weren’t any friends to call or parties to attend. Everything familiar to her was gone, stripped from her, first by her father’s foolish ambition and then by his selfish cowardice.
She was pondering the futility and emptiness of her life when her grandmother rapped on her bedroom door, about an hour after they’d finished eating an early supper, just the two of them.
“Karen?”
“Yes.”
The door opened. “Are you ready to go for that ride?” Sophia stepped into the room. “Dusty is here with the horses.”
“Ride?”
“Remember. I told you this morning that I’d asked him to take you out on horseback and show you around.”
“But I thought after—”
“Dusty is a man of his word.”
Inwardly Karen winced. He’d promised Sophia, and so, no matter how he personally felt about Karen, he was here to keep that promise. Maybe he considered her a challenge, like one of those delinquent boys of his.
“Do this for me, will you, dear?” Sophia asked softly. “There is so much more about this ranch than what you see on the surface. I think you’ll fall in love with it too, if you give it a chance.”
Karen doubted that. Still, she couldn’t refuse her grandmother’s request. She was, after all, a charity case.
Whispers from Yesterday Page 3