Whispers from Yesterday

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  Poor Karen. It was clear she was torn, that she didn’t know which direction to turn. And Sophia felt ill equipped to advise her. After all, three hundred thousand dollars was a fortune.

  She closed her eyes and whispered, “Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.”

  She knew she could play upon Karen’s affection for her. If she protested that, because of her heart condition and poor health, she needed Karen to stay, then she would stay. But Sophia also knew she couldn’t ask Karen not to go with her attorney. It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be reasonable.

  Poor Dusty. She knew he was equally torn. Because he loved Karen, he wanted to do what was right. He didn’t want to impose his wants and desires upon her. Poor boy. The poor dear boy. He thought he was hiding his true feelings, but Sophia could see through to his aching heart.

  Jesus, apart from You, I’m helpless. I’m an old woman. I have little in the way of worldly possessions. I don’t have any answers, but I know You have all the answers. You’re the Author and Perfecter of my faith. We need to see You moving in a divine and miraculous way.

  Karen wasn’t asleep. She didn’t think she’d slept more than half an hour all night long. She’d tossed and turned for hours.

  What am I supposed to do? What’s the right thing to do?

  A year or two ago, she wouldn’t have thought three hundred thousand dollars was all that much. She could have easily spent it in one summer in Europe. But those days were gone. Three hundred thousand dollars meant a lot. It could change everything.

  Is this what I have to give up, God? Then I’m not sure I can do it. Why should I do it?

  She’d seen the way Mac looked at the ranch. He’d been nothing short of appalled by the lack of amenities. It hadn’t surprised her when he’d declined Dusty’s offer of a bed in the bunkhouse, opting instead to drive to Nampa and stay in a motel. He’d promised to return this morning.

  What am I going to tell him?

  She wished her grandmother or Dusty had told her what to do, but they hadn’t. Nor would they. She knew she would have to decide for herself.

  “I wish I believed in You the way they do,” she whispered.

  She waited a moment. Hoping …

  But God didn’t speak.

  With a sigh, she turned on the lamp next to her cot and reached for the twelfth of the thirteen journals.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t feel so sorry for myself. It could be worse. I could be in Esther’s shoes, couldn’t I?”

  She opened the book and looked at the familiar script without reading it. It was strange, how close she felt to this young woman. Through these entries, she’d watched Esther grow from an innocent child on an Oregon farm to a minister’s wife living in a war-torn country, a woman living out each day with courage and faith.

  She smoothed her fingers over the open book. “I wish I had her faith.”

  It seemed to Karen that Esther had never wavered. Not once in all those years. Not when her own sister had turned away in anger and bitterness. Not when she’d felt so alone and out of place in Denmark. Not even when her little daughter had died or when she’d miscarried her second child.

  “What would Esther have done if she were me?” she asked aloud.

  Of course, there was no answer to that question either. She began to read, hoping it would take her mind off the decision she had yet to make.

  Bundled in a down-filled coat, his breath forming tiny clouds in front of his face, Dusty set about his morning chores while the earth and sky blended together in shades of gray. According to the calendar, autumn was officially a week away, but Dusty knew it wouldn’t be long before flurries of snow fell.

  Would Karen be at the Golden T to see that first snowfall of the season? Or would she be enjoying the California sunshine with some of her old friends?

  He wished he knew. He wished he could read her mind.

  He’d almost gone up to the house to see her last night after Mac Gleason left. He’d almost told her he loved her and wanted her to stay, to marry him, to forget the money her attorney had found.

  But he hadn’t done it. He couldn’t.

  Not then. Not now.

  This was a decision she had to make on her own. And whatever that decision was, Dusty was going to have to live with it too.

  Delight in Me, My son, and I will give you the desires of your heart. That is My promise to all who believe in My name.

  The moment the Voice touched his heart, Dusty stopped in his tracks, struck by the truth. He’d been expecting the worst. He’d been preparing himself for heartache and disappointment.

  But if he truly believed God wanted the best for him, then his expectations should be just the opposite. He should expect that, no matter what happened, joy would be the result. Joy rather than sorrow.

  Forgive me, Father.

  Once before he’d relinquished Karen into God’s tender care, but somewhere along the line, he’d taken her back.

  Lord, You have only good in mind for us. I give you Karen, and I trust You to do what is best in her life and in mine. You know I love her, but You love her even more. Whatever comes, whatever tomorrow may bring, I’ll delight in You all the days of my life, for You are the foremost desire of my heart.

  A sense of peace washed over him, pervaded him, the first peace he’d felt since learning of Mac Gleason’s arrival at the Golden T.

  “This is the day that the Lord has made,” he said aloud as he looked up at the brightening sky. “I will rejoice and be glad in it.”

  Friday, January 9, 1942

  Father God, we thank you for our daughter, Margaret Rose Christiansen, born at 2:00 this morning, healthy and beautiful. I give her to you, Jesus, and ask You to keep her safe. Draw her to You. Let her know You early in her earthly walk.

  In Your blessed name I ask it. Amen.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Karen stared at the words in the journal, awash in disbelief.

  Margaret Rose Christiansen.

  January 9, 1942

  It couldn’t be. It couldn’t mean … But it could and it did.

  Even as she tried to deny it, she knew it was true. Her mother was the daughter of Esther Christiansen, not of Sophia Taylor.

  Which meant Karen wasn’t Sophia’s granddaughter.

  Tears stung her eyes as a sharp sense of grief and loss pierced her heart. It was as if someone she loved had died.

  Why didn’t Grandmother tell me? She closed her eyes. But she isn’t really my grandmother, is she?

  Following on the heels of her hurt came anger.

  Why does everyone lie to me?

  But Sophia hadn’t lied to her really. She’d given Karen these journals. She’d known if Karen read them she would realize what this entry meant.

  But why? Why?

  “If You’re trying to tell me something, God,” she muttered beneath her breath, “why don’t You just come right out and say it, clear and plain?”

  Her words were almost a dare to the Almighty.

  “It was easier when I didn’t care.” She tossed aside the blankets, sat up, and reached for her robe. “It was easier when I didn’t have any questions or want any answers.” She rose from her cot and headed for the bathroom, pausing long enough in the hall to bump up the thermostat.

  Three hundred thousand dollars would mean nice clothes, a nice home, a nice car. And a warm house without drafts! That kind of money would mean she could travel and go to parties. She could forget looking for answers. She could live!

  She turned the faucet in the shower. While waiting for hot water to reach the bathroom, she shucked off her robe and pajamas. A couple of minutes later, she stood beneath the spray, her head dropped back as tiny needles of water massaged her scalp, steam forming a thick cloud around her.

  For a short while, her mind was blank, aware only of the pleasurable feel of the hot water upon her skin. Then, unexpectedly, she thought of Alan Ivie, her erstwhile fiancé. Wouldn’t he be surprised
if she returned to their former haunts, showing up at the same parties and charity events he attended?

  When she’d first arrived in Idaho, that had been her greatest desire. To acquire enough money so she could return to Los Angeles, so she could go back to her old way of life, so she could make Alan and her other so-called friends regret how they’d treated her. It was all she’d thought about, all she’d dreamed about.

  But now?

  She pressed her back against the tiled wall. “What do I want now? “

  Another image came to her mind. Another man, but this one as different from Alan as day was from night.

  “Oh, Dusty.” She closed her eyes. “What does any of this mean for us?” Wait.

  Wait for what? Wait.

  I’m tired of waiting.

  She bumped her head against the shower wall. I’m tired of wanting. She bumped it again. I’m tired of wondering. And yet again.

  “I’m tired … I’m tired … I’m tired!“

  She didn’t realize she was crying until she heard a soft rap on the door.

  “Karen, are you okay?” Patty called from the hallway. She turned off the shower. “Yes.” She wiped away the tears. “I’m all right. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  The atmosphere at breakfast that Sunday morning was strained. Gazes met briefly, and then both parties looked away, as if eye contact were a dangerous thing.

  As he ate, Dusty tried to come up with something to say that would break the tension. But every word, every thought, was second-guessed, then discarded as useless—or worse.

  Patty was the first to crack. “What’s wrong with everybody?” she demanded in that tone common to teenage girls.

  The three adults glanced her way.

  “Well? Why doesn’t somebody ask Karen what she’s gonna do? Is she staying or going?”

  Sophia set down her fork. “Patty’s right. What is wrong with us?” She turned toward Karen. “Have you decided what you’re going to tell Mr. Gleason?”

  “No.” Karen shook her head slowly.

  Dusty felt a spark of hope. Did that mean she might stay? She pushed her plate back from the edge of the table and lifted her gaze to meet Sophia’s. “Tell me about my real grandmother.” Dusty thought he’d misunderstood her.

  “Why did Mother never tell me about her?” she continued in a near whisper.

  “Because she never knew,” Sophia answered.

  “She never knew. Then tell me why she came to live with you. Why didn’t she stay with her parents in Denmark?”

  Sophia answered with a question of her own. “How far have you read?”

  “The day of her birth.”

  “Then you have a ways to go yet.” Sophia paused before saying, “I’d rather you wait to ask me more until you’ve finished reading the last journal. Esther should tell you as much as she is able in her own words.”

  Dusty was totally confused. It was like coming into a theater in the middle of a movie.

  “My dear girl.” Sophia covered Karen’s hand with her own. “Esther loved her daughter very much. You know it’s true. When Maggie came to live with Bradley and me, we loved her as our own daughter. But I didn’t show it as I should have, and as time passed, Maggie came to resent me because of it.” She closed her eyes. A sigh escaped her. “God alone really knows why things happen the way they do. What I do know is, Esther had an unshakable faith in Jesus, and He was the guiding factor in all she did. She was a true woman of God.” She looked at Karen again. “She would have delighted in you, as I do. Knowing you, loving you, has been my greatest blessing this summer. And you are my granddaughter and forever will be.”

  Without a word, Karen rose from her chair. She gave Sophia a wistful smile, then walked across the kitchen, grabbed her coat from the rack, and headed outside.

  Dusty stared at the closed door. “Do you want me to go after her?”

  “No. Leave her be. She has much to consider.”

  Karen shrugged deeper inside her coat as she walked. She had no particular destination. She simply needed to move rather than to sit still.

  It doesn’t matter if she isn’t really my grandmother. I don’t need her any longer. I don’t have to stay. I’ve got options. For the first time in a long time, I’ve got options. I can decide for myself what’s best for me. I don’t have to depend on anyone else.

  She turned up her collar to protect her ears.

  Why am I confused? The money’s mine. Of course I want it. Of course I should go back with Mac. It’s a no-brainer. Three hundred thousand dollars isn’t something I can walk away from.

  She tried to envision herself beside some crystal blue swimming pool, basking in the California sun and sipping a piña colada. Strangely, it was no longer a tempting daydream.

  The memory of yesterday returned to her. Riding beside Dusty, watching an eagle as it soared above the high canyon walls, rounding up a small herd of stray cattle for the Basterras, sitting at a neighbor’s kitchen table and talking, eating, laughing. All of it seemed so much more appealing to her.

  She stopped, drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

  She knew now what she was going to do.

  “I’m not going back with you, Mac,” Karen told her friend as they stood together on the front porch. “But, Karen—”

  “No. I’ve made up my mind.” She touched his arm. “My presence isn’t required, and we both know it. You thought you were doing me a favor by saying I had to go back. I understand that. But whatever forms and documents I need to sign can be signed in Idaho as well as in California. The postman stops at our mailbox every day of the week, and Federal Express and UPS deliver even way out here.”

  “I don’t think you—”

  “Mac, you are the one true friend I had when my life fell apart. Don’t think I don’t know it. I understand what you see when you look around this place.” She let her gaze roam over the yard and outbuildings. Then she looked beyond the rolling, sage-covered desert to the rugged mountain peaks. “I felt the same when I first got here. But there’s so much more. So much more. Beautiful, really, if you look deep enough.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” he whispered.

  She smiled. “Don’t think it didn’t surprise me, too.” She looked at him. “It still does. A little.” “I like your grandmother.” “She’s wonderful, isn’t she?” Mac raised an eyebrow. “And Mr. Stoddard?” “He’s wonderful too.”

  “Ahh.”

  “So you’ll send me whatever papers I need to sign?” “I will.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Stay happy, Karen.” His smile was warm. “I’m betting you will.”

  Friday, June 5, 1942

  Dear Diary,

  Today is our fifth wedding anniversary. Where is the young girl who married Mikkel Christiansen? Who was she? I see no sign of her. What innocence she possessed. How sheltered her life. There are times when I miss her.

  Mikkel refuses to carry a weapon as he performs his work for the resistance. He says he could never take the life of another human being. And, he asks, for what other reason would he carry a weapon than to harm or to kill? I do not know if he is right. If a German soldier were to enter our home and threaten Margaret Rose, would I not do anything to save her? Even fire a gun?

  Ah, my little Rose. How beautiful she is. She sat up, unassisted, today. I think her hair, still as fair as her father’s, will be curly, lucky girl. She is such a good baby, happy and smiling, her pale blue eyes sparkling with merriment. She has no understanding of the world outside the walls of this house,

  God in heaven, protect us. Save my child from the enemy without.

  Esther

  Sunday, July 19, 1942

  Dear Diary,

  It is nearly midnight, and I have slipped from our bedroom while Mikkel sleeps, to write, my mind too active to find rest.

  When we retired for the night, Mikkel drew me to him, his need strong. As we lay nestled in each other’s arms, he reminded me it was six years ago today that we met
one another. It was his first Sunday to preach at our little church in Oregon, and I was a girl of only seventeen. He told me he began to fall in love with me on that morning. Then he said his love has multiplied a hundredfold in the years since. He called me beautiful in face and in spirit and quoted Proverbs 31 to me, saying the verses described me. He thanked me for little Sophie and for our Rose, for being his wife and their mother. He thanked me for seeking the Lord’s will and setting an example for him and for our children. He called me courageous.

  I had the horrible feeling he was telling me good-bye. He never said the word. It was only a feeling, but one I cannot shake.

  This morning, in his sermon, Mikkel said we cannot halt for long between two opinions, that we must stop hesitating and step out for the Lord. He said as Christians we must choose to turn over our free will to the future God has in mind for us. If we remain stubborn, if we are afraid to step out for Him, then He will use someone else. But God’s work will be done, even if we miss the blessing of being used by Him because of our own selfishness.

  Was Mikkel speaking to us, the members of the congregation, or to himself?

  Father God, keep me from halting between two opinions. Help me to step out for you. Keep me from being double-minded. Let me ask in faith, nothing wavering. For she that wavereth is like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed. For let not that woman think she shall receive anything of the Lord. A double-minded woman is unstable in all her ways.

  And protect Mikkel, Lord God. Keep him in the safety of Your arms. Amen.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Dusty waited a full month to say what he wanted to say to Karen. Perhaps it was because he kept expecting her to change her mind, to announce she was going back to Los Angeles after all. But she didn’t. She remained at the Golden T, caring for her grandmother, befriending Patty in countless ways, working beside Dusty wherever she was needed.

  On that frosty October evening, with a full harvest moon to light their way and a dusting of the year’s first snow covering the ground, Dusty and Karen went for a horseback ride. He led the way to the same bluff where he’d taken her back in June, shortly after she’d arrived at the ranch. Another lifetime ago, it seemed. So much had changed since then.