Whispers from Yesterday

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  They rode in silence, except for snow-muffled hoofbeats, both of them lost in private thoughts.

  Karen was the first to speak when they reached their destination. “Oh, Dusty. It’s glorious.”

  Before them stretched the desert, glowing frosty white in the moonlight, a glittering wonderland.

  “I thought you’d like it.” He dismounted, then stepped over to her horse.

  “I do.” She slipped from the saddle. “It’s more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.”

  He took her hand and drew her toward the edge of the bluff. When they stopped, he put his arm around her shoulders and stared at the wintry scene below while searching for the right words to say.

  But he knew the words. He merely had to speak them.

  “Karen?”

  She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Hmm.” “I love you.”

  She straightened, turned toward him, and gazed upward with wide eyes.

  “I love you. I don’t have much to offer you, except my heart.” “Oh, Dusty,” she whispered. “That’s a great deal to offer a woman.”

  He cradled her face between his gloved hands and bent down to kiss her. She leaned into him. The kiss was even sweeter than the last one they’d shared, perhaps because of all that had happened in the weeks between.

  When their lips parted, he whispered, “Will you marry me, Karen?”

  “I can’t.”

  It wasn’t the response he’d hoped for, and his expression must have revealed it.

  She pressed one hand against his chest. “I love you, too. Far more than I thought possible. But I can’t marry you. Not yet. Not until I can be the wife you need me to be.”

  “You are the wife I need.”

  “No.” Tears glittered in her eyes. “I’m not. Not yet anyway.” She stepped out of his embrace, out of his reach. “Grandmother told me once that none of the differences between you and me mattered except for the matter of faith. She said what you believe and what I believe had to be the same or it would keep us apart. She was right.”

  “But I’ve watched you. You’ve changed. You do believe what I believe.”

  She smiled, but it was a sad smile. “I’m trying to believe it, Dusty. But something is still missing. Something I see in you and in Grandmother. Something I see in the people at church. Something I saw in Billy when he was with us. I can’t explain it. I only know it hasn’t happened inside of me.”

  Dusty didn’t need her to explain. He knew. Deep in his heart, he knew. And he knew she was right to want them to wait.

  “I don’t want to lose you,” she said softly.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I’ve asked you to be patient before. I have no right to expect—”

  “You have every right, even if patience isn’t my strong suit.” He chuckled, though he didn’t feel like it.

  She tipped her face skyward, staring up at the moon. “I was a stranger to love all my life. I never received it. I never gave it. But ever since I got here, I’ve been surrounded by it. I’ve seen love in action in the things you do. I’ve heard it in the things you say. And no matter how undeserving I’ve been …” She let her words trail into silence.

  “We love because He first loved us.”

  “That’s from the Bible, isn’t it?”

  “First John. It’s in the New Testament.”

  She looked at him. “Say the verse again.”

  “We love because He first loved us.”

  “Is that why you fell in love with me?”

  “At first, it was the only way I could love you.” He smiled tenderly. “With His love. Then it became something more.” His voice lowered. “Much more.”

  As happened all too frequently of late, Sophia fell asleep in her chair while reading. When she awakened, she heard music playing on the clock radio in the kitchen. She set the book aside, then rose and walked from the parlor into the adjoining room.

  Patty stood at the door, her back toward Sophia, staring through the glass at the moonlit night.

  “Have they returned?” Sophia asked.

  Patty glanced over her shoulder, then quickly turned back to the window. But not before Sophia saw her tear-stained cheeks.

  “My dear.” She went straightaway to the girl. “Whatever’s the matter?”

  “Everything.”

  Sophia placed her hands on Patty’s shoulders. “Surely not everything.”

  “Daddy didn’t even call me for my birthday.” She choked back a sob. “He hates me.”

  “Oh no. He doesn’t hate you. He’s confused and he’s angry. But I’m quite sure he doesn’t hate you.”

  The girl turned suddenly toward Sophia. “Why’d I have to do something so dumb? Why’d I let Junkman talk me into it? He never loved me.” She fell into Sophia’s arms and wept in earnest now.

  Sophia let Patty cry herself out, all the while stroking her back and her hair and murmuring soft words of encouragement. After a time, the girl’s sobs turned to small hiccups and, finally, to an occasional sigh. Then Sophia guided her to the kitchen table and urged her to sit on a chair.

  “I’ll make some hot cocoa,” she said. “And then you should go to bed and get some rest.”

  Patty was silent as Sophia moved about the kitchen, pouring milk into a pan and warming it on the stove, measuring cocoa from its container and stirring it into the milk until it was precisely the right color, then pouring the hot chocolate into two large mugs. Only after Sophia had set a mug in front of Patty and had settled herself onto a second chair did the girl speak. “Am I as awful as my dad says?”

  “Oh, Patty.”

  “I know what we did was wrong.” She stared into the mug, held between two hands. “I knew it all along. But Junkman was so persuasive, and I thought I loved him. I thought he loved me, too.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “But he didn’t. Not even after I gave in.”

  Sophia touched the back of Patty’s hand, causing her to look up. “Listen to me, dear. God meant for such intimacy to be something special shared between a husband and wife. When we break the laws of God, when we covet and lust and act willfully, we pay a price. But God is merciful, and He’s forgiving. All we need do is confess our sins and ask His forgiveness. He won’t refuse you.” She paused a moment, then continued, “You’ll get through this, Patty. After the baby comes, you’ll go back to school and grow up and graduate. And someday you’ll meet the man God intends for you, and you’ll marry. Then you’ll know the beauty of married love.” She stroked the girl’s cheek. “In its proper time.”

  Patty nodded, as if accepting what had been said.

  “Drink your cocoa, dear.”

  The girl glanced toward the window. “Do you think Dusty and Karen will get married?”

  “I don’t know,” Sophia answered softly. “I hope so. They love each other. Of that I’m sure.”

  Karen wondered if she was making the worst mistake of her life. Everything inside her screamed she was. Everything told her to hurl herself back into Dusty’s arms and accept his proposal, to ask him to save her from her own decision.

  Except she knew it wasn’t his job to save her. She’d even told him so, months ago—although she hadn’t been talking about herself at the time; she’s been talking about the boys at the ranch.

  “You’re shivering,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “We’d better start back.”

  “Could I ask a favor first?”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  “Kiss me again before we go.”

  His soft laughter warmed her as much as his embrace could. “My pleasure, Miss Butler.”

  Her senses were on full alert as he drew her close and covered her mouth with his. She wanted to memorize every detail, in case it never happened again, in case she had thrown away her one chance for real happiness.

  His skin smelled faintly of cologne, warm and woodsy. His mouth tasted of mint-flavored mouthwash. His cheek felt scratchy from his five o’clock shadow. She could he
ar the beat of his heart. Or was that her own pulse pounding in her ears?

  This is crazy. His love should be enough.

  But it wasn’t enough. She wanted God’s love, too. She wanted to know God’s love, not simply be told about it. Somehow she had to find it.

  Before it was too late.

  Tuesday, September 1, 1942

  Dear Diary,

  Hannah has tried to hide it, but she is expecting another baby in the spring. She is much too thin because she gives her food to the children. There is great terror in her eyes. Isaac is working with Mikkel in the resistance, but unlike my husband, Isaac carries a weapon. I think he is helping in assaults on German officers. Of course, we never speak of this. There is a wall of pretense between us now that did not used to be there.

  What of Mama and Papa and Sophia? Are they well? Are they safe? Did Papa sell the farm? Do they still live in Oregon? It has been a long time since I heard from them. Mikkel says getting a letter from them would be as dangerous as sending one. He has not allowed me to try to smuggle a letter out to them via the resistance. He says we must wait until the war is over.

  Will it ever be over? Sometimes I think not.

  Esther

  Friday, November 6, 1942

  Dear Diary,

  I feel old. I am not yet twenty-four, but I feel as old as Grandfather Fritz must have felt before he died.

  I am hungry. I long to be in one of the orchards near the farm, up in the arms of a leafy-green tree, cradled by the branches while I shake salt onto an apple, then take a big bite. I can close my eyes and almost savor the taste, can almost feel the juice as it trickles down my chin. I would thin apples for many hours for free just for a chance to do that once again. Or to eat a steak. Imagine eating beef from a cow Papa raised and butchered. Or the beans or sweet peas raised in Mama’s garden. Wouldn’t they taste heavenly?

  I am cold, too. I wish it were summer again. I long for a hot dry August day with dirt whirling off the fields. I long to hear Mama complaining as she tries to keep dust from settling on her furniture. I wish I could jump onto the back of an old plow horse, maybe ride down to the pond and go for a swim.

  I am sometimes lonely. I wish I could be with Sophia, the two of us seated at the piano, playing a duet, I wish I could hug her and whisper my deepest secrets in her ear.

  Help me, Jesus, to remember that by Your grace I’m an overcomer rather than being overcome. I’m a conqueror rather than being conquered.

  Esther

  Saturday, November 21, 1942

  Dear Diary,

  The Germans have sent a new general, Hermann von Hanneken, to Denmark to secure the country against invasion. They are afraid, and it has emboldened the resistance. Mikkel thinks the tide has turned in favor of the Allies. But tension grows, and I fear we have not yet seen the darkest hour.

  Esther

  TWENTY-NINE

  Early November brought with it bitter winds. They whistled across the rolling desert and buffeted the small ranch house relentlessly. Sophia felt the cold more than ever before, and she spent much of her time in her chair near the small wood stove in the parlor.

  The house was quiet on this Wednesday morning. Dusty had taken a job doing carpentry work for a family who lived about twenty-five miles east of the Golden T. Karen had driven Patty into Caldwell for her monthly obstetrics exam.

  Sophia looked down at the shoe box resting on her lap. She’d retrieved it from the shelf in her closet about fifteen minutes before, but she had yet to open it. Now, with a soft sigh, she lifted the lid.

  To the casual eye, there was nothing dramatic about the contents of the box. They were merely an odd assortment of keepsakes, reminders of a life gone by.

  The first item she removed was a hair ribbon. At one time, it had been as bright as a peacock’s tail feather. After lots of use and the passing of more than seventy years, it had faded to a nondescript color. Not quite blue. Not quite gray.

  “Stand still, Sophia. I’ll never get your hair brushed if you continue to dance around.”

  “I can’t help it. I’m going to school, Mama. Will I like it? Will the teacher like me?”

  “Everyone will like you, my little angel.”

  “Esther has to stay home. She’s still a baby. I’m six.”

  “That’s unkind to your sister. Now don’t move while I tie this ribbon in your hair. See. It’s the same color as your dress.”

  “Oh, Mama. I’ve never had a satin ribbon for my hair before.” Despite her mother’s command to stay still, Sophia turned and gave her a big hug. “Thank you, Mama.”

  “You’re welcome, darling.”

  Sophia rubbed the ribbon against her cheek, her eyes closed. Was it her imagination or did the scent of lemon verbena linger in the air? It had been her mother’s favorite toilet water. How superior she’d felt because she got to go to school while Esther had to stay home. But the feeling hadn’t lasted. She’d been lonely at school without her sister. She’d missed her.

  “I still miss you, Esther,” she whispered. “I’ll be glad when I see you in heaven.”

  She set aside the ribbon, then reached into the box again, this time withdrawing an ivory hair comb.

  “The comb! The one from the shop window. Oh, Esther, you’re the one who bought it.”

  “Do you like it then? Are you surprised?”

  She hugged her sister. “Beyond words. I love it. I’ll wear it because you gave it to me. You’re my best friend, Esther, and my beloved sister.”

  “I love you too, Sophia.”

  Sophia reached up and placed the comb in her hair, hair that was much thinner and totally white.

  “I’ll give it to Karen,” she said. “It will look lovely with her blond curls.”

  She smiled when she saw the next item in the box. It was a playbill, a program printed on one sheet of ivory paper and folded in half. Pygmalion was printed across the front.

  Bradley had taken her to see the play on their first date, back in 1944.

  “I hope you’ll like it. The play, I mean. Shaw’s my favorite playwright.” Bradley took hold of Sophia’s arm and escorted her toward the borrowed Ford.

  She thought him handsome, even with the black patch he wore over his right eye. Not as handsome as Mikkel Christiansen, her first love, but handsome enough. He hadn’t told her how he’d lost his eye. She only knew it had happened while he was serving in the Pacific.

  But she didn’t want to think about the war tonight, and she definitely didn’t want to think about Mikkel. She just wanted to have a good time. There were few enough opportunities for fun these days. Besides, she liked the way Bradley Taylor looked at her, as if he thought she’d hung the moon.

  He reached through the open window of the automobile and retrieved a small white box. He held it out to Sophia. “This is for you.”

  She opened it. Inside was a single red rose. “An American Beauty for an American beauty.”

  When she looked up, he kissed her.

  “We were good together, Bradley, you and I. If only I’d realized it sooner than I did. I could have been a better wife to you.”

  She closed her eyes and allowed the memory of that evening to drift through her mind, savoring each and every moment. She’d begun to fall in love with him that night.

  She sighed, opened her eyes, and looked once more into the shoe box. As she lifted out the crayon drawing, her eyes misted with tears.

  “Dear, sweet Maggie.”

  She reached for a tissue. Then she smiled.

  “That’s you,” Maggie said proudly, “and that’s Daddy and that’s me and that’s Pogo. See? I colored that black spot around her ear.”

  “It’s very nice, Maggie.”

  “Where’s Daddy? I wanna show him, too.”

  “He’ll be in for lunch soon. You can show him then.”

  Maggie slid onto a kitchen chair. “I love my daddy a whole bunch, and he loves me. I’m his honey bunny.”

  “And you’re mine, to
o.” Sophia kissed her on the cheek.

  “Yours, too, Mama!”

  Sophia sighed again. She wished those precious years could have been prolonged. Maggie hadn’t doubted her love then. That had come later, when she was a teenager. If Sophia had only let go of that last seed of resentment, if she’d stopped feeling jealous because Maggie was Esther’s child by birth, Esther and Mikkel’s …

  But she couldn’t undo the past.

  If she’d wanted proof of that, she only had to lift the final item from the shoe box. An envelope, smudged and made brittle by the passing years.

  She opened the envelope and withdrew the letter inside. She didn’t have to read it. She’d memorized it long ago.

  12 MARCH. 1946 COPENHAGEN, DENMARK

  Dear Mrs. Taylor,

  Pardon my poor English, but I write to tell you of your sister, Esther, and her husband, Mikkel. They were good friends to us before and during the war. Because of their goodness my husband Isaac, my children, and I are alive today.

  I grieve greatly to learn of their deaths. I think you do not know perhaps, and it has taken much time to find you for Esther’s sake.

  We have living with us Margaret Rose Christiansen, daughter of Esther and Mikkel Christiansen. She was sent with us to Sweden to escape the Nazis. We hoped for long time to find Esther waiting for us in Copenhagen when we return, but know now she will not be here. We feel great love for little Rose, but she should be with family, as Esther wanted.

  Mrs. Taylor, many horrors happened during war. I want you to know how Esther gave herself for others. Her heart was filled with love when many more were filled with hate. Even when she was afraid, she had great faith in her God. I will remember. I will never forget.