Opal

by Lauraine Snelling

  But no matter, he couldn’t let his feelings loose on this poor scared child. Hadn’t he been through enough?

  At the thought of how she—he could scarcely think her name or say it—had hurt her child, it was probably a good thing she wasn’t around. Once Jacob had him undressed and in his nightshirt, he tucked the covers around him and left the room, leaving a small candle burning on the washstand in case he woke and was afraid in the dark.

  Out in the front room he lit the kerosene lamp by his chair and collapsed into it. ‘‘Dear God, how could she do such a thing?’’

  Only the silence answered him, a friendly silence but for the songs of the peeper frogs now that spring had arrived.

  He stared at the envelope. Her handwriting was familiar except for the hint of wavering—from weakness or hurry? What did it matter? It was addressed to him. Staring at it would not change that. He leaned back in the chair to dig out his pocketknife, opened the blade, and slit the envelope. After closing the blade again, he leaned back in the chair to return the knife to his pocket. Had the fire been burning, he might have succumbed to the temptation of throwing the letter in the fire, but the warm night had saved him from the action. No fire. No cheery fire, only an envelope that could be the snake or rat in his woodpile, ready to leap out and bite him should he draw too close.

  ‘‘Jacob Chandler, you are not a coward,’’ he declared.

  Right. As if saying the words was sufficient to make it so. His hands shook with reluctance. He pulled the single sheet of paper from the envelope and flipped it open.

  Dear Jacob, How often he’d seen those words on the notes they’d exchanged.

  When you read this, I will again be out of your life, this time forever, as I had thought once before. Were the situation not so dire, you would not be reading this now. How life changes, and we are unable to control that. While I have never been strong, I have provided a life for Joel. My husband, Patrick O’Shaunasy, who believed Joel to be his son, died in an accident last year. Shortly after that the consumption, which I have battled forever, it seems, became rampant, and I know I do not have long to live. I wrote to your mother and asked for your address, something I should have done long ago, but I thought I had everything taken care of.

  Is God in his heaven laughing at my pitiful attempt to keep our sin from tarnishing our son? Or is this his judgment? I can no longer be depended upon, and I cannot leave Joel to the mercies or lack thereof of fate. So I have brought him to you with the prayer that you will treat him well. He is your son and a good lad. I cannot bear for him to suffer watching me die. May God bless and keep him and you. I have told him you are truly his father.

  Do not waste your time trying to find me, for I shall be gone.

  Please tell Joel that his mother loved him beyond life itself. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me for keeping him from you, I will rest in peace.

  Yours,

  Melody

  Jacob ignored the tears that made him blow his nose and read the letter again. He checked the envelope. No return address. No forwarding address. Nothing. Nothing but a single sheet of paper that described the havoc one hour of heaven had cost.

  Though he lay down beside the boy later, sleep eluded him and memories haunted him.

  Their dreams so long ago had been fresh and full of aspirations. They had talked of the life they would have together, a life that would start when he had finished his schooling. She would wait for him. Wait. The one thing he had been unable to do.

  He got up, lit the lamp, and read the letter again. Do not try to find me, for I shall be gone. What did she mean by that? She’d disappear? Die? Surely she wouldn’t kill herself. Not one more thing on his conscience now so raw as to be dripping blood.

  Blowing out the lamp, he lay down again, only to stare at the ceiling he couldn’t see, his arms locked behind his head.

  The boy puffed gently in his sleep, a sound so innocent it rent Jacob’s heart even more.

  He watched the window, waiting for the light. After all, the Bible promised that joy would come with the morning. How often he had promised that to others suffering through a long night. Could his heart, which felt as heavy as an ancient millstone in his chest, not feel it? Or was the Scripture only for others, not applicable to a sinner like he?

  When dawn barely lightened the windows, Jacob rose and returned to the chair, where he stared at the ashes left over from previous fires in the fireplace. Gray and black, charred bits—like his life. And it was no one’s fault but his own.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Reading letters was such a pleasure, and a lazy Saturday morning was the perfect time to partake.

  Ruby sighed, one of pure delight rather than of exasperation, which seemed the more usual, at least as far as Opal was concerned. Here she was, on the brink of young womanhood, and she’d become more hoyden than ever. If only Rand would stop encouraging her.

  ‘‘Stop thinking of Opal and enjoy your visit with a friend.’’

  Per looked up from playing with some blocks of wood at her feet. ‘‘Ma?’’

  ‘‘Yes, dear little one, I am your ma.’’ He said few words yet, but Ma and Da could be said many ways.

  She returned to her letter.

  Dear Ruby,

  How good it was to hear from you. I long for a real visit to catch up on these years that have fled so swiftly. The children still speak of you and Opal with delight, and even little Bernie says your name, feeling he remembers you even though he was still a baby, all because the others talk of you so often.

  To think you are married and have a son of your own. God grant you wisdom and joy as you watch him grow. It is hard to believe that Alicia is graduating from high school this year and will leave for Philadelphia Women’s College in the fall. My first child to leave home, other than you and Opal. I felt at that time much as I am feeling now. That is how dearly I love you both.

  Forgive me for sounding so sentimental here, but now that Penelope has her health back, I am more aware of time passing than ever. She was so ill this winter that I was beginning to think we might need to find a warmer climate for her health. I thank God that the others contracted only light cases. Influenza is a vicious beast. I know I should be grateful that we have remained so healthy—except for Jason’s broken arm, which happened when he fell out of a tree.

  You would not believe how Bernie has grown. He loves school, as do the others, and for that, much of the thanks goes to your years of encouraging them to think and dream. You have a gift for creating a love of learning.

  Ruby looked up. Her eyes misted so that she had to blink several times to clear them.

  ‘‘Per?’’

  ‘‘Da.’’ Thankful again that he always answered when she called, she laid the letter aside and went to the bedroom to fetch him. She would have to remember to put up the small gates Beans had built for her to keep her son corralled where she could see him. He had learned to pull himself up now, and any day she was sure he would break out in a run. Walk would not even enter his mind. She brought him back to sit by her chair and handed him a piece of the bread she had left in the oven until it was solid as the hardtack of early years.

  While he chewed on that, she returned to her letter.

  I do hope that one of these days you will see your way clear to sending Opal back to visit us. This summer would be especially wonderful because Jason is helping his father in the business, and the rest of us miss him. I know it is good preparation for his future, but that doesn’t make me any more cheerful about the whole thing.

  I hear the schoolchildren at the door, so I must bid you good-bye for now. Please don’t wait so long to write again, although I know you must be far busier than I can imagine.

  Love from your New York friends,

  Lydia Brandon

  If Opal wanted to go east, Ruby would use some of her savings from the hotel to buy the ticket. Perhaps Mrs. Brandon could get her to wear more suitable clothing.

  Opal would ne
ed an entirely new wardrobe to travel back there. No britches or split skirts, no leather vest or jacket. And no pistol or gun of any kind.

  ‘‘Mrs. Brandon, dear lady and friend, you have no idea what you are asking.’’ Ruby chuckled.

  Early that afternoon a lone rider rode the trail up to the house. When Ruby went to the door in answer to Ghost’s announcement of company, she looked in amazement. Mr. Finch, dressed in a high collar and cravat, gray suit coat and vest, sat the horse with a distinct look of discomfort.

  ‘‘Mr. Finch, please dismount and come in.’’

  ‘‘Ah, good day, Mrs. Harrison. Where might I tie my horse?’’

  ‘‘Oh, I’m sorry. Take him over to the corral and tie him to the wood fence by the barn. I’ll heat the coffee.’’

  ‘‘Thank you, ma’am.’’ He pulled on the right rein, clucking with his tongue. The horse just stood there, ears flicking back and forth like a semaphore.

  Ruby caught her upper lip with her lower teeth. ‘‘Ah, horses out here are trained to neck-rein, Mr. Finch.’’

  He swallowed his frown. ‘‘Neck-rein?’’

  ‘‘Yes. You hold the reins in your right hand and lay the left rein across the horse’s shoulders.’’ Opal, where are you when I need you? ‘‘Then you nudge him in the ribs with your heels.’’

  She could tell he was trying, but the horse had yet to move. ‘‘You need to rein and nudge at the same time.’’

  If his red face was any indication, he had not only gotten too much sun, but his patience had about reached its limit too. Should she go down the steps of the porch and show him what she meant? Or would that destroy his pride forever? Men could be so silly that way.

  ‘‘I-I’ll go get the coffee ready.’’ She turned, scooped Per up, and kept the door from banging behind her in case that spooked the horse. Or the man.

  That thought almost made her giggle. No wonder Opal had a hard time respecting her teacher. The stories she brought home had given them many a good laugh.

  But now he was at her door, and good manners were imperative. Had he come on a social call or what?

  It was most likely not a social call since she’d been seeing him regularly in church, which met in the school building ever since its completion.

  ‘‘Uff da.’’

  ‘‘Da?’’ Per looked toward the door.

  ‘‘Da will be home later. He’s out with the cows.’’

  She set a plate of cookies on the table as she made her way to answer the knock at the door. ‘‘Come in. Come in.’’

  Mr. Finch removed his hat and held it with both hands against his chest as he stepped through the door. ‘‘Thank you. It sure smells good in here.’’

  ‘‘That’s the bread I took out of the oven a bit ago. Please sit down. Do you take cream and sugar with your coffee?’’

  ‘‘Just cream, thank you.’’ He sat and rested his hat on the table beside him. ‘‘I wish this were just a social call.’’

  Ruby placed the cups in saucers on the table and pushed the cream toward him. Why am I not surprised?

  ‘‘What has Opal been doing now?’’

  ‘‘She has a very good mind, you know.’’

  ‘‘Yes, and had the blessing of good schooling, both before we came west and then with Mrs. Hegland.’’

  ‘‘But she doesn’t really want to use it.’’

  ‘‘Really?’’ Ruby tipped her head slightly, as if she’d not heard right. This was not what she expected.

  ‘‘She spends much of her time daydreaming and not paying attention in class. The younger children look up to her, and I wish she would set a good example.’’

  ‘‘Have you talked to her about this? Is she disruptive in class?’’

  ‘‘No and no. But I have called it to her attention when I observed her woolgathering.’’

  ‘‘Does she have plenty to keep her busy and to challenge her? Are her grades suffering?’’

  He stiffened slightly. ‘‘I am doing the best that I am able, Mrs. Harrison.’’

  ‘‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound critical. I will speak to her about this.’’

  ‘‘I would appreciate that.’’

  ‘‘I have a question though. If she finishes her work ahead of the others, what would you like her to do with her spare time?’’

  ‘‘She can help with the younger children. I’m sure you know how good she is with them.’’

  Better than you, I wonder? ‘‘Or?’’

  ‘‘She can read a book. As you know, we have quite a collection now.’’

  ‘‘Of which she has read most. Unless you’ve gotten new ones in recently.’’

  ‘‘She has?’’

  The man obviously had no idea how quickly Opal read. ‘‘More coffee?’’

  ‘‘Please.’’ He stared at the red-and-white-checked tablecloth, looking up when Ruby filled his cup. ‘‘Do you think she will return to school in the fall?’’

  ‘‘I assume so. We have not discussed a different plan.’’

  ‘‘I . . . ah . . . I just thought perhaps a finishing school might be a good idea. Not that I presume to tell you what to do, but since she is so obviously disinterested . . .’’

  Isn’t that part of your job? To make learning so interesting that you hold your pupils’ attention? I never saw the daydreamer side of Opal. She’s always been a do-it kind of girl. Now, if there had been a snake in your desk, that would not surprise me. Ruby looked up to realize she’d been lost in her thoughts. Would he think sister like sister?

  ‘‘Thirty students of all ages in one room gives little time for individual attention.’’

  ‘‘That is true. Perhaps it is time to petition the school board for another teacher?’’

  ‘‘I wrote to them, but they don’t believe the school here will grow to accommodate another teacher.’’

  Ruby shook her head. They surely had not spoken with the Marquis de Mores. Granted, cows outnumbered everything except ants and rabbits out here, but new families were coming in, much to the resentment of the ranchers.

  ‘‘Well, since I plan on visiting the Robertsons while I am out this far, I had better get back on that horse.’’ The look on his face left no doubt as to his feeling about his mode of transportation.

  ‘‘Would you like Opal to ride along and show you the way?’’ Now, what sort of devilment made her offer that suggestion? Ruby schooled her face in a polite smile.

  ‘‘N-no thank you. I have a map.’’

  ‘‘I see.’’ Ruby stood so he could. ‘‘Please greet Mrs. Robertson from me.’’

  ‘‘Oh, I will. Thank you for the coffee. You surely do have a beautiful child there.’’

  Per looked up from the rusk he’d been chewing. He’d managed to smear his face from ear to ear. ‘‘Da?’’

  Ruby refrained from pointing out that Per was a boy. It was hard to tell, since all small children wore a shift until age three or when they were potty trained.

  ‘‘Godspeed, Mr. Finch.’’

  He stopped in the doorway. ‘‘And you’ll talk with Opal?’’

  ‘‘Yes, of course.’’

  ‘‘Thank you again.’’ He tipped his hat and headed down to the corral for his horse.

  Ruby watched as he struggled to mount and then, once in the saddle, tried to turn the animal by pulling the left rein. He looked like some kind of puppet, arms straight out, swinging his legs rather than squeezing.

  Ruby rolled her eyes. Thank heavens Opal was off with the hands, or she would have burst out laughing. It was all Ruby could do to hold her own laughter in. She knew Rand would enjoy her description once they were in their room, where Opal would not hear.

  She lifted Per and propped him on her hip. ‘‘It’s not her fault, I’m sure, that she’s daydreaming. That man could put anyone to sleep.’’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘‘But, Ruby, I was never rude.’’

  ‘‘I should hope not. But you weren’t doing what you were suppose
d to be doing—listening to your teacher.’’

  ‘‘I try.’’ Opal sighed and shook her head. ‘‘I try so hard, but he has a kind of singsong voice, and pretty soon my mind just takes off and all of a sudden he is saying, ‘Miss Torvald,’ like it’s a bad word, and then I come back and I don’t know what the question was, and . . . and I think he likes to . . . to . . .’’

  ‘‘Embarrass you?’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’ It makes him feel like a big shot or something, and then I get disgusted. But I can’t tell Ruby all this, can I?

  ‘‘So to come right down to it, he’s boring.’’

  Opal nodded. ‘‘And he likes to lecture.’’ Mostly just to hear himself talk.

  ‘‘What do the others do?’’

  ‘‘Virginia keeps a book up like she’s reading, and she is, but it’s not the history book that he sees.’’

  ‘‘Could you do the same?’’

  ‘‘I guess I’m going to have to.’’ Opal chewed on her bottom lip. ‘‘I wish Miss Hossfuss, er, Mrs. Hegland was still our teacher. Or you.’’

  ‘‘Well, they won’t allow women with children to teach, so that leaves Pearl out. Besides, she’s too busy.’’

  ‘‘Like you.’’

  ‘‘I don’t know where the time goes.’’

  ‘‘Ma?’’ came from the bedroom, where Per had been napping.

  ‘‘I’ll get him.’’ Opal fled the room. ‘‘Hey there, little guy, you ready to get up?’’

  Per reached out for her, chattering his own little song, one that sounded the same whenever he saw her.

  ‘‘Wish I could understand you.’’ She untied the belly strap and picked him up. ‘‘I think you understand us much better than we do you.’’

  Another run of sounds.

  ‘‘I know. Pretty soon you’ll be running and jabbering up a storm. You wet?’’