She dropped back into the snow beside the man. Her thoughts scrambled, and she tried to remember exactly where she had been when she first found him. She closed her eyes and peace crept over her. On his right side. Yes, that was it. Megan stood, grasped the rope, and began to lead the horse toward the cabin.
The door resisted her momentarily, as the wind pushed to keep it closed. Then, when she despaired of getting it open, the wind gusted a different way, and the door swung wide. Megan slipped in amid a swirl of snowflakes, leading the horse.
“Whoa.” She patted the horse’s neck as she unfastened the rope from its saddle. “Easy, now. I’ll put you in the barn as soon as I take care of your rider.”
The horse filled half the small room. Megan edged past him, hoping he wouldn’t get feisty in the cramped space. She dragged the stranger farther into the room and swung the door closed, shutting out the nasty weather.
“Meggie, there’s a horse in our house.” Seana’s awe-filled voice was nearly lost in the noise of the horse’s whicker.
“Seana, what are you doing out of bed?” Megan looked over at her wide-eyed sister. “I know there’s a horse here. I had to use him to bring this man in before he froze completely. Now go hop in bed. I have work to do.”
“But Meggie, who is that? Did Papa come home?”
“No, it’s not Papa. It isn’t Matt, either,” Megan said, anticipating the next question. “I don’t know who it is. I found him in a snowdrift outside. I don’t even know if he’s alive.”
Megan glanced up at Seana’s gasp. She regretted her harsh words, but couldn’t take them back. She slipped her fingers under the man’s coat collar. “I’m sorry, Honey. I shouldn’t have said that. He is alive. I can feel a pulse, although it’s a little weak.”
Megan stood and ducked under the horse’s neck. She leaned over and gave Seana a quick kiss on her cool cheek. “You’ve just gotten over your fever, and I don’t want you to get worse. Please get back in bed. I’ll get this man over by the fire where he can warm up, then I’ll come tell you all about it.”
She turned to duck past the horse again. Puddles of melted snow were building around his feet and steam rose from his coat, filling the room with the rank smell of wet horsehide. “Come to think of it, I think I’ll take the horse to the barn before I check on you.”
As Seana disappeared behind the divider, Megan turned to the task of dragging the man closer to the fire. Once there, she set about removing his wet outer clothing. She brought dry towels and rubbed the snow from his face and hair. She tried to ignore the wide set of his shoulders, the strength of his arms, and the strange feelings inside her. His rugged, sun-brown complexion told her he spent plenty of time outdoors; but his smooth hands said it wasn’t at hard, physical labor.
Drying his hair, she felt a lump the size of an egg on the side of his head. “You must have hit your head when you fell off your horse.” Megan didn’t know why she spoke the words aloud.
His full lips turned up, twitching his mustache. His eyelids fluttered. Megan found herself staring into a pair of eyes the color of the cinnamon sticks Momma grated for cookies.
His smooth-fingered hand brushed her cheek. “Angel,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re my angel.”
His hand fell and his eyes closed once again. Megan touched the place where his hand had been. Never had she felt anything like this.
Two
In the dim lantern light, Megan’s frost-numbed fingers struggled to loosen the cinch. Eerie shadows danced across the stable wall. The buckskin dipped his brown nose in the pile of sweet hay she had thrown in the feeder. For tonight he could have one of the stalls usually reserved for her father’s horses. She leaned wearily against the horse’s tawny side. Her legs trembled as she listened to the howling wind and felt the biting cold. Were her parents and brother out in this storm? Had they stayed in Yankton with friends? Where were they?
Plucking a handful of straw, Megan began to rub the tiny bits of ice from the horse. Grunting, as if in appreciation of the attention, the steed leaned heavily against her hand. His tail swished, flicking her exposed cheek with its wet strands.
“I’m not a fly you have to swat.” She gave his flank a light smack. “I wish you could tell me a little of your master. Where were you heading that you ended up on our doorstep?” She sighed and patted his neck. Dumping a small amount of grain in with the hay, she hefted the saddlebags and lantern. Pulling her mittens back on, she adjusted her scarf to cover her face, steeling herself to fight her way through the cutting wind.
God, please help this storm to be over by morning. I know worry is a sin, but I can’t help it. I want to know my family is safe, but deep down I feel like something isn’t quite right.
The cold, wet flakes of snow stung her eyes as she stepped from the barn’s shelter. The wind battered her back against the door, slamming it shut. Throwing the saddlebags over her shoulder, she groped through blinding snow until she found the rope that led to the house. Only a little ways, she assured herself. I can do it. Seana needs me, and so does that man.
After what seemed like hours, she pushed open the door of the cabin and stumbled into the cheery warmth. The stench of wet horse had faded; the floor would probably dry by morning. Setting down her burden, she stripped off her icy outer clothes and hung them on pegs near the door.
The stranger lay still as death near the fire. She stared at him, feeling the rise and fall of her own breathing as she willed his chest to move likewise, relief flooding through her as she detected the slight motion. Turning, she crossed to Seana’s room. Oh, please, I don’t think I could cope with a dead man on top of everything else that’s happened. Help him live, Lord, she prayed silently, realizing that it was a selfish thing to pray.
Megan touched Seana’s brow, and Seana opened her eyes. “Momma?”
Megan winced at the scratchy sound. “No, Seana, it’s Meggie.”
“Where’s Momma?” Tears welled up in Seana’s eyes. “I want Momma to sing to me. When will she be home?”Megan smoothed her hand over Seana’s forehead, wondering how she could soothe her sister’s fears when she had so many of her own. “Momma and Papa haven’t come home yet. Perhaps they’ve had to stay in town another day. If they suspected the storm was coming, I’m sure they would have stayed over.”
“But I want Momma.” Seana began to sob. “Please make her come home.”
Tears stung Megan’s eyes. Seana rarely cried or demanded her way. That she was doing so now only spoke of her sister’s fear.
“Will you sing to me, Meggie?”
“Of course.” Megan smoothed her sister’s hair and began to croon their mother’s favorite song. Seana’s eyelids fluttered, then slowly drifted shut. Megan continued to sing until her sister’s breathing deepened and she slept.
Back in the main room, she dug her fists into the small of her back to ease the ache from leaning forward for so long. A low moan beckoned to her from near the fireplace. Crossing the room, she knelt beside the stranger.
“What am I supposed to do with you?” She didn’t expect an answer. “You need to be up off the floor, but I know I can’t move you by myself.”
She studied the man on her floor. He reminded her of the broad and sturdy oxen her father kept for plowing the fields. She smoothed back the toffee-colored hair from his face. He needed a trim in both his hair and his mustache, the latter an interesting blend of reds, golds, and browns.
I don’t know why I care what you look like. I know God doesn’t intend for me to marry. If He had, He would have made me a lot more appealing. There isn’t a man around who would look twice at me.
Laying the back of her hand against his forehead, Megan checked for fever. “I don’t know why I did that. I have no reason to believe you’re sick. Most likely it’s the lump on your head and the hours of exposure that are keeping you asleep.” She sat back on her heels and frowned. “Although, if I don’t find a way to get you off the floor and in bed, it’s quite likely you w
ill end up sick.”
As if in answer, his eyes snapped open. His panic-stricken gaze swept the unfamiliar surroundings before coming to rest on Megan’s face. For a long moment, his warm cinnamon eyes stared at her.
“Angel,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stay with her. It would have been wrong. I had to go or I would have hurt her worse than I did. Please tell me you don’t hate me for it.”
His eyes closed, and she thought he’d lapsed back into sleep. Then, eyes still closed, his hand stretched upward until his fingers brushed her cheek. She took his hand and tugged gently, wondering if, with his help, she could get him to her parents’ bed. Like a sleepwalker, he stood and allowed her to lead him. Within moments, she had him tucked beneath warm quilts. As she turned to go, his hand wrapped around her wrist. Her heart hammered as she pulled against his soft grip.
His eyes flickered open, then closed. “Sara, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His grip relaxed, and he closed his eyes in sleep.
Megan touched her cheek where she could still feel the brush of his fingers. He’d called her Angel. It must be the bump on the head. Angels are beautiful. No one in his right mind would ever confuse me with an angel.
The angel faded and Jesse labored up the hill on leaden legs. “Sara, wait.” Each step took more energy than he thought he had. He gasped for breath, his lungs burning. Sara, her red-gold hair floating around her like a mantle, beckoned him from the top of the hill. Her tinkling laughter echoed across the fields.
“We must talk.” He yelled as loud as he could, yet he knew it wasn’t enough. The thick air grasped at him, slowing his progress.
Sara clapped her hands impatiently. The hill faded, and he stood before Sara’s house. The street was lined with carriages and horses. People milled about the yard. As he strode toward the door, men moved to pound him on the back, and women smiled and giggled.
A feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. He looked up to see Sara framed in the doorway. Captivating Sara. From the wealthiest family in town. This was his engagement party. He was the envy of all the young men around. He had everything going for him. No one else knew how he would break her heart.
“Sara, we have to talk.” He shouted to be heard above the crowd. “I have to explain.” People were staring at him. Sara gave a petulant frown and beckoned him to come closer. He backed toward the gate. “It isn’t right, Sara. It won’t work.”
He ran. Anguish ripped at his soul. He had to escape. The faces of his family and friends flashed by. They all tried to voice their disapproval. Hands reached out to stop him, but he ran on. The town faded in the distance. Another voice called, beckoning him to follow. But he hurried on.
“You don’t understand,” Jesse shouted to the hills. “I don’t want what she wants. I’m not the person she expects me to be. God, I’m not who You want me to be. I can’t do it.” A sob tore from his throat. “I’m a simple person.”
He fell to the ground. The soft grass waved around him. The scent of summer faded and the warmth turned to a chill that crept into his bones. Snow raged. The tiny flakes became daggers piercing his skin over and over.
“Oh, God.” Sobs tore at his chest. “I’m not worthy to follow You. I can’t do it on my own. Please, if You want me to follow You, then give me a wife willing to stay beside me when I falter. Help her to love You enough to encourage me. Help me, God.”
Peace settled over him. The dream faded and he rested, sleeping deep for the first time in weeks. He wrapped the heavy quilts close, sighing in contentment.
The voice of an angel murmured at his consciousness. The sweet melody wove a spell around him, pulling him awake. He forced his eyelids up and regretted it immediately. His eyes felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of sand in them. He closed them, wishing for cleansing tears that never came. Instead, the heavenly music spun about the room on a magic thread. He drifted to sleep again, wondering if all heaven’s angels sang like this one.
He stood in his father’s study.
“What are you doing with your life, Jesse?” His father’s stern tone startled him.
Jesse glanced around. The huge mahogany desk only emphasized his father’s imposing stature. Sunshine coming in the windows glinted off the polished paneling. The thick carpet muffled his footsteps as he neared the desk, placing his hands on the back of one of the overstuffed chairs facing his father.
“I’m going to work in the mine fields.” He tried to sound determined.
“What about your marriage to Sara?”
“She isn’t right for me.” His hands gripped the chair, feeling the smooth leather give beneath his fingers.
“You’re giving up a secure future to follow some gold lust?” His father’s angry roar rattled the window glass.
“I can’t stay here and be forced into a mold where I don’t fit. Sara and I would both be miserable.”
“I’d say the young lady is miserable right now,” Richard Coulter thundered at his son. “You’re not only bringing shame to her, you’re disgracing our family name.”
“I’m sorry.” Jesse tried to find the words to make it right.
Jesse heard a sniffle and turned to the door. His mother stood there, her perfectly coifed blond hair a contrast to the dark surroundings.
“We need you here, Jesse.” She pressed a bit of lace to her nose. “How will we ever get by if you leave?”
The room faded. He started to stretch out his hand, then stopped. “God will take care of you, Mother,” he whispered. “He’ll watch over you when I’m not here.”
The angel’s soft melody drifted near, her voice weaving around his very heart. Jesse tried once again to open his eyes. The light was dim, but he could see a figure hovering near him. Was this heaven?
His angel leaned close. Blue-gray eyes, sparkling with life, gazed at him. She wasn’t beautiful, but an earthy prettiness warmed him to her. She smiled, and he tried to lift his heavy hand to touch the dimple in her left cheek. His body wouldn’t respond, and he drifted away again. Was the angel real or simply another figment of his tormented dreams?
Three
Streaks of sunlight fought a losing battle with the cold of the room when Jesse woke again. Motes of dust swirled in the air. A small fire crackled in the hearth.
His head throbbed, but at least he could think now. Jesse gave the room a slow perusal. The bed stood close to the wall, an armoire and table with a washstand near the closed door. Lifting his head, he tried to discover why he couldn’t move. Weights seemed to be attached to his body, holding him in place; however, he couldn’t see them. His head dropped back against the pillow, a film of sweat covering him from the exertion. He gasped for air, every breath sending needles of pain through his chest.
The door creaked, the scent of fresh-baked bread and stew making his stomach growl. Turning his head, he could see a pixie face peeking around the door frame. The girl stared at him, a look of surprise on her pale features. One long brown braid swung like a pendulum in front of her shoulder, the only movement in a frozen tableau. She jerked back. The door slammed shut. He could hear her crying out, but couldn’t make out the words.
The door swung open again. This time the young girl rushed into the room, tugging on the hand of a young woman. Jesse had vague memories of seeing her face. He tried to push up. Sweat beaded on his skin. A chill swept over him.
“See, Meggie, I told you he was awake.” The pixie’s braids bounced as she clapped her hands in delight.
“Calm down, Seana. I don’t want you to have a relapse.” Meggie moved over to the bed, where Jesse could get a good look at her. A neat coil of dark brown braids framed her round face. She leaned over to touch his forehead, her blue-gray eyes full of concern. The light in the room seemed to surround her when she smiled. His angel. He’d thought he’d been dreaming, but she was real.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Coulter?” Her fingertips grazed his forehead. Her dimple faded as she frowned at him. “You feel awfully warm. Ar
e you hot?”
“No, Ma’am.” His voice sounded scratchy from disuse. His body throbbed. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep again. Another chill coursed through him. Jesse thought about asking for another blanket, but the effort would be too much.
Sleep weighed him down. He fought the tug of it, wanting to ask how she knew his name. Did he know these people? How had he gotten in this bed? What was wrong with him? As if through a hollow tunnel, he heard Meggie talking to the young girl.
“Seana, fetch me a rag and some cool water. Quick. Mr. Coulter is running a fever.” The covers over him were loosened. Cool air rushed across his neck, and he shook with the chill. Something pressed against his chest.
“Seana, slow down, you’re spilling the water.”
“What’s the matter with him now, Meggie?”
“I’m afraid he might be getting pneumonia from being in the snow and cold for so long. His breathing is congested. We’ll have to fix something so he can breathe easier.”
Jesse remembered the snow now. Darkness closed in tighter. The weight on his chest pressed down, robbing him of the precious air he needed.
❧
Megan worked at a feverish pace. She had Seana bathing Mr. Coulter’s face with cool water, while she peeled and sliced onions to make a poultice. Last winter her brother, Matt, had gotten pneumonia. She’d helped fight the sickness with her mother and could still recall the various remedies they’d used.
“Meggie, why are you crying?” Seana looked tired as she came out of their parents’ bedroom. Megan wiped her cheeks on her apron.
“I’m peeling onions, Seana. They always make me cry.”
“Momma always cries, too.” Seana’s voice got very soft. Megan could hear the tears her sister struggled to hold back. She, too, had been praying once more for her parents and brother. Although she hadn’t lied to Seana, the tears weren’t all from the onions. Her heart ached with the fear that something had happened to her family.
Truly Yours Historical Collection December 2014 Page 47