by Peterson, Tracie; Davis, Mary; Hake, Kelly Eileen; Stengl, Jill; Warren, Susan May
Obie shook his head. “They carried him home, and Doc dug out the bullet, but he’s afraid it nicked a lung. Boz has powder burns on his chest, and he has trouble breathing.”
Beulah bit her lips and screwed up her face. The tears overflowed anyway.
Obie patted her hand. “Miss Amelia is taking care of him while Doc is here with Myles. Boz couldn’t ask for better care. We just need to pray. He has peace about eternity, thank the Lord.” Obie drew a shaky breath and blinked hard. “He’s my oldest friend. The deputy is keeping order in town for the present. The man who shot Boz is behind bars. I’m hoping to visit him after church tomorrow.”
“I’ll go with you,” Al offered.
“You could take him some of my cookies.” Beulah wiped her face with her apron and tried to smile.
Light snow fell Sunday, but Monday dawned clear and warmer. Eunice and Samuel threw snowballs back and forth as they left for school, but the snow blanket had dwindled to a few patches by noon.
While Mama nursed Daniel, Beulah peeked in to check on Myles. His foot lay propped on pillows. In repose, his pale face had a boyish look. His eyes opened, but Beulah slipped away before he spotted her. Violet had made it clear that Beulah was never to be alone with Myles in his sickroom.
Outside, Watchful began to bark. Beulah went to her own room and peered down at the driveway. “Mama, someone is coming. I don’t recognize the horses.”
Violet sounded harassed. “Would you greet our guest and make excuses for me, dear? I’ll be down when Daniel is finished.”
Beulah untied her apron and hung it on a hook, patted her hair, and opened the door. An elderly woman stood on the top step. Behind her, the buggy turned around and disappeared up the driveway. “Hello, dear. Is this Obadiah Watson’s home?”
“Yes, it is.”
Watchful suddenly rushed past the woman into the house, whisked Beulah’s skirts, and bounded up the stairs. “I’m so sorry,” Beulah gasped. “That was my brother’s dog.”
The lady straightened her bonnet. “Does a man named Myles Trent work here?”
“Yes, but he does not live here.”
The lady’s face fell. “But they told me…Oh dear, and I let that hired rig go…I was so sure Myles would be here.”
Beulah hurried to explain, “No, don’t worry—you see, he is here right now. Upstairs in bed. He was injured the other day. Are you—Could you be his grandmother?”
The woman lifted a trembling hand to her lips. “Yes, I am Virginia Van Huysen. Is my grandson expected to live?”
Her tragic eyes startled Beulah. “Oh yes!” she quickly assured. “He is recovering nicely. It was a bear that attacked him.”
“I see.” The woman looked bewildered. “My Myles was attacked by a bear?”
Beulah recalled her manners. “Please come inside. My mother will be down in a few minutes; she is caring for my baby brother. I’m sure Myles will wish to see you.”
Mrs. Van Huysen gave her a weak smile and stepped inside. “I hope so. I’m sorry, child—it has been a long and tedious journey. My train arrived in town only this morning. Mr. Poole was supposed to meet me in Chicago, but he did not appear.”
“I see.” Beulah said nothing. She could neither ask questions nor remain silent. The lady seated herself on the horsehair davenport at Beulah’s invitation. They sat and stared at one another.
“Would you like me to tell Myles that you have arrived?”
“He did not know I was coming.” There was sadness in the woman’s reply. “How old are you, child?”
“Eighteen. I am Beulah Fairfield. Obadiah Watson is my stepfather. Myles has worked for him these past three years, mostly during the summers.”
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Fairfield. You are a pretty child. Do you play the piano?” She indicated Violet’s instrument.
“A little. Nothing to compare with Myles. He played for us the other night for the first time. It was amazing.”
Mrs. Van Huysen lifted her brows. “So, he still can play. Hmm. Did he sing for you?”
Beulah could not help but smile. “Yes! It was wonderful. He told us that he was a concert pianist in New York, and he told us his real name for the first time. Did you receive his letter?”
“Letter? Myles has not written to me in years.”
“But he did! Just last week. He wanted to apologize to you for running away to join the circus when he was a boy. Did Myles live with you always?”
“The boys lived with me after their parents died.”
“I didn’t know his parents were dead. My father died years ago, but my mother is happy with Mr. Watson. He is a good father to us.” Beulah paused. “Did you say ‘the boys’? Does Myles have a brother?”
Mrs. Van Huysen suddenly rose. “Please take me to Myles now. I can wait no longer.”
Beulah led her to the staircase. “This way, please.”
Mrs. Van Huysen worked her way up the stairs. Beulah wanted to offer her arm for support but feared rejection. “This way,” she repeated, pushing open the door to Samuel’s bedroom.
Myles appeared to be asleep. Blankets covered him to the chin, and his eyes were closed. “Myles?” Beulah whispered, moving to the far side of the bed. He did not stir. The room still smelled of blood, ether, and pain.
Mrs. Van Huysen stood at his other side. “Myles, my dear boy!” Her lips moved, but no other sound emerged. Tears trickled over her withered cheeks.
Beulah touched Myles’s shoulder. “Myles, wake up. There is someone here to see you.” Her own eyes burned. “Myles!” She gripped his shoulder and shook gently. Her fingers touched warm bare skin. Startled, she jerked her hand away.
His eyes popped open and focused on her face. “Beulah. I was dreaming about you.” His hazy smile curled her toes. His hand lifted toward her face.
“Look who is here to see you, Myles,” she whispered, unable to speak loudly. She glanced at his grandmother, and a tear slipped down her cheek.
Myles turned his head. Beulah saw his eyes go wide, and his mouth fell open. A moment later he was sitting up, clutching Mrs. Van Huysen and nearly pulling the lady from her feet. “Gram!” His voice was a ragged sob.
Beulah crept from the room.
Chapter 13
Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.
ISAIAH 26:3
You’re so tiny, Gram. Did you shrink, or have I grown?” Myles asked.
Virginia patted his hand and smoothed his forehead, just as she had during his childhood illnesses. She smiled, but her expression was far away. “You must tell me about Monte sometime, Myles. Right now is convenient for me.”
He pulled his hand out of her grasp and ran it over his rumpled hair. “I know. I’ve been hiding things too long, from myself…from everyone.” He drew a deep breath and released it in a sigh, praying silently for strength. “This won’t be easy.”
Virginia watched him with sad yet peaceful eyes.
“Monte was wild, Gram. I know you thought he was a good boy, but it was all a sham. He loved to gamble, drink, and smoke…although I can say with confidence that he was never a womanizer. You raised us to respect women, and Monte kept that shred of decency as far as I know. With his charm, he might have been worse than he was.”
Tears pooled in his grandmother’s eyes, but she nodded. “I knew, Myles. It nearly broke my heart to see the way you two boys fought and despised each other. I prayed for wisdom and did everything I could to encourage love and respect between you. It never happened. For some reason, Monte considered you a rival from the day you were born.”
Myles sat stunned. “You knew? I thought you doted on him.”
“Certainly. I doted on the both of you. What grandmother doesn’t dote on her grandsons, flawed though they may be?”
“Then why did you keep me isolated from everyone except private tutors and force me to practice for hours every day? It was a terrible life for a boy! I thoug
ht you hated me and loved Monte.”
Virginia looked stunned. “I wanted the best for you, Myles. God gave you a wondrous gift, and I felt it my duty to give you every opportunity to develop and enjoy that gift of music. I thought your complaints stemmed from laziness, and I refused to listen. Oh my dear, how wrong I was! My poor boys!” Wiping her eyes, she insisted, “Tell me about Monte. I must know.”
“When you sent him after me, he took advantage of the opportunity to sample every pleasure the world had to offer. He was delighted to escape his responsibilities. He did plan to return someday, but then circumstances prevented it.”
Virginia shook her head. “I knew I had lost him. Releasing him to find you was a last effort to show him that I trusted and respected him as a man. He proved himself unworthy, as I feared. He did write to me occasionally over the years, however, as you did. I never understood why that precious correspondence ended.”
Myles absently unbuttoned his undervest. “The last place we were together was Texas; you knew that much. We had a steady job brush-popping longhorns for a big rancher. Monte started running with a group of gamblers. They were the ruin of him. It wasn’t long before he started rustling a beef here and there to support his habit, and the boss became suspicious.”
Tears trickled down Virginia’s cheeks again, but she nodded for him to continue.
Myles twined a loose string around his finger and tugged. “Then all of a sudden Monte changed. I don’t know exactly what happened—well, maybe I do—but anyway, one day he was wild, angry, and miserable; the next day he was peaceful, calm, and had this radiant joy about him. He told me that he had made his life right with God. I thought he had lost his mind. Both of us hated church and anything to do with religion, yet here was Monte saying he had found Jesus Christ. He tried to talk with me about God—even gave me a Bible for my birthday.”
“Thank You, Jesus!” Virginia moaned into her handkerchief.
“One day we were riding herd, almost ready to start a drive north. Monte was across from me, hunting strays in the arroyos. A group of riders approached him. I took my horse up on a small bluff and watched. I had a bad feeling—something about the situation made me nervous. The best I can figure, the riders were men to whom Monte owed money, probably demanding payment. I saw Monte’s horse rear up; Monte fell off backward and vanished. The sound of a shot reached me an instant later. Panic spread through the herd. Within seconds I was riding for my life, hemmed in on every side by fear-crazed longhorns.”
The string broke free and his button dropped beneath the blankets.
“And Monte?”
“I never found him, Gram. By the time we got that herd straightened out—a good bit smaller than it was when the stampede started—we were miles from the location of the fight, and it was pouring rain. I hunted for days, but found no trace of Monte or his mustang. The horse never returned to the remuda; it must have died in the stampede, too.”
Virginia sobbed quietly.
“I don’t know if the men who killed Monte were aware that I witnessed his murder, but I didn’t take chances. I was nineteen, scared, stricken with regret and sorrow. I hightailed it out of Texas and never went back. Once or twice I thought about writing to you, but shame prevented it. Not until God straightened me out this summer did I have the courage to confess my role in Monte’s death.”
“You weren’t to blame, Myles.” The idea roused Virginia from her grief.
He sniffed ruefully. “Had I not run away from home, Monte would never have been in Texas.”
“Then he most likely would have died in a back alley in Manhattan. It is not given us to know what might have been, my boy. We can only surrender what actually is to the Lord and trust Him to work His perfect will in our lives.” Virginia’s voice gained strength as she spoke. “Monte is safe with the Lord, for which fact I am eternally grateful. Myles, dear, can you ever forgive me for my failings as a grandmother?”
Myles nodded. A muscle in his cheek twitched. “I forgive you, Gram. You meant well.” He blinked, feeling as if a small chunk had broken from the burden he carried. To his surprise, forgiving his grandmother was an agreeable experience. Love welled up in his heart, and he opened his arms to her.
Weeping and smiling, Virginia fell into his embrace without apparent regard for her dignity.
Beulah carried a tray upstairs and knocked at the closed door. The voices inside stopped, and Mrs. Van Huysen opened the door. “That looks lovely, dear. Thank you.” She stepped aside, and Beulah carried the tray to the bureau.
“Are you two having a good visit? Were you comfortable last night, Mrs. Van Huysen?”
“Yes, dear. Thank you for the use of your bedroom. I’m sorry to put everyone to such inconvenience.”
“It is no trouble. We are all pleased to meet Myles’s grandmother.”
More than a day had passed since Virginia’s arrival. Beulah’s family had begun to wonder if the two Van Huysens would ever rejoin the world.
Myles eyed the steaming bowls and the stack of fresh bread slices. “What kind of stew?”
Beulah felt her face grow warm. She gave his grandmother an uncertain glance. “Bear.”
Virginia’s face showed mild alarm.
Myles laughed aloud. “Poetic justice. I hope he was a tender bear. Don’t worry, Gram; Beulah is the best cook in the state, with the possible exception of her mother.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“I hope it’s good stew,” Beulah said weakly. “Papa says the bear was skinny and tough. He showed me how to prepare it so it would taste better, but I don’t know if you’ll like it.”
Myles shoved himself upright. “Beulah, will you ask Al to feed Pushy? She must be wondering what happened to me.”
Beulah avoided looking at him. “Al says Pushy is lonely but well. She reminded him to feed her. No kittens yet.”
“You need to take a look at the stitches in my leg, Beulah. There are fifty-seven. Doc did a great job of patchwork. Maybe you could learn a few new designs for your next quilt. Beulah sews beautiful quilts, Gram. She can make almost anything.”
“Indeed?”
“Did you see the bear when they brought it in, Beulah? Wasn’t he immense? You should have seen that monster climb a tree. He would have had me for sure if Buck hadn’t packed him with lead. Say, that water looks good. Would you pour me a drink?”
Beulah felt his gaze as she poured two glasses of water from the pitcher. She glanced at his grandmother and caught an amused smile on the lady’s face.
Virginia suddenly rose from her chair and smacked Myles’s hand. “Stop that belly rubbing. Never could break you of that.” She addressed Beulah obliquely. “Myles suffered chronic stomachaches as a child. He used to wake me every night, crying for his mother. At least he no longer totes around a blanket.”
Myles slumped back against the pillows. “No secret is sacred.”
Beulah smiled. He would be embarrassed for certain if she gave her opinion of his habit—she found it endearing.
“Myles was a sickly, scrawny child—all eyes and nose. It’s amazing what time can do for a man. I never would have known you in a crowd, Myles—although one look into your eyes would have told me. Doesn’t he have beautiful eyes, Beulah? They are like his mother’s eyes, changing hue to suit his emotions. I would call them hazel.”
“Sometimes they look gold like a cat’s,” Beulah observed.
“Has he told you that he was being groomed for opera? His beautiful voice, his ability to play almost any piece the audience might request, and his subtle humor packed in the crowds. He was truly a marvel—so young, yet confident and composed. Even as a little child, he was mature beyond his years. I thought I was doing the best thing for him, helping him reach the peak of his ability. How wrong a grandmother can be!” She shook her head sadly.
“We’ve already discussed this, Gram. It’s in the past and forgiven, remember?” Myles sounded embarrassed.
“Myles told me about the lett
er he wrote last week.” Virginia shook her head. “I never received it. My private detective, Mr. Poole, recently discovered Myles’s whereabouts after long years of searching. I find it odd that Myles wrote to me even as I was coming to see him. But the Lord does work in mysterious ways.”
“God told me to write to you, Gram,” Myles said gruffly, “even though He knew you were coming.”
“At any rate, I plan to telegraph Myles’s old agent tomorrow and set up a return performance. The musical world will be agog; his disappearance made the papers for months. His reappearance will take the world by storm, I am certain.”
“Gram,” Myles began, sounding somewhat irritated.
Beulah backed toward the door. “That’s wonderful. You had better eat before the stew gets cold. I’ll be back for the dishes.”
She heard Myles call her name as she ran down the steps, but she could not return and let them see her distress. Myles is leaving!
“Beulah is a pretty thing and well-spoken,” Virginia commented. “Exquisite figure, although I’m sure you have noticed that fact.”
“I have.”
“Your fancy for the child is evident, and even I can see why she attracts you.” Her gaze shifted to Myles, and she pursed her lips. “The bluest blood in New York runs in Van Huysen veins.”
“Blended with the good red blood of soap merchants, sea captains, and a black sheep or two. From all I hear, some of Beulah’s ancestors might have looked down their aristocratic noses at one or two of my wild and woolly ancestors.” His mustache curled into a smirk.
Virginia merely poked at her stew.
“So you like Beulah, Gram?” Myles dipped a chunk of bread into his stew and took a large bite.
“I suspect there is more to that inquiry than idle curiosity. Do you intend to wed the child?”
“I do.” One cheek bulged as he spoke.
His grandmother considered this information. “Would she blend into our society, Myles? Her manners are charming, but they are country manners, nonetheless.”