A Promise for Spring

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “I can do this,” she told herself firmly. “I can.” She sat down on the edge of the bed to wait for darkness to fall.

  A banging roused Geoffrey from a sound sleep. He sat up in a rush, his feet flying from the mattress.

  “Mr. Garrett?” Chris called through the door.

  Geoffrey rubbed his eyes. “What is it?”

  The door cracked open. A slice of sunlight spilled across the floor. “I wanted to check on you.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost seven.”

  Seven? Geoffrey bolted from the bed and reached for his pants.

  He skimmed them over his long johns, berating himself for sleeping so long. He had lain awake last night, praying for wisdom in dealing with Emmaline, but he hadn’t realized how tired he was.

  Never had he slept so long past sunrise. “Have you and Jim had breakfast?”

  “We ate some canned beans and the last of the pie.”

  Geoffrey paused in tucking in his shirt. “Canned beans and pie? Is that what Emmaline put on the table?”

  Chris pinched at the whiskers on the side of his face. “Miss Emmaline wasn’t around, either.”

  A sick feeling rose in Geoffrey’s middle. He shoved his feet into his boots, dancing a bit as he tried to hurry. “Get the sheep out to pasture,” he ordered as he charged past Chris. “I’ll be working on the ditch again today.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Chris trotted in one direction and Geoffrey headed toward the house. She wouldn’t leave. Not again. Not at night. He didn’t knock on the door but charged directly through the house to the bedroom. Maybe she, too, had overslept after a restless night. But the bedroom door stood open, the bed neatly made. And empty. With fear making his mouth dry, he crossed to the closet and looked inside. The carpet bag was missing.

  Geoffrey spun on his heel and thudded through the house. Just as he reached the kitchen, Ronald Senger’s wagon rolled into the yard. Tildy climbed down, and Geoffrey hurried to meet her.

  “She’s gone. Took off during the night,” he grated out in lieu of a greeting.

  Tildy grasped his arm.

  “I must go find her,” he said.

  Ronald called, “I can look, too.”

  “Thank you.” Geoffrey pointed. “You go west; I’ll go east.”

  Tildy’s fingers tightened on his arm. “I’ll be a-prayin’ you find her safe an’ sound.”

  Geoffrey gave Tildy’s hand a pat, then headed for the horse barn. He hitched the team to the wagon by rote, his mind filled with unpleasant pictures. Determinedly, he set the ugly images aside. He would find her before anything bad happened.

  He raced the team at an unsafe pace down the road. Dust billowed from the horses’ hooves and the wagon’s wheels, obscuring his vision. Clenching his teeth, he slowed the team. His eyes scanned the horizon in both directions. Surely she would have kept to the road. At night, with only the moonlight to guide her, she wouldn’t have dared leave the relative safety of the road.

  The early-morning sun, huge in the eastern sky, burned his eyes, but he blinked as little as possible, fearful he might miss seeing her. Let me find her. Please let me find her. Within a mile of Stetler, his eyes spotted an odd black lump at the side of the road. He leaned forward, straining to see more clearly.

  His heart launched into his throat when he realized the lump was Emmaline in her black dress.

  “Yah!” He whipped the reins, and the horses lurched into a full run. In seconds the wagon reached her, and he jerked back on the reins so abruptly the horses nearly sat down. He leaped from the wagon and raced to her. Falling to his knees, he cupped her face in his hands. “Emmaline?”

  She roused, twisting her face into a grimace. Opening her eyes, she looked around blearily. Then her gaze met his, and she bolted away from his touch, scooting backward on her bottom. When she was out of his reach, she struggled to her feet. Without a word, she grabbed the handles of the carpet bag and staggered off.

  For a moment Geoffrey sat on his heels, disbelief sealing him in place. Then he jumped to his feet and trotted up alongside her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  With a determined set to her jaw, she kept walking, her gaze straight ahead. “Now that I’m rested, I am going on to More-land.” “And what are you going to do in Moreland?”

  “I am going to purchase a train ticket and return to England.” Geoffrey grabbed her arm, bringing her to a stop. “You will do nothing of the kind!”

  “Geoffrey, release my arm.”

  The defiance in her eyes raised Geoffrey’s anger another notch. “I will not! You will turn around, get into the wagon, and return to the ranch.”

  She glared up at him for several seconds, her lips pursed tightly. Dropping the bag, she pried his fingers from her arm, then scooped up the bag and walked on as if he hadn’t spoken.

  Geoffrey clutched his hair. He lowered his head for a moment, fighting for control. After several calming breaths, he stomped after her once more, but this time he stepped directly into her pathway.

  She tried to step around him. He blocked her. She tried to go the opposite way. He blocked her again. She huffed, “Geoffrey!

  Get out of my way!”

  But he set his feet wide and balled his hands on his hips. “Emmaline, if you do not get into the wagon I shall put you there myself.”

  Her dark eyes narrowed. “Do not threaten me, Geoffrey.”

  “It is not a threat. Will you turn around on your own?”

  “No!”

  “Very well.” He bent forward, planting his shoulder in her middle and grasping the backs of her knees. When he stood, she fell across his shoulder like a sack of feed.

  She dropped the carpet bag and began pounding on his back as he carried her across the ground. “Unhand me at once!”

  “If you behave like a spoiled child, you can expect to be treated like one.” He plunked her none too gently onto the wagon seat and then swung up beside her. Taking up the reins, he directed the horses up even with the discarded carpet bag. “Whoa.” Pointing a finger under her nose, he ordered, “Stay put.”

  He hopped over the side of the wagon and snatched up the bag. The weight nearly dislocated his shoulder. “What do you have in here?”

  From atop the seat, she folded her arms and looked across the prairie, her lips clamped in a sullen line.

  He tossed the bag into the back of the wagon and climbed back aboard. He said nothing to her as he turned the team and aimed the wagon toward the ranch. She sat in silence beneath the morning sun, but a constant stream of tears ran down her pale cheeks and fell onto her lap, splotching the fabric of her black dress.

  Although he was angrier than he could ever remember being, he was still moved by her tears. Can I make her stay when she is so miserable? He set his jaw. I waited so long for her. I cannot let her go.

  SIXTEEN

  WHAT WAS YOU thinkin’, girl, takin’ off like that? You give us quite a scare.” Tildy wanted to take hold of Emmaline and shake her, but the tears that slid down Emmaline’s cheeks softened her anger. Both women watched Geoffrey drive down the lane toward the barn. He’d unceremoniously brought Emmaline home, assisted her from the wagon, and handed her over to Tildy.

  “You gots to think, chil’,” Tildy told the girl.

  “I did think, Tildy!” She covered her face with her hands. “I thought very carefully. Oh, why did I fall asleep? If I’d only kept going, I would be to Moreland by now.”

  Tildy grabbed Emmaline’s wrists and pulled her hands down. She wanted to coddle her, but Kansas was a hard land, and if Emmaline didn’t learn to let the good Lord give her strength, she’d be conquered by the will of the prairie. “Come on ovah here.” She led Emmaline to the porch and sat next to her on a bench beneath the window. “You gots to stop this runnin’ away from your problems. Runnin’ don’t fix nothin’.”

  Emmaline’s chin jutted. “Well, staying will not fix anything, either.”

  “So what
’s broke? You tell me an’ let’s see if we can find a way to fix it.”

  The girl stared at Tildy. “There is no fix for this situation! Geoffrey claims to love me, yet all he does is tell me what to do, or that I am doing something wrong. He is not the same man I knew in England. That man talked to me tenderly. He picked me daisies. This Geoffrey reprimands me for gathering flowers.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I want to go back to England.”

  Tildy sighed. “I knows you do. But we don’t always git what we want. Sometimes we gots to be content wit’ what the Good Lawd gives us.”

  Emmaline gave her a surprised look.

  “You think you’s the only one’s evuh had disappointments?

  Life’s full o’ disappointments and unhappiness, chil’. But you gotta look for the good in it.”

  “Good? In unhappiness?”

  “Why, yes. The Lawd don’t bring nothin’ into our lives that He can’t use for good. Even unhappiness. Why, if we nevah had a sad moment, we wouldn’t get to ’preciate the good times.”

  “But—”

  “Growin’s a good thang, girl.” Tildy threw her arms wide.

  “Why, if a body nevuh overcomes a bad time, we don’t gets to show how God gives us strength.”

  Emmaline turned away. “God has nothing to do with my relationship with Geoffrey.”

  Tildy nodded at that. “An’ that’s jus’ the trouble. You need God smack-dab in the middle o’ your relationship with Geoffrey.”

  She cupped Emmaline’s chin and looked into her eyes. “Honey, Geoffrey’s jus’ a stubborn man who needs to do some growin’ hisself. But if you take off, you’ll nevuh know how God can grow you’s together.”

  “I don’t know, Miss Tildy.”

  “Well, then, you close your eyes an’ let’s do some talkin’ to God.” She clasped Emmaline’s hand, bowed her head, and scrunched her eyes tight. “Lawd, I knows you gots somethin’ special in mind for Emmalion an’ Geoffrey. Right now things ain’t goin’ as they want, but I trust You’ll turn it aroun’ in time. Give us patience while we waits, an’ give us strength to do the right thangs while we waits. We love You, Lawd. Amen.” Giving Emmaline’s hand a squeeze, she opened her eyes and stood up. “Now, let’s go bake that bread. Nothin’ like the smell of fresh bread bakin’ to put a man in a good mood.”

  After putting away the team and wagon, Geoffrey saddled another horse and rode to the river. Stripping down to his cotton underdrawers, he made a shallow dive and skimmed beneath the surface of the water. The cold, clear water rushing across his body cooled his temperature . . . and his temper. He rolled to his back and floated, staring up at the cloudless sky.

  The sky in England had been blue-gray in the spring, the color of the bottom of an iron bucket. The vibrant blue of the Kansas sky never ceased to amaze him. He wished Kansas had a few of England’s clouds, however; they needed rain. His pastures were dry, and if the grasses didn’t replenish, he would have to buy feed for the sheep. Maybe he should let the section Ronald rented go to hay and harvest it. The sheep had to eat.

  His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten breakfast. Noon would come soon, but despite his hunger, he wasn’t sure he would go to the house for lunch. He wasn’t ready to face Emmaline. Her leave-taking carried the sting of betrayal. He had never expected, when he brought Emmaline here, that she would abandon him. Like his mother had. And his father, too, for all practical purposes.

  Geoffrey flipped to his stomach and swam upstream several yards, pumping his arms and kicking as hard as he could, but the frenetic burst of energy didn’t expend the hurt in his heart. He could swim to the ocean and never escape the feelings of worthlessness that plagued him. Would anyone ever choose to remain permanently in his life?

  Water spewed in all directions as he shook himself off on the riverbank. On bare feet, he walked to his clothes. He scanned the land around him. At least he would always have the ranch and his sheep. If everyone left him, this land would remain. He was not unworthy on this piece of land. He was successful. Respected. Several mills—including the one owned by Jonathan Bradford— depended on him. He would not disappoint them.

  A thought struck him as he reached to pick up his shirt. Jonathan Bradford depended on fleece from Geoffrey’s sheep. The man would suffer if Geoffrey suddenly decided to ship his wool to another mill. If Jonathan Bradford suffered, his family would suffer. Emmaline would never intentionally cause her mother distress. If he were to give Emmaline an ultimatum, perhaps she would be more willing to remain on the ranch where she was safe.

  It may not be ethical, he decided as he swung onto his horse’s back to ride to the site of his half-completed ditch, but it would be effective. And right now effective would be enough to keep her from harm.

  Geoffrey carried the carpet bag into the house when he came in for supper. He had peeked in it, and he marveled that she had made it so far with that big rock in the bottom of the bag. It was a foolish decision to carry a rock for protection, but he was grateful she had done it. No doubt it had slowed her enough for him to catch up to her.

  When he stepped through the door, the aroma of fresh-baked bread nearly turned his stomach inside out with desire. Saliva pooled in his mouth, and he swallowed twice. The loaves—three of them, nicely browned—sat in a straight row across the stovetop. A fourth one, sliced, waited in the center of the table, which was set with four place settings. He tossed the bag into the corner and crossed to the table. Picking up the crusty heel, he bit into it with fervor. He nearly groaned with pleasure.

  A pot bubbled on the stove, the lid gently bouncing. Still chewing, he lifted the lid and sniffed. The mingled odors of cabbage, onion, carrots, and tomatoes greeted his nose. He took another long draw and could almost taste the soup on the back of his tongue. As he straightened, Emmaline entered the kitchen from the outside door. She used her apron as a pouch to carry something lumpy. When she saw him her brown eyes widened and she jerked the fabric higher, as if hiding its contents.

  After a moment’s pause, she shifted her gaze away from him and advanced into the room. She lifted a wedge of cheese and lump of butter from her apron and placed them on saucers that waited on the counter. She said nothing.

  Geoffrey cleared his throat. “Is supper ready?”

  She carried the plates of cheese and butter to the table. As soon as she set them down, she nodded.

  “Then I shall ring the dinner bell.” Geoffrey’s zealous tug of the bell brought Chris and Jim running.

  Despite Geoffrey’s hunger, he had difficulty swallowing the well-seasoned soup and fresh bread. Emmaline ate silently, her eyes downcast. Chris, apparently sensing the animosity between Geoffrey and Emmaline, ate quickly and excused himself on the pretext of fixing some loose shingles on the sheep barn roof. Even Jim abandoned his attempts at chatter when no one responded.

  “You want help with the dishes?” Jim asked Emmaline after he’d slurped the last of his soup.

  “No,” Geoffrey and Emmaline said at the same time. They looked at each other, and Geoffrey saw a flash of irritation in her eyes. He added, “Thank you, Jim, but I shall assist Emmaline this evening.”

  The boy shrugged, carried his dishes to the sink, and then slipped out the back door.

  Emmaline lifted her chin. “I do not require assistance with the dishes.”

  “I am aware you are capable of handling the chore alone,” Geoffrey said, “but we can talk while we put the kitchen in order.”

  Emmaline cast a furtive glance in his direction, but she didn’t argue. He waited until they had cleared the table and she had filled the sink with soapy water before speaking again.

  “Emmaline, we must talk about last night.”

  Her hands paused momentarily in the water, and then she began scrubbing with earnest.

  “Leaving in the middle of the night was a very foolish thing to do. We have wild animals—coyotes, bobcats, even a rare panther or bear. You could have encountered any of them, and you would
have been powerless to protect yourself . . . even with that big rock.”

  Her chin jerked in his direction, but she quickly focused on the dishes again.

  “Animals aren’t the only danger. What if you had wandered off the road in the dark? You could have stepped in a hole and broken your leg, or maybe even fallen into a ravine.”

  She set a dripping bowl on the counter, her hand trembling as she released it.

  “When I asked you not to leave the ranch, it was for your own protection. Yet you chose to ignore my warnings. Your imprudent decision put you in peril, so now I must decide how to keep you from harm.”

  Her shoulders rose as she drew in a deep breath. “I—”

  “I am not finished.” Geoffrey took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face him. One of her hands still rested in the dishwater and the other curled around the lip of the sink. He peered directly into her eyes. “It pains me to do this, but you’ve left me no choice. If you do not remain on the ranch, I will contact your father and tell him my wool is no longer available to his mill.”

  Emmaline’s eyes grew round. Color drained from her face. “You would blackmail me?”

  “It is not blackmail. It is a consequence.” He let his hands slip from her shoulders, and she spun to face the sink. “You must decide whether or not you will honor your commitment to remain here until winter’s end. If you choose not to honor it, then all agreements between our families will end.”

  Emmaline’s chin quivered, but she remained silent.

  Geoffrey sighed. “I didn’t want to resort to this, Emmaline. You forced my hand.” He waited, but she still did not respond. He pushed away from the counter. “Will you attempt to leave the ranch again?”

  Very slowly she shook her head left then right. Her eyes shot fiery darts of fury.

  “Good. Would you like me to carry your bag to the sleeping room?”

  Thrusting both hands into the water, she said stiffly, “I can do it myself.”