She’d pushed him away. Maybe in that moment she had recognized that the hug was more about his receiving comfort than giving it—something he’d realized himself much later. He had needed that hug desperately. He had needed someone to hold on to, and he had wanted her to be that someone. But she had squirmed, and he had been forced to relinquish his hold. The next time he hugged her, it would be at her invitation. He wouldn’t open himself to rejection again.
They hadn’t sat on the porch this evening. She had spent the entire evening snapping beans and flicking peas from their pods. Tildy planned to come early next week and help Emmaline preserve the vegetables that hadn’t been destroyed by the grasshoppers. He feared the amount would be less than what was needed to sustain them through the winter, but at least they would have something set aside.
The light still glowed in the window. Perhaps she wasn’t able to sleep, either. And if she couldn’t sleep, they might as well talk. Before he could convince himself to stay away, he stepped off the porch and moved briskly across the shadowed ground. The gentle song of the Solomon drifted on the night breeze. He loved the sound of the water. He loved the sound of the wind racing through the grass. He loved this land. And he loved Emmaline.
If only Emmaline loved him . . .
He knocked softly on the front door of the house, then stood listening. After a few seconds, he heard footsteps, and a lantern’s glow lit the door’s round window from within. “Yes?”
“It’s me—Geoffrey. May I come in?” How odd to ask permission to enter his own house.
“Of course.”
He opened the door to find Emmaline clutching a robe closed at her chin with one hand and holding the lantern aloft with the other. Her hair spilled over her shoulders in a mass of reddish brown waves. Her eyes, wide and questioning, seemed huge in her heart-shaped face.
His heart caught at the innocent picture she painted, and he swallowed hard. “I saw the light on, so I knew you were awake.”
“Yes. Sleep eludes me tonight for some reason . . .”
Did she want him to ask why? He cleared his throat. “I need to speak with you about a trip I must take.”
She crossed to the straight-backed chairs that sat against the far wall and seated herself. Placing the lantern on the small table between the chairs, she tipped her head in invitation. “Please sit down. You needn’t stand in the doorway.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Geoffrey crossed the room and sat in the opposite chair. The dark room, and she in her night attire, lent an intimacy to their conversation.
“The grasshoppers destroyed much of my pasture. Without rains, the grasses will not grow back. I do have some land undamaged, but not enough. I need to purchase feed.”
Her brown eyes, soft and velvety, remained pinned on his face.
“I suppose none of your neighbors can spare feed.”
“No. Some have lost their entire crops to the grasshoppers.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “Who would think mere bugs could create such devastation?” He drew a deep breath. “I am sure the grasshoppers did not affect the entire region. Somewhere, there will be a farmer or rancher willing to share his bounty with my sheep. So tomorrow I plan to set out in search of feed.”
“Can you not send telegrams to neighboring communities to inquire?”
Genuine concern underscored her soft voice. Was she worried about the sheep, or about him? “I must see about the feed myself,” he said. “There are unscrupulous men who would try to benefit from our desperation. I dare not purchase feed sight unseen.”
Her head bobbed in a slow nod. “I see.” She sucked in her lips for a moment. “How long will you be gone?”
“I am not sure. Maybe a week . . . or two. I hope not much longer than that since it means Chris and Jim will carry much responsibility. But it depends on how far the grasshoppers reached, and who has an abundance to share.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Do not worry about the ranch. Chris and Jim are capable of caring for the sheep. And I shall do what I can. With my garden gone, I shall have time free each day.”
It occurred to Geoffrey that he and Emmaline were having a real conversation with each other, the way he’d always wanted.
He actually felt as though she shared his burden and, in doing so, lightened it.
“Thank you, Emmaline. I . . . appreciate your support.”
Her expression was so very, very tender. A sense of comfort, of well-being, of homecoming enfolded Geoffrey. His hands ached to reach across the little table, take hold of her, and draw her into his arms.
He bolted to his feet. “I must let you rest.”
She stood, too. Her face, lit by the soft glow of the lantern, registered a disappointment that confused him.
“I plan to make an early start.”
“Then I shall rise early and prepare you a hearty breakfast.”
He headed for the door, not daring to look at her.
“I shall pack some food for you to take with you. Raisin biscuits and dried venison, and perhaps crackers and cheese.”
He turned the doorknob.
“I do hope you find adequate feed for the sheep.”
Geoffrey swung the door wide and darted for the bunkhouse before he forgot she was not yet his wife.
“Have a safe trip, Geoffrey.” Emmaline stood beside Geoffrey’s horse, her hand cupped over her eyes.
“Thank you, Emmaline. I wish I knew when to tell you to expect me. . . .”
“You just take care of yourself.” She forced a cheerful tone. “I shall be fine.”
She watched Geoffrey leave, remembering their last farewell in England, right before the ship carried him away. That time, he had bestowed a long hug and pressed a lengthy kiss on the top of her head. That time, she had sobbed against his chest, then stood waving, waving, waving, until she could no longer make out his form at the ship’s railing. That time, she had mourned for days.
This time, she turned and headed to the house to clean her kitchen. She had prepared a massive breakfast—eggs, Geoffrey’s favorite raisin biscuits, fried potatoes with onions, and thick slices of salt pork. Somehow, filling Geoffrey’s stomach reduced her inability to fix the greater problems.
She spent the morning taking care of the week’s laundry. It was an arduous chore, requiring filling tubs with water, scrubbing a bar of soap on the dirty clothing, then rinsing in another tub before hanging the items to dry in the breeze. The rote activity allowed too much time for thought. Where might Geoffrey be now? Would someone be willing to sell him feed? What if he had to go as far as Nebraska or the Dakotas?
Affixing a pair of men’s long johns to the line, she said out loud, “I shall drive myself mad if I continue asking myself questions! Now get busy!” In short order, the sheets, trousers, shirts, and long johns snapped in the wind in a satisfying line. She lifted the basket and turned toward the storage shed, but the rattle of a wagon captured her attention.
She looked to the road, delighted to see Ronald and Tildy turn in at the lane. She lifted her hand in a happy wave. Dropping the basket, she skipped to meet them. “I thought you weren’t planning to come until next week. I haven’t removed the beets from the ground yet, but I can—”
Then she noticed the canvas-covered lumps in the back of the wagon. “Tildy?”
Ronald sat facing forward, his jaw jutted out, but Tildy looked down at Emmaline. Her chin quivered. “Miss Emmalion, we’s come to tell you good-bye.”
Emmaline grabbed the edge of the seat. “Good-bye? But— but—”
Tildy put her big hand over hers. The warm, rough palm offered a caress. “Our house caved in, Miss Emmalion. Roof collapsed after the hoppers did their damage, an’ then last night’s wind took the north wall.”
“Oh, Tildy!”
“Still got the barn, still can work, but people is short o’ cash now that they got no crops to sell. How’re me an’ Ronal’ gonn’ make it here? So he says we gotta git on down the road wher
e the hoppers ain’t been an’ start anew.” Her eyes begged Emmaline to understand.
Emmaline clutched at some excuse to keep them near. “But Geoffrey will want to say good-bye to you, and he’s gone on a trip. Can’t you—”
Ronald said, “Seen Geoffrey this mornin’ when he rode by.” The man fixed his lips into a somber line. “We says our fare-thee-wells to him.”
“Then won’t you come in for lunch? Or tea?” Tildy was the best friend Emmaline had ever had, yet not once had they sat in the parlor and shared a cup of tea. What had her thoughtlessness meant to Tildy? She had to rectify the situation before she could say good-bye. “You can at least have a cup of tea with me first, can’t you?”
Ronald worked his jaw back and forth. Tildy peered at him, silently waiting. Emmaline clutched her hands beneath her chin. “Please?”
Finally he gave a single nod. “Yup. I reckon we can do that.” He set the brake and climbed over the side.
Emmaline nearly collapsed with relief. She embraced Tildy the moment she stepped down; then she scurried toward the house. “Ronald, you just sit on the porch and relax. Tildy, come in and talk to me while I brew the tea.”
Emmaline took her time preparing the tea and placing wedges of gingerbread on plates. She longed to talk, to fill the time with chatter, but a lump in her throat made talking difficult. Tildy, too, sat in uncommon silence, but her large eyes reflected her sadness.
Only one chair sat in the parlor—the rocking chair—so Emmaline asked Ronald to carry in the pair of straight-backed chairs from the sitting room. Then they sat in a circle around the little piecrust table, sipped their tea, and ate gingerbread. Tildy’s large, chapped hands on the fragile cup painted a heartbreaking picture, and Emmaline could barely swallow for the tears that filled her throat.
Tildy smacked her lips. “This be right flavorful, Miss Emma-lion. Even better’n the tea brewed from chamomile I growed behind my soddy.” Her face drooped.
“I don’t believe I’ve sampled chamomile.” Emmaline managed a bright tone. “Geoffrey purchased this orange pekoe in Stetler. I do enjoy its full flavor.”
Several long, quiet minutes ticked by while the Solomon sang its melody outside the window. Ronald set his cup and saucer on the table and slapped his knees, rising. “Well, I ’preciate the tea an’ the treat, Miss Emmalion, but I reckon—”
Tildy sat straight up. “Ronal’, you go on outside. I needs some time wit’ Miss Emmalion.”
Ronald scowled. “We gots to git movin’, woman.”
“An’ we’ll git movin’ soon as I’s talked wit’ Miss Emmalion.” Her glare dared him to argue.
With an exaggerated sigh, Ronald rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Aw right, but you don’ dally. We gots a long ways to go.” He then turned to Emmaline, and his expression gentled.
“It’s been right nice knowin’ you, Miss Emmalion. You take care o’ yo’self now, y’hear?”
Emmaline swallowed hard. “Y-yes, Ronald. Thank you. I wish you well.”
He ambled out the door with his long-legged gait.
Tildy watched him go, her chin tucked low. “Mm-mm-mmm, all these years togethuh, that man move slow as molasses in January, but now he’s in a hurry.” She shook her head, her full lips pursed. “An’ I reckon I shouldn’t make him fractious, so I’s gotta talk fast.”
She captured Emmaline’s hands in hers. “You’s a good girl, Miss Emmalion, but I’s concerned for yo’ soul. We ain’t taken time to talk deep about God an’ knowin’ Him. Seems we done too much workin’ together, but you learned good on ever’thang I showed you. I be right proud o’ you.”
“Oh, Miss Tildy . . .” Emmaline bit down on her lower lip to keep from sobbing.
“No time for caterwaulin’ now, Miss Emmalion. You jus’ listen careful.”
Holding tight to Tildy’s hands, Emmaline blinked several times. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You been doin’ a right good job here, an’ I don’ wanna take nothin’ away from all you done. But there’s somethin’ more you gotta do. You gotta learn to lean on God. If ’n you don’t, you’s gonna come across a day when yo’ strength ain’t enough. An’ you’ll just go all to pieces. But if you got God’s strength, chil’, then you’ll always have the strength you need, no matter how hard thangs git.”
Emmaline thought about the grasshoppers, the wind, the ruined food, and the separation from Geoffrey. The combination weighed on her. She moaned, “But how do I do it, Tildy?”
Tildy grabbed Emmaline’s wrists and raised her hands. “See how you’s got your hands all balled into fists?”
Emmaline looked at her own hands. She held them so tightly closed her fingernails bit into her palms.
“You gotta open up them fists and lay it all at the feet o’ Jesus. Lay yo’self there first, then every burden you got. He done promised there ain’t no burden He won’t carry for us. Lawd knows He’s taken a-plenty from me.” Tildy seemed to drift away for a moment, her gaze dreamy. “Wanted more’n anything to be a mama, even though I knows any babies I birth would be the massuh’s property. But I begged God to let me have ’em, an’ He answered. Give me three babies . . .” One plump tear formed in each of her eyes. “But none of ’em lived past the sucklin’ age. Mighty hard for me to put my babies in the ground. But then I see other babies, when they’s full-grown, tore from their mama’s arms an’ bein’ sold to other massuhs. Their mamas never see ’em again. An’ I’s grateful God spared me that. I could go sit at those little graves an’ know my babies was safe in His arms.”
The tears rolled down Tildy’s round cheeks. “I didn’t have the strength to face losin’ my babies all on my own, Miss Emmalion. But I had Jesus in my heart, an’ I could call on God to give me the strength I needed to carry on. An’ if He can make me strong enough to give my babies back to Him, then He can give you strength for whatevuh you face, too.”
Emmaline threw herself against Tildy’s chest. “I’m so sorry, Tildy.”
“Now, don’ be sorrowin’ over me.” Tildy patted Emmaline’s back, holding her close. “The Lawd gives an’ the Lawd takes away, an’ we just praise Him for knowin’ what’s best.” She pulled back and cupped Emmaline’s cheeks. “But I cain’t leave without knowin’ you’ll rest in Him, chil’. I . . . I love you like you was my own, an’ I cain’t bear goin’ ’less I know I’s leavin’ you in His arms.”
A longing rose up from Emmaline’s heart, nearly strangling her with desire. She deliberately opened her fists and held her hands flat, palms up. “I want His strength, Tildy. Will you help me?”
At once Tildy dropped from the chair and knelt on the hard floor. Without hesitation, Emmaline joined her. “You jus’ talk to your Maker, chil’, an’ tell Him you want His fillin’. He never denies a request from one o’ His own. Jus’ ask.”
Emmaline squeezed her eyes tight. She licked her lips and began to speak in a faltering voice. “God, I need you. I cannot face things alone. Please come to me. Let Jesus fill my heart, as Tildy said, and give me strength.” A warmth flooded Emmaline’s body. “Oh, thank you, God. Thank you for coming to me. . . .”
She opened her eyes to find Tildy beaming at her. “You ain’t never gonn’ be alone now, chil’. An’ if ’n we don’ see one another again on this earth, we’ll meet up in the Lawd’s house by-an’-by.”
TWENTY
JIM COAXED HIS horse into its stall by dumping a bucketful of oats into the feeding trough. He ducked when Horace blew air down the back of his shirt. “Here now, you behave yourself.” While the horse munched, Jim stroked its sheeny neck.
“Jim?” Chris called from outside the barn.
Jim trotted to the opening. “Yeah?”
“Did you check to be sure the sluice gate is open on the waterway? The reservoir needs refilling.”
Jim let out a huff. “No. I thought you were going to do it.”
Chris propped one fist on his hip. “I told you to do it. Weren’t you listening?”
Jim let his s
cowl provide the answer.
“Make sure you ride out there and get it done before supper.”
“But I just unsaddled Horace! I—”
“No excuses, Jim.” His brother’s stern bark stopped Jim’s protests. “The sheep will need the water tomorrow afternoon.” Chris turned and strode away without waiting for a word of agreement.
Jim stomped back into the barn, muttering. Chris had wasted no time assuming the role of “boss” in Mr. Garrett’s absence. Jim couldn’t wait until he was old enough to decide what he wanted to do instead of always having to follow orders.
He headed for Horace’s stall, scuffing his feet against the hay-strewn floor. Bending over to pick up his saddle, his eye caught the brief flash of something shiny. Was there a coin tangled in the hay? His mouth watering at the thought of buying sourballs with his find, he dropped to one knee and brushed aside hay and dirt to investigate.
Rather than a coin, the corner of a small tin box emerged. Jim glanced over his shoulder. Chris was gone, so he scooped the protective dirt away with his fingers and pulled the box free. He set it on his knee. It felt heavy, which excited him all the more. What was inside? He tugged at the latch, but it wouldn’t give. Grunting in disgust, he gave the box a shake. A solid thunk sounded from within.
He poked his finger in the lock. Could he pry the box open? Digging into his pocket, he fetched his pocketknife. A few twists with the blade released the lock. He lifted the lid, cringing when the hinges squeaked. When he glimpsed the contents, he slammed the box shut and hugged it to his chest, breathing hard. He leaped up and spun toward the door. On tiptoe, he crept to the opening and looked right and left. Seeing no one, he scurried back inside and hunkered in the corner of Horace’s stall. He opened the box again, slowly. There were three stacks of bound bills! He didn’t even need to count the money to know he had found a small fortune.
Who might have left this here? It couldn’t belong to Chris— Chris always spent his paycheck. Mr. Garrett used a safe in the spare room of the ranch house. Maybe this box had been here when Mr. Garrett bought the land and they had built the barn right over the top of it without knowing. Think of all the things he could buy with this money!
A Promise for Spring Page 15