A Promise for Spring

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Straightening from rubbing the nubby head of a young ewe, he looked past the sheep to the barren landscape. As summer gave way to fall, he saw little change on the prairie. Their hot, dry summer had given the land the brown, brittle appearance of late autumn long before the calendar indicated it was so. The devastation of the grasshoppers, which had robbed the trees of their green leaves, had brought the appearance of winter. It was enough to make a man feel hopeless.

  “When are you going to send rain, Lord?” he asked the sky. There was a recalcitrance in his tone, but he decided to be honest with God and not apologize. Rain had been too long denied; prayers had gone unheeded. Perhaps that was part of the reason he had separated himself from God over the past months. God, apparently, had turned a blind eye to Geoffrey Garrett, and maybe even all of Kansas. The desolate vista proved it.

  Once more, the image of Emmaline danced in front of his eyes. Why had her arrival created such a sense of loss rather than fulfillment? So many hopes had rested upon her coming to him— hopes that remained unfulfilled.

  “Mr. Garrett?”

  Geoffrey jumped at the sound of Chris’s quiet voice. He hadn’t even heard the approach of the horse.

  “I finished lunch. I’ll take the flock to water if you need to do something else.”

  Biting his bottom lip, Geoffrey considered his waiting tasks. The most pressing was balancing his account book after his trip to purchase feed. One thing he’d learned from his father was the importance of keeping accurate financial records. But how often had Franklin Garrett juggled the figures to cover up the vast sums lost in unscrupulous habits such as the consumption of his company’s product?

  Pushing thoughts of his father aside, he turned his focus to Chris. “I do have some paperwork requiring attention.” He moved slowly between the resting sheep, careful not to disturb them with sudden movements. When he reached his horse, he paused. “Chris, did the doctor give you any indication when Jim might be released from his care?”

  Chris’s suntanned face pinched into a worried scowl. “He didn’t know. He said he would send a messenger if Jim took a turn for the worse. I just hoped . . . well . . .” He rubbed a finger under his nose. “I hoped I might drive in every day and check on him.”

  Although this meant leaving the ranch short-handed, Geoffrey would not deny Chris the privilege of time with his ailing brother. “Of course. You may go each morning for as long as it is needed.” Then something else occurred to him. “Tomorrow when you go, have the telegrapher send a message to Moreland inquiring about the feed I purchased. It will arrive by train, and I will need to arrange transport from the station to the ranch. When you send the message, instruct the railroad workers to cover the bales with a tarp or canvas to keep them somewhat protected from insects and wind.”

  “Very well.”

  Geoffrey rode to the bunkhouse and settled at the desk in the corner by the window. He opened his ledger and carefully penned the amount spent on food, train fare for himself and his horse, and the bales of hay. After balancing the figures, he glared at the amount at the bottom of the column.

  Paying for Emmaline’s first-class accommodations on the S.S. Wyoming and ensuring she would have maid service had taken a sizable portion of his ready cash. He couldn’t imagine why she’d needed new dresses, unless the ones in the trunk were inappropriate for work. The three dresses and the Bible she added to his account at the mercantile this morning had unquestionably increased his debt.

  There had been too many unexpected purchases of late: Jim’s doctor bills, the hay and the travel expenses, Emmaline’s dresses . . . And if he had to buy food to compensate for the grasshopper-damaged garden—not to mention the wasted food from Emmaline’s early cooking disasters—there might not be enough money to carry them through to the next sale of wool and lambs.

  When he had come to America, he had made a promise to himself not to accumulate debt. Debt was his father’s downfall— debt brought on by gambling and drinking, two things Geoffrey Garrett would never do. But looking at that paltry amount of dollars and cents printed in his neat penmanship, he wondered if he would be able to keep his promise to avoid debt.

  Closing his eyes, he pressed his thumbs to his eye sockets. Stars exploded behind his lids, but they couldn’t erase the image of the amount at the bottom of the ledger page. Releasing a grumble, he slammed the leather-bound book closed.

  But then he remembered something. He had access to a substantial sum of money: Emmaline’s dowry. He had vowed not to ask her for the money until they were legally wed, but no one would think ill of him if he used it now. Even if she broke their betrothal and returned to England, ethically the money would be his compensation. A big part of him resisted touching it, but if it came down to keeping the ranch going or being forced off his land, he would use it. But there could be no more “unexpected expenses.”

  He rose from the desk and headed outside. By now the sheep were enjoying their afternoon drink, and soon Chris would bring them in for the evening. At supper, he would visit with Emmaline and Chris about the importance of frugality. And maybe he or Chris could take a hunting trip. A deer—or even better, a bear, although sightings were rare—would stretch their food sources.

  Ordinarily he kept several lambs after butchering, but that wouldn’t be an option this year. With fewer ewes, he would have fewer lambs. That meant less money coming from the sale of meat. His stomach twisted with worry.

  Tapping his fingers against his thigh, he decided it would be wise to take an inventory of their current food stores. He crossed the yard with a wide stride and went directly to the cellar. As he made his way down the stairs, the cooler air washed over him and sent a welcome shiver down his spine. He reached the bottom and stood still, inhaling deeply. The familiar odors of earth, vegetables, and smoked meats were pleasing.

  When his eyes adjusted to the dim underground interior, he moved to the bushel baskets lining the west wall. Three were brimful of dirt-encrusted potatoes; two more overflowed with turnips and beets. A peek in the raisin basket showed last year’s supply was nearly depleted, but he found a basket of some sort of wrinkled, dried fruit sitting nearby on top of an overturned crate. He plucked out a piece and bit off a little. Apple? It carried a bit of a tang, yet the flavor wasn’t unpleasant. He put the remainder of the piece in his mouth. Where had they gotten dried apples?

  He turned, still chewing, and his jaw dropped at the sight waiting on shelves built into the opposite wall. Dozens of jars bearing beans, peas, carrots, and tomatoes sat in neat, organized rows. He lifted one jar of sliced carrots and bounced it in his palm. There was more here than he’d expected. Perhaps he needn’t worry about winter food, after all.

  Suddenly his heart began to pound. He spun around, once more taking in the abundance spilling out of baskets and filling the shelves. All of this food—it must have been purchased. How else could their cellar be so well stocked? What kind of debt must he owe by now?

  He charged out of the cellar. He needed to speak with Chris and Emmaline immediately.

  TWENTY - SIX

  EMMALINE STEPPED ONTO the stoop outside the kitchen door and braced to toss the pan of murky wash water across the dry yard. But when she saw Geoffrey emerge from the cellar, she balanced the pan against her hip and waited for him to approach.

  “Where did you purchase those vegetables in the cellar?”

  The harsh note in Geoffrey’s voice made her take a step backward. Without waiting for an answer, he railed, “You can’t spend money like this, Emmaline. We have to stretch every penny. I realize this morning I gave you permission to purchase whatever you needed, but I must retract that statement. If you believe you have need of something—food, clothing, books—come and ask me for approval before you buy it.”

  What had happened to the man who, earlier that day, had tried to slip a little purple flower into her hand? Once more she faced a demanding, impatient stranger. Angry, defensive words formed on her tongue. But before the word
s spewed forth, snatches of a conversation she’d had with Tildy flitted through her mind: “We was committed to each othuh. . . .Over time, that man become my whole world. That kind o’ feelin’ don’t come on right away, Miss Emmalion, but it do come on when you look to the good Lawd to help you honor a commitment. ”

  Emmaline had committed to staying and serving as Geoffrey’s housekeeper until spring. Help me honor my commitment, Lord, and help me not harbor anger with Geoffrey.

  Squaring her shoulders, she met Geoffrey’s stormy gaze. “Very well, Geoffrey. If you deem it necessary to return the Bible”—her heart twisted with desire to keep it, but she could always ask to borrow Geoffrey’s—“then I shall accept your decision. However, I do need the dresses. All of my dresses from England, with the exception of the black travel dresses, were designed with the idea of a maid offering assistance in dressing.”

  “Oh.” The simple statement, coupled with the bob of his Adam’s apple, spoke volumes.

  She drew in a deep breath, striving to keep an even, unruffled tone. “As for the vegetables in the cellar, they are the fruit of our own garden. The grasshoppers were unable to destroy what was already in the springhouse or what was under the ground. While you were away, I learned how to preserve them for the winter.”

  He stared at her, his left eyebrow arching high.

  “So there was no expense in accumulating the vegetables. I did, however, ask Jim to purchase the jars from the mercantile.”

  Clearing his throat, Geoffrey briefly ducked his head. “I . . . I just assumed . . . I’m sorry.”

  Emmaline nearly gasped. Had he truly apologized to her?

  His forehead wrinkled, but it was more in puzzlement than frustration. “You have learned a great deal, Emmaline.”

  She nodded, but she wondered how he’d react if she told him the most important thing she had learned: to lean on God’s strength rather than on her own.

  Suddenly a gust of wind whisked around the house, lifting Geoffrey’s hair and twisting Emmaline’s apron into a knot. They both looked skyward. In the north, the expanse of blue wore a billowing puff of white. Their gazes collided.

  “Clouds,” Emmaline said.

  Geoffrey’s eyes lit with hope. “Perhaps rain is finally on its way.”

  “That would be good news.”

  Another gust, stronger and cooler than the one before, pulled the pan from Emmaline’s hands. It clattered against the ground, spewing water on her skirt and Geoffrey’s pant legs. She clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh! I am so sorry!”

  Geoffrey picked up the pan and handed it to her. “No harm done.” His lips quirked into a boyish smile. “But you might want to collect whatever supper items you need and close the kitchen door behind you.” He sniffed the air. “I smell moisture.”

  Emmaline effortlessly returned his smile. “Then our prayers are going to be answered?”

  “I hope so.” Turning, he jogged toward the barn.

  Geoffrey pulled the blanket across his legs and lay back on the straw mattress, his ears keenly attuned to the sounds outside the sturdy rock walls of the bunkhouse.

  The wind howled and thunder rumbled. All afternoon, he had watched clouds build in the north. When he saw a flash of lightning illuminate the giant puff balls, he tipped his head in anticipation of the first roll of thunder. Not until the fourth or fifth bright flash had the sound finally reached him.

  But now it growled repeatedly, following on the heels of jagged bursts of light. Those rumbling clouds would surely bring needed moisture. If the wind didn’t blow them away . . .

  He hoped Chris was already safe at the doctor’s residence. After supper, Geoffrey had sent Chris to town to spend time with Jim. By the looks of the sky and the restless behavior of the sheep, the rain would hit during the early-morning hours.

  Now, at not quite eight o’clock, full dark provided a vivid backdrop for the flashes of lightning that shot from the heavy clouds. “Rain, Lord,” he murmured. “Send the rain.” Another rumble of thunder rattled the windows of the bunkhouse.

  Geoffrey had left the horses in their harnesses with the reins attached. With the strange sounds and the lightning, they would spook easily. But their reins, tied securely to the stall rails, would keep them from dashing out into the night even if they were frightened. He hoped Emmaline wasn’t frightened. Over supper when the thunder rolled, she had merely smiled and commented on how it sounded like home. Thunderstorms were not unusual in England, but she had not yet experienced a storm on the plains. And she was all alone in the house.

  He scowled as he remembered her response when he’d asked if she would like him to stay with her. “No, thank you,” she had said with a demure tilt of her head. “I shall be quite fine, and I am hardly alone.”

  He wished now he had questioned her about what she meant, but she had begun dishing dessert—a beautifully baked brown sugar pie, fresh from the oven—and his attention had shifted.

  Now, replaying her reply, he wondered again at the confidence she’d expressed.

  A resounding crack! brought him to his feet. He stubbed his toe on a loose floorboard while rushing to the window. Standing on one foot, he rubbed his throbbing toe and peered out into the shadows. The wind had picked up, and blowing dust obscured even the stars. He could see nothing.

  Geoffrey shivered as thunder crashed again. The lightning must be close for it to rattle the walls. His heart pounded. If he were this affected by the storm, surely Emmaline must be nervous, as well. Despite her claim that she would be all right, he would not be able to rest unless he checked on her. He sat down and tugged on his boots.

  He would check the sheep, too, and draw the gates across the broad openings at either end of the barn. If the storm frightened them too badly, they might try to leave the protection of the barn, and he couldn’t tether them the way he had the horses. Keeping them safely inside the structure was imperative—he couldn’t afford to lose another head.

  Slipping his arms into a sturdy twill jacket, he looked out the window and shivered again. Did he really want to venture out? Another boom! propelled him to action. He must see to his flock— and to Emmaline.

  Emmaline placed another piece of wood in the stove. The sudden drop in temperature both thrilled and troubled her. Surely it indicated the coming of rain, but the abrupt change from hot to cold left her somewhat unsettled. Not since her arrival in Kansas had she used the stove as a source of heat. Yet the chill in the air penetrated the walls. If the wind would stop blowing, perhaps it wouldn’t seem as cold.

  Over her months in Kansas, she believed she had grown accustomed to the wind. But tonight it howled more loudly than it ever had before, making the windowpanes shake. When combined with the resounding crash of thunder, nature’s cacophony was nearly deafening.

  Sitting back down at the table, she pulled the lamp closer to the Bible. Geoffrey hadn’t declared an intent to return the book to the mercantile, so she felt safe in opening it and reading a few passages. The attached red satin ribbon divided the book at the Twenty-third Psalm, so she began reading at that spot.

  She especially liked the beginning of verse three: “He restoreth my soul. . . .” Closing her eyes, she let the words fill her. For a moment, the raging winds and powerful crashes of thunder seemed to slip away as a feeling of peace washed over her.

  Even though she missed her mother, missed England, and missed Tildy, she still experienced contentedness that defied explanation. Somehow, God had restored her soul, and although she felt distant from Geoffrey and all of the other people she loved, she was still . . . whole.

  She drew in a satisfied breath, and the smell of smoke at the back of her throat made her cough. Turning toward the stove, she frowned. Had she not set the damper to allow the smoke to escape? A quick perusal assured her the damper was open. From where was the smoke smell coming?

  Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang! She jerked as someone pounded hard on the front door. Her hip slammed against the table, and the lamp tilt
ed. Emmaline quickly grabbed the lamp to keep it from falling. With one hand wrapped firmly around the lamp’s stem, she hurried to the front door. A shadowy figure stood outside, and she recognized Geoffrey. She swung the door wide. The smell of smoke was even stronger outside.

  “Emmaline! Lightning struck the horse barn! I need your help—come!”

  Without hesitation, she placed the lamp on the table near the door. His hand captured hers, and together they ran across the dark yard. Wind tore at her hair, pulling the pins loose. Her skirt tried to wrap around her legs, and she yanked free of Geoffrey’s grasp to lift it above her knees.

  The distressed neigh of horses carried over the howl of the wind, chilling Emmaline even more than the fierce wind. Ahead, a glow lit the night sky, and smoke coiled like a wild, dancing snake.

  They reached the barn, and Geoffrey pointed. “There are buckets in the lean-to. Fill them at the Solomon. I’ve got to get the horses.”

  Emmaline grasped his arm with both hands. “You can’t go in there!” Flames licked along the eaves of the wooden roof. “The roof could fall on you!”

  “I cannot let them burn to death!” Geoffrey broke free of her grasp and ran directly into the barn.

  Emmaline stood for one moment in silent horror, but then she leapt into action. She retrieved two buckets from the lean-to, the heat from the barn scorching her skin. Stumbling—blinded by smoke, dust, and her wind-tossed hair—she made her way to the edge of the river and filled the buckets. One horse raced by her, his dangling reins slapping her hard on the side of the face and nearly sending her headfirst into the water.

  She regained her footing and lifted the buckets. Her cheek stung, but she ignored the pain. I must help Geoffrey! God, help me help Geoffrey! Slopping water as she ran, she returned to the barn and flung the water from one bucket as high as she could. The wind caught most of it and blew it back on her.