A Promise for Spring

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Without a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Of course you may use it.”

  His brows came together, his gaze colliding with hers. “You’re quite sure? I cannot be certain I will be able to replace the money in its entirety even after butchering and shearing.”

  “I am sure.” She lifted her skirts and turned toward the barn’s opening. “I shall fetch it now from the barn.”

  “The barn?”

  With a self-conscious smile, she peeked at him over her shoulder. “I hid it in the horse barn.”

  Geoffrey’s face drained of color, and he dropped heavily onto the barrel.

  “Geoffrey?”

  He ran his hand over his face. “Emmaline, if you put it in the barn, it’s no longer there.”

  She turned to face him and offered an assuring smile. “Of course it is. I—”

  Shaking his head, he released a growl. He rested his clenched fists in his lap. “I have been through every bit of the rubble in the barn. There was no money box.”

  The money gone? Her security wavered with this knowledge, but oddly she suffered no despair. She looked at Geoffrey, and the helplessness on his face propelled her forward. Emmaline knelt before him and placed her hands over his fists. “I am so sorry, Geoffrey. What else can I do to help?”

  He stared at her, his expression unreadable. His lips parted and then closed. He turned his gaze away. “There is nothing, Emmaline.”

  “Please?” She kept her voice low, aware of the resting sheep and their need for calm. “There must be something I could do. Sit with you, pray with you . . .”

  Geoffrey bolted to his feet, nearly knocking her backward. He stormed to the nearest upright beam and raised his fist as if to strike the beam, but instead he pressed his fist to his own forehead. The gesture of agony made Emmaline’s heart turn over in her chest. How hard he sought comfort! If only he would accept a touch from the Comforter . . .

  “Do you know, Emmaline, that ever since you arrived, things have gone awry?”

  She stared at him, shaken by his accusatory tone.

  “All the years I spent building this ranch, readying it for you, were successful years. Difficult years, to be sure, but successful. Building years. But now all of the building I did is crumbling.”

  She rose awkwardly, her skirt tangling around her feet. She straightened her apron before crossing the ground to stand in front of Geoffrey. “And you believe the fault is mine?”

  He looked into her face, his lips set in a grim line. Although she quaked on the inside, she refused to cower before him. Several seconds ticked by before he turned his gaze aside. “I don’t know what to think.”

  She caught his arm and tugged. He kept his face angled away, but his eyes shifted to meet hers. Gentling her tone, she said, “Life is hard, Geoffrey. I’ve learned that well during my time here. On our own we are ill-equipped to triumph over the challenges. But Tildy taught me that we can lean on God’s strength.” She held her breath, waiting for either an explosion or a submission.

  Neither came. With a sigh, Geoffrey lowered his head. “Tell Chris when he has finished breakfast that I want him to take the lambs and mothers to the near pasture for a few hours this morning.” She held out one hand toward him. “Geoffrey, I—”

  “Don’t preach at me, Emmaline.” His hardened tone stilled her words. “Just go.”

  Obediently, she made her way out of the barn. But she did not slump her shoulders in defeat. She would do as she had instructed Geoffrey. She would lean on God’s strength, and she would trust Him to restore joy to Geoffrey’s soul and to see the ranch through these difficult times.

  THIRTY - ONE

  A WEEK’S WORTH OF late-night stitching had resulted in six samplers. Emmaline laid them in a row on the bed and smiled down at them. The frames were rough, but so were the stitches—so unlike the meticulously formed letters and flower petals on the embroidery work she’d completed in England. But somehow the rustic appearance suited this land called Kansas.

  She traced her finger over the final project. What would Geoffrey think when he saw the verses tacked to the walls of the barn and bunkhouse? She had chosen the verses with care, selecting words that offered hope and encouragement. Aloud, she read, “Blessed is the man that trusteth in the Lord, and whose hope the Lord is.”

  In England, before Geoffrey left, he’d trusted the Lord. He often expressed sadness at his father’s stubborn refusal to believe in God. She knew his grandmother had been a wonderful godly influence for Geoffrey, and he had named this ranch Chetwynd Valley in his grandmother’s honor. Somewhere underneath his pained disillusionment, Geoffrey’s faith must still exist.

  “And God’s words shall bring that faith to the fore again,” she vowed. She slung her shawl over her shoulders and tied the ends in a knot. After stacking the samplers in her arms, she headed outside. Geoffrey and Chris had taken the flock to the far pasture after breakfast, and Jim was somewhere on the grounds with Miney. The boy had tied a wad of sheepskin to a rope, which he used to train the energetic puppy. Emmaline knew little about sheepdogs, but she recognized determination when she saw it. If Jim had his way, that dog would be the finest sheepdog ever.

  The morning sun shone brightly, warm and yellow, illuminating the landscape. Emmaline crossed the ground quickly, her eyes scanning the area. Although in many ways desolate, the land held a bucolic beauty that she’d come to appreciate. Untamed pasture, dotted with wind-carved brush and the occasional surprise of spiky green leaves from a yucca plant, stretched as far as the eye could see. The sky, blue as a robin’s egg, created an endless canopy. Never had the sky seemed as large to Emmaline as it did here in Kansas.

  As she gazed upward, a flock of geese—their raucous honks filling her ears—flew by. She shielded her eyes and watched, thrilling at the sight of their pounding wings and wild calls. Geoffrey had explained the birds flew in a V formation as a means of supporting one another. The air current of one goose’s wings helped uphold another. She glanced at the verses in her hands and smiled. Her samplers would help uphold Geoffrey until which time as his own faith could support him.

  In short order, using the hammer and tacks from her apron pocket, she had secured the frames to walls in the sheep barn and the bunkhouse. She had one left, which she intended to hang in the tack shed. As she crossed the ground between buildings, a shrill bark captured her attention. She turned to spot Miney racing toward her.

  Before she could react, the dog jumped, planting his front feet against her stomach. She fell backward, and the sampler bounced out of her hand. Miney dove on top of her, alternately barking and licking. “Stop!” She tried to push him aside, but he continued his happy attack. “Jim! Jim!” She managed to get to her feet and, with Miney still bouncing around her, made her way to the tack shed.

  With a little shriek, she dashed inside the shed and closed the door. The dog jumped on the door and continued to bark.

  “Miney! Bad dog!” Jim’s voice carried through the door. She opened it a crack and watched Jim approach in the funny double-hop step he used in place of running.

  The boy collared the dog, and his voice was severe as he scolded. “Bad, bad dog! You can’t jump on people.”

  Hesitantly, Emmaline opened the door. Miney leaped at her again, forcing her back into the shed. Something coiled up beneath her skirt and caught her leg, tearing through her bloomers to pierce her skin. With a pained cry, she jerked free. Lifting her skirt aside, she discovered a curling length of barbed wire.

  Jim, his arms wrapped around the dog’s neck, gave her an apologetic look. “Did it scratch you?”

  “Yes.” She tossed the wire aside and examined the wound. It hardly bled, but a few red drops stained her torn bloomer leg. “But I will mend with less effort than it will take to clean and repair my clothes.” She scowled at the pup, which now sat panting within his master’s arms. He almost seemed to smile. “Why is he bothering me?”

  Jim pulled his lips to the side. “I think it’s your
shawl. It’s kind of lumpy and white, so it must look like a sheep to him.” He giggled. “He’s trying to herd you.”

  Emmaline centered the shawl back over her shoulders. “Well, I do not care to be herded. Kindly take him off so I can return to the house.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Come along, Miney.” The boy and dog departed, Jim limping and Miney bouncing at his side.

  With a sigh of relief, Emmaline retrieved the dropped sampler from the ground outside the shed. At the sight of the dust scuffs, she huffed out an aggravated breath, but then she shook her head. The dirt didn’t detract from the meaning of the words. She hung the sampler right inside the door, then stepped back to admire her handiwork.

  Geoffrey wouldn’t be able to miss the messages. Smiling, she returned to the house to begin her morning chores.

  Geoffrey wrapped the reins loosely over the top rail of the fence and clomped toward the bunkhouse. The wind had picked up since morning, with clouds building in the north. He stared at the sky for a few moments, trying to decide if he should drag the hay out to pasture, as he’d planned, or bring the sheep in to the barn to eat. If it rained, it would ruin the hay. But if he brought the sheep in early, he would need to haul water for them later today.

  With a frustrated huff, he stomped onto the porch of the bunkhouse. Indecision—something that had never plagued him in years past—hounded him these days. Indecision showed weakness, an inability to lead. He forced his mind to think. He would drag hay to the pasture, but only enough for one feeding. Then the sheep could eat again this evening in the barn.

  The decision made, he entered the bunkhouse and moved toward the bales stacked almost to the ceiling. Something on the narrow slice of wall that wasn’t covered by bales caught his eye, and his steps slowed. Someone had hung a crude wooden frame with some sort of stitch work inside it. Puzzled, he moved to the frame and read the words aloud. “ ‘Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God.’ ”

  An image flashed through his memory of Emmaline sitting on the sofa in her family’s parlor with her feet tucked beneath her and an embroidery hoop in her hand. From the time she was a little girl, she had excelled at crafting delicate birds and flowers and poems with colored thread. This particular piece of work was primitive in comparison, yet he knew instantly she had created it and hung it.

  Anger pressed upward as he examined the message on the cloth: hope thou in God . . . praise him . . . He had no reason to praise God. He started to remove the sampler from the wall, but as his fingers closed on the frame, he found he didn’t want to remove it. From the depths of his soul, he wished for hope and peace.

  He released the frame abruptly and took a stumbling step backward. For several seconds, he stared at the words; then he blinked and ran his hand over his face. “Get the hay out to the sheep,” he admonished himself.

  Turning his back on the sampler and its words of wisdom, he returned to work.

  At supper that evening, Emmaline cast sidelong glances at him without speaking. He knew she wanted him to mention the little signs she had scattered in the barn and bunkhouse. Five in all, hung in places where he was sure to see. How pleased would she be if he told her he had hung his jacket over one and a coil of rope over another? He carried another bite of pork roast to his mouth. He needed to get away from the ranch, from the samplers, from Emmaline.

  Turning to Chris, he asked, “Have you cleaned the rifles recently?”

  Chris tore off a piece of bread. “Last week. Why?”

  “I thought we might go hunting. Meat from a deer would stretch our food stores considerably.”

  Chris chewed the bread, one eyebrow high. “I agree.”

  Jim sat up eagerly. “May I go, too?”

  Chris nudged him. “Mr. Garrett wasn’t addressing you, Jim.”

  “But I just—”

  “Don’t be cheeky.”

  At his brother’s admonition, the boy slumped in his seat and poked at his food with his fork.

  Geoffrey caught Emmaline’s sympathetic look, and he cleared his throat. “Not this time, Jim. You’re still recovering. Besides, Chris is the best marksman. It’s best that he go.”

  Jim muttered something unintelligible, earning another sharp poke from Chris’s elbow. He glared at his brother.

  Geoffrey drew in a deep breath. “But I’m leaving you and Miney in charge of the sheep and new lambs while we’re gone.

  It will be good practice for Miney, to see if he’s got the ability to help.”

  Immediately Jim sat up, grinning broadly. “You’re leaving Miney and me in charge? Yes, sir, we’ll take good care of the sheep. You can count on us, Mr. Garrett.” He bounced to his feet. “May I be excused so I can go tell him?”

  Chris snorted, but Geoffrey waved his hand. “You may be excused.” After the boy rushed out the door, Geoffrey turned to Chris. “I hope to only be gone overnight. Do you think you can scout around over the next few days, find some deer tracks? That will shorten the length of the hunt.” Chris linked his elbow over the back of the chair. “Actually, I saw some deer tracks over the fence in the far pasture. Maybe three or four sets. If we go soon, we could catch them before they get too far away from your property.”

  “Good. Let’s plan on going tomorrow, then, first thing.”

  Geoffrey scooped the last bit of the pork and rice onto his plate, and Emmaline reached for the empty serving dish. As she rose, she winced, and he shot her a sharp look. “Are you all right?”

  She shrugged. “Oh yes. I have a little scratch, and it itches when the skin is pulled. But I’m fine.” She moved to the sink and placed the dish in the basin. With a big smile, she asked, “Are you ready for dessert? I baked a gingerbread cake, and I can whip some cream.”

  Chris swiped his mouth with his napkin. “That sounds good.”

  “None for me, thank you.” Geoffrey finished his last bite and pushed away from the table. Choosing to ignore Emmaline’s disappointed look, he said, “I want to check the lambs one more time and make sure none have developed infections from having their tails docked.”

  He hid his smile when Emmaline grimaced. She had stayed far away from the barn when he and Chris had used a small hatchet to remove all but a stub of each lamb’s tail. As he recalled, she’d accused them of being barbaric, but she didn’t realize what a health hazard a tail could be when it became a breeding ground for maggots.

  “So you are going to the barn?” she asked.

  Her wide-eyed look of disinterest didn’t fool him one bit. He battled between amusement and aggravation. “Yes, Emmaline. The lambs are in the barn.”

  At his sardonic response, she colored slightly, but she lifted her chin. “Then I shall bring you a piece of cake with whipped cream later.”

  He scuttled out the door before he gave in to temptation to deliver a kiss of thanks right on her rosy lips.

  THIRTY- TWO

  A THROBBING PAIN IN her leg awakened Emmaline early the next morning. She rolled to the edge of the bed and pulled her nightgown up. The place on her leg where the wire had torn her skin glowed bright red. She gingerly touched the area around the scratch with her fingertips. It hurt, and she hissed through her teeth.

  Rising, she pushed her arms into her robe and padded through the parlor, past Jim’s blanket, and on to the kitchen. She lit a lamp and then ladled water from the stove’s reservoir to soak a rag. After rubbing lye soap into the hot, moist rag, she lifted her gown and scrubbed the area around the scratch, biting down on her lower lip to keep from crying out. The pressure created a tremendous amount of pain, but she knew the importance of keeping a wound clean.

  When she’d finished, she rinsed the rag and hung it over the edge of the sink. As she ladled water to fill the teakettle, someone tapped lightly on the kitchen door. She limped over and opened it.

  Geoffrey stepped into the room, his gaze sweeping from her bare toes to her u
nconfined hair. His Adam’s apple bobbed in a mighty swallow. “I saw the light on and was surprised anyone was up. It’s very early. Chris and I are heading out.” Behind him, a rosy glow on the horizon promised the sun would soon appear.

  “I suppose you’ll need a lunch packed for your hunting trip.” She kept her voice low to avoid waking Jim. In the boy’s excitement at being left in charge of the ranch, he’d had a difficult time settling down to sleep last night—she’d heard him rustling around for at least an hour.

  Geoffrey nodded, closing the door behind him. “Just some crackers, cheese, and jerky will do. If all goes well, we’ll be back tomorrow before sunset.”

  “Very well.” She removed an empty flour sack from the cupboard and began filling it. “I can put the leftover gingerbread in your sack, too.” Turning, she bumped her leg against the edge of the stove and cried out.

  Geoffrey stepped forward, reaching for her. “What is it?”

  Despite the throbbing in her leg, Emmaline laughed. “Oh, nothing. A little twinge. There.” Sweat broke out across her forehead as she tied the sack’s opening into a knot and held it out.

  Geoffrey caught her wrist. “Are you sick? Because I can stay if you’re sick.”

  She stared at him. Her leg throbbed, and her head spun. She wanted him to stay, but she’d seen their food stores and knew that the deer meat would add greatly to their dwindling supplies.

  “Go,” she said. “Perhaps this afternoon, while Jim is managing the ranch on his own—” she grinned widely—“I shall take a short nap. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  He looked into her eyes for long moments, but finally he nodded. “Very well, then. I’ll see you sometime tomorrow.” He crossed to the door and then looked back. “Take care, Emmaline.”

  Jim rode at the rear of the flock, one hand holding the horse’s reins and the other grasping the end of the rope he had tied around Miney’s neck. It was a long rope, but it would keep the dog from venturing too far. Pride swelled his chest as the dog trotted behind the sheep, occasionally nipping a heel or delivering a bark that spurred the wooly animals forward. All of their practice with the stuffed sheepskin had paid off.