A Gown of Spanish Lace

by Janette Oke

  Then he had become her liberator. She knew enough to know it had been daring on his part. Dangerous. His own father would have had no mercy had they been caught. But even in this role, Ariana had been cautious. Guarded. He was, after all, an outlaw. How could she know what strange and warped behavior might lurk beneath the seemingly controlled exterior?

  But now something had changed. Ariana felt that it had something to do with the snake incident. She blushed again at the thought of it.

  It wasn’t that he had killed the snake. No, it was more than that. Something—that she found hard to define. Hard to think through. But it was there—between them. She saw it in his eyes as he bent over her, holding her head, wiping her face with his bandana. There was compassion reflected there. Tenderness. There was nothing evil in those eyes. Had he changed? Or was this what he had always been? Would have been, had his circumstances been different?

  Ariana did not know. But in some unexplainable way she felt in her heart that they were rather on even ground. Laramie had rescued her from her captors—and she, in some strange and unplanned way, had rescued him from his.

  And he had listened to her read from the Bible—with such interest. Surely, surely, given a little time, he would understand its message and seek out God’s forgiveness for his past. She prayed for that with an impatience and urgency she had never brought to prayer before. And she felt confident her prayer would soon be answered.

  So she hummed, her heart light. Life held so much promise. She could hardly wait for what each new day would reveal.

  Ariana slipped up beside Laramie as he stood leaning against the corral fence, watching the horses feed from the overflowing manger of hay.

  “You look very serious,” she said in a teasing tone. “Was it really that hard to sit up to a table with a checkered tablecloth?”

  Laramie smiled. “I plumb enjoyed it,” he admitted. “Especially the apple pie.”

  Ariana stood beside him and placed her hands on the top rail. They remained silent for a number of minutes, each deep in thought.

  In the distance a coyote howled and the farm dog answered in protest.

  “Two different worlds,” mused Laramie.

  Ariana looked puzzled.

  “The coyote and the dog,” he explained. “Same family—yet two different worlds.”

  Ariana gave a slight shrug. “Guess either one of them might adjust—if they had to.”

  Laramie did not answer.

  Silence again. The horses continued to feed, their energetic chewing reaching the ears of the two silent people.

  “Which one would find it hardest, do you think?” wondered Ariana.

  Laramie looked toward the horses. Ariana wondered if he had already forgotten the conversation of a few moments before.

  “The dog—or the coyote?” she reminded him.

  He seemed to be thinking on it.

  “Would it be hardest for the tame animal to adjust to the wild—or the wild animal to adjust to being tamed?” she persisted.

  “I couldn’t say,” he responded, but his voice sounded wistful.

  Ariana waited before she spoke again. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

  He seemed to consider it a moment. At last he nodded. “Go ahead,” he invited. “I’ll answer, if I can.”

  “That scar—just at your hairline—how’d you get it? I noticed it before—when you took your hat off in the cave—and when you came in—”

  “Now—thet I can’t answer,” he said with good humor. “It’s been there fer as long as I can remember. All I know is thet jest a bit shows—but it reaches back further. Jest can’t see it—with all my mane. Gotta find some place to git me a haircut. Surprised yer kin even let me in the house.”

  Ariana laughed softly. He smiled in response.

  They fell silent again.

  Then Laramie picked up the thread of the conversation. “I was jest thinkin’—’fore ya came out,” he said. “You interested in keepin’ thet little roan? Seems ya got on quite well….”

  Even in the gathering twilight he could see her eyes darken.

  “You’re still planning to go…aren’t you?” she said quietly.

  He nodded. He hated to see the hurt look on her face. If only she understood his impossible situation.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered into the soft darkness. “I was hoping you’d want to stay.”

  Her words tore at Laramie’s soul.

  “Ariana…you know…I can’t,” he argued, his voice husky with his emotions. “I can’t.”

  “But—”

  “We don’t even know for sure…who I am,” he continued, turning toward her.

  “But we do. Your mother’s Bible—”

  “It might not even be my ma’s. We are just goin’ on Sam’s say-so—an’ Sam ain’t exactly one ya’d stake yer life on.”

  “But—”

  “I might be thet…thet person named there. She might have been my ma…but I’ve still got lots of questions. I mean…she…she jest don’t seem to fit…with him. The picture…the pretty things…the Bible.”

  “Maybe we can find the answers—together.”

  He took her by the shoulders and turned her toward him.

  “I’m a wanted man,” he reminded her.

  He could see the tears spring into her eyes and slip unbidden down her cheeks.

  “That doesn’t matter,” she whispered intensely.

  For one moment he looked deeply into her eyes. “It does to me,” he answered, and his words were spoken with finality. “It matters a whole lot to me. I…I’m not a free man. I’m…”

  A sigh from somewhere deep within him stopped his words. He took another deep breath and contiued.

  “I’ll be leavin’ before sunup.” The words sounded blunt. Harsh.

  She looked hurt—and angry. She pushed his hands off her shoulders. “Go then—go if you must.”

  She took two steps back from him and stood silently. He could see her shoulders lift and fall.

  When she lifted her face the tears were falling freely. Her chin quivered. But her voice was now soft.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I had no right…I had hoped that…you’d wish to…”

  She lifted her head and stared into his face, her eyes pleading.

  “What I want has nothin’—” he began quickly, but he couldn’t finish. The unvoiced thoughts seemed to tear at his very being.

  Ariana stood before him, paying no heed to the tears that wet her cheeks. “Nothing will change your mind, will it?” she managed to say barely above a whisper. “Please, please—just promise me one thing,” she implored. “When you’ve sorted it out—please—come back.”

  And then she was gone—and a big part of Laramie went with her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Adjustments

  When Ariana opened her eyes the next morning, her first thought was of Laramie. Did he really mean to do what he had insisted on the night before? Surely—surely he had changed his mind. He wouldn’t just ride out of her life. Leaving her—alone again.

  She scrambled from the bed and crossed quickly to the window, lifting back the curtain and peering out. Her heart was racing as she looked toward the corrals. “Please, God—” she whispered, but even before she could finish her prayer her eyes fell on the little roan, his head extended over the top rail of the corral fence as he gazed off down the rutted country road toward the distant hills. He had been left alone. The buckskin and the black pack animal were gone. With them had gone Laramie.

  Ariana felt like the pony. Deserted. Alone. She returned to the bed, where she threw herself down and wept.

  Laramie rode all day. He wasn’t sure where he was going. Wasn’t sure what he would do when he got there, but he knew one thing. He had to put some miles between himself and Ariana. Had to be sure that he couldn’t give in to impulse—to turn around and head back to her. He had no right. No right to love such a girl. He wasn’t sure just who he was, but he was
a wanted man. He knew that. Raids. Robbery. Rustling. He didn’t know what the penalty might be for his crimes. He had even shot a few men. True, one could argue self-defense—and he’d never shot to kill. But he’d used his gun. What would that mean? Imprisonment? Hanging? He had no idea. But he was sure he’d better stay well away from any lawmen—and Ariana.

  His life looked bleak. He was a man on the run.

  Ariana moved woodenly through the days. She spent hours with the little roan. They had been left, but they were together. Now they needed to start to rebuild their lives.

  The fact that Ariana’s father and mother were coming helped her to look forward. Each day she checked off one more day on the calendar. But she was restless. Cut adrift. She couldn’t slip back into the same comfortable rut—nor did she seem to be able to slide into a new one. It was difficult.

  If I could have gone back home, it would have been different, she told herself. I could have gone back to my teaching…to the church…and life could have picked up where it left off. But this…I don’t know where I fit. Don’t know how I should fit. I’m floundering.

  Ariana busied herself with helping her aunt Molly. She even ran errands for her uncle Jake. They were soon declaring they didn’t know how they’d ever gotten on without her. Still, she was restless and agitated.

  Daily her thoughts went to Laramie. Where was he? Was he all right? Was he still looking for answers? Had he found at least some of them?

  “Oh, God,” she prayed over and over. “May he realize that you have the important answers. That you can forgive. That you love him, too.”

  Wisely, she turned to her Bible. Back to the wisdom and comfort of its pages. I need to look up all those verses on trust again, she told herself. I thought I had learned that lesson…but I guess I need to start all over.

  So Ariana began again to explore the Scriptures.

  The day finally arrived when the incoming stage brought the Bensons. Ariana’s excitement was easily matched by her parents’. It was so wonderful to be held in her father’s firm embrace, to hear his whispered words of love. Her mother’s tears of joy, the familiar fussing over her, made them all laugh and cry and thank God together. Then they turned to having a good visit with Jake and Molly.

  They had brought all of Ariana’s things. “It wouldn’t be safe for you to come home—not yet,” Ariana’s mother insisted, wiping away tears as she spoke.

  “Who’ll teach my students?” asked Ariana.

  “They are looking for a new teacher for the fall,” was the reply. “The children have already lost half the term.”

  “Why don’t you teach here?” Aunt Molly asked.

  “They need a teacher at a local school?”

  “Well, we don’t have a local school—yet—but we do have young’uns in the area,” added Uncle Jake.

  “Jake, why don’t you talk to the neighbors at the next community gatherin’?” Aunt Molly went on, then she turned to her brother-in-law. “We don’t have a church yet, but we meet for Bible lessons once a month—turnabout—in one of the neighbor’s homes.”

  “Papa,” cried Ariana, “why don’t you start a church?”

  Four pairs of eyes turned on George Benson. They all looked eager. Anxious.

  He shook his head slowly. “I’d have to do a lot of praying about that,” he said slowly. “God hasn’t shown me that my work in Smithton is finished yet.”

  There were looks of disappointment, followed by nods of assent. Certainly he had to follow the will of God.

  “But we do need a school,” went on Aunt Molly. “Jake, you talk to the neighbors.”

  Jake nodded. There was no harm in discussing it.

  “I can’t believe you brought—everything,” Ariana said to her mother as she carefully unpacked her belongings and stacked them in the chest of drawers Aunt Molly had provided.

  “I didn’t know when you…might be…home again,” said her mother slowly. “I didn’t want to put you in jeopardy.”

  “I really don’t think they’d ever…take me again,” said Ariana thoughtfully. “I mean…their reason is gone now.”

  “Reason—what was the reason? I never have understood it.”

  Ariana sat down, her eyes misty. She patted the bed beside her for her mother to join her.

  “It’s a long story,” she managed. “You really want to hear it?”

  Her mother nodded and took the seat on the bed.

  “Well…” Ariana took a deep breath. She was finally going to get to tell her mother about Laramie. She welcomed the opportunity. They had always shared secrets. She could hardly wait to speak of him, for she knew instinctively that her mother would somehow understand the real man.

  But even as she opened her mouth to begin, a little part of her held herself in check. What could she say to her mother? How much of her inner thoughts did she dare to reveal? Laramie was a wanted man. Yet Laramie was—a special man. Would she dare to confide in her mother that she thought—that she supposed she had fallen in love with her captor?

  “Why did you bring this?” asked Ariana, her eyes wide with question.

  “It’s yours,” answered her mother simply.

  “But I don’t need it—now,” returned Ariana.

  She heard her mother sigh. “Ariana,” she said, “I’m not sure when I will be able to make this trip again. And when a girl reaches your age…then…one never knows just when—”

  Ariana was not sure how she should respond. She was saved by the bedroom door opening. Aunt Molly stuck her head in.

  “Tea’s ready,” she called merrily. Then she saw the gown in Ariana’s hands. She pushed the door open and stepped in.

  “What a beautiful dress!” she exclaimed. “Oh—my. Where’d you ever get it?”

  Ariana let her hand slide over the material. It was beautiful. The most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

  “It was my mama’s wedding gown,” Ariana answered simply.

  Aunt Molly turned her eyes toward her sister-in-law.

  “Oh, not mine,” Laura Benson was quick to explain. “Ariana’s birth mama. It was rescued from the wagon train after the raid. Ariana’s second mama—Lucy Millard—saved it for her. It was one of the few things…” Her voice trailed off.

  Aunt Molly stared at her with horror-filled eyes. Then she turned back to the gown. “Well, it sure is a beautiful thing. I’ve never seen such a pretty dress in all my days.”

  “Yes,” said Ariana softly. “It is beautiful. When I was little I used to dream about the day—” She stopped. She wasn’t sure now if she ever wanted to wear the gown.

  “What is it made of?” asked Aunt Molly.

  “It’s satin—satin overlaid with lace—Spanish lace, Aunt Lucy told me,” replied Ariana. “It was imported. Brought over special. Just for the gown.”

  “One sleeve—” began Aunt Molly, reaching her hand out to the gown.

  “One cuff is missing,” Laura Benson filled in. “See the way it is made—this big puffed sleeve nipped into this slender cuff that reaches to the wrist. This cuff—on this side—buttons on with these tiny little buttons. That cuff must have been lost at the time…. It’ll need to be repaired before Ariana—”

  “I wonder if one can find matching lace,” began Aunt Molly, who loved to sew.

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” went on Laura Benson. “Lucy said she watched for material—and I’ve looked too. Mind you, I’ve not been to the bigger cities, but it was special material—ordered just for that gown. Imported, like Ariana said. No, I don’t think one would ever match it.”

  “It’s a shame,” mused Aunt Molly, still studying the beautiful lace and the missing cuff.

  “I’ve thought that one could just make two new cuffs—of satin. It wouldn’t be quite as elegant, but it would do just fine. It’s still the most beautiful wedding gown—”

  “Well, there’s plenty of time to be thinking on that,” said Ariana suddenly. “I have no plans.”

  She began to fold up th
e gown with trembling hands.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Ariana stirred at the sound of her mother’s voice. She did not know how long she had been sitting, gazing off into space, her thoughts far from the little log home that belonged to her aunt and uncle.

  “What do you mean?” she managed to reply.

  “I don’t know. You just seemed…miles away. Rather…forlorn.”

  Ariana stirred listlessly again.

  Her mother sat down beside her and placed a hand on her arm.

  “I’ve noticed—something—ever since we arrived. What is it?”

  “I’m…I’m not sure,” Ariana began. “Perhaps I…just miss the school—the students. My friends from church. If I could have gone back home—”

  “Maybe,” replied her mother, not sounding too sure.

  They continued to sit in silence, each occupied with her own thoughts.

  “I thought you might be missing him,” her mother finally commented.

  Ariana swung around to face her, fully understanding her mother’s remark. “He’s an—”

  But she couldn’t say “outlaw.”

  “He’s not…a believer,” she said instead.

  “I know. You told me,” said her mother quietly. Her hand gently stroked the gingham sleeve. “That is what makes it difficult. You must dictate to your heart. You’ve made the right decision—but it isn’t always easy to make the right decision—even when you know you must. Sometimes—sometimes—the heart needs some convincing, even though our faith says—”

  “He was—”

  “Your prison guard. I know. I’ve heard rather strange stories…about women and…and their captors. It really isn’t at all unheard of for them to…to learn to love them.”

  Ariana brushed a hand nervously over her ginghamed lap. “Oh, Mother,” she said quickly, “how could I? I mean, I was frightened of him—at first. I wanted the old man—Sam—to…to guard me. I certainly didn’t—I mean, even after I…I thought of him as…safe…I still didn’t—all the time at the camp—and even later on the trail I never—I mean, I never thought of him…in that way.”