by Janette Oke
“It has to be,” he said simply, looking away from the pain in her eyes.
“I don’t want a brother,” she cried. “I—want—” and then she turned from him and ran toward the house.
Dear Ariana,
I am leaving. I hope someday to return when I can think of you as a sister. I have decided that it is too hard for us to see each other now. I will pray for you. I will love you always, but that love must change now. Perhaps someday we will be able to say that God has worked it for good.
Love, Laramie
Ariana held the letter in a trembling hand, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. Across the room she could see the lovely gown of Spanish lace—its second cuff now securely in its place.
“I will never wear it,” she whispered to herself. “Never! I loved him so.”
She stirred and looked at the gown again, brushing at the tears on her cheek with the back of her hand.
“If only I had known he was my brother. We could have…have shared so many things. Learned to love each other…in a different way. But this? This is so…cruel. I will never be able to…to accept him as a brother. Never. I love him far too deeply.”
Ariana began to weep again.
Her eyes fell back to the final words of Laramie’s note. “Perhaps someday we will be able to say that God has worked it for good.” That seemed impossible. Impossible. God seemed…seemed so far away. So…beyond her reach.
Trust, came the quiet message to Ariana’s heart—but at the moment she found it beyond her capability.
Chapter Twenty-three
The Diary
For the first week Laramie just drifted in a daze, except for the pain deep inside that constantly reminded him he was still alive. Even when he would rather not be.
It had all been so unexpected. Though looking back, Laramie wondered why he hadn’t begun to put some of the pieces together much earlier.
The wagon train. The massacre and burning. The fact that both of them were without their real parents. Yes—it should have made him wonder. Yet who would have thought?
Laramie looked at the small chest with a mixture of love and hate. It had held one too many secrets. One that had torn his world apart.
“It was best that we know,” he told himself over and over. “It would have been a dreadful thing if…” But secretly, Laramie wondered.
He found it hard to pray—so he read. At least he could still manage to concentrate when reading his mother’s Bible. Our mother’s Bible, he corrected himself. Perhaps someday—with a lot of help from the Lord—he and Ariana would be able to read it together.
No. No, he concluded. I just can’t—can’t think of her as a sister. I just can’t.
After a week had passed, Laramie mentally took stock.
“I’ve got to get out of these doldrums,” he told himself. “I’ve got to go on with my life.”
At first he had a hard time deciding what he would do, and then he remembered the rancher. The man had said if he ever wanted a job—well, he needed a job now. Laramie saddled up his mount, tied the bundles to the pack saddle, and headed off.
When he rapped on the ranch house door, Laramie was welcomed.
“Hopin’ ya’d come on back,” said the big man. “ ’Bout given up on ya. But it couldn’t have been at a better time. Foreman jest quit. Fixin’ to have his own spread. None of those yahoos I got out there is worth their salt. I was afraid I’d have to be my own foreman. Hate the thought of all thet ridin’.”
He stopped for breath and looked at Laramie. “Ya want the job, it’s yers.”
Laramie nodded. It was the only contract needed.
“The foreman has his own bunk,” the man went on. “Thet little shack down the lane. Throw yer bedroll in there.”
Laramie was thankful to be on his own. He much preferred it to bunking in with a bunch of card-playing, snuff-chewing, booze-drinking cowhands.
“Maybe I’m jest a coward,” he chided himself, “but I sure don’t feel ready to socialize yet.”
He tossed his bedroll on the bunk, unpacked his few belongings, turned his horses into the corral, and went to look for some kind of a broom. The small shack was a mess. He planned to clean it thoroughly before claiming it as his own.
Ariana stumbled through one long day after another. She previously had quit her position in the little school, so there wasn’t even that to think about. Besides—it was the Christmas break. She wouldn’t have been teaching anyway. She would have been getting married.
Now there was no wedding to think about. She didn’t even want to think about Christmas. It was going to be very empty—meaningless.
Ariana shook her head. No, she mustn’t think like that. She mustn’t. Christmas would still have the same meaning as always. It was Christ’s birth they celebrated. Nothing in her circumstances had changed that.
But as Ariana looked at the pocket watch she had purchased for Laramie, she found it hard to feel in the Christmas spirit.
She had to do something. Something to take control of her life again. She couldn’t just stay in her room and weep and mope. That was not honoring to her Lord.
Two days before Christmas, she donned her nicest gown, bathed the puffiness from her eyes, and joined the family at the breakfast table.
Everyone seemed to hold a collective breath. Dared they speak? What topics were safe to address? What meaningless comment might start the tears flowing again?
Ariana managed a wobbly smile. She reached over and took her mother’s hand.
“I’ve made a decision,” she said simply. “I’m coming home with you.”
Everyone at the table looked surprised. Four pairs of eyes turned toward her to see if she was in her right mind.
“It only makes sense,” she went on calmly. “With the gang gone, there is no reason for me to hide myself away here. I’ve resigned from the school. They already have a new teacher engaged. I…I’ll just go on home with you.”
Gradually those at the table began to see that she was thinking quite clearly. Quite capable of making a decision. Her mother squeezed her hand. Her father beamed his pleasure. Her aunt Molly looked about to weep, while her uncle Jake just cleared his throat noisily.
“We’ll miss you, dear,” said Aunt Molly.
“It will be so good to have you home again. I’ve been so lonely,” her mother admitted.
“You leave on the third,” Ariana went on. “I will have no problem being ready.” Her eyes clouded.
“There is only one thing I haven’t figured out,” she went on.
Her mother’s hand tightened on hers. She was afraid there might be tears again.
“The little roan,” went on Ariana, and though her voice cracked slightly, she did not begin to cry.
Her uncle Jake was quick to speak. Perhaps he feared a fresh outburst of tears as well. “Happy to keep him here—until such time as you can get him,” he said, and then cleared his throat again.
Ariana smiled softly in appreciation. “Thank you, Uncle Jake,” she said evenly.
The matter seemed to be closed.
Laramie settled into his new responsibilities. For the first months, through the last of winter and into spring, he spent his days in the saddle from sunup to sundown. He wanted to discover the lay of the land—to survey the entire ranch and know thoroughly each draw, each hill, each valley. He checked the water supply, the grass supply, each head that grazed, each new calf that arrived. He could not manage well what he did not know well, he reasoned, and his boss took great pleasure in watching him take the job so seriously.
“Make a good rancher,” he informed his elderly wife. “Too bad he don’t have a spread of his own.”
“He’s young,” his wife reminded him. “He has lots of time fer thet.”
As the days lengthened, Laramie felt well enough in control to assign the range riders the tasks that needed to be done.
That gave him more free time—something he did not welcome.
He resumed hi
s worship in the small church, and the preacher’s daughter took up her role of flirting again. Laramie tried to avoid direct contact with her. He was sure she was a fine young woman, but he just wasn’t interested.
He began to look for things to do. They were not always easy to find. He spent more time reading his mother’s Bible. The lessons he learned helped him get hold of his life again—but he still could not forget Ariana. He still was not able to think of her as his sister. He began to wonder just how long it was going to take.
One day, in his loneliness, he drew out his mother’s little chest. Would he find healing there? Would he find the link that would finally enable him to think of Ariana as a part of his family?
Listlessly he turned over each hankie, each button, each little memento. There was nothing. Nothing that changed the feelings in his heart.
He had emptied the little chest and was about to put all of the contents back in place when he noticed that a bit of the lining was coming loose.
He wasn’t skilled in mending and fixing, but he wondered if there was some way he could repair it so the little chest wouldn’t continue to come apart.
He ran one finger along the spot and felt something he had not noticed before. He lifted the box for a closer look. To his amazement there was a little clasp hidden from casual view. He pushed on it. Wiggled it gently and pushed again. Then he lifted it—up and in. To his surprise the bottom of the chest flipped upward on a small spring. There was a false bottom to the small chest.
Laramie could not believe what greeted his eyes. The whole bottom of the small box was covered with bills. Money. Stacked thick—though crisp with age. Strange money. He was not familiar with it. But it was money, of that he was sure.
“I don’t believe this,” he said to himself. “Mama had a whole stash here.”
He looked over his shoulder. He did not wish to be observed. The door was closed. He moved to pull the curtain over the one window. Then he sat back down at the table and began to lift out the crinkled bills.
At the bottom of the pile he discovered a small book. Was this her record of account? Laramie lifted the book and flipped the pages. No. There were no numbers. Simply writing. Some sort of—record. Or journal. He laid the book aside and began to count the money.
There were thousands of dollars. Enough for a ranch of his own. Enough to give Ariana—
His thoughts stopped there. When would he ever stop thinking of Ariana?
He stirred from the table and paced about the small cabin. The money had lost all its appeal. What good was it?
Yet it was there. He should do something with it. He placed it, all but a single bill, rather roughly back in the secret compartment and carefully fastened the false bottom into place. He did not return the little book. He laid it in with the hankies and buttons and brooches. He should send the things to Ariana. They were more suitable for a lady than for a man.
Laramie put the chest back in its hiding place, opened the covering on the window, and checked his hair in the cracked mirror on the wall. He would just ride on into town and visit the banker. Perhaps the man could shed some light on the strange currency.
“Where’d you get this?” asked the cigar-chewing man behind the desk.
“My mama left me a box,” replied Laramie. “I didn’t realize it had a false bottom in it—until today.”
“This was in it?”
Laramie nodded. There was no need to tell the man that the bill was only one of many.
“Haven’t seen these for some while,” said the banker as he turned the bill over and over in his hand.
“Real money?” asked Laramie.
The man twirled his cigar with his tongue. He looked up and smiled in an amused fashion.
“Real money, all right,” he said, and Laramie was about to let his breath out with relief when he continued. “Ain’t worth a lick, though. Confederate. Union decided it’s not legal tender. Might as well use it to start yer fire in the morning.”
So Mama’s box held no treasure after all, Laramie thought to himself as he rode home. It had been a disappointment—but after what he had already been through, it didn’t matter all that much.
He let his mount pick his own gait. He was not in a hurry to get anywhere. What was there to do when he did get home? Nothing? Perhaps he’d ride on out and check the west spring. Or maybe he’d see how that new colt in the east pasture was doing. Or maybe he’d just loaf. He didn’t know—he didn’t really care.
And then he remembered the little book. Maybe I should take a look at it, he concluded. Looked like a woman’s writing. Maybe it’s Mama’s. If it was her diary—it might hold some information. Maybe even some answers.
Laramie urged the buckskin forward at a faster pace. He was rather in a hurry after all.
Chapter Twenty-four
The Answers
By the time Laramie reached the ranch he was anxious to get his saddle horse put up for the night so he could get to the small journal. His inner tension had been mounting with each mile he traveled.
He could hardly wait to discover just what the little book was. What secrets of his past—Ariana’s past—it might hold.
He entered his small abode and shut the door against the noise and dust of the day. It was rather dark after he had pulled his curtain firmly across the little window, so he lit his lamp before lifting the small chest from its hiding place, withdrawing the small book, and settling himself at the wooden table.
He flipped open the first page.
“To my dear daughter Lavina Ann Bradley on the occasion of her fourteenth birthday. July 10, 1836,” it read in a crisp script. Beneath the penned inscription were the words, “Always be the godly woman admonished by Scripture in 1 Peter 3:4. Your loving father, Winston P. Bradley.”
Laramie turned to the next page. The writing had changed. He could almost envision a young girl sitting at a polished writing desk, her smooth brow puckered in concentration.
“July 10, 1836. Today is my fourteenth birthday. I cannot believe it. Mama gave me the most beautiful blue gown. It is my first real grown-up dress with charming puffed sleeves and a full skirt with lots of petticoats, and blue ruffles upon beautiful blue ruffles. She also said that when I wear it I will be able to pin up my hair. Imagine. Me—grown-up. Papa gave me that horse I have been teasing for and a sidesaddle so that I might ride her in ladylike fashion. He also gave me this book. To keep a diary, he said. I think that he feels I am terribly impulsive and he hopes that it will teach me a bit of discipline. (He wishes me to write an account in it daily, but that seems like a very big chore. Almost like a school assignment. I think that I shall write in it only when something very important happens.) Like today. Today has been so exciting. Even Ethan shared in my joy. And brothers do not do that very often.”
Laramie turned the page.
“July 11, 1836. I wasn’t going to write in my diary today, but Papa asked me at the breakfast table if I had. Since I had not, I assured him quickly that I would. He seemed satisfied. But I really have nothing important to write about. It looks to be an ordinary day, and after having such an exciting day yesterday, it is difficult to endure. And it is so miserably hot and stuffy. I think that I shall die of the heat. I have asked Papa if we might go to our house in Charleston, where the ocean breezes help to make things a bit more bearable. He wouldn’t give his answer.
“July 12, 1836. It is still hot and miserable. Even Mama is annoyed with the heat. I hope that she joins me in persuading Papa. Perhaps then he will take us to Charleston.
“July 13, 1836. We are going to Charleston. Oh, joy! I can hardly wait. Mama said that she simply could not endure the swampy heat of the plantation. I will take along my new blue gown and pray for a party so I may wear it. Ethan is fussing because Papa said that he cannot go. He has to stay home and help with the plantation. Papa says that is a man’s duty. I don’t think Ethan enjoys being a man—at sixteen.”
The next date was not until September 29, 1836.
>
“It has been wonderful in Charleston. Every day there are new people to meet. I have never been to so many parties—but Mama is well-known here. Papa went directly back to the plantation. Mama has added more gowns to my wardrobe. She says that a young lady must be properly attired. I cannot believe how grown-up I now look, in just one short summer. I feel grown-up too, and I have had many nice compliments from the young gentlemen. Mama still will not allow me to have callers. She says I must wait until next year. That seems a long time to wait. We must leave for home tomorrow. It will seem very quiet and boring after life in the city.
“February 15, 1838. A most wonderful thing happened to me today. I had always thought that the most exciting thing that could ever happen to a young lady would be a proposal of marriage. Well, I was wrong. I discovered another love. All of my life my parents have been very diligent in making me attend services in our local church, in reading portions of the Scripture before our breakfast, in insisting that I read sections on my own and memorize the same. I had always accepted their faith as a matter of course. But today, today I understood the truth of God’s Word for the first time. I really understood—with my heart as well as my head. I prayed the prayer of repentance, and such peace and joy flooded my heart. I will never be the same again—nor do I wish to be.
“March 2, 1838. My faith has continued to grow. It fills me with overwhelming joy—at the same time that it breaks my heart. I can’t help but grieve for all of those who have not yet heard and believed. I have Papa’s permission to start a little class of Bible lessons for the children of the slaves. They are so sweet and so quick to pick up the truths that I was so slow in learning.
“March 22, 1838. My first little ‘black sheep’ accepted the teaching of Scripture. What a joy it was to lead this little one in a prayer of repentance. I think that her mammy had already prepared her heart.
“September 12, 1838. I have just met the most wonderful young man. Maybe I should have noticed him long ago. His father owns the plantation across the river from us. We have known the family for years and I do recall him faintly—but I had never really noticed him before—in this way. He’s tall and very nice looking, with the most gentlemanly manner. I am quite taken with him. I am not sure how he feels about me. I have added him to my lengthy prayers. God knows what is right for me. I must learn to trust Him in this matter as well.