****
Laurie was the first to see the rider turn off the road. She had been playing a game beside the small brook in the shade of the cottonwoods—a game she often indulged in when alone. All her games were played alone, made up from her own imaginative head. Sometimes watching her from afar, her father had seen her people her small area with fictitious characters and act out their parts one by one in pantomime.
She wore a boy’s shirt and a pair of tan overalls tucked into small boots. Her black hair, hanging in two braids between her shoulders, and her shiny gray eyes and tanned face were a foreshadow of her mother’s graphic beauty.
“Daddy, someone’s coming,” she called out to her father, who was working behind the house.
At her announcement Tom Winslow came around the corner with a hammer in his hand. He took one look at the rider, tossed the hammer down, and joined Laurie as he said, “That’s your Uncle Mark. Come for your birthday, I expect.”
Her face brightened with a smile, for her uncle was a favorite. “Aw, c’mon!” she said. “I’ll bet he’s forgot.”
Mark pulled the mare up and dropped to the ground, his face alight with joy at seeing her. “Well, I ran you down! Come here, you gorgeous creature, and give an old man a kiss!” As she came to him, half shyly, he caught Laurie up, kissed her cheek, put her down, then holding her hand, said, “Tie this mare up, Tom. I’m busy with my niece.”
“Good to see you, Mark,” Tom said, taking the reins and tying the horse to an iron ring driven into one of the cottonwoods. “Come on in and cut the dust.”
The house was a plain structure with no pretensions to elegance. The men sat down at the table while Laurie busied herself making tea. Mark watched her, thinking how she had grown in the past year. “You get prettier every time I see you, Laurie,” he smiled, taking the cup from her. “Hate to think what you’ll do to all the young fellows in a few years.”
“Oh, bosh!” Laurie exclaimed, color rising to her cheeks. “Who cares about them?”
“Why, Laurie,” Tom said, giving Mark a sly wink, “I thought you told me that Leroy Blevins was a good-looking young fellow!”
Laurie made a face at him, then drew up a chair, prepared to listen. As the two men spoke of family, Mark bringing them up-to-date on the latest news from his own family and from Belle Maison in Virginia, she sat there quietly. She wasn’t much for talking. Silence was a habit she had acquired from Tom and from being alone so much. That and the way she had of judging people came from him, as her vivid imagination and the growing beauty had come from her mother.
Finally Mark said, “Well, that’s all the news from home, I guess.”
Tom knew his brother very well. “This isn’t just a visit, is it, Mark?”
“Why, no, Tom, it isn’t.” Mark leaned back in his chair, trying to find the best way to present what was on his mind. He studied his brother for a moment. Mark was thirty-four, Tom two years younger, but they looked much alike. Both had the dark good looks of the Winslow men, black hair and eyes, the same English nose. They were lean and muscular, Tom more so, for he ran every ounce of fat off on his constant travels through the desert, while Mark was forced to spend much of his time at a desk.
“I ran into something you might be interested in, Tom,” Mark remarked, then related the encounter he’d had with Tom Custer as simply as he could, including the invitation to join the Seventh Cavalry. When he had finished, he said, “When Tom Custer told me about the need, I thought it was something you should hear about.” He didn’t need to say anymore, for he knew Tom would think it over.
“Now, to the important thing—” Reaching into his inside pocket, he pulled out a small package wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with a piece of string. Handing it to Laurie, he smiled. “Happy birthday, Laurie.”
“Oh, Uncle Mark!” she exclaimed, her eyes like diamonds. “My birthday’s not for three days!”
“I know that, but I’m here now. Let’s just pretend, okay?”
Laurie glanced at her father, then took off the string. Both men were watching her glowing face as she removed the paper and then opened the small box inside. Tom did not look at the gift, but kept his eyes on his daughter’s face, thinking suddenly of how much she looked like her mother. He watched as her eyes opened wide with pleasure, then she cried out, “Oh, Uncle Mark—how pretty!”
She took the gold necklace with the single large pearl from the box, held it to her neck for them to admire. “Not as pretty as you,” Mark smiled, “but Lola said it was perfect for you.”
“And earrings, too!” Laurie squealed, putting the necklace on the table carefully. She held them to her ears, demanding, “Daddy, can I wear them today?”
Mark and Tom laughed at her, Mark saying, “I think the earrings are for when you get older—but I don’t see any reason why you can’t wear them when you’re alone, do you, Tom?”
“Not a bit,” Tom smiled. “Things are made to be enjoyed, not shoved back in a drawer someplace.” Then he added, “No sense saying you shouldn’t have done it. You and that stubborn wife of yours are determined to spoil Laurie.”
“We’d like to do more, Tom. She’s a fine youngster.”
The rest of the day Mark spent with Laurie, taking her for a ride. She had her own horse, and rode loose and straight in the deep saddle, unconscious of the horse, yet balanced to anticipate any sudden swing. Her father, Mark realized, had taught her this—that trouble was something she should always be prepared for.
They rode into the small town for supper, wolfing down the steaming hot potatoes and steak as Laurie bubbled over with things she’d been doing, asking questions about Lola and Belle Maison and New York. It was so good to see Uncle Mark again! Afterward they walked around the town, then rode slowly back to the house. Laurie brought quilts outside and they all stretched flat, admiring the stars spangling the velvet black skies. The men talked about the past, of the war, and friends who were still at Gettysburg and Shiloh. Finally Laurie, despite heroic efforts, went to sleep—wearing her necklace and earrings.
The silence of the low-lying hills surrounded them, broken only by the mournful cry of a coyote. Mark lay there, enjoying the sensation. He was an outdoor man by nature, and he hated the part of his job that kept him in the city and inside four walls. Maybe Tom’s got the right idea, he thought. This is better than anything I’ve had lately. But he knew he had his own life, which wouldn’t do for Tom or Dan in the least. Both of them were born for something wilder than he himself, so he felt only a fleeting sense of regret as he thought of their freedom.
“I’m going to join the Seventh,” Tom said abruptly. He sat up and stared at Mark. “You knew I would, didn’t you?”
“Well, I hoped you would.” Mark sat up, carefully moving Laurie’s head, which had been resting on his arm. “You were the best soldier of any of us, Tom. I had the rank, but I can remember quite a few times when you got us out of hot water. I think some men are soldiers by nature. Others learn and they try. For you, it’d be a good life. Not as free as what you’ve been doing—but better for Laurie. No matter where the Seventh goes, there’ll be a school of some kind. And there’ll be people for her to tie to—you, too.”
Tom nodded. “In that, I guess you’re right, Mark.” He felt embarrassed, but said quickly, “Think you’ll ever get your kid brother raised?”
“I don’t believe I’m up to such a task!” Mark rejoined. “You’ll be a general, and I’ll be a worn-out old railroad man!” He looked at Tom with affection. “Come back to New York with me for a visit before you enlist. There’s time for that—and for a trip to see Mom, too. She’ll be glad to hear about this.”
“All right.”
The two sat there talking quietly, both sensing the deep affection that lay between them. Finally they rose and went inside, Tom picking up Laurie, who protested, “I’m not asleep!” He put her on the bed and stood there looking down at her face bathed in the argent moonlight. She looked so much like Marlene. With
a sigh he tucked the covers around her, kissed her cheek, and went outside. He looked up at the stars, his mind awhirl as he thought about the future. What did it hold for him? For Laurie?
CHAPTER FIVE
Before the Wedding
“You’re going to wear that wedding dress out, Faith!”
Susan DeForest smiled across the room at the girl standing before the oval full-length mirror peering at herself. Susan herself was rather a plain girl of twenty, and it was a tribute to her generous spirit that she could feel such a depth of affection for one who so outshone her. They had been friends since childhood, growing up together in St. Louis, or the outskirts of it, attending the same church, the same school, and enduring the fearful anxieties of adolescence.
Now, with both of them at the age of twenty, they had crossed safely over those dangerous shoals, and despite their differences, they had remained fast friends.
“Oh, Susan,” Faith cried out, pulling at the bodice of the dress, “this thing still doesn’t fit! I might as well wear a pair of overalls!”
Susan, well-accustomed to Faith’s excesses, smiled. “I think I can find a pair of my father’s somewhere. That would give Carl quite a shock, wouldn’t it? Marching down the aisle and finding you in a pair of greasy overalls!”
Faith gave Susan a startled look, then broke into a giggle. “Wouldn’t it, though?” She turned back to examine herself critically, seeing a young woman five feet five in height with a rounded figure and beautiful carriage—shoulders well back, trim waist, and shapely limbs and upper body. The face that stared back at her was not beautiful, but pretty in a lively way. Gray eyes that had a steady look at most times, but could gleam when the humor that ran just beneath the surface broke out. Beautiful auburn hair, with traces of gold, made a natural cascade of curls down her back. Fair skin showed a few scattered freckles across the high cheekbones. Her nose was short and slightly tilted upward, which added to a piquant expression, and her teeth were perfect as she smiled at herself.
“I hope Carl will be as pretty as I am for the wedding,” she said solemnly, then laughed at her own foolishness. “But he’s better looking than I am to begin with.”
Susan got up and came to pull the back of the white satin dress together at the nape. “Yes, he is, but nobody looks at the groom at the wedding,” she smiled. “Let me take a stitch here.”
As she worked on the dress, Faith rambled on about the wedding and the plans for leaving St. Louis. Susan listened, but at the same time thought of the bundle of paradoxes that came together in Faith Jamison. She was, Susan had often thought, like two individuals. Not that she was unsteady or unreliable, but Faith was a complicated girl in many ways. She was highly competent and methodical—yet there was a streak in her that came close to rebellion, or at least a tendency to be impulsive.
That trait, Susan feared, had gotten her friend engaged to Carl Vandiver. When Faith had first come running in to tell her that Carl had asked her to marry him, and that she had accepted, something about the match had bothered Susan. She had said little, for Faith was euphoric, to say the least; but during the engagement period, it had become more apparent that the two were not alike. Carl was a handsome man of twenty-five, the son of a wealthy factory owner. He was a fun-loving man, one who treasured the finer things of life—meaning the expensive things—and his decision to go to the mission field had displeased his parents greatly. They wanted him to be a minister, for they were devout in their religious duties, but they wanted to keep him in the city, pastor of a large church, or a leader in their denomination. Carl’s decision to marry a young woman from a lower social level and go with her as a mission volunteer to the Indians of the far West had been a terrible strain on their family.
But Faith, despite her usual level-headed approach to things, seemed oblivious to the problem. She had never before been serious about a man, and her total dedication to marriage with Carl prevented Susan from saying much about the difficulties she would face. Now as she took the tiny stitches in the fine material of the wedding dress, Susan found herself wishing she’d tried harder. But it was too late now, for the wedding was at three o’clock the next day.
Leaning forward, she bit the thread, tied it off, then stood back to examine it with a critical eye. “That’s better,” she announced, satisfied with the result.
“Oh, Susan, I’m so excited!” Faith said, her eyes almost snapping with bright glints. “Just think, tomorrow I’ll be Mrs. Carl Vandiver!”
“I’ll miss you,” Susan said. She was a thoughtful girl, not given to expressions of her emotions, but the knowledge that the two of them would be parted was now very real. “I’ll never see you again, Faith,” she said, shaking her head slightly.
“Oh, don’t be silly!” Faith came to her friend at once, putting her arms around her. That was another of the paradoxes to this girl. One moment she could be totally immersed in herself; the next, forget herself completely and become immersed in the needs of others. “Why, there are trains that run all the way to Dakota now. Carl and I’ll be coming back every other year, and you’ve already promised to come and have a long visit with us.”
“I suppose, but it won’t be the same,” Susan said. Then she forced herself to smile. “What am I thinking of, carrying on like this? We had to grow up, didn’t we? Now, let’s go over all the things that will probably go wrong at the wedding tomorrow.”
Faith, glad to see her friend smile, began to talk rapidly about the ceremony. The rest of the afternoon the two women spent going over the details until Mrs. Jamison knocked on the door and entered, saying, “Faith, Reverend Thomas is here. He wants to see you.”
“Oh, dear!” Faith moaned. “I can’t see him in my wedding dress!”
She began to strip off the dress so quickly that her mother cried, “Don’t tear the dress, Faith. Reverend Thomas will wait.” She and Susan managed to get the dress off, handling it carefully. As Faith threw on a blue dress, Mrs. Jamison stroked the wedding dress, her eyes thoughtful. She was an attractive woman of thirty-seven, a widow who had lost her husband at Gettysburg. “This hasn’t been worn since my wedding day.”
“You must have been a gorgeous bride, Mrs. Jamison,” Susan said. “It’s a beautiful dress.”
“My father had it made for me in Chicago. I thought it was the most wonderful dress in the world.”
“It is!” Faith nodded, slipping into a pair of tan shoes. She got to her feet, then said, “Come with me, both of you. I’m so excited I can’t think straight. Reverend Thomas might not let me go to the mission field if he sees how silly I am.”
The three women went downstairs, where Reverend James Thomas rose to greet them. “Hello, ladies,” he said, smiling. He was a tall, rotund man of sixty, with a beautiful shock of pure white hair and a pair of sharp black eyes. “Well, is the bride ready?”
Faith took his hand, smiled up at him, saying, “Yes! But if I go blank, you may have to prompt me during the ceremony, Reverend.”
“My theory about all weddings is simple,” the minister said. “If something can go wrong, it will. However, when it’s over—no matter how many things go wrong—you and Carl will be married.”
“Come along, Susan,” Mrs. Jamison said. “Let’s fix tea while these two go over the ceremony.”
When the pair had left, Faith and Reverend Thomas sat down on the horsehide sofa, Faith bubbling over with excitement. The minister let her run on, but finally said, “Faith, I’m not worried about the ceremony, but there is something that—well, I’ve felt we should talk about it.”
Faith looked at him, curious. “Is something wrong with the appointment, Reverend Thomas?”
“No—not really wrong,” the minister said slowly. He was a dignified man, experienced and capable, able to handle any of the thousand details that came over his desk. He was head of the newly organized Department of Missions for his denomination, and took great satisfaction in the work. He had been Faith’s pastor for years, and when she had announced th
at God had called her to work with the Indians of the far West, he had been delighted.
Now he looked uncertain, a manner rare for him. Faith began to feel a vague fear building up within her, and when he spoke, she listened with apprehension.
“Preaching the gospel to the Sioux people,” Thomas said carefully, “is a difficult matter. They are different from us in almost every way, Faith.”
“But the gospel is the same for everyone, isn’t it?”
“Yes, of course, but the presentation of the gospel differs. Here in St. Louis, even in the worst areas, those we talk to about Jesus have heard of Him. But not so with the Indians. They live in a whole different world, have worshiped idols for centuries.” He shrugged and went on. “I’ve been a preacher for forty years, Faith, but I’d be almost useless in their world.”
Faith stared at him, not certain where he was headed. “Are you saying I’m not fitted to be a missionary?”
“Oh no!” Reverend Thomas lifted his eyes, startled. “Certainly not, my dear!” He was distressed and leaned forward to put his hand over hers in a reassuring gesture. “I was speaking in general terms. All of us on the board think of you as one of the bright stars in our little firmament. No question at all of your calling or of your capability.”
“Then what is troubling you, Reverend Thomas?”
“Well, to be frank with you, Faith, some of the board are not certain that your fiance is ready for the work in the West.”
“But Carl is far more able than I am!”
“Perhaps, in some ways.” Thomas braced himself. He had been sent by the board to do a difficult task because he was a good friend of the Jamisons, but he saw rough going ahead. “Carl is bright and active, and there’s no question of his Christian walk. But some of the board feel that he would not function well in such a—a rough situation.”
Faith was close to anger, but knew that this man was her friend. “Is that what you think, Reverend Thomas?”
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