by Linda Ford
Mother had suffered so many disappointments and yet she never stopped trusting God’s goodness and guidance nor His sufficiency for her every need.
“Thank you for guiding me and teaching me.” She would do her best to honor God in the life she had chosen—wife to Sawyer, mother to Jill.
The creak of the gate drew her attention. “Jill.”
The child’s mouth set into a stubborn line. “You said you would show me where your baby brothers were.”
“I did. Come in.” She rose and went to Jill, offered her hand.
Jill shook her head.
She wasn’t going to make it easy but Carly, having made up her mind, wasn’t going to let it deter her. “They’re right there. Four little boys.”
Jill studied the four little crosses. “Did you get to meet them?”
“Two of them I did.” Callum had lived several hours. Errol just two. “Not the other two.” They’d never drawn breath. She’d only seen their tiny bodies wrapped in white cotton before they were laid in the ground.
Her heart twisted at the pain of the loss. She knew her sorrow was but a drop of what Mother and Father felt. Mother, especially. But Mother had never let her sorrow quench her faith or her joy. She tried to find words to explain it to Jill. “I think the hardest thing for a mother is to lose a child. Mother said loss could turn us bitter or grow our roots deep. We get to choose.”
“Like the crocuses?”
Surprised that Jill had listened to Carly’s comment and then taken it and applied it to this situation, Carly answered, “That’s right. And a very keen observation.”
“My mama would say things like that, too.” She looked into the distance. “One time I was angry because a trip to the store was canceled. Papa had promised to buy me a candy. Mama said I’d learn there were lots of things in life I could be upset about. Or I could learn to be happy anyway.” She sighed deeply. Her shoulders rose. “Don’t suppose she meant her and Papa dying.” She turned to the headstone. “Is that where your mama is buried?”
“Yes.” Carly led her to the foot of the grave.
“I like the angel.”
“Me, too.”
“Why do you bring her flowers? She doesn’t know.” When looking at the four little crosses, Jill had shown only curiosity but now her voice grew hard, her expression tightened.
“I do it for me. Because I wish I could really give her flowers and talk to her.”
“That’s stupid.” She kicked at a clump of grass, sending a shower of dirt over Mother’s grave. Then she dashed from the little plot, running full speed away from the house up the rise beyond the cemetery and stood staring into the distance.
“Oh God, how am I to show her love and care when she runs from it?”
The answer came into her silent heart. Love one another. As I have loved you. God loved her through good times and bad. Through mistakes, rebellion and disobedience. Because of His unfailing love, she could show love to this child whether or not she received it.
Sawyer trotted up to the gate. “Where’s Jill? I thought she was with you?”
“She went that way.” She blinked.
The child had disappeared.
*
Sawyer took in the little cemetery. Four wooden crosses and a granite marker with the bowl of flowers before it. Pain ripped through his heart. His mama and Johnny were buried far away. Pa and Judith lay at rest by the church in Libby, Kansas. He understood none of them were there. They had been taken into glory. But seeing these physical reminders of each of Carly’s dead family members made him long to be able to visit the graves of his loved ones. He reached for something to hold on to. But changed his mind before he took Carly’s hand and grabbed the top rail of the metal gate instead.
He’d been talking to Mr. Morrison after Carly left.
“Son, ye can’t keep calling me Mister. It’s much too formal. Either call me Father or Robert.”
“Okay.” He liked the old man. Wouldn’t mind if he’d been his father but was he ready to put someone else in Pa’s place? Course, no one had suggested Sawyer call him Pa. Father felt different. Comfortable even.
“And the little one can call me Granddad. That okay with you, Jill?”
Jill had nodded but didn’t try out the word.
Sawyer had given his opinion on the calves showing the breeding of the English stock. Then the conversation had turned to the need to get the crop in the ground. When he next looked Jill’s direction, she was gone.
He glanced out the door and saw she made her way toward Carly so he wasn’t concerned. But by the time he’d pulled on his boots and grabbed his hat, she had disappeared.
“I’ll go find her,” he said.
Carly touched his arm and pointed. “No need. Here she comes.”
Jill’s head appeared over the rise and then her body. Her hands were full of weeds. As she drew closer, he made out crocuses and little bluebells.
She stomped past them and went to the far corner of the yard where she knelt and arranged the flowers on the ground.
Carly leaned close to whisper in his ear. “I told her I bring flowers to my mother’s grave because it makes me feel close to her.”
“But her mother isn’t buried here.”
Carly shrugged. “Let her pretend. It doesn’t hurt anything.”
“I guess not.” Carly surprised him. One minute insisting Jill ride the horse even after it had bolted and the next so aware of Jill’s heart.
Jill sat back on her heels. She glanced to the headstone to her left. Then and there a plan was born in Sawyer’s mind.
Carly took Sawyer’s arms and led him through the gate. “Let’s give her some time alone.” They went as far as the barn where they could keep an eye on Jill without intruding on her moment.
“Your father would like me to get started on the planting.”
She dropped his arm, leaving him cold and alone. “You met Big Harry. The harnessing is in the barn. The plow is over there.” She pointed. “What else do you need to know?”
“Your father said you would show me where the wheat is to be planted and the oats.”
“Come along then.” She strode away.
Jill left the graveyard and trotted down the hill. She sat on the step and pulled rocks from her pockets and was soon intent on some kind of play.
Sawyer followed Carly to the fenced plots. “Oats here. Wheat there.”
He leaned against the fence post. This was what he’d signed on for, so her brisk attitude didn’t bother him.
*
The next morning, he hurried out to do chores, meeting Carly as she returned to the house with a pail of milk.
“I’ll feed the animals,” he said.
She ground to a halt. “I do the chores.”
“It will take less time if I help.” While you make breakfast. But he kept the latter to himself. “Jill and your father are up. I made coffee but Jill is looking for something to eat. I told her to stay out of the cupboards and wait.”
She shot a look toward the house. “I fed Tosser already.”
“Tosser?”
She grinned. “The milk cow.”
Her amusement tickled him and he smiled. Funny how it was getting easier and easier to see the humor in things. “Let me guess. She likes to kick the milk bucket, tossing it up.”
“Nope.”
He looked at her dancing eyes, her teasing expression and forgot every uncertainty, every disagreement between them. Marrying her had been a good idea. He promised himself he would never allow regrets. And if they crept in, he would remember the feeling of this moment. The pleasure of watching her humor. How she quickly forgot any discord. The way she seemed in tune to Jill’s needs.
And his own?
That wasn’t necessary. His needs were practically nonexistent.
He reminded himself they were talking about a cow. “So why did you name her Tosser?” Why did his tongue feel so floppy? It could not have anything to do with the way she made
him smile.
She chuckled. “We bought her from a passing family on their way to the gold fields. They were getting short of funds so were willing to part with her. After we got her, we realized they were tired of her shenanigans. She seemed as placid as cream until someone sat beside her to milk her, then she turned, dropped her head and bunted that person off the stool. If cows could laugh, I’m sure she did.”
His grin widened and laughter rumbled up his throat. “She still toss you off your stool?”
“Nope. Father bribed her with oats. If she tossed him, he took away the oats. Now, so long as she gets her oats, she’s well behaved.”
His feet grew roots as they shared amusement. His past disappeared in the flash of her smile.
Jill stood in the doorway. “I’m hungry.”
Carly startled. “I better get this milk to the house and think about breakfast. I’ll call when it’s ready.” She hurried away.
He stared after her a moment, then slowly made his way to the barn. As he gave Big Harry an extra ration of oats, he studied the horse. “I wonder why they named you Big Harry. I expect when she saw you she said, ‘Look at those big hairy feet.’” He chuckled. His second day of marriage and he was already discovering unexpected joys.
His smile lingered as he took care of the other animals, making sure the water trough was full and checking the gates on the pasture where the other horses were corralled.
“Sawyer, breakfast is on.” Carly’s voice sailed across the yard and encircled him like a bit of shining dew.
“She’s a good cook, too,” he said to no one in particular, though Dusty lifted his head to see if Sawyer talked to him. Sawyer jogged across the yard, something more than hunger urging him to hurry. A trickle of concern reminded him how often he had let himself settle into a place only to move until he finally stopped letting himself care. He stepped inside to be greeted with enough pleasant smells to crowd out any thought of warning himself that he should guard his heart.
Like Gladys had said, he was a loner who didn’t know how to be anything but.
This time, he had a marriage contract to ensure he had a permanent home.
Except the marriage wasn’t real. What was to stop either of them from ending it?
Chapter Ten
Carly watched from the kitchen window as Sawyer drove Big Harry to the field. She’d watched him do so for three days now and discovered there was something strangely soothing about seeing him plowing in the nearby field as she went about her own work. She’d begun planting the garden, enlisting Jill’s help. At first the child had resisted but Carly, following her mother’s example, turned it into a game.
Intent on fulfilling her decision to provide more sweets, Carly had spent a few hours each day baking and discovered that Jill enjoyed helping. They’d made cookies and a yellow cake. They’d baked cinnamon rolls. They’d worked together on preparing meals.
Every evening, after Sawyer brought the horse to the barn, he washed at the pump before coming to the house. From her station in the kitchen, Carly could watch his every move. Every day, her pleasure grew at knowing this man was her husband.
After they had supper and the kitchen was cleaned up, they went for a walk. Carly told herself she was teaching Sawyer intimate details about the ranch—where the boggy area would appear after a heavy rain, the place where she’d discovered a buffalo rub, the pine tree hidden among the cottonwoods along the river.
She shared the details of her day. “Jill talks about her mother as we work. I think it’s getting easier for her to remember the good things and less painful to think of her being gone. Not that I expect that pain will ever leave. But I don’t need to tell you that. I’m sure it’s the same for you.”
They had gone to the river where they walked along the shore. He stared ahead.
She waited, having discovered that he considered his words carefully before he answered.
“So much changed when Ma and Johnny perished.”
“You lost your home, too.” She pressed her hand to his arm. She’d grown more at ease with touching him and had discovered something reassuring and steadying about the strength beneath her hand as his muscles flexed.
“In a way I lost my pa, too. He stayed lost until he met Judith.” A beat of consideration. “I guess if there’s one thing to be grateful for, it’s that he didn’t survive without her. I don’t think he would have—” He shrugged as if uncertain what he meant.
She understood that he didn’t think his pa would be able to go on without Judith at his side. “Poor Jill. I can’t imagine losing both parents.”
“Even worse, she acted so badly that no one would keep her.”
Carly chuckled. “She was hurt and fighting her pain. That little girl is a fighter.”
“I can never hope to replace the home she’s lost.”
Carly tried to not let it bother her that he spoke as if he were alone in this. She gently corrected him, wondering if he would even notice. “No, we can’t. But we can give her something else. A new beginning. A chance to learn that love is still an option.”
They had stopped walking and faced each other. He searched her gaze so intently that her eyes stung. She didn’t look away. Didn’t want to end this moment and prayed he would see that she included him in her hope of a happy future.
A smile began in his eyes and spread to his mouth. “Love is an option. That sounds very hopeful.”
She sensed an unasked question. Did he wonder if love was available to him? She’d married a stranger. Their agreement was to remain businesslike. But did he sometimes want more? “I remember something my mother would say. Love is not a feeling. It’s an action.”
He studied her some more, then turned away. She couldn’t tell whether or not he was disappointed with her answer. She wanted to explain what she meant…that feelings didn’t need to exist in order for a person to show loving actions.
That was what she wanted to show when she baked treats for everyone. Partly because she’d entered into this arrangement with honorable intentions. But partly because she wanted them to know someone cared about them. It sprang from the decision she’d made at Mother’s grave to be a mother to Jill. And a wife to Sawyer, though she wasn’t sure what that would look like.
They returned home a short time later. It was Saturday and she’d left water heating for baths. She brought the washtub into the kitchen.
Sawyer, seeing her intent, looked startled.
“Tomorrow is Sunday and church. Tonight we bathe.”
“Aye,” Father said. “My own mother, God rest her soul, said washing the body reminded one that there should be a regular cleansing of the heart.”
“I’d forgotten what day it was,” Sawyer said. “I’ll go to the river to wash.” He grabbed a bar of soap and a towel and left before anyone could say anything.
“Jill, you can go first.” She covered the windows. Father went outside to sit in the cool evening air.
“Get undressed and I’ll wash your hair for you.”
Jill stared at her. Her throat worked. Carly understood she struggled with some emotion and waited for the child to say something.
But Jill turned away and stripped off her clothing, then climbed into the tub.
Carly let her relax in the warm water for a few minutes and wash herself, then knelt beside her. “I loved it when my mother washed my hair.” She lathered up Jill’s hair as she talked and rinsed it well, then wrapped a towel around her head.
Jill sat up. Tears flooded her eyes.
“Did I get soap in your eyes? I’m sorry. Let me wash them out.”
Jill rocked her head back and forth. “No soap.” She sniffled. Finally, she spoke. “Nobody has washed my hair since Mama.”
The child was finished bathing. Carly wrapped a towel about her and lifted her to her lap. She pressed Jill’s head to her shoulder and rubbed her back. “I’m glad I could be the one to do it for you. You’re a precious, sweet child and I’m honored to be part of your fa
mily now.”
Jill’s stiffness eased.
Carly continued talking. “We might not be the kind of family each of us started out to be but that doesn’t mean we can’t be good. It’s been so much fun having you help me with the baking. I can tell your mama has taught you many things. I think she’d be happy that you’ve remembered them.”
Jill nodded.
“We’ll keep learning together, doing the things we know our mothers would want us to. You know…” She leaned back so she could look into Jill’s face. “I think both of our mamas would be pleased to see us working together to make a happy family.”
Emotions raced across the child’s face…hope, uncertainty and then the blank look that she used so often.
Carly pushed back her disappointment. It was early yet. In time, Jill would learn that they could be as happy as they chose to be. All of them. Together as a family.
“You think about it.” She finished drying Jill and helped her into her nightgown. She dried Jill’s hair in front of the stove and she braided it, still damp, to keep it tidy. “Do you want me to read you a story before you go to sleep?” She’d asked several times and always Jill had said no, thanks. She would keep asking until Jill agreed to let her.
Jill hesitated.
Carly waited, hoping for agreement. Then Jill shook her head.
“Fine. You get to bed. I’ll come and tuck you in.”
She let out a slow sigh when Jill didn’t tell her not to. One step forward. She hung the wet towels as she gave Jill a few minutes to get into bed, then went to the bedroom.
Jill had the covers up to her chin.