“I have been away from there for several weeks. My people sent me for a rest. I think the Spirit of God sent me here to tell you about Him. If you come with me, I can teach you the words in your mother’s book. Then you can decide about God for yourself.”
Soaring Eagle shook his head then stood up. “When I was a youth, the country was beautiful. When I hunted, I could see the trails of many kinds of animals. But now the land is changed and sad. The living creatures are gone. I see the land desolate. I see my people dying. I see them running away from the soldiers. I wish that white people had never come into my country.”
John Thundercloud pondered Soaring Eagle’s speech before he said, “There are good whites and bad ones, Soaring Eagle, just as there are good Lakota and bad Lakota. The good whites want to help us. They cannot change the evil that is done. They come to help us learn to live a new way.”
Soaring Eagle stared into the dying campfire. Loneliness pressed upon him. “I do not want a new way. I want the old ways.”
When the sun rose the next morning, Thundercloud insisted that Soaring Eagle take all the meat that hung on the drying racks. “But it will take two of your ponies to carry all this meat—and you only have three ponies,” Soaring Eagle protested.
Thundercloud insisted. “God has brought us together, my brother. You gave me the gift of listening so that I could share the truth of His love with you. Now I give you a gift of meat. I am glad to see these old ponies go to someone who will care for them. When they are too old to help you, set them free to roam the prairie.”
When the camp was struck and the last slab of meat tied securely on the last pony, Thundercloud grasped Soaring Eagle’s arm in friendship. “When you are ready, my brother, come to the Santee Mission and ask for John Thundercloud. I will pray for you. I will pray that God will help you to see His way for you. Only when you go His way will the hole in your heart be filled.”
As Soaring Eagle turned to go, Thundercloud called out “Hancan kin nicipi un nunwe (The Lord be with you).” As Soaring Eagle led the pack train away to the west, John Thundercloud stood watching and praying.
Chapter 11
A man’s heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps.
Proverbs 16:9
A ugusta had almost declined when David Braddock offered the invitation to lunch. But when he presented an elegant note written by his mother, Augusta softened and accepted his arm. “After all,” she whispered to LisBeth, “it’s his mother who extended the invitation. Any boy who takes two new acquaintances to meet his mother can’t be a villain.”
David led the women through the maze of Exposition buildings to his carriage. A uniformed driver doffed his cap and helped the women up into the carriage.
From the seat across from them, David Braddock smiled politely. “May I ask, Mrs. Hathaway, what has interested you most at the Exposition thus far?”
That was all Augusta Hathaway needed. The rest of the drive to Abigail Braddock’s was filled by Augusta’s soliloquy on progress and the inventions that would be needed if the West were to prosper. “Now, mind you, Mr. Braddock. I know what you easterners think. You think it’s a vast desert out there. But just give us a few years. I’m convinced that Nebraska will one day be a rich farmland. All we need is an efficient way to tap the water supply and irrigate the land. Mark my words, Mr. Braddock. One day Nebraska will help feed the world.”
LisBeth expected David Braddock to smile wisely, pat Augusta on the shoulder, and placate her. Instead, he seemed genuinely interested in her ideas. He listened carefully to everything she said and asked pointed questions about the west.
“I’ve never been west, myself, Mrs. Hathaway. But,” he looked at LisBeth, “there’s a first time for everything.”
Had LisBeth and Augusta known how sought after a luncheon invitation from Abigail Braddock was to residents of Philadelphia in 1876, they would have climbed the stairs to the elegant mansion with quaking knees. As it was, both women were blissfully ignorant of the fact that they were about to be entertained by the dowager empress of Philadelphia society. Indeed, preceding Augusta Hathaway and LisBeth King Baird as luncheon guests in the manse were none other than the Emperor Dom Pedro of Brazil; Prince of the Houses of Bourbon, Braganza, and Hapsburg; and his wife, the Empress Theresa.
The Braddock mansion was set back off the street in the middle of a park of tall trees. A wide porch completely surrounded the house, ending at the portico where the carriage pulled up to let the guests out. Entering the manse, both Augusta and LisBeth gaped at the grandeur before them. Two vast staircases swept up the sides of the entryway, meeting at the top to form a balcony. Abigail Braddock stood on the balcony, smiling warmly before gliding down the stairs to meet her guests.
“Welcome!” Her voice was mellow and sincere. “Welcome to Philadelphia. I hope we’ve been treating you well. Things have been a bit hectic since the Centennial opened. People aren’t always what they should be. . . .”
Abigail shook Augusta’s hand seriously, and then turned to LisBeth. “LisBeth King Baird. I have heard about you,” LisBeth blushed, “and I see it’s all true.” The woman was friendly without being overbearing. “Come, let’s have some refreshment on the porch.”
LisBeth and Augusta followed Abigail through the arched doorway under the balcony, and into a sitting room that fairly glowed with golden light. The chairs were covered with gold damask, and a floral rug caught the golden tones and accented them with deep blue. At the far end of the room stood a harp and a piano. Above the piano was a massive portrait of a young mother and two children. It was unmistakably Abigail. Dressed in heavily embroidered and beaded black silk, the woman held her aristocratic head on a long, slender neck. Her hair was swept up and held in place with jeweled combs. At one side sat an infant with sparkling brown eyes, his hair pomaded, his long gown elaborately trimmed in elegant lace.
“Is that you, Mrs. Braddock?” LisBeth asked, nodding at the portrait.
Abigail smiled. “Yes, Mrs. Baird, it is. David is six months old there,” the smile faded a bit, “and his father had been dead for only four months. The portrait had been begun shortly after David’s birth, but then his father became ill and I just couldn’t bear to sit for the artist. So we had it put in storage. One of the last things David’s father demanded of us was that we promise to finish the portrait. It was to have been the crowning piece, the last thing to finish the house he’d had built for us.” Abigail sighed. “Sadly, he never lived to see it all finished.”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Braddock,” LisBeth apologized, but Abigail Braddock smiled kindly.
“You don’t need to apologize, dear. Time heals the bitterest of wounds. And now I enjoy remembering. William and I had a wonderful few years together, and I enjoy talking about him.”
LisBeth realized that she had just heard Augusta’s words of the previous day repeated. She grew quiet and studied her gloved hands.
Abigail reached out and took LisBeth’s hands in her own. “Forgive me, my dear, for being so forward, but since you know my story, perhaps you’ll allow me to venture beyond our brief acquaintance. David has informed me of the tragic loss of your husband at the Little Big Horn. I extend my heartfelt sympathies.” The older woman squeezed LisBeth’s hands. “I know that doesn’t help much, dear, but take the word of a woman who’s been where you now stand. The pain will get better. It won’t ever be completely gone, but you’ll be able to bear it, with time.”
LisBeth stared dry-eyed at Abigail Braddock for a moment. She lifted her chin and pressed her lips together firmly. Then, her lower lip began to quiver and her eyes filled with tears. Embarrassed, she tried to gather herself, but Abigail wouldn’t let her pull away. Impulsively she pulled LisBeth into her arms, “There, there, dear. Don’t be embarrassed. All this Victorian nonsense about hiding one’s true feelings is a blasted inconvenience.”
When David joined them, LisBeth was wiping her eyes with his mother’s lace-edged handkerchief, and A
ugusta was smiling approvingly at both of them. It was Augusta who broke the silence. “David Braddock, thank you for bringing us here. Your mother’s a charming woman, and if half of Philadelphia is as nice as she is, then we’ll certainly enjoy the rest of our stay here.”
“Perhaps we’ll even persuade you to extend your visit?” David asked hopefully.
Augusta boomed, “Not on your life, young man! I’ve a schedule to keep and a hotel to run. LisBeth has a life to get on with—in Nebraska.”
LisBeth added, “And Nebraska wouldn’t last long without Aunt Augusta looking out for her.”
Abigail showed them to a corner of the porch shaded by bittersweet vines. She waved away a young servant girl who stepped out onto the porch. “Never mind, Betsy. I’ll do the serving myself.” Betsy curtsied and hurried off. Abigail served lemonade while they talked, then guided them through an elegant lunch served in a small dining room on the opposite side of the house.
Settling into her place at the table, LisBeth observed the array of china, crystal, and silver. Finally, she leaned over to say to Augusta in a stage whisper, “Good thing you had me work the dining room, Aunt Augusta. I’ve set enough tables to know which fork is for what!”
Abigail Braddock enjoyed the comment immensely, following it with an anecdote about her own first encounter with a properly set table. “David’s father took me home to meet his parents. I thought I’d die when I saw all the china they used—for one meal. I don’t remember a thing that was said at that entire two-hour ordeal. I spent the entire time watching every move William’s mother made. She’d pick up a fork; I’d pick up a fork. She took a drink; I took a drink. I thought, Even if she does it wrong, she’ll do it with class, and I’ll be safer! ” Abigail laughed at the memory. “I’d been brought up on the other side of town and didn’t even have my own fork until I was two years old! I’m sure William’s mother was horrified. How he ever convinced her to let me into the family, I’ll never know!”
It was a warm, cheery lunch, and when the carriage was brought around to return LisBeth and Augusta to the hotel, all of Augusta’s suspicions about David Braddock had been laid to rest. As she and LisBeth settled into the Braddocks’ carriage, Augusta informed LisBeth that David and Abigail Braddock were obviously honest, God-fearing people, and she considered it a blessing that they had been nearly kicked out of their hotel rooms if it meant meeting the Braddocks. LisBeth was inclined to agree.
As the carriage departed, David inquired as to his mother’s opinion of the two women from Nebraska. Abigail answered without hesitation. “I like them both, David. Augusta—as she insists on my calling her—is brusque, but she’s got a heart of gold. Anyone can see that. And LisBeth is lovely. She’s deeply shaken by the loss of her husband and mother, but she’s young. She’ll be all right.” Abigail reached over to pat the back of her son’s hand. “I’m glad you brought them home for lunch, David.”
David Braddock pursed his lips and nodded gravely at his mother. “I’m glad you approve, Mother. For that, ” he said, nodding toward the carriage, “is the woman I am going to marry.”
Chapter 12
Draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you. . . . Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and he shall lift you up.
James 4:8, 10
J oseph was going to live. When Dr. Bain called the day after the accident, Jim dismissed him with a curt, “I got Dr. Gilbert coming now. Want to make sure he gets the best care.” Dr. Bain had blanched with anger at the rude dismissal, but Jim didn’t care.
Nearly three days after the accident, late in the night, Joseph moaned. It was barely audible, but Jim, who had kept constant vigil, was at his side immediately, talking in low tones. “That’s it, Joseph. You just take it easy. We got the doctor coming in the morning. You rest till then.” Jim poured a glass of water and gently lifted Joseph off his pillow. “Here, now, you take a swallow of this.” When his patient complied, Jim smiled with satisfaction. Another low moan brought more talk. “You’re back home in your room back of the stable. I’m here, and I’m not leaving, so if you need anything, you just let me know. Asa’s taking care of the horses and the business. Nothing to worry about, there. Try to rest, now, Joseph.” There were no more sounds of life from the still form, and Jim soon returned to his cot.
When dawn broke, Jim sent Asa for the doctor. As he waited, he heard Joseph take a deep breath. There was a pause, and then another deep breath and a sound, not really a moan, but a grunt that ended high, as if Joseph wanted to ask a question. Jim drew up a chair and sat by the bed. At last, without opening his eyes, Joseph muttered, “Ow,” and reached up to feel the left side of his head.
Jim answered the unasked question. “It’s all right, Joseph. Doctor Bain fixed it.”
There was a long silence before Joseph made another sound. Then he croaked, “Don’t remember nothin’ after that fool gelding kicked me in the head.”
“The team brought you to the homestead,” Jim explained. “I brought you to town. Got you sewed up.”
One eye opened and Joseph searched for the voice. When he could focus on Jim’s face, he managed a half-smile, then closed the eye again. “How long you been here, son?”
“Since the accident three days ago.”
Joseph sighed. “Thanks. I’m fearful tired.” He fell asleep. When the doctor arrived, he looked Joseph over thoroughly and changed his bandages.
“No change in what you need to do, son,” the elderly doctor said, patting Jim on the shoulder. “Just keep the wounds clean and wait. If he wakes up again, offer him soup. I’ll stop in next door and ask Miss Biddle to put some chicken stock on so it’ll be ready.”
“Doc,” Jim broached the subject awkwardly. “I gave Dr. Bain all the cash I had. I don’t know about Joseph’s situation. But I’ll find work and see that you get paid.”
Dr. Gilbert snapped his medical bag shut and said crisply, “Young man, I’ve known Joseph Freeman since I first came to Lincoln. Many’s the night he got out of a warm bed to saddle a fresh horse for me to make a crazy ride to some homesteader’s cabin when my own mare was wore out or had thrown a shoe. And that ,” Dr. Gilbert said with emphasis, “is all that needs to be said about my fee!”
Hours later, Joseph opened both eyes and managed a weak grin when Jim helped him take another drink of water. “Ooee! ” he exclaimed, “that hoss packs a wallop in his hind foot!” Slowly, Joseph raised his hand to try to take the glass Jim held, but he couldn’t quite manage it.
“Easy does it, Joseph,” Jim chided. “You’ve been unconscious for three days. Don’t rush things.”
Joseph twitched one finger back and forth and muttered, “You waitin’ on me, son?”
“I’m waitin’ on you till you can wait on yourself, Joseph.”
Joseph smiled slowly. “I recollect Doc sayin’ he’d ask Miss Biddle to fire up the stove and put some soup on. Think it’s ready yet?”
Jim was out the door and back almost immediately with a bowl of soup. Joseph managed to swallow several spoonfuls before falling asleep again. Jim settled back with satisfaction to watch Joseph sleep.
It was several days before Joseph did much more than wake, swallow a bit of soup, and sleep. But slowly his waking hours lengthened until he grew restive and began to ask questions about Asa, the livery, the hotel, the homestead.
“Quit worrying, Joseph,” Jim chided. “Asa’s doing a fine job. Sarah Biddle seems to be doing okay with the hotel too. At least things always seem to be going smooth in the kitchen. I get away when you’re sleeping and split wood now and then. I’ve nothing much left to do at the homestead before winter. The fall garden isn’t important, so there’s no need to be shooing me out the door.” Jim sat down and leaned his chair back against the wall, stretching his long legs out before him. “Just rest and get better. Mrs. Baird and Mrs. Hathaway’ll be home soon.”
There was a long pause before Jim added, “There’s something I been wantin’ to ask you, Joseph.”
&n
bsp; The patient looked keenly at Jim and waited.
“You said Mrs. Baird wanted to sell that homestead. Think there’s any chance she’d sell it to me?” Jim rushed ahead, “Oh, I know, I don’t have money. But I’d work on the place, pay her as I could.” His voice took on a hint of doubt. “Of course, it’d take a long time.” The chair he’d been leaning back in plopped back onto the floor. Jim answered his own question. “She probably wouldn’t want to wait for me to pay; it’d take too long. Forget it, Joseph. It was a dumb idea.”
“Now hold on, Jim. Don’t talk yourself out of it if it’s what you want. I don’t know what she’ll say, but you ought to ask her, if it’s what you want.”
Jim looked down at his worn boots while he talked. “Don’t quite know what I want, Joseph. But I sure do like the idea of making things grow. That rose you brought out started to grow up the side of the porch. Those fields are just waiting for a plow. I’d like to plow that ground up and make it yield a crop. Seems like maybe I could make a life out there.”
Joseph interrupted him. “Glad to hear you talkin’ about makin’ a life for yourself.”
Jim looked up and grinned ruefully. “Guess that’s a change, isn’t it?”
“Guess it is. Glad to hear you thinkin’ about stayin’ around here. You’re a good man, Jim Callaway.”
Jim stood up abruptly. “No, I’m not, Joseph. I’m not a good man at all.”
“All I know is you work hard. You’re honest. You saved my life. That’s all I need to know. What’s past is past. When a man proves his worth like you have, then all that’s left is forgive and forget the past.”
Jim picked up Joseph’s water glass and pitcher and moved toward the door. “Some things aren’t to be forgiven.”
“If the good Lord could forgive the ones that killed him, then who’s to say we can’t all be forgiven?”
Soaring Eagle (Prairie Winds Book 3) Page 9
