“It’s not the Lord’s forgiveness I’m talking about, Joseph,” Jim said quietly. “It’s mine. Some things a man just can’t forgive himself for.” Jim left before Joseph could answer.
Joseph had taken a nap and was sitting up, leaning back on the plump pillows behind him, thinking, when Jim returned with supper. The two men ate in silence, but as soon as Jim had taken the tray off his lap, Joseph reached under his pillow and retrieved a book.
“I asked Asa to get this outta the trunk there at the foot of my bed while you was gone, Jim. I can’t read myself, but I got this book from a peddler that came through town a while back. I was wonderin’ would you read to me?”
Jim reached for the book. It was a Bible. Opening it, Jim asked, “You aiming to convert me, Joseph? I already had a good dose of religion growing up. Went to church every Sunday with my parents.”
“I’m not an educated man,” came the response, “but I’ll tell you somethin’. Goin’ to church on Sunday and gettin’ a dose of religion’s not the same thing as knowin’ the Lord. You get to know the Lord, you’ll know what I mean.”
“Well, suppose I try to get to know the Lord and find out the Lord don’t want to get to know me?” Jim asked.
Joseph shook his head from side to side. “Ain’t no such thing as a man the Lord don’t want to know.”
“You sure of that?”
“Well, it says so in that book you got in your hand. I can’t read it myself or I’d show you, but I recollect it’s in there.” Joseph smiled. “Suppose you just start readin’ it to me, and we’ll see if it don’t say so.”
“You win, Joseph,” Jim answered. “You win.” Opening the book, Jim asked, “So where should I start?”
“Anywhere you want.”
Jim turned a few pages until he came to one titled The Names and Order of the Books of the Old and New Testament He scanned down the page and grinned. “Hey, Joseph, there’s a book in here called James.”
“Well, read that, then, James Callaway. You may not believe it, but I do, and it’ll sure bring comfort to hear it.” Joseph settled back comfortably while Jim found the book of James in the Bible and began to read. He hadn’t gone far before he stopped abruptly.
“You read real nice,” Joseph said.
“I was just thinking. I could teach you to read it for yourself, you know.”
Joseph looked suspicious. “You goin’ somewhere?”
“No, I don’t mean that. It’s just that you’re gonna be laid up for a while. And you’re not used to that I need to be thinking of things to keep you down so you heal up good. Wouldn’t you like to read it for yourself?”
Joseph considered. “Naw, I’m too old. You can’t teach an old dog like me.”
“You’re not too old, either,” Jim argued. “You want to learn, I can teach you.”
A soft knock on the door made Jim snap the Bible shut abruptly. Tom Biddle opened the door and said in a stage whisper, “Is Joseph all right? Is he asleep? ”
Joseph called out, “I’m doin’ fine, Tom. Come on in here!”
Tom pushed the door open and limped over to Jim. “Sarah said to bring this right to you, Mr. Jim. Said you’d know what to do.”
The telegram was a perfect reflection of Augusta Hathaway—brusque and to the point All it said was, Arriving noon Friday. Joseph please meet train.
Jim read it aloud. “Guess they’ll have to take me instead.”
Joseph was doubtful. “You don’t like crowds, Jim. Asa can meet the train.”
“They’re gonna be all worked up when you’re not there and they hear why, Joseph. I can settle ’em quick, let ’em know you’re okay. Asa’s great with the horses, but . . .” Jim hesitated.
Joseph finished the sentence with a broad smile, “With people he ain’t so good. You’re right. I just didn’t want to ask you to do it if it would bother you. I recollect how the first time I mentioned town—” He didn’t finish.
“I’m still not interested in any church socials,” Jim said, “but I can meet the train and see that Mrs. Hathaway and Mrs. Baird know you’re all right.”
So it was Jim Callaway who stood at the train station as the train rolled in. He leaned against the corner of the station building, away from the crowd, his hat pulled down over his eyes, going over in his mind what he would say. LisBeth’s foot had barely hit the boardwalk when he was at her side, hat in hand, giving his rehearsed speech. Augusta hadn’t heard, and when she descended from the train, he hastily introduced himself and repeated his speech.
“Joseph isn’t here because he’s been laid up. He’ll be fine, but the doctor says it will take some time. Asa is running the livery, and I’m taking care of Joseph until he’s better.” Jim clapped his hat back on his head. “Wagon’s over there.” He pointed in the general direction of the wagon and headed off toward the baggage car before retracing his steps.
“Uh, forgot to ask you. How many trunks?” He stood uncertainly on the boardwalk. Other passengers crowded past and looked curiously at the tall stranger come to meet Augusta Hathaway and LisBeth King Baird. One passenger sidled up to Augusta. It was Agnes Bond.
“Augusta! LisBeth! Welcome home! How was the Centennial? Charity and I just got back from visiting Mother Bond in Omaha. Now who is this handsome stranger?” Jim blanched and looked uncomfortable. LisBeth rescued him. Taking the arm he had not offered, she said gaily, “Augusta, you wait in the wagon. I’ll point out the trunks to Mr. Callaway. We’ll be along directly. And Agnes,” LisBeth added, “you tell the women at the sewing circle hello. I just can’t wait to tell them all about our trip!” She literally pulled Jim toward the luggage car before Agnes could say anymore.
They walked down the boardwalk together until LisBeth pointed out one of the trunks and released Jim’s arm. Just as he hoisted the trunk on his shoulder LisBeth pointed out another one. “That one, the dark one that has Augusta’s initials.” Jim nodded curtly and strode towards the wagon where Augusta waited, trying to rid herself of Agnes Bond, who stood beside the wagon chattering about nothing, trying to learn something about Jim Callaway.
Jim loaded one trunk and went to retrieve another. To avoid crowding between Augusta’s ample form and Jim Callaway, LisBeth climbed up into the bed of the wagon and perched herself on her trunk. Having learned nothing from Augusta, Agnes turned to LisBeth.
“And who’s the handsome stranger?”
“Jim Callaway. I’ve hired him to take care of the homestead until I can sell it in the spring.”
“Is he from around here?”
“You’d have to ask Joseph about that, Mrs. Bond,” LisBeth answered. “He located Mr. Callaway for me, thank God. He’s done wonders for the place.”
Just then Jim returned with Augusta’s trunk. Ignoring Agnes Bond, he walked around her and climbed up beside Augusta. Jim slapped the team a bit too briskly and they lurched off, nearly unseating LisBeth from her perch and leaving Agnes Bond standing in a cloud of dust, a frown on her face and a determination to learn more about Jim Callaway well before the sewing circle.
As fall came and went, Joseph’s body healed. He was finally able to stand on his mended leg and hobble about with the help of a cane. His first meal at the hotel’s kitchen table was a celebration. LisBeth’s eyes shone warmly as she held out a chair for Joseph. They seated him at the head of the table for that meal, and the honor was not lost on the faithful friend.
“I recollect as your ma used to sit here,” Joseph said as he scooted the chair up to the table.
LisBeth’s smile wavered and she said earnestly, “Joseph, I’m so glad you’re going to be all right. I don’t think any of us could take another loss. It would just be too much.”
There was an awkward silence before Sarah plopped a huge bowl of mashed potatoes onto the table. Augusta said heartily, “Well, praise the Lord and pass the potatoes! We’re all here and we’re healthy. Eat up!”
Jim sat at the table, yet he was outside the circle of friends who laughed and
reminisced. When the meal ended and everyone settled into their routine of cleaning up, Jim stood up and said quietly, “I’ll be getting to that harness you wanted cleaned now, Joseph.” He was out the door before Sarah could invite him to stay for the second piece of pie she had been saving for him.
After he left, the women discussed him thoroughly while Joseph listened. Finally, Augusta turned to Joseph. “He seems nice enough. Lord knows he tends to you like a faithful sheep dog. There’s just something—”
Joseph interrupted her. “Something’s missing. I know, Miz Hathaway. Whatever turned that boy’s beard white—he carries it with him. It weighs him down. He survived it, but it still owns him.” Joseph sighed. “He’s better than he was when I found him, but he’s still not living life. He’s just enduring it.”
LisBeth said softly, “I think I know how he feels.” She was sitting at the table with her head bowed. She fingered her wedding ring, twisting it round and round, then she stopped abruptly. “I promised to go to the sewing circle tomorrow—Lord knows why—so I’d better turn in.” She scooted out her chair and took her empty coffee cup to the sink to rinse it. Then, impulsively, she crossed over to where Joseph sat and threw her arms around his neck. He was so startled that he sat speechless while she said in a choked whisper, “Don’t you dare try to tame any more wild horses, Joseph Freeman. I need you!” Embarrassed by her show of emotion, LisBeth fled to her room, leaving Joseph and Augusta to cluck their tongues and wonder how to help the young people in their midst who seemed to be nearly drowning in grief over the past.
Joseph limped slowly back to his room in the livery stable where Jim sat reading the Bible with what seemed like more than his usual interest.
Augusta Hathaway retired to her own rooms with a heavy heart. Her prayers that night were particularly earnest. “Lord, I know you know what you’re doing. I know you’re God, but forgive me, Lord—are you sure you haven’t put too much on those children?”
It was deep into winter before forgiveness flooded into Jim Callaway’s life. Snow lay ten inches deep outside and the odor of straw and horses permeated the tightly closed livery. The night was still and the kerosene lamp burned brightly. Jim had long since finished reading the book of the Bible that carried his name, and Joseph’s own ability to read had progressed steadily. Still, Joseph insisted that Jim read aloud every evening. Being unfamiliar with the Bible, Jim had simply continued to read whatever came after James.
They had progressed through the books named for Peter and were now ready for the one called The First Epistle of John. Jim read steadily through the beginning of chapter 1, “That which was from the beginning, . . . This then is the message which we have heard of him, and declare unto you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. If we say that we have fellowship with him, and walk in darkness, we lie, and do not the truth.”
Jim’s voice quavered. He stopped reading.
“What’s wrong, Jim?” Joseph asked gently.
Jim cleared his throat. “Nothing.”
“Nothing don’t make a man quit reading.”
Jim scooted the chair back against the wall and fidgeted. “If I’m understanding this, Joseph, it says that men who walk in darkness don’t have fellowship with God.”
“That’s what I’m hearing, too, son.”
Jim took a deep breath. “I always thought I was a child of God. But I’ve walked in a lot of darkness—done a lot of dark things.”
Joseph urged Jim. “Keep reading, boy.”
Reluctantly, Jim obeyed. “But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin.”
Cleansed from sin. That’s it , Jim thought. That’s what I want. I want to be cleansed from what I’ve done. The hint that this might be possible made him tremble.
Joseph urged again, “Keep reading.”
“‘If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.’”
Then he read it. They were only words on a page, but they seemed alive. They washed over him in such a wave that he was physically shaken. “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. . . . And if any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous: and he is the propitiation for our sins: and not for ours only, but also for the sins of the whole world.”
Jim’s voice trembled and he cleared his throat. He tried to continue, but found he couldn’t. Instead he sat, his head bowed, his hands shaking as he drank in the words on the page. Over and over he read them, while Joseph watched and waited.
“Joseph.” Jim finally raised his head. “Am I getting this right? Does this mean that a man could be forgiven? No matter what he’s done, he could be forgiven? ” The gray-green eyes were hungry.
“That’s the way I understand it.”
Jim refused it. “That’s too easy. It can’t be.” He tossed the book aside and buried his face in his hands. As Joseph quietly waited, a groan sounded from the agonized young man. “I wish to God it was that easy, Joseph.”
“Wasn’t nothin’ easy about it,” Joseph said. “I recollect it cost Jesus an awful price.”
Jim listened to Joseph’s calm, soothing voice. Then, before he could stop them, the words spilled out. Jim went back to Slim Buttes and relived the nightmare. Joseph listened as Jim retold every detail in an agonized voice that nearly broke Joseph’s heart. He wanted to reach out to comfort the boy, but he was afraid to move, afraid to interrupt Jim’s agonized retelling of his past. When Jim finally finished, his work shirt was drenched with sweat and he sat, his head bowed, whispering bitterly, “I wish to God I could be forgiven for that. I wish to God I could be forgiven.”
Joseph reached out and put his hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Why don’t you just try asking him to forgive you?”
It seemed too simple. He shook his head. “He won’t. Some things are not to be forgiven.”
“Seems to me you got to try, boy,” Joseph urged. “You got to try or this thing is going to destroy your life.”
Another groan and Jim reached up to grab Joseph’s hand. He clenched it tightly and waited. He didn’t really know why he waited, but then something happened. The words he had read seemed to leap off the page and into his life. He didn’t mouth intelligible words, but he threw his past up to the heavens, wondering if God could possibly forgive even that. He let go of Joseph’s hand and grabbed the Bible again. He reread 1 John, desperate for comfort. Slowly, the message of what he read poured into his heart, became part of him. Then it happened. “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” He could be forgiven! Even Slim Buttes could be forgiven!
Jim read eagerly, drinking in the words. “Whosoever believeth that Jesus is the Christ is born of God.” It seemed too simple, and yet the promise was there. “These things have I written unto you that believe on the name of the Son of God; that ye may know that ye have eternal life, and that ye may believe on the name of the Son of God.”
When he had finished reading, he closed the book tenderly and looked up at Joseph with shining eyes. “Joseph, I need to take a walk.”
He walked out into the stable. The hay smelled sweeter than he had ever remembered. Clear moonlight sifted in through the cracks in the walls, dappling the floor of the stable. Buck heard Jim and whickered low. Jim crossed the stable and rubbed the gelding’s ears. When he returned to his cot, Joseph had turned down the lamp and fallen asleep. Jim picked up the Bible. He wanted to read it again, to make sure he had not misunderstood. “These things write we unto you, that your joy may be full. . . .” Maybe that’s what it is, Jim thought. Maybe it’s joy. Whatever it was, something had replaced the agony of guilt he had carried for so long. Search as he would, he could not find the guilt to take it up again.
Chapter 13
He that trusteth in his riches sh
all fall; but the righteous shall flourish as a branch.
Proverbs 11:28
I t was a hard winter of deep snows and bitter cold. Few travelers ventured out through the worst months, and the hotel generated less labor than usual. The women sewed, read to one another, and helped Tom with his school assignments. LisBeth and Sarah’s friendship deepened, and Augusta smiled with satisfaction as she watched the two lean over young Tom to help him with his lessons or entertain him with games.
One evening, the women lowered Jesse’s unfinished quilt from the rafters. The protective sheet that lay over the top was pulled away to reveal an elaborate green and red appliqué. LisBeth’s eyes grew wistful. “It’s the same colors as the Princess Feather Mama made for me.”
Augusta sniffed back tears and cleared her throat before explaining. “She called it the Whig Rose, LisBeth.” Looking across the quilt at Sarah who was running one hand lovingly over its surface, Augusta added, “Jesse said it was going to be for Sarah’s hope chest.”
Sarah looked up, wide-eyed. Then she tucked her chin to her chest and said with wonder, “For me? Oh, I never dreamed—”
LisBeth prevented the moment from becoming too maudlin with a quick laugh, “Mama! As if she needed an excuse to quilt!” Then, stroking the quilt’s surface, she added, “Mama said quilting always helped her think, sort things out. She said stitching brought her comfort.” Looking at Sarah she decided quickly. “We ought to finish it, Sarah.”
Augusta agreed. “It would have made Jesse happy, girls. That’s for certain. Although heaven knows it won’t be as pretty as if she’d stitched it herself!”
“One thing’s sure,” LisBeth said, “Mama would much rather have us do it than take it over to the ladies at the church and give it over to Agnes Bond .”
With that, the three laughed and began their nightly quilting bee. They stitched all through the winter, filling every open space of the Whig Rose with feathers and ferns. LisBeth stitched hopefully, waiting for the comfort her mother had experienced. On New Year’s Day, as they took the quilt from its frame, LisBeth realized that the hoped-for comfort had not come.
Soaring Eagle (Prairie Winds Book 3) Page 10
