“I’m so glad God brought you here to Orlando.” Beatrice squeezed Samara’s arm. “I see purpose in him where a floundering had been.”
“I doubt Orlando has ever floundered in his life.” The thought of Orlando struggling at anything was ridiculous.
Beatrice pulled Samara to a stop next to Firestorm. “I’m serious, Samara. It’s in the way he questions what you’d think about things, even silly things like whether he should adjust the oat bin so it’s easier for you to access. He never worried about me accessing the oats, the big oaf. Every conversation I had with him circled back to you. Every. Single. One.”
Samara smiled a goofy smile, cherishing the information Beatrice gave her. Beatrice rolled her eyes and placed her pack on the back of the saddle. Samara pretended to be checking Firestorm’s halter, though she knew zilch about halters or horses or anything relevant to surviving this time and place. She didn’t know who was a bigger idiot, her for believing for half a minute she might thrive here or God for his horrible choice of locales.
Beatrice finished tying her pack to Firestorm and moved to Samara, putting both of her hands upon Samara’s shoulders and forcing her to face Beatrice. “You are an amazing woman, Samara Thomas, full of caring, strength, and intelligence. Orlando never would’ve found someone who matched him so perfectly if God hadn’t intervened. Orlando is loco over you, so lost in love it’s pathetic—”
“That’s ridiculous—”
“No, Samara, it’s not. You are infused within him, like those ointments he makes. Separating you from him would not only be impossible, but would destroy him in the process.”
Samara shook her head, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “I know… Bea, that’s what worries me. I’m so scared this is going to be ripped from me, just like everything else good in my life. What if I’m not worthy of having this love?”
Beatrice looked at Samara with sadness. “Oh Samara, you—”
“Okay, Beatrice. I’ve got you and the family enough medicine to last the winter.” Orlando came out of the house as he adjusted the items in the sack he carried and tied it closed.
Beatrice pulled Samara into a hug and whispered in her ear. “Trust in Orlando’s love for you, Samara. It’s not false. But more importantly, trust in God’s love for you. He’s never left you, Samara. He’s always been right there, carrying you, waiting desperately for you to turn back to the safety and peace that can only come from Him. I’m going to be praying for you, dear sister.”
Tears spilled from Samara’s eyes and her throat closed too tight for words to escape. She wished with everything in her that she could embrace that trust and run fully into the love she longed for, the love Orlando whispered in the night, but a lifetime of hurt couldn’t be erased so easily. Beatrice turned to Orlando, an expression of concern on his handsome face as he watched the exchange.
“Take care, big brother.” Beatrice launched herself into his arms, then playfully punched him on the bicep. “Don’t forget to jump in the creek after you wrestle with those sheep of yours. You don’t want to smell so bad you run off your new bride. I’d be mighty upset at you.”
“Duly noted, Little Bit.” Orlando peered in Samara’s eyes from over Beatrice’s head. “I don’t want to risk running her off at all.”
With one more pointed look at Samara, Beatrice mounted up and headed out with a wave. Samara wished Beatrice wouldn’t go, that she’d stay and live with them instead of heading back to the other homestead. Samara angrily swiped at the ridiculous tears that rolled down her cheek as her husband draped his solid arm across her shoulders in comfort. She leaned into him, deciding to try to lean into that trust Beatrice had encouraged her to have, despite the niggling doubt that persisted in the back of her head.
Orlando sat on Loco at the edge of the forest that overlooked his home. The air was cool and the aspen leaves were just showing signs of slipping to their golden splendor. Winter would be upon them soon. Maybe the cocoon the cold would soon wrap around him and Samara could continue to solidify his marriage from muted to beautiful, having them emerge in spring transformed. He marveled at the change in Samara since Beatrice had left. She seemed to finally trust in his love for her, but there still was a hesitance with her, like she kept searching for the next threat.
He breathed out deeply, the breath seeming to come all the way from his toes. That didn’t surprise him too much with the way Samara had been since she arrived in his life. The weight of unease that sat upon his shoulders and pressed his lungs so tight he could hardly breathe hadn’t lifted with the intimacy they seemed to find within each other. If anything it had gotten heavier, pressed tighter so he could barely move. Was he simply taking on Samara’s anxiousness she tried to hide, or was the Lord trying to warn him?
Orlando sighed again and pulled out his father’s journal he’d carried with him since that morning it tumbled off the shelf. He hadn’t had much opportunity to read it since finding it, but he’d taken time, little by little like he had this morning, bringing a new insight to his father’s depth, a piece of his father that made the legend more real, less legendary. He opened it and reread:
Today I’m missing my Victoria more than most. Though it’s been six years since she’s passed and the ache of her being gone never leaves, some days the pain and loneliness of losing her is so thick I wonder if I’ll ever climb out of it. I think of her and want to lie next to her grave and never get up. I have to remember that though I’ve lost her here, all hope is not gone. I will see her again when I walk through the pearly gates of heaven.
It’s days like today that I lean evermore on God. That I push the grief behind, forgetting the pain of loss and instead remembering the joy of life. The joy of our love, the legacy we have passed to our children. Until the day the Lord takes me to be with Him, I’m here for Orlando, Viola, and Beatrice. They are my everything, the reason I still continue to breathe. Though they are all grown adults and more amazing than I ever could imagine, I will continue to show them the love of God and the path to take in everything I do.
Father God, please help me reach forth unto those things which are before, and press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. Amen.
Orlando bowed his head and sniffed away the emotion thick within his throat. His father had done just that, breathed life and love into him and his sisters, encouraging them to embrace the person God called them to be. Orlando realized that was why he strived so hard to live up to his father’s image, not only to make his father proud, but because his father was a person worth emulating. Orlando thanked God for the steady, unwavering love of a father who pushed his own pain aside to pour hope and comfort into his children.
Orlando looked up as the squawk of chickens lifted across the meadow. Samara emerged from the cabin and moved toward the chickens, leaning down to pet the silly creatures. The sight of her gripped his heart with determination. He motioned Loco home with his knees, choosing to take the approach slow so he could linger on observing Samara. He would take a cue from his father’s journal, from the word of his Heavenly Father, and forget the things of the past and push toward the mark, reach for the prize. Orlando was called to be Samara’s husband as surely as he was woven within his mother’s womb. He resolved to be the best husband he could, supporting and loving Samara to the fullest and leading her back to God.
He watched as Samara strode for the garden, her glorious red tresses flowing behind her like swirling fingers of fire. How he loved to pull those silky threads through his fingers, to feel them tickle his cheek and his chest as he pulled her close to him each night.
Samara trekked through the garden, bending to check plants as she went, pulling a pea pod off the trellis and popping the peas in her mouth. He lost sight of her as she moved behind the corn, waiting with bated breath for her to emerge on the other side as she made her way to the medicinal garden. He noticed she spent a lot of time there and silently hoped it was her connection to him that drew her fr
equently to that section. He decided he’d build her a bench to sit among the flowers and herbs, maybe place it along the creek.
He glimpsed her auburn hair as she passed the corn and refocused his attention on her, watching the slender curves as she moved and her delicate hands as they reached to touch the flowers. His gaze narrowed as she stopped short. She quickly snapped her gaze to the field and forest opposite Orlando. Her unease was evident in how tense her body had become and caused Orlando to go on the alert. He scanned the area that surrounded the cabin like she did, turning his attention to the depth of shadows and play of light. He caught a movement under the trees across from the creek from the corner of his eye and turned to survey it. Nothing moved. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, but Orlando’s spirit churned in unease.
Samara moved, turning a slow circle as she surveyed the land. Orlando pulled his focus away from the forest as she noticed him riding up. She jumped at the sight of him, then her shoulders slumped.
He pushed doubt aside as he dismounted and tied Loco to the garden fence rail. He made his way to Samara’s side, striding quickly through the garden. She broke eye contact with him and bent to pull a weed from within the comfrey. She took it to one of the many boxes she’d built from scrap wood to collect weeds to be tossed into the compost pile. He smiled at the memory of her claiming she could then use his abundant muscles to carry the boxes instead of taxing hers with numerous trips with the small basket she’d been using.
Orlando stopped next to her. As she peered up into his eyes, he saw a hint of distress in the way her eyes were wide like a frightened filly.
He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What’s wrong Samara? You look like you’re about to bolt.”
“It’s nothing really, just thought someone was watching me. Kind of freaked me out for a bit, but then I saw you and realized someone was watching me. You.” Samara shrugged and smiled.
Orlando stepped closer and took her hand, rubbing a circle with his thumb along the back of her hand. “I’m sorry I startled you.”
“It’s not you,” Samara said breathlessly. “It’s just my years of living on edge, always waiting for the next attack.”
“I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe, Samara, I promise you that,” Orlando whispered, his voice deep and husky.
“I know.” Samara gazed into his eyes, desire shining strong.
Her quiet declaration lit a flame within Orlando as he closed the distance between them and gently kissed her. She ran her free hand up his chest, clenching his shirt with her delicate fingers. She moaned and leaned into him, the flame igniting into an inferno. He deepened the kiss, stumbling toward the cabin without breaking contact. A sound came from her that reflected so perfectly the longing deep within him that he wondered if he was the one who actually groaned. She pulled her hand from his and wrapped her arms around him, digging her fingers deep into his hair. Orlando lifted her and carried her to the cabin, praying he showed her how deep his love for her was, embedded in his very being, merged to his very soul.
Chapter 20
Orlando stood at the worktable, processing the herbs he and Samara had dried earlier in the summer. She smiled at him from across the table, not pausing in the song she sang. He loved how their home was almost always filled with music, whether Samara strummed on her dulcimer, hummed while she washed dishes, or sang out of the blue. Her delight was present in each note and sound that came from her. Orlando had always thought her beautiful, but since Beatrice had left, Samara had transformed into radiant.
Orlando felt the transformation in himself as well. A heavy burden that he’d carried lifted in the abundant love that filled the cabin to the rafters and spilled into the yard outside. He stared across the table. As she ground the comfrey into smaller pieces to store, her smile flared to life the flame of desire that rarely got banked. Herbs forgotten, Orlando strode around the table and captured her song in his mouth. He smiled as she quickly responded to his kiss, dropping her tools on the table and matching his passion.
A knock at the door caused Orlando to groan. Samara chuckled at him as she stepped back. He grinned and winked at her when he noticed her leaning on the table for support.
“Go answer the door, you rogue.” Samara laughed.
Orlando marched to the door, hoping it would be a quick visit, or maybe someone who’d just momentarily lost their way. He knew that being miles from nowhere probably didn’t bode well for his hopes. As he opened the door, his hand on his revolver, his eyes widened in shock.
“Sparrow!” Samara yelled, rushing to the door and pulling the frazzled woman into the cabin.
Orlando peered outside, and when he saw no one was with her, closed the door. Sparrow looked done in. Her face was drawn in exhaustion, and as she sat at the chair Samara had pulled out, she slumped into it. Sparrow looked first to Samara and then to Orlando and broke into tears. Orlando’s heart dropped into his stomach as he glanced at Samara. Something horrible must’ve happened for Sparrow to be here, just like Samara had foretold back at the agency. Orlando strode to the table and pulled a chair out to sit.
“It was horrible.” Sparrow spoke brokenly through sobs. “Soldiers had been sent and… and our warriors retaliated. The warriors killed all the men, torturing Mr. Meeker, and kidnapped the women and children.”
A small cry sounded over Sparrow’s sobs, pulling all three adults’ attention to the bundle Sparrow clutched. She slowly unwrapped it, making a shushing noise as she attempted to control her sobs. Her fingers shook violently, and Orlando feared she would drop it.
“Here,” Samara softly said. “Let me help you.”
Sparrow nodded and handed the bundle to Samara. Samara gently unwrapped it and gasped in delight as she exposed a beautiful baby with bright red hair and skin lighter than most Ute babies.
“My cousin had just had him when the fighting broke out.” Sparrow looked at the baby with a sorrowed smile and breathed deeply, her crying slowly replaced with purpose. “In delirium, my cousin raced out of the tent, looking for Billy, saying she must save him. She was shot in the confusion.”
“Oh, Sparrow, I’m so sorry,” Samara whispered sadly.
“I feared what would happen to this beautiful boy. The government will come and take us to the reservation now. That is not a life I wish for him. If he grows up there, he will always be different, with his bright red hair and fair skin. While I know my people will love him, I don’t want him to feel pulled, to wonder where he belongs. I’m also not sure if the soldiers won’t think we’ve stolen him and take him away from his true family.” Sparrow paused and glanced between the two of them. “So I’ve brought him to you. With you, he’ll grow up with a mother of fiery red hair and a father who loves and respects all people, a true and honored friend of the Ute.”
“Sparrow, I… I don’t know how to take care of a baby. I’ve never been around kids. What if I’m a horrible mother?” Samara gaped at the baby with a look of fear and worry.
“You are going to be a wonderful mother, Samara.” Orlando stood and moved next to her. He knelt beside her and ran his finger down the baby’s downy cheek. The boy moved his mouth toward his finger as if to suckle. “We don’t have any milk to feed him. I may be able to find a ewe or two that are still nursing, but I’m not sure how much milk they’ll produce.”
“Do not worry. Chief Johnson’s wife sent me with their dairy cow. She says since the soldiers will take everything of worth we have, she wants you to have the cow as thanks for your friendship to us and for trying to help. I have some milk in my pack for the little one to drink now.”
Orlando hung his head, leaning his forehead on Samara’s leg. “I wish I would’ve tried harder.” Samara’s hand threading through his hair soothed him, and he peered up at her.
“No, Orlando. You did all you could. Meeker was determined, and my people were not willing to bend to the injustice of it. Now, all will pay,” Sparrow replied.
“What will you d
o now, Sparrow?” Samara asked as Sparrow dug through her pack.
“Tonight, I will rest in my friends’ house, listening to sweet songs and snuggling with a precious baby.” Sparrow’s smile was melancholy. “Tomorrow, I will make my way to the Yampah springs and hope that the Ute people are still there.”
Orlando took the bladder full of milk from Sparrow and walked to the cabinet. He listened as Sparrow and Samara gushed over the baby boy that was suddenly his son. He glanced over his shoulder as he reached for the cup. Samara’s eyes connected with his, and though he hadn’t expected to be a father so soon, he determined his new son would grow up knowing the same love Orlando had as a child. With Samara, they’d grow a home full of warmth and devotion to pass on as a legacy for generations to come.
Samara sat with Orlando and their baby on a blanket spread next to the creek in the meadow. The mountains soared as sentries in the distance, a new layer of snow on the peaks. Orlando had promised winter was at least a month away when she had worried about Sparrow, who had left the morning before to find her people in the Roaring Fork valley. The baby breathed deeply in her arms, fast asleep with milk dribbling from his wide-open mouth.
Orlando chuckled as he wiped the milk from the boy’s chin. “Have you decided on a name yet?”
Samara peeked up at Orlando, a hesitant smile on her lips. “I was thinking Zachariah Joseph, after both our fathers.”
Orlando leaned close, his lips brushing hers as he spoke in a whisper. “I think it’s perfect.”
Samara closed the distance between them, relishing the feel of Orlando as he pulled her closer, careful of the baby in her arms, but not allowing the baby to mellow her husband’s expression of passion. She sighed, wondering if Zach would sleep long enough for her and Orlando to fall into each other there among the last of the wildflowers and grass. Samara captured Orlando’s lips against hers again, smiling at his love pouring freely to her.
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