Copyright
ISBN 978-1-57748-396-0
©1994 by Tracie Peterson. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Prologue
Windridge Ranch, Kansas
January 1, 1863
The pathetic cries of a newborn continued to split the otherwise heavy silence of the day long after the sheet had been pulled up to cover the infant’s dead mother. The baby’s hunger and misery seemed to feed her wails, despite the housekeeper’s attempts to soothe and comfort the distraught child.
Gus Gussop had already borne the pain of hearing the housekeeper tell him his wife was dead. Now he faced the hopelessness of trying to satisfy a newborn—his wife’s departing gift. Running his hands through his chestnut hair, Gus felt pain more acute than any he’d ever known. The tightening in his chest gave him cause to wonder if his heart had suddenly attacked him. He prayed it would be so and that he might join his beloved Naomi in eternal rest.
The baby’s high-pitched cries intensified, causing Gus to storm from the room. “Find some way to shut her up!” he bellowed over his shoulder.
Slamming the door to the bedroom he’d shared with Naomi, Gus made his way downstairs to the front door. But he’d no sooner reached it than he heard the approaching footsteps of his good friend and ranch foreman, Buck Marcus.
“I’m deeply sorry for you, Gus,” came Buck’s apologetic voice.
“What do you want?”
“You can’t be going out there now,” Buck reminded. “Did you forget we’re in the midst of a blizzard? Ain’t no visibility for miles, and you’d surely freeze to death before you made it ten feet.”
“Well, maybe I want to freeze to death,” Gus answered flatly, turning to scowl at the red-haired Buck. “Leave me be.”
Buck nodded at the order and took his leave, but when Gus turned back to the massive front door, he knew the man was right. For a few minutes, all Gus could do was stare at the highly ornate oak door—stare and remember. He’d paid a handsome sum to have the door designed with stained glass and detailed woodcarving. Naomi had been so very fond of pretty things, and this door, this entire house for that matter, had been Gus’s gift to her for having a good nature about moving to the Flinthills from her beloved home in New York City.
He turned and looked up at the beautifully crafted oak staircase. Wood came at a premium in Kansas. For that matter, with a nation at war against itself, everything came at a premium. But Gus had found ways around the inconvenience of war. The beautifully grained oak had been meticulously ordered and delivered over a two-year period, all in order to give his wife the best. The wood floors and heavy paneling in the library had been equally difficult to come by, but Gus had successfully managed each and every problem until he had exactly what he wanted for his impressive ranch house.
The house itself had been designed out of native limestone and stood atop the hill Gus had affectionately named “Windridge.” They said the wind in Kansas was the reason that trees seldom stayed in place long enough to grow into anything worth noting. And while Gus had made his home on Windridge, or rather on the side of this massive hill, he was of the opinion that this was true. For miles around, they were lucky to find a single stubborn hedge tree or cottonwood. The rolling Flinthills stretched out as far as the eye could see, and the only thing it was good for was grazing cattle.
Gus had built his empire, constructed his castle, married his queen, and now it all seemed to have been in vain. She was dead. Naomi had died in the house he had gifted her with upon their marriage, died giving birth to their only child.
“What do I do now?” Gus questioned aloud, looking up the stairs.
At least the baby had quieted. He had never once considered Naomi might die in childbirth. She seemed such a healthy, vital woman that to imagine her dead over something women did every day seemed preposterous. After all, they were only an hour away from Cottonwood Falls, and should there be any need for a doctor, Gus knew it would be easy enough to get one. But on the last day of the year, a blizzard had set in, making travel impossible. The storm had now raged for over twenty-four hours, and snow piled in drifts as high as the eaves on the house. The stylish circular porch was covered in ice and snow, and no one dared to set foot outside without a rope secured to him to guide him back to safety.
A line had been tied from the house to the barn and to the bunkhouse, but other than checking on the livestock, which had been crammed into every possible free spot in the barn, the men were ordered to stay inside, out of danger. This he could order and see performed to his specifications. But Naomi’s labor was another matter entirely. It had begun in the midst of the storm and was so mild at first that Katie, their housekeeper, had thought it to be a false labor. But then Naomi’s water broke, and Katie informed him that there would be no stopping the birth. The child simply would not wait until the storm abated.
Things went well for a time. Katie had attended many area birthings due to her experience growing up with a midwife for a mother. It didn’t seem they had anything to worry about. But then the baby came breech, and Katie said the cord seemed caught up on something. She fought and worked her way through the birthing, praying aloud from time to time that she could save both mother and child. Standing at Naomi’s side, offering what assistance he could, Gus had heard the prayers, but they didn’t register. He still refused to believe that anything could mar the happiness he had shared together with Naomi.
But as the hours passed and he watched his wife grow weaker, he knew those prayers were very necessary. There seemed to be nothing Katie could do to ease Naomi’s suffering. She instructed the young mother-to-be, and Naomi heeded her, performing whatever task she was told to do. Katie had her out of the bed at one point to squat in order to push the child down. But nothing seemed to work the way it should, and Katie soon began saying things that Gus didn’t want to hear.
“We may lose the baby,” she had told him. “We may lose them both.”
Gus had gone to the door then, just as he had a few minutes ago. He had planned to fight his way through the storm to the doctor’s, if necessary. But one look outside, and Gus had known there was no hope of leaving Windridge. He prayed the storm would abate. Prayed his child might be born safely. But never did he pray that Naomi might not die. It was unthinkable that such a thing could happen. It simply didn’t fit Gus’s plans.
But the unthinkable did happen.
Shortly before midnight, Jessica Gussop arrived as a New Year’s Eve baby. She cried out in protest as Katie lifted her from her mother’s body. She cried in protest when Katie cut the cord, and she cried in protest when Naomi, after holding the child and kissing her tiny head, had died.
He could still see the look in Naomi’s eyes. She knew she wasn’t going to make it. She smiled weakly at Gus, told him she loved him—that she would always love him. Then she whispered Jessica’s name and closed her eyes.
Gus shook his head, trying to force the horrible scene from his mind. It just couldn’t be true. They were all mistaken. He would go back upstairs now, and Naomi would sit up in bed and call his name.
He reached for the banister.
It was possible. They could be wrong.
Sorrow washed over him, and he knew without a doubt there had been no error in judgment. Her
presence was gone from Windridge. There was nothing upstairs for him now. Naomi’s body was there, but not the lighthearted laughter, not the sweet spirit he had fallen in love with.
She would never sit up. She would never call his name.
He turned and walked away from the staircase and passed through large double doors that slid open to usher him into the walnut-paneled library. This had been his refuge and sanctuary whenever the events of the day proved to be too much. Now, it only echoed the sounds of his heavy steps as he crossed to the desk where he did his book work.
She was gone. There was nothing left. Nothing to hope for. Nothing to live for.
He pulled open a drawer and saw the revolver that lay inside. He could join her. He could settle it all with one single bullet. The idea appealed to him in a way that went against all that he believed. He had shared a Christian faith with Naomi, had served as an elder in the church at Cottonwood Falls, and had always remembered to give God the glory for all that he’d been blessed with. To kill himself would directly violate God’s law. But to live violated his own sensibilities.
Gus heard the cry again and knew that before he could settle his own affairs, he would first have to do something about the baby. Jessica. Naomi had called her Jessica, and Jessica she would stay. He hadn’t cared much for the name—had teased Naomi, in fact, about calling any daughter of his by such a fancy name. Bible names were good enough for the Gussop family. But then Naomi had reminded him that Jessica came from the masculine root of Jesse—the father of King David. So it was to be Jessica for a girl and Jesse for a boy. Gus had liked that idea. He’d liked it even more when Naomi, the granddaughter of a highly respected preacher in New York City, told him that Jesse meant “the Lord exists” and she liked very much to think that God would prove His existence through the life of this child.
“I see His existence, all right,” Gus muttered. “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.” He refused to finish Job’s ancient proclamation by blessing the name of the Lord.
“I can’t raise a baby without a mother,” Gus said emphatically. He slammed his hands down on the desk, then sent the contents flying with a wide sweep of his arm. “I can’t do it! Do you understand!” he bellowed. “I won’t do it!”
He shook his fist at the ceiling. “You can’t expect me to do it without her. You can’t be that cruel. You may give, and You may take away, but You can’t expect me to be happy about it—to go about my business as if nothing has happened.”
Silence. Even Jessica’s cry had quieted. Gus looked down at the mess he’d made and slammed the desk drawer shut. First, he would see to the child. There would no doubt be someone who would take her and raise her to adulthood. Especially given the fact that upon his death, Jessica would inherit everything he owned. That would make her an attractive package to prospective parents. But who should he approach on the matter?
Katie, his housekeeper, was hardly the one to saddle with such a responsibility. At twenty-five, the thing that most amused Katie was Buck, and even though the man was thirteen years her senior, a May wedding was already in the works. No, it wouldn’t be right to put Jessica off on Katie and Buck. Buck had been a friend to him long enough that Gus knew the man wanted no part of owning a big spread of his own. He’d told Gus on more than one occasion that if he died tomorrow he would be happy being Gus’s hired man and friend.
Gus considered neighbors and friends in town, but no one struck him as having the right combination of requirements for raising his child. And those requirements were very important to him. Just because he didn’t feel capable of seeing to the needs of his daughter didn’t mean he wouldn’t take those needs into consideration while choosing her guardian.
After several torturous days of thinking through all the possibilities, Gus had eliminated all names except one. Harriet Nelson. Harriet was the maiden aunt of his deceased wife. The woman had practically raised Naomi, and as far as Gus was concerned, she made the perfect choice for raising Naomi’s daughter. But Harriet lived in New York City, and exchanging letters or even telegrams would take days—maybe months. Gus didn’t like the idea, but it seemed his only recourse.
Then, too, Jessica was too young and sickly to travel. Katie had tried to find a proper source of nourishment for the child and had finally come up with sweetening and watering down canned milk. At least the poor babe could stomach the solution. Which was more than could be said for the other dozen concoctions that had been tried.
Taking pen in hand, Gus began the letter to Harriet. He explained the death of Naomi first, offering Harriet his condolences in recognition of her position as adoptive mother to his wife. Then he told her of Jessica. He described the child who’d been born with her mother’s dark brown eyes, despite the fact that Katie had never heard of any infant being born with other than blue eyes. She also had her mother’s dark brown hair, although there wasn’t much of it. He described her as a good baby, telling of the trial and error in finding something to feed her. Then he concluded the letter by expressing his desire that Harriet take over the rearing of his daughter. He made no pretense about the issue.
I find that I am ill-equipped to care for an infant on a prairie ranch. The housekeeper has done a fine job, but with her own upcoming wedding, I hardly can rely on her for such assistance in the future.
Harriet, you are the only one to whom I would entrust this job. The reflection of your ability was clearly displayed in Naomi’s character. I know you would raise the child to be a good Christian and to occupy herself with godly service. I know too that Jessica would be loved and pampered. Please understand, I am well aware of my own responsibilities. I would, of course, provide financially for the child and yield to your authority on matters concerning her schooling.
Please do not refuse me on this matter, Harriet. I know you planned a different life for Naomi, and apparently your choice would have been wiser. A Kansas cowboy and a prairie ranch were unworthy of a woman such as your niece, but I recognize my own limitations and would go so far as to say this is a matter of life and death. I would appreciate your speedy response on the matter.
Ever Your Faithful Servant,
Joseph Gussop
He reread the letter several times before finally sealing it in an envelope and penning the New York address to the outside.
There, he thought. The job is done. I have only to mail this letter and receive her response and then—then I can put this all behind me.
Buck came in about that time. “Boss, we’ve been looking things over as best we can. Looks like most of the stock survived.”
Gus nodded. He had little desire to talk about the ranch or his responsibilities.
“There’s something else I need to discuss with you,” Buck said hesitantly.
“Then speak up,” Gus replied, seeing Buck’s apprehension. It wasn’t like the man to skirt around an issue.
“It has to do with her.”
Gus felt the wind go out from him. For days the only way he’d managed to get through the hours was to avoid thinking about her. It was one thing to mention her in a letter to Harriet, but another thing to consider what was to be done in the aftermath of her death. In fact, he had no idea what had already been done in the way of preparing her for her burial. He’d simply refused to have any part of it.
“All right,” he finally answered.
“Well,” Buck began slowly, “I built her, ah. . .” He faltered. “I mean, well, that is to say—”
“You built her a coffin?” Gus questioned irritably.
Buck nodded. “Yes, Sir. We took her out like you asked. But, Gus, the ground is too froze up for burial.”
Gus growled and pounded his fists on the ground. “I don’t care if you have to blow a hole in the ground with dynamite. I want her buried today.” Buck nodded and without another word took off in the direction from which he’d come.
Gus tried to think of everything analytically. First he would see to Naomi. Then he would see to Jessica’s care. Then he would take care of himself.
❧
Two weeks after the little funeral, Gus was finally able to post his letter to Harriet in Cottonwood Falls. And two months after that, with a strangely warm March whipping up one of the first thunderstorms of the season, Gus rode back from town, reading the missive he’d received from New York City.
Of course, you must realize I am hardly the young woman I was when Naomi was small, but I would be honored to raise Jessica for as long as time permits.
He breathed a sigh of relief. She had agreed to take the child. He continued reading.
However, I do have my own requirements to see to such an arrangement. First, I desire final say over her upbringing. As you pointed out, you are hardly aware of her needs. I want no interference, no monthly visits, no constant trips back and forth between the desolate American desert and New York. I want the child to know proper society and schooling before she is exposed to the barbaric plains of Kansas. I also believe it will diminish any sense of loss in the child. In other words, if she is constantly looking toward her next trip to Kansas, she may well be unruly and unwilling to focus on her life here.
Well, Gus thought, that certainly wasn’t a problem. He wouldn’t be around, but, of course, he couldn’t tell Harriet that.
Secondly, I have devised the figures that I believe constitute the proper amount of money necessary to care properly for a child in New York City. She will be a child of social standing, and, therefore, the cost is higher than you might otherwise believe necessary. If you will note the second page of this letter, however, you will see I have detailed the information for you.
House On Windridge Page 1
