To Love a Stranger (Wyoming Series Book 4)

by Colleen Coble

  She didn’t care about politics. It seemed very far away, especially tonight. Back in Boston her father would be arguing with his cronies over the vote, and papers would be full of screaming headlines. Her world had shrunk to this man and the baby in the other room. It seemed a fair trade to Bessie. And even if Jasper never loved her, she could be contented.

  “Are you ready for our study tonight?”

  His grip around her shoulders relaxed, and she pulled away reluctantly. “What are we looking at tonight?” They were still going through 1 Corinthians 13 and cross-referencing it with other verses.

  “Verse 7 says, ‘Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.’ I found a reference there to Galatians 4, verse 2. ‘Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.’ ” He cupped her cheek with his hand. “Can you share any of your burdens with me, Bessie? I’ll try my best to help you carry them. You’ve seemed distant for awhile. Is it something I’ve done or failed to do?”

  She longed to tell him she had found that letter, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t bear to bring Lenore into this house by talking about her. Jasper never mentioned her, but did he still think of Lenore? Did he find his wife a poor substitute? She suspected he did, but she didn’t want her fears confirmed. She smiled into his green eyes.

  “It’s been an adjustment.” Which was true. It had been hard to make the transition from Boston to here. She hoped he would accept that.

  He did. His expression softened, and he nodded. “You’ve been gently reared, and dealing with scorpions, snakes, and spiders has not been fun. Have you written your family lately? I know you haven’t received any letters. Would you like to go visit them for the summer?”

  Was he trying to get rid of her? She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “No. My place is with you. Mother promised they would try to visit next year. I’ll be fine. I want to be here.”

  He smiled, and Bessie saw the relief in his face. Her heart sped up at the realization that he didn’t want her to go.

  “What do you want out of our marriage and our life together, Bessie?”

  Did she dare tell him? Did she dare say she wanted his love and his children, the joy of teaching their children about Jesus and growing old together? The words stuck in her throat. He would think her forward if she mentioned children now. But where was her courage? She had always been timid and unsure, but out here she was more courageous than she had ever been.

  She took a deep breath. “I want—” She broke off at the wail from the bedroom.

  “Uh-oh, I thought you said she was out for the night.”

  “She had to prove me wrong, didn’t she?” She stood and walked toward the bedroom. “I won’t be long. I’m sure she’ll go right back to sleep.”

  Bessie laid a soothing hand on Ruth and sang to her gently. The baby corked her thumb in her mouth and went right back to sleep. What had disturbed her? Was it a sign from God that she shouldn’t tell Jasper how she felt yet? Tears burned her eyes. She didn’t know how much longer she could go on the way things were. Even if Jasper never loved her, she could have the comfort of raising their children if she could just muster the courage to speak.

  She straightened her shoulders and made her way back to the parlor. Jasper looked up from his perusal of his Bible and smiled.

  “Everything all right?”

  “Fine. I don’t know what woke her.”

  He patted the space beside him. “Come finish our conversation.”

  His green eyes followed her every movement, and she felt self-conscious as she walked to the cot and sat next to him. He immediately put his arm around her, and she forced her shoulders to relax. Together they leaned against the wall.

  “Do you have anything to say about my question?” he asked, his words muffled by his lips in her hair.

  Her heart pounded. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. It was now or never. An opportunity might not come this way again.

  “I want to have a family, children that we raise for God.” A whisper was all her dry throat could manage. “What do you want from our marriage?”

  Jasper stilled. His heart beat beneath her ear, and now it sped up. She heard him catch his breath, then he tilted her face and gazed into her eyes. “Children? You want children, too?”

  Did he mean he wanted children? Her gaze searched his. Did she dare ask him how he really felt about her? He was doing all the right things, but was it out of a sense of duty or out of genuine emotion? She opened her mouth to ask, but the impetuous words were stilled by a knock on the door.

  “Lieutenant Mendenhall!” Someone pounded on their door.

  Jasper gave her a rueful glance and got up to answer the door. He came back moments later. “I have to go. There’s been an attack on some settlers south of here. I’ll probably be gone a few days.” He knelt and took her face in his hands. “We’ll talk of this when I return.” He kissed her briefly and took his hat.

  Bessie willed him to look back and smile just one last time; but without looking at her, he shut the door behind him.

  ten

  The stars twinkled in the night like pinpoints of hope against the dark velvet sky. Jasper led the detachment along the rocky trail and thought about what had just happened with Bessie. He was glad of the interruption. Her admission that she wanted children had rocked him. It was what he wanted, too, but to hear her admit it seemed like a gift from God.

  They came over a rise and saw the orange flames still smoldering in the burned and blackened cabin below them. Grimly, Jasper led the way to the cabin. He didn’t want to see what condition the settlers would be in. They were probably dead.

  They were almost to the cabin when he heard a wail off to his right. He wheeled his mare and spurred her toward the sound. Beside a small stream gleaming in the moonlight he found a woman crouched over the body of a man and a child. Keening in grief, she rocked back and forth on her heels.

  He touched her shoulder, and she whipped around with a long-bladed knife in her hand.

  “You’re safe, Ma’am!” He sprang back, then grappled with her and finally succeeded in wresting the knife from her grasp. She fell atop the two bodies and resumed her wailing.

  He pulled her away, and she didn’t resist this time. Leading her away from the carnage, he motioned to Rooster to bring him the spare horse they had brought with them. Her head rolled back as he lifted her onto the horse, and he saw with shock that she could have been Lenore’s twin. He almost snatched his fingers away, but scolded himself for his flight of fancy. This poor lady had just lost her entire family, and he was letting a simple resemblance get in the way of his compassion.

  He would take her to Bessie before pursuing the savages who did this. His wife’s gentle touch would help this lady. He told Rooster to load the bodies and bring them back to the fort for burial. He then helped the woman into the saddle. She slumped against the gelding’s neck, and he swung into his own saddle and started back to Fort Bowie.

  Their quarters were dark when he helped the woman inside. He shut the door and fumbled as he lit the lantern. “Bessie,” he called.

  The woman started when he spoke, and he laid a soothing hand on her arm. “It’s all right. My wife will be here in a moment.”

  Moments later Bessie came running from the bedroom, her hair falling to her waist and her eyes frightened. “Jasper? What’s wrong?”

  Her gaze went to his hand on the woman’s arm, and he withdrew it hastily. “This woman has lost her family to Cochise and his band. Can you care for her? I have to go after them.”

  Bessie stepped closer, and her face blanched. “Lenore?” she asked in a trembling voice.

  “No, Bessie. Not Lenore, but I saw the resemblance, too.” He stepped away, and Bessie stepped closer. “I must go.” He stared at his wife uneasily and saw the color begin to come back into her cheeks.

  “You poor dear,” she said softly. She went to the woman and put her arm around her should
ers. “Come with me. I’ll fix you some tea.”

  The woman allowed Bessie to lead her to the kitchen, and Jasper sighed in relief. He would have the men give the bodies a decent burial, and Bessie would take care of the woman.

  §

  Bessie’s hands trembled as she poured the boiling water into the teapot. The woman’s resemblance to her sister was uncanny! Why would God bring such a reminder into her home when Lenore’s memory was finally dulling in Jasper’s mind? She bit her lip at her uncharitable thought. This poor woman had no control over her appearance. How could Bessie be thinking such things when this woman had just lost everything? She was ashamed of herself.

  She set the cup in front of the woman. The poor lady stared into space vacantly, then tears began to flow, leaving clean rivulets in her smoke-blackened face.

  Bessie touched her hand gently. “Have some tea,” she urged. “You don’t have to talk about what happened.”

  The woman began to sob softly. “Oh, it was terrible! My poor little Danny! And James.” Her sobs grew louder, and she rocked back and forth in her grief.

  Tears flooded Bessie’s eyes. She could feel this woman’s pain. If something happened to Ruthie or Jasper, how could she bear it? What could she say now to comfort this woman?

  After nearly an hour of racking sobs, the woman began to bring herself under control. She took several deep breaths and raised reddened eyes to meet Bessie’s gaze. “You’re very kind. Was that your husband who brought me here? I don’t remember much.” She bit her lip and closed her eyes with the strain of trying to control her emotions.

  “Yes, that was my husband. I’m Bessie Mendenhall, and my husband is Jasper.”

  “I’m Myra Trimble.” Tears flooded her eyes again. “James always said my name didn’t fit me. It means tearful, and he had never seen me cry. Now, he never will.” She bowed her head in a fresh spasm of weeping.

  Bessie knelt and put her arms around Myra. “I know it hurts,” she murmured. “Let it out.” She patted her back and cried with her. She could only imagine her pain. What if it were Jasper lying beneath that sandy soil with Ruthie? The mere thought brought a hard knot to her stomach.

  Myra finally pulled away and fished in her sleeve for her handkerchief. “I’ve always been so stoic and strong. Now I can’t seem to stop crying.” She took a deep breath. “The vision of my son lying beside his father burns in my brain. I can’t get it out.”

  “God has your husband and son in the palm of His hand,” Bessie said. “You can rest in that.”

  Myra’s lips tightened. “Don’t talk to me of a God Who would allow my two-year-old son to be slaughtered! I want nothing to do with a God like that.” Hectic spots of color stained her cheeks, and she took her cold tea and swallowed a gulp.

  The poor woman didn’t even have faith to help her through this. Bessie felt an overwhelming wave of pity for Myra. How did one deal with a tragedy of this magnitude without faith? But she wouldn’t argue with her. Maybe her short stay with them would open her eyes to eternal things. Bessie prayed for wisdom to say the right things in the next few days.

  After she got Myra situated on the couch cot, Bessie went to bed. She tossed and turned for a long time before sleep claimed her exhausted body.

  When Ruth whimpered and cried out, Bessie groaned and opened her eyes to the dawn light. She wasn’t ready for morning. It had to have been after 2:00 before she got to bed. She reached over and put her hand in the cradle. Ruth grabbed her finger and brought it to her mouth. She sucked on it greedily, and Bessie laughed.

  “All right, you slave driver, I’m getting your breakfast.” Eve would be there soon, too. The thought of her friend lightened her heart. She had two women today. She wouldn’t call Myra a friend yet, though. The woman’s bitterness against God separated her from Bessie. But Bessie determined in her heart to be the best friend she could to the bereaved woman.

  She climbed out of bed and quickly dressed in her lightest dress. July was almost here, and the day already promised to be a scorcher. She picked up Ruth and went to the kitchen. By the time she had fed her and put her on the floor on a blanket, Eve was knocking gently on the back door.

  “We have a guest,” Bessie warned her quietly when she let her in. “A widow from an attack last night.”

  A shadow crossed Eve’s face. “Perhaps I should go. She will not wish to see me today after such a thing.”

  “She can’t possibly blame you. You had nothing to do with an attack by Apache braves.”

  Eve shrugged. “I see it many times, my friend. To some whites, the only good Indian is a dead one.”

  Bessie had heard that expression many times, but it still pained her. “Don’t go. I was so looking forward to seeing you.”

  Eve smiled. “I, too. Very well, if you wish it, I will stay. But do not say I did not warn you.”

  They soon had the kitchen and bedroom cleaned as they waited for Myra to awaken. It was nearly 10:00 before they heard her stirring. Bessie went to the parlor to greet her.

  “Good morning,” she said with a smile. “We have tea and biscuits for breakfast. Are you hungry?”

  Myra sat up and pushed her hair back from her face. In the daylight she didn’t look quite so much like Lenore, but the resemblance was still there. The same raven hair, sultry eyes, and pouting mouth.

  “That sounds lovely.” Her expression wooden and grave, she slipped out of bed and followed Bessie to the kitchen. She stopped short when she saw Eve and little Ruth. Venom and rage chased one another over her face. “Indians!” she spat. Her hands curved like claws, and she started toward Eve.

  Bessie sprang after her and only succeeded in stopping her with great difficulty. “Eve is my friend. She had nothing to do with your loss.”

  “All savages are the same,” Myra said, glaring at Eve. “If she didn’t do this one, she likely had a hand in others.”

  “No, you must calm down, Myra. Have some tea.” Bessie forced her into a chair and hurried to get the tea and biscuits.

  Myra pointed a shaking finger at Eve. “You wouldn’t be telling me to calm down if that were your husband and child she and those murderers had butchered.” She glared at Eve again, then slumped back in her chair.

  Bessie gave a sigh of relief when she saw the agitation seep out of Myra’s manner. She set the tea and biscuits on the table in front of her guest. “Is there someone we can telegraph for you? Family somewhere?”

  Myra didn’t look at Eve again. She picked up a biscuit. “I should let my brother know. He has a ranch near Tucson. And our parents, I suppose. They live in Boston.”

  “I’m from Boston!”

  Myra looked her fully in the face for the first time. “You are? We lived in Boston until a year ago when James decided to come out here. I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen.” She sighed and stared into her teacup.

  The similarities choked Bessie for a moment. Did tragedy await her somewhere down the road? She hadn’t wanted to come here, either. For a moment she felt as though a heavy weight lay on her chest. She wanted to run out of the house, find the nearest stage, and head for home. She took a deep breath and sat cautiously beside Myra.

  She must not let Myra realize how much her words had shaken her. They chatted about Boston for a few minutes, but she could sense the rage in Myra just below the surface. Bessie pitied her, but she did not really like her. The rage she sensed unsettled her.

  Ruth gave a mewling gurgle, and Myra’s head swiveled toward the sound. Her eyes narrowed, and she looked at Eve. “Your brat?”

  Bessie’s throat tightened. Their brief truce was obviously over. “She’s mine,” she said before Eve had to answer. “She’s a darling. I found her with her dead mother in the desert and adopted her.”

  “You should have left her to die,” Myra spat. “To lie out under the blazing sun just like my Danny.” She began to weep again and left the room with a last venomous look over her shoulder.

  Shaken, Bessie looked at Eve. “What
should we do?” she mouthed. She didn’t want Myra to hear her and launch into another tirade.

  Eve shrugged. “She will have to deal with this in her own way,” she said softly. “Do not fret over my feelings. I am used to it.” She turned and began to get out the ingredients for the stew they had decided to prepare for supper.

  The next morning she and Myra filed to the burial of Myra’s husband and son. She left Ruthie in Eve’s care. Myra’s eyes glared balefully from a face devoid of color. She didn’t cry, not even when the small wooden coffin containing the remains of her son was lowered into the scarred earth. Bessie wept for her, though. She could only imagine how much pain cried to be released from the other woman’s heart.

  The next few days were like living in an armed camp. Bessie felt she had to watch everything Myra did. She didn’t trust her around Eve or Ruth. Ruth cried every time she came near, as if she sensed her animosity.

  Bessie longed for Jasper to return. She needed his strength and wisdom to handle this situation. Meanwhile, Myra made no mention of leaving. Why couldn’t she go to her brother in Tucson? What held her here? For just a moment, she wondered if Myra wanted to see Jasper again, but she pushed the thought away. What was she thinking? The woman had just lost her husband and small son.

  After waiting in expectation for nearly a week, Bessie heard the commotion of the returning detachment. She hurried to the door. “Jasper is back,” she said excitedly.

  “Newlyweds, are you?” Myra said with a sly smile. “Don’t worry, Honey, that excitement will wear off soon enough. You’ll soon be looking forward to times away from him.”

  Bessie didn’t bother answering. She knew she would always long to be with Jasper. When she heard the back door close, she was glad Myra had the sense to leave so she could greet Jasper alone.

  The baby didn’t give a peep either in the half hour Bessie waited for Jasper. Finally, she heard his step on the front stoop and hurried to open the door.