“Bring Papa home safe,” Judy added, tightening her arms around Angie. “Please help him to forgive Angie and me.”
Judy lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, relaxed. Sliding to her knees beside the bed, Angie continued praying for more than an hour.
At one forty-five, Hans brought the buggy back and stayed in the barn.
Lane came into the house at ten past two.
Angie left Judy sleeping and paced downstairs to meet him, her heart thudding dully as if it didn’t care if it kept beating or not. Standing in the kitchen, white about the lips, Lane’s blue eyes held an icy chill that froze her to the marrow.
“How dare you?” His voice shook with repressed emotion.
Staring at him, she couldn’t answer.
“Did you honestly think that you could force me to fall for someone you chose? Did you think I’d go along with such a plan just because you wanted me to?” He moved toward her. “Come on—tell me! Just what did you expect me to do?”
She moistened her lips. “I was hoping that once you met Saundra, you’d—”
“I’d be a good little boy and marry the woman.” He paced toward the stove and back to the door. “Just what do you think marriage is, anyway? You say you’ll marry Barry, and then suddenly you change your mind. You try to hook me up with a woman you’ve never even seen before.”
“Saundra’s very nice.” A bit of Angie’s spirit returned. “She did a lot for us. You can’t deny it.”
“That’s not the point, Angie.” He faced her, his expression like granite. “You schemed and lied and connived to fix something that didn’t need fixing. And you got my daughter involved in your treachery as well.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, that makes it all better!”
Her temper flared. “What more do you want me to do? I explained to Judy that I was wrong. I’m apologizing to you. What more can I do?”
He turned toward the door, yanked it open, and was gone.
Pressing a fist to her mouth, she watched him bolt to the barn. She stood, staring at the barn door as if it could give her the answers she so desperately needed.
Lane’s angry words rang through her brain again and again. She was a liar and a cheat. She was a bad influence on Judy. He couldn’t stand to be near her.
A lone tear trickled down her face. One thing was clear. She must leave. She couldn’t stay here any longer.
Chapter 21
Brushing away tears, Angie threw a few things into a small carpetbag, moving carefully so she wouldn’t awaken Judy. Her maiden aunt in Denver kept asking her to come for a visit. The elderly lady would gladly welcome her.
Emptying her bureau drawers to fill her trunk, Angie stuck a small leather wallet into her pocket. Twenty carefully hoarded dollars would get her out of an impossible situation and see her through a few weeks until she found work.
She glanced around the room and paused at the sweet face nestled on the pillow. What would Judy do when she woke up and found Angie gone?
Letting out a pain-filled gasp, Angie darted out the door, afraid she’d lose her nerve. She paused on the porch, considering her next move. She didn’t want to take Lane’s buggy, and Sheba’s saddle was locked in the tack room. Gripping the handle of her small bag, she set off down the lane at a brisk pace. If she hurried, she’d make it to town before dark.
Under a brilliant afternoon sun, the ground showed damp patches, and the rough road lay dotted with dark puddles. Trying vainly to keep her skirts clean, Angie tramped on, blocking out thoughts about her future, ignoring her cold, aching feet. She shifted the bag to her other hand and plodded on.
When she reached a crossing, she saw a buggy rumbling toward her from the west. Rounding the corner, it paused beside her.
“Need a ride, Angie?” whiskery old Mr. Hawkins asked, wheezing. His plump, white-haired wife sat beside him. “We’ve been visiting with the grandchildren, and we’re heading back to town.”
“Thank you. That’s where I’m going.” She handed up her bag and climbed aboard. The seat felt so good against her aching back.
“Something wrong with your horse?” Mrs. Hawkins asked with a kindly smile.
“No, ma’am.”
“Lane sick again?”
“No, ma’am.”
A heavy silence followed. Angie hated to be rude, but she couldn’t share her situation with the whole town. She kept her head turned as though watching the landscape, but all she could see were Lane’s cold blue eyes and a child’s sleeping face against a pillow.
A sudden icy wind shook the buggy. Angie pulled her shawl closer around her coat and shivered.
At Angie’s request Mr. Hawkins stopped in front of the train station. Mumbling a feeble thanks, Angie stepped down and hurried inside. Five minutes later she’d made arrangements for a wagon to collect her trunk and tucked a ticket into her pocket.
She hurried toward the hotel restaurant, anxious to get out of the cold. Her feet were numb. Her ears and nose burned.
Sliding into a seat at a corner table, she laid her case on the floor near her feet, clasped her hands in her lap, and closed her eyes. Her train left at midnight. How could she bear to leave? Her whole life was wrapped up in Lane and Judy. What a foolish girl she’d been last summer when she imagined she wanted to get away.
A moment later a dark-haired girl with brown-flecked teeth stopped beside her. “We have beef and beans with a pone of corn bread or Irish stew and biscuits.”
“Stew will be fine,” Angie said. “And some hot tea, please.”
The food tasted good, though not as good as Angie’s own cooking. She took her time, savoring each bite, dreading the long wait ahead in a cold depot. Finally she had no choice but to leave. She glanced at a grandfather clock beside the door: six-thirty.
Laying a quarter and a nickel on the table, she paced to the lobby and stiffened when she reached the doorway. Saundra sat on a sofa near the desk, her toe tapping against the thin carpet, her face incredibly sad. She spotted Angie, stared, and turned away.
For a long moment Angie stood in the doorway. She felt so sorry for Saundra. Her hopes had been dashed. Her future was as uncertain as Angie’s own.
Finally Angie stepped across the room and sat beside the German woman. “Saundra, I want to apologize again for what happened. I asked you to come here because I wanted someone to care for Judy. I did want you and Lane to be happy, too.” She felt the texture of her carpetbag through her thin gloves. “I wish you could believe me.”
“Why aren’t you at the ranch?” Saundra asked, her voice tight.
“I’m leaving on the midnight train. Lane was so angry with me that I can’t stay at the Flying P any longer.” Saying it brought fresh pain to her heart. She blinked away tears. Her voice cracked. “You brought laughter into the house again, Saundra. You woke Lane out of his terrible depression. I’m everlastingly grateful for that.”
Saundra turned to her and laid her gloved hand over Angie’s. Her voice softened. “That’s where you’re wrong, Angie. You did all those things.”
“Me?”
She nodded, her eyes wise and kind. “You were brave enough to want to make a change.” She smiled sadly. “I am not saying you were right in how you did it, mind you.”
Saundra drew her hand away, her expression lightening. “I’m taking a job as hostess and manager at this hotel starting the day after tomorrow.”
“You’ll be alone for Christmas?” Angie asked.
That familiar playful look sparkled for an instant in Saundra’s eyes. “Hans is coming to the hotel to take Christmas dinner with me. He said he has something important to talk to me about.” Gazing at Angie, she grew serious. “In a way this whole mix-up has done me good. I had built up an image in my mind that wasn’t real. The man I came out here to meet was a phantom, a paper figure. He wasn’t Lane Phillips. But if I hadn’t come, I would have missed Hans.”
“What about Barry?” Angie asked. “I thought you were inte
rested in him.”
Saundra shook her head slowly. “Barry is a nice boy. One of these days he’ll meet the girl of his dreams.” She leaned toward Angie to say confidentially, “You weren’t that girl, Angie, and neither was I. Barry has some growing up to do before he’s ready for real love.”
“So did I,” Angie murmured. “I’m so glad we didn’t marry each other. It would have been a disaster.” She touched Saundra’s arm. “I wish you all the best, Saundra,” she said warmly. “God bless you and keep you.” A few minutes later she said good night and headed toward the depot.
For five hours Angie paced from the window to the door in the tiny, deserted waiting room. Several times she sat down for a moment and then stood up again. Lane’s angry words wouldn’t let her rest. They rang through her head until she wanted to scream. How dare you! You schemed and lied and connived….
When the wagon with her trunk arrived, she hurried outside to see it ticketed. Drawing her arms close to her body, she rushed back to the feeble warmth of the depot. At a quarter to twelve, a whistle announced the arrival of her train. Soon she’d be far away from a million painful memories.
She pushed through the door and crossed the wooden platform, her carpetbag in hand.
“Angie!”
She wheeled and saw Lane running toward her. His hat blew off, but he didn’t stop to retrieve it. “Angie, wait! I have to talk to you!”
Her heart pounding, her mouth dry, she stopped near the train steps, both hands gripping the handle of her bag. Had he come to berate her again? She couldn’t bear any more abuse from him. Clenching her jaw, she waited for him to reach her.
He stopped before her, his face lined with fatigue and worry.
“I have to get on the train,” she said tightly. “If I miss this one, I’ll have to wait two days until the next.”
“Just give me a minute, Angie, please.” He gasped for breath, one hand on her arm above the elbow as though holding her from running away. “I came to apologize. Judy told me the whole story.” He paused to take a long breath. “I’m sorry I spoke so harshly to you. My pride was hurting something awful, and I took it out on you.”
She stole a glance at his anguished face and looked at the floor again, biting her lips. “I ruined everything: our family, our Christmas, everything.”
His voice urgent, he said, “God had a reason for it, Angie, despite the misguided way it happened. We both learned some hard lessons He’s been trying to teach us for a long time.”
Hope poked a tiny hole of light into the darkness that blanketed her spirit. Looking up into his anxious eyes, she felt tears well up in her own. This was worse than another scolding.
“Please don’t cry,” he said. “I didn’t come here to make you cry.”
She tucked her chin down.
He lifted it gently. “Don’t go away, Angie. Come home with me. Judy needs you. I would have come earlier, but she was hysterical, and I couldn’t leave her. She cried herself to sleep.”
She shook her head. “I can’t go back with you. Not even for Judy.” Her voice broke. “Too much has happened. I’m not the same girl I was before Saundra came.”
“Will you stay for me?” he asked, moving closer. “I’ve been so caught up in self-pity that I didn’t realize how important you are to me. I need to apologize for that, too. You’ve been so good to Judy and me, and I’ve made your life miserable.”
“That’s not true,” she said, shaking her head. “These have been the happiest years of my life. Only I’ve been too stupid to realize it. I ruined everything.” She tried to free her arm from his grasp, but he held on.
“Angie, please listen to me,” he said, desperation in his voice. “It’s time to let go of the past and look toward the future. Charlotte would want us to be happy. I know she would.” He moved closer to her, his voice softening. “You’re full of fun and laughter. You’re impatient and quickwitted and alive.”
With her head still bowed, tears coursed down Angie’s cheeks, silent and thick.
He touched her chin. “I love you, beautiful Angie. Won’t you please marry me and come home? I’ll never know another day of happiness if you get on that train. I can’t face tomorrow without you.” The train whistle blasted a final warning.
Stifling a sob, she nodded. He pulled her into his arms, and she melted against him, tasting her own salty tears on his lips, feeling the warmth of his love down to the core of her soul.
“Let’s wake the parson,” he said close to her ear as Engine 534 rumbled out of the station. “We’ll take him home with us, wake up Judy, and say our vows in front of the fireplace.” He held her to him. “Please, Angie. Say you will marry me tonight before I lose my mind.”
“Now who’s impatient?” she asked with a breathless laugh. She blinked away the last of her tears, still reeling under the wonder of it all.
He pulled back to look into her eyes. “Will you do it? Will you marry me tonight?”
“Yes, Lane,” she said. “With all my heart.”
He let out a loud laugh, a triumphant sound, and kissed her again. Arm in arm they strode to the buggy, faces shining. Pausing at the door, Lane chuckled. “I can’t wait to see Judy’s face when she sees you. Talk about a special Christmas! This year we all get an unexpected surprise.”
RIBBON OF GOLD
by Cathy Marie Hake
Dedication
To all of my dear Christian sisters who long for a godly husband, yet still fill their lives with joy and service as they wait for the Lord’s timing and will.
Special thanks to Rick Randall of the Boott Cotton Mill National Park. He graciously shared a wealth of information and helps keep this part of our nation’s history alive as he works in the weaving room there.
“I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture. The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.”
JOHN 10:9–10
Chapter 1
Eastead, Massachusetts—1846
A scream pierced the loud roar of the steam engines and clack and whoosh of the looms. Isabel Shaw whirled around as she yanked the ten-inch shears from the cloth sheath at her waist. Four hasty, desperate hacks freed Mary’s brown cotton skirt from the take-up gear on the machine.
Kathleen hurriedly snatched the ragged scrap before it stopped the loom or caused an unsightly flaw in the cotton cloth. “Whew!”
Isabel gave Mary a quick hug and half-shouted in her ear, “You did fine! You’re one of us now.” She glanced down at the ragged hole in Mary’s dress, then meaningfully at her bun. “Aren’t you glad you pinned up your hair?”
Mary nodded and accepted the bobbin Kathleen grabbed from a box by their feet and thrust into her hands.
“Keep up, honey. We’ll help you.” Every word they spoke had to be shouted to be heard. Isabel guided Mary’s shaking hands, steadying them as they popped the old bobbin out of the nearly empty shuttle and deftly thrust the new one in place.
Mary lifted the alderwood shuttle that was shaped like a bottomless canoe to her lips, then sucked the loose thread through the small hole near one of the copper-tipped ends. After she placed the shuttle firmly into the far right-hand side of the race, she gave Isabel a wobbly smile.
“You’re catching on quick!” Isabel carefully held in her own deep blue calico skirt as she turned back to her own machines. Closely packed as the looms were, she’d learned to mind her skirts when she moved in order to prevent being snared.
In unison, the trio resumed weaving the thirty-inch-wide shirting at Steadman Textiles. Machines continued to roar, and they put off a greasy odor that mixed oddly with the smell of the thread. Since untreated thread snagged and broke, they dressed the cotton thread with potato starch to make it stronger. The odor saturated the brick walls and wooden floor, and Isabel longed for a breath of snow-fresh air.
Beneath her skirt and
single flannel petticoat, she felt her stocking slip down. I can’t take the time. I’m already in trouble for helping Mary. Isabel considered herself lucky to have stockings at all. When she went to help the girls at Kindred Hearts Orphanage with their sewing after church the previous Sunday, its headmistress, Amy Ross, discreetly passed the paper-wrapped black stockings to her. Amy explained that a wealthy woman had generously left a few charity baskets. Isabel knew the extra-long stockings wouldn’t fit petite Amy or any of the older girls. Since she was tall and her last pair of stockings looked far beyond redemption, the sagging new stockings reminded her of how God provided for her needs. She just wished she had tied her garter tighter.
Nimble fingered, Isabel replaced her own bobbins and saw to setting the hooks attached to a leather strap weighted with a bell-shaped metal piece. The temple hooks kept the web of her fabric snug. Down the line she went, only to start again as soon as she finished her last. A bobbin lasted just five minutes. It took rhythm for her to keep up with the speed of the machines, and the mishap made it hard to catch up.
Eleven-year-olds lugged in baskets with more thread, and empty bobbins went into one bin to be dragged away by slightly younger girls. Isabel took care not to step on them when they crawled past to pull those heavy bins.
The warm, filling porridge from breakfast sat heavily in her stomach. Though known for being a pinchpenny, Ebenezer Steadman had considered feeding his workers well to be a sound business investment. He’d arranged for the boardinghouse tables to groan beneath the weight of good food for his workers. When she’d first come to work at the mill two years ago, Isabel enjoyed the same hearty breakfasts she’d eaten back home—eggs, bacon or sausage, freshly baked bread, and plenty of creamy milk. Since Mr. Steadman passed on—ostensibly to be with the Lord—the mill’s overseer had ordered severe changes in how things ran. Delicious meals and extras at the dining tables disappeared overnight. Pasty porridge, stews made with gristly meat, cheap corned beef, and day-old fish now dominated the menu. Though Isabel didn’t approve of gossip, she couldn’t help wondering if Mr. Jefford was tucking the saved money into the pocket of his expensive, new, double-breasted coat.
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