Prairie Storm

by Catherine Palmer

  She hurried into the shadowy depths of the small frame house and laid Samuel in the little crib Elijah had built for his son. Instantly the baby let out a wail that would deafen heaven. Lily set her hands on her hips and stared down at the screaming, frustrated bundle of tiny arms and legs.

  “Well, I’d like to cry, too,” she told him. “Go ahead and yell for both of us, Sammy. Are you hungry? I just fed you an hour ago, didn’t I? Are you wet? Is that it?”

  She felt the baby’s diaper. “You’re dry. You’re full. And there’s not a pin pinching you or a bug biting you. So what’s the matter?”

  By now Sam’s face was bright red. His little fists pumped the air, and his legs churned as though they were working milk into butter. At her wit’s end, Lily stared at the baby’s wide mouth, twisting head, and frantic squirms.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “What … is … wrong?”

  By now tears were streaming down her own cheeks. What was wrong with her? Everything. Beatrice had come back to Hope. Samuel was screaming. Rolf wanted to take her to the fish fry. And Elijah … oh, Elijah!

  “You just want somebody to hold you close,” she said, lifting the baby back into her arms and snuggling him against her neck. “That’s all you want, isn’t it, Sammy? Calm down, now. I’m here. I won’t leave you alone, sweet boy. I love you.”

  As the baby’s wails began to subside, Lily rocked him from side to side. “I love you, Samuel,” she whispered, feeling the tension slide from her own body. “I can’t protect you from every hurt. I can’t choose the path you’ll take. But I’m here, Sammy. I’m here, and I love you.”

  Closing her eyes, she swayed alone in the stillness of the little house. Even now, she could feel Elijah’s arms around her and his lips against hers. Oh, it had felt so good to kiss him. So right to be held in his warm embrace.

  But Elijah had made plain his feelings about her. She shouldn’t count on him. No matter what he might feel—what either of them might want—Elijah would not be more to Lily than her employer, her brother … her pastor.

  As a woman, she sensed the power his male attraction gave her. If she chose, she might be able to tempt him away from his calling. She could lure him into her arms and away from the very purpose of his life, from the work that made him the man he was.

  But she would hate herself for it. He would hate her, too, in the end. It would come to nothing but pain. More pain.

  No, she thought, brushing her cheek against the baby’s downy dark hair, she would not be alone with Elijah again. She would not tempt him. She would not even speak to him. By September she would have enough money to buy her ticket back to Philadelphia. And then she would leave Hope behind.

  If only she had someone to talk to. Someone with whom she could share the terrible ache in her heart. Someone she could trust.

  “I wish to goodness Mother Margaret was here!” Eva said, racing into the house and throwing her apron onto the table. “Oh, Miz Lily, there you are! It’s a terrible thing. Just awful! They’ve picked out a place right next to the road. The opera-house people, I mean. The lot is not on Mr. Seth’s land, so he doesn’t have the right to run them off. And they’ve got a deed for that land! It’s all legal, too. You should just see Ben. He’s about to have a conniption.”

  She threw open the oven door and took out two steaming pies. “Some folks are saying that one of ’em’s the same wagon you came in on,” Eva continued as she set the tins inside the screened pie safe and then began rearranging every plate on her shelves. “They want you to go down there and talk to them, Lily. Ben says you’ll convince those folks to leave. But Mr. Jack thinks maybe you’re the one who encouraged them to come back here. And Mr. Seth says he doesn’t care why they’re here, he’s not going to allow that kind of folk in his town. He’s thinking of holding an election come the Fourth of July fish fry, and setting up a town government, and a mayor, and all that. And Mr. Rolf says we need a sheriff before we need a mayor. Those folks are unloading their lumber already!”

  She restacked her plates and turned all her tins and canning jars label-side out. “Why, you know what an opera house is like,” she went on. “It’ll be painted some bright color and hung with red curtains. There’ll be a saloon in there; I just know it. Anyhow, Ben says they’re planning to serve liquor. Just think what kind of undesirables that will attract.”

  Lily walked across the room to the rocking chair and sat down to nurse the baby again. Maybe if Samuel took a little milk, he’d drift off to sleep. As she rocked, she watched Eva begin to scrub her rough-hewn wooden table.

  “Dancing girls,” Eva said. “They’ll have dancing girls. The men will flock down there—you can count on it. And they’ll be too tired to come to church of a Sunday after they’ve stayed up half the night watching the dancing girls. Oh, mercy, I miss Mother Margaret. Ben’s mama could put us all to peace about this.”

  She wrung out her rag and began to scrub again. “I hear they put on plays in those opera houses. You know what I mean? They act things out. How can that be right?”

  “Now, Eva,” Lily finally interjected, “some very great and moving dramas have been written. They touch people’s hearts.”

  Eva paused in her scrubbing. “I don’t know. I never saw a play. But I can’t imagine folks dressing up in costumes and pretending they’re something they’re not. That’s just plain strange, if you ask me. And singing! Ben says they sing the rowdiest songs you ever heard at those opera houses.”

  “Not all the songs are rowdy. Some of them are beautiful. They often present selections from the great operas of Europe.”

  “Well, they won’t let a black man into an opera house anyhow, so I don’t have to worry about my Ben. Thank the Lord for that.” Eva hung her rag over the side of the washtub. After straightening her colorful scarf, she sank down onto a stool and pressed her hands together. “You’re not going back to them folks, are you, Miz Lily? You wouldn’t join up with those actors and dancing girls, would you? Not after all this time with us. And knowing how much Samuel needs you. And seeing how the preacher feels about you.”

  Lily looked up from the dozing baby. “How does the preacher feel about me, Eva?”

  “Why, he loves you,” Eva said with surprise. “Can’t you see that? He loves you, Miz Lily. Sure enough.”

  Chapter 11

  BY the power vested in me by God and the state of Kansas,” Elijah said, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

  He took Caitrin Murphy’s slender hand and placed it on the large callused palm of Jack Cornwall. The young couple, beset by delays ranging from Samuel’s illness to a huge order for nails from the nearby military fort, had postponed their wedding date two weeks. Finally, on this sun-warmed Saturday afternoon, they were pulling it off.

  The bride wore a white gown trimmed in tiny beads, her flame red hair caught up in a small hat adorned with plumes and a wispy veil. The groom stood tall and handsome in his new black suit and fine store-bought top hat. Roses and prairie wildflowers festooned the church. Ribbons decorated every pew. In all, the Murphy-Cornwall wedding was the most lavish event Eli had ever witnessed.

  “May I kiss the bride, Brother Elijah?” Jack Cornwall asked, drawing the preacher from his reverie. “Or are we supposed to stand here all day?”

  “Kiss her?” Elijah said. “Sure, go ahead.”

  No one had told him about kissing being part of a wedding ceremony. He’d memorized his part from start to finish, but there wasn’t a word in the instruction manual about smooching. As the bridegroom drew his wife into his arms, a collective sigh of delight rose throughout the church.

  Eli glanced to the back pews near the door. Lily hadn’t come. Everyone in town had been invited to the wedding, but she had chosen not to make an appearance. Disappointment darkened his spirits. The reception would be starting in a few minutes, and he had looked forward to sitting near Lily. Maybe he would ask her to dance. Seth Hunter had evidently kept quiet about seeing their stolen kiss. Speaking
of kisses …

  “Whoa, you two,” Eli said, tapping Jack Cornwall on the shoulder. “The guests are all eager to have a slice of wedding cake. Or are we supposed to stand here all day?”

  As the crowd chuckled, Jack and Caitrin parted. Her cheeks rosy, the bride gave a musical laugh. Linking her arm through her husband’s, she set off beside him down the aisle. The other celebrants clapped as the pair led the way out of the church.

  When the building was finally empty, Eli let out a deep breath and slumped onto the chair near the pulpit. He bent over, covering his face with his hands, and prayed for the storm inside his heart to calm.

  That opera house was going up faster than a dandelion after a spring rain. In just twenty-four hours, the framework for a large, two-story building had already been erected. Had Lily visited the site or spoken with Beatrice? Was she planning to take a job there? He gritted his teeth.

  Why had he kissed her yesterday afternoon? He’d tried so hard to keep himself away from the woman. And now that he had finally run her off, he could hardly bear the distance that stretched between them.

  Every morning, Lily sent Eva to fetch Samuel, and Ben returned the baby each night. During the day, Lily stayed busy helping Eva weed the garden, wash and iron laundry, bake bread, and mend shirts and socks. The two women worked side by side, as though they were sisters. And never once did Lily glance in the direction of the church.

  Eli was sure he looked her way at least five hundred times a day. Not only was he curious about her relationship with Beatrice and concerned about the welfare of little Sam, but he couldn’t make himself stop thinking about Lily herself. Why had she come into his life? Would it really be so wrong for him to court a nonbeliever? M Maybe they could just see each other on Sunday afternoons. Eli could borrow a wagon and take Lily for a drive down the main road. Would there be any harm in that?

  Eli rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t slept much lately. Confusion and turmoil rolled around inside him like thunder.

  Of course he couldn’t court Lily. If he took her for a drive, he’d want to kiss her again. And if he kissed her, he’d want to tell her how he really felt about her. And if he told her how he felt, he’d want …

  Well, he’d want to spend the rest of his life with her. That’s what he’d want.

  He slammed his palms against his thighs and stood. God, I need your help! He picked up his Bible. I need it right now. I don’t know what I’m going to do about Lily. I can’t change her. I can’t unlock her heart. But I care about her. I care about her too much. Lord, you allowed her to come into my life. Please help me now.

  As he cried out his earnest prayer, Eli strode down the aisle to the double-hung front doors. The turmoil inside him felt as though it were raging—a huge twister building up speed, gathering power, and threatening to destroy everything in its path. If he hadn’t given his life to Christ, there was no telling what he would do with all this pent-up frustration inside his heart.

  Elijah, do you love me? a familiar voice inside him whispered. The preacher stopped, listening.

  Feed my lambs.

  Eli took a deep breath. The sheep. That was it. He would head over to the reception taking place inside the mercantile, and he’d visit with every member of the church. He’d ask about the health of the Rippetos’ youngest, Mrs. Hudson’s grandchildren, Mr. LeBlanc’s new millstone, and Mrs. Laski’s ill sister in Poland. He would inquire after Mrs. Hunter and Mrs. O’Toole and their expected babies, Mr. Rustemeyer’s ailing cow, and Miss Lucy Cornwall’s latest batch of cinnamon buns.

  Elijah, do you love me?

  Tend my sheep.

  He wouldn’t look at the Hanks house. He wouldn’t think about Lily. He wouldn’t even—

  At the sight of a slender figure just down the street, Eli stopped walking. There she was. Her blue skirt fluttered as she hurried along, clutching her white shawl close around her shoulders. Though she wore a cotton bonnet with wide ruching that hid her face, he knew it was Lily. And she was headed for the opera house.

  Elijah, do you love me?

  Eli clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes shut. “Lord,” he murmured, “you know I love you. I’ve given my heart to you. I’ve turned over my whole life. Of course I love you.”

  Then feed my sheep.

  “What do you mean by that, Lord?” he breathed, bowing his head. “Your sheep are over in the mercantile.”

  The words of Luke’s Gospel came over him like a drenching rain: “What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?”

  Eli shook his head. He couldn’t go after Lily. He couldn’t be her shepherd. He could probably preach to the lost in China. He might even be able to pastor the Lord’s flock in Hope. But not Lily. He didn’t know how to reach her. Worse than that, he didn’t know how to hold back his feelings for her. He didn’t know how to be her pastor when he really wanted to be her—

  He wanted to be her husband. That was it. That was all there was to it.

  Lord, I love Lily Nolan, he prayed. I love her like a woman, not just another one of the flock. I can’t think of her any other way. I know you don’t want that. I know you would never want me yoked with an unbeliever, and I’d do anything to keep from disobeying you, Father.

  Eli swallowed hard.

  Tend my lamb, Elijah.

  The voice was unmistakable. When God spoke to him, the words reflected those of Holy Scripture. Elijah started walking. He trudged past the mercantile, deaf to the laughter and the sounds of fiddles and dancing feet inside. He forced his boots down the rutted main street of Hope, Kansas. And he looked across the prairie toward the frame of a new two-story building.

  The opera house.

  Lily paused in the shade of a large cottonwood tree near the Hope bridge. She had waited for this moment when the whole town was busy celebrating Caitrin Murphy’s wedding to Jack Cornwall. No one would notice a lone woman headed down to the construction site of the new opera house. Lily could slip over to the building, perhaps speak with Beatrice for a few minutes, and then return to the Hankses’ home before Sam awoke from his afternoon nap.

  There wasn’t a thing wrong with her plan. So why did she feel sick inside? Why was her heart as heavy as a piece of Ben Hanks’s unforged iron?

  Lily laid her hand on the gnarled trunk of the old tree and studied the framework of the large building. How had it gone up so fast? Determination, that’s how. Men swarmed over the frame of the opera house, raising walls and laying floorboards. Within a week or two, the structure would be finished and painted, the roof shingled, and the furniture moved in.

  Beatrice’s dream would come true. And Lily could join her. All it would take was a step out of the sleepy security of Hope and into the raucous, lively, on-the-edge life of an entertainer. Lily would have the chance to get rich. She would meet travelers with interesting tales to tell. Maybe she would find a husband. And, of course, she could sing.

  Lowering her head, Lily considered the lure of the opera house. She had been rich once in her life, but her fine dresses and expensive education had brought her no happiness. She had adventured with the exciting characters the road brought her way, but she had found no joy. She had been married, but it had given her no lasting pleasure.

  Singing. How she loved to sing. With Beatrice at her side, Lily could again sing the great arias. She could stir people’s hearts and bring a thrill to their weary lives. If she returned to Philadelphia, she would never sing again.

  Stepping out, Lily walked across the cleared ground and up to the site of the opera house. This could be her new home. This could be her realm.

  “Out of my way, lady,” a man called as he shouldered a load of planks past her. “I’ve got to get this wall up before the sun goes down. Don’t want to miss the party, you know. The whisky flows!”

  Lily pursed her lips and scanned the construction site. Not far away, George Gibbons from the C
rescent Moon Hotel stood deep in conversation with a group of workers. His thin black mustache took on a life of its own as he spoke. At the sight, a light bubble of laughter rose up inside Lily. This could be fun. Parties in the evenings. Lots of men to dance with. She didn’t have to feel lonely. She wouldn’t even think about Elijah Book across the way in his white clapboard church. She would be the belle of the ball.

  “Excuse me,” she said as another man hurried by with a load of bricks. “Do you know where I could find Beatrice Waldowski?”

  “Who?”

  “Madame Zahara?”

  “The only madam around here is Mrs. B. You one of her girls?” He gave Lily the once-over and grinned. “I might have to be first in line.”

  A chill ran down Lily’s spine. “Excuse me, please,” she said, brushing past him.

  It couldn’t be true. Surely this building was not going to become a brothel. Beatrice had said it was to be an opera house. There would be plays and ventriloquists, juggling and dog acts, raucous music and lighthearted operas.

  Breathless, she strode around the building site until she found Beatrice. The older woman was looking up at the half-constructed second floor, her bright red dress sparkling in the late-afternoon sunlight. She had piled her long black hair high on her head and topped her bun with a crimson silk rose.

  “Beatrice,” Lily called across the empty space. “I heard you had returned to Hope.”

  The woman turned, her painted eyebrows arching in momentary surprise. “Lily?” Then she held out her arms in welcome. “You’ve finally come.”

  Stepping into the embrace of her friend, Lily was enveloped in the scent of Bea’s exotic, spicy perfume. Lily had expected to feel as though she were coming home to the comfortable and familiar, but something about the moment of intimacy repulsed her. Moving back, she slipped her hands into her pockets.