“Why?”
“She tries to hurt herself,” he said in a low voice. “There have been times when she … when she tried to take her life.”
“Oh, Jack.”
“The chains aren’t to punish Lucy. They’re for my own peace of mind. I have to protect her from herself. Not too long ago, she got loose from Mama, climbed up onto the roof of the house, and tried to jump off. I barely got up there in time to stop her. We don’t have a choice in this, Caitrin. My sister may be chained, but at least she’s alive.”
Caitrin tried to absorb the terrible significance of what Jack had told her. “What kind of a life can she ever hope to lead?”
“Lucy has no hope … and she doesn’t want to live.”
“But God offers everyone hope for an abundant life. If only she knew her heavenly Father—”
“There’s no easy answer to this, Caitrin,” Jack cut in. “I told you before, nobody can fix Lucy.”
Caitrin shook her head. “I cannot believe that. Perhaps if you bathed her, she would start to feel a little better. At the very least you could brush her hair and dress her in a pretty skirt.”
“My sister won’t let anyone touch her. If you get too close, she screams. When I walk near Lucy, I keep my hands in my pockets so she’ll know I’m not going to lay a finger on her. She can’t stand anybody washing her or combing her hair. We can’t even get her out of that dress.” He eyed Caitrin. “That’s the way it is. But Lucy’s my sister, and I’m going to stand by her no matter what.”
“That’s a good thing … but the chains are not. People here will think badly of you for keeping her in shackles.”
“So, help them understand.”
Caitrin swallowed. That was a grand wish. She couldn’t even get her sister to be civil to the Cornish in their midst. Hope certainly had its share of different nationalities in the community—Rolf Rustemeyer, the German farmer; the Laskis from Poland; the LeBlancs from France; and the Rippetos from Italy. Thus far, the families had lived in harmony. She had a terrible feeling that was about to change.
“I shall try to make your family welcome,” Caitrin said. “I’ll do as the good Lord commands, but—”
“But how do you feel about it?” He touched her sleeve. “Caitrin, I told you I would come back, and I have. I’m not the man I was when I left Hope the first time. I’ve changed, and I want you to understand that.”
“What has happened, Jack?”
“One night last fall, after I left the O’Tooles’ barn … well, it was the lowest night of my life—and I’ve had some pretty bad times. Right out on the road, I got down on my knees, Caitrin, and I prayed so hard I thought I’d bust. It sure seemed like God was talking to me that night, forgiving me for my wrongs and welcoming me into a new life. I knew right then I had to come back here and get Seth to let me build the smithy. And I knew I needed to see you again. Every day I was gone, I thought about you. Thought about the words you said to me in the barn that first night. Did you think of me, Caitrin?”
Heat crept up the back of her neck. “I … I suppose I did, aye.”
“Did you miss me, Caitrin?”
“I hardly knew you well enough.”
“You knew me. Blazin’ Jack and Fiery Caitrin, remember? You understood me better than anyone ever has.” He searched her face. “And I understood you.”
“Aye.”
Though her heart had softened toward this man, she could not forget how the people in Hope would view him—as a hot-tempered avenger, a difficult and demanding presence, a man who would not be pushed around. Such a person would find it difficult to fit into a warm, loving community and become part of the team working to build the town of Hope. Though Jack professed a newfound commitment to the Lord, only time would allow him to live out his faith. And Caitrin could not be sure people would give him that time. She felt all too certain that the Cornwalls would not stay long, and her heart could not afford the pain of another loss.
“The people of this town will find it hard to accept you,” she told him. “Sure, you might as well realize that. Not only have you brought your own less-than-shining reputation, but you’ve brought other difficulties.”
“Lucy.”
“She’s very troubled.”
“My sister hasn’t always been this bad off, Caitrin. Things got a lot worse when she found out Papa was about to die.”
“Your father died? You didn’t tell me! When did it happen?”
“Not long ago. That’s why I couldn’t get back here sooner. Papa took sick, and he lingered through the winter. We buried him one day and set out for Kansas the next. I reckon I don’t need to tell you that Mama wanted to stay in Missouri. The only thing that calmed her was knowing she’d get to see Chipper again. Lucy loves the boy, too.”
“Oh, Chipper! But that makes things even worse! I doubt if Seth will want the Cornwalls spending time with his son. He’s very protective of the child. And now Rosie is … well … Seth will probably draw his family close around him. He loves them so much, and you caused such trouble before. Now things are going to be so … so difficult.”
“Tell me a time when things aren’t difficult.” Jack gave a humorless laugh. “You’re right in saying I brought more than my reputation along. I brought a group of decent people—the folks I care about most. Lucy has her problems, but I don’t know a family that’s perfect. Do you?”
Was he daring her to bring up the O’Tooles as the shining example of a family? Caitrin knew that must include her sharp-tongued sister. Aye, Sheena had her flaws. All of them did. No one in the close-knit Irish family could be called perfect, but at least they blended. Sheena had accused her sister of believing she could change everyone to fit an ideal image. But Caitrin obviously could do nothing to make Jack Cornwall blend into the peaceable community of Hope. Or the prickly Felicity. Or Lucy.
“No one is perfect,” Caitrin said, untying her apron. “As the Good Book says, ‘For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.’” With a sigh, she picked up her workbasket. “I won’t lie to you, Mr. Cornwall. I was hoping you’d come back to Hope. You brought a bit of a spark into my life, so you did. And when you turned up at Rosie’s wedding, you lit a little fire under the people here. You set them to thinking. You challenged them to move beyond their fears. You forced them to take a step toward forgiveness. But now that I see you again, I’m afraid.”
“I never intended to scare you, Caitrin.” His voice was low.
“Aye, but you have. Your Cornish mother and your troubled sister are naught but kindling to the fire you started last autumn. I’m afraid that fire will grow and spread until it changes into a roaring inferno that could destroy the town of Hope.”
“No!” Jack hammered his fist on the counter and set the glass to shivering. “The only inferno I intend to light is the one inside my forge. I came here to work and take care of my family. I came for a fresh start.”
“Only God gives fresh starts.”
“I know that!” He took a step closer to her. “Caitrin, my past has been one rung after another on the ladder that proves a single man can’t change the world. First, I thought I could bring Missouri a fresh start, so I fought in a bloody war that came to nothing. Next, I thought I could join up with a gang of vigilantes and keep the cause alive even when it was doomed. Not only did I fail to set Missouri free, but now one of my former friends is trying to track me down and haul me before the law. Then I got the notion to save Chipper. I lost that one, too. After that, I believed I could protect and help my sister. I stay right beside her every minute, but it’s all I can do to keep her alive.”
Jack lifted his hand to a tress that had tumbled from Caitrin’s bun, and he sifted the strands of auburn hair between his thumb and forefinger. “When you told me you loved me—and God loved me—it was the first time in my life I realized there was hope outside myself. After I left you and Rosie that night in the barn, I got to thinking about all I’d tried to do and how it had come to nothing.
I wondered if maybe I didn’t have to change the world myself. That was when I realized there was only one way to get a fresh start. Only one Person who could turn things around for me.”
“The Lord,” Caitrin whispered, amazed at his repeated avowals of conversion to a living faith in Christ.
“I figured you were the person who could best help me to understand the nature of Jesus. And when I saw how everybody in Hope stuck together and helped each other out, I realized they were living the way God says folks should. So I thought I’d better come back here and join in. And then maybe things would get better.”
“Oh, Jack, you mustn’t look to me if you want to know who God is.” Caitrin took both his hands in hers. “You mustn’t set your eyes on the people of—”
“Cornwall?” Seth Hunter stood silhouetted in the open door of the mercantile. Behind him, Jimmy O’Toole stared, shifting a rifle he carried over his shoulder. Rolf Rustemeyer, an axe in one hand, made the third in the party.
“Yeah, I’m back.” Jack moved away from Caitrin and took a step toward the men. “I reckon you remember agreeing I could build a smithy on your land.”
“I haven’t forgotten. I figured maybe you had.”
“Mr. Cornwall was nursing his ill father,” Caitrin said, joining Jack. “He recently passed away. The family has come to Hope for a new beginning. I’m sure we’ll be happy to have them here.”
The three men stared at Jack.
“My wife tells me you’re a Confederate,” Jimmy spoke up. “Kansas is an abolitionist state, so it is.”
“And the war is over,” Jack replied.
“You’d better not set your eyes on any of our women.”
“Jimmy!” Caitrin cried. “What a thing to say. We shall include Mr. Cornwall as one of us, just as Christ welcomed all men into his presence.”
“Sheena is say you haf crazy woman here bringen.” Now Rolf addressed Jack. “Vit chains. Maybe she is hurting children. Maybe killing.”
“Lucy is my sister,” Jack said. He squared his shoulders. “She will not hurt the children. She loves children. She … she trusts them.”
Jimmy gave a snort. “Perhaps, but she’s Cornish—as are her mother and brother. I lived my early life in Ireland, and I’ve run into your kind many a time. We’re growin’ into a good little village, so we are, with a church and even talk of a school. There’ll be no Cornish tricks goin’ on about the town of Hope, let me tell you that. Sure, the first time you cheat somebody or tell a lie or make any trouble—”
“Do you expect the man to be perfect, then, Jimmy O’Toole?” Caitrin asked. “The last time I read the Holy Scriptures, I saw there was only one man perfect in all history. And the likes of us managed to kill him on a cross. Nay, Mr. Cornwall won’t be perfect every minute, nor will you. All he’s asked for is a chance. Will you not give him that much?”
“If his crazy sister comes anywhere near my brablins—”
“If you so much as lay a finger on Chipper, Cornwall—”
“If you haf plan to hurt anybody here—”
“Oh, it’s the Welcoming Committee!” Rosie cried, dancing into the midst of the three men and slipping her arm around Seth’s elbow. “We used to have a Welcoming Committee in Kansas City. When I lived at the Christian Home for Orphans and Foundlings, I’d see the committee sometimes after I’d climbed up into the big oak tree to pray. Come to think of it, that old tree is where I met Seth, isn’t it, honey? And Mr. Cornwall, too, as a matter of fact. Anyway, sometimes when I was up in the tree, I’d see the Welcoming Committee marching down the street to visit the newest family in town. Five or six women in their Sunday best would take along baskets of fresh bread and candy treats for the children. All the businesses would donate gifts in order to introduce themselves to the newcomers. Well, now that’s a grand idea! Mr. Cornwall, would you take your family a little something … a little …” She looked around the store.
“Eggs,” Caitrin said, sweeping the basket off the counter. “Take these eggs to your mother as a welcoming gift.”
“Thank you, Miss Murphy.” Eyeing the men who stood gaping in the doorway, Jack accepted the basket.
“And you must present your sister with this brush and mirror,”
Caitrin added, laying the gifts on the eggs. “Tell the family they must come to tea tomorrow here at the mercantile. Isn’t that right, Welcoming Committee?”
Seth cleared his throat. Jimmy shifted from one foot to the other. Rolf stuck his hand in his pocket.
“My mother enjoys a good afternoon tea,” Jack said to Caitrin. “But I might ask Lucy to stay at the camp. Sometimes she’s a little uncomfortable around strangers.”
“That would be fine,” Caitrin said. “Wouldn’t it, Rosie?”
Rosie smiled. “Yes, that would be fine. Wouldn’t it, Seth?”
When he didn’t answer, she jabbed her elbow into his side.
“Uh, yeah, I reckon,” he said. “Welcome to Hope.”
CHAPTER 8
CAITRIN sat beside the stove in the half-empty soddy and tried to think about wallpaper. Stripes. Flowers. Ivy. She would need a bucket, thick white paste, a brush. Scissors, too. She would start papering beside the front door and …
“Oh, this is hopeless!” She slapped her hands on her knees and stood. “I’ll never make paper stick to these sod walls. Brown, ugly sod walls with grass roots growing right into my sitting room!”
Night had fallen, but the dim light cast by the oil lamp on the table revealed all but the darkest corners of Seth Hunter’s old soddy—Caitrin Murphy’s new home. Choking down tears, she stormed to the front door.
“Leather hinges,” she said. “Dear God, why have you given me leather hinges? And no windowpanes! Couldn’t I at least have glass windowpanes instead of this—this ridiculous half-rotted gauze?”
She hung her head. Was it wrong to shout at God? Was it wrong to moan and complain when she was blessed with her own warm home, loving relatives, and honest work to do each day? Shouldn’t she be singing praises on this moonlit night?
“Spiders!” she cried, stomping the small black insect that scurried in front of her foot. “I hate spiders! Dear Father, why have you given me spiders and blacksnakes and prairie dogs? I wanted heather, bracken, sandy shores, and fishing boats. I wanted Ireland. I wanted Sean O’Casey! And now I must live out my life as a spinster shopkeeper on this freezing, blistering, grasshopper-infested plain with hardly a stick of furniture but this broken chair!”
She picked up the rickety chair and shoved it under a table Seth Hunter had built long ago. The end of one table leg had been chewed to splinters by Stubby, the Hunters’ enormous mongrel dog. As the table wobbled back and forth, the lamplight flickered.
“Yes, I know they’re only worldly goods,” she said into the hollow room. “But, God, you created me, and you know the kind of woman I am. I adore lovely things! I dream of castles and ivy-covered walls. I want silk pillows and Persian carpets. At the very least, I should like a set of dishes that match!”
Picking up a chipped white plate with a central rose bouquet that had been half-scoured away, she searched for her reflection. She could make out nothing but the thousand scratches where knives had cut into meat or bread through the porcelain’s glaze. She turned the plate over, hoping to find the insignia of a pottery in some exotic city. Perhaps it had been painted and kiln-fired in Staffordshire, Paris, or Japan.
“Ohio.” She ran her finger over the raised, knobby letters on the back. Then she peered closer to discover that someone had misspelled the marking to read, Mad in Ohio.
“Oh, I just hate this!” Caitrin cried. “Shabby!”
She hurled the plate at the sod wall. The puff of dust, the burst of breaking porcelain, and the tinkle of falling shards were followed by a soft knock on the door. Oh no! Caitrin clapped her hands over her cheeks and realized they were damp.
“Caitrin?” It was Rosie’s voice.
“One moment.” Caitrin dabbed her eyes with the c
orner of her apron. She toed the bits of shattered plate into a pile and set a basket on top of them. Then she tucked a strand of hair back into her bun.
“Rose Hunter, what are you doing out and about after dark?”
Caitrin asked as she opened the door. “And in your condition! Do come inside at once. Does Seth know you’re here?”
“He and some of the other men are meeting over at the mercantile.” Hand in hand, Rosie and Chipper walked into the soddy.
Stubby followed, his great tail thumping into Rosie’s long, blue-gingham skirt.
“Looks different around here,” Chipper said, surveying the soddy. “You don’t gots very much furniture, do ya, Miss Murphy?”
“Not a great deal.” Caitrin chewed on her lower lip as she followed the boy’s gaze around her new home. Just as she feared, his eyes went straight to the basket perched atilt on the pile of plate shards. He and Stubby set off to investigate.
“It’s broken glass,” she warned.
“Oh no, it’s that beautiful plate I left here for you!” Rosie hurried to Chipper’s side and knelt beside the fragments. “This was my favorite of all the plates we had. Did you notice there were three roses in the center, Caitie? The one on the left was a bud, and the one on the right had just begun to unfold. But the rose in the middle—bright, glorious pink! Petals like velvet! Every time I washed this plate, I was sure I could smell that precious rose.”
Caitrin sank onto her chair and rested an elbow on the rickety table. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.
“It’s not your fault. Heaven knows I’ve let plates slip through my fingers before.” Rosie pulled a stool to the table. “One time back at the home in Kansas City I was washing a teacup. It was the only cup I had … and almost the only possession I had, other than my bonnet that blew away last year in a storm. I had discovered the teacup lying in the neighbors’ trash with just a little chip out of the rim. You know how people are so careless about what they throw away? There was no saucer, but oh, that cup was beautiful! It had been painted a pale, pale green with purple violets on the side. Anyway, wouldn’t you know? I had covered the cup with soap, and it slid right out of my hand—crash—into the basin. The handle broke off. There were just two little nubs sticking out, so you couldn’t hold it anymore without burning your fingers, but—”
Prairie Fire Page 11
