Simon cleared his throat. “You know that I still intend to marry Genevieve. If she’ll have me.”
Elliot shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Yes. I expected you would.” He looked at Simon. “It will cause you difficulties.”
“Not with anyone I care about.”
“What about your children?”
“They adore Gen.”
“That’s not what I meant. Will they be—hampered in some way—looked down upon? I’m sorry, Simon. I’m trying to be realistic. White children with an Indian mother. People will wonder.”
“The children will rise above it,” Simon said firmly. “They know skin color doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it doesn’t matter in a person’s worth,” Elliot said. “But it certainly will matter in the way they are treated by people in New York. Is it fair to ask the children to endure that? To knowingly put an obstacle in their future?”
Simon didn’t speak for a moment. When he did, his voice was calm. “I have considered all of this already, Elliot. I’ll agree that perhaps it changes the situation a little that the children will be in the East where people might not be exposed to such marriages as much, but—I love her, Elliot. With no disrespect and with every sacred memory of your sister intact, I can tell you that I love this woman and I think she and I can have a good life together. And I truly believe the children will be better off with her as their mother.”
Elliot pursed his lips together. He sat with his head bowed for a long while. When he looked up, he said quietly, “Then I will stand by you, Simon. You and Genevieve.”
“Thanks be to God,” Simon said immediately. Then he asked, “Tell me what you meant earlier—about wanting children but knowing you won’t marry.”
He gestured with the hook. “Women positively recoil from this.”
“Has Miss Jane ever done that?”
He shook his head. “But then I’ve never approached her as a man interested in her as a woman.”
“Why not?”
“Because I know better.”
“Risk, Elliot. You have to take the risk.”
“Taking risks got my hand blown off at Antietam.”
“Which is worse, Elliot? Taking the risk and suffering loss, or shrinking back and living with the knowledge that you’re a coward?”
Thinking of Brady Jensen, Elliot was quiet for a moment. “I was in the hospital for weeks, Simon. I nearly died. I can’t begin to tell you what it was like.” He shuddered.
“But you came through. You survived. You should hear the Dakota men talk about you. They watched you struggle to learn how to handle that rifle on the hunting expedition. They were proud when you finally bagged that antelope. You are what we call a ‘man’s man,’ Elliot Leighton.” Simon nodded. “And again I say, you misjudge Miss Jane Williams if you think she sees nothing but a metal hook when she looks at you.”
“I would give anything to know that’s true,” Leighton said.
“You will have to give everything, Elliot—because you are going to have to overcome your pride and bare your soul to find out what Miss Jane Williams is really made of.”
Elliot smiled wistfully. “Isn’t it amazing that a man who has lined up and gone into battle quakes in his boots at the thought of rejection from a mere woman?”
Simon laughed. “There’s nothing ‘mere’ about Miss Jane, my brother. And I expect someday you’ll look back and know that the risk was worth the result.”
That had been a few days ago, Elliot thought as he sat alone in their tiny shack, worrying about Simon, worrying about Meg and Aaron’s future, and thoroughly terrified at the prospect of trying to court Miss Jane Williams. She would be polite, Elliot thought. She would hide her revulsion. But under no circumstances would she be interested in a freak. Elliot sighed and got up. He stepped outside and looked up at the moon. In the west, a bank of clouds was moving in. It had been a dry year. Elliot worried that just when he might have to convince Simon to return east for his health, it looked like it might snow. And he had heard about the storms that blew across this awful place.
Don’t let it happen, God, Elliot prayed. Not if we are going to need a doctor.
Eighteen
[Love] … seeketh not her own.”
—1 Corinthians 13:5
December 18, 1864
St. Louis, Missouri
Dear Miss Williams,
I have just returned from an extended trip abroad. How it is that of all my acquaintances in St. Louis, no one would have informed me of your notices in the newspaper, I cannot say. However, it appears that you may have my niece and nephew, Rebecca and Timothy Sutton, in your care.
Perhaps some family history is appropriate. My sister Felicia and I were twins. I regret to say that we caused our departed parents a great deal of stress for many reasons, not the least of which was their complete inability to understand the rather intense religious conversion Felicia and I experienced in our early twenties. Further difficulties arose when neither of us fulfilled our parents’ plans for our lives. They never forgave Felicia for marrying Philip Sutton against their wishes. When Felicia and Philip moved to the frontier, the estrangement worsened.
When I met and married my Richard, it was the final blow to our parents. They never accepted our marriages to men who would not be bullied into submission—men who shared Felicia’s and my commitment to personal Christianity. When both Richard and Philip staunchly maintained their own ideas of leadership and independence, when it became clear that we would not be living the life of ease our parents had provided, we were virtually disowned.
Once my husband, Richard, and I went abroad, Felicia and I were able to exchange a few letters. I even have a photograph or two of Rebecca and Timothy.
Felicia’s letters stopped abruptly at the end of 1862. My mother and father did inform me of Felicia’s and Philip’s deaths, which were a great shock to my parents, who were in ill health. I think they were terribly grieved by their obstinate behavior. In a letter to me after Felicia’s death, my mother sounded truly brokenhearted. While we were able to mend our relationship, both my parents succumbed to old age and illness within a few weeks of one another at the beginning of last year. I was indisposed at the time of their death and unable to make the long journey home to see to their affairs.
My husband and I have at last returned to St. Louis. Upon going through my parents’ papers (their house was closed up and has awaited my return for the finalization of business and estate matters), Richard and I became aware that the fate of Felicia’s children was not exactly known. We are unhappily childless, Miss Williams, and the prospect of finding Felicia’s children has ignited a flame of hope in our hearts that words are insufficient to relay. To think that our prayers for children may soon be answered is almost more than we can believe.
I enclose a photograph of myself and Richard. While my very human desire is to rush to St. Anthony and throw myself at Rebecca and Timothy, Richard has convinced me that we should pray and wait upon your wisdom as to how best to introduce them to the idea of a new family. Timothy is too young to remember me, but Rebecca might have a glimmer of recognition if you mention the lady who used to send the oranges. (I managed to have a crate or two delivered to the frontier.)
I am certain the children have become attached to you, and I am most concerned that after all they have endured, they be spared any more pain if at all possible. Not being familiar with your situation, I hesitate to request this, but I wonder if you would be able to consider traveling with them to St. Louis? We would be happy to provide your passage and a salary as their nurse until the children have made the adjustment to their new home.
No amount of money could possibly repay you for what you have done, Miss Williams, but we hope that the enclosed will in some measure assure you of our heartfelt gratitude and our goodwill. We also offer a letter from our dear Pastor Irvine as a sort of “recommendation” regarding our character and suitability as parents. We eagerly await your response
.
Most Sincerely,
Fanny & Richard Laclede
Miss Jane Williams waited, her hands clenched, while Gen and Nina Whitney sat at the kitchen table leaning over the letter.
Gen held up a check. “It’s for a thousand dollars,” she said in disbelief.
“I know,” Miss Jane said. “Go ahead and read what Pastor Irvine says about them.”
After reading the letter, Nina said softly, “They sound too good to be true.”
“Yes,” Miss Jane said. She sat down abruptly. “It’s wonderful, don’t you think?” She looked from Gen to Nina before hiding her face in her hands and bursting into tears.
Gen put her arm around Miss Jane.
Miss Jane accepted Nina’s offered handkerchief and cried for a few moments before wiping her eyes and saying, “I—I’ve been praying for guidance. I’ve felt so at loose ends. I’ve felt almost trapped, and then guilty for feeling that way when Rebecca and Timothy need me. I’ve spent more nights than I care to admit pacing around my room, wishing I could return to the mission work, trying to be content if I don’t. And now, the Lord seems to be making the very thing I want possible and I dissolve in a puddle. Honestly!”
Nina spread the letter on the table and reread a few passages. “They sound like sincere Christians. And they are obviously well off.” She looked up. “What are you going to do?”
“Tell Rebecca and Timothy, of course.” Miss Jane took a deep breath. “It will help immensely if Rebecca has some memory of the oranges. It would at least be a connecting point.”
She pushed herself away from the table. Standing up, she balled Nina’s handkerchief into the palm of one hand. “I don’t see any reason to put this off.” And she headed up the back stairs to Rebecca’s room.
Rebecca Sutton had more than a vague memory of a woman sending oranges to her parents’ farm. “Mama talked about Aunt Fanny all the time,” Rebecca said. “She has dark, dark hair and eyes, just like Mama did. She married Richard and they went away to France. And they were very happy. We had their picture in an album that Mama kept in the bedroom.” She frowned. “But the Indians tore it all up when they killed Mama and Papa.” Her expression changed and she murmured, “I guess it burned up in the fire.” She looked at Miss Jane. “They burned lots of our things after they took Timothy and me. They made us watch.” Something glimmered in her eyes, and almost as if a switch had been turned, she changed the subject. “Mama said Aunt Fanny was the first one to learn to read, and the first one to say she loved Jesus. And she taught Mama to sing the doxology. They used to put on plays in the attic together …”
“Well,” Miss Jane said quietly, “I’m glad to see you remember so much, because your Aunt Fanny wants you and Timothy to come live with her in St. Louis.”
The two children looked at one another. After a moment of silence, Timothy frowned and said, “Don’t you want us Auntie Jane?”
Miss Jane suppressed a sob. She hugged Timothy. “Oh, you dear boy. Of course I want you. But I’m just a poor spinster. Your aunt and uncle have been very sad for a long time because God hasn’t given them any babies.”
“God hasn’t given you any babies, either,” Timothy said abruptly. “If we go away, you’ll be all alone.”
Rebecca gave her brother a little shove. “You have to be married to get babies, Timothy. And anyway, when Miss Jane goes back to the mission she’ll have lots of Dakota children to love.” Rebecca looked up at Jane. “Isn’t that right, Aunt Jane?”
Jane nodded. “I’ve been asking God to show me what I should do. Not just about you dear children, but about many, many things. And I think if He gives you a wonderful new home in St. Louis, perhaps that means I am supposed to return to the reservation and teach again.”
“What if we don’t like St. Louis?” Rebecca asked abruptly.
“I think you will like it very much,” Miss Jane said quickly. “I’ll be coming with you to make certain.”
“You’re coming too?” Timothy asked.
Miss Jane nodded. “Just to help you get settled.”
Rebecca and Timothy sat side by side on the edge of Timothy’s bed, thinking. Finally, Rebecca looked up. “I’d like to meet Aunt Fanny,” she said with confidence. “Mama always said I’d like her a lot. She didn’t say too much about Uncle Richard. But we’ll try him, too.” She hesitated before adding, “I’ve been worried you would go back to the Indians and take us there.” Her voice lowered a moment as she said, “Please don’t be mad at me, Aunt Jane, but—I don’t want to go back to the Indians.” She shivered. “I’d be scared all the time.”
Miss Jane knelt down and put her arms around both children. “Thank you for telling me that, Rebecca. I’m sorry you’ve been worried.” She cupped Rebecca’s chin in her palm and touched her nose. “I’ll go right to the telegraph office and let your aunt and uncle know that we want them to come as soon as possible.”
The children bounded off the bed and out into the hall. Rebecca hurried downstairs to tell Meg and Aaron the news. Timothy followed, obviously deep in thought. At the top of the stairs, he turned around. His dark eyes flashed as he said, “If I don’t like St. Louis, I’ll come find you. They won’t stop me. I won’t be afraid of the Indians, and I won’t let them stop me!”
“If you don’t like your new home, Timothy,” Miss Jane said solemnly, “I will personally come and get you.”
“Promise?”
Miss Jane nodded. “Absolutely.”
With that, Timothy followed his sister downstairs. Miss Jane donned her wrap and hat. By the time she reached the telegraph office, she had almost stopped crying. She told herself on the way back to the Whitneys’ that the tears were tears of joy. Over the next few days, she said it often enough that she began to believe it.
Nineteen
Delight thyself also in the LORD; and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart.
—Psalm 37:4
Winter, which had lulled the residents of St. Anthony into thinking it might be mild, arrived with a vengeance. Thermometers dropped to forty below zero and then froze solid. Business on Main Street slowed to a trickle. Even Christmas failed to bring the locals out in force. At the Whitneys’, the holiday was celebrated quietly with little emphasis on the few homemade gifts exchanged, but great emphasis on cookie baking and games, the love of God’s family for one another, and the love of God for them all.
Aaron complained of having to thrust his legs into what he called “hollow icicles” each morning, but after hearing Samuel Whitney’s Christmas sermon on the manger in a stable, he began to get up early and start a fire in the kitchen stove while the household slept.
The rest of the children got in the habit of leaping out of bed each morning and racing down to the kitchen half-dressed, where they huddled around the stove pulling on stockings and thawing out shoes while Aaron heated water for hot cocoa and tea. He learned to make coffee and began leaving a steaming cup outside Gen’s door early every morning.
When the cold did not abate, Samuel Whitney hitched up a rickety sleigh and began to haul neighborhood children to school a half mile away. The corporate transportation had the effect of familiarizing the town’s permanent residents with “those missionary kids.”
As she had at the Dakota Mission, Miss Jane took to keeping her pockets stuffed with nuts and other small treats for the children. She met the sleigh each day and quizzed the children as they descended. Every correct answer to her scholarly challenges won a treat. By the beginning of February, “those Injun-lovers that bought Avery Criswell’s rundown place” had become simply, “the neighbors”—and good ones at that.
Once the river had iced over and steamship travel halted, St. Anthony no longer received its weekly mail delivery. The Lacledes sent a telegram:
Rejoicing at news. Love to children. Arriving on first steamship in spring.
Fanny & Richard Laclede
Miss Jane replied:
Train available St. Paul to St. Anthony. Eight
departures daily. Less than an hour from station. Children excited. Rebecca remembers Aunt Fanny.
Miss Jane Williams
A flurry of telegrams ensued.
Will you come to St. Louis? Will make room adjoining children’s suite ready.
The Lacledes
Yes to St. Louis. No special treatment necessary. Happy to be of help. Funds used to give children special Christmas. Most retained in their name at bank.
Miss Jane Williams
Funds meant for you as well. Please telegraph for more when needed.
Fanny & Richard
Will discuss’ monetary issues after you arrive. Children well.
Jane
On Valentine’s Day, Rebecca and Timothy sent their own telegram.
Your favorite color, please. And does Uncle Richard smoke?
The reply came:
Favorite color red. No smoking.
Rebecca and Timothy made gifts for their aunt and uncle. Miss Jane began to make plans for her return to mission work. Aaron and Meg earned certificates for outstanding scholarship. Hope chased up and down the stairs and halls and learned to turn somersaults. Samuel and Nina Whitney selected a board of directors for their boarding school and made plans to open for their first session the following fall.
And Gen worried. That Elliot Leighton, who sneered when he said the word Indian, would be a hindrance rather than a help. That Simon would overdo. That supplies would run out and snows would hem them in and leave them vulnerable to illness and starvation.
When the thermometer stayed below zero and snows deepened, the boarders at the Whitneys’ were housebound for days at a time. Gen grew restless. Whenever she thought about spring something tightened in her midsection. Samuel and Nina had plans for their boarding school. Miss Jane had plans to go to St. Louis. Only she did not have a clear vision of what the future held.
Edge of the Wilderness Page 16
