[Desert Roses 02] - Across the Years

by Tracie Peterson

  She began to walk back in the direction they’d come, and E. J. had no choice but to accompany her. “So you haven’t seen your mother in all this time?” he questioned, hoping she’d not worry about the intimacy of the topic.

  “No. I’ve not seen her or had any form of communication. She wanted it that way and I wanted it that way even more. I figured someone that meanspirited and hateful did not deserve to be a part of my life or that of my child. Now Grandpa wants to see her before he dies, and I find my life turned upside down.”

  “Will she come here now?”

  “I have no idea. I know Grandpa is praying she will, and he seems to have God’s ear.”

  E. J. laughed. “He does, does he?”

  Ashley smiled, as if realizing how silly she sounded. “Well, let me put it this way. When Grandpa gets to praying about a matter, things start happening.”

  “And your grandpa is praying for this reconciliation?” E. J. questioned.

  Ashley nodded. “That among other things.”

  “That’s not enough, eh? What else could possibly be as important to him now that he’s ready to meet his maker?”

  Ashley tucked her handkerchief away. “Grandpa and Natalie want me to remarry.” She laughed nervously and shrugged it off. “It’s silly, I know. But when those two put their minds to something, well, it’s best to get off the track and let the train come on through.”

  E. J. felt a tightening in his chest. He followed after her, struggling to figure out how to reply. What could he say? He could hardly tell her that she couldn’t remarry because she was already married—to him.

  “What do you want?” he asked instead. They’d come back to where the new Harvey resort was being built. He stopped and asked again. “What do you want?”

  Ashley looked so forlorn and sad. “What I want doesn’t matter. I have to think of what Natalie needs.”

  “And what does she need?” E. J. asked, struggling to know how to deal with the emotions she was evoking.

  “She needs a daddy. Someone who can teach her things and keep me from being too lonely,” Ashley whispered. Then, drawing a deep breath, she smiled. “At least, that’s what Natalie says.”

  “But what do you say?”

  Ashley considered his question for a moment, then came back at him with a question of her own. “Mr. Carson, are you a God-fearing man—are you a Christian?”

  He cleared his throat and looked to the ground. “I . . . well . . . yes.”

  “Why do you hesitate with your answer?”

  E. J. looked up and met her curious but beautiful expression. Her dark eyes seemed to study him intently. “I suppose that’s a long story on my part. I came to God during the Great War.”

  “Why?”

  He chuckled. “Because I was terrified. Death was all around me and I was all alone.”

  “Is fear an acceptable reason to take Christ as your eternal savior?”

  “Well, I see it as being one way to come to God,” E. J. replied. He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and immediately fisted his hands against his legs.

  “Grandpa wants me to come to God,” Ashley offered in a surprisingly strong manner. She straightened her shoulders as if she’d suddenly regained her second wind. “But I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I just don’t know that fear is a good enough reason to accept something so serious. You see, it’s not that I don’t believe in God. I believe in Him quite well, thank you. But I have to question whether He cares about me and what difference it would make whether or not I come to Him. He’ll do to me and with me what He wants anyway. It won’t much matter that I plead with Him for help.”

  “I’ve felt that way too,” E. J. admitted. “In the war, things seemed so . . .” He shook away the brutal images. “God seemed so distant, yet at the same time He seemed so close. I wanted to believe that He cared about me there in the trenches. I wanted to believe that He would be with me as we advanced on the enemy.”

  “And what happened?”

  E. J. shuddered. “He allowed the enemy to blow me up.”

  Ashley’s expression went blank and her face paled. “You were . . . were wounded?”

  E. J. realized he’d said too much. “Yes, but my point is, I felt betrayed by God. I’d come to Him, pleaded with Him for protection, and then I was suddenly fighting to live. I watched friends die and saw others who wished they had.”

  “It’s just one more thing that makes me question whether God really cares,” Ashley interjected, staring past his shoulder. “And why should I put my trust in Him if He doesn’t really care? If He’s just out there—somewhere—watching and allowing life to go on as it does, why does it even matter to Him if I repent of my sins?”

  “Or maybe it matters, but your sins are too great,” E. J. murmured.

  Ashley frowned. “I’m sorry. I should never have gotten this maudlin. I’m afraid my mother brings out the worst in me. Thank you for the walk.”

  She turned on her heel, her blue print dress swirling around her knees as she walked away. E. J. watched her for several minutes, completely captivated by the rhythmic way she sauntered up the walkway. I’ve driven her away with my talk of war and sins, he thought. But truth was always painful when it wasn’t what you wanted to hear. And his truth—the very essence of who he now was—could never match what she needed him to be. It made his choices and decisions even more difficult.

  She doesn’t need a wounded war vet who still feels the breath of the enemy on his neck. She doesn’t need a man who is afraid of the future and what it might hold.

  E. J. looked to the heavens, wishing some great revelation might be revealed. Instead, he felt worse than when he’d set out to walk with his wife. He knew her a little better—that much had been accomplished. But in knowing her better, he also knew without a doubt that he wasn’t what she needed. She needed Ethan Reynolds, and that man had died—at least in spirit—on a pockmarked battlefield in France.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Faith Mission Church gave an annual autumn party, and with this excuse the regular members of the congregation and some not-so-regular members had reason to gather that mild October day on the banks of Clear Creek. There was to be plenty of food and games, as well as preaching and baptizing.

  Natalie had made certain E. J. received an invitation to the gathering. She’d even gone a step further and showed up at the hotel on Sunday morning to remind him.

  “Mr. Carson, are you coming this afternoon?” she’d questioned, nearly breathless from running.

  E. J. couldn’t turn her down. He felt so captivated by her love of life and the expectancy of her expression that he could only nod.

  “Now, don’t forget,” she told him as she moved toward the door. “We’re eating lunch there and then we’ll have games. Come to the church by noon and you can drive out with the rest of us. Oh, and don’t worry about your tableware. Mama will pack you a plate and silverware.”

  E. J. had nodded and waved, and two hours later, with some goodies he’d purchased at the Harvey restaurant, he joined the festivities.

  Clear Creek ran to the east of town, but the picnic location where they gathered was nearly five miles to the southeast of Winslow proper. E. J. thought it a marvelous respite. After driving out across the sandy red desert dotted only with scrub and cactus, the barren land gave way to natural rock platforms and sandstone outcroppings. Between this framework ran the most beautiful, inviting blue water—Clear Creek. It was easy to see why the location was such a popular gathering place. It was truly an oasis.

  E. J. liked it best because it looked nothing like the wartorn lands of his nightmares. Here, in spite of the appearance of being desolate and barren, life sprang up seemingly out of nothing. There were all manner of insects, reptiles, and birds. From time to time a variety of mice, jackrabbits, and even coyotes and mule deer could be seen skittering across the sandy desert floor. In France the only things that had marched on the land were men and death�
�hand in hand like bizarre players of the same game. The thought chilled E. J. to the bone.

  “Why, Mr. Carson, I’m so glad you could come,” a matronly woman looking to have enjoyed quite a few picnics commented. “Do you know my husband, Mr. Willis?”

  “He’s on the town council, is he not?”

  “But of course he is,” the older woman stated as if to suggest otherwise was simply ludicrous. “I’ll have to make sure you’re better acquainted. My husband is quite knowledgeable about Winslow and has played a prominent role in seeing that the Harvey Company chose our town for their new resort. He promises it will bring in millions.”

  “Let’s hope he’s right,” E. J. replied.

  “But of course he is,” the woman said, looking down her nose at him. “My husband is never wrong. Why, he predicted the strength of our economy years ago. Put Hoover in the office of president, he said, and we’ll see nothing but prosperity. Of course, we could hardly elect that Catholic Mr. Smith or the Indian Charles Curtis. What tragedy would have befallen this great nation then,” she declared, as though she were making a speech for some great occasion.

  Ethan longed to get away from the woman, but instead he found himself hopelessly entangled as she continued. “So, Mr. Carson, tell me what the railroad is doing to entice tourists to the new resort. I do hope we’ll get good, solid citizens to come. I’ve nothing against the flamboyant celebrities of the movie industry, but Mr. Willis says there’s really no future there. And, of course, we don’t want to see nothing but consumptive patients. My word, but we’ve had our share of people coming to this great state to take the cure for their disease-filled lungs.”

  Ethan struggled to figure out what he could say in regard to her question, then just as quickly realized that she’d probably never give him a chance to reply.

  “Mr. Carson!” He looked behind him to find Natalie skipping up the trail with her mother at her side. How wonderful Ashley looked. Her soft pink suit seemed just casual enough for a picnic, while at the same time it gave her a clearly feminine, almost elegant appearance. With her face raised to the sun, he thought her radiant.

  “Hello, Natalie,” he called out, waving at the child. He cast a quick glance back to Mrs. Willis, who by this time was frowning. “Natalie invited me here today,” he said as if the woman had questioned him.

  “Poor child. Her mother’s a heathen, don’t you know.” The woman leaned toward E. J. to whisper this, but her voice somehow carried on the breeze. E. J. tried to keep the shock from his face but wasn’t very good with the cover-up. “Oh, it’s true,” Mrs. Willis said, leaning in closer. “Why, the woman has only been attending church services the past few Sundays. I think her grandfather’s impending death has given her reason to consider the status of her soul.”

  “Mr. Carson, do you remember my mama?” Natalie asked as they approached.

  E. J. didn’t know whether to acknowledge Mrs. Willis’s comments or the child’s. Finally he dismissed himself from the older woman’s company, much to her dismay. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  Mrs. Willis harrumphed and marched away, as if he’d verbalized that he didn’t mind the company of heathens. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought of what she’d tell her friends.

  “I remember your mama,” E. J. said as Natalie grinned up at him. “My, but don’t you ladies look nice.”

  “Mama’s wearing a new hat, but the dress is just an old one.”

  “Natalie!” Ashley’s embarrassment was apparent.

  E. J. laughed to lighten the moment. “I think both pieces of apparel are quite fetching. But I must say, Miss Natalie, your dress is even nicer.” The child, clutching a small basket to her chest, whirled to make the skirt of the lemon-colored dress swirl out around her tiny legs. How very small and delicate she looked.

  “Mama made it. She’s a good sewer. That’s something a wife should know how to do, don’t you think?”

  E. J. looked past the girl to find Ashley gazing at the skies. “I’ll bet she’s a great cook too,” he said, noting the picnic basket in Ashley’s hands.

  “She is a good cook. She makes the best fried chicken and—”

  “Natalie, that’s enough. Why don’t you take our basket and set out the things we’ve brought to share?”

  “I could help,” E. J. offered. “I just delivered some Harvey pies to the dessert table. I managed to sneak a peak at the main table and it looks quite promising.”

  Natalie put her own basket down in order to take up her mother’s. “I’ll leave the dishes here,” she announced, and Ashley nodded.

  Natalie took hold of the handles on her mother’s basket, but E. J. could see she struggled with the weight of it. “Why don’t I carry it and you can lead the way? It’s just over there,” he said, pointing.

  Natalie nodded and let him carry the basket. “I can show you what Mama made and you can decide for yourself if she’s a good enough cook.”

  Ashley opened her mouth as if to chide her daughter again, then closed it rather quickly. She offered E. J. an apologetic smile and turned to gaze at the crystal clear water.

  E. J. would much rather have stayed with his wife, but instead he followed after Natalie, weaving in and out of congregation members, trying to tip his hat as he returned their greetings.

  “I’m so glad you came today,” Natalie said as they reached the table. She took hold of the basket and pulled it away from E. J. Settling it on the ground, Natalie quickly opened the latch and pulled out a platter. Removing the dish towel that covered it, she held it up and smiled. “Fried chicken.”

  “It certainly looks delicious.”

  “It is,” she said confidently.

  E. J. helped her find a place on the sagging makeshift table. Natalie took out several smaller containers, one of creamed peas and potatoes and one of a delicious-looking squash. He helped her arrange the food, then followed her back through the crowd to where they’d left Ashley.

  “Mama wasn’t going to come, but I told her we had to. I told her I’d invited you and that there wouldn’t be any food for you if she didn’t make some and come too.”

  E. J. knew from the sight of the luncheon tables that this would never have been the case, but he only smiled and nodded. The child was clearly enjoying her role as matchmaker. The thought amused E. J., and yet at the same time it seemed quite strange to be thrust into a situation where he was being set up to court his own wife.

  By the time they rejoined Ashley, she had settled herself on a blanket on a flat, rocky outcropping beside the water. When she saw they’d returned, she issued a warning to her daughter. “Be careful for snakes and such.” She looked at E. J. and added, “There are quite a few poisonous critters that live in the area. Rattlesnakes, scorpions, and so many other things. If you haven’t been advised of this, it’s a good time to take note. They like to hide in the rocks, and if you disturb them, they’ll retaliate.”

  He looked around them, feeling a strange sense of protectiveness. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Why, Mrs. Reynolds. You’re a sight for sore eyes.” A stocky man strode up to share their company. He settled alongside E. J. and held out his hand. “Todd Morgan.”

  “Mr. Morgan,” E. J. acknowledged, shaking his hand. “I’m E. J. Carson.”

  “You’re new in town, aren’t you?” He let his gaze travel up and down E. J. as if assessing him as an opponent.

  “I’m here with the Harvey hotel.”

  “Mr. Carson is an architect,” Natalie offered.

  “That’s nice, kiddo,” Morgan answered, quickly ignoring the child. “It’s good to see you, Ashley. I haven’t seen you at the Harvey House lately.”

  E. J. bristled at the usage of his wife’s first name. Who was this man to treat her so casually?

  Natalie reached out and took hold of E. J.’s hand. “I want to show you my favorite place. It’s over by the bridge.”

  E. J. looked at Natalie and then Ashley. “If it’s all right with your ma
ma.”

  “Can I show him around, Mama?” Natalie begged.

  “Of course. Just be careful and mind your step.”

  E. J. hated to leave her there with the personable Mr. Morgan, but he felt he could hardly act the part of jealous husband—even if that was what he was.

  Natalie pulled him along to the bridge, where she threw stones into the water below. “Isn’t this the best place in the whole world?”

  E. J. looked down the long meandering stream and had to admit it was truly an oasis. “It is wonderful. I can see why you like it so much.”

  “I’d like to build my mama a house right over there.” Natalie pointed to a rise of red rock. “That way she could always see the creek and be happy.”

  “Why do you suppose that would make her happy?” E. J. asked, needing to know about the woman he’d married and who she’d become in the last decade.

  To his surprise, Natalie shrugged. “I don’t know. I just think she’d like it. My daddy was going to build her a really wonderful house, but then he died.”

  E. J. felt a quickening in his soul. He easily remembered the two-story house he’d designed, patterned after the early classical revival style so popular in the early eighteen hundreds. Ashley had told him of her passion for the style, pointing out several houses in the Baltimore area.

  E. J. had taken the things she liked most, the portico with its lower and upper levels supported by slender Doric pillars. The second-story porch would be accessible to them through artistically carved French doors in the master bedroom. E. J. could see it all as if it were yesterday. He had sketched the house while Ashley detailed it, and before he’d left for the war, he’d given her the drawing, reminding her that when he returned they would build their home together.

  Only he hadn’t come home. At least not when she’d expected him to.

  “ . . . but she really wants me to go to college first.”

  E. J. shook away his thoughts. “What did you say?” He looked at Natalie, who was still staring off toward the red rocks.

  “I want to build my mama her house and make it just like my daddy planned it out, but she wants me to go to college first.”