by Linda Ford
“Stu said to me he wasn’t giving me the wagons because I deserved them or didn’t, but because he considered me his partner and because he didn’t blame me for a mistake made without malice. I still wouldn’t take them. Then he said he wanted me to think of them as a lesson about God’s love. We don’t earn it, nor can we quench it. The worst thing we can do is refuse it and that is the most foolish thing a man can do.” Gil’s smile was so sweet that it dribbled honey into Judith’s heart. “That’s when I decided to live a life free of bitterness and instead, trust God’s love.”
Judith brushed back a tear. “That’s a beautiful story. Where is Stu now?”
“He has a home in Independence and seems happy. He has lots of company.”
“Is he able to support himself?”
Gil ducked his head and twisted a bit of dry grass between his fingers. “He doesn’t have to,” he murmured.
“What do you mean?” And then she understood. “You take care of him, don’t you?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I make payments on the wagons.”
She reached over and squeezed his hands. “You are a good man.” Likely one she could trust, but she wasn’t ready to put her faith in that just yet.
“Wagons ho,” Buck called and Judith and Gil both jolted to their feet and prepared for the day’s journey.
“Anna is still asleep,” Judith said. “I’ll ride in the back until she wakens.”
Gil held out his hand to help her into the back then went round to the front and prepared to drive.
Judith sat with her back against the seat, wanting to be close enough to talk to Gil but she couldn’t find the words to convey all that was in her heart. He was a good man. She’d told him that. Perhaps if Frank’s stepbrother had been even a little like Gil, Frank might still be alive and she’d be back in Crestheight, Missouri, likely married to him. She wouldn’t be on this journey. She wouldn’t have become Anna’s mother.
Nor would she be Gil’s wife though she wasn’t really that either.
She didn’t want to think about what the word wife meant so began to talk. “Do you think Anna is okay?
“Do you think otherwise?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps I’m a bit too eager to have her sleep. Should I be keeping her awake?”
He gave a dry chuckle. “Likely she’s plumb wore out. Sleep is good.”
Judith considered it. “I guess I can’t help worry. I had a little sister, Dodi. Short for Dorothy but no one ever called her that. Even her tombstone said Dodi with Dorothy in brackets. She died about the same age as Anna is.” She fell silent as memories flooded through her, good ones trampled by bad ones. “I loved her. She was six years younger than me. I played with her like a little doll.” Her voice caught. “She imitated everything I said and did. When she was six months old I taught her to rumble her lips like this.” She illustrated. “Oh, how I loved her.” The words scraped from her throat, leaving it raw.
Gil reached back and squeezed her shoulder.
She needed his strength and grabbed his hand, holding on like he was a lifeline and she a drowning woman.
“One day we were in town. Mama and Papa had gone to speak to someone and left us in the wagon to wait. A friend of Luke and Warren’s came up with a puppy and they jumped down to see it. Just then a runaway wagon came barreling toward us. It hit the side of our wagon and threw me to the street. The wagon upset. I remember Mama rushing to us, screaming for Dodi and me. She saw me lying in the street. I guess she thought I was okay because she went to Dodi. Papa had to untangle the horses and sort them out and get the wagon back on its wheels. I think Luke and Warren helped. Mama sat on the ground holding Dodi and rocking back and forth, not crying but moaning. I remember someone shouting for the doctor and he came running. I remember people hovering about, wringing their hands and shaking their heads. The doctor bent over Mama and Dodi then came to me. ‘We’ll have you fixed up in no time,’ he said, in such a kind voice. But my fears didn’t end. It was the way Mama looked that frightened me. ‘Is something wrong with Dodi?’ I asked the doctor. He said, ‘She’s gone back to heaven.’ Again, that quiet, calm voice which did nothing to end my fears. ‘Heaven? She’s…?’ I couldn’t say it. I knew what dead meant. I’d seen baby pigs that didn’t live, but Papa never said they had gone to heaven.
“Someone led Mama away, still holding Dodi. Papa wrapped his arms about her shoulders. Luke and Warren stood nearby looking lost. They finally remembered me and came. ‘I want Mama.’
‘She’ll be back,’ Luke said.
“Warren gathered up our scattered belongings and put them into the wagon that had been returned to its wheels.
“The doctor splinted my leg and got someone to help him get me into the wagon where he covered me with a blanket. ‘I’ll be out to see you at home.’
“Papa led Mama back to the wagon. I don’t remember if she carried Dodi or left her at the church. I was feeling a little sorry for myself.
“At home, Papa carried me into the front room and settled me on the sofa. The doctor came and checked my leg. Then went to see Mama.
“Everything kind of blurred together after that. Mama cried a lot. I knew that Dodi had died but it didn’t seem real. I wondered if they were mad at me for not watching her better and that’s why they wouldn’t let me see her.
“Then they all left and I stayed home with a neighbor lady who came and brought me cookies. I realized they had gone to bury Dodi. The neighbor lady said ‘Your mama will never get over this. People don’t get over these sort of things. Don’t be surprised if she never sees you quite the same again.’
“I didn’t understand. Was I to blame?” She squeezed Gil’s hand. “I guess like you, I blamed myself.”
“Was your mother different?” His voice was low, full of sympathy that eased the memory back into the past.
“I was so afraid after what that neighbor lady said. Maybe Mama would not want to see me anymore. Maybe she’d miss Dodi so much she’d forget about me. But when she came home she came right to me and sat with my head in her lap.” Judith knew her tone had changed to one of joy. “Mama took good care of me all the while I had to lie still for my leg to heal. She sang to me, she played with me and read to me and helped me memorize Bible verses. Our goal was a hundred verses as I waited for my leg to heal and I was so proud to reach that number. Mama was proud of me too. To this day, I remember those verses. And Papa and my brothers built me a doll house. I felt so cared for. Strange that from that awful event I have some of the sweetest memories.”
“Like Stu told me, God doesn’t waste bad things. He uses them for our good.”
Judith didn’t remember moving, but she realized she knelt at the bench, her head on the same level as Gil’s. He’d shifted so they looked deeply into each other’s eyes. Why did she get the feeling he saw past the color of her eyes, just as she saw past the brown in his, to the deepest depths of her heart where there lived memories both good and bad. And somehow they had all turned sweet.
“Whoa.” Gil pulled back on the reins of the mules.
“Why are we stopping?” She peered out the wagon and saw that the long line of wagons had also stopped.
“It’s nooning time.” He chuckled at her surprise.
Judith jerked around. “Anna is still asleep.” She knelt at the baby’s side and watched for her chest to rise and fall. When it did, she let out a relieved sigh. “She’s still breathing.”
Gil came round the back. “Maybe it’s time to waken her.”
Judith shook Anna. “Wake up, honey.”
Anna did not open her eyes.
Judith rolled her to her back. “Anna, wake up.”
No response.
“What’s wrong with her?”
6
The fear in Judith’s voice echoed Gil’s own concerns and he jumped into the back of the wagon to bend over Anna. “Wake up, little one.” He sat her up, but her head lolled to the side and she was as limp as a rag.
&
nbsp; He carried her from the wagon with Judith on his heels.
Judith dampened a cloth and wiped Anna’s face. The baby moaned at the cold, but didn’t open her eyes.
Gil tried to make her stand. Anna opened her eyes and whined then folded to the ground.
Judith grabbed Anna and lay her on the ground. She patted Anna’s chest, tapped her shoulder. Anna’s only response was to put two fingers in her mouth and ignore all efforts.
Gil hunkered down at Judith’s side. “How can she sleep through all our prodding? How do we know if she’s sleeping or—?” He couldn’t bring himself to say unconscious. Besides, what would bring her to that state? He touched her forehead. “I don’t think she has a fever.”
Judith touched the tiny forehead too. “I agree.” She sprang to her feet. “Someone over there must know.” She dashed half way across the distance. “Mrs. Shepton, can I talk to you?”
The woman left the others and took half a dozen steps toward Judith then realizing she could go no further, stopped. “What is it?”
“Anna won’t wake up. I don’t know what to do.”
Gil, at Anna’s side, strained to hear Mrs. Shepton’s response.
“What do you mean she won’t wake up? Is she sick? Unconscious?”
“She doesn’t seem to have a fever. She opened her eyes when we tried to make her stand then closed them again and lay down on the ground. She’s sucking her fingers.”
“Was she awake all night?”
“No, she’s been asleep since supper.”
“I have to say it mystifies me. It’s hard for me to judge when I can’t see her. I suggest you sit her up and see if she will drink a little water. I’ll wait here to see how that goes.”
Judith hurried to put water in a cup.
Gil held Anna upright in his lap and kept her head from tipping to the side.
Judith knelt in front of Anna but didn’t offer the cup. “I’m afraid of choking her.”
He eased Anna’s fingers from her mouth. “Try tipping the water just to her lips.”
Judith did so.
They both heaved sighs when Anna swallowed. Her eyes flicked open and then she turned her head away.
Judith returned to report to Mrs. Shepton.
Gil listened for the older woman’s reply.
“I suggest you keep giving her water every few minutes and see if she doesn’t come out of this on her own. I’m just guessing here, but I wonder if she’s pulling into herself because she’s missing her parents. We’ll be praying for you.” Mrs. Shepton rejoined the others who had listened to the conversation.
Luke and Warren stepped from the wagons. “Judith, are you okay?” Warren asked.
Gil felt Warren’s warning glance, but ignored it. Judith’s brothers had no reason to worry that he wouldn’t take care of Judith. He took his vows and his responsibilities seriously.
Unfortunately, he’d learned not everyone did.
“I’m fine,” Judith called. “Just worried about Anna.” She waved to her brothers and rejoined Gil. She gave the little girl another drink.
“It’s good she drinks, isn’t it?” she asked Gil.
“It is.” It meant she wasn’t unconscious.
Judith looked about. “We have to eat and you need to rest while you can.” She handed out the cold meal, her gaze lingering on Anna. “If only we had some milk for her.”
“It will be Bent’s Fort before we’ll find that.”
“What if she decides she is going to stay asleep?”
Gil ate two mouthfuls as he tried to ignore what she meant. “We’ll find a way to make sure she doesn’t.”
“What if what we do isn’t enough?” The bleakness of her tone, the agony in her face erased every vow he’d made to not care about a woman ever again. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to make the world right for both Judith and Anna. He shifted closer to Judith and wrapped his arm about her shoulders.
She leaned into him, one arm about Anna.
Gil put his free arm over hers so together they sheltered the baby protectively. “We’ll make sure it’s enough.”
“Believe me, sometimes one’s best is not enough.” She jerked away and hurriedly stowed the meal things. Done that, she reached for Anna. “You might as well rest. I can hold her as well as you can.”
Feeling dismissed, Gil stretched out under the wagon, pulled his hat over his eyes and pretended to sleep.
He should have known better than to open his heart even a fraction of an inch. It wasn’t worth the risk of being hurt and rejected.
He turned his thoughts to prayer. Lord God, make Anna okay. Show us how to help her. Show us how to love—
Was love worth the risk? It wasn’t Anna he thought of. It was Judith.
Forgetting his own momentary pain at the way she pushed away when he offered his comfort, he let his mind return to the scene. Sometimes one’s best is not enough. She’d spoken the words with the sureness of someone speaking from experience. He wished he’d pulled her back to his chest and asked her what she meant.
Maybe his prayer should change to asking to understand Judith.
He still mused over the scene when Buck called for them to move on. He sprang to his feet. Judith lay curled up on the ground, Anna sprawled beside her.
Judith sat up. “She’s still sleeping.” She gave the little girl water. Gil wanted to stay and do what he could to help, but it didn’t take two to hold the cup to Anna’s lips and he had to take care of the mules.
Ready to leave, he picked up the sleeping baby and waited for Judith to decide if she wanted to ride in the back or on the seat beside him. He admitted to a bit of pleasure when she chose the latter.
“Maybe Anna will wake up to watch the mules,” Judith said, as she climbed to the bench.
Gil handed the baby up to her. His pleasure remained even if Judith’s reason for sitting there had nothing to do with him. He climbed aboard and they moved onward. He tried to think how to ask her about what she’d said. Had her fiancé died despite her efforts to nurse him to health? He could guess how devastating that would be. When it wasn’t certain if Stu would live or die he had experienced a dark feeling like nothing he’d before known.
They rattled over the prairie. Anna snuffled and rearranged herself but she did not waken.
Judith look informed Gil of her worry. “It’s not natural.”
“Perhaps it’s God’s way of allowing her to adjust to the changes in her life.” He had to believe in a good reason behind the behavior.
“I hope you’re right.” Judith stared at the mules, seemingly lost in thought.
He couldn’t deny his curiosity laced with concern. “What did your fiancé die of?” He hoped his quietly spoken question wouldn’t distress her.
She shuddered. “He wasn’t ill.”
He digested this information. “He had an accident?” He thought of Stu and how horrible it had been to see his suffering and wrapped his hand around Judith’s.
“It wasn’t an accident.” She spat out each word.
“Then—?” The horror of the only other possibility churned his stomach. “He was murdered?” He couldn’t get the words beyond a whisper.
She closed her eyes as if seeking strength. “Indirectly, yes.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you mean.” How could someone be indirectly murdered? That was like almost being alive.
Her expression flat, she began to speak. “Someone cheated Frank out of money leaving him defeated beyond recovery.”
Gil turned the words over and over in his head. Defeated beyond recovery. What did that mean? He couldn’t come up with an answer. “What happens when a person is defeated beyond recovery?”
“They quit living.”
Her meaning became shockingly clear. “He ended his life?” He held back a dozen protests. Surely a man could recover from financial loss. Surely there were other reasons to live. Like a woman who loved him. That’s what Judith meant when she said, somet
imes one’s best is not enough. She meant her fiancé had not found her best reason enough to live.
Acid burned up his throat. What an awful thought to leave her to struggle with. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
“The official report is he died from fumes when the chimney didn’t draw, but I overheard the sheriff tell my father that the chimney had been deliberately blocked.”
He guessed she tried to sound cold, matter of fact, but the tremor in her voice betrayed the depths of her feelings. Lillian’s unfaithfulness was a shadow compared to the unfaithfulness of this Frank. He could think of no other way to describe it. Shouldn’t her beau have thought more of her feelings and less of his? Before he could find words to express his feelings, she sat Anna upright.
“I will not let this little girl give up on life.”
Anna leaned her head back against Judith and continued to sleep.
“Maybe she’s that tired. We don’t know how long she wandered about lost before you found her and then she didn’t sleep.”
“Mrs. Shepton thinks she wasn’t yet weaned so she’s had to adjust to that as well.” Judith looked at him with heartache in her eyes “Am I being harsh with her as an overreaction to what Frank did?”
“I think you are understandably concerned and I find that admirable.”
Her gaze clung to his, seeking truth and strength. He offered both, ignoring the slightly mocking voice suggesting he imagined more than he saw.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “So you think it’s okay to let her sleep as much as she wants?”
He didn’t know how much was too much. Most of all, he didn’t want to voice his greatest worry—that this sleepiness was a precursor to the diphtheria.
Judith’s eyes narrowed. “You’re thinking she might be getting sick, aren’t you?”
“I’m thinking it might be a possibility that’s all. I hope and pray it isn’t.”
She drew in such a long breath he wondered if her lungs had no bottom. “If she is ill it would be unkind of us to try and waken her. I have been wrong to judge her to be like Frank.” She shifted Anna so she lay cradled in her arms and rocking her, she crooned a wordless lullaby.
