Tracie Peterson - [Heirs of Montana 04]

by The Hope Within

  “She was already taken,” he said sadly.

  “Married?”

  “No, but pledged.”

  “But couldn’t you have tried to win her away?” Jamie asked in disbelief. “I mean, if it was true love, why didn’t you do something extraordinary to win her over?”

  George thought of how he’d rescued Cole for Dianne. How he’d had the chance to put his competition to death and instead showed compassion on the woman he loved more than life. George opened his eyes as Dianne stirred ever so slightly.

  “As a Blackfoot, I never had much of value. I had horses that I’d stolen from our enemies to prove my bravery, and I had the knowledge and training given me by the Real People. I didn’t have anything else but my honor. A man’s honor is not something to take lightly, Jamie. Not ever.” He looked to his nephew. “This woman was not in love with me, as I was with her. She loved another. I honored her by not interfering in that love.”

  “I don’t know that I could do the same thing. I mean, if you love someone as you did and you do nothing, then you run the risk of never finding love again. Is that what happened to you, Uncle?”

  George felt a sort of sadness overcome him. “I suppose so. I knew I would never love anyone as I loved her. So I never tried to love again.”

  “That’s probably another reason you left the Blackfoot people, eh? That way you wouldn’t have to see her every day and see her being happy with someone else. I would have done the same thing,” Jamie said as he gazed off to the ceiling and leaned the chair back on two legs against the wall.

  George said nothing. How could he ever explain that because of his love for his sister and her need for him to help with Jamie’s upbringing, George had put himself in the one place that was a constant reminder of what could never be his? He shook his head and rinsed out the cloth again. Let Jamie think what he would. George could never hope to explain something that didn’t make sense even to him.

  “I love Elsa. I know that much. I’ll fight for her,” Jamie finally said, letting the chair smack down on the wood floor. He got to his feet. “Thanks for telling me about her, Uncle. What was her name?”

  George froze for a moment, then smiled. “It doesn’t matter.” He turned to Jamie. “What matters is that you keep yourself honorable—that you keep God at the center of your life.”

  “I’m trying,” Jamie said. “It isn’t always easy, but I’m not giving up.” He left the room, and George almost breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed.

  Dianne stirred, moaning Cole’s name. The word pierced George like a knife. She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Oh, you’re here. I thought I’d lost you.” She closed her eyes and smiled. “Cole … why did you leave me … why did you let me go?”

  George knew there was no sense arguing with a sick woman. Dianne was still battling a fever—still fighting for her life. She had no idea that he wasn’t Cole.

  He took hold of her hand. “You must fight to live, Dianne,” he whispered.

  “Will you stay?”

  “Yes.”

  She opened her eyes. “We’re going to have another baby. I didn’t want it at first, but now I’m glad. It was just so hard—hard to be without you—hard to wonder if you still loved me.” She closed her eyes, then opened them again as if she’d forgotten something. George strained to understand the barely audible words. “I love the baby because it’s a part of you. I love you, Cole.”

  George patted her hand. “Be strong, Dianne. Get well.” His heart broke for her—for her inability to understand what had already happened—for the loss of her child.

  Dianne’s eyes closed and this time she didn’t open them again. Her breathing evened out, however, and George thought she felt less feverish.

  Kneeling beside her bed, George began to pray fervently for Dianne’s recovery. Please, Lord, let her live. Heal her body, and in time, heal her heart.

  That night, Koko was nearly frantic when she woke up and found Dianne had grown still and cool. Koko thought at first Dianne had died, but then she realized that Dianne was still breathing. Her restless body had calmed when the fever broke.

  “Praise be to God,” Koko murmured and began tending to her charge. She feared the fever had lasted too long and had been too high. Even now she wondered if there had been brain fever—that destructive state that seemed to tear apart the mind of its victim. Only time would prove that to be the case.

  The next day, Dianne opened her eyes, moaning softly as she fought against the heavy covers.

  “You need to take it easy,” Koko told her. “You’ve been very sick.”

  “Where am I?”

  “You’re in my cabin—on the ranch. Remember?”

  Dianne closed her eyes and shook her head. “Where’s Uncle Bram?”

  Koko bit at her lower lip. What should she tell Dianne? How could she explain the situation and not further upset her? But as it was, Dianne had faded back to sleep and there was no need for explanation.

  Koko eased back into the rocker that sat beside the bed. The mention of her dead husband created an ache inside that refused to be ignored. “He’s in heaven,” she whispered, hugging her arms. “I wish he were here, though. I wish at times like this when things are so hard—so painful—that he were here to tell me that it will all be all right. That nothing is so bad that it won’t seem better tomorrow.”

  She smiled and let out a long breath. “If you could see us now, Bram, I’m sure you’d be shaking your head. You’d be barking out orders, and in no time at all you’d have all our problems resolved.”

  She looked back to Dianne. “But you can’t fix this and neither can I.” She gazed to the ceiling. “But I know who can. I know who holds tomorrow, and He is able to do great things—far beyond anything I can ask or imagine.”

  As March warmed and a chinook wind came across the valley, the snows began to melt almost overnight. In turn, Dianne began to heal. Her first real memories after falling sick were of Koko helping her drink warm broth. After that, her thoughts were consumed with understanding that she’d lost the baby and very nearly succumbed herself.

  Sitting by the window now, watching the barren land thaw, Dianne had much to think about. The baby she had carried was gone, awaiting burial as soon as George could dig a grave in the frozen earth. She’d not even seen the tiny boy, but George had told her he looked just like Lia when she was born.

  It’s all my fault, she told herself over and over. If I only would have loved him more—wanted him more—he would have lived.

  The children were her only comfort. They would come daily and pile into bed with her, telling tales of their schoolwork and of the ranch. Lia had started embroidering with Koko, and her work, although childish, showed great promise. They were all memorizing Bible verses, and Dianne was quite impressed with how much they’d learned.

  Life went on as if nothing were wrong—as if all were perfectly ordered.

  “But that isn’t true,” Dianne said aloud.

  She leaned forward to better see outside. It would probably be a month or so before she saw any real signs of spring. Still, the warmth of the chinook made the day feel as if the changes were coming sooner.

  “Koko asked me to check on you and to bring you this,” George said as he came through the open door. He carried a tray with food and drink. “There’s tea and venison stew. Oh, and two big biscuits with jam.”

  “She’s trying to fatten me up,” Dianne said, trying hard to sound light-hearted.

  “She’s trying to make you well,” George corrected.

  “You’ve both done a marvelous job of that. I’m weak, but I know I’m getting better every day.” Dianne wished she could sound enthusiastic about it. There was just too much darkness around her. The hope of her future seemed faded like an old piece of paper worn and damaged by the years.

  George put the tray down on a small stand and came to where Dianne sat. He pulled up a chair and sat down. “You sound as if you doubt that you are getting bett
er.”

  She sighed. “It’s not doubt. It’s just not … well … I suppose it lacks conviction.”

  “You don’t want to get well?”

  “Of course I do,” she countered. “I need to get well for the children, if for no other purpose.”

  “But you’re grieving, and it is hard to put a positive effort toward healing when so much energy is given to living in sorrow.”

  Dianne knew she couldn’t maintain the facade with George. “It’s my fault the baby died—that Isaiah died.” She’d named the baby Isaiah Daniel after two of her favorite books in the Bible. She wasn’t sure Cole would have approved, but then he wasn’t there to ask and the child needed a name.

  “Assigning yourself blame doesn’t make the situation any easier to bear.”

  “It wasn’t intended to make it easier,” she said, looking at him oddly. “It was merely to state the truth.”

  He shrugged. “I always figure the Bible to be true.”

  Dianne felt a great exasperation for his attitude and tone. “Of course it’s true. Why do you say such things?”

  “Well, the Bible says that the Lord giveth and taketh away. That some things happen that are good and some things happen that aren’t so good, but that it all comes through Him before it gets to us. I kind of figure that He doesn’t wish to see His children suffering, but that because we live in these bodies—live on this earth where sin abounds—some things are just going to happen.”

  “But I didn’t love the baby as I should.” Tears coursed down her cheeks. “I did love him, but … oh, it’s just so hard to understand. I didn’t want the baby because there were so many problems. I didn’t even try to love him at first, and that must surely have caused him to suffer.”

  “You loved him. You told me so.”

  Dianne studied George for a moment, trying hard to see if he was lying. His expression, however, was completely sincere and she’d never known him to be false. “Why do you say that?”

  “When you were sick with the fever you spoke to me. You thought I was Cole. You told me you loved me and that you loved the baby because it was a part of me … of Cole,” he said, appearing embarrassed. He looked away. “You loved your child … but you were lost in your misery and couldn’t see how much you truly cared.”

  Dianne buried her face in her hands and sobbed. She hadn’t remembered anything that he was talking about, but something inside spoke to the truth of it. George wouldn’t lie to ease her conscience. In the wake of Isaiah’s death, Dianne had mourned, believing it was out of guilt—now she was certain it was out of love.

  “I have this for you,” he said.

  Dianne looked up as he extended a small leather pouch to her. “What is it?”

  “Look inside. I knew you’d never get a chance to see Isaiah.”

  She opened the pouch and found a bit of hair bound by white thread. She looked to George.

  “It’s from the baby. I thought you might want it—need it.”

  Dianne cradled the tiny memento in her hand. She stroked the edge of the golden-brown piece with great tenderness. “It’s the same color as the others had at birth. I suppose there was a lot?”

  “Yes. He had a lot of hair—just like the others.”

  “Oh, George.” She looked up, tears dripping down her face.

  “Thank you for this. Thank you so much for caring about me—and Isaiah.”

  “Changes are coming,” he said, getting up. “The snows are melting and life will start anew here. You have cattle coming from Texas and a ranch that needs your attention.”

  Dianne couldn’t deny the love that shone in his eyes for her. His love for her had always touched her deeply, but it had always made her uncomfortable at the same time.

  “You need to get well so that when Cole shows up, and when the cattle come, you’ll be ready.”

  “What if he doesn’t come back?” She dared the question, knowing it was dangerous territory to share with George.

  He chuckled. “Oh, Stands Tall Woman, he’ll come back. He’ll always come back. He loves you, just as you love him. Nothing can separate you two for long. Not the distance, not the Sioux, not the storms of life or blizzards. He’ll be back. You mark my words.”

  In her heart, Dianne felt the first spark of hope that Cole would come home. And she would need to be well when he did. She would need to be strong for the future. Looking again to the tiny bit of her baby’s hair, she made a promise to herself.

  “I will trust in God. I will be strong in Him, even when my strength is gone. And I will hope.”

  Ardith had never known such wondrous examples of finery. The table she shared with Christopher Stromgren was set with the finest linen and crystal. The china was edged in gold and splashed with bold colors reminiscent of the Far East. She knew this only because one of the many local art galleries had been hosting a display of such treasures and Christopher had escorted her there only the day before.

  If her trip to New York had taught her nothing else, it had taught Ardith that everything of value could be known by its weight and appearance. Crystal, for example, was valued for its cut, its ability to catch color in its pure transparency, and its weight. Gowns were valued for the name of their maker, the quality of their design, and for their materials. Everything was quite efficiently categorized and valued accordingly.

  But living in New York had taught Ardith something else as well. For all the finery and attention she had received, it wasn’t home. Money couldn’t fill the empty hole in her heart. Dianne had once told her that only God could do that, but Ardith was terrified of giving Him a chance.

  “Your performance last night was sheer perfection,” Christopher said as he returned to their table. He continued eating his succulent prime rib steak, not even realizing that Ardith had barely touched her food.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it, but I’m afraid the performances are less enchanting for me.”

  “You cannot appreciate what the audience feels.” Christopher picked up his wine glass. “It’s like this wine. A man with less knowledge of such things could hardly appreciate it as I do.”

  Ardith toyed with her fork. “I’m going home,” she stated without warning.

  “Nonsense. You’re just tired. You’ll have at least a week to rest and put yourself aright. We travel on Friday to Boston, but you’ll enjoy the trip, I assure you.”

  She slammed her fork down. “I’m not going to Boston. I’m going home. I’m not happy here. I thought perhaps getting away from Montana would make me happy—would ease my suffering—but instead, I miss my daughter and I’m no happier.”

  Christopher, never one to make a scene in public, laughed. “If that’s all it is, we’ll send for the child. You will have to use portions of your profits, however, to hire a nurse to keep her while you’re performing. I think there are several people we could see who might have someone trustworthy for the position. You’ll need to hide her away, however, lest your past catch up with you.”

  Ardith said nothing, and Christopher took this for her approval. “See there,” he said, “a simple solution.”

  She realized the conversation was going nowhere. Christopher Stromgren was happy riding on the wagon of her success. Granted, he’d known how to manipulate and market her skills to the public. He’d known people in places that could offer them beneficial help. Christopher had indeed been responsible for her success—at least her performing success.

  “There now, you see? It’s not so bad. We’ll go to Boston and you’ll give your usual fine performances there, and then we can worry about sending for your daughter.” He went back to eating as if the entire matter were settled.

  Ardith had held some fear of Christopher ever since she’d made the wrong comments to Theodore Roosevelt. She hadn’t been quite sure what Christopher might do if she opposed him in full, and she had no desire to find out.

  I’ve told him my plan, she thought and picked at the chicken breast on her plate. When he finds me gone, he’
ll simply have to endure it as best he can. I have my tickets, and tomorrow, I’m leaving for Montana.

  The thought pleased her more than she could say. Soon she would be home. Home to the ones who loved her for more than the show she could give. Home to a daughter and family she loved. Suddenly her appetite returned. I’m going home!

  CHAPTER 24

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE CAN’T TAKE A FREIGHTER TO VIRGINIA City?” Cole asked one of his employees at the Corrine freight yard.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Selby, but I’ve been stuck here for some time. The passes are closed, and until things started warming up last week, we didn’t even have trains coming in or out. Some of’em still aren’t running all the way through. Believe me, I’ve been as anxious to get back home as anyone.”

  Cole calmed as he saw the man’s sincerity. Jim Riley had his own family in Virginia City to worry after. “I had a telegram that my wife was ill,” Cold told him. “I don’t know if she’s made it through or not.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “You will send me word when the pass is open? Even if it’s pickin’s, I’m willing to risk it. I’ll move rock or dig out snow, whatever it takes.”

  “I’m with you, boss,” Jim replied. “I’ll let you know the minute we can leave.”

  It wasn’t until nearly a week later, however, that word came to Cole. He was dressing for the day when a knock sounded at his hotel door. He opened it to find Jim Riley standing on the other side.

  “You ready to head out?”

  Cole laughed. “You bet. When?”

  “Next twenty minutes. I didn’t know until a little while ago. Had a man come through from up Eagle Rock way. Said it isn’t easy, but it can be done.”

  Cole grabbed his things. “Then let’s go.”

  He was still wrestling into his coat as they made their way into the street. Jim had taken Cole’s bag to free up his hands, but Cole was so excited that he could hardly manage his own sleeves.