So Little Time

by Al Lacy

  Both of them smiled and greeted her.

  “Yum, yum, Mama!” she said. “You fixed my favorite dinner, and I’m starving! The food in the college dining room leaves a lot to be desired. Hello, Papa.”

  Both parents headed toward her, and she opened her arms to them. After she had hugged them both, Laura said, “Honey, you look especially happy this evening. What is it?”

  “Yes,” said Richard. “You always come home with a smile, but this one is brighter than usual. Tell us what’s got you so happy.”

  Rising up and down on the balls of her feet, Rya said, “Oh, Papa … Mama! I’ve been offered a student teaching job, teaching summer school at Elm Park Elementary School in Richmond!”

  That evening after supper, while mother and daughter were doing dishes and cleaning up the kitchen, Richard was finishing his repair job on the cabinet door.

  There was a knock at the front door of the house. “I’ll get it,” said Richard.

  Richard was humming a nameless tune as he turned the knob and opened the door. The tune died quickly when he saw the face before him.

  “Good evening, Mr. Garrett,” said Jason Lynch. “I would like to see Rya.”

  Richard’s stomach turned sour. He had met twenty-three-year-old Jason on two occasions when he and Laura visited Rya at Richmond Teacher’s College. Jason lived in Richmond and worked at the college as a maintenance man.

  Richard also knew that Jason had been pursuing Rya, trying to date her, but that Rya had shied away from him. One reason was that Jason was not a Christian and wanted nothing to do with the Lord, the Bible, or church. Another reason was that he could be obnoxious at times. Rya had shared with her parents that she had found Jason very pushy and sometimes even repulsive. Richard recalled that Rya had once told him and Laura that because of Jason’s aggressiveness, she had never told him the location of her parents’ farm.

  But there he stood.

  Jason Lynch was slender and of medium height. His clothes hung loosely on him, and his face was lean and rawboned. Deep within protective wells, his pale gray eyes were the kind that seemed to look through a person, rather than at him.

  Richard’s first instinct was to brush Jason off and send him away without seeing Rya. However, wanting to keep a good testimony before him, he would be kind and let him see her briefly.

  “Come in, Jason,” he said, swinging the door wider. “You need to know, though, that Rya is spending the rest of the evening with Laura and me, and the entire weekend, too. You can see her for a few minutes.”

  Jason gave him a bland look. “I’ll appreciate those few minutes.”

  Closing the door, Richard said, “She’s in the kitchen with her mother. Follow me.”

  When the two men entered the kitchen and Rya saw Jason, a coldness washed over her.

  Not even bothering to speak to her mother, Jason said, “Rya, your father says I can only spend a few minutes with you. Could I talk to you in private?”

  “You can talk to him on the front porch, Rya,” Laura said. “And … ah … hello, Jason.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Garrett.”

  Rya quickly led him out of the kitchen. When they were alone on the front porch in the pale moonlight, she gestured toward the porch swing. “We can sit here.”

  When they were seated, putting the swing slightly in motion, Jason said, “I know you always ride home from college and back again on Sunday afternoons with Melvin Foster. Could I come on Sunday afternoon and drive you back to Richmond? We could stop along the way and have a picnic. Just the two of us.”

  Rya frowned. “Jason, I’ve told you before that I only do things like that with Christian young men. I don’t date anyone who is not a Christian.”

  A look of disgust captured Jason’s features. “Rya, I ain’t gonna try to turn you away from your religion. I just—”

  “Jason, I will not bend on this issue. As I’ve told you before, I would love to see you get saved. Not only would it give you the assurance that you would go to heaven instead of hell, but it would make a big change in your life.”

  Jason sighed and took hold of her hand. “Rya, how many times do I have to tell you that I’m in love with you? Just because I don’t look at religion the way you do is no reason to turn me away.”

  Rya set her jaw firmly and pulled her hand from his. “And how many times do I have to tell you that what I have is not religion? I have salvation in Jesus Christ. There’s a big difference between religion and salvation. And you need salvation, Jason. Unless you become a Christian, there is no possibility that anything can ever develop between you and me.”

  Jason leaped to his feet, and his eyes flashed against the night. “It’s wrong for you to spurn my love, Rya!”

  With that, he stomped off the porch, heading for his horse. Rya left the swing, and keeping her eyes on Jason, moved toward the door.

  Settling in the saddle, Jason said, “I’ll talk to you when you’re in a better mood.”

  Rya watched him gallop away into the night, then turned and entered the house. Her parents were just coming down the hall from the kitchen.

  “Honey, you’re upset,” said Laura. She came toward Rya and embraced her.

  “What happened?” asked Richard.

  Rya told her parents word for word what went on between her and Jason on the porch.

  “I’m sorry, honey. You’re just going to have to tell Jason you want no more to do with him.”

  Richard’s eyes were flashing. “I’m going into Richmond tomorrow and have a talk with that young man. I’m telling him to stay away from you, Rya! Didn’t you tell me he lives at that boardinghouse on Broad Street, just around the corner from the campus?”

  “Yes, Papa. That’s where he lives.”

  The next morning, Jason Lynch was just getting out of bed when there was a loud knock at his door. Hurriedly, he put on his bathrobe and padded to the door. When he opened it, he was surprised to see Richard Garrett standing there.

  Richard’s features were stonelike. “Jason, I need to talk to you.”

  Reluctantly, Jason stepped back. “Come in.”

  “Jason, I don’t want to be unkind to you, but I am going to put it straight so you’ll understand. You need to find another girl to set your heart on. It is quite evident that there will never be anything between you and my daughter.”

  Jason stiffened. “I can’t believe that. My heart is set on Rya. I could never love anyone else. I believe in time she will feel the same way about me.”

  “Wrong,” Richard said. “For starters, nothing can ever develop between the two of you until and unless you become a child of God.”

  Jason’s face flushed. “I am a child of God! All human beings are God’s children.”

  “Wrong again,” Richard said. “God says in John 1:12 that we have to become His children by receiving Christ as Saviour. All human beings are God’s creation, yes. He is their Creator. But He is not their Father until they repent of their sin, believe the gospel, and receive His only begotten Son into their heart. Jason, you have to be born into God’s family spiritually like you were born into your parent’s family physically. Only being born again, as Jesus said in John 3:3, can make you a heaven-bound child of God.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Jason said, “and I know Rya does. But in spite of our disagreement on this, I feel quite confident that given a chance, I could make her love me and want to marry me.”

  “Wrong once more, Jason,” countered Richard, looking steadily into Jason’s pale gray eyes. “Your disagreement with Rya in spiritual matters would affect everything in your lives. There can be no compatibility between the two of you unless you become a genuine child of God. The Bible warns against a Christian marrying a non-believer, saying it would create an unequal yoke. There would be constant disagreement, and it would only make for a miserable marriage.”

  Jason set his jaw. “I want no part of this Jesus Christ stuff, but that shouldn’t have anything to do with my relationship with R
ya. I’ll keep trying until I win her over.”

  Richard pointed a stiff finger between Jason’s eyes and said in a knife-keen tone, “there is no relationship between you and Rya. You are to stay away from her. She wants nothing to do with you. Therefore, you are to leave her alone.”

  Jason’s back arched. “Now, look, I—”

  “You are to leave my daughter alone!” Richard’s eyes burned with anger. “Am I getting through to you? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Jason gave him a dull look. “I understand.”

  “Tell me what you understand.”

  In a low voice, and barely moving his lips, Jason said, “I understand I am to stay away from your daughter.”

  “Good.” Richard turned and took hold of the doorknob. “And you had better not forget it.”

  When Richard Garrett walked into the house after putting the wagon in the barn and the team in the corral, he found his wife and daughter sitting at the kitchen table. They were sewing a new dress for Rya.

  “Did you get to talk to him?” queried Laura.

  “Yes.”

  “And how did it go, Papa?” asked Rya.

  Pulling his regular chair from the table, Richard sat down. “We had a good man-to-man talk. Once he made it explicitly clear that he wants nothing to do with our Saviour, I told him that he is to stay away from my daughter. I told him, Rya, that you want nothing to do with him, and therefore, he is to leave you alone.”

  “Thank you, Papa. I … I’m really relieved. I’ve actually begun to be afraid of Jason. He frightens me.”

  “I can see why. But it’s over now.” Richard reached across the table and laid his calloused fingers on Rya’s soft hand. “Honey, you are to let me know if Jason ever bothers you again.”

  “I will, Papa.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  On the following Monday, Rya Garrett was coming out of the college administration building, walking across the lawn amid the trees beside a fellow student named Walt Keaton.

  “That was some enlightening lesson, Rya,” said Walt. “I never realized until today that Napoleon Bonaparte’s older brother had been king of Spain for five years.”

  “I remembered that Joseph Bonaparte had been king of Spain,” said Rya, “but I sure didn’t know that he had lived in the United States after abdicating the Spanish throne.”

  Suddenly, a slender form jumped out in front of them from behind a tree.

  “Jason!” gasped Rya.

  Ignoring Walt Keaton, Jason said, “I want to talk to you, Rya.”

  Walt did not like the angry look in Jason’s eyes, and when Rya asked him if he would excuse her while she talked to Jason, he said, “I’m going to stay right here while you talk to him.”

  “Oh, so you have designs on her, do you, Walt?” Jason said.

  “I’m her friend, and I don’t like the tone of your voice.”

  Jason clenched his fists. “And I don’t like your face. Maybe it needs to be rearranged.”

  “Jason, please,” said Rya. “Don’t start trouble.”

  “There won’t be trouble if he leaves! On your way, Keaton. I want to talk to my girl alone.”

  “Walt, I appreciate your looking out for me,” Rya said, “but Jason and I need to talk in private.”

  “All right,” said Walt. “Since it’s you saying so.”

  Walt walked just far enough to be out of earshot and leaned against a large oak tree, eyes fixed on Rya and the maintenance man.

  Before Jason could get a word out, Rya said, “Let’s get something straight right off, Jason. I am not your girl.”

  “I did not appreciate your father coming to my room Saturday and telling me to stay away from you. I am in love with you, Rya, and I want to marry you.”

  Rya wanted to scream at him. “I repeat, Jason. I am not your girl. I am not in love with you, either. And what’s more, I am not interested in marrying you. Papa knows this, and chose to talk to you man to man so you would understand it and stay away from me. But here you are, going against his edict.”

  Jason let a quick gust of irritation come out of him. “I know you’re in love with me, Rya, and you might as well accept the fact that we are meant for each other. I’m gonna have you as my wife, and you might as well face it!”

  Hearing Jason shout at Rya, and seeing her cringe before him was too much for Walt Keaton. “That’s it, Lynch! Get away from her! You’re upsetting her! Go on. Get outta here.”

  Jason bristled, meeting Walt’s hot stare.

  Suddenly Jason swung a fist toward Walt’s nose, but the stocky man dodged the blow and sent one of his own, smashing Jason on the jaw, knocking him flat.

  Other students were gathering around as Jason lay on the ground, shaking his head. Walt grabbed Jason by the front of his shirt and lifted him to his feet. Jason’s head wobbled as if he had a rubber neck.

  Slapping his face with a palm to help revive him, Walt said, “You awake, Lynch?”

  Jason batted his eyes and shook his head again to clear it. “Yeah.”

  “You get outta here right now, and stay away from Rya, or you’ll get more of the same.”

  Jason sent a hazy glance at Rya. “I don’t care what anybody says. I’ll see you again.” And he staggered away.

  9

  IT WAS MID-AUGUST, 1877. In south central Wyoming Territory, the hot day had closed and the cool, lonely night on the prairie settled in with its dead silence.

  Travelers Mike Torvall and Jim Chaffee sat propped against huge rocks, their eyes on the crackling campfire. The Rocky Mountains loomed against the starlit sky a few miles to the west, and a small creek ran quietly southward nearby. Supper was over, and their tin cups, plates, and eating utensils had been washed and put aside. Their horses were tied to small trees on the bank of the creek. A soft wind fanned the embers and blew sparks and thin smoke away into the enshrouding circle of darkness.

  The night silence split to the cry of a coyote. It arose strange, wild, and mournful, then faded away.

  Staring into the fire, Torvall said, “Well, Jim, I guess we’d better turn in. My bedroll’s lookin’ better every minute.”

  “Yeah. Mine, too,” said Chaffee. He turned his face southward, looking into the darkness. “We’re only about fifteen miles or so from Rawlins. We can freshen up our food supply by noon tomorrow and move on down toward Colorado. It’ll be good to see my brother again.”

  “How long did you say it’s been since you saw your brother?”

  “Almost eleven years. Rex and I were very close in our growin’ up years, and I’m really lookin’ forward to—”

  Chaffee’s words were cut off by the sound of their horses whinnying, and another horse somewhere near in the darkness answering them. Both men leaped to their feet, drawing their sidearms and earing back the hammers.

  Torvall pointed north with his revolver. “Came from that way.”

  Abruptly they saw the lone horse coming slowly toward them as it drew within the circle of the campfire’s light. The horse was bridled, but the man was bent over, riding bareback, and clinging to the horse’s mane. He looked to be in his late thirties.

  “He’s hurt,” said Chaffee. Both men rushed to him, easing their hammers down and holstering their weapons.

  The horse stopped as the drifters stepped up to the rider. They saw that the front of his shirt was soaked with blood. His eyes were dull as he looked at them and said hoarsely, “I … need … help.”

  “Here, let’s get you down,” said Torvall, reaching up and wrapping his arms around him.

  Chaffee helped carry him. They laid him on his back close to the fire, and both men knelt beside him.

  Torvall picked up his canteen, pulled the cork, and said, “Let me give you some water.”

  The man took a sip, coughed, then took a good swallow. “Th-thank you.”

  Putting the cork back in place, Torvall said, “What happened?”

  “Indians. Cheyenne. I �
�� I’m a farmer. ’Bout five miles north of here. Name’s Da—Dale S-Slater. They … they seemed to come out of nowhere. Attacked us while we were in the yard behind the house. Shot us all. Killed my wife and three children. Thought they had killed me. Burned the house. I … was unconscious for quite a while. Finally was able to get on my horse. Trying … to get to Fort Steele. Tell army what happened. Cheyenne on warpath … again.”

  Chaffee looked at Torvall. “Fort Steele is twenty miles east of Rawlins. Things have been pretty quiet with the hostiles in these parts, the last three months or so. Army needs to know about this. You stay here and take care of Mr. Slater. I’ll ride for the fort right now.”

  Torvall frowned. “Shouldn’t we get this man to a doctor in Rawlins, first?”

  “I don’t think he’s in any shape to ride anymore tonight. After I alert the commandant at Fort Steele about this, I’ll ride into Rawlins, wake the doctor up, and tell him what we’ve got out here. Be best if we could get Mr. Slater in a buggy. The doc’s got one, I’m sure.”

  As Chaffee was speaking, Torvall pulled his lips into a thin line, leaned down close, and put an ear to the wounded man’s mouth. “He’s not breathing, Jim.” He then laid gentle fingers on Slater’s neck, feeling for a pulse. He shook his head solemnly. “He’s dead.”

  The sun cleared the eastern hills and vast prairie, and the cool air brought in by the night was fleeing as if before a charging foe. The gray shadows of Fort Steele’s guard tower and stockade fence began to lighten.

  Within the stockade, Colonel Ward Lamont—the fort’s commandant—stood before his troops, who were in formation shoulder to shoulder and line by line. At the colonel’s side were Mike Torvall and Jim Chaffee. The body of Dale Slater was draped over his horse in front of the commandant’s office a few feet away.

  “Men,” said the forty-nine-year-old colonel, “you’ve all heard the testimony of Mr. Chaffee and Mr. Torvall. The Cheyenne are definitely on the warpath again. This is the fourth such incident in south central Wyoming in the last eight days. According to what Mr. Slater told these two men last night, the Cheyenne attacked his farm yesterday, shot the family down, and burned the house. Things have been quiet with the hostiles for too long, even as I told you last week. As you go out on your patrols, you must keep a sharp eye.”