by Tricia Goyer
“Well, it’s like that in states like Nebraska and, where I came from, Missouri. They call it the Eastern West. Those communities have had a lot more years to establish themselves. You’ve got second-generation settlers there. But the railroad just got to these parts two years ago. Not many folks have ventured this far west.”
“You mean a cowboy rodeo doesn’t happen every day?” Julia gave a mock frown. “I was really looking forward to that.”
“Sorry, but hey, maybe sometime I can show you. I’m the best wild bronco rider in Montana.” He held his hands like a cowboy—one in the air, one down as if holding the saddle horn.
“Really? I’d love to see that.” She rubbed her eyes, still dry from the dusty breeze.
“Yeah, it’d be something to see all right.”
“I love watching bona fide bronco riders. Ever since Mrs. Gaffin took me to the Wild West Show, I’ve been awed. Oh, the sight of those horses—even the smell of them—didn’t bother me that day. You’re that good, are you?”
Isaac laughed. “No. I’m actually awful.”
“What?” Julia pressed a hand over her heart and gave a mock gasp. “You lied to me?”
“Aw, I was only hoodwinking you a little bit.”
“Well, sir, I’d say you’ve got ‘more wind than a bull in green-corn time.’” As soon as she said the phrase, she flung her hand over her mouth, surprised at herself. Her face warmed.
Isaac stopped in his tracks. He bent over and laughter shook his shoulders. “Where did you hear that?”
“In one of my books.” She couldn’t help but giggle. “I’ve always wanted to try it out. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.”
“I’ve never heard that one.” He straightened. “I haven’t had such a good laugh in a long time.”
Julia sucked in a breath, realizing they were approaching town. How did we get here so fast? It felt good to laugh, even if it was at her own expense. “Thanks for taking my mind off everything.”
Isaac blinked and for a moment gazed into her eyes. “You’re welcome. I hope I was of some help.”
“You were. More than you know.” She brushed her hair from her eyes. “I sure didn’t expect to laugh today.”
They reached the hotel, and Isaac held the door for her as they sauntered in. Miriam stood at the front desk talking to a sturdy young woman with black hair, whom Julia assumed was the hotel proprietor.
“Isaac? Julia? What are you doing here?” She stepped to them and grasped Julia’s hands. Her forehead crinkled. “You missed your train, didn’t you, dear?”
“She sure did.” Isaac explained the Horace situation as well. “I was hoping she could stay with you. If she stays in town, Horace’ll be bothering her.”
Miriam smiled at Julia. “Of course. I’m so sorry you missed your train.” She turned back to Isaac but continued speaking to Julia. “I hope my brother was gentlemanly to you on your walk back.” Miriam smiled, her gaze full of implication as it had been earlier in the day, and Julia knew the hints had something to do with her.
Julia noticed Isaac’s frown and wished Miriam would keep the hints to herself.
“So you’re off to Lodge Pole?” Miriam asked, smiling as if unperturbed by his glare.
“Won’t make it today.” Isaac’s voice was curt, so different from what it had been minutes ago. “I’ll stop and make camp on the prairie tonight and get there by tomorrow. Then I’ll head to the other towns I’ve neglected of late.”
“But you’ll be home soon, won’t you?”
He paced toward the door. “I’ll definitely be back in two months for the delivery of school supplies from the train.”
“Don’t forget about your birthday party next month, dear.”
Isaac didn’t look back. “I’ll be there.”
“Good. Do you want to wash up before you go?”
“No, I need to get on.” He threw a quick glance at Julia. “Goodbye, miss. And don’t worry about Horace, all right?”
“I won’t.”
Thirty minutes later Julia sat next to Miriam on the buckboard of the pregnant woman’s wagon.
Miriam rattled the reins, and the horses, as if shocked out of a stupor, jerked ahead. Pressing her hands against the seat’s rough wood to steady herself, Julia lifted her eyes to peruse the town. As soon as she did, she quickly returned her gaze to the road ahead. Cowboys, infantry men, and every other representative of the male persuasion gawked at her. They were lined up outside the Log Cabin Saloon and the nine white tents—which she now realized were makeshift taverns. Some of the men appeared young, probably making a life for themselves out West, and some were older, perhaps veterans from the War. But all of them ogled her as if she was the only single woman they’d seen in months. The disquieting feeling made her want to take a bath to wash their stares away.
The wagon moved past The Spokane House on her left, and just beyond it they rumbled by a small cabin that touched the edge of the prairie. Small plants outlined the path toward the cabin’s planked front door. Julia craned her neck to get a better look, unsure of what she saw. “Is that house surrounded by—cactus?”
Miriam chuckled. “That’s the home of the lady I was talkin’ to at the hotel—the cook, front desk gal, and maid all in one. She’s the only unmarried woman of any virtue in town. We had to do something to keep the drunks away.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, let me put it this way. There’s a very narrow path to the door, and a cowboy has to be steady on his feet to make it to the entrance without bein’ jabbed all over. If a man has any liquor in him he won’t make it.”
“And if he doesn’t have liquor in him?”
“He’s not tempted to try.”
“Oh my.” What a strange place. Julia struggled to settle into the rhythm of the bumpy ride. Miriam, who appeared to be in her thirties, seemed content riding along. She hummed a tune Julia didn’t recognize.
“Is it far to your place?” Julia asked after they passed the train depot and headed up a small hill.
“Thankfully we’re one of the nearest settlements to town, about two miles—right close to Lonesome Lake.”
“There’s a lake?” It seemed impossible that any water existed in this dry place.
“Yes, it’s not much to speak of, but we’re grateful to the Lord for it. Couldn’t survive out here without water close by.”
The wind calmed, and the sun, dipping slightly into the western horizon, heated Julia’s head. Remembering her parasol, she opened it and rested it on her shoulder, thankful for the shade.
Miriam’s lips pursed together in an obvious effort to stifle a fit of laughter.
“What?” Julia asked, gaping at Miriam’s shaking shoulders.
“You are a prissy thing, aren’t you? That outfit and parasol. They’re lovely, but not things I’ve seen much of out here.”
“They were gifts from the headmistress at the orphanage, Mrs. Gaffin.” Julia lifted her chin and focused her gaze ahead. Then she relaxed and smiled. “I guess they do seem a bit out of place.” She placed it over Miriam’s head. “But see how nice the shade feels?”
“It does at that.”
Julia closed her parasol and placed it next to her valise in the back. It was too bumpy to hold it still anyway. “This place. It’s just so different from what I’m used to.”
“Well, dear, it is,” Miriam said with a slight chuckle. “I’ve known city folk who come out here with everything they own to get cheap land from the Homestead Act. After a week, they’re discouraged. After two, disappointed. After a month, they pack up and go home. I’m not sure if you noticed a family by the train today, but they were there—jumping on as you jumped off.”
“A month?”
“Sometimes more. Sometimes less.”
Julia’s heart felt as if it had been trampled by the horses’ hooves. If it only took a month for most folks—those who’d risked everything to come out here—to turn back, how would she survive? Who knew h
ow long it would take the train to arrive? “It must be horrible here,” she mumbled.
“The problem’s not the hard life so much,” Miriam continued, her voice softer as if discerning Julia’s thoughts. “It’s the loneliness.”
“I can imagine.”
Miriam shifted her gaze to Julia, who studied the woman’s hands loosely gripping the reins. It was as if the horses had clopped down this road so many times, they knew their way by heart. Julia couldn’t imagine settling into a place like this. It didn’t feel like home.
Miriam patted Julia’s knee. “I know you’re terrified. I was. When we came from St. Louis, my husband, Jefferson, and I had only Isaac’s tales of good-hearted people, crazy characters, and starry skies. We wanted to come, felt called to support my brother’s ministry, but it was much more difficult than we anticipated. And, just like it did to those folks who turned back, the isolation got to me. Isaac was gone a lot, and Jefferson had to work from sunup to sundown just to get our cabin built. I was alone with the kids, day after day. That was before my sister Elizabeth showed up, of course. Things got easier when she came, but it still tends to be quiet out here. Lonesome Prairie is an appropriate name.”
A sparrow darted over the wagon, and Julia watched it flutter and fly away. “Did it get easier? I mean, before your sister came.”
Miriam nodded. “I learned to love it, actually, but I had to teach myself to handle the seclusion.” Her head slanted upward and her eyes focused on the path ahead. “First, I forced myself to keep busy. Now I know what you’re thinkin’, how can a body not be as busy as a one-armed gold miner out here? But you’d be surprised. When you start feelin’ depressed, you want to do the bare minimum to get by. And that only makes it worse.”
“I know that to be true,” Julia said. “When I first came to the orphanage after my parents died, all I wanted to do was hide under my blanket and sleep, but Mrs. Gaffin encouraged me to do a little bit every day. And when I did, I felt better.”
“The same’ll work out here. The other thing is that if you can, try to be around people as much as possible. God made us for human companionship. A body can spend weeks talkin’ to a goat, but that won’t do.” Miriam patted her hand. “You shouldn’t have much trouble with that. We’ll keep you company.”
Julia rubbed the tight muscles of her neck. A torrent of thankfulness washed over her. She might have been stranded out here alone, sad, and at a loss about how to survive, but Miriam—and Isaac and their whole family—seemed to have adopted her just as they had her wards. It was a temporary adoption, but full of a generosity she’d never forget.
“Have I mentioned how grateful I am for you?”
Miriam’s fingers lifted off the reins. “Believe me, we’ll be glad to have the extra hands.” She gripped Julia’s shoulder. “And your company.”
Julia gazed ahead and saw that the ruts in the road split and another lane branched off north. Miriam stopped the wagon and stood, pointing to the north. “If you stand, you can see our place.”
Julia rose and shielded her face from the sun. In the distance two small houses joined together, and a large barn-like structure behind them nestled into the landscape. A cluster of trees and a small lake sat beyond that.
“That’s our house to the right and Abe and Elizabeth’s to the left. We have a framed-in walkway between.”
Julia nodded. Then Miriam’s words replayed in her mind. She plunked down on the seat. “Did you say you live with Abe and Elizabeth?”
“Not with them. We have two homes, but we do share the kitchen and privy.” Miriam pressed a hand to her forehead. “But yes, we’re together. It’s pretty snug.”
“So, Shelby and Bea are there?” Julia whispered. Delight at seeing them again fought with dread. A reunion meant another parting, and the last one had been hard enough. “I didn’t realize.”
As much as she longed to stay in the safety of Miriam’s home—to experience a real family life that she’d missed for so long and to uncover the closeness they all seemed to have with God—Julia couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to Shelby and Bea; how could they settle in to a new life with their old guardian hovering close by? It would only confuse them. Nor would it be fair to Abe and Elizabeth. They needed a chance to earn the girls’ undivided loyalty and affection.
Julia’s hand settled on Miriam’s. “I’m sorry to inconvenience you.” She searched Miriam’s eyes, finding empathy there. “Is there anywhere else I can stay?”
Miriam’s eyebrows angled. “I’m so sorry I didn’t think of that. You can’t be with Shelby and Bea. Not so soon.”
“No, I can’t. Or rather, they can’t be with me.”
A lone rider drew near from the direction of Miriam’s house. Julia recognized Abe, Elizabeth’s husband. No longer wearing the black slacks and vest, he was dressed in work pants and a simple white cotton shirt rolled to his elbows.
“Yer sister just sent me out to look for you,” he said. “She was worried.” He stopped his horse alongside the wagon, and his eyes fixed on Julia. “Where you headed with Miss Cavanaugh?”
“I was taking her home. She missed the train and had a bit of an incident in town with Horace, but—”
“Oh, well…” Abe leaned forward in his saddle. His eyes looked concerned but determined. “I’m sorry you missed yer train. It’s jest that the girls, well, they are finally getting settled with ’Lizbeth. She was reading them a story when I left. Don’t want to see tears like that again all my live-long day.”
“Tears?” Julia’s hand flew to her chest as she gazed at Abe. “I understand. I was already hoping to stay somewhere else.”
Miriam wrapped an arm around her and held her tightly. “Do you want me to take you back to town?”
The sight of those men gawking at her played in her mind. She’d rather risk sleeping on the prairie with the threat of Indians and outlaws. She shook her head. “That’s not possible. I have only a little money left, and I was hoping to send a telegram to Mrs. Gaffin.”
“That’s more bad news. The closest place to send a telegram is Cascade, a day’s journey by horseback. Two days by wagon.” Her voice trailed off, and then in a burst of energy she once more took hold of the reins. “I have an idea.” She steered the horses to the left and urged them forward. “Julia can stay at Isaac’s place. He’ll be gone for a month at least.”
“That’ll do.” Abe nodded once. “I better head back. Yer husband’s up to his neck trying to get dinner on the table for your young’uns. Can I tell him you’ll be home soon?”
“Yes!” Miriam’s voice was followed by the whinny of one of the horses. “I’ll just get Julia settled in and be right back.”
Julia’s head jerked toward the pregnant woman sitting next to her, who was determined to have her stay…where? The parson’s place? “Wait a minute.” Julia reached for the reins and tugged. The horses stopped short. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Your brother, the parson, well…I don’t think he’d want me there. In fact, I’m positive he won’t.”
“Of course he won’t mind. Isaac likes you—just as he likes everyone,” she quickly added. “And besides, he won’t be back for a month, remember?”
Chapter Ten
“Calamity, c’mon girl.” Isaac’s half-blind sheepdog, who’d been faithfully waiting by the door of the hotel, scurried toward him, bumping into his leg as she reached him. The pleased dog let out a low bark, and Isaac knelt as she nudged against him. “Wanna sleep on the prairie tonight, girl? We’re riding out east.” He scratched her ears as she panted. “First, I need to check on Aponi.”
Isaac strode toward the opposite edge of town to his late friend’s house, thinking over the day’s events. Calamity kept up with his long strides.
Isaac shook his head as he thought about the scene at the hotel. Miriam’s hints had annoyed him more than anything on the good earth. Had Julia not been standing there, Isaac would’ve rebuked his sister. That’s what she needed. A good old-fashioned rebuke. She
knew Isaac had promised God he’d stay single. Plus, like him, Miriam knew very well the danger of leaving a woman alone night after night while her husband was gone. They’d both seen what had happened to their mother while their father was away fighting in the Indian wars.
No, he’d not risk a wife getting hurt or killed during his absence. He’d never marry. Isaac had accepted the fact years ago.
Reaching Milo’s home, Isaac sighed. Not Milo’s house anymore, Aponi’s. He hesitated briefly as he took in the only two-story in town, and then walked up the porch steps and knocked. Warren, Milo’s stepson, opened the door. His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. He reminded Isaac of an eight-year-old caught taking a pinch from his pa’s tobacco pouch.
Isaac had hoped for a chance to see Warren. He’d prayed that Milo’s death would jostle the young man’s earthly focus, making him think about things eternal. God often used the soul’s darkest hours to draw folks into close communion with Himself—like a shepherd who holds a wounded lamb in his arms. He hoped this would happen with Warren.
“It’s good to see you.” Isaac shook the stout man’s hand. “How you holding up?”
Warren stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind him. He bowed his head, the corner of thick lips turned down. “Well, it’s hard, you know. We miss him.”
Isaac patted the man’s back as a pang of grief hit him. “I do, too.” He paused, waiting to see if Warren wanted to talk, but the man fidgeted, shifting his weight.
“So, can I help you with something, Parson?”
Isaac let his hand drop. “I’d like to talk to Aponi and the girls before I head out of town. Maybe we can all share a pot of coffee?”
“Sounds good, but I’m sorry. I don’t think the womenfolk are up to it.”
The thought of Aponi not inclined toward a cup of coffee with any soul who knocked on her door unbalanced Isaac’s sense of stability. If Aponi’s hospitality couldn’t withstand Milo’s loss, Isaac wondered what else in his world now rested on unstable ground. He dreaded leaving town without at least praying with her.
