Love Finds You in Lonesome Prairie, Montana

by Tricia Goyer

  Hunger gnawed at her stomach, but the strength to get up and fix herself a meal eluded her. Without bath or dinner, she slid her head against the pillow, drew the patchwork quilt over herself, and escaped into a deep sleep.

  After what seemed like minutes, but must’ve been hours judging by the night sky, Julia was awakened by a loud hammering. At first groggy, she couldn’t imagine who’d be pounding on the orphanage door. Once her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she realized where she was and bolted upright in bed. Her heart thrashed against her ribs.

  Who was pounding on the soddy? Her mind foggy, she imagined Jesse James and his band of outlaws. Or Indians. Julia knew exactly what those Indians did to prairie women—sliced their scalps right off their heads. What if it was a bear? Julia sat frozen, fear paralyzing her. O God, help me.

  Sucking in a quick breath, she peeked out the window. Oh. She exhaled. Pounding hail was barely visible in the pale moonlight. How silly of me. She’d known a storm was coming. She was just surprised she’d slept through any of it. Realizing she wouldn’t get any more sleep till the weather calmed, she decided to get up and find something to eat. She peeked outside again at her first prairie storm. By the sound of it, it was a big one.

  Reaching for the lantern, she paused as she felt something land on her head. “Oh my, the roof is leaking!” She touched her head, expecting to feel a wet spot, but instead something wriggled under her hand and tried to crawl up her arm.

  She brushed against her hair frantically, squealed, and scampered to the other side of the bed. She groped in the dark for the lantern, found it, and lit it. Light filled the room, and she set the lantern on the small chair. Her eyes searched the blankets for the insect so she could shake it off. But before she could spot the disgusting creature something else tumbled from the earth above. A spider. Another squeal.

  Julia shot a glance upward and realized the storm was forcing the critters to fall from the dirt roof. She guessed it was because they scurried through the sod above, trying to get away from the storm.

  Returning to the bed, she threw herself on her back and grabbed for the blanket to cover her face. She wasn’t quick enough. A large, squirmy creature with scaly skin landed on her forehead with a thud. A snake.

  A snake! Julia screamed and flung it off her, not knowing where it landed or even what kind of snake it was.

  A rattler, she guessed. I know it is!

  Julia bounced from the bed onto the dirt floor. Her chest heaved. Her skin crawled. But she knew her only safe place was under that blanket. She ripped it from the bed, and moving the lantern to the table, she slouched on the bench. Not willing to touch her stockinged feet to the dirt, she lifted them up and hugged her knees. With trembling hands, she draped the blanket over her head. Why am I here? I want to go back to New York.

  I’m going back. I’ll walk if I have to.

  As she caught her breath, she heard another noise. With the hail beating down, she couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like footsteps. She waited, listening. The sound got louder. Definitely footsteps. She cautiously stood up and grabbed the shotgun from above the door. Unsure how to make it fire, she held it like a club.

  Julia stood behind the door, waiting.

  The door pushed open.

  Isaac secured poor, wet Virginia in the barn. Ice-covered and shivering uncontrollably, he hurried to his soddy, Calamity plodding alongside him. He pushed the door open, and the dog let out a quick bark. Isaac looked at the dog, confused. “What’s wrong, girl?”

  Then, as he stepped his foot inside, a woman’s scream split the air. Before he could respond, a hard object slammed against his left ear. Pain blurred his vision.

  “What in the—” Isaac’s hand shot to his head as he tumbled forward, tripping over Calamity. More pain surged as a second blow struck his back. He slumped to his knees then reached forward and scrambled toward his bed, turning and lifting his arms to block any additional blows. A liquid warmed his hand, and in the dim lantern light he saw that it was blood. Before he could look up, he heard a woman’s voice.

  “Oh no! Parson!”

  The woman dropped the gun on the dirt floor, hurried to him, and gently lowered his arms. He flinched, and then the woman’s face became clear before him. Julia Cavanaugh. Anger tightened the muscles in his neck. Pain shot through his temples.

  Calamity moseyed next to the woman and sniffed her hand. Then the dog’s tail wagged, and she pranced like she always did when they had special visitors.

  “Calamity, no. Sit.” His voice was sharp.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was you.” Her voice blabbered on. “Miriam said I could stay here. You weren’t supposed to be back, and I thought you were…” Her chin quivered. “Oh, I don’t know what I thought. Look at you. You’re bleeding.”

  The young woman, lamplight flickering in her brown eyes, moved toward the empty water basin. “Don’t you have a clean rag around here?” Long hair, probably let down for sleep, fell over her shoulders in soft, dark waves. He’d thought her pretty the first time he’d seen her, but now she looked more than pretty—beautiful—like a princess from the book of stories Miriam read to her girls.

  Isaac quickly looked away. He took off his soaked coat and slung it over the bedpost. Shivers shook his body, and he struggled to pull the blanket around him. “I d–d–don’t know.” His teeth chattered as he attempted to answer her question. “Maybe in—”

  She glanced at him. “It’s fine. Never mind.” She crouched and rummaged through her things, finally displaying a thick piece of white fabric. “This’ll work perfectly. It’s made to soak up liquid.” She walked toward him.

  “Uh, is that a diaper?” Isaac asked, his anger fading to confusion. Why did she say she was here?

  Julia chuckled. “Don’t worry. It’s been boiled, so it’s perfectly clean. I always keep some with me to use for…whatever I may need.”

  “Like cleaning the wound of a poor parson who’s been walloped in his own home?”

  “I’m so sorry.” Julia’s lower lip pushed out in a pout. Her eyes glistened as she gazed at him. “I was afraid. I’ve never spent the night alone before, much less in a house made of earth. But Mr. Falcon and I agreed it would be easier on the girls if I didn’t stay at their place, and then the storm came and”—she tentatively glanced up—“and the critters fell on me. I suppose I just panicked, like a silly schoolgirl.”

  Isaac tilted his head, taking in the sight of her sincere eyes. First leaving the girls, then Horace trying to wed her, then missing the train. He couldn’t imagine a worse first day on the prairie. “You’re not a silly schoolgirl.”

  Julia’s lips turned up in a half smile, and she curved a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “You poor thing. You’re freezing.” She lifted the quilt from the bed, shook it off, and then wrapped it around his shoulders, folding it snug under his chin like a mother bundling a child after he’d played in the snow. “Does it hurt?”

  “Only a little.” He turned his head and realized he hadn’t told the whole truth. It hurt more than a little.

  She held the lantern and examined his head. A strand of her hair came loose and brushed Isaac’s cheek. Her fingers gingerly rubbed over his wound. He winced, but only slightly.

  “It’s not a big gash, and not deep.” Her shoulders relaxed. “There’s a pretty big knot behind your ear, but it should be gone in a few days.” She dabbed the blood with the diaper, then positioned it over the wound. “Hold this here. Tight.” She placed his hand over it. Then her soft palm covered his. “So, uh, leave it there until the bleeding stops.” Pink tinged her cheeks as she pulled her hand away.

  She patted his pillow. “Lie down here. Get comfortable.”

  He did as he was told and rolled to his side.

  Satisfied, she turned toward the stove. “Now to get you and Calamity warm.”

  Julia opened the gate of the stove and moved to the basket of coal. She hesitated and sucked in a deep breath.
r />   “What is it?” He lifted his head.

  She kicked the wooden coal box toward him. He peered inside and saw a snake shift from the movement.

  “It’s not a rattler, is it?”

  Isaac eyed the critter’s brown markings. “It’s a gopher snake.” He pressed his lips together, forcing his laughter to stay inside.

  With quick movements, she reached down and stood back up, holding the snake as it quivered and squirmed in her hand. She stood tall, trying to be brave, but Isaac saw the fear and revulsion in her eyes.

  “I thought not. No rattle.” She marched to the door, held it open against the wind, and hurled the creature into the storm. “Sorry, snake. You can’t find refuge in this house.”

  As she closed the door behind her, the brave demeanor vanished, and she shuddered. “That was awful.”

  Isaac chuckled. “You were made for the prairie.”

  Julia pulled her hair behind her and tied it into a knot, which utterly baffled him. How did she get it to stay up like that?

  “Not hardly.” She shook her head. “I’m a city girl. I always wanted to come out West—to visit, but never to stay.” She threw coal into the stove. “When the train comes, I’ll be heading back—as long as they’ll still take my round-trip ticket. It says no exchanges on it, but surely they wouldn’t leave me stranded out here.”

  Isaac had never known the railroad folks to be compassionate, but he didn’t want to burden her with that now. “You never know. You might decide you like it out here.”

  She skillfully lit the coal, fanning the flames into a strong fire. “I doubt it.”

  Julia lifted Isaac’s folded Indian blanket from a peg on the wall and laid it on the ground near the fire. She walked to him. “I think you should sit in front of the heat. The sooner you get warm, the better.”

  Isaac attempted to pull his legs around, but pain shot through them as well as through the rest of his body. He tried to sit up, but his head felt fuzzy. He lay back down and let out a low moan. “Guess the hail battered me a bit.”

  Julia approached and kneeled before him. Her face, only inches from his, displayed compassion. “And you’re probably stinging from the numbness, too.” She reached for his hand. “Let me help you.”

  Isaac shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I can do it.” He struggled to his feet, but his knees gave out beneath him and he nearly toppled onto her. He felt like a weak fool crumpling into her like that and did his best to get his footing. It did little good, and she reached her arm under his, propping him up.

  “Just think of me as your nurse,” she said as she walked him to the blanket and eased him to the floor. Isaac’s heart raced, and he knew it had nothing to do with the hail or the blow to his head.

  He crouched before the black stove, taking in its warmth. Calamity curled up beside him. “Just like that lady I read about. What was her name? Oh yes, Florence Nightingale.”

  She took the quilt from the bed, laying it over him and tucking it around his shoulders. Then he watched as she set to work, making a stew from the canned goods and dried meat she found. He was awed by this woman—the way she cared for him so selflessly. She moved about her work without complaint. He almost thought he spotted a hint of joy. And despite her own suffering, she served him, helped him. Milo’s quote of Scripture drifted to his consciousness. It is not good that the man should be alone.

  Isaac stroked Calamity, noticing her tail wag. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she let him care for his own wounds, make his own fire, prepare his own meal. Especially after the way he’d treated her earlier.

  Deeply sighing, Isaac breathed in the stew’s rich, inviting scent and somehow also breathed in her presence, realizing how right it felt.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Julia poured the stew into a bowl and placed some in front of Calamity, who slurped it up. Then she filled two mugs, grabbed a couple squares of hard tack, and sat down in the chair next to him. Despite his pounding head, he righted himself, leaning back against the wall.

  “You better try it first before thanking me.” She smiled. “It might be the worst ‘vittles’ you ever ‘done ate’—or at least I think that’s what they call dinner in ‘these here parts.’”

  “I didn’t mean that. Or rather only that.” He balanced the mug on his knee. “Thank you for taking care of me tonight.”

  “Well.” She glanced over at him, and for the first time Isaac noticed small freckles on the bridge of her nose. “I hurt you, so I had to help you.” She paused for a moment. “Actually, that’s not the complete truth. I’m glad to do it. I feel better being busy. Besides…” She smiled simply. “I’m starting to like you.” She winked. “Just a little.”

  I like you, too, Isaac wanted to say, but the words caught. He’d longed for a night alone on the prairie, but somehow this time with Miss Cavanaugh felt like an unexpected blessing—a comfort he hadn’t realized he needed. He felt grateful not just for her help, but for her company.

  They sat silent for a moment as each one ate. Isaac found himself distracted by her nearness.

  After a few moments, Isaac saw Julia’s gaze sweep the room. “This sure isn’t where I thought I’d be tonight.”

  A tinge of embarrassment touched Isaac for his rough surroundings. “It’s pretty primitive—not like New York, I’d imagine.” He angled his head toward the curtains. “Except for those—and all the other kind gifts my flock bestows on me.” The thought of his ministry relaxed him, gave him joy. “And after I get back from my circuit, Abe and Jefferson are gonna help put up some planks to keep the critters out.” He grinned.

  Julia’s shoulders scrunched up. “Oh, it’s not that. I was just thinking this is the first night in a long time that I haven’t slept to the sound of a clacking train—or surrounded by little girls.”

  “That must be a strange feeling.”

  Julia’s lips arched downward. She took in a breath and then shook her head, as if pushing the sad thoughts away. “Tell me about your sweet dog here.” She buried her finger in Calamity’s fur behind her ears, causing the sheepdog to moan in bliss. “Did I hear you call her Calamity? That’s an unusual name.”

  Isaac chuckled. “Yes, well, I’m not sure if you noticed, but she’s blind in one eye. Was born that way. I came upon a farmer who was going to put her down.” He stroked the dog’s back.

  “And you call her Calamity because…”

  “Well, because half the time she’s bumping into stuff. And also because she reminds me of Calamity Jane, who was my friend William Hickok’s woman. Jane is a whirlwind on the outside but is sweet and faithful as anyone you’ve ever seen.”

  “William Hickok, as in Wild Bill Hickok?”

  Isaac nodded. “You know of him?”

  “I read about him fighting the Indians. It made me want to see the West—like my father. He always dreamed of coming out West.”

  The coal crackled, its dry smell filling the room.

  “Your father passed away?”

  “Yes, and my mother, when I was eight.”

  “My ma died when I was five.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her eyes linked with his, and then she swept her hand around the room. “Of course, nothing could have prepared me for this version of the Wild West—snakes falling on my head…”

  Isaac shook his head and grinned compassionately. “Sorry ’bout that.” He sat up straighter, realizing his muscles ached less and his head no longer throbbed. “But I do love this old soddy. It’s safe and it’s snug. And it’s perfect for one…” He paused, and she looked at him.

  And even more perfect for two. The thought came unbidden, and for the first time in many years, Isaac realized he longed for a companion. The strong emotions surprised him, stirring up longings he thought he’d buried long ago—for a wife, a family. And worse, these desires centered at this moment around Miss Cavanaugh, a woman he barely knew, but someone he unexpectedly craved to know better. He forced himself to push those thoughts away and think o
f her as nothing more than someone he could minister to in his official role as a parson. She’s just another sheep, a member of the flock. Still, he knew he couldn’t stay.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said, abruptly grabbing the hard tack. “I’m sorry, Miss Cavanaugh. The storm seems to have settled down and I really can’t—” He paused, anxiety hammering his heart. “I can’t stay here.”

  And without waiting for her reply, Isaac stepped into the cold night air, Calamity trailing behind.

  Chapter Twelve

  A cry filtered through Julia’s grogginess, stirring her awake.

  In her sleepy haze, she believed Bea had again wedged her leg between the rods of her bed frame.

  “I’ll be right there, sweetie.” She attempted to open her eyes, but the room was bright—the sunlight streamed onto her face. Julia sat up, reaching. Reaching for Bea…

  Yet something was wrong. The room was quiet. Too quiet and still. There were no clomping footsteps or little girl giggles. Then, like dust stirred by wagon wheels over the prairie, truth descended upon Julia’s confused thoughts. Isaac’s soddy.

  She closed her eyes tight once more and tucked her head back under blankets that smelled of the parson and the prairie.

  The realization the girls were gone, combined with the loneliness of this place, threatened to engulf her. Yet other thoughts emerged—such as the memory of her conversation last night with Isaac. The way he looked in the lantern light. His smile. His thankfulness for a simple meal, even though she was the one taking over his space. And even though she’d nearly knocked him out went he’d entered his own home.

  The cry wailed again, louder than before, interrupting her reverie.

  “What on earth?” Julia slid her feet to the floor and froze when she felt the dirt.

  “Don’t these people know about wooden floors?” she mumbled, reaching under her petticoats to peel off her stockings. The last thing she needed was to get them even dirtier than they already were.