by Tricia Goyer
She tossed the stockings onto the bed and tiptoed to the window. The crisp morning’s prickly fingers contrasted with the sun’s rays reaching through the glass. She shivered and pulled her arms tight to her.
“Maah!” it sounded again.
Julia directed her gaze to the spot from where she believed the cry had come. There. Fifty feet away, she spied a lamb, lolling on its side and caught in the branches of a short, jagged tree.
After Isaac had left last night with a slam of the door, Julia had listened as he and his dog joined the horse in the barn. She assumed that’s where he’d stayed. Was he sleeping in? Why wasn’t he rushing out to save the scared creature? When she spied no movement in the barn—heard no sound of Isaac or Calamity rustling—Julia’s stomach clenched. She was the lamb’s only hope.
“Hold on, little one. I’m coming.”
She plopped back onto the bed, brushed the dirt from her feet, and put her stockings back on. Picking up her traveling boots, she shook them—checking for critters—then put them on and went outside.
Julia hurried through the tall prairie grass, finally reaching the lamb, and spotted one of its front hooves wedged in the tree’s twisted trunk.
“Oh, sweetie.” She knelt down. “Let me help you.”
Her heart pounded as she stared into the lamb’s sweet face. So scared, alone, trapped. I understand, little one.
“Maah!” The animal’s eyes darted, and its hind legs kicked as Julia reached out toward the embedded front hoof.
“Shh. It’s all right.” She caressed its head, as if she were comforting Bea. The lamb relaxed, and Julia cautiously wiggled the hoof free.
The lamb scrambled to stand and then paused, looking at her.
Julia rubbed its head. “Where’s your mama?”
The lamb let out a low “maah.”
“Well, you can stay here for now, I suppose. C’mon.” She knew the lamb couldn’t understand her words, but maybe he’d realize she would do what she could to keep him safe. She took a few steps and felt pleased when the little lamb followed her.
Julia meandered back to the soddy then walked the lamb around back in search of a shady spot. Finding one behind the house, she showed the creature a spot of greenish grass.
“I’ll come back in a little bit.” She patted the lamb’s woolly back. “I have to admit. It’s kind of nice having you for company.”
Back inside, Julia rummanged in her valise for clean clothes. For now, a bath would have to wait, but it was far beyond time to get out of the filthy traveling dress.
Stuffed inside the valise was the parson’s red bandanna. She hoped today she’d have a chance to wash it. She’d return to the clear water of the coulee if she had to.
Then, if I see him again, I can return it. The thought made her smile.
She undressed, leaving her clothes in a pile to be washed later, then slipped a simple light blue dress over her head.
Julia straightened the bodice and palmed the skirt. “Now, there’s a woman who can survive on the prairie.” She arranged her hair into a bun without the benefit of a mirror. “If I can just avoid being forced to marry an old prospector.” She chuckled at her own contrariness.
Looking toward the small shelf of food, Julia spotted something on the table and clasped her hands together. A basket, covered with a yellow cloth, and a jar of inky purple jam waited on the table next to her Bible. A fresh bucket of water rested on the floor.
Julia lifted the cloth and breathed in the doughy scent. “Buckwheat cakes!” She’d tasted the baked snacks at one of the depot stops along the way. With the jam—which Julia guessed to be made from wild Montana huckleberries—it’d be a feast.
As she folded the cloth back over the bread, she found a small scrap of paper under the basket.
Came by this morning but didn’t want to wake you. Glad you could catch up on your sleep. Be back on the morrow. Miriam.
“Did I sleep all day?” She did feel well rested.
She placed a buckwheat cake on the plate and slathered it with the sweet-smelling huckleberry jam, her stomach growling in expectation. So that’s why Isaac was gone. Long gone. Heading out to meet his parishioners, and she was alone on the prairie.
The lamb’s cry echoed to her again. Well, alone except for you, little one. “I’ll be there in a minute,” she called. “I’ll bring you water.”
As she consumed the satisfying meal, her thoughts returned to the handsome parson. His black eyes held such kindness. And something else. Admiration? Julia’s heartbeat kicked up its tempo. Couldn’t be. What was there to admire about a poor, stranded, pampered city girl with no family?
But she definitely admired him. His wit, compassion, strength. Isaac felt like a friend—a friend she craved to learn more about. Yet, since he was determined to head out on his preaching circuit, she doubted she’d have any time with him before she returned to New York.
She supposed she’d have to settle for spending time with his soddy. Julia’s gaze traveled around the room, lingering over the parson’s few belongings before they rested on the family Bible Miriam had pointed out. She stepped to the bookshelf and tugged it from its spot.
She hoisted the heavy book to the table. It landed front-down with a thud, and the flimsy back cover flopped open. The back page was filled with notes in a man’s handwriting, made in thick, broad strokes. A tinge of guilt nudged her. She closed it and folded her hands, considering whether she was prying. Would Isaac want her to read it? Was she being nosy?
Of course, it might not be Isaac’s handwriting at all. If this Bible was as old as her family’s, there could be generations’ worth of notes in here. Julia placed her hand on the leather casing. And if there was anything she wasn’t supposed to read, Miriam wouldn’t have offered it to her.
She reopened it to the back page. Just as she thought—notes dating back to before the War filled the white parchment. Julia was amazed by the prayers and songs of praise, the cries of various men’s hearts. Near the bottom, she read one prayer written in the form of a letter.
December 29, 1882
Dear God,
You know I promised to not marry and instead dedicate my life to ministry. I broke that vow, God, by marrying Bethany. And now she’s dead, because I left her alone. God, I promise to never break my vow again. Please forgive me. Help me to serve You all my days.
Isaac Shepherd
Julia closed the Bible. Her throat tightened, and her chest ached for Isaac’s loss, for his latent sense of guilt that leaked through. Rising tears burned her eyes.
“I shouldn’t have read that. I’m so sorry,” she muttered in prayer.
She lifted the Bible from the table and shoved the thick book back into its place. Her arms slunk to her sides, and her head roiled with a mixture of guilt, compassion, and curiosity. What had the letter meant? Was it even from the parson? Perhaps he had a great-grandfather Isaac. But the ink wasn’t faded as it was in the other notes, and it was dated not seven years ago.
Julia propped her hands on the table for support. And who was Bethany? How did she die?
Why did I read those notes? What was I thinking?
The next morning, Julia’s eyes drooped as she swallowed her second breakfast in a row of buckwheat cakes and huckleberry jam. She failed to savor the sweet tastes as she had yesterday morning—not because the morsels had grown stale, but because the Herculean effort of the day before to keep her mounting loneliness at bay had left her exhausted. She’d striven to stay positive and busy, but by nightfall the effort seemed useless. Plus, try as she might, she couldn’t squelch her curiosity about Isaac’s past heartbreak. Her guilt about prying gnawed at her.
There was something else that bothered her. If she was honest, she’d have to admit that she was beginning to care for the parson—at least in the sense that his opinion of her mattered.
Julia sighed and wiped a crumb from her lip. Her thoughts had spun around this way for the last twenty-four hours. A knock sounded
at the door. She froze.
A second knock, then the door creaked open and she heard a soft footfall.
“Julia? Are you in here?” Miriam hurried in, hands swinging as if to balance her heavy middle.
Julia turned, and a strand of hair fell to her eyes. She brushed it back. “Yes, I’m sorry. You—you scared me.”
But she felt more than fear. The sight of Isaac’s sister had sent a rush of guilt into Julia’s stomach.
“You had me worried when you didn’t come to the door.”
Avoiding the woman’s eyes, Julia glanced down and watched a beetle scurry across her boot.
“Are you all right?” Miriam opened her arms, and Julia stepped into the embrace. “Did you have a difficult couple of nights out here?”
“No, that’s not it.” Julia pulled back. “Well, they were difficult, but…” Julia explored the woman’s strong features, her square forehead, her compassionate eyes. “I must admit something.” She took a deep breath, relieved to be able to talk to someone about what had been troubling her, yet nervous to see the kind woman’s reaction. “I was looking around yesterday, and I saw Isaac’s Bible. I didn’t mean to pry, but there were handwritten notes in back.” The words spilled from her. “And now I feel just awful. I think I read something I shouldn’t have….” She swallowed. “Among Isaac’s notes.”
A faint frown crept over Miriam’s face, and Julia’s heart sank. She didn’t know why this woman’s good regard mattered so much, but she didn’t want to disappoint her—not after all the kindness she’d shown. Miriam’s eyes searched hers.
“I’m sorry.” Julia crossed her arms over her chest.
Miriam gently grasped Julia’s shoulders. “I don’t know what my brother wrote, but I can guess, and I don’t want you to fret. My family doesn’t have any secrets, nothing most folks around here don’t already know. The best solution is for you to talk to Isaac. He shares his story and his heart with many. And I can fill you in, too. I’m good at keeping abreast of the matters in my little brother’s life and heart.”
Julia pinched a bit of her skirt’s fabric and leaned a hand on one of the two chairs around the table. “Oh no, I couldn’t ask. It’s not my business. I’ll be gone with the next train anyway. I probably won’t even see your brother again.” That thought sent with it a mild streak of regret. Why do I so crave to see him? Julia questioned herself. I barely know the man, yet my thoughts keep drifting to him. She returned her attention to Miriam. “If I talk to Isaac about it, it will only be to apologize for prying—and to offer my condolensces. He must have been devastated.”
Miriam pointed to the chairs then walked past Julia to the other side of the table and sat down. “My back aches when I stand for too long—and this way we can talk.”
Julia slid into the chair across from her.
“As for my brother,” Miriam wiped perspiration with the back of her tanned hand, “I don’t think you need to apologize, but if you feel you want to, I’m sure he will understand.”
A hint of relief filtered through Julia’s mind. If Miriam didn’t think her intrusion in the parson’s business was worrisome, she’d also try to let it go. And with the guilt gone, perhaps the curiosity would fly away as well. But Miriam didn’t seem finished with the conversation. She folded her hands and tilted her head. A beat of silence passed before she spoke.
“I, uh, wanted to talk to you, well, about the train….” A sympathetic crease formed in the prairie woman’s forehead, and she twisted her lips as if trying to think of a way to say something.
“What?” Julia leaned closer. “Don’t tell me it comes once a year.”
“No, no.” She shook her head. “It’s just that Isaac, well, he’s up at the ranch resting for a day or two. I guess that storm left him with some aching muscles as well as a bad cold.”
A dash of warmth rushed to Julia’s neck at the thought of his being just a couple miles away. “I did my best to help him the other night. Poor man.” She leaned back in her chair, remembering their conversation and the comfort of being near him. “But he sure was a sight when he arrived. I’m not surprised he’s ill.”
Miriam’s eyes glinted briefly and the look of pity returned. Julia’s chest tightened. What was Miriam trying to tell her?
“I know you thought your ticket would still be good for the next train, but it doesn’t work that way. Isaac said he saw your ticket when he was here, and…oh dear.” She tipped her head to the side. “It’s one-way. You’ll have to buy a ticket home.”
“That can’t be right.” Julia’s mind churned. “I was to return the same day I arrived. Mrs. Gaffin, my headmistress, she knew that. She took care of everything.” Julia stood and moved to the valise next to the bed. She pulled the ticket out and handed it to Miriam.
Miriam glanced at it and handed it back. “I’m so sorry. I know you want to return as soon as you can, but this is not a round-trip ticket. It says the destination is Big Sandy.”
“But—but that’s just the final stop before I return home.” Julia’s stomach felt as if the train had chugged over it, leaving her in pieces. “Isn’t that what that means?”
Miriam slowly shook her head.
Julia slumped back into the chair. The ramifications swirled in her mind like smoke from the steam engine. “I don’t have the fare for a ticket home. I barely have enough money to pay for meager meals along the way.” She glanced around the primitive room, remembering the insects and the snake, the storm. How lonely she’d felt the last two days. It seemed the ache of losing the girls would never mend until she got on with her life—and that meant returning to New York. She’d figured the train would return in about a week. Perhaps she could handle that, but longer? “I need to get back to New York.”
Miriam reached over and grabbed her hands. “We’d help you out if we could, but we just don’t have that kind of money.”
“No, of course not.” Julia’s mind swam, searching for a solution. “I’ll write Mrs. Gaffin. That’s all I can do. I’m sure she’ll send money.” Her voice trailed off as realization dawned. Oh, Mrs. Gaffin, what have you done?
Julia fingered the tablecloth. “She thought I’d be getting married here.” She glanced up at Miriam and shrugged. “That’s why she didn’t give me a round-trip ticket. She thought I’d be swept into married bliss with”—she covered her mouth as a desperate laugh emerged—“with Horace the goldminer.”
Miriam’s eyes exuded sympathy as she flung her big belly across the table and threw her arms around Julia. “I’m so sorry, dear. But try to think of the good things about this.” She smirked at Julia. “First and foremost, you’ll get to spend more time with my brother.”
Julia pulled her body back and sent Miriam a mock glare. “You’re terrible.” But she had to admit that the thought did make the sentence of staying there a bit less harsh.
Chapter Thirteen
Grateful to be feeling better and to be out on the trail again, Isaac had spent the day headed eastward toward Lodge Pole. Yet on his way, he took off on a jackrabbit trail in search of Horace.
When he finally found him in Gold Creek, the obstinate prospector was up to his armpits in the clear mountain water with a white cake of soap clutched in his surprisingly clean hand.
“Horace? Didn’t you take a bath just last month?” Isaac climbed down from his horse and led her to the water. Calamity trotted to the stream for a long drink and then jumped in. The dog’s lips seemed to curl up in a smile as she dog paddled in a large circle around Horace.
Offended by Isaac’s words, Horace refused to talk to the minister for a good five minutes as he slogged out of the creek, dried off next to an old downed tree, and tugged on his grimy clothes.
“Don’t you think you should wash those britches before you put them back on?” Isaac ventured.
Horace shoved his foot in his trousers and glanced up, scratching his wet hair. “Huh?”
Isaac figured the man was at least trying.
Horace finish
ed getting dressed, then smoothed his hair back and donned his hat.
“You look very nice,” Isaac said.
The middle-aged miner licked his lips and grinned. “Why thank ya,” he said, the silent punishment apparently over. “But don’t be going on with that small talk. I know why yer here.” He squatted on the old log, elbows on knees.
Isaac joined him, grateful to have an opening to start the conversation. “Horace, I know you want a wife. I can see how you’d be lonely up here, but—”
Horace smiled. “Yup. Real lonely, but I got me a wife now. A real New York lady I can love, and who’ll fix me up some good vittles,” he pointed to a gash in his pants, “and mend my duds.” He beamed. “I hafta tell ya, Parson Ike. This morning I thanked the Good Lord for sendin’ her to me.”
Calamity ran up the bank to Isaac’s side and shook, spraying droplets of water all over him.
Isaac moaned—not because of the dog, but rather the man. Leave it to Horace to try his patience. What would it take to convince him Julia Cavanaugh was not going to become his wife?
After a couple hours of eddying around the same subjects—“She doesn’t want to marry,” “You can’t buy a wife,” and “She’s going back East”—without so much as budging Horace’s mindset, Isaac finally gave up. As he cinched his saddle around the butterscotch mare’s girth, he tried one last tactic. “Why not trust the Lord to bring the right woman along?”
Horace moseyed next to Isaac and placed a hand on his shoulder. His lips puckered, and his eyes squinted. “With all yer advice ta me ’bout trustin’ the Lord, a soul’s gotta wonder,” he gulped a loud swallow, “why don’t you trust the Good Lord, Parson Ike? Why don’t you got no wife?”
Isaac released a low growl. He thought he’d escaped the constant push toward matrimony when he’d left Miriam behind in Lonesome Prairie.
“Horace.” His voice came close to a bark. Then he softened his tone. “We are not talking about me.” He mounted his mare. “Just leave the poor woman alone. At least wait till I get back before you pursue her.”
