by Tricia Goyer
Chapter Eighteen
A steamboat whistle accompanied Isaac’s final “amen” as he finished his closing prayer outside the depot in Fort Benton two weeks later. Around him, the crowd spread out, and Isaac eyed the boat casting a short shadow across the soft blue Missouri River as it cruised to its final stop. On deck, a banjo player picked “Oh! Susanna.”
Isaac and Jim had searched Great Falls and the surrounding townships for two weeks, but they’d paused their hunt for yet another jaunt home to Lonesome Prairie. Isaac wasn’t sure why, but on this trip he seemed to forget vital supplies like a flighty squirrel losing its acorns.
On his latest return home, Miriam and Elizabeth were less than subtle—far less—about their attempts to give Isaac and Julia time to talk. They’d pushed them to fetch water from the coulee, no doubt so they could take a romantic sunset stroll. But Isaac didn’t mind anymore. In fact, he’d hoped to have another chance to speak with her—about the Bible, of course.
Isaac glanced out at the finely attired Eastern passengers debarking the steamship and strolling toward the Grand Central Hotel. After that, they’d spend their days seeking adventure in the “wild frontier” and most likely be surprised—like the pretty Julia Cavanaugh had been—that the world of Indians, soldiers, and homesteaders wasn’t as exhilarating as it was in those dime novels. While it was true that there were moments of excitement on the frontier, most of the people he knew didn’t have time for adventure. They worked hard and led quiet lives.
Isaac took in a breath as the breeze caused his shirtsleeves to flutter, and his mind traced its way back to Julia. He’d grown fond of her over the last weeks, not only during the hours they’d conversed over biblical issues—which inevitably led to candid personal revelations as well—but even as she occupied his thoughts. And he did seem to mull over her more than his other parishioners. He knew it was because he was attracted to her; he couldn’t deny that. But as a minister, he’d learned to rein in his personal feelings for the sake of the flock.
Isaac glanced at a dandelion seedling tossed in the wind. A touch of contentment surged through him as he indulged himself in a moment of pondering Julia’s character.
When he’d first met her, she’d seemed to possess a real faith even though she knew so little. But like a thirsty lamb, she’d drunk up the bits of the living water he’d shared, and gone further still. She studied and read in his absence and was even prepared with questions when he returned. The opportunity to feed a hungry soul soaked Isaac in the joy of fulfilling one’s purpose in life. And if he was truthful, she’d encouraged his own faith more than once. That was a blessing he hadn’t expected.
Isaac squelched the thoughts of Julia, knowing too much could lead him to dangerous territory. He instead remembered the morning he first arrived at this very dock, six years ago. He’d ambled off the boat and, with trembling hands and voice, preached his first sermon on the front porch of the town’s general store to just two listeners—Milo being one of them. God had grown the church mightily since then, though not with steeples or parsonages. Isaac’s eyes moved over the two dozen folks milling about. He’d known many since those early days, having baptized a good lot of them.
The Lord had built the church—Isaac would take no credit for that—with living stones, a people He called His own. Those saints He grew, refined, blessed, and molded each day. Yet sometimes Isaac just wished the refining happened a little quicker.
“Welp, Parson Ike,” Giant Jim said, coming alongside. “’Twas another good sermon. Don’t know how you do it day after day.”
Isaac joined him, and they moseyed under the trees along the riverfront. Up ahead, a row of tables had been set up for a picnic. Isaac sniffed the air, smiling at the scent of buffalo meat roasting on the two large firepits. His stomach rumbled. “Well, I’ll tell you, I read the Bible a lot,” he answered Jim. “And do a lot of praying.”
One of the church ladies approached, touching Isaac’s sleeve. “Now Parson Ike, that was a wonderful sermon. Do you ever grow weary of remembering…and saying all those words?”
Giant Jim laughed. “You think this here’s a lot of talkin’, try spendin’ a couple weeks straight on the trail with this feller.”
“All right, now.” Isaac cast a mocking glare to Jim and then jumped up onto a nearby tree stump.
“Let us pray, shall we? O Bread of Life, from day to day be Thou our comfort, food, and stay. Amen.” As he recited his nephew Christopher’s favorite prayer, a wave of family hankering came over him, and he was thankful he’d be seeing them in just a few days. It was his birthday, and even though he needed no celebration, his sisters would throw a fit if he wasn’t there. Another reason to find Mabelina as quickly as possible.
Giant Jim grabbed a biscuit and bit a chunk out of it. “Wonder if I could ever do that preachin’ thing like you do?”
Isaac hopped down and joined his friend at the food table. “Why Jim, I think you’d make a fine preacher.” He grabbed a plate. “The way I’ve seen the Lord work in you these last weeks… Keep learning and studying and seeking Him first—He’ll let you know if that’s what He wants.”
Joy dawned on Jim’s face. “Just think, Parson. A few weeks ago I was a foul ol’ varmint. Still am, I s’pose, but I do want to change. And if the Good Lord would let me be a parson like you—” He halted as if snared by his own words. His thick mustache twitched.
“It’s a good aspiration, my friend.”
Jim squinted. His countenance, all smiles a moment ago, fell as if draped with worry, and he paused filling his plate with potato salad. “There’s one problem. I love that woman of mine sore much. I don’t know if I can give ’er up.”
Isaac set down the serving spoon he was about to dip into the baked beans and returned the gravity of Jim’s look. “Why would you have to give up Mabelina to be a preacher?”
“Well, you ain’t got no wife, do you? An’ I heard ya say you don’t want one because you wanna be a better preacher.”
Isaac loved this man’s heart. His childlike longing to do right by his lady and his Lord inspired Isaac, but Jim’s assumption also sent a stark reminder of the weight of Isaac’s example. He’d never preached a sermon promoting an unmarried life, hadn’t even talked about it much—except when asked by everyone and his brother seeking to pawn him off on their daughters. Yet Jim had formed a supposition based on Isaac’s lifestyle.
Isaac was grateful for the opportunity to clear it up. “You don’t need to worry about that. My decision to stay single…well, that’s just something I decided a long time ago. Not every preacher must do the same.” He watched the thin valleys in the man’s face curve upward again. “Lots of us get married.”
Jim smiled and dug his teeth into a chicken leg. “Well, now that’s what I thought, but you got me mixed up by that peculiar vow o’ yers.” He chewed as he talked. “Seems to me that the preacher I knew growin’ up, Brother Keith—he had hisself a good wife. Even said she helped him be a better minister.”
Isaac tilted his head back, enjoying his friend’s speech. “Well, that’s what Mabelina’ll be for you. A good wife and helper.”
The lofty man frowned. “If we could only find ’er. She shouldn’t be that hard to find, what with her flamin’ red hair.”
In the distance children played tag, laughing and chasing one another while the cool wind from the river whipped their hair around their faces. Beyond that a young man and woman walked hand-in-hand upon the riverbank. Seeing it caused a blanket of loneliness to settle over Isaac.
“You say woman you look for? With hair of flame?” An old, battle-worn Indian man, who’d joined the congregation just a month before, had addressed them.
“Yes.” Giant Jim’s face brightened.
“Woman hair color of fireweed here last dawn.”
“My Mabelina.” Jim patted the top of his hat then removed it and stroked his hair.
“Sad eyes.” The Indian lowered his gaze.
“Who was she
with?” Isaac spoke slow and clearly. “Where were they going?”
“She leave yesterday with Assiniboine woman. Go to reservation.”
Isaac glanced at Jim, whose mouth hung open. “Why would she go with Aponi?”
“You don’t think those Injuns’d wanna make Mabelina pay for shootin’ one of their women’s husbands, do ya?” Jim asked.
Isaac’s gut tightened. Aponi would never seek vengeance, but then why would she take Mabelina to her people? Unless Mabelina needed a quick hiding place, which could mean the vigilantes were on her trail. Either way, he and Jim needed to go.
Jim pushed his plate to the side. Judging from the look in his eye, he was no longer interested in food.
“Thank you for the information.” Isaac patted the old man’s shoulder. Within him, hope sparred with fear. Now they knew where they needed to go. The question was, would they get there soon enough?
Within ten minutes they were back on the horses, their gazes fixed north toward the Assiniboine Reservation.
It took them a day and a night to get there. Arriving at the arid plains, Isaac led Jim beyond the boundaries, downward through the broken land. A vulture spiraled overhead, searching for carcasses. Isaac wondered how even a vulture could survive in this desolation. Soon they approached the Indian settlements, and the scent of tanning hides and campfires wafted through the air.
Next to Isaac, Jim’s gaze searched each teepee, his knuckles pale as he gripped his reins.
“We’ll find her.” Isaac kept his voice low, knowing the Indians valued quiet tones. “I come here every so often. I know Aponi’s teepee is up ahead.”
Men’s and women’s faces—strong, emotionless—peered at the two riders. Isaac offered smiles, knowing if they didn’t recognize him personally, his parson’s hat provided a passport.
Reaching Aponi’s family group, Isaac motioned for Jim to dismount.
Calamity trotted to the nearest shady spot and lay down, watching the men as if waiting to see how this was going to turn out.
“Which one is it, Parson Ike?” Jim asked. “Mabelina! You here?”
“Not so loud.” Isaac led Jim and his horses through the corridor between the clusters of teepees, and as they approached the second to last, Isaac pointed. “That’s Aponi’s.”
“Mabelina, you in there? C’mon out. It’s me.” Jim scrambled forward.
A moment later, the bleached hide stirred and a red head peered out like a rose pushing through a late spring blanket of frost.
“Jimbo?” Mabelina, wearing a deerskin dress, knee-high leggings, and moccasins, cautiously stepped out, followed by Aponi.
Jim hesitated, apparently nervous now that the moment of seeing her had finally arrived.
Jim and Mabelina walked to each other. Isaac couldn’t help but smile at their display, but then his heart fell as he noticed the sorrowful, lonesome look on Aponi’s face. Isaac dismounted and moved toward her.
Jim clutched Mabelina’s hand. “You look mighty fine,” he said, touching her hair.
“I don’t even got a real dress on, or any rouge. My hair’s not done….” Mabelina’s face flushed, and she glanced away.
“Shh.” The simple giant covered her mouth with two fingers. “Yer talkin’ ’bout my lady.”
“Yer lady?”
“If you’ll have me.”
A simple smile, shy like a schoolgirl’s, stole over Mabelina’s face.
“Now before you go answerin’,” Jim continued, “there’s somethin’ I gotta tell ya.” He took off his hat and held it to his chest. “You know I ain’t been much of a saint. Shoulda made that right a long time past, but, Mabelina my girl, I’m a God-fearin’ man now. The Good Lord done changed my heart and ain’t no way I’m ever goin’ back.”
Mabelina’s cheeks perked up. “That’s just fine, Jim. Fine.” Her lips pursed. “I don’t know if I’m there yet with the Good Lord, but Aponi’s been teachin’ me all kinds of things ’bout the Bible and ya know what?” She lifted her chin. “I believe it.”
Isaac gave Aponi a quick grin. “Guess the Lord had us both working on opposite sides of this match.”
“Seems so.” Aponi consented with a nod.
“Well, there’s jest one more thing to do then, Parson.” Jim glanced at Isaac.
“What’s that?”
Jim squeezed Mabelina close and kissed her forehead. “Why, get us hitched o’ course.”
A few snickers and grins emerged from the heads peeking out of their teepees.
“He forgot something.” Aponi eyed Mabelina. “Yes?”
Jim’s face scrunched up. “What?”
Isaac moseyed over and patted the groom-to-be’s back. “First, you have to propose.”
A big smile filled the old prospector’s face as he dropped to one knee. “Miss Mabelina Tigard, will ya marry me?”
Chapter Nineteen
“Miss Cavanaugh.” Shelby opened the door to the barn, and shafts of sunlight, speckled with motes of hay and dust, angled in beside her.
Julia peered up from where she knelt milking Jesse James, the goat. “Good morning, sweetie. What are you doing?”
“It’s Uncle Ike’s birthday. My ma is running around the house getting everything ready. I’ve never seen her in such a state.”
“Yes, I know. It seems everyone’s excited to see him again.” Especially me. A kiss of warmth brushed Julia’s cheeks, even though she hadn’t spoken her thoughts aloud.
Shelby set to work mucking out one of the stalls as if she’d done it every day of her life, and Julia turned her attention back to the goat.
It’d taken her a barrelful of tries, but Julia had finally mastered the rhythm. She continued pumping, relishing the accomplishment of seeing white foamy milk fill the bucket. The idea of offering the work of her hands to the group gathering today for Isaac’s birthday—and not just the milk, but a pie, a plate of corn fritters, and a basket of fresh huckleberries—filled her with satisfaction.
Just a month ago she’d been a fumbling city girl. How much she’d learned in that span! And although two trains came and went, no letter had arrived from Mrs. Gaffin with them. More importantly, no money to buy a return ticket or to pay back Horace. She couldn’t leave until she heard from her headmistress, so she decided to keep busy, as Miriam had suggested.
When the invitation came to move in with the Lafuze and Falcon families, Julia at first wondered whether she’d feel like she didn’t belong. Quite the opposite had occurred, actually. Julia was amazed at how they embraced her. Sharing a bed with Johanna had been an unexpected blessing. They often talked—and giggled—late into the night. Julia loved sharing the stories she’d told to her orphan girls over the years. Abe had even crafted an extra chair so she could have a place at the table for meals.
One of her favorite times was joining the family for evening Bible readings and prayers—especially on the occasions when Isaac had come to visit. He seemed to understand the Word so well, as if it were a treasure trove of life-giving nuggets he lived to unearth. Julia couldn’t seem to get enough of the nurturing Word. She laughed to herself. Who would’ve thought she’d learn so much about the Bible way out here on the prairie? Who would’ve guessed that the more she dug into the truths of Scripture, the more her love for her Savior would grow? It seemed obvious to her now, but she’d never been taught these things before.
If Julia had only one challenge, it was getting used to boys. They were louder, more active, and stinkier than the girls she’d cared for!
Perhaps the thing that surprised Julia the most was her enjoyment of the simple tasks of running the ranch. She squirted more milk into the bucket, remembering Miriam’s patience as she’d taught her. The first time Julia had tried, they’d laughed when the goat’s milk squirted the cat in the eye, sending the proud feline scurrying out of the barn with an indignant yowl.
Julia smiled at the memory, but then a stitch of nervousness tightened her chest as she thought of the birthday gift she made Is
aac—a leather cover for his Bible. Miriam and Elizabeth gave her the hide, and the two Indian children who joined their “school” taught her how to tan and tenderize it. At first she thought it the perfect gift for a minister—practical, applicable. She’d made it in the size of the Bible that Miriam told her Isaac carried with him—smaller by far than the large family heirloom.
But now she worried that it was presumptuous of her to get him anything at all, especially something for his personal Bible. She assumed the book meant more to him than anything. He used it every day. Would he want to look at some long-forgotten girl’s cover every time he opened it?
She had to quit fretting about it. Miriam and Elizabeth said it was a thoughtful gift, and she’d leave it at that. Anyway, she’d know tonight if he liked it.
“I have something for you.” Shelby traipsed to her, holding a rough scrap of paper, folded and sealed with candle wax. “It’s from ‘yer husband.’”
“Not another one.” Julia sent Shelby a frown, and then she nodded at the twelve-year-old. “Go ahead and read it.”
Shelby giggled then ripped open the letter.
“‘My dear wife,’” she read aloud, mimicking Horace to near perfection. “‘This is the fifth letter I done sent. I want to be yer husband. I done paid good money. I won’t wait much longer. Yer husband, Horace.’” Shelby folded it and grinned.
“Where’d you find it this time?” Julia scanned the yard and sheep stalls beyond the barn. “He’s not here, is he?”
“I didn’t see him. This was under the new welcome mat Ma put out yesterday.”
A hollow feeling grew in Julia’s stomach, as if she’d swallowed the Montana sky all at once. “At least he didn’t come ‘callin’ again. Remember last time?”
“Yeah, drank enough lemonade for the whole lot of us.”
“Poor man. I wouldn’t mind him so much if he—well, if he weren’t trying to marry me.”
