by Tricia Goyer
Shelby strolled to a bench next to Julia and sat down. “I’m sorry for you, Miss Cavanaugh. I can’t believe he thinks you’re gonna be his wife.”
Julia finished milking Jesse James and then moved on to Wild Bill. “I know.”
“He’s so dirty and old.”
“But he is really sweet. I think he’s just lonely. I wish there were someone for him.” She scrunched her forehead. “Just not me.”
Shelby stood up. She mussed her hair, stuck out her belly, and marched around, mocking him. “‘I done paid fer a wife.’”
Julia attempted to hold in a chuckle. “Oh Shelby, that’s not kind.”
“Shore ain’t!” Out of nowhere, Horace marched into the barn and stood blocking the doorway.
Shelby let out a startled scream and then scurried next to Julia, who stopped milking and stood.
“Horace.” She tried to smile. “I’m so sorry. Shelby didn’t mean anything by it.”
Horace pursed his lower lip in and out like he had that first day on the way to the depot. “I don’t much care what that young’un thinks. But yer my wife. You shouldn’t be hootin’ along with ’er.”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “It wasn’t kind of me. Now let’s go back to the house and get some lemonade. Parson Ike’s coming today. You’ll want to see him.”
Horace hiked up his britches. “No, I’m not stayin’. I jes wanted to git a quick peep at you and give you that thar note, but when I heard ya mockin’, now that hurt, so I ’cided to say somethin’.”
“You were right to,” she conceded with a smile.
“But thar’s some kinda rush on some gold up over east, so I’ll be headin’ that way fer a few weeks.” He stepped up to her and peered directly into her eyes. “When I come back, I’ll be a ready fer our weddin’.”
She shook her head. “Horace, I told you—”
“Don’t matter.” He fished the folded “official” papers—the letters from Mrs. Gaffin and the photograph—from his pocket. “I got it all worked out.” He paused, making sure she saw the papers again, then lumbered around and left.
She slumped on the stool.
“I hope you hear from Mrs. Gaffin soon,” Shelby said.
“Me too. I sent her that letter with Ellen a month ago. I don’t know how much longer I can hold Horace off. I just wish Mrs. Gaffin would send the money for the train ticket. I’d be happy to work it off when I return to New York.” She stood and gave Wild Bill a pat on the back. “Well, let’s go inside.” She handed one of the buckets of milk to Shelby.
As they crossed the yard to the house, Julia spotted two horses approaching. A large black horse carried a man and a woman, and it was followed by a butterscotch mare. And on the mare’s back sat a tall, handsome parson.
Hot wind brought no relief from the sun’s rays. Isaac dabbed his brow with his sleeve. Up ahead his family’s place grew in size with each step of Virginia’s hooves, and Isaac couldn’t help but smile. After a month on the prairie, the expectation of a tall mug of Miriam’s lemonade, a home-cooked meal—which he hoped included his favorite, corn fritters—and an evening spent with family filled Isaac from boots to hat with a sense of contentment.
“Say, Parson, who’s that li’l filly up at yer sister’s ranch?” Mabelina’s head rested on Jim’s back as they rode. “She looks sorta familiar, but I don’t remember her from ’round here.”
Despite the heat, a cold sweat moistened Isaac’s hands. He watched Julia stroll alongside his new niece, Shelby, carrying a milk bucket. She looked up and spotted him, and a smile filled her face. His stomach flipped once, then twice, as if a prairie dog rolled around inside.
“That’s Julia. Julia Cavanaugh.” The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he said her name. Or maybe that reaction was due to the sight of her. “She came with the orphans, and she sort of got stuck here. She’ll be leaving on the next train. I think. Unless things have changed.”
“Mighty purdy.” Mabelina adjusted on her seat.
Isaac took in the sight of her slim frame, her long hair all tucked up in a bun…and the feelings he tried to suppress scampered to the surface. He’d forgotten just how pleasing she was.
“Well, she may be purdy,” Jim angled his scruffy head toward Mabelina’s, “but she’s not as purdy as you.”
A smile plumped up Mabelina’s cheeks.
As their pastor, Isaac appreciated their happiness, especially since both took wobbly, yet determined, steps toward a faithful walk with God. Yet if someone had told him a few months ago that such a thing would happen, he would have laughed. Isaac shook his head. Though painful, it was Milo’s death that had brought them to a saving faith in Christ. And Aponi’s forgiveness and refuge had also contributed to their growth. God’s ways were above Isaac’s understanding, but he rejoiced in them just the same.
Virginia whinnied and Calamity barked, the animals sensing their closeness to home—and food. Isaac’s gaze again lingered on Julia Cavanaugh, who giggled with Shelby. He couldn’t help but notice Julia eyeing him as she hurried inside.
Within a few minutes, the horses were tended to, and the three travelers turned from the barn toward Miriam’s front door. Calamity trotted ahead of them, most likely smelling whatever Miriam was cooking up inside.
Isaac took only two steps, and then he paused. Jim and Mabelina also slowed as they saw it—a new grave next to the path in front of the ranch house.
It can’t be. What happened? Who?
Horrible possibilities slammed his thoughts. Did Indians attack? Was someone struck with cholera or scarlet fever while he was gone? Was there an accident? He sprinted to the dirt mound to make out the sign’s wording. Then Isaac’s heart slowed its frantic pace as he realized what it was.
Two old boots poked out of the ground, and the words Isaac Shepherd RIP were scraped onto an old board.
“Those sisters of mine,” he muttered. “My good working boots, too.” He walked up the steps and onto the front porch bedecked with clay Indian pots brimming with orange, purple, and yellow flowers.
Glancing to the window, he grinned to himself, pretending not to see two sets of eyes peeking out from behind the white curtains. Muffled laughter carried out to him.
“What are they up to, girl?” he asked Calamity. The dog expectantly wagged her tail as Isaac knocked on the door. “Let me in,” he said in a gravelly voice. “I’ve returned from the grave, and I’m hungry.”
He could hear the children shrieking with laughter. “Come on in!” Miriam called over the din. “You know you don’t need to knock.”
Isaac cautiously opened the door, and before he could step a mule-eared boot inside, a loud “Happy Birthday!” rang out from his sisters and their families.
Two of Miriam’s boys barreled into his legs with embraces, and Isaac inspected the room. He nodded to his brothers-in-law, his sisters, and the rest of the children, and finally, his gaze landed on Julia. Her red dress with tiny beige flowers accentuated her slender waist. Her eyes shifted shyly from his, but a kind smile formed on her lips.
“Uncle Isaac, what’re you starin’ at our teacher for?” Josh, Miriam’s youngest, asked as he shot Isaac with imaginary guns.
Isaac grinned, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.” He “shot” Josh back and then winked at Julia. “It’s been a long ride.”
Julia’s cheeks tinted pink as a prairie rose. “It’s quite all right.”
“Don’t mind Josh.” Elizabeth walked up, Bea in her arms. “He’s quite fond of his teacher and is easily jealous.” She winked at the young boy.
Isaac stroked little Bea’s cheek, noting the sparkle in Elizabeth’s gaze. “How is our new teacher doing?”
“Julia’s been teaching the children every day after chores.” Miriam approached and braced her arched back with her hands. “Even little Josh can read a few words now.”
“I’m just helping out,” Julia interjected. “I’m not certified or anything.”
“But we’ve been talkin’
about that,” Miriam said. “It’s not like one really needs certification around here. At least not at the start.”
Isaac gazed at Julia. “Have you decided to stay in Lonesome Prairie?”
She hesitated and then shook her head. “Oh no, I’m still planning to head back to New York. Mrs. Gaffin is expecting me….”
Isaac took off his parson’s hat and hung it on a peg near the door, trying to hide his disappointment. “It’s real kind of you to teach my nieces and nephews while you’re here.” He scrutinized her face, wanting to ask if she’d be all right when she had to say good-bye again, but deciding not to.
“It’s no problem.” She sent him a reassuring glance. There was something else in her gaze. Sadness? Why? “I like teaching them. It helps pass the time, and it makes me feel useful. The children are wonderful.”
“Well, I’m thankful just the same.”
“Uncle Isaac, how’d you like yer grave?” Christopher piped up from his spot under the table where he and the other youths were playing marbles.
Isaac glared around the room. “That grave had me more worried than a chicken in a fox hole. Whose idea was that?” Isaac pointed a finger at Christopher. “It was my ornery nephew, wasn’t it?”
Christopher shook his blond head. “Wasn’t me.” His gaze, along with everyone else’s, turned to Julia.
“You?” Isaac asked. “And here I thought you were a sweet girl.”
Julia’s lips pursed in a tight smile. “We–ll.” She stretched the word out. “I read it in a book once.” Her face and neck flushed to a brighter shade of pink. “I’m sorry if it spooked you.”
Miriam squeezed an arm around Julia’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, dear. We were all in on it. Besides, my brother deserves a good spookin’ every once in a while.” She glanced toward the kitchen. “C’mon, ladies, time to get dinner on the table.”
“Hold up a minute.” Isaac focused his gaze on the crowd. “Before we eat, I want to tell you something.” He swept a hand toward Jim and Mabelina, who were still standing at the threshold. “We have something much more important to celebrate.” He crept between the two newlyweds and put his arms around them. “Let me introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. James Newman. They were hitched today.”
A gasp arose from the womenfolk, and the men took turns shaking Jim’s hand. As Isaac’s sisters towed Mabelina to the kitchen to crow and giggle, Isaac watched Julia fluttering along with them. She rejoiced with Mabelina—a woman she’d just met. The impulse to serve others seemed to flow from Julia’s heart. He’d seen it each time he’d been around her.
An hour later, dinner eaten and dishes cleared, Miriam corralled the children back around the table. The sun hung low in the sky, and a welcome evening breeze wafted through the house.
“Johannah, time for family worship.” Miriam called her oldest daughter, who was nine years old and meandering outside.
“I know. I know.” She dashed back inside. “I was just usin’ the privy, Mama,” Johannah whispered as she plopped onto her chair next to Shelby at the long table.
“Johannah, please.” Miriam narrowed her gaze at her daughter. “One does not speak of such things in public.”
“Isn’t Uncle Ike gonna open his presents?” Christopher asked.
“Later. God’s Word comes first.” Miriam smiled.
“I thought we’d continue reading from St. John,” Jefferson announced from the head of the table. He opened the Bible. “That all right with you, Parson?”
Isaac nodded as he took his seat across from Elizabeth, grateful to his brother-in-law for letting him receive the Word rather than dispense it this time. It was a respite he savored.
Jefferson began to read, “‘Now Jacob’s well was there. Jesus therefore, being wearied with his journey, sat thus on the well: and it was about the sixth hour.’”
Jefferson continued on, sharing the story of the woman from Samaria from John 4, and as he spoke, Isaac tried to picture it in his mind’s eye. Her pain. Her shame. What it must have felt like to see the compassion on Jesus’ face.
“‘But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.’” Jefferson finished and gazed around the table, waiting for comments.
“There seems to be a lot of wells in the Bible,” Julia observed from where she sat in the chair next to Jefferson.
Jefferson nodded. “That’s true. They lived in a dry spot, like us.”
“I know where there’s another well.” Josh perched on his knees on his chair. “I learned it from Mama’s Bible story times. That man, Isaac, done got his woman at a well. Sent his servant to fetch ’er.”
Miriam scuffed his head playfully. “He ‘done got his woman’? Is that how a man finds a wife?”
“Ain’t that right, Pa?” He climbed onto his father’s lap. “That’s how you got Ma?”
The sun-wrinkled lines in Jefferson’s face creased as he smiled. He rubbed the little boy’s back. “Well,” he started.
“No, Josh, that’s not how you git a wife.” Christopher rolled his eyes, obviously exasperated by his little brother’s ignorance. “The Good Lord brings one when the time is right, just like He did for that Isaac in the Bible.”
“And just like He’ll do for our Isaac.” Miriam’s face shifted, and her eyes peered at her brother.
“Who can tell me the main point of the passage in John?” Jefferson asked, rescuing Isaac from his wife’s meddling.
“I think it means that Christ is the well that never runs dry.” Julia, who seemed oblivious to the bantering, leaned over the Bible, her eyes skimming the passage. “He gives us what we need. He gave Isaac in the Bible what he needed, a wife. And He gives all of those who trust in Him living water, eternal life.” She lifted her head.
“Well, I think Miss Cavanaugh got it jest ’bout right.” Jefferson placed his hands on the table.
Isaac leaned back in his chair, watching her.
Miriam patted Julia’s hand. “God opens the eyes of His people to His Word.” She squinted at Isaac. “I think I heard that somewhere before.”
Jefferson closed their Bible time in prayer, and as they cleaned up and prepared for the party, Isaac watched Jim and Mabelina exchanging glances and sneaking kisses. Something in him longed for the trust, friendship, and love they shared.
It is not good that the man should be alone. Milo had quoted this verse before he died. Those words had gnawed at Isaac, replaying in his head ever since. Now they came back.
He stole another glance at Julia Cavanaugh, joining so seamlessly with his family, and for the first time Isaac allowed himself to wonder if perhaps Milo and Miriam and Elizabeth were right. Could a wife be something God intended for him?
Chapter Twenty
Julia tucked her present for Isaac under the gifts piled on the padded wooden sofa. Then she sat down next to the pile. Her stomach churned with nervous excitement as Isaac sank into the spot on the other side of the gifts.
“Open mine first, Uncle Ike.” Twelve-year-old Christopher thumbed his overalls and licked his lips as he handed Isaac a red bandanna-wrapped gift then plopped down on the bearskin rug next to the other children.
“Hey, is that my bandanna? I’ve been missing it.” He glanced at Julia, with a playful grin.
A tinge of warmth spread to Julia’s neck remembering her emotional outburst that caused him to let her borrow his kerchief. “Yes, and don’t worry, it’s clean.”
Inside the bandanna was a hand-carved slingshot. “Oh, that’s perfect.” Isaac held up his gift for those sitting around the room to admire.
Julia had watched Christopher carve it over the last few days, finally attaching the leather strap. She patted his shoulder.
Isaac eyed it again. “You’ve done a fine job. I think it’s your best work.”
Christopher’s face beamed at his uncle’s approval. “I found the old stick over in the coulee, the
n I carved it.”
“It’s just right for fetching a quick gopher dinner on the prairie. Thank you.”
As the afternoon sun’s rays sloped through the window, Julia’s foot tapped on the wood-planked floor. She waited as Isaac received each present—painted rocks she’d helped Josh and Bea make, a new hand-sewn shirt from Abe and Elizabeth, and an old dusty commentary on the book of Genesis Miriam and Jefferson gave.
Only her gift remained, and the tension in her stomach made her wish she’d never put the leather Bible cover with the others. She chided herself. Why am I so nervous? It’s only a gift.
“There’s one more.” Miriam pushed the heap of treasures to the side and uncovered Julia’s package. The gift waited inside a simple bag Julia had sewn from potato sack scraps. She’d embroidered “Happy Birthday” on it with thick thread.
Isaac picked it up, his hands smoothing the bag as he examined the stitchery. “That’s some nice-looking needlework. Who’s this from?”
Elizabeth, who sat on Abe’s lap in a wide, high-backed chair, threw Julia a smile. “Julia made it. That girl’s a harvest of talent.”
Bea hopped down and clambered over to Julia, resting an elbow on her knees. “Miss Cav’naw tawented.”
Julia patted Bea’s head and then thrummed her fingers on her leg. “It’s not much, just something I threw together.”
Isaac locked eyes with her then loosened the cinch to open the sack. He lifted out the Bible cover and moved it between his hands, as though trying to make out what it was. Julia’s heart felt as if it would break through her ribs, until a slight grin finally crept over his mouth and into his eyes. He ran his fingers over his stitched name.
“You made this for me?” The grin changed into a full-faced smile. “It’s perfect.”
“That’s real nice, Miss Cavanaugh,” Johannah said. “Maybe you could teach us to embroider in school.”
“I’d love to.” Julia bit a nail and then glanced at Isaac. “You should try it on your Bible. We had to guess at the measurements. I used one of Miriam’s books as a model.”
