Love Finds You in Lonesome Prairie, Montana

by Tricia Goyer

  “What should I do?” Elizabeth turned in the seat. The color had drained from her face. Here eyes were wide. “Go back to the ranch? We’re almost at Big Sandy. What do you want me to do?”

  “This baby won’t wait till we get back home.” Miriam winced as another contraction hit. “I think I can last till we get to Big Sandy. Maybe Margaret from the hotel will still be in town. I know she’s delivered babies before. Everyone else is probably already at the lake for the picnic.”

  “Yes, all right. Hee-ya.” Elizabeth flicked the reins, and the horses lunged forward. The wagon resumed its journey over the rocky, pitted road.

  Rolling to her side, Miriam hugged her belly.

  Julia stroked Miriam’s moist forehead with the bit of fabric that had torn from her skirt. So brave. Yet bravery would not ensure a safe delivery. They needed to find someplace better, cleaner. A hawk flew overhead, circling the wagon, causing shivers to race up Julia’s spine. “A wagon’s no place to have a baby.”

  “Have you ever helped with birthin’, Julia?” Miriam panted, her eyes pleading up at her as she lay in the back of the wagon.

  Julia clenched her teeth uneasily. “Um—well, yes, actually.”

  “You have?” Shelby twitched her head toward Julia, who threw her a warning glance.

  “I did help a new mother deliver her little ones.”

  Shelby leaned over from her seat in the front and moved her mouth close to Julia’s ear. “Are you talkin’ about when Sammy the dog had pups?” she whispered.

  Julia lowered her voice. “I’m just trying to keep her from fretting. I’m sure we’ll make it to Big Sandy in time. Now shh.” Julia’s heart kicked against her chest. Dear Lord, please let us make it there in time.

  “Oh! Here comes another one.” Miriam moaned.

  As Julia stroked Miriam’s hair, she spied Christopher’s head bobbing toward them. Reaching the wagon, he hoisted himself up on the side and jerked his floppy blond hair from his forehead. “What y’all doin’ back here?” When he saw his ma’s face strained and her hands holding her middle, his normally puckish face drooped.

  “Ma?” He climbed inside and held her hand as it jostled from the wagon’s motion. “You ain’t birthin’ that baby right here, are ya?”

  The contraction passed, and Miriam drew in a breath. “No, dear. We’re going to town, and Margaret will help.” Miriam gazed at her son, obviously disturbed by his worry. “Why don’t you head on back to the coulee and fetch some water?”

  He hesitated, his forehead knitted with concern.

  She patted his hand. “Go on now.”

  He again hurdled out of the moving wagon then grabbed a canteen hanging from the side.

  “I’ll go with you.” Shelby vaulted out after him, and the two ran toward the coulee a quarter mile back.

  Julia reached into her satchel, pulled out a handkerchief, and continued mopping Miriam’s forehead.

  “That looks like the one Isaac let you borrow.” Miriam took in deep, long breaths, which seemed to help her through the episodes.

  “Yes, well, I guess I won’t be borrowing any more of anything from him.”

  “You still could.” Despite her state, Miriam eyes held that now-familiar hint.

  “Miriam Lafuze, you’re relentless. Aren’t you the one who told me to trust God?”

  Miriam let out a laugh, which turned into a moan as another contraction started up. Julia held her hand, praying with Miriam as she breathed through the pain.

  Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead. “That was a hard one—oh no.”

  Another contraction started only moments after the last one ended.

  “I know,” Miriam panted, “but I’m still hopin’.”

  Julia let the laboring woman clamp down on her hand. Her groan was more high pitched and louder than the others had been.

  Once the intense moment eased up, Julia swiveled her shoulders toward Elizabeth, who still urged the horses toward Big Sandy.

  “The contractions are coming every three minutes or so. Are we almost there?”

  Elizabeth launched a quick glance toward Julia. “Yeah, about five more minutes. See the water tower over yonder. Do you think she can make it?”

  “I don’t know. They’re growing more intense.” The side of Julia’s foot tapped fast like a woodpecker against the wagon’s running board. “Have you helped her deliver in the past?”

  “No, not really,” Elizabeth responded, her voice heavy with concern. “I helped our midwife, Aponi, but she was the one who really did everything. I wish I’d insisted she teach me.”

  “Me, too!” Miriam exclaimed. “Julia, I need you.”

  Julia’s pulse flew as she whipped around. “What is it?”

  Miriam grabbed Julia’s face and peered into her eyes. “I have broken my waters.”

  “Yes, but some women still have hours before the baby is born after their waters break,” Elizabeth said from the front. “Or so I’ve heard.”

  “Not me. Not this time.”

  “Oh, for horn spoons!” Julia said. “Elizabeth, stop the horse.”

  The wagon eased to a halt under Elizabeth’s skilled guidance, and Julia switched positions to Miriam’s other end.

  “I’m so glad you’ve done this before.” Miriam’s voice rose to a near scream. “Oh, dear Jesus, help me.”

  Julia squeezed out a smile. “I—well—I’m still going to need your help.” She pulled the traveling skirt Mrs. Gaffin had given her from her bag and scooted it under Miriam. The woman’s legs bent up, seemingly instinctively, and her hands gripped her knees. She let out a wail as she engaged in the first push.

  “Miriam?” Julia asked when the push was done. “I need you to tell me what to do.”

  “Can you see the baby?”

  Julia peeked, and she felt a smile spread over her face. “Yes! I can.” She rubbed Miriam’s knee and caught her eyes.

  Miriam breathed in, taking advantage of the brief respite between surges. “All right, you need to—”

  Before Miriam could finish, Christopher and Shelby’s footsteps pounded as they raced to the wagon, their faces red from running.

  “Ma!” Christopher panted, his green eyes panicky. “Here’s the water.” Before Julia could stop him, he bounded onto the back of the wagon to give it to her but then froze. “Oh, no.”

  Julia twisted toward him and watched the color drain from his face, leaving it a greenish hue. “I’m gonna go,” he said in a low voice and then, dropping the canteen next to Julia, tipped backward in a dead faint. He landed in a curled-up heap on the back of the wagon.

  “Pay attention to me!” Miriam screamed in the middle of a push. “I can feel the baby!”

  Julia focused on Miriam, waiting for the head to appear as she howled through the contraction.

  Shelby rushed over to Christopher and splashed water on his face, waking the boy from his fainting spell.

  Elizabeth made sure Christopher was all right and then ordered Shelby to run to town for help. Then Elizabeth scurried next to Miriam.

  “What do you see?” Miriam squealed as she finished another pushing bout. “Has the baby crowned yet?”

  Julia checked, and what she saw made a pang of fear surge through her. She peered over Miriam’s legs.

  “Miriam.” She focused on the woman’s strained eyes. “It’s not the head, it’s the bottom.” O Lord, we need Your help.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  A hot wind spurred up dust from the road as Isaac sprinted around the building into the depot. His side ached from where Warren’s brutes throttled him, but he ignored the pain.

  The foreman stood. “We the jury find the accused, Mabelina Newman—”

  “Wait!” Isaac’s boots clunked on the planked floor as he rushed to the front of the room, skidding to a stop just short of plunging into the judge’s bench.

  The judge bucked back as the bailiff bolted to Isaac and grabbed his arm. The bailiff shifted his other hand to his gun. “Ho
ld up!” he growled.

  Isaac relaxed his stance to show he wasn’t a threat. “I’m sorry.” He gulped air. “I’m Parson Isaac Shepherd. The woman’s minister.” He eyed the judge. “I was there when Elder Godfrey was shot.”

  Warren marched to the judge. “He can’t come in here.” He pounded his fist on the bench. “The jury already decided.”

  The bailiff let go of Isaac’s arm and shoved Warren away from the judge.

  Judge Booker sprang to his feet, his eyes sharpened at Warren. “I will find you in contempt! Sit down, sir!”

  Warren’s eyes narrowed as he turned his attention to Isaac. “What do you care about the worthless strumpet?”

  Isaac’s chest boiled with suppressed rage, and his eyes drilled into Warren’s. He’d heard enough of the man’s insults, seen enough treachery. He’d pilfered a school out of the hands of innocent children, stolen Aponi’s home and possessions, and wrenched away her children. And his almighty greed was the basis for Mabelina’s murder trial. Gratified by the bounty, Warren had no qualms about her impending death if he were to win. And perhaps more disturbing than the rest, Warren Boyle had betrayed his stepfather, Milo, after all the sacrifices, effort, and love the godly man had invested in raising him. In a way, Isaac was glad his friend wasn’t here to see this.

  In Isaac’s mind, all Warren’s wicked acts culminated in that last insult he’d spewed on Mabelina. Everything in him screamed to smash the scowl on Warren’s face into the dirty floor.

  “That’s enough, Warren.” He snagged the man’s eyes with his own. “Or you’ll be meeting my fist.”

  Warren sneered. “You really gonna hit me, Parson?” he asked with a pompous laugh. “That pile of dung ain’t worth soiling your hand over.”

  Isaac steadied his stance. “Watch your tongue.” His body felt hot all over, and his chest tightened. He knew there were others in the room, but they seemed to fade as his attention focused on Warren and the sneer spread across his face.

  “What? Only thing she’s good for is lyin’ on her back. That what you want, Parson?”

  Lord, even a parson has his limit. Isaac clenched his fist and yanked his arm back, ready to launch. The bailiff reached out to block Isaac’s hand but was too late.

  Isaac’s fist slammed into Warren’s jaw, toppling him to the dusty floor. Gasps erupted around him, followed by cheers.

  Isaac gripped his hand, aching from the impact, and glanced around the room. “Oh no,” he muttered under his breath. Then a rush of satisfaction chased away the tinge of guilt. Lord, I know it’s better to handle things by the law, but sometimes a villain just needs a good throttling.

  Isaac waited for the bailiff to arrest him, but after a silent moment, the room erupted into more cheers and clapping.

  “That scoundrel deserved it!” Grandpa Pete shouted, holding up his cane.

  A rancher waved his Stetson hat. “He swindled me outta forty head o’ cattle last year!”

  “That a way, Parson! I—” Lefty hollered, but his words were halted when Buck squeezed his shoulder and pushed him back into his seat.

  Warren lay like a lump on the floor, curses spewing from his mouth.

  Isaac glowered at him. “I’ve spent many years praying for you, and I’ll probably spend many more. But you will not speak of a lady that way ever again.”

  Warren spit on Isaac’s boot before the bailiff yanked him to his feet.

  Jim rushed forward and faced Warren, and the giant miner hulked over the stocky swindler. “That shoulda been me shovin’ my fist in yer rat-faced head,” Jim’s booming voice warned. “And I’ll take my turn, if you don’t keep yer comments ’bout my wife to yerself.” He leaned his face nose-to-nose with Warren. “When I’m done with you, you’ll be nothin’ but a greasy spot on the floor.” He tipped his hat to Isaac and moseyed back to his seat.

  The judge slammed his gavel. “Order!”

  “I’m pressing charges, Your Honor,” Warren stated as the bailiff slammed him into his seat. “Everyone in this room is witness. He assaulted me.”

  Isaac gaped at the brazen man. “Do you want to tell the judge why I was late? Why my head is bleeding and my ribs are bruised? I’m sure he’d be interested to know. Or maybe the judge would also like to hear how you’ve swindled your father’s money and dream of building a school so that you can build a saloon? Or maybe he’d also like to hear how you broke up your father’s family to satisfy your own greed.”

  Warren shook his head. “What do I know? I have no idea.”

  The judge slammed his gavel again, and the spectators finally simmered down, returning to their seats.

  “This conduct is unacceptable! You will all sit quietly—in silence!—or you will all be asked to leave.” Judge Booker’s gaze slowly moved over the courtroom, stopping on Warren. “That includes you, sir.”

  Warren frowned and crossed his arms.

  The judge cleared his throat. “And you, too, Parson.”

  Isaac turned to face the judge. “I’m sorry, Your Honor.”

  The judge peered over his glasses. “In the interest of time, we’ll save the explanation about the assault till later. For now why don’t you tell me what it is you’re doing here, Parson Shepherd.”

  Isaac gazed at Mabelina, who was unmoved by the scuttle with Warren. Her head still drooped, her hands were clenched in her lap. She’s why I’m here. Lord, let my words be honest and persuasive. Preserve justice today, and save this woman’s life so she can serve You. Your will be done.

  He took in a breath. “Thank you, Judge Booker.” He eyed the man respectfully. “I am here to not only vouch for this woman’s changed character.” He pointed at Mabelina then glanced at the men in the jury. “But to tell you that I was there that day.” He shook his head slowly. “She did not intend to kill Milo—” Isaac paused, the sound of his friend’s name bringing a rush of grief. “I mean, Elder Godfrey.”

  Light slanting in from the window from which he’d watched the proceedings heated his neck. Grateful for the chance to speak, he continued.

  “It’s like Aponi said. I saw the gun in her hand and watched her as she pointed the gun at the ceiling. The bullet must’ve ricocheted, because the next thing I heard was Milo hitting the floor. Mabelina was as shocked as the rest of us.” He glanced at the judge. “There’s not much more to tell. Except…”

  Isaac’s voice softened. “I know this woman. I knew her when she had nothing in this life but the men who frequented her bed. And I’ve seen how the Lord used the love of one man, Giant Jim Newman, to change her. She’s married now, and her husband has great hopes to be a parson some day—a calling I support with my prayers and guidance. I believe Mabelina will make a fine parson’s wife. Please don’t let her past destroy their future.”

  Isaac shifted to face the twelve frontiersmen who sat on a bench at the side of the room. He perused each man’s eyes. A few of the men were elderly, but most were young to middle-aged ranchers or cowhands. He knew they came from untamed backgrounds and probably held to the Code of the West above any biblical ethic. How could he convince a group of crude cowboys to set free a former prostitute who’d kill a man? He hoped the truth would persuade them. It was his only opportunity to touch their consciences.

  He strode to the judge’s bench, picked up the Bible, and then rotated, standing before the room as if in front of a congregation. “There’s a woman told of in this book who was caught in the act of adultery. The vigilantes of the time hauled her to the Lord Jesus, proclaiming her sentence—death by stoning. And according to the law, they were right. When Jesus bent down to draw in the dirt, I suspect the woman feared He searched for a stone. She knew the law, knew she’d broken it, knew the punishment.

  “But Christ stood up, empty handed. He ordered those without sin to cast the first stone, knowing He Himself was the only one who met that criterion. But despite the fact that the woman deserved His stones to pummel her sin-ridden body, Jesus forgave her. And what’s more, He took the judgmen
t she deserved.” Isaac paused, in awe of God’s grace. “He allowed godless men to judge Him, the perfect Son of God. And He carried the weight of that woman’s sin in His flesh as He died on the cross.”

  Isaac moved closer to the spectators. “And because He later took the woman’s place, I believe His words, ‘Go, and sin no more,’ changed her. His words always bring newness and light to those who trust in Him and not in their own ways.”

  Pacing across the room, Isaac noticed that not even Warren turned his gaze away, and he shot up a quick prayer for God to breathe life into the depraved man’s heart. “We’ve all turned away from God,” he continued. “Prostituted ourselves—maybe not in the same way as Mabelina. But every time we lie, or cheat, or steal—placing our trust in earthly gain—we give our souls away, just as Mabelina did.”

  He paced to the woman who now sat upright in her chair, her eyes still fearful but lit with a flicker of hope. He touched her shoulder.

  “Christ will take the most wretched sinner’s dead, black heart,” he raised his voice, “and create a new heart, changing a prostitute to a daughter of God, a cheater to a son, a liar to a child of the King. That’s what he did for Mabelina.” He searched each face in the crowd. “Will you heed His call? Will you?”

  Isaac paused, letting the words of the gospel sink in. “This woman did not murder Milo Godfrey.” Isaac lowered his head, thanked the jury and the judge, and took his seat.

  “Thank you, Reverend.” The corner of Judge Booker’s mouth twitched up. “Probably not the best place for a sermon, but it was a good one nonetheless.”

  Isaac grinned. “I’ve preached in much stranger places than this, sir.”

  Judge Booker shifted to the jury. “Gentlemen, do you need some time to make a decision?”

  Isaac gazed at Jim and Mabelina clutching each other’s hands. Their eyes were closed, and Isaac was sure they prayed. He prayed, too.

  The men in the jury whispered among themselves, and then the foreman stood.

  All in the room was silent, and Isaac noticed the sound of a clock ticking. His eyes flitted around the room, and he saw the clock on the wall above the door. 2:55. A surge of worry filled his chest as he wondered whether both he and the judge would miss the train that would be leaving in fifteen minutes. He returned his attention to the jury.