Beware, Dylan. Women are still all alike even though the one on the other side of the fire stirs a longing in you that you never knew you had.
“It’s late.” He shifted to his opposite side. They lay in the darkness with only the popping fire breaking the strained silence. He wondered what she was thinking. He wished he’d never mentioned Sara or his past. Now Ruth would be trying to pry information from him, and there was nothing more to tell. She seemed to think that sharing information was important, like the girls on the wagon train had done with each other. Ruth had prodded Glory until she learned all about Uncle Amos and the gold and how Poppy had died. Glory had embraced Ruth’s friendship and caring like a hungry pup, and she’d become a part of the “family” of women.
But Dylan wasn’t part of the family; he wasn’t part of any family. He was a loner, and that’s how he wanted to keep it. He wasn’t going to be swayed by Ruth’s plight, even though he suspected her childhood couldn’t have been any better than his.
“I’m sorry, but I want you to know that I care about you. In a friendly way, of course.” She had spoken so softly he wasn’t sure she’d spoken at all or if his imagination was working overtime.
“Dylan, did you hear me?”
He closed his eyes. “Go to sleep, Ruth. This snow is going to come down hard by morning, and the walk will take more energy.”
“But I am sorry, Dylan. I’m sorry that a woman like Sara gives religion a black eye. Most likely she believed that she was doing the right thing, but obviously she didn’t know the God I worship. He is a God of love and certainly a God to be feared and respected. But he chastens as a loving father, not a vindictive tyrant. Some read the Good Book and try to accept the Word, but deep down they’re not willing to let God’s Spirit abide in them.
“I make no excuses for Sara. What she did to a vulnerable young boy is inexcusable, but that rests on her soul. My concern is why you let evil continue to ruin your life. Sara will be held accountable and have to face her mistakes. You are responsible for your own errors.”
Preachy women drove Dylan crazy. “No sermons.” He’d had enough of those to last a lifetime. Empty words meant nothing. “I’m going to sleep now, Ruth. You can stay up and talk all night if you want.”
“The Lord loves you, Dylan. You can fight the knowledge all you want. Whether you accept it or not, it won’t change how he feels about you.”
“Good night, Ruth.”
“Good night, hardhead.”
Ruth stared into the fire, thinking how differently life had treated both of them and how differently they looked at life as a result. Dylan absorbed the hurt and let it isolate him from everything and everyone around him. He had built steel barriers around his heart, afraid to let himself care about anyone or anything other than his job. For a moment—just a moment—Ruth let herself resent the woman who’d done this to Dylan. He was a fine man, but a man who couldn’t give of himself for fear of being hurt; and that woman, in her zealousness, had taught him hate without realizing it.
Ruth tried to imagine fifteen-year-old Dylan going out into the world to make his own way. She wondered what he’d done between that age and when he’d become a marshall. Had anyone cared about him? Had he ever allowed anyone to get close? Her heart ached for the marshall, for the blessings he’d missed by daily living with bitterness toward Sara Dunnigan—and mistrust toward women in general. He had to put aside that bitterness and accept that not all who professed to follow God knew the truth of his love. Truth is precious, enlightening, and enriching. Truth in the heart crowds out hate and bitterness. “And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”
She’d experienced that freedom. When Edgar Norris had taken her back to the orphanage, she’d hated him for abandoning her. She’d railed against the unfairness of losing parents not once but twice. She’d blamed God for forgetting about her. But Mrs. Galeen had refused to let her wallow in self-pity or blame God. For a long time Ruth had refused to accept the guardian’s insistence that God had a plan for her life and all she needed to do was let him unfold it before her. Over time, by giving of herself to others, Ruth had learned to let go of her bitterness and count her blessings. Dylan had not had anyone in his life to encourage him, to teach him God’s ways. As a result, he saw only what he’d lost.
“I always wanted parents,” she whispered. She knew Dylan heard, but would he answer? “Someone to take care of me.” In the firelight, she saw his face was still set with bitterness even though his eyes were shut.
“When my parents died, that was bad. But I was found by two kind Indians who knew of the orphanage. They didn’t take me to their people, where my future wouldn’t have been certain. They took me to the orphanage, which was a good thing.
“Then Edgar and Beatrice Norris came to the orphanage, seeking a child. They were both teachers. I went to live with them, and I remember them fondly. Beatrice was so pretty.” Ruth turned on her side, her thoughts going back many years. “The Norrises taught me to read and write and to appreciate books. That was a blessing. But Beatrice died and Edgar was so grief stricken that … well, he couldn’t stay at the school that held so many memories of her.”
“But you hated him for taking you back to the orphanage.” Dylan’s voice intruded on her musings.
“I did,” she admitted. “For a while, but then I saw that I was needed at the orphanage. I helped take care of the little ones, read to them, taught them their letters and numbers, helped them with their lessons when they started school.”
“So you made yourself believe that his abandoning you was a good thing.”
Ruth observed him in the firelight. “Yes, I suppose I did. But it was better than hating him. Hate hurts only the one hating, not the one it’s directed toward. It’s a waste of effort.”
She could see he was skeptical.
“I don’t suppose you could put a good spin on old Oscar’s proposal?”
Ruth had to grin. “No, I can’t quite get around that one. But I do have to wonder what God wanted me to do about Oscar. Maybe he wanted me to marry the old prospector, and I refused to obey. If so, I will be the loser, not God.”
Pessimism was apparent in the marshall’s tone. “Why would God want you to marry a man old enough to be your grandpa, an old coot that chews and might take a bath twice a year?”
Ruth suppressed a shiver. “I don’t know. I didn’t bother to ask God, and that was wrong.”
“I don’t know about a God who would want to give a pretty young woman to an old codger,” Dylan said. “That seems a little unfair—not only to the woman but to the man.”
“There could be a reason,” Ruth contended. “After all, I’m not someone who will probably ever have a family.”
“Why not?”
“I … I can’t have children.” She whispered the words, saying them aloud for the first time. “A man wants a family—children—and I can’t give a husband children.”
Dylan didn’t answer for a long time. Ruth was certain his reaction was what any man’s would be—aversion. An unexpected sadness, a sense of having lost something special, flooded her, and she blinked back tears. Why had she told the marshall something so personal? She felt like a complete fool.
“If a man’s in the market for kids, then you may have a point. But if a man’s looking for someone to spend his life with, then the problem shouldn’t get in the way.”
Ruth blinked with surprise. How like Dylan to put something so painful so simply. She swallowed back a cry of gratitude. “You … you really think so?”
“I know so. Most men want to find the right woman, not a broodmare.”
A light popped on inside her that she didn’t recognize—a kind of blossoming of hope. “Well, guess you would know, you being a man.”
“Go to sleep, Ruth. Tomorrow is a long day of walking.”
“You’re right.” But she would sleep better tonight knowing that not all men would find her condition appalling. Why, maybe someday,
through God’s grace, the Lord would reveal such a man to her.
She snuggled into her blankets and closed her eyes. Then they popped open wide. Maybe God already had, and it was Dylan!
She couldn’t let nagging doubt override her earlier joy. If Dylan was right and not all men looked at a woman with the idea of producing children, then perhaps she had a chance of marrying one day, having a home of her own… . She wouldn’t allow herself to think about Dylan, to wish—
No. Better go to sleep and keep such nonsense where it belonged: in the wishful-thinking drawer.
“Ruth?”
She turned, sitting up halfway. “Yes?”
“How do you know your last name is Priggish if you were orphaned at a young age?”
“My father’s Bible. The Indian braves brought it with them. My father’s name was written in the front: Harold Priggish. I don’t know my mother’s name.”
Chapter Eleven
Dylan opened his eyes to the sight of snow coming down in blowing sheets. The baby reached out to capture a flake and giggled. Her dark brown eyes shone like a child’s on Christmas morning as Dylan handed her to Ruth. A large snowflake lit on the end of the baby’s nose, and she looked cross-eyed at the marvel.
Dylan grinned. “She’s real cute, isn’t she?” Carefully feeding the coals dry leaves, then twigs that he’d dug out from beneath the snow, he soon had a fair fire going.
“The cutest.” Ruth touched her nose to the child’s. “The very cutest.”
“We need something hot in our bellies. I’ll warm the milk for the baby.”
“All right.”
Dylan turned to glance over his shoulder when she didn’t move. “Ruth, we’ve got to get moving.”
She drew the baby close, hugging her tightly. “What if I can’t? I can barely feel my feet this morning.”
Dylan felt his stomach twist with fear. What would he do if she couldn’t walk? He squatted in front of her. “We can’t give up now. We’re going to make it to Sulphur Springs by nightfall.”
As he searched her face, he could see that she struggled to believe him. He suddenly wished he had the time or energy to shave. He scratched the prickly growth of beard and realized why he’d never grown a beard before. It itched.
“I’ll boil some coffee. That’ll make you feel better,” he said.
“Do we have any left?”
“Enough for breakfast.” He broke ice at the water’s edge and filled a coffeepot with water, and then tossed in the last of the grounds and set it on the fire.
Ruth drew her blankets closer to the warmth and changed the baby’s wet clothes, hurrying since she was putting up a fuss about the cold air on her skin. Afterward, she fed the baby half the milk that was left in the canteen. Dylan and Ruth drank their coffee in silence while Ruth jiggled the fussy baby.
As gray dawn broke over the mountains, they mounted up, knowing the horse was about played out and needed a good meal and dry shelter as much as they did.
The early morning passed without a single word between them. Ruth tried to pacify the baby. When the little girl finally fell asleep, Dylan could feel Ruth relax against his back.
Midmorning, a speck materialized in the distance. The rocky terrain had leveled to better footing. A small wagon with two figures on the driver’s seat appeared. As they neared, Dylan saw a man and a woman dressed in dark clothing. The woman sat close to the man, eyeing the approaching horse with wide, apprehensive eyes.
“Hallo there,” the young man called, drawing the wagon to a halt. “Didn’t expect to see anyone out here in the storm.”
“Neither did we,” Dylan confessed. Ruth’s free arm tightened around his waist with silent warning. They’d met Nehemiah Ford this same way and look where it had gotten them. Dylan discreetly loosened her grip before inquiring, “How far to Sulphur Springs?”
“Oh, just a couple miles. Should get there this afternoon, but the snow will slow you down if it gets any heavier.”
“We plan to make it,” Dylan assured him.
“We’re gettin’ ourselves to home before it sets in for the night,” the young man said. He stood up to peer at the bundle Ruth carried. “What’s that you got there? A baby?”
Dylan glanced over his shoulder at Ruth. This couple was young—sturdy. The woman looked thin, but kind enough. The child was cold and hungry; she needed solid food, a warm bed, care—care he and Ruth were not able to give. If they didn’t reach Sulphur Springs soon, the child would sicken, perhaps die. His uncertainties reflected in Ruth’s eyes. Could this couple be the answer to the baby’s needs? Would they be willing to love and care for her, give her the things a child needed to grow strong and healthy?
“Is that an Indian baby?”
“Yes,” Dylan confirmed.
The man sat back down, suspicion blooming in his eyes. “Where’d you come up with an Indian baby?”
“Found her in a burning wagon.”
Dylan didn’t think the couple needed to know the particulars of how they’d come in possession of the little girl. He looked at Ruth again and wondered what she thought. Prospective parents? But they didn’t know anything about this couple—they could be fugitives from the law for all Dylan knew. The man had shifty eyes… .
And on closer inspection, the woman looked frail—in no condition to care for a small baby. Where were the couple’s children? Home, unattended, while their ma and pa rode about the countryside on a snowy day? That was highly unusual—folks out in a snowstorm when they should be home looking after the family—
Ruth broke into Dylan’s thoughts when she gently nudged him to ride on.
“We’d better be on our way if we’re going to make town before dusk,” Dylan said.
“Good luck to you then.” The man slapped the reins against the horse’s rump and with a wave moved on past.
“I didn’t like them,” Ruth said quietly. “I think they would have traded the baby or passed her on to someone else as soon as we were out of sight because she’s Indian.”
“I didn’t trust them either.”
Dylan urged the horse through deepening snowdrifts as they continued their journey. At noon Ruth fed the baby the last of the milk. Dylan recognized her feeling of helplessness because her face mirrored his own. As each hour passed without a sign of the settlement, he grew more troubled. Snow swirled around them, thicker than before, and Dylan began to seriously doubt that they’d make town before they froze to death. Death was a real possibility, he knew. This was a foolish journey and he was the chief fool.
“Are we going to make it?” Ruth’s question was quietly spoken, which gave her fear more weight.
“I don’t even know if we’re going the right direction anymore,” he admitted.
“Oh, God, help us. You’re our only hope,” Ruth breathed.
Dylan set his jaw. Only Ruth’s God knew where they were or if they would make it. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t depend on his own conviction and abilities to carry them through a dangerous situation. For the first time since he was fifteen years old, he was thinking—hoping—that God was there, that he had his eye on them. Dylan wondered if he was losing his mind, thinking about God and asking for his help. Still, with his head bent into the blowing snow, he silently asked that for Ruth’s sake, God might spare her and the innocent child. What happened to him didn’t matter; what happened to Ruth and the baby mattered a lot.
If you’re there, help her, Lord, because I can’t.
Toward dusk, Dylan was certain that Ruth’s Lord was as fickle as Sara Dunnigan’s. Both he and Ruth had lost feeling in their hands and feet. Ruth’s face would be frostbitten if they remained outside a half hour longer.
Look, God, if you’re going to show your hand, do it now. I don’t ask anything for myself. I deserve my own fate, but it’s not fair to let the woman and child die—
Dylan’s thoughts broke off abruptly when he spotted a light in the distance. The glow was dim, but it was a light. Sulphur Spring
s. They had made it! “There it is,” he shouted to Ruth above the howling wind. “There’s the town!”
Her feeble grip tightened on his shoulder. “Thank you, Father.”
Yeah, Dylan thought as he urged the horse through a drift. Much obliged. I owe you one. For the first time in his life, something warm stirred inside him, and he didn’t have a name for it.
Ruth stretched out on a feather mattress, exhaustion invading every limb. Transfixed, she stared at the ceiling, reliving the sheer bliss of soaking in warm water up to her neck. She’d sat in the porcelain tub in the bathroom at the end of the hall for over an hour—until feeling returned to her hands and feet.
“Dear God, thank you for your grace,” she murmured, for she knew full well that it was only his grace that had brought them this far.
Outside the boardinghouse window, snow continued to fall heavily, mounting on branches and porch railings. Wind howled through alleyways, battering storefronts on Main Street.
At first Ruth had thought she was hallucinating when she’d spotted the outcropping that appeared to be in the middle of the road. The horse was laboring heavily under their weight as they plowed through deepening snow. Once she had suggested that they get off and give the horse a rest, but Dylan had said that was a sure way to die. So they kept moving. The mare had earned a dry stall and the dinner of sweet prairie hay she was now enjoying.
Ruth had resolutely prepared to die in the blizzard. Dylan had taken the baby from her and cuddled the infant inside his coat, grief visible on his frozen features. Ruth had heard his halting prayer for help become a litany. When she’d recognized that he was praying, pure elation filled her. Then fear, the likes of which she’d never known, took over. If Dylan was scared, that meant her mounting anxiety wasn’t groundless.
Yet she had refused to give in to panic. Dylan had made the long trip from Colorado to Wyoming more than once, he’d reminded her. But never in winter, and never with an infant and a woman to look after. Or a grave wound in his shoulder. As wind shrieked and snow blew in random bursts, they had pushed on.
Ruth Page 16
