Season Of Hope

by Cox, Carol

  “I thought maybe we could ask him to supper,” Violet went on. Rachel opened her mouth to refuse but stopped when she saw the pleading look on her sister’s face. What could it hurt? She didn’t trust Daniel Moore—she didn’t trust much of anyone at the moment—but she did owe him something after ruining his shirt. Besides, she could tell that entertaining a friend of their father’s meant a lot to Violet.

  “Will you join us, Mr. Moore?” she asked, attempting a gracious smile, but the taut feeling of dried blood on her cheeks reminded her of how she must look, and the smile faded. When he hesitated, she hastened to add, “If we get your shirt in some cold water right away, we might be able to get the blood stain out before it has time to set.”

  Daniel looked ruefully at his shirt front and gave Rachel a crooked smile. “I don’t want to be a bother, but I did have something to discuss with you. That might be the best way to do it, if it’s all right with you.”

  ❧

  Daniel sat at the dining table, wearing one of Ike Canfield’s shirts. His own sat soaking in a bowl of cold water Rachel had drawn. He wriggled his shoulders, trying to stretch the fabric a bit. Ike had been as tall as Daniel, but lean as a whipcord. Ike’s arms had been shorter too Daniel thought with amusement, looking down at his own tanned wrists extending well past the ends of the sleeves.

  He scooted the chair sideways and stretched his long legs out before him, wondering how much longer Rachel would be. She had caught sight of her reflection in the front window when they entered the house, and Daniel had been hard-pressed not to laugh out loud at her strangled cry of dismay. After putting his shirt in to soak and loaning him one of Ike’s, she had immediately dashed off to repair the damage, Daniel supposed. Violet had gone out to feed the chickens right after that, leaving Daniel very much alone. He fidgeted again, wanting to get the upcoming interview over with.

  Smoothing her light brown hair back from her face, Rachel walked into the kitchen, her expression contrite. She pulled out two loaves of bread and a sharp knife and began cutting the bread into even slices.

  “Exactly how did you know my father?” The words tumbled out abruptly. “I mean, I never heard him speak of you. . . .” She pressed her lips together and eyed Daniel expectantly.

  “My mining claim was next to his,” he answered.

  Rachel’s hands froze in midslice. “Then you were there when the beam fell on him?” Her eyes widened, and the knife wavered in her hand.

  Daniel shook his head miserably. “I was gone that day, that whole week, in fact. I had to go over to Camp Verde on business, and I didn’t get back until it was all over. I didn’t even make it to the funeral,” he said in a dull voice. “If I’d been around, I might have heard the commotion and gotten to him in time.”

  And if you had, he told himself, you might be sitting here now having supper with the whole family, instead of with two girls who have been left alone in the world. It was possible, he reasoned. Old Ike had extended an invitation often enough. But for someone as skittish around women as Daniel, the mere mention of two unmarried daughters in the household had been enough to make him keep his distance.

  He watched Rachel’s mobile face as she digested the news that her father might not have died if only he, Daniel Webster Moore, had been close by. If he hadn’t made the spontaneous trip to Camp Verde. If he’d been around to hear and lend a helping hand, they might never have suffered this loss. And he would not now be in this unpleasant position.

  This wouldn’t be easy; he could see that already. Ike’s description of his daughters had been remarkably accurate. “Violet’s a frail little thing,” he had told Daniel more than once. “Not sickly, mind you, just not sturdy like her sister. She takes after her mother, God rest her soul—dreamy and gentle, always concerned about the other person’s feelings.

  “Rachel, on the other hand,” he would continue, “has an independent streak a mile wide. Nothing wrong with that in itself, but once she sets out to do something, that stubborn pride of hers won’t let her change direction. And feisty? My land, that girl has a temper! Rachel isn’t one you want to cross without a rock-solid reason.”

  Ike had been right on target. Daniel could see that, even after his brief acquaintance with the sisters, and it wouldn’t make his self-appointed task one bit simpler. Violet would probably accept his offer as the sensible solution it was. It was Rachel who worried him.

  Taking a deep breath, he decided to plunge right in. No use beating around the bush with this one. “You’re going to need some help on this farm,” he began. “You still have the corn and beans to get in and the late vegetables to harvest, not to mention needing to cut firewood and plow the fields before winter. Your father was a good man, one of the best. He helped me out more than once, and I’d like to do something to repay the favor.” He glanced at Rachel, who eyed him narrowly.

  “Just exactly what did you have in mind?” she asked in a tight voice.

  “I can give you a hand with all of that. I’m a hard worker, and I’d like to do it in memory of your pa.”

  Rachel seemed to turn the proposition over in her mind while she melted lard in the skillet. To most, Daniel knew, it would seem a generous offer from a friend. But this stubborn, proud woman would likely be rankled if she felt beholden to a stranger.

  The door swung open to admit Violet, cheeks tinged a rosy pink from the nip in the air, the hem of her apron gathered in her hands. “Can you believe it? I found six more eggs when I fed the hens.” She removed the eggs from her apron and set them gently on the counter, blithely unaware of the undercurrents in the room.

  Rachel didn’t answer her sister but swung around to face Daniel. “I appreciate your offer, Mr. Moore, but I believe God has already shown me a plan to keep things going here. We’re going to be strapped for cash until our bank loan is paid off, so I couldn’t pay you, and I certainly couldn’t allow you to work for us for nothing. Thank you for your generosity, but the answer is no.”

  A knot formed in Daniel’s stomach. It hadn’t been easy for him to convince himself to approach Ike’s daughters. Women, in Daniel’s experience, were better left alone. But Ike had been a good neighbor—more than that, he had saved his bacon the time he’d run off those Yavapai Apaches that had Daniel pinned down. In Daniel’s book, a debt like that couldn’t go unpaid. He hadn’t been there to help Ike, but he could step in now to do what he could for Ike’s family. And Rachel seemed ready to throw his offer away without even discussing it.

  In the six weeks since Ike’s death, the girls had done a remarkable job of keeping the place going. The fields were well tended, and the livestock were in obviously good shape. It had probably been good for them to keep busy with a regular routine. But now they faced the prospect of bringing in the harvest, where they would make the bulk of their income. If that wasn’t done right and on time, all the other hard work would have been for nothing.

  Daniel noted the determined set of Rachel’s chin, and the knot in his stomach tightened. Did she really believe she and her sister could do it on their own? He shook his head in reluctant admiration. Her father had her figured, all right—independence and stubborn pride enough for three people.

  He nodded, outwardly accepting her decision. “It’s your choice,” he said. “Have it your way.” Under his breath he added, “For now.” He had a debt to pay, and a stubborn streak of his own.

  Visibly relieved at his acquiescence, Rachel turned her attention to Violet. “Go ahead and add those eggs to the ones you brought in this morning and cook them up, will you?”

  Violet rolled her eyes. “Eggs again?”

  “We have to do something with them. Those hens are laying faster than we can use them up. Even with the ones you keep sneaking to Molly,” Rachel added, clearly suppressing a chuckle when an embarrassed flush stained her sister’s cheeks. “I hope you like eggs, Mr. Moore,” she called over her shoulder, then frowned. “What’s the matter?”

  Daniel’s mouth hung open in utter
astonishment. “You’re trying to get rid of your eggs?” he asked, stunned.

  A crease appeared between Rachel’s eyebrows. “It’s not that we’re ungrateful; we just have more than we can possibly use. What’s wrong?”

  Daniel shook his head in disbelief. “Just that most folks around here would give their eye teeth for an occasional egg, and here you are, throwing them away.”

  “Giving the extras to Molly isn’t throwing them away,” Violet retorted with a sniff.

  “Wait a minute.” Rachel stared at Daniel. “Do you mean you think we could sell some of these eggs?”

  “Not some,” Daniel corrected. “All. Why don’t you take a basketful with you the next time you go into town and see what happens?”

  “Maybe I will,” Rachel said.

  ❧

  Rachel wrapped a length of binder twine around yet another armload of cornstalks and set the shock upright. She wiped the dampness from her brow with the back of her hand and shook her head. Even with the feel of autumn in the air, she was sweating. Harvesting the corn single-handedly made for slow going. Too slow. At this rate she wouldn’t be done for weeks. And that would be much too late.

  Her plan for saving the farm had seemed so simple. She and Violet would get the harvest in by themselves. Without hiring outside help, she reasoned, they’d save a lot, maybe enough to put a goodly bit toward the hundred-dollar difference in the loan amounts. They would do such a wonderful job that even the worst naysayers in town would have to admit being a woman wasn’t the drawback some of them would like to believe.

  Rachel knew what needed to be done and how to do it. After all, hadn’t she worked with Pa on every job on the place? She still would be too if it hadn’t been for the accident. If only that beam hadn’t fallen just when Pa was underneath! But she was learning there was a vast difference between working alongside her father and being responsible for everything, the housework and fieldwork both.

  She rolled her neck, trying to work out the kinks, and surveyed the waving corn about her. Nearly half of it had been put up. Over in the bean field, Violet moved methodically down a row, stripping the dried pods from the plants and placing them in the gunnysack she dragged along behind her. The vegetable patch, neat and weed free, was ready to yield the last crops of the season. Yes, she could be proud of all they had accomplished so far. But looking beyond that, she could also see what still needed to be done.

  “I’m trying, Pa. Really, I am,” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat. Tears pricked her eyes as the fresh pain of her loss tore at her once more, and she looked across the fields, aching to see her father’s familiar figure striding along, a corn knife in his hand.

  But Pa was gone, and no amount of longing would bring him back. An indescribable heaviness swept over her, and she felt far older than her twenty-one years. How could she possibly expect to make enough to keep her and Violet eating, much less earn enough extra to pay off the loan?

  “What do I do, God?” The cry burst forth from her weary spirit. She no longer had her earthly father with her, but her heavenly Father was always near. “Even Pa had to hire workers at harvest time. And he had me to keep the house and cook for him and the crew. I’ve got no one except Violet. . .and You.

  “If we hire men, we won’t have enough money left to pay off the loan, and that miserable Hiram Bradshaw will waltz in and take the place. But if we don’t get help, we’ll never get it all done, and there won’t be any money then, either.

  “I thought I was hearing from You when I decided Violet and I would do this on our own. . .but it isn’t working. We’ll never get it done at this rate, and we’re both so tired we’re ready to drop in our tracks.” She flung up her hands in despair. “All things are possible with You, but You’ve got to help me see the way clearly.”

  ❧

  “If I have to eat another egg, I’ll scream!” Violet’s heartfelt protest rang across the kitchen.

  “You’ll eat them and like them, Violet Canfield. The less money we spend on food in town, the more we can set aside for the loan payment. Didn’t you hear Mr. Moore the other night? Lots of people would appreciate those eggs. Be grateful.”

  “And I’m sick of hearing about the loan payment! That’s all you seem to care about anymore.” Violet’s blue eyes were stormy.

  “It’s you I care about,” Rachel retorted. “You and this farm. Pa worked hard to build it up for us, and I don’t intend to lose it.”

  Violet crossed her arms mutinously. “At least while Pa was alive, we had decent food to eat.”

  Stung by the justice of Violet’s remark, Rachel studied her sister’s slight form with a critical eye. Violet had always been slender like their mother, but now her dress hung loosely on her slim frame—a frame that was far too thin, Rachel realized with a tinge of panic. Bread and eggs didn’t make a hearty supper by any means, but they didn’t have the energy to fix anything more ambitious after a day of working outdoors.

  “Go on out and feed the chickens while I fix the eggs,” she told Violet, trying to keep her voice level. “At least that way you won’t have to watch them cooking.”

  Violet exited gratefully, looking contrite. Rachel cracked the eggs into a bowl, then squeezed her eyes shut and leaned her forehead against the cupboard door. “Lord, it’s me again, and I need a word from You real soon. I’ve got to figure out a way to get the fieldwork done, and feed us decently, and tend the kitchen garden, and keep house, and. . .”

  Overwhelmed, Rachel felt the hot sting of tears on her eyelids. She bit her lower lip and shook her head, angrily dashing the tears away with the back of her hand. She couldn’t afford to break down now. Maybe when all of this was over. If it’s ever over, she thought bleakly.

  Immediately, she felt a sense of shame. Five years Violet’s senior, she had been responsible for her younger sister ever since their mother’s death back in Missouri. With Pa gone too, who could Violet depend on if she, Rachel, gave in to despair?

  With a determined tilt of her chin, she squared her shoulders and proceeded to whip the eggs into a froth, then poured them into the waiting frying pan. “Lord, I’ll just keep going one step at a time. But You’re going to have to show me the way.”

  The shuffle of footsteps and the rattle of the door latch heralded Violet’s return. Rachel gave her cheeks a quick swipe with the tail of her apron to make sure no traces of dampness remained. Hearing the door open, she cleared her throat and asked brightly, “How many more of those horrible eggs did you find this time?”

  “Just two.” Violet slipped them onto the counter and backed away quickly. Puzzled, Rachel turned to find her sister with the egg basket on her arm and a guilty look on her face.

  “And what else do you have in that basket?” she demanded.

  “Oh, Rachel, he looked so pitiful, I couldn’t bear to leave him outside.” Holding the basket protectively, Violet scooped up a small gray object and held it out for Rachel’s inspection. The little squirrel in her hand took in its new surroundings with bright eyes. Even from across the kitchen, Rachel could see that one of its back legs bent at an unnatural angle.

  Rachel moved the eggs off the stove and sighed in exasperation. The last thing she needed right now was another responsibility, no matter how minor.

  The squirrel chittered nervously, and Violet cuddled it close, murmuring soothing words. Memories flashed through Rachel’s mind—Violet bringing home baby birds fallen from their nest. . .tending a little cottontail with a broken leg. . . She shook her head with a wry grin. This nurturing instinct was an inherent part of Violet. Just as well try to change the weather. And if it helped her get her mind off their present difficulties, why fight it?

  “Make him a bed in front of the fire while I dish up supper.”

  three

  Violet sat near the dancing flames, her fingers methodically splitting open the pods she had gathered earlier, her thumbs popping out the beans. With the squirrel curled on a bed of rags at her feet, she look
ed the picture of contentment.

  Sitting opposite her, Rachel’s hands worked just as efficiently, but inside her feelings churned. So much to do, and so little time! When Pa was alive, he and she had worked out an equitable system of sharing the responsibility for the farm. Now he was gone, and the burden was placed squarely on Rachel’s shoulders. Gentle, fragile Violet couldn’t be expected to carry out all Rachel’s former duties. Just having her gather the bean pods had taxed her strength to the limit.

  Eyeing her sister’s delicate form, Rachel knew she had to do something to feed them better. But what? They couldn’t spend time tending the stove when they had to be in the field harvesting. When they came in for the evening, they were far too tired to fix anything more substantial than bread and eggs. Eggs for breakfast, eggs for supper.

  Rachel groaned. Violet was right—something had to change, but how? Even during the hardest parts of Rachel’s life, she had never questioned God’s loving care. Now, though, it was getting hard to see His hand in things.

  Father, I don’t mean to doubt You, but I do need an answer in a hurry. If we don’t eat right, we won’t be able to do all the other things we need to, so please help me figure that out right away.

  One step at a time, remember? Rachel winced. She had never before addressed the Almighty so boldly, but these were desperate times. She hoped He wouldn’t be offended.

  Violet’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Do you know where that old dynamite box of Pa’s is? It would make a good home for this little fellow, but I can’t remember where I saw it last.”

  “I think it’s up in the loft.” Rachel tossed her last handful of beans in the bowl between them. “I’ll go look for it while you finish up.” She made her way to the loft over the bedrooms, frowning as she pushed her way between cast-off boxes and keepsakes. Pa hadn’t been much better than Violet about putting things away neatly, and the resulting hodgepodge had gotten out of hand. It needed a good going-over, but she wasn’t likely to have time for that for quite awhile.