by Cox, Carol
Oh, Pa, if only I knew what to do! She looked around for something more to occupy herself. She had scoured every surface she could find, and still she needed some way to vent her pent-up anxiety.
“What are we going to do about tomorrow?” Violet queried.
Rachel blinked. “Tomorrow? What about it?” Her thoughts remained focused on a point three weeks away and the uncertain future that awaited them.
“It’s Thanksgiving, you silly goose!” Violet fairly bubbled with excitement. “What are we going to do to celebrate? We’ve left off planning nearly too long as it is, but if we start now we can still do something nice. How many pies do we want, and what kind? I can start on the crusts—”
“We’ll celebrate another time,” Rachel interrupted before Violet got completely carried away. “Sometime when we have something to be thankful for.” She watched the glow of anticipation fade from Violet’s face and steeled herself for an angry outburst. When Violet walked away without so much as a word of protest, she heaved a sigh of relief.
Thank goodness she hadn’t made a fuss. Rachel knew she couldn’t have dealt with any bickering just then. She leaned back against the counter and tried to figure out ways to bring in sixty dollars within the next twenty days. As far as she could see, it looked utterly impossible. Concern for their future weighed too heavily for her to feel festive or make any pretense of it. Not with the inexorable approach of the bank’s cutoff date.
fourteen
Ten days later, the only thing that had changed was that the deadline loomed ten days nearer. Pellets of sleet peppered the windows, adding to the light skiff of snow that already layered the ground.
Rachel sat alone after supper, watching the fire and thinking over their situation. Violet had gone to bed early, giving her time to ponder her options. Ten more days remained until December 15. In just a week and a half, she would know whether the farm would belong to her or Hiram Bradshaw.
Her skin crawled at the very idea that man might ever look on her father’s property as his. The memory of his face just after she’d pelted him with the rotten egg popped into her mind. A Christian young lady shouldn’t enjoy the re-collection so much, she supposed, but it might be the only satisfying remembrance she would carry with her in years to come.
She tallied the figures from the ledger in her mind. With the onset of winter, the hens quit laying as heavily. Mentally, she added up the number of eggs needed to make up the necessary difference, then shook her head. Even if they were laying at their peak, it still wouldn’t be enough. A case of too little, too late.
A faint brush of sound on the wood floor caught her attention, and she turned. Violet stood in the doorway, looking like a little girl in her nightdress and robe.
“Are you sick?” Rachel asked, hearing the edgy tone in her voice and hating it. She didn’t think she could handle one more setback.
Violet shook her head. “I just wanted to ask you something.” She crept farther into the room and stared at Rachel with soulful eyes.
Rachel braced herself. That look on Violet’s face usually signified the prelude to a request for a favor. A big one.
“I know it’s still nearly three weeks away,” Violet said timidly, “but I wanted to know ahead of time. Are we going to celebrate Christmas this year, or are we going to skip it too?”
Rachel pressed her lips together and blinked her eyes against the sting of tears.
“I know we don’t have money for gifts,” Violet went on, “and that’s not the point. It isn’t the trappings, or the food, or even the time together.” She moved closer and knelt by Rachel’s chair. “It’s the blessing of God’s love, Rachel. The celebration of the gift of Jesus and everything He’s done for us.”
Rachel’s throat constricted. When had her sister been so hesitant to talk to her before? And did she truly think Rachel would ignore the birth of their Savior? Come to think of it, though, why would she have any reason to believe otherwise, given Rachel’s moody behavior of late?
She reached out and stroked Violet’s head lovingly, pain-fully aware that it was the first tender gesture she’d made toward her sister in weeks. “Go to bed, Honey,” she told her in a gentle voice. “And don’t worry. We won’t skip Christmas this year. . .or any other.” The light in Violet’s eyes warmed her as her sister brushed her cheek with a kiss and scurried back to bed.
The fire burned low, but Rachel continued to sit, deep in thought. Blessings, Violet had said. When was the last time she had looked for blessings?
When had there last been any? a rebellious part of her mind queried. It didn’t seem like God had done much of anything for them lately, although He’d allowed plenty to happen to them.
When did I become so bitter? Maybe that was a better question, the answer to which might prove revealing. Rachel covered her face with her hands. What would Pa have done in these circumstances?
I remember what it was like when he was alive, she mused. I remember what it was like to feel happy. Pa had always taken time to sit with her and Violet in the evening, reading to them from the Bible and talking to them about what had happened that day. A wistful smile curved Rachel’s lips, remembering how he had listened patiently to their girlish questions and dreams.
How had he managed? Had times always been easy for him? She pondered the question with new insight. No, they hadn’t. She could remember plenty of struggles without even trying.
What, then, made his response to life so different from her own? Her glance fell on the Bible on Violet’s chair, and she reached for it with a tentative hand. Without question, she knew where Pa had found his strength. Hadn’t he told her time and again that she could trust God no matter what?
She thumbed through the well-worn pages, trying to remember some of Pa’s favorite passages. The pages opened of their own accord at the book of James. Rachel scooted her chair closer to the lamp and studied the words. “My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations. . . .”
She stared in disbelief. Joy? How could she count it joy when she felt so tired she could barely move, when she’d worked harder than she ever believed she could and yet saw nothing but destitution staring them in the face? What joy awaited them in knowing that unless a miracle occurred, Hiram Bradshaw would soon be the owner of Pa’s farm? And was she supposed to find happiness in his vulgar treatment of her? Rachel cringed at the recollection of his leering face. Happiness? She thought not.
“Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience.” Pa had penned a note in the margin, and she strained her eyes to see it in the lamplight. She turned the pages eagerly to 1 Thessalonians 5:18.
“In everything give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.”
Rachel stared into the flames, seeing, not the dancing colors, but Pa’s face. Pa, who must have been incredibly tired himself, yet found time to listen patiently to the chatter of two growing daughters. Pa, smiling even when he faced adversities as big as her own. Comprehension filtered into her awareness slowly. Pa hadn’t found joy because of his circumstances but in every circumstance.
He didn’t have it handed to him on a silver plate. He chose to take God at His word and be happy. He chose that. . .and I can too.
She closed the Bible and hugged it to her, turning this new idea over in her mind. She could choose to trust God no matter what—whether she and Violet lost the farm, whether Violet married the man who had won Rachel’s heart. She could do all things through Christ, who gave her strength. With His help, she would weather any storm life sent her way.
She tightened her hold on the Bible and turned her eyes toward heaven. “Thank You, Lord,” she whispered. “I choose joy.”
❧
The next morning dawned fine and clear. Rachel dressed warmly for her trip to town, knowing the drive would be cold, but grateful that yesterday’s snow had already vanished. She packed the eggs carefully, layering them between towels in the basket, then wedging the basket bet
ween a pair of blankets to guard it against any bumps along the way.
“Do you want to come along?” she asked Violet, who had come out onto the porch to see her off. Violet blinked at her buoyant tone but declined. Rachel gave her a cheery wave and drove off, leaving Violet staring after her in amazement.
Moments after she reached the road, she pulled the rifle into the seat beside her instead of its customary spot in the back. The vigilant efforts of the troops at Fort Whipple seemed to be having an effect, but it wouldn’t pay to be careless.
The crisp air nipped at her cheeks and nose. Rachel tipped her head back and inhaled its sweet freshness, wondering at her ability to enjoy the day when she knew this might be the last trip she made to town as the owner of the farm. It seemed the whole world had changed since last night, but she knew the biggest change had taken place within her.
Nearly an hour from home, a tiny cry caused Rachel to sit up straight, her mouth suddenly dry. Indians often imitated animal sounds. Had that been a signal? She tightened her grip on the reins, not sure whether to pull the horses to a stop or urge them into a run. She heard the sound again and turned to the wagon bed behind her, feeling a mixture of relief and irritation.
One of the kittens reached out from its nest in the blankets and swatted a paw at her hand. Rachel sighed in exasperation. “How did you get in here? You must have jumped in just before I left.” She scooped up the tiny creature and held it on her lap, considering. She’d gone too far to turn back now and return the baby to its mother. Little as she liked the idea, the kitten would have to travel to town with her.
She reached back to settle the stowaway again, pulling the blanket folds around it to form a warm nest. “Better stay put,” she warned. “It’s cold out here.” She clucked to the horses and set off again.
Pulling the horses to a stop behind Samson’s General Store, she jumped to the ground and brushed the wrinkles from her skirt. She would go in with her head held high. No one else needed to know how important every sale would be over the next few days.
Jake Samson looked up from the counter and beamed. “Pleasure to see you, Rachel. I was wonderin’ whether you’d stop by soon. I’ve been out of your eggs for days, and I’ve had customer after customer pestering me about them.”
Rachel fixed a smile on her face and set the basket on the counter. No need to tell Jake his egg supply might soon disappear.
“Fact is, the demand’s been so high, I decided to raise my price.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink. “I’m going to pass some of that along to you.”
Her heart leaped, and she had to force herself to wait until she reached the privacy of Jake’s back doorway to count the money he handed her. It wouldn’t do to appear too eager.
She dropped the last coin into her hand and felt disappointment creep into her heart. The amount came to more than she’d hoped for, but it still didn’t give her enough. Trust in the Lord, she reminded herself, trying to recapture her earlier gladness.
Rachel squared her shoulders and marched out the door to the wagon. She stopped abruptly at the sight of a grizzled miner standing next to the wagon box.
He started when he saw her, and a red flush suffused his face. “Beggin’ your pardon, Ma’am.” He ducked his head and scuffed his boots in the dust. “I didn’t mean no harm. I was just lookin’ at your kitten here.” He held up the gray ball of fluff that Rachel had forgotten until that moment. “Cute little feller, isn’t he?”
“I–I suppose he is.” The kitten’s charm had been lost on Rachel in the light of her present worries. Apparently the miner didn’t share her lack of appreciation.
“Smart one too,” the miner went on. “Watch this.” He trailed his finger along the wagon bed and laughed out loud when the kitten pounced, swatting his hand fiercely. “See? He’s a real feisty one.”
A smile tugged at Rachel’s lips. She had to admit he had a point. Nice to know that something could lighten her load of troubles, if only for a moment. She sent up a quick prayer of gratitude.
“Yes. Well, I need to be going now.” She put one foot on the wheel hub and stepped up into the seat, hoping the man would take the hint.
He leaned over and placed the kitten in the wagon box with tender care but continued to stand with his hands on the side of the wagon. Rachel chafed, needing to be on her way but not wanting to appear rude.
The miner looked up at her with rheumy eyes and cleared his throat. “Beggin’ your pardon, but I’m wondering if there’s any way you could part with that little rascal.”
He held up a hand to forestall any protest and continued. “I know you’re probably real attached to him, and I’m asking a lot, but Ma’am, it gets mighty lonely out on the claim with only myself and my mule to talk to. If I could have this little feller with me, it would help a lot.” He peered into Rachel’s face like a child begging for candy.
She suppressed a laugh. Having one kitten less would lighten only a fraction of the load she bore, but even that would be an encouragement. She smiled. “Take him. I’d like for you to have him.”
The man’s face lit up in a snaggletoothed grin. He lifted the kitten from its nest of blankets and held it close to his chest. “You and I are gonna be pards,” he crooned. “You like that idea?” The kitten responded by snuggling against his checkered shirt and purring loudly.
“You see that?” he asked triumphantly. “The little feller likes me already. Thank you, Ma’am. You’ve made me a happy man today.”
Rachel smiled and nodded. She lifted the reins, preparing to leave, but the miner held up his hand again. “Wait a minute, Ma’am. I need to give you somethin’ for him.” He fumbled inside his coat, then pressed a lumpy object into her hand. “May the Lord bless you for your kindness.” He dipped his head in farewell and walked away, cuddling the kitten against his scraggly beard.
Amused by the picture, Rachel opened her hand. A small leather bag rested in her palm. She tugged at the string tying the top together. The pouch fell open to reveal a small pile of glittering dust.
Rachel gasped. Gold? She glanced around to make sure no one else had seen, then tucked the poke inside her coat pocket before clicking her tongue and turning the horses toward home.
Once she’d gotten out of sight of Prescott, she pulled out the bag again and hefted it in her hand. Remembering similar pokes Pa had shown her, she estimated it to weigh about an ounce.
Quickly, she calculated its value. It put her nearly twenty dollars closer to her goal. It wouldn’t make up the whole difference, but it would provide a little help for her and Violet while they looked for a place to stay and some means of support.
The income brought in from the harvest would go to the bank—she didn’t intend to leave any more of Pa’s debt unpaid than she could help. But this could be considered “found” money, something supplied by God to take care of their needs.
“Thank You, Lord,” she whispered. Laughter welled up in her throat and burst from her lips in a joyful gurgle. “Thank You for Your provision and for letting me know I can trust You.”
fifteen
The next day found Rachel pitching hay down out of the loft, humming one of her favorite hymns. Violet appeared in the barn doorway. “There’s someone here to see you,” she said with a curious look. “He says Tom Dolan sent him.”
“Dolan?” Rachel tried to recall anyone by that name but couldn’t. Mystified, she followed Violet out to the yard, where the man awaited her. His tattered clothing and heavily laden mule gave away his occupation before he could speak.
“Morning, Ma’am,” he said, removing his hat. “Tom Dolan told me to come see you, and Jake Samson told me how to find your place. Tom got a kitten from you yesterday, and I wondered if you might have more to sell.” He wet his lips and stared at her, looking as eager as a schoolboy.
Rachel recovered from her surprise and shot a warning look at Violet. “They’re in here,” she told him calmly, leading the way into the barn.
The threadbar
e miner took his time inspecting the litter and finally selected the biggest kitten. “Looks like she’ll make a good mouser.” He grinned. “I surely do thank you,” he told her and produced a bag identical to the one Tom Dolan had given her the day before. “Here. Tom said this was the going rate.” He grabbed the mule’s lead rope and started to walk off, then stopped. “Do you mind if I spread the word about them others?” he asked. “I know a bunch of fellers who’d be glad of a little company like that.”
Rachel started, then rallied. “Go right ahead,” she called, ignoring Violet’s dumbstruck expression. “We’ll be glad to see them.” She gave her sister an exuberant hug. “God’s in control, Violet. Isn’t it wonderful?”
❧
By the following afternoon, Rachel and Violet were once again the owners of only one cat, Molly. Rachel sat at the table, lining up their money in neat piles, then checking the total against the amount in her ledger. She blinked incredulously. Three hundred and eighty-one dollars. Far more than she needed to pay off her debts. Enough to give Daniel a share for all his hard work. Enough to see her and Violet through the next few months.
And enough to make this a special Christmas for her sister. Joyful tears sprang to her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “Thank You, Lord, for what You’ve done,” she prayed. “For-give me for doubting You, and help me always to know that You’re in charge of my life.”
She might have missed the official holiday, but songs of thanksgiving rang in her heart. Reaching for her pencil, Rachel sorted the amounts from the various sources and added them up. She tapped the end of the pencil against her teeth and studied the paper. Everything they had done had played a part in their success—the corn, the kitchen vegetables, the unexpectedly lucrative eggs. They would be sure to continue all of them next year. But those kittens. . .
