“He’s wise, child. I knew I could trust Him to work it all out.”
Ruth sighed. “God’s going to have to work it out with Mama. She’ll be dismayed that I ruined my chances yet again.”
Bernadette patted her back. “God already worked that out years ago. He gave you a mother who loves you, regardless. Now let’s finish unpacking your things.”
“Tell me all about Mama’s health.”
“No, I promised I wouldn’t tell you a thing. You’ll just have to wait until she’s finished her nap.”
Leticia sat propped up in bed by a plethora of pillows. She’s the same color as her sheets, Ruth thought as she entered the room. “Mama!”
Mama muffled a cough, then spread her thin arms wide. “You’re home!”
In times past, Ruth would have flown across the room and thrown herself into her mother’s arms. This time, she walked sedately, took a seat on the edge of the mattress, and carefully gathered her frail mother in her arms. “Yes, I’m home, and I’m staying here with you now.”
Ruth cradled her mother and closed her eyes against the sting of tears. Mama had always been petite, but she’d lost so much weight that every last bone jutted out beneath her nightdress. I should have been home… .
Ruth opened her eyes and noticed numerous hints about just how fragile her mother had become. Oh, her room still held the cameo-like beauty of apricot and ecru appointments, but the lowbacked wire vanity stool had been replaced with a rocking chair. The beautiful beige merino wool shawl draped across the back of it tattled how Mama chilled easily. Beside her lovely silver brush and mirror rested vials, bottles, and tiny paper packages of medicinal powders. A stack of freshly ironed hankies lay on the bedside table. And though Mama loved flowers and always insisted upon having a small arrangement in her room, the chrysanthemums served as a warning to Ruth that her mother had come into the autumn of her life.
This can’t be. Please, God, make her well.
“You look even more beautiful than I remembered,” Mama said in a raspy whisper that still managed to sound merry.
Ruth cleared her throat. Mama needed her strength. She could indulge in tears some other time, but not now. “It’s a marvel Bernadette didn’t scream in fright when I walked in the door. She made me change out of my traveling gown and helped me dress my hair.”
Ruth looked down and tenderly stroked a damp tress from Mama’s temple. “You are—”
“—so happy to see you.”
Mama never interrupted anyone. Ruth understood then and there that her mother wanted to pretend all was well. What harm would it do? She owed Mama everything. If this was what Mama desired, she’d play along and act as if nothing were amiss.
“Well, well!” Bernadette shouldered through the door with a tea tray. “I told Hadley we ladies were going to have a reunion tea. I’m inviting myself. Ruth’s going to have to spin us all of her stories, and I’m feeling selfish enough to hear them at first telling.”
“You’re always welcome, Bernadette,” Leticia said.
“I know.” The housekeeper gave them a saucy smile. “That’s why I invited myself. You have to promise to eat a whole piece of cake, though. Ruth, don’t tell her more than one story if she only eats half.”
Ruth propped Mama back against the pillows. “Mama’s going to eat two pieces. My stories are bound to keep you both entertained for months.”
Please, Mama, tell me you’ll still be with us months from now, Ruth inwardly begged as Mama held a tatted-edged hanky to her mouth and coughed.
Bernadette placed a small lap tray across Mama’s thighs, served her cake and heavily honeyed tea, and tucked a napkin across her front as if she were a child in need of tending. The actions were lovingly done, but so automatic Ruth realized her mother was almost helpless and had needed extreme assistance for some time now.
Oh, Mama, I would have been here for you.…
“So,” Bernadette said brightly, “you mentioned robins in one of your letters.”
Taking her cue, Ruth forced a laugh. “Oh, did I ruffle a few feathers over that escapade! You see, I found these little hatchlings on the ground. Cook didn’t appreciate the fact that I borrowed her favorite roasting pan to serve as a makeshift nest.”
“A roasting pan! Imagine!” Bernadette handed Ruth a plate.
“I named them Aria and Soprano because they chirped nonstop.” Ruth omitted mentioning Treble. Treble hadn’t survived, and the mention of her might upset Mama.
“You are so clever.” Leticia took a miniscule sip of tea.
“The headmistress didn’t think so when I hired the groundskeeper’s son to bring me worms each morning. The poor little birds needed to be fed, so what else was I to do?”
“They weren’t just newly hatched, then?”
“Actually, they were. Two of the other girls volunteered to help make sure we fed the tiny babies round the clock. It wasn’t long before they were my pets—I mean the birds, not the girls!”
Mama smiled and Bernadette laughed at all the right moments. Ruth resolved she’d spin tales from here to eternity if it made them happy. She could even look back now and see humor in some of the more painful episodes. With the proper perspective, she could slant just about any story into a vignette to entertain Mama.
“Where are those birds now?” Bernadette silently urged Leticia to eat a bite.
“Those little robins are so perky. When I freed them, they nested in the tree just outside my window.”
“God smiled on you, just as I prayed He would.” Mama finally took a tiny bite of pound cake.
“As for that poor roasting pan—” Ruth shook her head sorrowfully. “No matter how much I scrubbed it, Cook wouldn’t use that thing again. I still can’t imagine why.” She let out a laugh. “I tried to convince her that a bird is a bird. She’d just be putting a bigger, plucked one in it is all.”
Mama and Bernadette laughed, and Ruth knew she’d come home.
Only home had changed.
Six months passed. Day by day, Leticia grew weaker, thinner. Only her spirit stayed strong—that, and her faith in the Lord.
Ruth did her best to keep her mother’s spirits up. All through the fall season, she filled the room with colorful arrangements of flowers and leaves. During the winter, swags of holiday ribbons and pine decorated the drapery rods. Spring dawned, and the fresh greenery and sprouts everywhere promised life’s renewal—all except for Mama.
Dr. Sanborn dropped in frequently. His medical interventions made no difference, but he always made it a point to rest his hand on Mama’s shoulder and say a prayer of comfort. One afternoon, after the prayer, he subtly tilted his head toward the door. Ruth followed him from the room.
“She has little time left, Miss Caldwell. We have nothing to offer physically, but her spiritual and emotional welfare are of the utmost import. I’m glad to see you’re reading the Bible to her.” He paused. “She confided to me that she worries about your future. Any parent would fret over leaving an only child alone. I’ve remarked on your independence and courage. Let those qualities continue to shine forth. They give her great comfort.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Late that night as Ruth sat by the bedside and held her mother’s hand, Mama gave her a squeeze. “I’ve thought things through. I want you to know I’ve prayed hard about it,” Mama said.
“Prayed about what?”
“What is to become of you. I want you to promise me you’ll follow my plan.”
“You don’t need to trouble yourself, Mama. I’ll be fine.”
“First, I want you to promise me you’ll not wear mourning. When God takes me home, I don’t want you to wallow in that dreariness.”
“Mama—”
“Dear,” Mama gave her a brave smile, “we know I’m heaven bound. I don’t want to look down from paradise and see you in crow black. I want my daughter to carry on and live life to the fullest.”
“What I wear doesn’t matter.”
�
�Then you’ll humor me.” She drew in a shallow breath, paused, and let it out. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“Bernadette and Hadley will be here.”
“No. I wrote a letter. It’s in my top bureau drawer. Send it by that new Pony Express you read to me about, and then prepare to take a trip by stage.”
“Letter? Trip? I don’t understand.”
“I want you to go to your father.”
“Father?” Ruth gawked at her mother. Mama never spoke of the man whom she married. Not even once.
Grandfather never mentioned him either. But on her twelfth birthday, Ruth had gathered her courage and asked about her father. Grandfather made it clear her father was a “rascal, a blackguard, and a miscreant.” Grandfather never spoke ill of anyone, so his low opinion of the man who’d wed his daughter let Ruth know her father must be wicked beyond telling.
“When I took sick, I asked Hadley to make inquiries. I was unfair to your father—he never knew I was carrying you when he sent me away. He had personal difficulties, but he’s overcome them. Hadley reported he’s developed laudable character.”
“Regardless of Father’s change, your situation is far more important to me. I’m not leaving your side, Mama.”
“The time’s come for you to meet your father.”
“If you truly wish me to meet him, I’ll go—but not until after Jesus takes you home.”
Mama closed her eyes. Ruth wasn’t sure whether it was out of exhaustion, disappointment, or relief. “My place is with you, Mama. Deep in my heart I know it’s true. Don’t ask me to leave you.”
Leticia opened her eyes. Tears shimmered in them. “Stay with him—live there. He’s family.”
“This is silly, Mama. I’m not going to need to send that letter for ages.”
Her mother shook her head sadly, then coughed. “It’s my dying wish, Ruth. Please promise me you’ll go and live there, no matter what.”
My dying wish. Mama wasn’t being theatrical; the truth was plain as could be. All of the months of pretense were stripped away in one stark comment. Ruth wanted to bury her face in Mama’s lap and weep like a little child. She wanted to fall to her knees and plead with God to intervene with a miraculous recovery. Instead, she covered Mama’s hand and nodded. “Because I love you so much, I promise I’ll go.”
CHAPTER TWO
Broken P Ranch, Folsom, California.
Josh McCain, Jr. read the flowing, feminine script on the envelope and flipped it over to see if anything was written on the back. “Odd. No name—just the ranch and no return address?” A companion for Laney? The smile that accompanied the thought made the skin on his wind-chapped face stretch and sting.
“Well?” Lester, the postmaster, prodded. “Recognize the writing after all? Good thing you came to town. That came by Pony Express, so I knew it was important. Been sittin’ here for more than a week, and I’ve been itching to know who the mystery writer is.”
“So am I.” Joshua paced over to a bentwood chair. He lowered himself until the cane seat crackled and moaned beneath his strapping build. He waggled his brows at Lester. “I think maybe I finally got a response to my inquiry about a companion for my sister.”
“Imagine!” Lester leaned over the counter. “You gonna read it aloud?”
“No.” Joshua stuck a callused thumb under the edge of the beige vellum envelope and swiped along the edge. The lavender wax seal hinted that the sender wasn’t just an ordinary woman. She was dainty and classy, too. Good. She and Laney’ll get along well together.
Joshua wiped his palms down the thighs of his pants to make sure he didn’t leave smudges on the note. Laney set store by little details like that, and since she’d want to save the missive, Josh reckoned keeping it clean was the least he could do. He drew out the folded pages. Even though the letter had been stuck in the bottom of the leather Pony Express bag, the paper still felt crisp.
Dear Sir,
I am sending you Ruth.
Ruth. A Bible name. Old-fashioned. Feminine. My sister’s future companion is named Ruth. Maybe she’ll have us call her Ruthie. And she’s coming! I guess the stipend I offered was generous enough. Good. I want Laney to have someone here as soon as possible. He stopped musing and read on.
She’s nineteen.
Younger than I planned, but that’s not a bad thing. Nineteen. Old enough to be capable. Young enough to have energy.
She has abundant blond hair, green eyes, and a willowy build. I am certain you’ll recognize her the moment she steps from the stage.
Oh, I’ll be certain to recognize her. A pretty, slender, green-eyed blonde.
It has been a very difficult decision to send her to you. I reared her to be a godly young woman and worry about unwholesome influences, should you not permit her the freedom to follow the dictates of her heart. I place her entirely in your hands, for she will now be your responsibility. I beg you, please honor her Christian beliefs.
What a dear woman. I’ll have to write her a letter of reassurance at once. Knowing she sent Ruth to a home with believers will ease her mind.
Though Ruth’s arrival will undoubtedly cause a minor stir, I ask you to do your best to shield her. Surely she deserves your protection. Ruth reads voluminously and has passable skill with a needle. She sings like a nightingale, has a tender heart, and her gregarious nature proves she is your daughter.
Joshua’s delight altered to confusion. Daughter? Impossible! At twenty-four he couldn’t have a nineteen-year-old! He scowled at the letter while hastily scanning the remainder.
That being said, I must also warn you that at times, your daughter is given to exuberance. Her compassion and creativity have been known to get her into trouble, and she inherited your strong streak of stubbornness. Though her very existence has undoubtedly come as a great shock, one look at her will quell any misgivings you have regarding the veracity of her claim to your name. I’m certain you’ll quickly come to see she also inherited your spirited personality.
As I write this, my health is failing. Our daughter has no one but you. I pray you will treat her kindly and that she will adjust well.
It is, I believe, a case of ironic justice that you are now faced with the consequences of your choices. I suffered them during our misbegotten union and tried my best to protect Ruth from your influence. Nonetheless, history repeats itself. You sent me back to my father; I now send your daughter to you. The difference is, you pushed me away in anger. I’m sending Ruth out of desperation. She has no one else to whom she can turn, no place else to go. Our daughter deserves to find happiness, and I pray you’ll find joy in her company.
All these years, I have honored our agreement. I have never again spoken your name or crossed your land. Now I must ask this one thing of you—to welcome the child you never knew. It is too late for me to do anything more. Give her the love you withheld from me. Ruth deserves at least that much.
Your dutiful wife,
Leticia
Joshua stood and headed for the door.
“Hey!” Lester shouted. “What did she say?”
“It wasn’t a response for a companion.” He said nothing more. If Josh had his way, he’d nip this problem in the bud.
He stepped out of the mercantile into the gloomy afternoon and squinted at the low-lying, gray clouds that only served to make the unseasonable April heat even more oppressive. His mood matched the sky. Not that he was a grasping or greedy man, but his family owned the Broken P. Before they arrived, Alan Caldwell just about ran the place into the ground—mostly because he’d been living in the bottom of a whiskey bottle. Just prior to the ranch going under the gavel, the McCains and Caldwell made a gentlemen’s agreement. On that handshake, they’d been “partners,” and Joshua and his father spent every last dollar they owned and every drop of sweat they could muster to put the ranch back in the black.
Josh needed help finding out where Alan Caldwell’s “widow” lived. He’d send a missive informing her of Alan’s death
so she’d not send Ruth. The one person in town who might know where Leticia Caldwell resided would be the town’s only attorney, Rick Maltby.
Josh paused a moment, yanked off his hat, and wiped his brow with a bandana as he devised a plan to handle this situation. Moments later, his spurs jangled on the boardwalk as he started down the street.
Ruth reached up and tried to smooth back a springy blond curl. It bounced right back into an undisciplined coil and brought a part- ner along. She sighed in surrender. Making a good first impression wasn’t to be her lot in life.
Ruth didn’t want to come to California. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to meet her father. No, that’s a lie. I do. I really do. She jounced along in the stage and worried … about what her father would be like and about her own future.
A corkscrew curl breezed across her eyes. Ruth pushed it back into place. That had been the same way Mama touched her for the very last time—to smooth an errant wisp back with her weak hand and bravely smile. The memory knifed through Ruth.
Mama welcomed her home from the academy as if nothing were amiss—either in the report Headmistress Pettigrew sent or with her own health.
Mama declared she’d sent Ruth away to the unceasing string of ladies’ academies and finishing schools because she wanted her daughter to be well-educated and prepared adequately for a comfortable life. At least that’s what she’d said—but consumption often struck those abiding under the same roof. Mama never once confessed how that fact drove her to protect her daughter. But Bernadette had been more vocal. It had been so like Mama to deny herself the comfort of Ruth’s love in an attempt to spare her.
Ruth did her best to make up for it and for her failure to shine at those schools, though. In those last months she’d shown Mama every scrap of devotion she possibly could.
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