“God is the worker of miracles.” Micah’s dark eyes held hers intently.
“Andrew doesn’t need a miracle,” she said defiantly. “He just needs sleep.”
“Don’t you believe?” he asked. “I know Andrew does.”
“Of course I believe.” She was ready to end this conversation. “My whole family believes. We know who made us, who made this world.”
“Do you trust Him?”
Catherine paused. Did she? Resolutely she shook away the nagging thought. “Naturally.” Her answer was brisk and no-nonsense, suppressing the doubt that rose in her chest like bile. “I pray to Him that He will heal Andrew.”
Micah nodded as the dust motes danced around his head like an angel’s blessing. “I pray that, too.”
He touched the pile of harness gear with the booted toe of his foot. “This is Andrew’s equipment,” he said almost absently. “It’s somewhat of a mess right now because we were sorting through it together. We were—“
“I can do it.” She moved closer to the tangled pile almost possessively. “It’s my responsibility now. Until Andrew comes home and takes over, I’ll see to the care of this claim.”
Micah tilted his head and studied her. “I’m glad to help. Andrew and I were going to work together anyway.”
“It’s my responsibility,” she repeated. “I’ll do it myself.”
He lifted an oddly shaped iron bar with his toe and let it drop back into place. “You know how to set this up?” he asked, so quietly that it seemed to Catherine that he was talking to himself.
“I don’t, but I can figure it out.”
She felt tiny in the barn, overshadowed by the giant horse and the giant man who stood beside her, a half smile on his face. “Well, I’d best be getting back to my place,” he said at last. “I have some things in my barn I need to tend to.”
Micah pulled his cap back onto his head and, with a jaunty wave, vanished from the barn.
Catherine watched him walk away, a dark silhouette against the setting sun.
So that was Micah Dunford.
From the small wooden box on the table, she took out the sampler she had begun stitching during the train trip from Massachusetts. The challenge of the pattern and the clean rhythm of the needle sliding through the cloth calmed her nervous fingers…and her equally nervous mind.
She picked up the scrap of material that had been folded and refolded many times in the past week. Smoothing it out on her knees, she could begin to make out the beginning letters of the verse: “‘Be not afraid, only believe.’ Mark 5:36.”
She picked up her needle and, as she had done so many times, concentrated as the even flow of the thin silver wove in and out of the cloth. Then she switched to a spring-green strand and began to form yet another letter.
“Be not afraid.”
She’d chosen the verse at random. No, that wasn’t true. She’d chosen it because it had reminded her of Andrew. She’d heard him recite the verse often enough.
“Be not afraid.”
For years she had lived in his reflected glory, a pale shadow of a girl; too shy to speak, yet always adoring the older brother who had raised her when influenza claimed their parents.
And now she had the chance to repay him for all he’d done. She had to do the job herself. She owed her brother a debt of honor.
But a dreadful debt. If only Andrew had stayed in Massachusetts, he would still be safe. The wanderlust in him, that enthusiastic embracing of the challenges of life, had called him out here to this dreadful land, where a simple fall off a wagon had put him in the deathlike sleep of a coma.
Dakota Territory. Even the name sounded cold and forbidding.
She glanced out the window as the last bits of daylight left the tiny house. She would have to light the lamp soon.
Yet on the seemingly endless, infinite horizon, a glorious array spread over the land. The sky burst into brilliant pinks and purples and oranges and reds, turning the amber fields a fiery crimson.
Catherine’s breath caught in her throat. She’d never seen such a sunset.
Still, even a magnificent sunset could not draw her to this place. Nothing, absolutely nothing would convince her to stay in Dakota once Andrew was healthy again.
Given the first chance, she’d talk him into coming back to Massachusetts with her, back to a life that was normal and predictable, where his livelihood didn’t depend upon a tangled pile of leather and metal.
Well, all this musing would do nothing but make her crazy. She rose and stood on her tiptoes to take a lamp from the shelf.
A piece of paper fluttered down, and she picked it up curiously.
It was a letter to her in Andrew’s handwriting, dated the day of his accident. Eagerly she scanned the page, relishing the sound of his written voice as he relayed the daily workings of the claim.
The words at the end brought her up short.
“I want you to come out here,” he’d written. “I have already told you about Micah Dunford, and the more I see of him, the more impressed I am. I want you to be happy, Catherine. I want to see you with children around you. I want to see you smiling at your husband as he comes home from the fields.”
Her eyes clouded with tears as she read. “Micah is a safe man. A kind man, agood man, a Christian man. He is the kind of man you should love. Give this some thought, Catherine. Pray about it. I hope you do not think me too forward to suggest this so boldly, but I have prayed about how to broach the subject, and I feel that God would want me to say my piece straightforward.”
Her breath caught at the next words. “I have spoken to him about all this and he says that he has prayed for a helpmeet to join him here. Catherine, might it be—” And the letter ended.
She sat down in the chair, the unlit lamp beside her.
Micah thought she was the answer to his prayer?
“Oh my,” she said aloud. “Oh my.”
Across the summer prairie, a beam of light stretched from an open window and spilled onto the ground beyond the small house. The glow from the single lamp conquered the surrounding darkness, illuminating a man bent over a well-worn book.
He read carefully, sometimes frowning, sometimes smiling.
At last he shut the book and closed his eyes. He missed his prayer partner, but there were some prayers that needed to be private.
“My Father, she is here. I prayed for her and now she is here. I sense that she is not here to answer the need in me, perhaps, but to fill the need in herself. You sent her here for a purpose—a purpose which may be clear to You but, at the moment, is not clear to me. She is special, Lord. This woman is truly special.”
Chapter 2
The shadows fell around Catherine as she sat in the chair, the letter in her hand and the still-unlit lamp at her side. She knew she should rise and place a match’s flame to the wick and bring the darkness into light, but she could not.
Marriage!
Throughout her childhood, she had dreamed of having a husband and a child of her own, but so far she had experienced only the vaguest flickerings of interest from the young men around her.
And the mirror reminded her daily she wasn’t getting any younger. At this stage, she’d pretty much resigned herself to a lifetime of being alone.
Marriage!
There was, at the word, a stirring of that young girl, so many years ago, who had rocked her doll under the careful eye of her brother, and who had dreamed of someday holding a real-life baby while her husband gazed at her.
A baby is still a possibility, she reminded herself practically, but not without a husband. That much she did know.
Her fingers traced the words of Andrew’s letter. The idea that her brother wanted her married and settled wasn’t all that odd. He’d always taken his responsibility quite seriously. It was only natural that he’d want to see her happily wedded.
No, the strange part was that Andrew had chosen Micah.
Clearly there’s a dearth of eligible bachelors o
n the prairie, she told herself.
But even so, the image of Micah’s deep brown eyes, as soft as warmed chocolate, the laugh lines etched much too early in his face, the open concern for her brother’s welfare—all these were signs that Andrew was right in his assessment of Micah.
Catherine laughed aloud. Yes, she knew so much about this man. She’d talked to him for all of five minutes and had him well summed up.
She laid the letter on the table beside her chair and stood up. Dusk haddeepened into absolute night, and she found the matches only with the aid of the starlight that flooded through the undraped window.
She paused before striking the match and gazed out the window. The prairie glowed with the light of the stars and the full moon overhead. As far as she could see, the nighttime prairie stretched ahead of her. A vast expanse of dark land-sea, nearly ripened wheat nodding in waves before the wind that rippled the top-heavy stalks.
But this was an empty land. As far as her eyes could see, the only visible structures were the small house and barn on Andrew’s claim—and whatever buildings Micah had on his.
Across the shadowy distance, a light twinkled, and she wondered if it might not be Micah’s claim. She had no idea how far away he lived. All she knew was that Andrew had mentioned that Micah’s place was “near,” but here on the prairie, “near” seemed a relative term. Nothing was near.
Catherine turned from the window and lit the lamp at last. The light poured into the room, making it seem like a haven against the darkness that pressed against the outer walls.
She picked up the embroidery that she’d laid aside.
The piece was destined to be a welcome-home gift for Andrew. She’d worked on it all the way from Massachusetts, taking solace from the even flash of the silver needle through the textured Hardanger cloth. Each slice of the needle through the cloth had marked her progress one stitch closer to Andrew and then, after realizing that, one stitch closer to Dakota.
The rhythm of the cross-stitch had echoed the pulse of the train’s wheels on the rails, and now, as she began her stitching again, she could almost feel the subtle swaying of the train car as it had lumbered through the forests and into the plains.
The piece, when finished, would be a surprise for her brother. It was meant for Andrew, but she recognized that she was also making it for herself. Always shy and tending to hide behind Andrew’s exuberant exterior, she had selected the verse for her as well as for him. “Be not afraid, only believe.”
The task ahead of her was great.
She’d realized that fact as soon as she’d seen the tangle of implements on the barn floor. A part of her wanted to run away from this spot and go back to her safe life in Massachusetts.
Andrew would understand. He had always understood. He hadn’t expected much of his timid little sister. But this time, she mustn’t let him down.
This was her chance to prove to him—and to herself—that she could do something besides her usual day-to-day activities in Massachusetts at the dressmaker’s. She had insulated herself from challenge, but that was going to change. Starting with the mess on the floor of the barn.
She laid the embroidery aside and stood up resolutely. She would go to thebarn and take another look at the heap of leather straps and metal pieces and see if she couldn’t at least sort through them a bit.
She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. There was a hint of rain in the thick August night air.
Then, with the lantern in hand, she made her way to the barn.
Barn swallows swooped at her head, and she swatted them away. They were vehemently protecting their nests, she knew, but they were such a bother.
The barn seemed cavernous at night. Her lamp’s light barely pierced the dark corners.
Orion whinnied a soft greeting from his stall and tossed his head at her.
She’d forgotten to bring him a snack, but she noticed an apple on the shelf by the door. She hadn’t put it there. It must be something Micah had left.
She fed it to the horse, trying not to cringe as the big horse’s mouth opened and closed around the apple she held in her fingers.
But he was gentle and good, this horse, and didn’t even nip her as he took the apple from her.
She rubbed his soft nose and spoke to him before turning to the business at hand: sorting out the knotted bindings and their associated metal pieces.
She nudged the pile with her toe and considered her next step. What I need to do, she decided, is untangle it. She knelt beside the pile and began the tedious task of separating it into smaller parts.
She was actually beginning to enjoy the chore. This feels like real progress, she decided as she laid one entire section aside neatly. Once she got this figured out, the rest would be no problem at all.
“Show yourself!”
The words from the entrance to the barn brought her to her feet quickly. Her heart pounded its way into her throat, and she snatched the lantern and held it high so she could see who the intruder was.
It was Micah, and she could see from his face that he was as terrified as she was.
They both spoke at once, their words falling over the other’s.
“You scared me to death!”
“I thought you were a robber!”
“Don’t ever do that again!”
“Don’t you ever do that again!”
“You scared the wits out of me!”
“Me? You!”
They stared at each other and then broke into the laughter that comes with relief.
“I thought you were someone breaking into Andrew’s barn,” Micah said.
“And I—well, I don’t know what I thought, if I thought at all. I was suddenlyovercome with an awful panic.” She paused as a dreadful realization struck home. She was quite alone in that small house, with nothing but the vast prairie around her.
As if he could read her thoughts, Micah smiled gently but seriously. The lamplight cast golden sparks in his deep brown eyes. “There is a natural cause for worry, Catherine. The prairie has dangers of its own, and there are certainly those who would take advantage of anyone here alone.”
Her fear must have shown in her face, because his look deepened. “You are not alone, though, not really. Don’t forget that there is a Creator who watches over you every minute.”
“Yes, of course. But the Creator who made me also made the wolf.”
He nodded. “You do have a gun?”
The last was more a question than a statement.
“Yes, I suppose I do.” Catherine realized that he was referring to the rifle hung over a window in the house.
“Do you know how to use it?”
“If need be,” she hedged. In fact, she had never once found such a need. There was some way to put bullets in it and, yes, pull the trigger. That much she knew. It wasn’t enough, but she was absolutely not going to experiment to find out how to shoot a gun.
Micah nodded. “I see. Well, if you don’t mind, I will stop by and check on you each night.”
She could feel her chin rising defiantly. “You don’t have to check on me.”
“It’s no problem. I check on my stock—the cattle, the horses, and the pigs— anyway, and I’ll simply add you to the list.”
“Your stock? I’m not some kind of farm animal, sir!” She realized too late that he was teasing her.
He was laughing as he turned to leave. “You know, Miss Cooper, I think you’re going to be an interesting neighbor. I never guessed that Andrew had such a delightful sister.”
And as quickly as he had filled the barn with life and warmth, he was gone.
She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered involuntarily, despite the heavy summer heat. The claim seemed so empty without his shielding presence.
The words from Andrew’s unmailed letter came back to her. “Micah is a safe man. A kind man, a good man, a Christian man.” Andrew had trusted him, and so should she. At this stage, unsure as she was on the frontier, she needed to rely
on him for certain things.
As she left the barn, she stumbled over the edge of the harvesting gear.
She would not rely on him to save Andrew’s claim. That was her duty, her self- assigned task. If she could do that, it would settle, once and for all, the debt she felt toward her brother.
She hurried across the short distance between the barn and the house, grateful for the sanctuary of the small house at last.
Her thoughts still centered on Micah, and at the core of them all was the fact that she liked having him near her. He made her feel safe and confident and welcome.
He was all those things Andrew had said.
But as she was getting ready to blow out the lamp and retire for the night, the next sentence in her brother’s letter leaped into her mind.
“He is the kind of man you should love.”
The night wrapped the prairie in a blanket of black, illuminated only by starlight.
The man was exhausted, but for him, prayer was as necessary as sleep. He took the time to talk to his Lord.
He smiled as he prayed. “You invented laughter, Lord, and You know I’ve needed some in my life lately. She has a certain way of smiling that makes my heart laugh. You are blessing me in a strange way, Lord.”
Chapter 3
Catherine awoke the next morning tired and out of sorts, feeling as if she’d tossed and turned all night long—but then again, that was precisely what she had done. Images of Micah had flown in and out of her mind like the swallows that swooped at her whenever she entered the barn, relentlessly diving and plunging at her head.
If only I hadn’t found Andrew’s letter, she told herself as she splashed cold water on her face, things would be fine. Micah would simply be a neighbor, a friend of her brother. She would never have studied those tiny laugh lines that the sun had etched around his eyes. Nor would she have noticed those golden glints that sparkled in his deep brown eyes. And she certainly never would have paid any attention to the way her heart seemed to smile when she saw him.
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