by Jo Ann Brown
The girls shook their heads.
“You don’t know?”
More head shaking.
This was getting him nowhere. He turned back to Clara. She still lay motionless, her skin tinged a faint blue. He touched her cheek. Still icy cold.
“Mrs. Weston, wake up. Open your eyes.”
The girls knelt beside him. “Mama, wake up.”
Libby’s voice broke, and Eleanor wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “Libby, ’member what Mama said. God will take care of us.”
Blue kept his opinion to himself. But he didn’t see God taking care of these people. Blue was doing it, and he sure didn’t consider himself God. Or even godly. If he had a fraction of the power God had, he would have quenched the fire that had consumed his house and killed his family. At the very least, he would have gotten there in time to pull them from the inferno. He’d never forget the leaden weight of his legs when he saw the smoke, saw it was his house and ran until his lungs nearly exploded as he tried to get there to rescue them.
Tried and failed.
“I—I know.” The words stuttered from Libby. “But I asked God to send us food, and He didn’t and I’m so hungry.”
“Me, too,” Eleanor whispered and shot Blue a look that seemed to warn him she didn’t mean for him to hear.
He sat back on his heels. “When did you last eat?”
Eleanor’s expression grew stubborn, but Libby hung her head and sighed dramatically. “We had supper yesterday. Some biscuits Mama found. And some cold bacon.”
Eleanor grew thoughtful. “But Mama didn’t have any. She said she wasn’t hungry. Lots of times she said she wasn’t hungry, but I think she was.”
He considered this latest information. They obviously had no funds. The girls didn’t know where they were going or who was meeting them. He was beginning to think no one was.
So Clara might be suffering from hunger as well as cold. He wrapped the furs more tightly around her and added another piece of wood to the fire. The heat was enough to make a man sweat buckets, but she was still like a block of ice.
“Clara. Open your eyes.”
The girls patted her cheeks. “Mama.” Eleanor’s voice caught.
Libby laid her head on the furs and sobbed. “What if she never wakes up?”
Clara’s eyes fluttered.
“Lib. Lib.” Eleanor nudged her sister. “Look.”
Libby lifted her head. Both girls grinned when they saw their mother had opened her eyes.
“Where am I?” Clara’s voice was so faint he almost wondered if he imagined it.
He scooted closer so her eyes found him. “You’re at the church. You’ll be safe now.”
Clara sighed deeply and closed her eyes again. Her color had improved. The warmth of the fire had done that. She needed one more thing before she’d be on her feet again—food—and he knew where to get some.
“Wait here,” he instructed the girls. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Watch your mama and make sure she stays warm.” He dashed out the back door and trotted over to Bonnie and Claude Morton’s. The couple ran the business of feeding travelers and providing baked goods for Macpherson’s store. He burst through the door.
Bonnie glanced up, a startled look on her face. “You’re early for dinner.” He planned to take his meals here while he was working on the church.
He snatched off his hat and turned it around and around in his fingers. He realized he was nodding while she waited for his answer.
He pushed the words from his brain. “Would you have anything ready at the moment?”
“I suppose the soup could be served anytime. The bread isn’t ready yet, but there are biscuits. There’s always biscuits. Macpherson says he can’t keep enough of them in the store. Would that suit you?”
“Yes, fine.”
She reached for a bowl and put it on the table. She thought he meant to eat here.
“Ma’am, could you put the soup in a container so I could take it back to the church?”
“You’re welcome to eat here.”
“I know, but I need to take it to the church.” He would tell her why but not until he had a chance to talk to Clara. For some reason, he felt he had to protect her until she said otherwise.
“Very well.” She reached for a pint jar.
“You got something bigger?”
Her hand went to a quart jar.
“How about that one?” He indicated a half-gallon jar.
With a little chuckle, she filled it. “You are hungry today, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “And I’ll take a bowl.” He scooped four from the shelf and tucked them in his pocket, hoping she wouldn’t notice. From the way she watched him, her eyes narrowed, he guessed she had.
“I suppose you want half a dozen biscuits?”
“Yes, please. I’ll pay you extra for this.” Bonnie and Claude meant to feed him as part of their contribution to the church project, but this was more than one man would eat.
He hurried out before she could demand to know what was going on. It wasn’t like he could answer her. What were Clara and her daughters doing here? Where were they going? Most of all, how had he managed to get himself involved?
* * *
Warm furs ensconced Clara. She’d glimpsed the girls hovering over her, then closed her eyes to stop the dizziness that made her queasy. She should say something to ease their minds, but she couldn’t dredge up enough energy to do so. She forced her eyes open and stared at the ceiling. Why did it shimmer and shift as if driven by a wind? Perhaps she was dreaming. If so, she didn’t want the dream to end. She wanted to keep floating on the warm bed.
“Mama?” Eleanor’s voice came from a long way off.
Clara pushed at the edges of her mind, blinked as she tried to find her children. “Eleanor? Libby?”
Two sweet, smiling faces floated in front of her, so close she felt their warm breath.
“Where am I?”
“We’re at the church,” Eleanor said. “The one we saw on our way to the river.”
“Mama, we was so scared. You fell down and wouldn’t get back up.”
Clara pushed harder to escape her dream. Then she remembered. She’d been by a river. Had wanted to get a drink. That was the last she could recall. “How did I get here?”
“Mr. Blue carried you.”
“Mr. Blue?” Were they imagining such a person? Clara thought the strong arms and comforting voice had been part of her dream.
“We talked to a stranger,” Libby said.
“You aren’t mad at us, are you?” Eleanor’s voice quivered.
“No. Not this time.” If she was to be angry at anyone, it would be herself. She should have made more of an effort to find food. Begged if necessary. Please, God, provide a way.
Clara collected her thoughts.
She had managed to get to Edendale only to learn the stagecoach wouldn’t be going north for at least a week. Maybe two. The stagecoach driver had been rather nonspecific in his answers to her questions. He had no set schedule for the hundred-mile trip to Fort Calgary and only went when it was necessary. Right now, he said, he had to make another run back to Fort Macleod. It was a pressing matter. After that, he’d take her north.
It had never crossed her mind that transportation would be so uncertain.
She needed to get to Fort Calgary. A newspaper story had said there was a shortage of women in the area. There’d even been an ad from a man wanting to hire a housekeeper to care for his three young children. She’d sent a letter saying she was willing to do so. Now she wondered if the letter still sat somewhere, waiting to be delivered. Just as she waited to get there.
Fort Calgary was in the middle of nowhere. Which suited her perfectly. No one would expect her to go to such a remote place, especially her father. He thought twenty-eight-year-old Clara was unable to take care of herself in a city full of conveniences, let alone look after herself and two little girls in the primitive west.
Edendale
was equally as remote, but she had seen no opportunities for work in the little town. And she had to prove she could manage herself and her girls.
The girls sprang up. “He’s back.”
Clara closed her eyes. How was she to face a man who had carried her in his arms? Something else came to her thoughts. He’d called her by her Christian name. Highly improper, but she could hardly protest. Her name on his lips had pulled her back from the valley of darkness.
She heard the sound of boots clattering on the wooden floor. The smell of winter and leather grew closer. A movement of air signaled his nearness.
“Mrs. Weston?”
Oh, yes, she was Mrs. Weston now. She’d combined her married name of Westbury and her maiden name of Creighton in the hopes her father wouldn’t be able to find her. She reasoned that way she wasn’t really being deceitful by combing her maiden and married names. Hopefully, it was enough to put her father off her trail for a time, at least.
“Are you awake?” the man at her side asked.
Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked straight into gray ones that held her gaze so firmly she couldn’t blink. It was like looking into deep, still waters and finding herself reflected back from the depths. What a strange thought, she realized.
“You’re awake. Good.” He turned aside. “I brought food for us all.”
He twisted a lid from a jar, and the aroma of something savory—tomato and beef, if she didn’t miss her guess—made her empty stomach tighten like a fist.
Metal rang against glass. Was he serving soup into bowls?
“Thank you,” the girls chorused.
She imagined them eating eagerly, their complete attention on the food. She knew nothing but gratitude that their empty tummies would be warmed and filled, but she didn’t want to owe this man.
Although she already did.
The need to accept help and the desire to take care of herself warred for but a minute. She was not in a position to refuse this man’s kindness. As soon as she felt stronger, she would return to her plan.
Plan? For a moment, she couldn’t remember what the plan was. Oh, yes, take care of the girls. Keep them from Father and wait until the stagecoach driver saw fit to make the trip north, where I expect to find employment.
She tried to sort out the details of the past few hours. “You know my name.”
“Your girls told me. Allow me to introduce myself. Blue Lyons.”
“I believe you rescued me. Thank you.”
“Your girls are very persuasive.”
She didn’t know if those words should please her or alarm her. Before she could decide, Blue’s hand slipped around her shoulders, and he raised her head. She thought to protest the familiarity but couldn’t dredge up words.
“Eat this.” He held a spoon to her lips. Not even stubborn pride stopped her from opening up like a little bird. He tipped the spoonful of soup into her mouth. Her taste buds exploded at the succulent flavor. She couldn’t begin to describe the pure pleasure of hot food; she simply enjoyed the first decent meal she’d had in days. He held another spoonful to her lips and then another. She consumed it greedily.
The warmth filled her stomach and spread throughout her body.
She shifted so that she sat upright without his supporting arm. The fur around her shoulders slipped to her lap as she reached for the spoon. “I can feed myself.”
He yielded the spoon to her but continued to hold the bowl. She scooped out a bit of the mixture. When she tried to raise the spoon to her mouth, her hand shook so much she lost the contents.
He took the spoon back. “Think it might take a little longer for your strength to return.”
She didn’t want to feel helpless, but he was right. “I feel like a baby,” she murmured.
“’Cause Mr. Blue is feeding you?” Libby asked.
“Yes.”
“She’s not a baby, is she?” Libby demanded of Blue.
Clara darted a glance at him under the curtain of her eyelashes.
“Nope, she’s a mama.” Blue continued to feed her as if it were an everyday experience.
She looked directly at him, matching him look for look, silent assessment with silent assessment. “I perceive you’ve had practice at this. You must have children.”
His hand paused midair. He stared into the distance, then shifted his attention back to her. “I once did. Once had a wife, too.”
Once? He spoke as if they were gone now. It could mean nothing else, and her insides wrenched with the thought of his loss. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s the past.” The words came out flat, as if he felt nothing.
A shiver crossed her shoulders. She knew it wasn’t something that left a person immune.
He mistook her shiver. “You’re still cold.” He tossed the last of the gathered wood into the fire.
“I’m not cold.” Any more than you aren’t sorrowful. She shifted again and reached for the bowl and spoon. She managed to eat the rest of the soup without spilling it. He handed out biscuits, and the girls sighed blissfully as they bit into them.
Clara couldn’t blame them. The biscuits tasted fine and went a long way toward filling the emptiness in her stomach. Though she’d fed the children whatever food she’d found the past two days, she’d no doubt they were still hungry. She watched as they ate with glee.
Blue sat cross-legged facing her. “Ma’am, if you tell me where you’re going, I’ll see you get there.”
She studied the half-eaten biscuit in her fingers. Felt his waiting and the watchfulness of the girls. She had to say something and settled on a portion of the truth. “I’m waiting for a ride from someone.”
When he didn’t say a thing, she looked at him. She wished she hadn’t when she saw the way his expression grew hard. He glanced at the girls, then back at her. He leaned in. “This person is going to come today?” He was so close his breath brushed her cheeks.
“I’m not certain when to expect him.” Petey, the stagecoach driver, had made only one thing clear about his return.
“Ye’ll know when I’m back in town,” he’d said. “Won’t likely stop long with winter weather to contend with. So be here and be ready if you want a ride. ’Twill be the last trip I make north for the winter.”
“So you’re stranded until this person shows up?” Blue asked. “What if he doesn’t?”
She sat up straight and tipped her chin. She had no intention of telling this man her plans. “I’m trusting God to take care of us. He will provide.”
He sat back. “Exactly how long are you planning to wait for that to happen?”
“As long as it takes.” It sounded foolish, simplistic, even childish, but she had no one else to turn to but God, nor did she trust anyone else. Anyone could reveal her whereabouts to a seemingly concerned person asking after her, and that bit of information could be relayed to her father. She managed to control the shiver racing through her. If Father found them...
“In the meantime, are you planning to sleep in empty buildings? Faint from hunger and cold? What about—” His gaze darted to the girls and back.
This was not a conversation she wanted her daughters to hear. “Girls, you can go play quietly.”
“Where, Mama?” Libby’s surprise was expected. Where could they go but to a different corner of the big room?
Eleanor took her sister’s hand. “Come on, Lib. They want to argue, and we’re not supposed to hear.”
“We aren’t going to argue,” Clara called as they marched away. She faced Blue squarely. “I can take care of the girls with God’s help.”
His eyes never flickered. His expression never changed. “It’s none of my business, but seems to me you need a better plan than sitting around waiting for something to fall from the sky.”
“I trust God.” She knew she sounded as stubborn as Libby often did, but she clung to her faith.
“Well, that makes it easy.”
She waited, wondering if he believed what he said or mocked her. Wh
en he didn’t say anything more, she got her feet under her and stood. “Thank you for the food. I will pay you back someday.” She would continue to trust Him even though her plans had fallen through. Not fallen through, she amended. Only delayed.
“Mrs. Weston, I don’t want repayment. The only reason I helped was because of your girls. I lost two children who would be about their age now.” He turned away as he spoke, and his voice again grew flat, emotionless. He was hiding, she knew, hiding emotions so deep and raw that he didn’t know how to face them. “I could do nothing to save them, but helping your girls was something I could do.”
“And I thank you for that.”
Libby and Eleanor chased each other up and down the length of the building, laughing and squealing.
She smiled. Her heart overflowed with love. They trusted her to take care of them.
How was she to do that? It was too cold to sleep outside and not safe, but there was no hotel in this little town even if she could afford a room. If she had a warm place to spend the night, then she could devote time to finding a way to feed them. But where? She glanced about. The church would make good shelter. Her gaze settled on the bedroll upon which she had so recently lain.
Blue obviously spent the nights here.
That eliminated the only option she’d been able to discover in this tiny pioneer town. There had to be something somewhere.
God could not fail her now.
She set her feet going toward the door.
“Wait a minute.”
At his words she paused without turning around.
“I can take you someplace safe and warm.”
Why had he used the word safe? Did he suspect she was running from someone?
Copyright © 2015 by Linda Ford
ISBN-13: 9781460388969
Family in the Making
Copyright © 2015 by Jo Ann Ferguson
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