by Lori Wick
"The same," Trace answered.
"Did that bother you today?" Brad asked, having remembered his brother's brief conversation with Jeanette.
"It did. I never just sit and look at her. We always try to talk to her, and today I realized how much I miss having her contribute to the conversation."
"But she wasn't agitated?" Meg checked. "You got to stay and speak with her?"
"Yes," Trace nodded. "It was nice in that way."
"She moved a little when Trace spoke," Brad remembered. "I still think she hears Pa. Oh," he continued, "Jeanette wants us in next week, Friday night, to celebrate your birthday. She wants to know whom you want to invite."
"Can I tell her on Sunday?" Meg asked.
"That's what I told her you would say," Brad said, smiling at his wife.
"I hate being predictable," Meg said, smiling back.
"I'll take predictable any time," Brad teased her dryly before the three began to discuss the guests Meg would want at the party.
The entrance to the apartment above Cassidy's shop was accessed from an outside stairway. Chandler climbed these outside stairs at
15about seven o'clock and knocked. Cassidy came right to the door, sweater in hand in case it cooled off before they got home.
"Ready?" Chandler asked politely; he was always polite.
"Yes. Is it very cold?"
"Not yet, but that sun is dropping."
The two started off, talking companionably about their jobs for the first block. Then Cassidy asked Chandler about his mother. She knew he'd heard from his family, who lived in the East, that her health had been in question.
"They think it's her heart," Chandler confided, having just gotten another letter from his sister. "She gets tired easily, but her spirits are good."
"That's good to hear. I can't remember, Chandler. Does your family share your faith in Christ?"
"Yes," Chandler answered, smiling at a memory. "I was seven and stole some money from my father's drawer. I came to Christ when my father talked to me about how serious my sin was, and how I would answer to God for all sins that were not covered in Him. I remember how familiar the words were, so I know I'd heard about salvation before, but I had never made that commitment myself."
"But you did that day?"
"Yes. My father had already punished me for stealing and then lying about it, but later, when the tears were dry, he told me he feared for me and explained salvation. Even as a little boy, I knew a peace after I'd prayed. I knew it was real that day."
Cassidy smiled at him as they continued to walk. It was wonderful to hear his story. She had not come from a home that was as settled as Chandler's. For reasons that were almost too hard to think about, she had had no contact with them since moving to Token Creek.
"That's a thoughtful face," Chandler mentioned.
"Just thinking about families. You must miss yours."
"I do miss them. It's been more than two years since I visited. I'm thinking about going back for a visit in the fall."
16"Who does your job at the bank when you're away?" Cassidy asked, and the two talked about that for a while. Before it grew too dark to continue, they had covered myriad topics. At the end of the walk, Cassidy climbed the stairs feeling very content. It had been a very satisfying way to spend an evening and gave her much to write about.
Not many minutes later, she was ready for bed, her summer nightgown in place, her blonde hair hanging down her back, and her writing paper in hand.
Mrs. Ferguson found a hornets' nest outside her shop today, Cassidy wrote to her mother. Remembering how you always handled them, I got the broom and then did my best not to It was in the front of the shop, and customers were scarce for a while, although entertained I'm sure, but no one was stung and the nest is gone.
Cassidy went on to tell her mother about the customers of the day and her walk with Chandler. The good-looking banker, as Cassidy liked to call him. She didn't try to write too much, but as always her heart felt lighter just from sharing.
The letter done, she folded it carefully and reached for the carved wooden box that sat on her bedside table. This letter, along with all the others she'd written to her mother, went safely inside because it wasn't possible to send it. The task done and her heart prayerful, Cassidy settled down to sleep.
"You're drooping, love," Brad said to Meg, who sat next to him on the davenport.
"I'm tired."
"Go to bed."
"I don't want to go to bed; I want to be in bed."
Brad laughed at this but knew how true it was. Sometimes climbing the stairs and readying for bed was the hardest part of the day.
17"I'm going," Meg said, pushing to her feet and telling the men goodnight.
Trace surfaced from the book he was reading long enough to tell his sister-in-law goodnight. Brad told his wife he'd be right behind her before looking down at the account book he had been poring over.
"What are you frowning about?" Trace asked, having noticed his face.
"Just thinking."
"Are we in trouble?"
"No," Brad said, but he didn't sound as convincing as Trace would have liked. "I'm for bed," the older Holden said as he closed the ledger and rose to follow his wife.
Trace went back to his book, but only for a moment. Brad had him curious. He soon set the novel aside to study the ranch accounts.
18
"DoYOU HAVE TIMEto sew a button on my shirt, Meg?" Trace asked in the morning, coming bare-chested into the room.
"Sure," Meg agreed, thinking nothing of his lack of attire. "Bring it here."
Meg and Brad were in the midst of breakfast, but Trace had slept in a bit.
"I went over the books last night," Trace said to Brad after he'd poured himself some coffee and reached for the eggs.
"Problems?" Brad asked.
"No, but it got me to thinking about last year's market. I didn't sleep too well."
Brad nodded. The men had driven their cattle to market in the fall and not received nearly the price they'd expected. It had been a huge disappointment and forced them to cut corners here and there.
"I'm headed out," Trace said, after a rather small breakfast. "Thanks for the shirt, Meg."
"You're welcome."
"Where are you going to be?" Brad asked.
"On the west side."
19"I'll come with you." Brad finished his own breakfast in a hurry, kissed his wife, and went out the door.
Meg poured herself another cup of coffee, ignored the dishes, and reached for her Bible, very thankful and happy it was Wednesday, which meant Cassidy would be arriving after lunch.
"How does that look?" Jeanette asked Cassidy to check the hem on a man's shirt she'd been working on. The gentleman who ordered it was particular, and Jeanette wasn't sure he'd be satisfied.
"You might want to fix that one spot," Cassidy pointed out, "but I think the rest looks good. I'll know in the morning if he's pleased."
Jeanette looked at the younger woman for a moment, thinking, not for the first time, that she was special. Even when a customer was unhappy with the work, Cassidy never blamed Jeanette. As proprietress she took responsibility and never made excuses.
"Has Mrs. Potts been here yet?" Jeanette remembered to ask. "Just before you came in."
"Was she pleased?"
"Thrilled was the word she used."
"If only they were all like that," Jeanette muttered.
"We'd be bored to tears," Cassidy said.
"Please, Lord," Jeanette joked, "give me some boredom." Cassidy laughed before turning back to the sewing machine.
is brother several hours later, not knowing what the look on his face meant. "Just thinking," Brad said.
"About the accounts? Because I checked them over last night and worried for nothing. Things look good right now."
20"No, it's nothing like that, and you're right, the books do look good."
But beyond that Brad did not elaborate. It was an odd time to reme
mber, riding the range to look for stock in trouble, that he'd never asked Meg why she'd been crying. He was so intent on having her lie down. He tended to blame all her tears on fatigue. She often said her tears were because she was tired, so that wasn't completely his fault, but at the same time, he never had checked with her.
"Things look fine," Trace said, his eyes scanning the acres, bringing Brad back to the moment.
Brad nodded as he studied the same area. They'd grown up on this ranch, and even though they'd taken over at a young age, they were experienced in the ways of cattle ranching. Their father had been very good at it. They hadn't understood much about the expenses and pricing until after he left and they'd begun to study the account books, but since neither man had planned to do anything other than ranch, they naturally took over when Wes Holden was gone.
"I've got some work to do on that new saddle," Brad remembered.
"And I just remembered that I forgot to include those irons and that wagon hitch when I went to Stillwell's yesterday," Trace said, shaking his head a little, wondering where his mind had been the day before. "I'm headed in," he added, turning his horse. It was almost noon, and he'd not eaten much for breakfast. Brad turned his own horse, and the men started for home.
Pastor Rylan Jarvik, a large man by any standard, worked part- time at Stillwell's Livery. His church family was generous but also small, and he never wanted to be a financial burden to any of them. He didn't put in long hours at the livery, usually only twenty-five hours a week, and it was work he enjoyed, work he was suited to,
21and work that allowed him to stay in contact with the townsfolk he loved.
In fact, one of the perks of the job was seeing the church family, and on Wednesday afternoons, Cassidy Norton was a regular. Rylan had gotten into the habit of having a buggy and horse ready for her, and this day was no different. When she arrived the horse was hitched and waiting.
"Hi, Pastor Rylan." Cassidy greeted him with a smile. "Hi, Cassie. How are you?"
"I'm fine. How are you doing?"
"I'm fine too," he said, smiling at her.
"Pastor," Cassidy forced herself to say before she could think herself out of it, "I have something I need to speak to you about sometime, but not today."
"That's fine. Maybe Jeanette will let us use her parlor."
Cassidy worried her lip over this statement, and Rylan wasn't long in catching on.
"Jeanette doesn't know?"
"Only Meg," Cassidy told him.
Rylan nodded. "We'll find a place where we can talk, Cassie, as soon as you'd like."
"Thank you," she told him, her relief visible to her pastor.
"Off to see Meg?" Rylan asked, deliberately changing the subject. "How's she doing?"
"I think she's well, but Brad did tell me she's not sleeping much." "I've heard the last weeks can be hard," the pastor said compassionately.
"I've heard the same thing," Cassidy agreed.
"Maybe someday you'll know for yourself," he said quietly, a glint in his eye.
Cassidy tried not to smile, but he was a terrible tease, and sometimes he tried to play matchmaker, something that always made her laugh.
22"I don't think I want to speculate on that at the moment," Cassidy told him.
"But, Cassie," Rylan began, "we've more than one fine, single young man."
"Is my buggy ready?" she asked pointedly, making the big man laugh.
"Right this way," he said, giving up for the moment.
"And anyway," Cassidy said after he'd assisted her into the seat and handed her the reins, "you can make a match for me as soon as you've made one for yourself."
"I'm working on it," Rylan replied. It was his standard reply, but Cassidy could see by his eyes that he wasn't sincere. Thanking him and smiling at him affectionately, Cassidy slapped the reins and started out of town.
"I need to ask you something," Brad said to Meg as he helped her clear the dishes from their dinner.
"What's that?"
"What had you cried about yesterday when I made you lie down?"
"Oh that," Meg said, not looking too happy about the question. Brad watched her, not sure if he was in trouble or if the memory of it would make her cry again. "Did I do something?"
"No, but I'm still struggling."
It took Brad a moment and then he asked, "The fear?" "Yes."
Brad nodded. Meg wrestled with fear about the actual birth of their child. She knew millions of women had gone before her, but she also knew she could die. The thought of leaving Brad alone to raise the baby by himself was very hard on her heart. It also plagued her to think of the baby not knowing its mother.
Brad put his arms around his wife and held her for awhile, neither
23one speaking. After several minutes, he moved enough to see her face, his arms still holding her as close as her extended stomach would allow.
"First of all, God's view on this is that we trust Him for the future. God's design is for a mother and a father. Sometimes a child doesn't have both a mother and a father, but until He changes our situation, we will assume that God wants our baby to have both of us."
Meg nodded, her eyes not having left his, wanting very much to trust with him.
"Secondly, it took a long time to find you, and now that I have, I don't want you going anywhere. So don't even consider it."
Meg had to smile. Seeing it, Brad lowered his head. He kissed her and held her for a long time, knowing this would not be the end of it. Satan would tempt his wife again, but right now he prayed they would both trust. He then helped Meg with the dishes. Cassidy would be arriving soon.
It was not a long drive to the Holden Ranch, but even if it had been, the view of the Bitterroot Mountains, rising majestically around her, was not a sight Cassidy would ever grow weary of. The blue sky above her-almost cloudless today-seemed to stretch forever. She knew the Holdens were able to make this journey a few times a week, and a part of her heart envied them.
The horse was a gentle beast but able to move when urged, and Cassidy enjoyed moving fast in the buggy or on horseback. She was also a bit anxious to see Meg and hurried the animal on. It wasn't long before she was turning down the drive, not at all surprised to see Trace coming from the porch to meet her.
"How's Cassie?" Trace asked when the buggy stopped in the yard.
"Cassie's fine," that lady answered and asked, "How's Trace?"
24"I'm doing well," Trace said, switching to the first person, holding his hand out to help her down.
"Thank you," Cassidy said before looking up at him and asking about his morning. Cassidy was always interested in others, and they answered because it was so obvious that her heart was genuine.
"We were on the range for a while, but both of us had work waiting for us in the barn."
"Doing what?"
"Brad is working on a saddle. I had a wagon part that needed fixing, and I forgot to get it to Stillwell's yesterday. So I'm stuck trying to work around it today."
"You don't have your own forge, do you?" Cassidy realized. "No. We live close enough to town that we just use the livery." "Is that the reason?"
"Yes. Bart Carlisle-he's another five miles out, and he does his own."
"Would you know how to do the work if you had your own forge?"
"Enough to get by," Trace said, starting to smile at her intense look. "But I'm no expert."
"Am I being mocked?" she asked lightly, having caught his eye, her head tipped in challenge.
"No," Trace denied with wide eyes, not the least believable. Cassidy, working not to smile, started toward the house but stopped when Trace spoke.
"I think you forgot something," Trace said as he started to reach for the parcel on the seat.
Cassidy had seen Meg come to the porch and suddenly moved so Trace's body blocked Meg from seeing her face. Trace looked down at the small blonde in surprise.
"Leave it for Brad," she whispered. "It's a secret for Meg."
Trace smiled at her tone
and the way she went instantly back to what she was doing.
25"Thank you, Trace," she said in her normal voice, smiling at him in complete innocence and stepping around him to head to the house.
"You're welcome," Trace said, knowing he would have to stay put for a few minutes or Meg would want to know what he was chuckling about.
"This is my favorite fabric," Cassidy said, fingering the yellow- patterned calico in the baby quilt the women were making. "I like that one too, but the green is my favorite."
"What is it this week?" Cassidy suddenly asked.
"A boy," Meg answered with a smile. "Mitchell James." "Wasn't it Bethany Mayann last week?"
"It was, but that was seven entire days ago, Cass. A lot can run through your mind."
Cassidy laughed about this for a while, but when she looked at her friend, Meg's eyes were serious.
"Have you talked to anyone else about your secret?" the expectant woman asked.
"No," Cassidy replied quietly. "Rylan is next. I only just mentioned that I wanted to talk to him when I picked up the buggy. We'll have to find a place to make that possible."
"Did he ask you any questions?"
"No. It wasn't the place for that."
"I'll keep praying for you," Meg said, and Cassidy thanked her.
Cassidy had lived in Token Creek less than a year, but the women had become friends almost upon their first meeting. Something in each of the women reached out to the other, and little by little they talked about all aspects of their lives. It took a few months for Cassidy to tell all, but she eventually shared some painful facts about her family.
Meg was the soul of discretion, but Cassie's background wasn't
26a matter she could relate to-she hailed from a wonderful Christian home. She was a good listener, though, and believed with all her heart that God, with His own plan and in His own time, would take care of Cassidy and her family.
"Right there!" Meg exclaimed as she pointed, having watched Cassidy do an amazing number of even stitches at one time. "How did you do that?"
"Like this." Cassidy shifted so Meg could watch for a moment. Meg was a good seamstress, but Cassidy was excellent. And it seemed to come naturally for her.
"You try," Cassidy urged the older woman, and then watched Meg's needle move.
