Frontier Father

by Dorothy Clark

  She nodded, curved her lips in a feeble smile. Almighty God, please bring Zach back to Emma and their unborn child. Please, let my sister have her dream.

  Mitchel. What if Mitchel didn’t return? Her heart squeezed, shrank to a small, empty shell. Her fingers twitched. What had she done, allowing herself to love him?

  No. She inched back her shoulders, clenched her hands and lifted her chin. She would not run from her love for Mitchel. If he did not return she had the memories of the time she had spent with him. And she would have Hope. She would take her for her own and love her and care for her as long as God gave them life.

  She moved to the settee and lifted Mitchel’s child into her arms, kissed her warm, rosy cheek. “Do you want me to tell you a bedtime—”

  The clatter of hoofbeats sent her heart leaping right into her throat.

  “Emma!”

  “I hear—”

  There was a thud of footsteps on the porch. The door opened and Zach straight and tall and grinning from ear to ear strode into the room, swept it with an all encompassing gaze. “Where’s Emma, Anne?”

  “In the apoth—”

  “I’m here, Zach!”

  He pivoted, trotted into the kitchen.

  The door closed.

  She turned her head, met Mitchel’s gaze full on hers. The look in his eyes made her heart stop, her lungs freeze.

  “Papa!”

  Hope twisted in her arms, leaned toward him. Mitchel crossed the room in three long strides, took his daughter into his arms and covered her laughing face with kisses.

  How pitiful was a heart that envied a child? Anne took a breath, lowered her empty arms to her sides.

  “You hurt, Papa.”

  Mitchel drew his head back, lifted his hand and rubbed the back of his finger over his daughter’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Hope. I forgot about my whiskers.”

  “Me gots a dolly.” Hope held the stuffed toy in front of his face.

  “I see. And a very nice dolly it is.” Mitchel raised his hand and lowered the doll, looked at her over the top of Hope’s head. “Hello, Anne.”

  So polite. Emma was wrong. The message of the gold buttons and gold ribbon trim worthless. She squared her shoulders, summoned a smile. “Hello, Mitchel. Was your trip to the mission successful?”

  “Papa, we gots a—a ca—” Hope frowned, looked at her.

  “A cabin?”

  Hope’s blond curls bounced. She looked back at her father. “We gots a cabin!”

  He looked a question at her. She nodded, wished she could flee to the bedroom and release the tears pressing at her throat and eyes. “The men have started building your cabin. I took Hope to show her your new home.”

  “An’ to see the piggies, an’ the chickies. An’ a horsey!” She wiggled with excitement. “An’ we finded eggs! I ate ’em.”

  “Were they good?”

  Hope nodded, twisted toward her and held out her little arms. “Me go see cabin.”

  She took her in her arms, shook her head. “It’s bedtime, Hope. I will— Your Papa will take you to see the cabin tomorrow.”

  “We’ll all go see the cabin, tomorrow.” Mitchel leaned forward, kissed Hope’s cheek. “You be a good girl and go to bed, Hope. I have to take care of the horse and some other business. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Me be good girl, Papa.” Hope turned and looked up at her. “Me want aminal story.”

  She glanced up, caught a fleeting look of surprise on Mitchel’s face before he turned away.

  She was a coward. She had dragged out Hope’s bedtime preparations and story as long as possible. Though Hope had fallen fast asleep close to an hour ago, she couldn’t make herself go out into the parlor.

  She added another log to the fire, walked to the window and stared out into the night listening to the deep rumble of Mitchel and Zach’s voices through the closed door. She couldn’t face him tonight. She needed time to compose herself.

  She jumped, whirled toward the door as it opened.

  “Oh, good, Hope is asleep. Come join us, Annie.”

  She could think of no excuse. She stiffened her spine and followed Emma into the parlor. Mitchel stood at the hearth, wearing his soot-stained leather pants and a clean shirt. He was clean-shaven and so handsome it made her lose her breath to look at him.

  She moved toward the chair opposite the settee where Emma sat with Zach’s arm around her, found Mitchel in her way. She took a breath, looked up.

  “I thought, perhaps, you would be kind enough to show me my cabin, Anne?”

  Her temper flared. How much was she to endure in one night? She looked down at the long skirt of her new gown. “It’s dark.”

  “The moon is out. With its light on the snow, it’s almost like daylight.”

  She gritted her teeth, shook her head. “Hope is sleeping. I have to—”

  “I will watch over Hope, Annie.”

  She shot a look at Emma, got a sweet smile in return. “Very well.” She jutted her chin and sailed to the door, swirled her cape around her shoulders, yanked the hood in place and marched outside and across the porch and down the steps.

  The door closed. Mitchel’s boots crunched snow behind her.

  “This way.” She headed toward the river, acutely aware of him moving up to walk beside her. She hurried her steps.

  “Is something wrong, Anne?”

  “I thought you were going to take Hope to see your cabin tomorrow.”

  “No. I said we are all going to see my cabin tomorrow.” He caught hold of her shoulder, stepped in front of her. “Tonight, I want to see it with you. I’ve been thinking about you while I’ve been gone.” His voice was soft, husky. And that look she’d seen earlier, when he first came in the door, was back in his eyes.

  Her heart faltered, forgot how to beat.

  “But, of course, I had to respect your widowhood.” He lifted his hands, slid off her hood, touched the high collar of her gown with his finger. “Gold braid, Anne? Gold buttons?”

  Her lungs forgot how to breathe.

  “When I walked into that room tonight and saw you standing there holding Hope as if she were your own child—” He shook his head, drew his finger along her jaw. “It was the image of what has been in my heart for a long while, Anne. But I could not marry a woman who did not love Hope as her own.”

  What was he saying?

  “And then Hope told me all the things you did with her that you didn’t need to do. Still, I wasn’t sure—” He drew a breath, brushed a curl off her temple. “While you were putting Hope to bed, Emma told me of your care for Hope and I remembered the way your face went soft with love when you took my daughter into your arms. The barrier is gone, Anne. My heart is free.”

  He cupped her face, tilted her chin up and drifted a smoky gaze over her face. “Do you have any idea of how beautiful you are? My mind can’t find words to tell you.” He lowered his head.

  She closed her eyes. His lips brushed her eyelids, trailed heat down her cheek, seared her mouth. Her heart lurched to life. Her lips parted, yielded as his claimed them. His hands, warm and strong, slid inside her cloak, pulled her to him. She melted against him and her world went spinning.

  He lifted his head, drew a ragged breath. “I love you, Anne.” He kissed her temple, pressed his cheek against her curls. “I know this isn’t fair, that I should wait. A small cabin, an ill child and my heart are all I have to offer you right now. But I don’t want to wait any longer, Anne. Will you marry me?”

  His husky words brought a joy she’d never known. She reached up and laid her hand against his face. “I would marry you if you lived in a cave, Mitchel Banning. I love you. And Hope is not ill. She’s gaining strength every day.” Tears stung her eyes at the happiness that lit his face. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to insist on a barn quite soon. Hope’s going to need a horsey.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Hold still, sweetie, you’ll make me drop you.” Anne smiled, took a firmer hold o
n Hope.

  “Me get down. Me wanna walk.”

  “When we get to the cabin. We’re almost there.”

  “Good morning, Anne. Are you out enjoying this lovely day after all that stormy weather?”

  She stopped, switched Hope to her other side, smiled at the plump woman standing in her doorway. “I didn’t see you, Lydia.”

  “Not much wonder. You’ve got your hands full of squirming youngster. Good morning to you, Hope.”

  “Mornin’. Me got mocc’sins!” Hope stuck out her small, leather-clad foot.

  “Been to Carrie Fenton’s, I see. She does fine work. She’s shod half the children in this town.” Lydia Hargrove pretended to examine Hope’s moccasins, nodded her head. “Those are fine.” She straightened, looked at her. “How’s your wedding dress coming along, Anne?”

  “It’s almost finished. I’ll have it done soon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Lydia, I have to get to the cabin.”

  “Of course, the sooner that cabin is finished, the sooner I have a new neighbor. We’ll chat tomorrow—er—later.”

  “Later?”

  “Why, yes. When the cabin is done.” The elderly woman waved to Hope and ducked inside.

  Anne frowned, settled Hope on her hip and hurried down the trodden path that would one day be a wooden walkway. She’d never seen Lydia Hargrove act so…unstrung.

  “My cabin.” Hope pointed a tiny finger at the new log building.

  Anne smiled at the possessive note in her voice. “Yes, it is. And it will be ready soon.” Her stomach fluttered. She hurried in the doorway, glanced around. Mitchel had finished and hung their bedroom door.

  A scraping sound drew her to the kitchen. Mitchel was at the fireplace fitting a stone into the cooking shelf he was making her. The muscles in his shoulders rippled, strained the shirt across his back.

  “Me here, Papa.”

  His body tensed. She smiled. That reaction was not for Hope. The fluttering increased.

  Mitchel settled the stone, wiped his hands on his thighs and turned. His gaze locked on hers. He took Hope in his left arm, slid his right arm around her and drew her close for a heart-pounding, world-spinning kiss.

  “Papa! Me gots mocc’sins.”

  He lifted his head, gave her a look that said he would have liked that kiss to continue. She gave him a saucy smile in return.

  “You wait, wench.” He growled the words, released her and lifted Hope’s small foot and examined the moccasin, made appropriate exclamations.

  She laid her head against his upper arm then stepped around him and looked at the fireplace that stretched along the end wall. The door beside it led to what would be their washing, bathing room. An idea birthed by Emma’s cozy, warm apothecary.

  Her hands itched with the urge to cook. The fireplace was divided into a normal hearth for heating the room and the hip-high cooking shelf. She moved forward, ran her hands over the stone surface. “Mitchel, this is perfect. Every woman in Promise will be begging her husband to make her one after they see it.”

  “Wonderful. The men will probably run me out of town.” He lowered Hope to the floor, came and folded his arms around her, tugged her back against his strong, lean body and chuckled, a rumble she felt in his chest. “We’ll have to find that cave you said you would live in with me.”

  She laughed, rested her crossed arms on his. “As long as you make me a fireplace with a cooking shelf.”

  Leather padded against the plank floor. They turned as one, watched Hope march around the kitchen holding her cloak back so she could admire her new moccasins.

  Mitchel’s arms tightened around her. “Thank You, Almighty God, for healing Hope. For giving her strength to walk and play again.” His cheek pressed against her hair. “And thank You, Lord, for bringing us together in love.”

  “Amen.” She blinked the film of moisture from her eyes and rested her head back against his broad chest.

  “Anne.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m leaving for Fort Vancouver tonight.”

  She stiffened, caught her breath. It wasn’t that it was unexpected. But trips through the wilderness were so dangerous.

  He cleared his throat. “It’s time, Anne. The cabin is ready. And the church should be finished by the time I return.” He grasped her shoulders, turned her to face him. “I’m not coming back until I have a preacher with me, Anne. I want you for my wife, and I’m not going to wait any longer.”

  Anne took a stitch on Hope’s new dress, lowered her hands to her lap and stared at the door. He’d only left a few minutes ago and already she missed him, feared for him. It would be an eternity until—

  “Mitch will be back soon, Anne.”

  She shifted her gaze to Zach, summoned up a smile she found hiding beneath her unshed tears. “I know. It’s only that I’m not as brave as Emma. I try not to, but I keep hearing those terrible, tortured cries and remembering that the Cayuse want—” She choked, looked down at her work, took another stitch on the ruffle.

  Zach prodded the burning logs on the hearth closer, sat in the chair opposite her and dangled his hands between his knees. “Look at me, Anne.”

  She blinked her eyes clear, raised her gaze to him.

  “I can’t deny there is danger for Mitch. He’s riding through a wilderness filled with hostiles. But there is a lot in his favor.” Zach held his hand up between them. “Mitch knows the area and he knows the Indians—he’s dealt with them since he opened the mission.” He folded two fingers down to his palm. “He’s on my fastest horse with the greatest heart—next to Comanche—” another finger folded down “—and that Colt he’s carrying makes him the equal of ten men.” He fisted his hand, rested it on his knee. “Most important of all, Mitch uses his head. He knows how to fight, or he never would have survived hand-to-hand combat with a Cayuse warrior, but he also knows wisdom avoids battles. He’ll come home to you.”

  She nodded, dredged up another smile. “Thank you, Zach.”

  He nodded, rose and headed for the door. “When Emma finishes with her patient, tell her I went to check on that sick mare.” He shrugged into his jacket, tugged on his hat and went outside.

  The silence was terrible. She gathered her sewing and went to the bedroom. Hope was sleeping soundly. She glanced at her wedding dress smoothed out on top of the chest, knelt on the hearth and let her tears flow.

  Anne dried the tureen, put the lid on it and set it on one of the shelves Mitchel had built in the corner by the dry sink. The few dishes looked so forlorn sitting there she moved the cups and saucers to another shelf. She wanted the cabin to look as warm and cozy as possible when Mitchel returned. If he returned. He’d had been gone three weeks and four days.

  “This cooking shelf is wonderful, Annie.” Emma chose one of the spiders out of the pile of iron pots Zach had carried in and placed it on the stone shelf, pretended to be cooking. “Gracious, no bending. Zach has got to make me one these!”

  “Hello the house!”

  Anne dumped the dirty water in the bucket with the charred edge, dried her hands and stepped into the parlor. “Hello, Lydia. What—” She stopped, stared at the women filling the bare room.

  “We women had a meeting.”

  She smiled, she couldn’t help it. She could imagine that John Hargrove, and a few of the other husbands, hated hearing those words.

  “And we decided it wasn’t fittin’ for our pastor to move into a house with an empty pantry.” Olga Lundquist looked scandalized at the thought.

  “So we brung some of our ‘extras’ to fill up them shelves.” Lorna Lewis, looked down at her toddler daughter. “Jenny, you take these here biscuits and share ’em with Hope and Edward whilst we women are busy visitin’.”

  Anne glanced at the gifts in the women’s hands and her throat constricted. There were no ‘extras’ on the frontier. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I do.” Emma put her hand on her shoulder and waved the other through the air in the direction of the kitche
n door. “This way, ladies.”

  “I feel terrible taking their food, Emma.” Anne stepped to the bedroom door, checked on Hope. “I know things are scarce or unavailable on the frontier, and it will be difficult at first. But I have money to purchase staples when Mr. Swinton goes to Oregon City to restock his store.”

  “It’s not about their food or our money, Annie. It’s about helping and being a blessing to each other. The frontier has a way of making everything level. No one can make it alone out here. And those that try do so to their loss.” Emma looked up from bandage she was rolling. “You will have your chance to bless them in return.”

  She nodded, looked out the window. “It’s snowing again.”

  “Yes.”

  She wrapped her arms around her waist, went to the bedroom for her cloak. “I’m going outside. I want to see the church in the moonlight with the snow on the steeple.” She smiled, reached deep for her faltering faith. “Mitchel will be so pleased to see the women ‘had a meeting’ about that steeple.”

  Emma laughed, sobered. “He’ll be back, Annie. He’s probably had trouble finding a preacher.”

  “Yes.” She took a breath, fastened the button and loop at the neck of her cloak, pulled the hood up and opened the door. “I may go to the cabin, so don’t be concerned if I stay a bit.”

  Large, fluffy snowflakes streamed from the sky, piled in abundance on rooftops and woodpiles. She strolled to the riverbank, looked across the whispering water. The church was an unpretentious log building, with only two windows, but it was beautiful to her. The townspeople had voted to put the windows they had purchased for their church in their pastor’s cabin instead. She would write a letter home and tell them about it. And about the “extras” in their pantry.

  It was so silent and still in the storm. Where was Mitchel? Was he on his way home to her and Hope?

  She drew her gaze back from the church to the cabin. It looked small and cold and unwelcoming. The windows were dark, no smoke plume rose from its chimneys. What sort of welcome would that be if Mitchel—