Copyright
ISBN 1-59310-712-9
Copyright © 2006 by Cathy Marie Hake. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Prologue
1889, Chance Ranch, just outside San Francisco
Heart pounding, Polly Chance lay stark still as the door whispered open and shut. From her bed in the loft, she couldn’t see who’d let himself in. Midnight darkness shrouded the cabin. Whoever it was, he moved silently as a coyote.
She slid her fingers under her pillow to grasp the knife she kept there. Mama Lovejoy had given her that knife the day she turned nine. She’d taught Polly how to use it for gathering plants, but Daddy took her aside and told her to keep it beneath her pillow each night for safety’s sake. Her fingers curled around the bone handle.
“Polly!” a whisper sounded from down by the door.
She bolted upright in bed and hissed, “April, you near scared me out of my mind! Why are you sneaking around at this time of the night?”
Laurel grumbled from the other side of the bed, “What does time have to do with it? A lady never sneaks anywhere.”
Polly lit a lantern and stared down at her cousin, who had moved to the center of the small cabin. April stood there dressed in her deep blue robe. Frills from her pale pink flannel nightgown peeped from the neck and hem, but the satchel by her bare feet captured Polly’s attention.
“I’m running away.” April fussed with her robe’s belt until she tied it into an absurdly huge knot. “Either you let me stay with you, or I’m going to mount up and ride over to the MacPhersons’. They’ll take me in.”
“Couldn’t you wait ’til morning?” Laurel yawned. “Things always are better in the daylight.”
“They’ll be worse in the daylight!” April burst into tears. “I got up to visit the outhouse and found Cole at the table, reading my diary.”
Laurel vaulted over Polly, scrambled down the ladder, and enveloped April in a hug. “You poor girl!”
“If I don’t move in with Polly,” April said tearfully, “I’ll never have any privacy.”
Polly slipped the knife back under her pillow. The unsettled rhythm of her heart no longer came from fright; it came from the knowledge that her well-ordered, comfortable existence had just slipped out the door when her cousin came in. Climbing out of bed, she realized the wisdom behind one of Daddy’s sayings. Nothing ever stays the same, but changes are always for the better if given to God. She took hold of the lantern, handed it down to Laurel, and lifted the hem of her buttercup flannel gown. As her instep found the next rung to the ladder, she said, “Let’s have some tea and talk this over.”
It didn’t take any time whatsoever for Polly to decide what type of tea to brew. Though she kept an appreciable array of teas from the times she went gathering with her mother, only one tea would do under these circumstances: chamomile. It soothed.
Huddled across the table, hands curled around her teacup, April asked, “Will you let me move in?”
“If she moves in,” Laurel said, “so do I.”
“Can’t we worry about you some other day?” April sniffled. “Come morning, Cole is going to blab to everyone what I wrote!”
“Whatever did you write?” Laurel asked.
Polly wondered, too—but she tamped down her curiosity. “That’s none of our business. Diaries are personal. Don’t you worry about Cole. He owes me a favor. I’ll take care of him.”
“Cole owes you a favor?” Laurel and April said in unison.
Polly pressed her lips together and shrugged. From an early age, she’d learned the value of discretion.
“Well, that takes care of that.” Laurel giggled.
“I’m still not living under the same roof with him. I can’t bear it!” April took a gulp of tea, made a face, and dumped in more sugar. She stirred it with such agitation, the tea sloshed over the brim and formed a puddle in the saucer. “The older boys are in the bunkhouse. It’s only fair for us girls to have a cabin.”
Polly sat in silence. Laurel often spent the night with her already. If April moved in, Kate would, too. Literally overnight, Polly would be assuming responsibility for three younger, sometimes flighty girls. Lord, You gave me fair warning this was going to happen. I figured it would be another year or so, but we’ll just put it in Your hands.
“It’s Polly’s cabin, really.” Laurel cast a look up at the loft where she’d been sharing Polly’s bed. “I mean, well—”
“Everyone calls it my cabin,” Polly said slowly, “but the Chance family shares. We always have. Maybe this needs to be the girls’ cabin. The only problem I see is, it seems unfair to leave Kate out.”
“You’re right,” Laurel agreed.
April’s eyes filled with tears. “This isn’t fair. You know Uncle Titus won’t ever let Kate live here.”
Pouring more tea, Polly chose her words and modulated her tone just as Mama had taught her to. Often the lessons on healing folks applied just as well to dealing with them. “Once you move in with us, April, Kate’s bound to want to be here, too.”
“I can’t blame her,” Laurel admitted. “The odds around this place are abysmal. We girls are outnumbered something awful.”
Polly nodded. “I’ll tiptoe over and have a little talk with Cole.” On her part, the decision was already made—if only her aunts and uncles would agree with the plan, this would become the girls’ cabin. The Chance families all lived in a large rectangle of cabins so their daughters would be close by—but the Chance men lost their famed logic when it came to protecting their daughters. The last thing we need is to rile them from the start. “April, did you leave a note for your folks to let them know where you are?”
“No.”
Laurel let out a squeak. “Aunt Miriam will be devastated!”
Polly snorted. “Uncle Gideon’s the one who’s going to have a fit and fall in it. First off, we’re going to put a note on the table for them. We need Uncle Gideon’s help to reason with Uncle Titus, or Kate is doomed.”
“We ought to pray,” Laurel said.
April let out a short, teary laugh. “All I can think of is that saddle tramp who came through here last summer. Remember how he’d shake his head and say, ‘God help us all’? Well, that’s how I’m feeling.”
“I like that. It’s heartfelt, and we’re praying it with respect.” Polly put down her cup, reached across the table, and clasped both of her cousins’ hands. She bowed her head. “Lord, we’re blessed with a big family, but there are times it’s hard to put up with them. Give us patience and humor. We’d like to ask You to make straight the path with the family so they can let us unite together here in this cabin. Thank You for all You do for us, and help us to be Your servants. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
She looked up at her cousins. In unison, they said, “God help us all.”
One
A week later
“We gotta make tracks. Eunice drops her young’uns faster each time.” Uncle Mike shuffled nervously in the doorway. “Last one didn’t take from dinner to supper.”
Polly didn’t respond. Mama Lovejoy had taught her
to hold her tongue when her comments might cause anxiety.
“Do you”—Laurel’s voice went shaky and high—“need me to come along and help?”
Polly cast a quick glance at her cousin. In the days since they’d joined her in the cabin, Laurel, April, and Kate had all offered to assist her on sick calls. They’d certainly taken to heart their pledge to stick together and help one another out, but Laurel blanched to the color of dandelion fluff at the mere mention of anything medical. She’d be in the way. “Thanks for the offer, but Aunt Tempy will be there to help. Maybe you could. . .” She thought hard to concoct some other task.
“She can finish sewing the blanket whilst April and I make lunch,” Kate cut in.
“We’ll be praying for you,” April tacked on as she gave Polly a push. A second later, mounted atop Blossom, Polly clutched her brown leather healer’s satchel and did some praying herself. Riding fast as the wind alongside Uncle Mike, Polly followed the prayer with a mental rehearsal of the necessary steps to follow for safe delivery.
They reached the MacPherson ranch, and one of the men swiped her from her mount. “We was scart you might not make it in time.” He didn’t even bother to set her down. Instead, the hulking man carried her straight to the doorstep and shoved her inside.
Aunt Tempy met her with a quick hug and whispered, “Lovejoy’s not coming?”
“Daddy said he’d bring her soon as she got home from seeing someone who’s ailing.”
Tempy grinned and nodded. “You know what to do. I’ve boiled water aplenty for ye. Lois’ll be watching the other young’uns whilst we welcome this one.”
Polly appreciated Aunt Tempy’s confidence in her. A prayer she’d heard her mama say ran through her mind, and the words rang deep and true. Lord, use my hands. You created this little life—now help me bring it safely into the world. She set down her satchel, then rolled up her sleeves as she approached the rocking chair. “So how far apart are your pains, Aunt Eunice?”
“Middlin’ far. I—ooohhh.”
From the outside of the house, a deep male groan sounded.
After having been through other births here, Polly knew the MacPherson men made it a habit to stand directly under the window and “share” their wives’ travail. At the moment, Aunt Eunice arched her head back against the pressed-wood oak rocker as the pain washed over her. When it ended, she mopped her brow with the edge of her shawl. “Guess I’d best change that to middlin’ close. These pains got a fearsome grip on me when they come.”
Polly nodded. Aunt Eunice didn’t complain unless she had cause. “Did Uncle Hezzy bring in the ax yet?”
Her aunt let out a weary puff of air. “I been a-keepin’ it under my bed, but that knothead took it out to chop wood, and now he cain’t ’member where he left it!”
Supposedly, the ax cut the pain of childbirth—not that Polly believed it much after seeing women in their travail—but Aunt Eunice certainly put store by that tale. Thinking quickly, Polly pasted a smile on her face. “Well then, it’s a good thing I just sharpened my gathering knife. You never saw such an edge on a blade. I don’t aim to be boastful, but it could shave a gnat’s whiskers. It’ll do the trick.” She pulled the knife from her sheath, held it up for show, then went over and slid it under the bed.
“I don’t have me much time to ponder on whether that’ll do,” Aunt Eunice choked out before she started to moan again.
Polly splashed some whiskey onto the table and wiped it down. The pungent odor made her nose twitch, but she’d read all about Lister and knew the value of ridding her working surface of bacteria. From the looks of things, she had no time to scrub the table with lye soap.
As Aunt Tempy laid out a little blanket, diapers, a gown, and a tiny cap for the baby, she whispered, “Good thinkin’ on that knife. You know how stubborn Eunice is when she catches ’old of a notion. She refused to get into bed until Hezzy found the ax. I was a-feared she’d birth the babe in the chair and drop him on his head!”
Polly flashed her an understanding smile, then opened her satchel. The MacPherson men and women stayed true to their culture from back in Hawk’s Fall and Salt Lick Holler. Their more-mythical-and-magical-than-medical notions might have made sense thousands of miles away in the secluded mountains and hills, but here they amounted to amusement at best and danger at worst. No use trying to argue with a laboring woman, so Polly simply honored their traditions and went ahead with the more important preparations. She knew full well once she got Aunt Eunice upright, the baby would arrive, so she wanted everything ready first. . .if the baby cooperated.
A small vial of precious ergot came first. She carefully measured a few purplish-black scrapings onto a tiny china plate. After the delivery, she’d rub that on Aunt Eunice’s gums and inside her cheek to keep her from bleeding too badly. Next, she took out the pale yellow towel she’d boiled and spread it on the table, then unrolled the necessary instruments.
“Reckon that knife’ll have to do.” Aunt Eunice twisted her shawl in one hand as she gripped the arm of the rocking chair with the other. “This babe ain’t gonna wait for nuthin’.”
“Have you decided on names yet?” Polly helped Eunice from the rocking chair and walked her toward the bed.
“No. I’m too old for this nonsense,” Eunice panted. “Thirty-eight. My oldest ought to be carryin’ on the line ’stead of me goin’ through this.”
“In the Bible, Sarah had baby Isaac, and she was much older than thirty-eight.” Polly rubbed her aunt’s back when the woman stopped for the next pain.
Aunt Eunice let out a gusty sigh after the contraction passed. “Ain’t no questionin’ the Almighty’s plan. You ken how much I love every one o’ the babes He give me.”
“Yes, I do.” Polly helped her into the bed.
Grabbing Polly’s arm, Aunt Eunice whispered, “But I got me a dreadful feelin’. Thirteen’s a rare bad number.”
“I told her to go ahead and have another to make it fourteen, but she didn’t appreciate that one bit,” Aunt Tempy said as she fluffed the pillow.
“Mercy!” Aunt Eunice curled up and clenched harder on Polly’s arm. A lifetime of kneading bread lent her bone-bruising strength. “Oh, Lord a merrrcyyy!”
“Dear God in heaven!” Uncle Hezzy prayed loudly from outside the cabin, “Holp my Eunice. Don’t let her be a-hurtin’ so bad.”
Aunt Eunice’s eyes narrowed as she chuffed air. When she finally relaxed, she hollered, “Hezekiah MacPherson, don’t you go askin’ the Almighty to do His side of a bargain when you shirked your own. Git yerself out there and find me that ax!”
Polly doubted Uncle Hezzy would leave the vicinity. Then again, everyone else in the entire clan would search high and low on his behalf. Judging from the exam she did, Polly figured they’d better hurry, because Aunt Eunice was right. This baby wasn’t going to wait.
“I done decided onct this here babe comes, I’ll—ohhh, hit’s too hard on me,” Aunt Eunice whimpered. She sucked in a deep breath and hollered, “I cain’t do it ’less I got me that ax.”
“Ever’body’s lookin’ for it, Lambkins!”
Rolling her head to the side, Aunt Eunice muttered, “Ain’t that jest like a man—letting his woman labor and his young’uns work, and there he stands, pretendin’ a few fancy words’ll—ahhh, mercyyy!”
Fifteen minutes later, Polly laid a just-wiped-clean newborn into her aunt’s arms. “A girl, Aunt Eunice! A pretty little redhead.”
“Now praise the Lord!” Aunt Eunice smiled wearily. “Leastwise, I got me another daughter. Reckon ’twas worth it, after all.”
“You would have said that about a son, too,” Aunt Tempy said.
“Gotta set your mind to bein’ satisfied with whate’er the dear Lord give ya,” Aunt Eunice said as she put the babe to breast. “Kickin’ ’gainst what is don’t make it no different; jest gives you sore toes.”
“She takes after you,” Aunt Tempy said. “Lookie at that hair.”
“I prayed for mer
cy. That’s why she looks like me,” Aunt Eunice said. “A girl-child who took after Hezzy would grow up to be a lonely old spinster.”
“Uncle Hezzy is handsome on the inside—that’s what counts most,” Polly said as she tended to matters.
“Yore mama got herself a good man, and you got yoreself a good daddy,” Aunt Eunice said in a crooning tone to the baby. A tired smile chased across her face, and she whispered, “And I hollered an extry bit so’s Hezekiah will let me stick with the name I had my heart settled on ’stead of the one he wanted.”
Aunt Tempy and Polly muffled their laughter.
“My girl-child’s gonna be called Elvera. Did you ever hear a more beautiful name?”
“Elvera,” Polly repeated. She’d been prepared for something unusual. Aunt Eunice and Uncle Hezzy argued over names and managed to have created some doozies. Elvera rated as one of the nicer ones. “We could shorten it to Elvie or Vera, too.”
“Nope. Nobody’s gonna cut down a perfectly fine name. Couldn’t take an ax to the pain, and they ain’t a-gonna take an ax to her name.” Aunt Eunice bobbed her head emphatically. “My mind’s made up.”
“I got one! I got one!” The shout sounded over the thunder of horses’ hooves. “Here. Take this in with you.” A second later, the door opened, then shut, and someone cleared his throat.
Polly hastily flipped the sheet over Eunice and turned around. She frowned at the handsome stranger standing there. “Thank you for the ax, but we’re about done here.”
The tall, dark-haired stranger shoved the ax off to the side and rumbled, “Axes don’t belong at a delivery. Someone handed it to me, but it’s not needed.” He peeled out of his coat, then stopped cold when the baby started to whimper. “He’s here?”
“Yes, she is.” Polly tried not to laugh at the man’s horrified expression. “All ten fingers and toes.”
“Only because you didn’t have the ax,” the stranger muttered. Instead of looking relieved and making a quick getaway, he rolled up the sleeves of his snowy shirt, baring muscular forearms. “Now then, let’s make sure everything else is—”
Handful Of Flowers Page 1
