But then His gaze moved on, and she felt both relieved and sorrowful.
“Come,” He said. “Peter, come to Me.”
Oh, how she wished it was her name He called.
“James, come here. And John, you too.”
She imagined what it was like for Jesus to call His disciples to Himself, and then she pondered how amazing it was that He had called her too. Not as one of the inner circle of three, or one of the twelve closest to Him, or even one of the five hundred who witnessed Him after the resurrection. But He had called her as one of those for whom He prayed almost two thousand years before.
With eyes still closed, she whispered the words, “Neither pray I for these alone, but for them also which shall believe on me through their word.” Jesus had known her even then. He’d known she would trust in Him and want to serve Him. “That the world may believe that thou hast sent me.” She inhaled deeply. “That the world may know that thou hast sent me, and hast loved them, as thou hast loved me.”
Felicia smiled as she realized—as if for the first time, although it was not—that Christ’s prayer had been answered. All of these centuries later, she knew the Father’s love, and she would never be alone. No matter what happened to her in Frenchman’s Bluff, she wouldn’t be alone or cast aside. She need not fear tomorrow. Of that she could be sure.
She began to speak aloud those things for which she was most thankful: for her small cottage; for the comfortable bed that welcomed her at night; for each of her students, from the youngest to the oldest; for the opportunity to cook for herself, especially because she could make whatever she wanted; for the warm sun on the rock; for the music of the river flowing by; for the songbirds in the trees. On and on she went.
Once she had exhausted her list of thanksgiving, she stretched her arms above her head and cried, “Thank You. Thank You. Thank You, Lord.” Then she laughed for joy.
Colin knew he should ride on. He should disappear back into the trees that lined the river. When he’d first heard Felicia’s voice, he hadn’t realized she was praying. How could he? It was unlike any prayer he’d heard before. But now that he’d realized it, he should leave. Yet he couldn’t make himself go. She looked so … peaceful … stretched out on that rock, bathed in the morning sunlight. Peaceful and joyful.
And beautiful.
Drifter shifted his weight beneath the saddle and snorted his impatience. Felicia sat up, a startled gasp carrying to Colin.
“It’s only me, Miss Kristoffersen,” he called before riding forward.
“Mr. Murphy.” She stood, clutching a book against her abdomen.
“Didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You didn’t. I mean, I was just … just …”
“Praying?” he finished for her, half hoping she would correct him.
“Yes.” She nodded. “I was praying.”
Colin dismounted and moved to stand beside the horse’s head. “Never heard Reverend Hightower pray like that.”
Her face grew pink.
He surprised himself by adding, “I liked it.”
The blush deepened.
Colin couldn’t recall knowing another woman who blushed as easily as Felicia. He found it almost as attractive as the blue of her eyes.
“I didn’t expect to see anyone out here,” she said. “It’s so far from the main road.”
“I was hunting.” He motioned with his head. “It’s a bit early in the season, but I thought I might find a deer or two up through the canyon that way. Both Charity and I are partial to venison stew.”
She nodded, as if saying she liked venison also.
“Mind if I join you for a moment or two?”
Uncertainty filled her eyes. “Well, I—”
“Drifter would like a rest.”
Apparently she was more prone to take pity on his horse than on him. She nodded again. “Of course. If you like. Please join me.”
Colin turned the gelding loose to graze, then climbed onto the boulder. By that time, Felicia was seated again, her legs tucked beneath the skirt of her outing costume. He sat beside her. “Beautiful spot.”
“Yes.”
There were plenty of other things Colin might have said next. He could have talked about the weather. He could have brought up Charity. He might even have discussed the cost of school supplies. What he said instead surprised him. “Do you pray like that often?”
“Not often enough, I suppose.” The corners of her mouth slipped into a smile.
“Do you think God hears you?”
“Of course.” The smile disappeared. “Don’t you think He hears when you pray?”
Tipping his head back, he looked at the unbroken expanse of blue overhead. “I’m not sure.”
She didn’t say anything in return, and he was grateful for that. He didn’t know why he’d been so forthright in the first place. He’d never even expressed his doubts to his best friend. He’d hardly admitted them to himself.
“I’m not much of a Christian,” he added after a lengthy silence.
“That could be said for most of us.”
Her reply drew his gaze.
“We’re all sinners, Mr. Murphy. We all stumble at times. Even those in His church. Our faith grows stronger under fire and testing.”
“My wife said something like that, toward the end.”
Her eyes invited him to say more.
“Margaret wasn’t happy for a long time.” Why was he telling her this? Why didn’t he keep his business his business? “But it seemed like after she got sick, she trusted God more, and she was happy again.” And then He let her die.
“Tell me about her.”
What could he say about Margaret? Time had changed his memories of her, softened them, made him wonder what might have been if she’d lived longer.
Felicia said, “Charity says she looks like her mother.”
“Yes, she does. Same brown eyes. Same color of hair.” That much wasn’t forgotten. He pictured his wife, her dark hair falling down her back in soft waves. “Same smile too. We grew up near each other back in Ohio. Even as a little girl, she was fearless. If she wanted something, she would work like the dickens to get it. Even when I was only about fifteen or so, I knew she was the girl I wanted to marry.”
“How romantic.”
Romantic? No. Practical. Sensible. He and Margaret were good friends. He liked spending time with her. She was smart and wanted to get ahead in life, same as he did. No, he couldn’t be accused of being a romantic.
There’d been no romance, and no love either. Certainly not on his wife’s part. At seventeen, Margaret had fallen hard for Broderick Hazleton, a handsome but feckless fellow of whom her parents strongly disapproved. They’d insisted she marry Colin, and she’d obeyed them—but only after some terrible rows.
“What brought you from Ohio to Idaho?”
“Margaret’s uncle. He owned the mercantile here in Frenchman’s Bluff. After he took sick, he offered to sell the store to us at a good price when the time came if we’d move out here and take care of him until he regained his strength. So that’s what we did.”
He didn’t bother to tell Felicia that Margaret’s parents had thought it best for the newlyweds to move away, for Colin to take Margaret to a place where she wouldn’t risk running into Broderick. It turned out to be good advice.
“He kept his word,” Felicia said. “You bought the store.”
“Actually, he didn’t sell us the store. He left it to us in his will. He died six months after we arrived.”
“How tragic.”
Colin acknowledged her words with a nod. “I wasn’t sure about owning the mercantile, about staying here for the rest of my life. But Margaret loved Frenchman’s Bluff right from the start, and she had a good head for business too.”
In Colin’s opinion, this town and the mercantile had kept his marriage from going completely sour. Because Margaret loved the town and the store, she had time to learn to care for Colin again. Maybe she’d never
loved him. Maybe he’d never felt more than affection for her. But they’d become close again. They’d been good friends, and friendship wasn’t a bad basis for a marriage.
“You still miss her, don’t you?” Felicia said into the silence.
He shrugged, then nodded. “It isn’t the same as it used to be, but yes, I still miss her. Especially when I catch a glimpse of her in Charity. Or because she’d know how to do something that I can’t do or know what to say when I haven’t got a clue.”
“You surprise me, Mr. Murphy.”
“I do?” He cocked an eyebrow.
“I was under the impression you were a man who never doubted himself or his decisions.”
Never doubted himself? Never doubted his decisions? Not hardly. But he wasn’t surprised to hear that’s what she thought of him. He worked hard to project an image of self-confidence to others.
If they only knew—
With a shake of his head, he pushed up from the rock. “I’d better go. The store’s open by now, and Jimmy and Charity will wonder what’s keeping me. Shall I see you back?”
“No, thank you. I’ll stay here and enjoy nature a while longer.” He bent his hat brim at her. “Good day, Miss Kristoffersen.” “Good day, Mr. Murphy.”
Felicia lay back against the boulder once again and closed her eyes. But it was no longer a prayer of thanksgiving to God that filled her mind. Instead, she thought of Colin, pictured him as he’d been a short while before, seated beside her, near enough that she could have touched him. Perhaps too near.
“You still miss her, don’t you?”
“It isn’t the same as it used to be, but yes, I still miss her.”
She felt a strange twinge in her chest. It was almost painful. Suddenly she felt alone—and lonely—and she wanted to weep.
FIFTEEN
Colin had no reason to decline Helen Summerville’s invitation to dinner for a second week in a row. Which is why he found himself that Sunday at two o’clock seated next to Kathleen at the large dining room table in the Summerville home. Across from him sat the town’s physician, Patrick Young, as well as Noel and Iona Bryant and their middle son, Samuel. The Bryants’ oldest son, Jimmy, sat on the other side of Kathleen, while their youngest, Tommy, had gone into the kitchen along with the two Summerville girls and Charity to eat their meal apart from the adults.
After George Summerville spoke a blessing over the food, Kathleen picked up the platter of roast beef and passed it to Colin. “Mrs. Hasting knows how much you like her roast beef,” she said softly.
Colin thought the Summerville cook probably knew the food preferences of almost everyone in and around Frenchman’s Bluff. She’d once owned a restaurant in town. Then, half a dozen or so years ago, it had burned to the ground. Without insurance, Victoria hadn’t had the money to rebuild. So she’d taken the job offered her by the Summervilles and had been cooking for them ever since.
He forked a slice of roast beef and passed the platter to his hostess.
“We’re so glad you could join us today, Mr. Murphy,” Helen said as she accepted the plate. “We missed your company last week.”
“Always a pleasure to be here, Mrs. Summerville.” His reply, though polite, wasn’t entirely true. It wasn’t always a pleasure to spend time in her company. Helen held herself a little too highly in her own estimation. She enjoyed too much her self-appointed role as leader of Frenchman’s Bluff society.
“I understand you gave Charity a horse for her birthday,” she continued.
“Yes.”
“What do you think of that, Kathleen?”
“Of what, Mother Summerville?”
“Of a girl of nine having a horse of her own.”
There it was. That note of criticism. Of disapproval. A tone that said Colin had made a grave mistake.
Kathleen’s gaze flicked from her mother-in-law to Colin. “Charity showed Princess to Suzanne and Phoebe and me earlier this week. I’ve never seen her so excited.” She smiled briefly. “I think that horse was the perfect gift for her.”
Colin returned the smile. It wasn’t easy for anyone in town to stand up to Helen. It must be doubly difficult for Kathleen, who was dependent on the older woman.
“Perhaps if she were a boy, Mr. Murphy, it would be different. But a girl?” Helen clucked her tongue. “Charity could use a mother’s tender guidance.”
Her comment wiped the smile from his lips.
“Some potatoes, Mr. Murphy?” Kathleen held the large serving bowl toward him.
“Thanks.”
Noel Bryant chuckled. “I should’ve promised Charity one of Goldie’s pups for her birthday. That was a missed opportunity if ever I saw one.”
Noel’s comment was enough to cool Colin’s growing irritation with their hostess, and he laughed along with the others.
“How about you, George?” Noel continued. “You could use a huntin’ dog, couldn’t you?”
“Well, I—”
Helen cut off her husband’s reply. “I should say not.”
There was an awkward silence before George said, “I don’t do much hunting anymore, Noel.”
Colin wished he could join the children in the kitchen.
“Samuel,” Helen said, “are you glad to be back in school?”
The boy—at fourteen a slightly shorter version of his brother Jimmy—shrugged. “It’s all right.”
“And what do you think of your schoolteacher?”
“Miss K? She’s all right.”
Helen turned her gaze toward Colin. “I understand she asked for more expenditures for the school. After only a few days of teaching. I don’t think Mr. Swanson should have given in to her request without talking to the rest of the school board first.”
“It seemed a reasonable request,” he answered. “Some world maps is what she ordered.”
“If Miss Lucas and those before her could get by without them, I can see no reason why Miss Kristoffersen can’t do so as well.” She shook her head. “You and I were right to vote against offering her the position. I hope the other board members will realize their mistake soon.”
Colin’s irritation returned. It would be one thing for Helen to make her comments to him privately. It was another for her to do it in front of people who weren’t on the board—especially when one of them was a student.
But before he could form a response, Kathleen spoke up. “Suzanne and Phoebe love Miss Kristoffersen. They can’t wait to go to school in the morning.”
“That doesn’t make her the best person for the job, Kathleen,” her mother-in-law returned, her mouth tightening.
Kathleen sat a little straighter in her chair. “Perhaps not, Mother Summerville, but it doesn’t disqualify her either. We have to give Miss Kristoffersen a chance to prove her capabilities.” She drew a quick breath before adding, “I like Felicia. I like her a great deal.”
Kathleen could scarcely believe those words had come out of her mouth. Here, in front of all of these people, disagreeing with Mother Summerville. She must be losing her mind.
Or perhaps she was beginning to find it.
She turned toward Colin. “Don’t you think we need to give Miss Kristoffersen a chance, Mr. Murphy?”
There was something about the way he looked at her—was that admiration in his eyes?—that calmed her nerves and shored up her courage.
“Yes, I believe we need to give her a chance.” He seemed to be fighting a smile. “Everyone deserves a chance.”
When Kathleen dared to glance in her mother-in-law’s direction again, she was met with a glare as cold as ice. But for some reason, she didn’t care. She was tired of tiptoeing around this house, around her own opinions. She didn’t use to be afraid to express her thoughts. How had she become the timid woman she was today? If Harold were to see her now, would he even know her? She feared he wouldn’t.
The doctor changed the topic to a theater production he’d heard was coming to Boise City, and thankfully, Mother Summerville seemed content to
let the previous conversation be forgotten. At least for the time being.
A breeze rustled the leaves in the nearby tree. As Felicia sat on her porch, that was the only sound she heard. The whole town of Frenchman’s Bluff seemed to be napping, humans and animals alike, on this warm Sunday afternoon.
She found the idea of a nap a tempting one, but she didn’t want to go inside. The day was too pleasant for that. Soon enough, it would turn cool. The leaves would change from green to red and orange, gold and yellow, and then they would fall to the ground to crunch beneath the shoes of passersby. Finally the snow would blow in from the west, blanketing her small corner of the world in white. There would be no sitting on her porch then. Better she enjoy it while she could.
Her thoughts drifted from the weather to the previous day when she’d sat beside the river on that rock—and to the moment when Colin Murphy had joined her there. Their brief exchange had been agreeable, but it troubled her spirit to remember the loneliness that had washed over her after he departed. Felicia liked her solitude. Often preferred it, in fact. And hadn’t she been enjoying the Lord’s presence only moments before Colin arrived? Those strange feelings of loneliness couldn’t be because she’d come to like Colin, like him as a woman likes a man. Could they?
No, of course not. Ridiculous. He was her landlord, even her employer. But nothing more.
She drew in a deep breath and turned her attention to the round table at her side. On it lay her writing materials. As disagreeable as she found the task, it was time she answered Gunnar’s letters. She picked up the pen and dipped it in the ink bottle.
Cousin Gunnar,
I am in receipt of your two letters.
Surely you must know that I have no desire whatsoever to return to Wyoming, not to marry Rolf nor for any other reason. While I am grateful for the home I was given with Britta and Lars, my obligations to them, to the farm, to any other members of the Kristoffersen family, were fulfilled long ago. I took nothing with me that was not mine. For you to suggest otherwise is spiteful and untrue.
Please do not trouble yourself in my regard again. I have no intention of leaving my position as teacher in Frenchman’s Bluff.
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