by Judith Pella
But her proud self got the better of her. “Griff, are you suggesting this because you don’t think I can make it on my own. Are you trying to protect me?”
“Well, I’ll admit it may have started out that way. I guess when a feller saves a woman’s neck once, he begins to feel a mite responsible for her. But shucks, Deborah, it’s mighty obvious that you don’t need more than the average amount of protection. I taught you to shoot, and that Indian husband of yours taught you a heap more besides that. So, I guess what it boils down to is that I need a steady job and you need a ranch hand. I figure we ought to be able to work out something congenial between us.”
Deborah smiled sheepishly, inwardly embarrassed at her overreaction to the whole matter. As she relaxed and began to surrender her emotions to God, a twinge of enthusiasm began to build inside her, telling her this was just what she was looking for. Actually, she hadn’t been looking for it at all, but as usual God knew her need even before she did. She wondered what Griff would think if she told him she believed the Lord had sent him to her. He might decide to look elsewhere for work!
“I think so, too, Griff,” she answered. Then, feeling suddenly bold, she added, “How can I turn you away when it appears as if God himself has sent you!”
“Imagine that!” laughed Griff. “Let’s just hope He don’t ever regret it.”
“I am certain He won’t!” She grinned, satisfied, then continued. “What do you think of being foreman of the place?”
“I don’t think you coulda chosen a better man!”
“Good. And I was also thinking, do you suppose Slim and Longjim might also be looking for work?”
“It can’t hurt to ask ’em.”
“All right, Griff, then it’s settled. We’ll get started as soon as I hear from my lawyer.”
They shook hands enthusiastically, and Griff made his departure. He wasn’t sure just what he had gotten into, but he felt good about it, certain he was headed down the right trail.
64
After exiting the store, Griff crossed the parade ground, now vacated of drilling soldiers. The sudden appearance of Sam Killion at the end of the street took him by surprise, and he thought fleetingly about heading in the opposite direction, pretending he hadn’t seen him. But in a moment it was too late. Sam spotted him, waved, and hastened toward him.
“Mornin’, Killion,” Griff said none too brightly.
“Good to see you, McCulloch.”
“I’m surprised to hear you say that.”
“I don’t hold nothing against you.”
“Well, it wasn’t nothing personal, anyway. Just the liquor. Never could hold the stuff.”
“Good reason to stay away from it.”
“I reckon so.”
They paused for an awkward moment before the silence was broken.
Griff spoke first. “I just saw Deborah. It might interest you to know I’m gonna be foreman of her outfit in Texas.”
This was obviously news to Sam, who took another long, awkward moment to respond. “That so?” he finally said tightly.
“Yeah.”
Sam gathered his momentarily lost composure. “I reckon I ought to be glad she’ll have someone like you along.”
“Ought to be, but ain’t, right?” said Griff rather defensively.
“I’ll be frank with you, McCulloch, it worries me a little. Deborah’s had her full share of troubles in her life, and I don’t want to see no more come her way if it can be helped.”
“You think I’ll bring her trouble?”
“You ain’t exactly been an angel all your life—not that any of us have been. But I’m not fully convinced you are completely cleared with the law—”
“Set your mind at ease, Preacher,” cut in Griff, though not harshly. “I don’t want to bring no trouble to Deborah, either. I know this here lawman up in Wichita by the name of Earp. He says there ain’t no papers out on me because no one ever clearly identified me. Without that, there ain’t no proof against me. I’m cleared as long as I keep clean in the future.”
“That’s actually the question, isn’t it?” said Sam warily.
“Ain’t you preachers supposed to trust folks?”
“Gentle as doves, wise as serpents.”
“Seems I recall hearing that before. Well, I’m through with that life. But if you’re worried, why don’t you go to Texas with her?”
That idea had occurred to Sam more than once in the past several days, but the answer was always the same. “I’ve got responsibilities here. This is where I must be for now.”
“Well, you’re a durn fool, Killion, letting her get away like that.”
“What does that mean?”
“I think what is really worrying you is knowing her and me is going off together. But it’s your fault if anything happens.”
Sam bristled. He knew McCulloch was dead right. But he also knew he couldn’t go running off to Texas after an illusion. Deborah wasn’t ready for marriage, and he wasn’t ready to accept anything else.
“Listen here, McCulloch,” challenged Sam, sounding for the moment more like an angry Texas Ranger than a benevolent preacher, “I can’t stop you from going, but if I ever hear that you hurt her—”
“Hold on, Preacher!” broke in Griff, half-mocking. “They’ll defrock you for what you’re about to say. I ain’t never gonna hurt Deborah … and I doubt I’d ever marry her, even if she’d have me. I ain’t the marrying kind—and Deborah ain’t the kind to have it any other way. So set your mind at ease, unless one or the other of us makes a drastic change. But you’re still a durn fool. I’ll bet you ain’t even asked her to marry you.”
“Well, for one thing,” defended Sam, “it wouldn’t be proper since she ain’t been widowed a full year.”
“This is the West, Killion. None of that eastern propriety is worth spit here.”
Sam tried to think of all the other valid excuses; suddenly they all seemed rather lame. But the outlaw Griff McCulloch suddenly made a great deal of sense. Sam should have realized right then there was something wrong with a conclusion that placed the ex-outlaw in the right. But in the heat of the moment, he decided he had been foolish to simply assume what might be and conclude what Deborah might be thinking without even asking her. Moreover, he had been so certain of her response that he hadn’t even prayed about it.
Thus, when he left Griff that day, he knew exactly what he had to do.
****
Sam prayed about Deborah for several days after the conversation with Griff. He even went off for three days to a deserted cabin in the hills to be alone.
When he finished praying he still found himself reticent to approach her, a completely uncharacteristic sensation for him. He was so confused that he did not know if his hesitancy was a warning from God or his own cowardice. After all, asking a woman to marry was no small thing under even the best of circumstances. But in Deborah’s case, considering her past experiences, this was greatly magnified. If he asked and was turned down, that was it; all his hopes would be ended in one quick blow. Still, wouldn’t that be the best way? Get it over with quick, like pulling a knife out of a wound.
But he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her friendship, as was sure to happen, along with his hopes. Yet, if she went to Texas without him, he would lose her anyway.
In the end he put off speaking to her about this for over a month, and it might well have been longer had not the arrival of a special mail pouch in October prompted him into action.
65
Sam delivered the pouch to Deborah personally, only guessing about what he held in his hand and how it would affect his future.
Excitedly, Deborah tore open the envelope. As she unfolded the papers inside, a smaller paper floated out onto the counter where she stood. She picked it up and gasped.
“Sam …” Tears began to rise in her eyes. “It’s a certified check for forty-seven hundred dollars! Oh, dear Lord! I can’t believe it!”
Sam tried to catch
her excitement. “I’m happy for you, Deborah.”
Deborah continued, having perused the lawyer’s enclosed letter. “Mr. Stillwell says he has reserved the money to pay Mr. Farley, but he thought I’d want the rest of the money as soon as possible. He will send me the title to the property the moment he completes the transaction with Farley. Do you know what this means, Sam?”
Sam shook his head, though he was afraid he knew very well what it meant.
“Sam, there is no reason why I can’t start for Texas immediately. If I leave this week, I can get there before winter hampers travel. Griff says it’ll take about a month to travel there with a wagon and the children.”
“But there may be problems with settling before clear title can be established,” reasoned Sam. “You don’t need that kind of attention.”
“I’ll have Mr. Stillwell send the title directly to Fort Griffin, which is near the ranch. Who knows—it could arrive before I do. And even if it doesn’t, I have the paper Mr. Farley gave you explaining the pending transaction. There won’t be any trouble. But, Sam, I’m willing to risk it. I just can’t wait another moment! I’m going to leave Monday—as long as Griff, Slim, and Longjim are ready. That will give me one last chance to hear you preach.” Suddenly Deborah stopped as reality caught up with her excitement. She had tried studiously not to think of what leaving was going to mean to her friendship with Sam. She found little comfort in the fact that this was the first time in her life that she chose to leave a relationship rather than the other way around. It hurt almost as much. This was her choice, and she was going to something wonderful, but she still felt the emptiness of facing another loss.
“Oh, Sam, I am going to miss you!” The brimming tears spilled onto her cheeks.
“Texas ain’t all that far.” He tried to sound like his old, buoyant self. “Why, I’ve been known to ride farther than that for a camp meeting.”
“You will come to visit us?”
“Of course I will!”
“I doubt there will be many churches there on the frontier.”
“You’ll keep on reading your Bible and praying, won’t you?”
“Oh yes!”
Sam opened his mouth to speak another superficial remark, but stopped. In his mind, he heard Griff’s voice:
You’re a durn fool for letting her go.
How could he tell her to pray and read her Bible and leave it at that? How would he ever know the answer to the real question that burned in his heart until he asked it? What did it matter if she refused him; he was losing her anyway.
Hurriedly, before he lost his nerve once more, he blundered ahead. “Deborah, I know maybe I’m speaking out of turn, but with you thinking about leaving so soon I figure I best speak now or, as they say, forever hold my peace. It’s just that … well, I care for you an awful lot, Deborah, and I’d be right honored to marry you.” He paused, took a ragged breath, and stole a glance at her.
“Oh, Sam …” The very tone of her voice, both sad and regretful, told him before anything else what her answer was going to be.
“I knew I should have kept my mouth shut,” Sam said, hoping to spare her from having to utter difficult words.
“This takes me so completely off my guard.”
“I guess I thought you might feel a little bit the same for me—”
“Sam, you know I care for you deeply. It’s just that my love for Broken Wing has not faded enough to free me for another. I know I do not speak of him often, but that is not because I have forgotten him, but rather because of the Cheyenne tradition of never speaking of the dead. I realize now that is a superstition that may not fit in with my Christian life, yet I feel that out of respect for who Broken Wing was, I must honor him in this way. Perhaps when Sky is older I will be bound to give this up in order that my son may learn of his father. But for now, it is all much too near to easily shake.
“Nevertheless,” she continued, “even though I don’t speak of Broken Wing, his memory still occupies the largest part of my heart. The pain of his loss is never far from me. For that reason alone, I am not ready for marriage. But there is more and, though I am ashamed to admit it, I must be honest with myself and with you. I simply cannot bring myself to the place where I can risk loving another, especially in that way. We have spoken of this before, Sam, and I have not changed. I pray about it often, because sometimes I fear this weakness in me also hinders my relationship with my children. I can’t let them go far from me for fear of losing them. Sometimes I see this causes terrible rebellion in Carolyn, who is every bit as headstrong and independent as her mother. I try to let go, but I can’t.
“So, you see, I must somehow deal with my children because I have no choice. I doubt I could do so otherwise. But I could not go willingly seeking this kind of risk. Sam, could you promise never to die on me?”
Sam lowered his eyes. He could not look at her as he shook his head. “I wish I could, Deborah, but you know I can’t.”
“I know …” she murmured, in a tone as regretful as his. “Maybe someday God will heal this weakness in me.”
“I believe He will, Deborah. And in the meantime, He will use it to make you strong, for remember, in our weaknesses we are made strong.”
Weeping, Deborah threw her arms around Sam and kissed his cheek. Sam, taken aback by her completely unexpected gesture, just stood there. But he knew that in a moment it would be over and Deborah would be as good as gone from him, perhaps forever. Thus, before the moment was lost, he lifted his arms, feeling stiff and wooden, and wrapped them around her also. He didn’t return her kiss, though he yearned to.
When they fell apart, he was out of breath, and he noted that she looked somewhat flushed, but neither of them said anything. They both knew there was nothing else to be said. The time simply was not right for them; perhaps it never would be. Then again, maybe someday it just might work out—at least that’s what Sam, always hopeful, always optimistic, thought as he left the Sutler’s store.
****
True to her word, on the following Monday Deborah and her little party of migrants made ready to depart Fort Dodge. Slim, with Deborah beside him, drove the covered wagon, filled nearly to the brim with supplies purchased from Hardee. The children were nestled into a cozy corner at the front of the wagon where they were near their mother and could look out through the opening at the passing scenery. Griff and Longjim, on their own mounts, flanked the wagon, which was drawn by four sturdy stock horses. The gray stallion and Slim’s pinto were tied to the back of the wagon.
On the ground stood Sam and Hardee, both looking rather forlorn and dejected. Hardee had hugged each of the children about ten times and shed more tears than he was willing to admit to when Deborah embraced and kissed him. Sam had also hugged the children who had over the months become dear to him, and he had given each a bag of hard candy to amuse them on the long trip. He and Deborah exchanged only verbal goodbyes. Sam feared that if he embraced her again, he’d never let go.
Slim was about to spur the horses into motion when a uniformed figure, loping across the parade ground, waved and called to them.
“Mrs. Graham, hold up!” It was Lt. Godfrey.
All out of breath, he came to a stop on Deborah’s side of the wagon. “I’m glad I caught you,” he said. “I’ve been out on maneuvers for a week and just this morning heard of your departure.”
“I’m glad you came by, Lieutenant,” said Deborah. “I hoped I could tell you goodbye. I will not forget your kindness.”
“And likewise, ma’am, I’ll never forget you!” He paused, then suddenly seemed to remember he was not empty-handed. He held out a bow and a deerskin quiver of arrows. “One of the men took this from the Washita encampment after the … battle.” He hesitated a moment over the awkwardness of the topic, then continued. “I know it isn’t a time any of us are fond of recalling, but I just thought that since you lost everything there, you might like something as a reminder of the Cheyenne people you loved. It isn’t much, I kno
w, but maybe when your boy is older he might like to have a real Cheyenne bow.”
Godfrey thrust the bow and quiver toward Deborah, but she hesitated before taking it. She recognized the bow immediately as one made by Twelve Trees, one of the best bow makers in the village. It was an excellent specimen of his work, and Broken Wing had had one very similar to it that had been buried with him. This was a prize and a memento she ought to accept eagerly and cherish, yet part of her rebelled against accepting such a gift from a man who represented those who had killed her husband and destroyed her beloved home.
Before the passing moment grew too awkward, however, Deborah chanced to look directly into the lieutenant’s eyes. There she saw such sincerity and open entreaty that another part of her began to stir—the part that sought, though sometimes unsuccessfully, to live her life according to how her new Lord would respond. And she knew that Christ would not have refused such a well-meant offering.
She reached out and took the gift. “Thank you, Lt. Godfrey. It will be a treasure to me, as will your friendship.”
He grinned with relief and pleasure. “Godspeed, Mrs. Graham. And one last word of advice—be careful of Indians after you cross the Red River. We’ve had recent word that there are several renegade tribes operating quite freely in Texas.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. But I am certain that, as you said, God will speed us along safely.”
Then with a loud “Geeyup!” Slim got the wagon moving, and the party left the security of the fort. Deborah waved vigorously to her friends until they faded from sight, and continued to glance backward at the fort until it also disappeared from view. Her parting looks were not entirely from regret, nor were they from doubt. Even if Fort Dodge had little to recommend but its dust and crude, unkempt soldiers, she knew she was leaving a special part of herself behind in that sprawling, rough place. There, she had met her very Best Friend, her Savior and God; there, also, she was leaving the best friend He himself had given her—Sam Killion.
