A Promise for Spring

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Slipping the packets of seeds back into his pocket, he closed his eyes and pictured Emmaline’s face beaming with pleasure at the unexpected gift. He could hardly wait to get to the ranch.

  The sun was a mere thumbnail on the horizon beneath a dusky pink-and-purple sky when Emmaline finally heard the clop of horse hooves. She stepped outside, pausing beside Jim’s horse, which still stood in the side yard with its saddle in place. A tall bay, carrying Chris, entered the yard and stopped in front of Emmaline.

  Chris swung down, meeting her gaze. His unsmiling face sent a chill of unease down her spine. She moved forward, her hands tangled in her apron. “Jim—is he . . . ?”

  “He’s alive.” Chris swiped his hand beneath his nose. “Let’s go to the house. I could use something to eat.”

  “I have the soup pot waiting.”

  He gave a somber nod, and then he headed for the house. His slumped shoulders and plodding steps spoke of a heavy burden. Emmaline winged a silent prayer heavenward for his aching heart.

  She dished up a bowl of stew while Chris plopped tiredly into one of the kitchen chairs. He picked up his spoon, but instead of digging into the bowl, he fixed Emmaline with a serious look. “The doc says there’s a good chance Jim will make it.”

  “Oh, thank the Lord . . .” Emmaline sank into the chair across from him.

  “The snake didn’t bite deep—probably because Jim’s boot leather took some of the force. Your wrapping that bandage prevented the poison from going up his leg.” Chris ran a hand down his face and sighed. “The doc sucked out what poison he could, and he put a raw liver poultice over the bite. But it sure looks ugly. Jim’s foot is twice its normal size, and he’s thrashing around like he’s not in his right mind. The doc gave him something to make him sleep and sent me home. He said there’s nothing more we can do except . . . wait.” The torment in Chris’s eyes pierced her heart. “Emmaline, if he dies . . .” Chris swallowed. “After we lost our mum and dad, I figured it would always be Jim and me. I get aggravated with him sometimes, but he—he’s all I’ve got. I can hardly think of—”

  “Don’t.” Emmaline grabbed his hand. “Don’t even allow yourself to have such thoughts.”

  “But you didn’t see him—rolling his head back and forth like someone was torturing him.” Chris clamped his hand over his eyes, and his chin quivered.

  Emmaline rounded the table and wrapped her arms around Chris’s shaking shoulders. “Shh, now. You needn’t distress yourself. Jim is with the doctor. He’s being cared for. Now we need to pray that he will be all right. Do you want me to pray?”

  Chris nodded.

  Emmaline lowered her head, pressing her cheek to his hair. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth to petition God on Jim’s behalf.

  “This is a pretty picture.”

  At the harsh exclamation, Emmaline bolted upright and Chris jerked around in his chair. Geoffrey stood framed in the kitchen doorway. A saddlebag dangled from his hand and his eyes flashed with fury.

  TWENTY- THREE

  ALL OF THE air had been sucked from the room. Drawing a breath was torture. Geoffrey could scarcely believe what he was seeing—his Emmaline with her arms around Chris Cotler!

  “Excuse me for interrupting. I shall go to the bunkhouse and allow you two your privacy.” Geoffrey pounded toward his horse.

  “Geoffrey, wait!” Emmaline caught up to him and grabbed his elbow.

  Chris stood slightly behind her, his face blanched. “Mr. Garrett, let me explain.”

  With a furious glance at both of them, Geoffrey yanked free of Emmaline’s grasp. Her pleading expression brought a wave of revulsion in his gut. He faced Chris rather than view her stricken face. “Emmaline and I aren’t wed. If, in my absence, you’ve found one another pleasing then I shall not stand in your way.” He flung his arms wide. “Go back and continue . . . courting.”

  Emmaline’s jaw dropped, and then her eyes narrowed. She clenched her fists. “C-courting? You think we were—?”

  “But before you return to your own selfish needs, Chris, you might take care of those poor horses.” He pointed to the pair ground-tied in the side yard, still wearing their saddles. “A man takes care of his mount.” He turned again to leave.

  Chris’s insistent voice followed him. “Mr. Garrett, wait, please.”

  A small hand captured his shirt sleeve, pulling him to a stop. He looked into Emmaline’s flushed, furious face.

  “You and your petty accusations—you are the most insufferable man I know!”

  Someone needed to explain the meaning of “apology” to her.

  “After what Chris and I have been through, you dare to—Oh!” Emmaline released his arm and whirled around. “I shall not waste one precious breath defending myself to you.” Pushing past Chris, she stomped back toward the house and called over her shoulder, “There is stew on the stove if you’re hungry, but do not expect me to serve it to you!”

  Geoffrey refrained from firing back his unwillingness to take anything from her, including stew.

  “Mr. Garrett—”

  Holding up his hand, he stilled Chris’s words. “There is nothing more to say. I must see to my horse. Make certain you and Jim care for your mounts before you retire for the evening.” He grabbed his horse’s reins and headed for the barn. He hoped to have his horse put away before Chris or Jim showed up or there might be a fistfight. Geoffrey had never been prone to fighting, but he’d never before had anything worth fighting for.

  He took the packets of seeds from his pocket and tossed them in the yard. The wind tumbled them away into the evening shadows. Good riddance. He swallowed his temper as he curried his horse and gave it fresh feed and water. He groomed the animal as quickly as possible so he could be out of the barn before one of the other men showed up.

  Although he was curious how the sheep had fared in his absence, he decided it would be best to go directly to the bunkhouse and check on the sheep in the morning. But as he passed the sheep barn, the strange sight of barrels—some upright, some on their side—lined up in the doorway captured his attention.

  He walked slowly along the row. “What on earth?” The sheep offered no explanation, and he looked toward the house. What all had gone on here while he was away? Leaving the barrels, he strode to the bunkhouse. Both halves of the building were dark, signifying Jim must already be asleep. Just as well—the boy didn’t need to be exposed to his brother’s improper behavior, especially when he harbored feelings for Emmaline, too. The woman collected beaus the way some collected handkerchiefs!

  Geoffrey sat on the edge of his bed, his shoulders slumped. He had hoped Emmaline would be the one person who would not forsake him. All those years he had clung to memories of her sweetness, her attentiveness, her trustworthiness. Over and over, Jonathan Bradford had assured him she remained loyal to Geoffrey. But it was not true.

  When Geoffrey stretched out on his bed and closed his eyes, the picture of Emmaline and Chris embracing in the kitchen continued to haunt him. Once more, someone he loved had tossed him aside.

  Geoffrey awakened well before dawn and headed to the river with a bar of soap. The moon hung high and bright, illuminating his path. Although not overly cool, the air felt crisp, heavy with dew. He made noisy progress, hard earth crunching beneath his feet. Would the rains ever come back to Kansas?

  An owl hooted and then took flight, the sound of its flapping wings almost harsh against the gentle rush of water and whispering breeze. He reached the water and quickly stripped down to his underdrawers. When he first stepped into the river, goose flesh broke out over his arms, and he shuddered. But after a few splashes, his body adjusted to the cool temperature. He lathered and scrubbed himself clean, relishing the release of sweat, grime, and oil. If only he could wash away his feelings of inadequacy . . .

  In his dreams, an image of Emmaline had faded in and out with images of his mother. He had forgiven his mother a long time ago. Despite the heartache she’d caused when she abandoned her
son, she had left for good reason—no woman should be forced to remain with a drunkard. But he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to forgive Emmaline. He had built this ranch for her. Had pledged his life to her. And still she had chosen Chris.

  Clean again, he stepped out of the water and picked up his discarded shirt. He stood for a moment, watching the eastern sky turn pink and orange, signaling the start to a new day. Sunrises had once filled him with joyful anticipation. But this morning’s show left him cold and empty.

  Using his shirt as a towel, he rubbed himself dry before slipping into his pants. He sat and put on his socks and boots. With his wadded shirt in his hand, he rose to walk back to the bunkhouse. But the sight of Emmaline slipping across the yard between the washroom and the ranch house stopped him. Her flowing robe gave her the appearance of an apparition in the early-morning light. Her hair tumbled down her back, free from restraints. Even from this distance, he could make out the sweet curve of her jaw. Lord help him, he still loved her.

  He stood as if nailed in place, riveted by the sight of her, and suddenly she turned her head. He knew the instant she spotted him. Her body froze midstep; only her gown moved, gently swaying in the light breeze. For long seconds they both stood still, their gazes pinned to each other. And when she began moving again, Geoffrey’s heart fired into his throat. Because she walked toward him.

  A part of him wanted to walk away from her, but that would be the coward’s way out. It was best they settle things now, early, without Jim and Chris looking on. So he squared his shoulders and waited until she stood less than six feet from him. With her hair loose around her shoulders, she looked very young and innocent, and he tightened his fists around his crumpled shirt to keep from reaching for her.

  “Geoffrey.” The single word served as both greeting and query.

  He made no reply.

  “You were wrong last night.”

  The image of her with Chris filled his mind. He drew a deep breath through his nose and clenched his jaw. “I know what I saw.”

  “What you saw,” she said, her voice low but intense, “was me offering comfort to Chris. He was distraught, and I was trying to calm him.”

  “Distraught.” Geoffrey barked the word. It described his feelings last night, as well.

  “Jim was bitten by a rattlesnake.”

  Geoffrey drew back as if it were he who had been bitten.

  “Chris took him into Stetler and left him in the doctor’s care. But he was worried about losing his brother. When you came in, I was praying with him.”

  Geoffrey’s knees nearly buckled as several thoughts flooded his mind. Jim hurt . . . Chris in need of comfort . . . Emmaline innocent, praying . . .

  Emmaline continued, “I realize I have given you reason to distrust me after I ran away. But I have tried to set things right. I have remained on the ranch. I have learned to perform the duties you required of me. Yet you still do not trust me. And, Geoffrey—” Her voice broke. “I cannot stay in a place where I am not trusted. I cannot stay with a person whom I do not trust. . . .”

  Her pained admission cut deeper than last night’s angry outburst. He wished she would call him names, accuse him of being unfeeling, anything that might absolve him of the shame that now sat firmly on his shoulders. “Emmaline, I—”

  “I will stay until spring because—as my father has so often preached—a Bradford honors his word, and I dare not break our commitment lest you choose to discontinue your business relationship with my father. But then I must leave, Geoffrey. I will not allow you to hurt me like this again.”

  Without giving him a chance to respond, she turned and fled, her long hair rippling like a banner behind her. The sun, creeping over the horizon, lit the fiery strands of red in her flowing locks.

  Geoffrey closed his eyes against the sight before it caused his heart to break.

  Emmaline sealed herself in the house and leaned against the sturdy door, breathing hard. Had she really just told Geoffrey she unequivocally would not be staying? How had she found the strength?

  When she spotted him standing, shirtless, in the dawn’s soft light, the taut muscles in his chest had seemed to invite her to press her palms to his uncovered flesh. The feelings that swept over her in those moments had nearly dissolved her into a puddle on the ground. For brief seconds she had forgotten his harsh words, forgotten the pain he had caused, forgotten everything except . . . desire to be held in his arms.

  The intense reaction had both frightened and thrilled her. And convinced her that she did, indeed, love Geoffrey. Why else would she be willing to toss aside her indignation in return for his embrace? She must protect her heart from further pain. She must hold herself aloof from Geoffrey. If she did not, she would never be able to leave him in the spring.

  “God, help me . . .” She closed her eyes, her chin trembling. “Help me do what’s right.”

  The brief prayer stilled her racing heart, and she returned to her room to dress for the day. She lifted one of her familiar black dresses from a hook and then paused, holding it at arm’s length. How she wished to wear something other than these dreary black dresses. But there was no other choice unless she asked for assistance. With a sigh, she slipped the dress over her head and fastened the buttons.

  After fashioning her hair into its familiar knot, she made her way to the kitchen and lit a fire in the stove. As she reached to lift a skillet from the shelf, a light knock sounded on the door. Nervous trepidation trickled through her at the thought of facing Geoffrey again so soon. She drew a deep breath and opened the door, then nearly sagged with relief. Chris stood on the stoop, a sheepish expression on his face.

  “Chris . . .” As the name left her lips, discomfort assailed her. She hoped her face didn’t reflect the awkwardness she now felt in his presence. It angered her that Geoffrey’s unjust accusations could so adversely affect her reaction to this faultless man. “Please, come in.”

  “I had better wait for Mr. Garrett.” He held his hat against his middle with one hand, but he extended the other hand toward her. A square paper packet rested on his open palm. “I found this out in the yard. Is it yours?”

  Emmaline stepped forward and took the packet. When she saw what was printed on it, she gasped. “Flower seeds—daisies! Oh, how bright and cheerful their faces look!” Tears pricked her eyes. “Thank you!”

  He tipped his head, pointing with his chin. “I found it lying out alongside the fence. There was a second one, too, but it had broken open and the seeds were gone. I threw it away.”

  Emmaline clutched the seed packet to her chest. “I shall so enjoy seeing these bloom next spring!” Immediately, her heart fell. She wouldn’t be here next spring. . . .

  Chris cleared his throat and shuffled in place. “I plan to go into town this morning and check on Jim. I know Jim went to the general store not long ago and brought back supplies, but I thought to check if there was anything you need.”

  Emmaline fingered her skirt. She had adequate food stores, canning jars, and even a beautiful porcelain figurine for the mantel. And now flower seeds! The only things she truly needed were dresses that buttoned up the front. Preferably in a color other than black. She sucked her lower lip, wondering if she dared ask Chris to choose something for her. But how else would she add to her wardrobe?

  “Do you know . . . are there ready-made dresses available in Stetler?”

  Chris scratched his head. “There are work trousers and shirts at the dry goods store. I’ve never had reason to look for dresses”— a grimace twisted his lips—“but if they have other ready-made clothes, it seems possible that they would have dresses, too.”

  Emmaline started to ask if he would take one of her dresses from the closet with him and try to find something similar in size only with buttons up the front, but she caught a movement from the corner of her eye. Geoffrey, now fully clothed with his shirt buttoned properly to the neck, strode toward them. She clamped her lips shut, and Chris took a step backward, putting at
least four feet between them.

  Geoffrey’s steps slowed as he approached, his shoulders tensing. His gaze flitted sideways, across the ravaged garden, and then returned. The air seemed to crackle with tension when he stopped at the edge of the stoop. “Good morning, Emmaline . . . Chris.”

  Chris nodded, his eyes downcast.

  Emmaline tilted her head in reply.

  “I presume . . .” Geoffrey’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “I presume you will want to go to town and see Jim this morning.”

  Chris peered sideways at his boss. “Yes, sir, I would.” His respectful words conflicted with the resentful undertone.

  Geoffrey stared at Chris for a long moment, his brow puckered. “Would you take Emmaline with you?”

  Emmaline’s chin jerked upward, her eyes flying wide at this unexpected query.

  “I am sure she would like to assure herself that Jim is being well cared for.”

  His willingness to let her leave the ranch with Chris was surely meant to serve as an apology. But she could not forgive him. She could not risk her heart again. Swallowing the lump of regret that choked her, she said, “I would like to check on Jim, and I would also like to . . . to make a purchase, if I may.”

  It occurred to her that she had no money. She would not use the dowry money, hidden safely in the barn. If she were to make any purchases, Geoffrey would need to make the payment. But would he?

  Geoffrey looked into her face, his expression unreadable, while Chris dug his toe in the dirt and two birds scolded each other from the roof of the springhouse. At last a sigh heaved from his chest, and he raised his head in a single nod. “You may purchase whatever you need and add it to my account.”

  A thank-you formed on her tongue, but she held it back. Expressing gratitude would bind her to him once more. As his housekeeper, she deserved something more than room and board. She would accept the dress in lieu of a salary. Turning to Chris, she said, “Would you like to leave immediately, or would you like to eat breakfast first?”