A Promise for Spring

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Chris shrugged. “I’m not hungry. And the earlier we leave, the sooner I can return to work.” His gaze skipped briefly to Geoffrey. “It isn’t easy taking care of everything alone, so I will come back and help.”

  Geoffrey stepped forward. “Go ahead, Chris. I can handle things for as long as I need to. You take care of your brother—and tell him I . . .” He blew out a breath, shaking his head. “I’m sorry he was hurt.”

  Chris gave a formal nod. “I’ll tell him, Mr. Garrett.” He turned to Emmaline. “After I hitch the team, I’ll collect you.”

  “I shall be ready.”

  TWENTY - FOUR

  EMM ALINE STOOD BEFORE the free-standing oval mirror in the corner of the mercantile and examined her reflection. Although it might be considered prideful to scrutinize oneself, she had a difficult time tearing her gaze away.

  She hadn’t glimpsed her own reflection in so long. The person peering back at her from the glass seemed a stranger in many ways. Her once-creamy skin now bore a brown tint; her always slender frame had become trimmed and toned, no doubt the result of hard work. The simple hairstyle, coupled with the unadorned dress of yellow cotton scattered with lavender pansies, added years to her appearance. Had she imagined looking so homely after only a few months on the prairie, she might have fought harder to remain in England. But now, she realized, her outward appearance mattered much less than it had in previous years. Meeting her own steady gaze, she saw a maturity, a strength of will, and a confidence that had been sorely lacking when she looked in the mirror before she came to Kansas. Surely those attributes would serve a useful purpose in the future . . . even if that future took her back to England.

  “Does the dress fit?” The storekeeper peeked through the curtain that served as a barrier between the main part of the store and the dressing area. Her thin lips pursed as she moved behind Emmaline and tugged at the shoulders and waist of the frock. “It isn’t snug-fitting, but that’s best for a work dress. You need freedom of movement.” Her eyes met Emmaline’s in the mirror. “Will this one do?”

  Emmaline nodded. “This one, and that.” She pointed to a dress of deep green with tiny pink roses, which lay over the arm of a chair. The dresses possessed identical, simple styling with straight sleeves, a smooth bodice with a row of utilitarian white buttons marching from the waist to the rounded neckline, and a full skirt. They would serve nicely as work dresses.

  Reaching to unfasten the buttons on the yellow dress, she added, “But I should also like a dress appropriate for Sunday service. Do you have something with a bit of lace, or with a puffed sleeve?”

  The woman pressed her finger to her chin for a moment. Then she brightened. “Wait right here.” The curtains swished as she dashed between the panels.

  Emmaline slipped out of the dress and stood in her cotton chemise and bloomers. The storekeeper returned with a large box in her broomstick arms. She beamed as she set the box on the chair and lifted the lid. “This arrived in a shipment from the East. I considered sending it back—most of the women here prefer simpler styles—but it was so pretty . . . I hoped the right buyer might come along.”

  She pushed aside tissue paper and removed a gown of deep brown bearing half-dollar-sized flowers the color of a mushroom. Each flower petal was edged with gold, giving the dress elegance. Emmaline gasped at the sight of it.

  Giving the dress a shake by the shoulders, the shopkeeper held it toward Emmaline. “It is lovely, isn’t it?”

  “Oh my, yes . . .” Emmaline fingered one sleeve as she took in the delicate creamy lace at the neckline and wrists, and the ruffled skirt. How often she had bemoaned the dismal brown of the landscape—brown dirt, brown grass, brown buildings—and longed for color. Yet, this gown made the color seem refined rather than austere.

  The woman flipped the dress around. “It is actually a skirt and blouse, but the waistband of the skirt buttons to the underside of the blouse, giving it the appearance of one piece as well as an hourglass shape.” Another quick flip showed the back. “And the blouse has an attached bustle. With the double row of ruffles at the bottom of the skirt, this dress is meant to garner attention.” Smiling, she asked, “Would you like to try it on?”

  “Oh yes!” To Emmaline’s delight, the blouse, which hung several inches below the hips, buttoned from the high, lace-graced neckline to the waist in the front, making it possible for her to dress herself with ease. When she fastened the last carved wooden button, she clasped her hands beneath her chin and beamed at her reflection.

  The shopkeeper nodded, her eyes wide. “Why, it seems to have been tailored for you! You must have this dress, Miss Bradford.”

  Emmaline completely approved of the idea. “What is the price?”

  The amount made Emmaline cringe. In England, she would have given no thought to spending such an extravagant sum on a single gown. But somehow, in Kansas, it seemed foolhardy. She bit her lower lip, vacillating. What would Geoffrey say?

  The shopkeeper folded her arms over her chest and raised one eyebrow. “I may regret this, but I shall sell the dress to you at my cost. As I said, I considered sending it back, and that would cost me shipping expenses. If I let you have it at my cost, at least I haven’t lost any money.”

  Emmaline gaped in amazement. “Are you quite sure?”

  A soft smile formed on the older woman’s face. “I am very sure, my dear. As I said, it’s as if it were made for you. And with a new hat—I have the perfect felt sailor hat in deep brown with a cream-colored ribbon around the crown—you’ll be the talk of the town!”

  Emmaline was not sure she wanted to be the talk of the town. Besides, a hat was not a necessity. Dresses were. Pushing aside the desire to complete the outfit with the felt sailor hat, she said, “I shall take the dress, but I will make do with my straw bonnet. Thank you.”

  The woman’s face fell for a moment, but then she shrugged. “Very well. If you change your mind, and the hat sells to someone else, I can always order another. I’ll leave you to change.”

  “I believe,” Emmaline said with a grin twitching her cheeks, “I shall remain in this garment.” She wrinkled her nose as she looked at the discarded black dress. “I have no desire to wear that again.”

  The woman laughed and picked up the two work dresses. “I will put the total on Mr. Garrett’s account.”

  “Thank you.”

  When Emmaline stepped out from behind the curtain, her gaze drifted around the store. A row of books on one shelf captured her attention. Although an avid reader at home, she’d had little time to read since arriving in Kansas. But with winter coming, perhaps she would have more free time. Curious as to what books were available, she crossed to the shelf. A surprisingly intriguing assortment awaited purchase.

  She ran her finger along the spines, reading the titles. The Earthly Paradise by William Morris; Jules Verne’s Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea; several of Dickens’ works; The Holy Bible . . . Her heart gave a leap. As a child, she’d had a Bible she carried to chapel, but she’d left it back in England. Slipping the Bible from the shelf, she laid it in her palms. It fell open where a slim red ribbon served as a bookmark. She read, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want . . .”

  How appropriate the words were, considering she lived on a sheep ranch. Hurrying to the counter, she handed the Bible to the saleswoman. “Please add this to Mr. Garrett’s tab, as well.”

  Emmaline left the store with a sizable box under her arm and a bounce in her step. Chris had indicated he would remain at the doctor’s office until she had completed her shopping, so she crossed the street to the square, two-story building that housed the doctor’s office and his living quarters.

  When she entered, she found Chris sitting on a short bench in the waiting room. His elbows rested on his knees, and his head hung low. At the click of the door latch, he looked up, and immediately he bolted to his feet.

  “Miss Emmaline!” He rose, snatching his hat from his head. “You . . . you found a new
dress.”

  Emmaline didn’t need to ask to know that Chris found the new frock fetching. She touched the lacy collar with her fingertips and released a self-conscious laugh. “Yes. Actually, I found three. Geoffrey may not allow me to go to town untended again.”

  Chris chuckled but then sobered. “I have been watching for you. Jim asked for you.”

  She stepped forward and dropped the box on the bench. “Where is he?”

  “Upstairs, in the doc’s back bedroom. I’ll show you.” He waved to indicate the direction, then he followed her up an enclosed staircase that opened into a hallway. “The second room on the right.”

  A heavy, medicinal smell hung in the air when Emmaline entered Jim’s room, and she battled the desire to cover her nose. She crossed to the tall, narrow bed where Jim lay uncovered. His bare, hairy legs and feet stuck out from beneath the hem of a cotton nightshirt. The swelling from the bite had not dissipated. His left foot was twice its normal size, the skin raw and blistered. Repulsed by the sight, she turned quickly away and touched his cheek. “Jim?”

  His dry lips parted, and his eyes opened. A lopsided grin climbed one cheek when he saw her. “Miss Emmaline . . . you came.”

  The rasped, simple sentence was so different from his normal exuberance. She could scarcely believe she’d once found his incessant chatter tiresome. From now on, she would cheerfully listen to every lengthy discourse. “Of course I came,” she replied. “How are you?”

  He grimaced, his eyes scrunching shut. “Hurt . . . all over.”

  Emmaline scowled at Chris. “Is that normal? Should the pain not be limited to the extremity that was bitten?”

  Chris shook his head. “The poison gets into the blood, and that’s what has made him sick.”

  “Can the doctor not remedy this?” Jim’s suffering brought tears to her eyes. She stroked his hot, dry cheek. “There must be something more that can be done. . . .”

  Jim caught Emmaline’s wrist with a weak grip. “Miss Emmaline . . . the figurine—is it still on the mantel?”

  Leaning down, Emmaline pressed her cheek briefly to his.

  “Of course it is. That is why you bought it, did you not? So it is there—and it looks beautiful.”

  “So you like it?”

  “I treasure it.”

  “Then . . . that means you like me?”

  Tears flooded her eyes. Emmaline cupped her hand over his. “Yes, I like you, Jim. Very much.”

  “So . . . will you be . . . my girl?”

  She sent Chris a startled look. Chris raised his shoulders in a helpless shrug. Turning back to Jim, she sought words that would be forthright but sensitive. “I . . . I think you should concentrate on getting well. Let us save that topic for another day.”

  “No-ooo.” His fingers clutched her wrist. “Tell me, Miss Emmaline. I . . . I have money. I can buy you . . . figurines . . . and more fancy dresses.” His fever-brightened eyes widened. “You look . . . so pretty. I knew you would . . .”

  Gently, Emmaline peeled his fingers from her wrist and placed his hand on the mattress. “You must rest, Jim.”

  The boy thrashed in agitation for a few moments, mumbling, but then, to Emmaline’s relief, he lapsed into sleep. She gazed down at his inert form, regret bowing her shoulders. How long had Jim viewed her as a potential sweetheart? Maybe she should have heeded Geoffrey’s warnings and not spent so much time with Jim.

  With a sigh, she turned to Chris. “I . . . I did not know what to say to him.”

  Chris offered a sad smile. “Lying to him won’t do him any good.” He crossed to the bed and gazed down at Jim, sympathy in his eyes. “Poor bloke—he’s so smitten he can’t see you only have eyes for Mr. Garrett.”

  Emmaline drew back, her fingers flying to her neck. She could feel her pulse beneath her fingertips. “I . . . I . . .”

  “You don’t need to deny it for Jim’s sake, Miss Emmaline.” Chris tugged a blanket up over his brother’s frame. “Everything you’ve done at the ranch? I can’t think of another fine lady from England who would have been willing to take over the tasks you have.” Facing her, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Mr. Garrett said you were different. Special. Worth waiting for. And he was right.” He lowered his head and chuckled as if remembering a private joke. “I have to admit, had it been me separated from my intended for five years, I would have moved on to someone else. Most every man I know would have moved on. And it isn’t as though a few ladies from town didn’t encourage him to.”

  Fixing his gaze on Emmaline, he finished softly. “But I guess you aren’t the only one who is different. Mr. Garrett is different, too. He held on to you—he is still holding on.”

  From downstairs, a clock chimed, its resounding bong counting out the hour. Chris scowled. “It’s late. We need to get back to the ranch.”

  Emmaline followed him out the door, but her mind was on the words he’d just spoken.

  TWENTY - FIVE

  AS SOON AS Chris helped Emmaline down from the wagon, she headed to her sleeping room and changed out of the fancy brown dress into the yellow work dress. The eleven o’clock hour had passed, and the men would be in soon for lunch. Given the time constraints, she chose to fry slices of salt pork and open some canned beans. If she also baked a pan of corn bread, the men would have enough to fill their stomachs.

  As she set the plates at three chairs, she thought about the pleasant picnics she had shared with Jim and Chris on the porch. Maybe she should carry the dishes outside . . . but no, it wouldn’t be the same without Jim’s chatter. Besides, picnicking had been Jim’s idea; picnicking without him seemed cruel in a way she couldn’t define.

  A scuffling sound at the door let her know the men had arrived for lunch. Lifting the skillet from the stove, she glanced toward the doorway. “I prepared a simple lunch, but—”

  Geoffrey entered the kitchen. Alone.

  Her lips trembled. “W-where is Chris?”

  “I asked Chris to stay with the sheep while I ate. I do not like leaving them in the far pasture untended. When I go back, he can come in.”

  “Oh. Well . . .” With shaking hands, she set the skillet in the center of the table and reached for the bean pot. If only Chris were here, too! Why did Geoffrey’s presence make her want to flee? The next months would be agony if she could not set aside the self-conscious prickles that assaulted her whenever he was around. “J-just sit down,” she told him. “I . . . I neglected to get butter from the springhouse. I shall be right back.”

  Lifting her skirts, she walked toward the door. But Geoffrey didn’t step aside, and she came to an abrupt halt. She stared at the top button of his shirt and waited for him to move. His Adam’s apple bobbed in a swallow, shifting the button slightly.

  “I like your dress.”

  She fussed with the skirt. “Th-thank you.”

  “I am glad to see you have recovered from the loss of your uncle.”

  What did he mean by that? Had he thought she was wearing the black dresses as a sign of mourning? Truthfully, after the initial shock of Uncle Hedrick’s unexpected passing, she hadn’t thought much about her great-uncle. They had never been close.

  Geoffrey’s approving gaze swept from her neckline to her toes and back again. “Your mother understood the necessity for simple attire on the plains. It is an excellent choice.”

  She had more than one misconception to clarify. Pressing her hands to her stomach, she said, “Mother did not send this dress. I bought it today in the Stetler mercantile.”

  Geoffrey’s brows dipped slightly.

  “Actually, I bought three. Two work dresses and one for Sunday. I . . . I needed them.” But how to explain why they were needed when he had seen her trunk full of frocks? “I also bought a Bible. I hope you find that satisfactory.” Heat seared her face while she awaited his response.

  “If you wanted to read the Bible, you could have borrowed mine.”

  Was he upset with her for making the purchase or was he merely off
ering to share with her? She could not tell by his tone or expression. “If I take yours, you will not have one to read. I believe it is better to have my own. But if you feel it is an unnecessary expense, you may return it.”

  Instead of replying, he slipped his fingers into his shirt pocket. When he withdrew his hand, he held a wilted lavender bloom. “I found this in the pasture. It matches the flowers on your dress.”

  Tears sprang into Emmaline’s eyes. Blinking rapidly, she pointed to the counter. “P-please lay it there. I must get the butter.” She dashed past him before he could speak another word.

  In the springhouse, she pressed her palms to her hot cheeks and closed her eyes. A fervent prayer rose from the depths of her soul. Not now. Please don’t let him give me flowers now. Not when I’m determined to leave in the spring!

  But it was too late. The image of that sweet little bloom, cradled in the palm of his hand, was permanently etched in her mind.

  Geoffrey walked amongst the sheep, having sent Chris to the house for lunch, but Emmaline filled his thoughts. If he’d previously managed to squelch any of his feelings for her, they’d been immediately reignited by her appearance in that pretty yellow dress—the color of sunshine.

  The contented bleats uttered by the sheep at rest, normally soothing no matter what troubled his mind, did little to settle his rambling thoughts. Her mention of needing her own Bible so she wouldn’t take his had provoked an odd feeling. Emptiness, maybe it was. When had he last opened his Bible and sought peace and guidance from God’s Word? In most of his years building this ranch, he had rarely gone more than a day without reading Scripture. Sometimes it was only a verse or two, but reading the Bible had been as much a part of his day as eating, sleeping, working. . . . But the habit had slipped away. And he didn’t know why.