“Mama?”
She had to give an answer and went to her daughters. She knelt at their side. “Remember how we prayed that God would take care of us? I told you we could trust Him to provide. Well, I believe He sent Mr. Blue in answer to our prayer. So, yes, he’s a blessing, and we should thank God for him.”
Libby knelt and grabbed Clara’s hand and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Libby, what are you doing?”
The child cracked one eye open. “You said we should thank God.”
Here? Now? Right in front of Blue? Grateful she had her back to him and couldn’t see his reaction, Clara closed her eyes. “Father God, You promised to always guide and direct us and provide our needs. Thank You for sending Mr. Blue for that purpose. Amen.”
She thought that would be enough, but Libby said, “I want to pray, too.” And she did. “Dear God, I know You are big and mighty and can do anything, but it’s nice You gave us someone with arms to hug us and hold us. I like Mr. Blue’s arms. Amen.”
“My turn,” Eleanor said. “Dear God, I don’t know where we’re going. Mama won’t say. But maybe this is where. I’d sure like that. Amen. Oh, yes, don’t forget what we asked for Christmas.”
Clara remained where she was, stunned by what the girls had revealed. Asking God for Christmas gifts was bad enough. Hadn’t she taught them to trust God for their needs? In their small minds, she reasoned, Christmas was a need. But asking God to let them stay here? And thanking Him for Blue’s arms? What had she gotten them into?
She pushed to her feet, but she couldn’t bring herself to look directly at Blue as she spoke. “I’m sure that was very awkward for you, but they’re just innocent little girls. I’ve tried to shield them from the harsh realities of life.”
“Like you say, they’re innocent children.” His voice was gravelly. Did that mean he was touched or hurt? She didn’t think she cared for either.
“Shall we get to work?” he said.
She was only too happy to comply.
The awkwardness between them made her movements jerky. After a few failed attempts at trying to plane a piece of wood, she gave up and circled the room, imagining the place full of worshippers. She glanced out each window, went into the entryway that would eventually be a separate room and tried not to think how pleasant it would be to be part of a small congregation where everyone had had a hand in making the church possible.
Would there be a church at Fort Calgary? Surely there would be some place of worship. After all, there were people there.
She returned to the sawhorses where Blue had placed a piece of wood and helped him measure and then measure again. Her mind wandered, and Blue grunted.
“We’ll have to measure it again.”
“Sorry.” She placed the end of the tape where it needed to be, but Blue didn’t pull his end taut.
She wouldn’t lift her face to see what caused his delay.
“Clara, I don’t know why you let what the girls said bother you. You and I both know you are only here until your plans—whatever they are—materialize.”
She sighed softly. “But they prayed. How can I fail them?”
“Seems to me they prayed to God. Doesn’t that make it His responsibility to answer as He sees fit? Not yours?”
She jerked her gaze to his. He considered her with steady gray eyes, silently challenging her.
“Why, Blue, I do believe you have given me a one-minute sermon.” She grinned. “A very timely one, too.”
He lifted one shoulder in a self-mocking gesture. “Just saying it how I see it.”
He was right. God would have to answer the girls’ prayers. But she’d remind them they weren’t staying in Edendale and that Christmas this year would not be like their previous ones.
She did so later when they were in their little shack and the girls were ready for bed.
The girls just exchanged secretive looks when she mentioned Christmas, but when she reminded them they weren’t staying here, they faced her with demanding eyes.
“But, Mama.” Eleanor wasn’t the one who usually challenged Clara. “How do you know this isn’t where God wants us to be?”
“I just know.”
“We have to cross the Red Sea yet,” Libby said.
Clara shook her head. Her seven-year-old came up with some strange conceptions. “We won’t cross the Red Sea.”
“Oh. Then what? We gots to see God part the waters.”
“We need God to provide a stagecoach and some fast horses,” Clara corrected her child.
Both girls assumed stubborn looks.
“I don’t want to leave.” Eleanor scooted into her bedding and turned her back to Clara.
“You always knew we weren’t staying here.”
“Why not?” Libby demanded. “Isn’t it a nice place?”
“It is.” But it didn’t feel far enough away from Father. Eight days of hard riding would bring him or some hireling of his from Fort Macleod. Eight days was not far enough. Ten days likely wasn’t, either. Maybe she’d continue moving north.
But she didn’t want to keep running. She wanted to make a home for herself and the girls. A safe home. She added her prayers to those of the girls. God, lead us to a safe place, and, please, could You make it in time for Christmas so the girls won’t be disappointed? She dared not ask for anything more though she longed for Eleanor and Libby to have a memorable Christmas.
Chapter Seven
Blue wandered about the darkened church interior. The day had been an emotional quagmire.
He rubbed a spot in the middle of his chest. Little Miss Libby liked him holding her, did she? And Eleanor wanted to stay here.
They were just the silly wishes of innocent children, he reminded himself. The Westons would leave. Everyone knew it. Everyone expected it. And they would disappear from his memory as if they had never entered his life.
Unlike his own family whom he had expected to be permanent.
He rubbed his breastbone trying to ease the pain centered there. He’d told Clara about Alice and the children. Something he’d vowed he’d never bring up in his thoughts, let alone in conversation.
She’d questioned him. But he didn’t have to answer her questions. So why had he? He couldn’t say. Any more than he could say if he appreciated or resented having told her.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil for Thou art with me. Thy rod and staff, they comfort me.
He hadn’t given the words any thought since the funeral service when he’d bitterly dismissed them.
What did he fear? That was easy—the memories and the pain.
Was God with him even though he didn’t feel Him? Sort of like Blue had been with Beau when he learned to walk.
Fiercely independent, the boy would accept no help, so Blue hovered at his back, holding to his shirt so he wouldn’t fall facedown on the rough ground.
Because Beau couldn’t see Blue he thought he managed on his own.
Was it like that with God? Was God guiding Blue’s steps even when he didn’t believe it?
Maybe someday he would be ready to believe again.
Someday.
In the meantime, he would finish up the pews and get back to the ranch. He’d ask Eddie to let him be the one to check the cows grazing on the lower pastures. He’d get back to forgetting about his past.
Another week should see him done.
He lit the lamp, throwing a patch of light into the room, sat on one of the pews and opened his book. But he couldn’t get his eyes to follow the line of print.
He pursed his lips. For the next week all he had to do was concentrate on the work and avoid Clara and the girls as much as possible—which might prove a bit of a challenge since they spent their days helping him and took meals at the same table.
But he’d had plenty of practice at pulling his thoughts away from others and what they were doing. He knew he could do it again.
The next morning he managed to
eat breakfast without looking directly at Clara, managed to respond to Libby’s cheerfulness without thinking about her sweetness. He even managed to give Eleanor a reassuring smile when she looked at him with her face wreathed in worry. He did well throughout breakfast, then hurried to the church.
Soon Clara and the girls would join him; then he’d get to see if he was as good at keeping his thoughts under control as he thought he was.
“Good morning,” Clara called, and the girls echoed her greeting, smiling at him so sweetly his resolve wavered.
“Morning.” It entered his mind to warn them he meant to keep their activity focused entirely on the job at hand but the words never reached his mouth.
While Clara hung up her coat, the girls grabbed his buckets.
“We’ll fill them to the top,” Eleanor informed him as they went outside.
Clara took the planer and set to work on pieces they had cut yesterday.
He turned his back to her as he measured another piece of wood.
“Is the weather always so pleasant this time of year?” she asked, which brought a chuckle to his throat.
“Last winter we got an early snowfall that buried some of the cows up to their bellies. If Eddie wasn’t so conscientious about bringing them down to lower pastures for the winter, he might have incurred heavy losses. Some of the other ranches weren’t as fortunate.” Realizing he had turned to talk to her, and had said far more than a man who meant to shut himself off from others would, he clamped his mouth closed and turned back to the wood. He had only measured once, but it was enough this time. He sawed, making further conversation impossible.
Not that it deterred Clara. She waited until he was done. “I suppose as long as the snow holds off travel is possible.”
“I suppose so. Though it depends where you mean to travel.” He shifted enough that he could watch her.
She shrugged. “I’m just making conversation.”
He knew it was more than that, but she said no more and bent over her work.
“I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”
She smiled at him. “I should. You’re the one who taught me.”
He wasn’t talking about the woodworking and guessed she knew that as well as he. “I haven’t taught you everything.”
Their gazes fused. His perhaps a little challenging and a touch regretful. Hers full of resistance.
“I think we are more alike than you know,” she said after some length.
“Alike? In what way?”
She lowered her eyes, freeing him to gather his thoughts. Yet he found it impossible to sort out the confusion that accompanied his conversations with her. Shouldn’t he be in more control of his words and feelings when she was in the room? Shouldn’t he be less ready to enter into conversation with her? Shouldn’t he be able to remember that he meant to keep his memories locked away?
“I think we are both trying to outrun something.” Her words were so soft he barely heard them.
He recalled something she had said. “In your case, not something but someone? Perhaps your father?”
She did not answer him.
“What did he do?” Had he tried to influence her decisions? He could see her taking objection to such.
She kept her head down and didn’t say a thing.
The girls clattered in with buckets full of snow, their coats unbuttoned and their hats hanging down their back. Seemed the sun had grown warm as they worked.
“We filled them to the top, Mr. Blue,” Eleanor said. “Aren’t you glad we’re here to help?”
“You are indeed a great help.” Hopefully she wouldn’t notice he hadn’t truly answered her question. Because he couldn’t bring himself to say he wasn’t glad of their presence, nor could he allow himself to confess he was. Not even to himself. The boundaries of his life were threatened by a stampede of smiles and hugs and admiring glances from two little girls. Even as the barriers of his heart were threatened by their stubborn mother.
Oh, for the peace of a mountain cabin and the company of nothing but cows and horses and the occasional crow.
Libby stood before him, her head tipped up as she regarded him curiously. “Mr. Blue, is Blue really your name?”
He nodded. He’d surely heard that question before.
“Why did your mama and papa call you that?”
“Libby!” Clara sounded shocked at her little daughter. “You know better than to ask personal questions.”
“No, I don’t.”
Blue laughed despite himself. “It’s okay. She’s not the first to wonder.” He dipped his head toward Libby. “See my hair? What color is it?”
Libby trailed her fingers through his hair, sending waves of crashing memories through him. Nancy had done the same as she’d said, “Papa, you and I are just the same.” She’d meant their hair, but her comment had always made him laugh.
“Maybe not exactly.” He and Alice had shared a look and a smile at Nancy’s innocence.
Libby pondered a moment before she answered. “It’s kind of reddish. Sort of sandy red. Right, El’nor?”
Eleanor nodded, her expression eager.
Blue straightened. “It’s red, and I don’t mind if you say so. Well, when I was born, my papa saw my red hair and said he didn’t want a son called Red, so he would name me Blue.”
Libby tipped her head. “Why didn’t he call you Yellow? I like yellow. It’s my favorite color.”
“You never call a man yellow.” He pretended to be shocked. Some men would take objection to even an innocent child using that term to describe them. Best she know that.
“Why not?”
“Because it means he’s afraid.”
“Scared?” she asked.
He nodded, and both girls giggled as they hurried away to the corner where they had bits of wood and shavings arranged in another play stage.
He shook his head. He remembered how little girls could get giggles over the silliest things.
Clara regarded him with eyes far too wide. “Blue, huh? And I thought it was a nickname.” She ducked her head, but if he wasn’t mistaken, her shoulders shook.
“Are you laughing at me?”
She shook her head and stifled her amusement. “Just at your poor father worrying about you being called Red.”
He grinned. “Actually, he was more concerned I’d be called Pinkie.”
She burst out in laughter. It echoed inside his heart, touching chords long silent, thrumming them to life.
He leaned back and let chuckles roll from his chest.
Their gazes caught and held. Slowly, their laughter ended, yet they continued to stare at each other. Her eyes darkened to dusky blue. Her look went beyond the surface and probed at his deepest thoughts and feelings, resurrecting yearnings he had buried when Alice and the children had died.
He reminded himself of that day. Of how he had vowed he would never again care that deeply for anyone.
Yet the reminder did not give him the strength to pull from her look.
It was Clara who broke away first. She stared at the planer in her hands, but she did not move it. Perhaps she was as stunned by the intense moment as he was.
*
Clara stared at her idle hands. For the life of her, she couldn’t think what to do with them. Why had she let herself be pulled into his gaze? Why had she allowed it to go on and on as if she’d wanted to learn his deepest thoughts and feelings? Had she forgotten her goal—to be free of a man’s control? She could trust no man.
Not that he was offering her anything but a temporary job.
Her thoughts righted, and she almost laughed as she realized she had overreacted to an unguarded moment. Nothing more.
All she had to do was get through the next few days until the stagecoach came again. It meant working at the church in order to pay for her meals, but she’d be sure to permit no more unguarded moments.
A noisy conveyance rattled by. She rushed to the window with a street view, hoping against hope that
Petey had returned with the stagecoach. But it was only a couple of men in a wagon who pulled up to Macpherson’s store and went inside.
With a quiet sigh she turned away from the window. She felt Blue watching her. No doubt he was curious why she’d hurried to the window, who she thought would come to rescue her.
She clenched her teeth. She didn’t need rescuing. All she needed was a way out of this town and to Fort Calgary.
For the rest of the day she asked no more questions. She managed to keep the girls occupied so they didn’t come up with anything unexpected.
It proved exhausting, and by the time they returned to the Mortons’ for supper, she could barely put one foot in front of the other. The girls seemed subdued, as well, and for that, she felt regret.
She hadn’t meant to dampen their spirits.
Later, as she prepared the girls for bed, Eleanor turned to her. “Mama, why are you angry at Mr. Blue?”
“What makes you think I am?”
“You wouldn’t talk to him all day, and when we wanted to, you shooed us away. Are you mad at us?” Eleanor’s bottom lip quivered, and Libby’s eyes filled with tears.
Clara’s heart burned within her. She had inadvertently hurt her precious daughters. She sat between the girls on their bedding and pulled them to her sides. “I wasn’t angry at you or at Mr. Blue. I was only concerned that both of you are acting like this is where we’re going to stay. You know it’s not.”
“But why not?” Eleanor demanded.
“Because I have other plans.”
“Can’t you change your plans?” Libby begged, her eyes pleading. “All we want for Christmas is a—”
“Libby!” Eleanor’s warning stopped her sister before she could complete her thought.
“What is it you want?” Clara asked. “Perhaps I can help you get it.” Though her resources were limited, God’s, she reminded herself, were not. He owned the cattle on a thousand hills. Nothing was too hard for Him.
Love Inspired Historical October 2015 Box Set Page 75
