Unyielding Hope (When Hope Calls Book #1)

by Janette Oke

  Lillian’s eyes flitted toward the house and back again, as if someone might have overheard his remark. “I’m not sure where to put them, and I know you need to leave. You must be anxious to get back to your own work.”

  “The barn?”

  He was standing so close Lillian felt a prickle of nervousness on her neck. She felt her cheeks pulled into an unbidden and awkward smile. “The barn would be fine. I can find—find a tarp to cover them.”

  “I’ll drive up there so we can unload without bein’ seen.”

  Walking quickly to stay ahead of his car, it took all of Lillian’s strength to push open the rolling barn door. She stepped aside so that the car could slip in next to her.

  The fall sun angled sharply through the barn windows, highlighting sparkles of dust that their haste had sent into the air. Lillian scanned around for a place where the gifts could be stored. She grasped at a tarp resting partially under a crate. It refused to move.

  Walter exited his vehicle and rushed to help. He shifted the crate first, then drew the tarp away. Dust flew in all directions. “This’ll work. Where do you want the boxes?”

  “Hmm, I guess that corner there. It’s rather hidden, I think.”

  Turning quickly, Walter stumbled, almost tripping over Miss Puss, her lanky body stretching out to her full-grown size. “Hey there, you’re a pretty little thing.” He scooped her up in one large hand and held her against his chest. “Are you a resident here?”

  “She just showed up when we moved in. But the children love her. I think Lemuel most of all. More and more she hides when the others come looking.” Lillian scratched at an ear. The cat was purring deeply.

  Walter passed her over to Lillian. “Best get this done. Or I’ll never hear the end of it from Maeve.” He lifted his cowboy hat from his head and dropped it instead onto Lillian’s. She laughed and watched as he unloaded several sturdy wood crates, stacking them in the corner. Lillian helped with one hand to stretch the tarp over them all.

  Walter’s eyes narrowed. “Somebody’s gonna peek. I know these kids. They’ll peek.”

  “Only if it’s so obvious it’s all just been placed there.”

  “How often do they come to the barn?”

  “The boys are out here every day—hauling wood, feeding the cat.”

  “Then we’ll need a smokescreen, something to draw their attention away from the tarped part.” Looking around, he noticed a small motor. He lifted it and carried it to the floor just in front of the new pile of boxes. “We leave this here in front and they’ll figure somebody—probably one of them—is workin’ on this motor. They’ll get distracted, right?”

  Lillian laughed, pushed his hat farther back on her head. “If you say so.”

  “Got a better idea?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well then, that’s that.” He was moving closer again, dusting his hands against his pants. There was an intensity in his eyes that troubled Lillian, and yet . . .

  “What are you doing at the ranch these days?”

  His slow words answered, “We’re makin’ things tight for winter. Movin’ the stock to a different pasture, one in a valley with better shelter from the winter winds.” But his eyes held a different message.

  Lillian chose not to acknowledge it. “Did you get Tommy’s new bulls settled in well?” She tried to remember some of the things Walter had talked about recently, but her mind was clouding.

  “Sure did. He’s pretty pleased with himself on that purchase. Likely to prove a very good investment.” He cleared his throat, looking down at her. “Lillian, do you think we could have dinner in town sometime? I’d like to have a good chance to talk for a while, especially somewhere quiet—which it never is here.”

  Her heart began to pound in her own ears like the rumble of Miss Puss’s purring. She hoped he couldn’t hear it too. “I’d like that. I might be able to go with you. I’d have to ask Grace.”

  “Lillian?” The sound of Grace’s voice calling from out in the yard burst across the quiet of the barn. She was nearing the door.

  Lillian took a large step away from Walter.

  Grace appeared. “Lillian, I’ve been . . . Oh, Walter, I didn’t realize you were still here. I’m sorry.”

  The three of them froze for a painful moment. At last he broke the silence. “We unloaded those boxes I brought from Hope Valley that we told you about. They’re under the tarp there. Well, I’d best be gettin’ back home.” Retrieving his hat from Lillian’s head, he crossed halfway to his car before glancing back again. “I’ll see you tomorrow in church. Have a good afternoon.”

  “Yes. Thank you, you too.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Gifts

  There came a snap. Not a loud snap, but in the utter quiet of the woods it pierced the air as if it were a clap of thunder. Lemuel scanned the woods ahead, felt Mr. Thompson’s touch on his shoulder, and followed his extended finger toward a small clearing to the left. That’s when he saw the deer. She was still, yet trembling. Her petite nose lifted into the air first one direction and then another. Lemuel wondered if she had a sense of their presence as well. And then, with a flash of a white tail, she disappeared deeper into the undergrowth.

  “She was beautiful,” he said in awe.

  Harrison asked, “Can’t we shoot that one? We’d ’ave meat for weeks.”

  “No, no. We’d never be able to haul it home. And I can’t put that in the back seat of my car, can I? We’ll stick with the rabbits for now.”

  They had already managed to shoot two. Several had been in their sights but had survived for another day.

  “Wait! What was that?” Mr. Thompson raised his shotgun. It was larger than the rifles he’d provided for the boys. He had brought it along in case they came upon birds. They waited in silence until a distinct call carried through the branches hanging above them. Mr. Thompson answered back, making a noise like some type of owl. Then he stood to full height, his head pivoting in all directions around them.

  “Danit’ada,” he called.

  And the answer came back. “Danit’ada.”

  “Boys, I believe I’m going to have the privilege of introducing you to my friend.”

  A youth emerged through the woods. His pants were made of leather, his shirt a dark printed fabric. His face was a different shade of skin than any Lemuel had known, and in his black, braided hair he wore a tuft of feathers. The boy smiled and waved a hand, walked quietly toward them.

  “How are you, Raymond? I’d hoped we’d find you here today.”

  “I am well.”

  Placing a hand behind Harrison’s back, the other still cradling his gun, Mr. Thompson made the introductions. “I’d like you to meet two other friends of mine. This is Lemuel, and this is Harrison. Boys, this is my friend Raymond Calling Owl.”

  “Hello,” the boys offered stiffly, self-consciously.

  “How goes your hunt?”

  Mr. Thompson laughed. “It was a modest morning. We have two rabbits. But for these boys this is their first time shooting. So I think they’ve done very well.”

  Raymond smiled in surprise but made no comment. “How are your people?”

  “My wife is well, my sons are fine. Lou went to the States to work and Jesse is still on the farm. You’re not out with your brother John today?”

  “No, he is home. He is unwell.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Mr. Thompson’s voice was filled with concern. “I do hope he’s better soon.”

  “He is sure to be. Grandfather has given him good medicine.”

  “And your family?”

  “We are well. We are ready soon for the coming winter. Running Fox says it will be long and cold. But the game is plentiful. We will be ready soon.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. We might be back sometime shortly to hunt for a deer.”

  “You’ll bring these boys?” A twinkle in his eye.

  “Yes, I hope so.”

  The boy nodded and half turned away. “I
t was good to see you, Thompson. Good hunting.”

  “Good hunting, Raymond.”

  With a wave, the boy strode away into the woods again. Lemuel and Harrison watched with wide eyes. At last Harrison spoke. “Was that an Injun?”

  “No, son. Raymond is Tsuut’ina. They’ve lived in this area since long before the rest of us came. I see him from time to time when I hunt in these hills. I’m always glad when I do. He and his family are kind and gracious.”

  “Don’t he go to school?”

  Mr. Thompson pursed his lips, the way he did when he was contemplating an answer to a difficult question. “Well, Harrison, I would welcome him if he did. Raymond’s school is on his reservation. But also,” he added, “these woods, these hills are his classroom. His elders are his teachers. They’ll prepare him well for life.”

  “Isn’t he gonna learn to read?”

  “Yes, son, I expect he’ll be educated in two languages—English and Sarcee, his own.”

  Harrison’s eyes grew large at the thought.

  “I worry about him,” Mr. Thompson said aloud, though perhaps more to himself. “I’ve heard that the population of his band is declining. I wish there were a way we could help more, but it’s difficult to interact with them—even though we’re near them here. They’ve struggled with waves of sickness—smallpox, scarlet fever—for many years now. It’s had a devastating effect on their people. Raymond and his brother John lost their mother just last year.”

  Lemuel looked toward the place where Raymond had disappeared. He wondered if he would ever see the boy again. He wondered if Raymond had known the kind of disappointments in life that had been his own lot. Perhaps they’d have a great deal in common.

  The sun had reached its zenith by the time Lemuel shot the third rabbit and Mr. Thompson announced it was time to return home. He stopped first at a fallen tree near his motorcar in order to show the boys how to dress their game. Laying the rabbits across the broad tree trunk, he produced a knife and demonstrated the process. By the time they arrived back at the house, Lemuel carried two sleek rabbits cleaned and tied together by their hind legs. Harrison held up one. Hazel screamed shrilly and Bryony fled the yard, hiding on the front porch behind Miss Grace’s skirt.

  Seemingly stifling her own look of disgust, Miss Lillian commanded, “Take them straight into the back porch—the worktable there. Miss Tilly will know what to do with them.”

  Miss Tilly laughed. “What’d ya think would happen?”

  “Oh dear, I don’t know.” Miss Lillian turned away. “I suppose that they’d shoot for a bit and come home. I wasn’t thinking of this.”

  George sprang around the boys as they crossed the yard, leaping with enthusiasm and congratulating them on their prizes. But he was also quick to add, “I drove a car! I drove Mr. Norberg’s car. An’ everybody had a ride.”

  Lemuel and Harrison traded looks of shock—with hints of jealousy. It had been a day to remember.

  After the long process of bath night, when all the children were finally tucked snugly away in bed, Lillian and Grace took time to sort through the gifts from Hope Valley in secret. They carried the boxes into the kitchen from where Walter had left them and began to spread the goods out across the table with Miss Tilly. There were seven pairs of shoes and three pairs of sturdy boots. There were four lovely dresses for the girls, and crisp cotton shirts and durable trousers for the boys, towels and sheets and an assortment of colorful mittens, each pair with a unique design.

  Lillian shook her head in wonder. “How on earth did they know their sizes? Everything is just right. . . .”

  Grace laughed aloud as the light dawned on them both simultaneously. “Miss Tilly!”

  “Well, I might’a coached ’em a little.”

  In the next box they found an assortment of hard candy and toys. Two darling rag dolls handmade with care lay on top. Beneath was a wooden train set, a small painted boat, and three jackknives. It was a windfall.

  “We should save it all for Christmas.”

  Grace frowned. “I don’t think I can bear to wait that long. And Bryony, at least, will be settled in elsewhere by then.”

  “But really there should be a reason for such . . . What about birthdays? Is anyone’s birthday coming up?”

  Grace groaned. “It’s just that we don’t know many of their birthdays. They don’t know their own birthdays.”

  “None of them?” Lillian lifted one of the dolls again pensively, smoothing back its bright yarn hair.

  “Well, Lemuel does. His was in August, not long before we found him. Hazel and George have dates listed in their paperwork. Both of them in the spring, if I remember correctly. But not Harrison or Bryony—and certainly not the twins.”

  “Hmm. That’s terribly sad.”

  “No, it’s not. Not this year. We’ll make one! A group birthday! That’s perfect. We’ll have a party with cake and presents for everyone—even the ones who know their birthdays. What’s the difference?”

  “Oh yes, let’s!”

  “Should we invite their friends?”

  Lillian paused, contemplated the various scenarios in her mind. “I don’t think so. I feel we’d lose something special about it. I think it should celebrate our family here, should be more intimate and personal. Although, what about the Moorelands? The Thompsons?”

  “Maybe . . .” Grace’s forehead tightened. “Maybe that would be all right. It doesn’t seem fair to leave them out of a birthday party anymore.”

  Lillian used the excuse of moving the teapot from the table in order to turn her back to Grace. Eyes closed, she asked with what she hoped was a casual tone, “And Walter? After all, he was the one who delivered it all.”

  Grace grew still. Her voice strained a little. “If you wish.”

  “Fine then, when? Miss Tilly, could we do it tomorrow? On Sunday?”

  “I think God’ll be tickled with that kinda use of His day. And it’d be powerful hard to hide all the goodies much longer’n that.”

  “Still, there’s the problem of a cake. Could you bake it in time?”

  “Stove’s still hot from bath night. I’ll git on it right away.”

  Grace and Lillian began to make plans, sorted the gifts into piles for each child, and gathered enough pieces of bright fabric to tie up one bundle for each.

  Lillian lay in bed for a long time that night. She tried to imagine the smiles on the children’s faces as they discovered the purpose of the special day and pictured each one opening a gift.

  Making her usual rounds among the crowd gathering for church, Lillian accomplished the invitations without causing suspicion among the children. She and Grace had added a strict proviso: no additional gifts. Anything extra for one child would tip the scales and make the day unbalanced and perhaps hurtful. Both families were excited to accept. They set the time for three o’clock in the afternoon. Grace would take the children for a walk along the river in the fresh air, giving Lillian and Miss Tilly a chance to prepare. The guests were welcome to arrive a little early in order to assemble when the children came home.

  Lillian approached Walter as he stood with a group of his friends, men she’d known since their school days together.

  She touched his arm gently to get his attention. “Hi, Walter, may I speak with you for a moment?”

  Eyebrows lifted and grins broke out. Walter was unruffled by their reaction. Drawing his hat from his head quickly, he answered, “Of course.” A hand behind her shoulder, he steered her away from his friends. “What is it?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I wondered if you have plans today? We’ve planned a little birthday party at our house we’d like to invite you to. Well, actually it’s a pretty big birthday party.”

  “Well, it is Sunday, so I’ve got the day off. I’d rather spend it with you than anyone. Whose birthday is it?”

  Lillian beamed. His expression followed the details in her words, shifting between pleased and concerned. “There were so many lovely things f
rom the Hope Valley gifts. And most of the children don’t know when their birthdays are—so we decided to have one big birthday celebration, including them all.”

  “That sounds like a great idea. Thanks for inviting me.”

  “It starts at three, but you’re welcome to come early so we can all be ready when Grace brings them home. They don’t know what we’ve got planned. It’ll be a surprise party. Did I mention that?”

  “I see.” He scratched at the back of his head, thinking aloud. “I suppose I’ll just stay in town, then. Maybe have lunch at the hotel. I don’t suppose you . . . No, you’ll be too busy.”

  “Come home with us after church. I know Miss Tilly won’t mind. She always makes plenty. Especially today. I doubt the girls will eat—or Grace and I, for that matter. She’s cooking rabbit stew.” Lillian grimaced.

  “Mmm. Tastes like chicken.” He grinned. “I’m in.”

  “Not me. I’d rather just stick to real chicken. It’s rather unappetizing to have seen the dead animal before it shows up on your plate.”

  “Oh, Lillian, you never did have the pioneer spirit. You grew up in town, that’s your problem.” His mischievous grin provoked her, but his gentle eyes took away the sting of the teasing.

  “Oh, is it? Is that my problem?”

  “One of them.”

  Lillian tipped her head to one side and drew it back. “For that I might take back the invitation.”

  “I’ll behave,” he promised, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Want to load up the car after church? Might as well drive home as many as will fit.”

  “So long as you don’t let any of them behind the steering wheel.”

  Seated in church, Lillian felt a glow of satisfaction, sang the hymns with extra pleasure. The day would be joyful and exciting. A glance down the row beside her brought a smile. So many pleasantries in store for them all.

  After service she mentioned to Grace, “Walter said he’d drive home as many of us as can fit in his car.”

  “Walter’s coming home with us? Now?”

  “Sorry, yes. I forgot to tell you. He thought he’d stay in town. So I told him just to come for lunch.”