An Undaunted Faith

by Andrea Boeshaar

  Not when her entire future was at stake!

  The hot Arizona sunshine beat down on Luke as he and Jacob walked up the hill to their quarters, built right behind the church. The day promised to be a scorcher, and he almost wished he hadn’t committed himself to working out on Harlan’s ranch beneath the blistering sun.

  “You know, brother,” Jacob began, “there’s been some speculating on you and our new schoolteacher. Truth is, I’ve done a bit of speculating myself.”

  “Well,” Luke drawled, “you know I’ve always been fond of Beth, but last Christmas she managed to pique my interest. Traveling together, she earned my respect.” He folded his arms and grinned, remembering back to when he’d first met her. “In the beginning she was so shy and melancholy that it was a challenge for me to even make her smile.”

  “Oh?” Jake arched a brow. “I make her smile all the time.”

  Luke didn’t appreciate the remark. “Well, you’re one laughing matter.”

  Jake chuckled. Then slowly his smile dwindled. He paused at the well and pumped some water, splashing it onto his face. “So? You gonna marry her?”

  “Maybe. I mean, I’ve been thinking and praying on the matter. It’s just that Beth doesn’t seem very happy these days.”

  “I noticed the same thing.” Jake wiped the dripping water on his chin with his sleeve. “I suspect Silverstone came as something of a shock to her. But she’ll get over it now that school’s started.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Maybe you should have a talk with her.” Jake stepped into their small cabin.

  Luke followed, breathing a sigh of relief to get out of the blazing sun. Jake had constructed the home, which contained one large, main room that served as both a sitting room and dining area. Two bedrooms had been built off the main room, and cupboards, counters, and a cast iron stove occupied the other end of the cabin. But neither Luke nor Jake cooked much, as Mrs. Winters offered them free meals on account of them both being ministers.

  “Yeah, maybe I’ll talk with Beth about a few matters,” Luke said. And maybe he’d mention courtship too and gauge her reaction. Was she the one? Seemed he’d been dwelling on marriage a lot lately, so he’d been praying and asking the Lord to direct his paths in this matter. So far God had shown him Beth’s courage, which Luke had observed more than once on the trail. Yet there were times when she seemed as vulnerable as a small, gray-eyed kitten. Or maybe it was her youthful innocence that caused him to want to protect her—share his life with her.

  Did she want the same?

  In the past, Luke suspected she had feelings for him, judging by the way she gazed up at him with something akin to adoration in her eyes. But would she marry him, or would she turn him down like she had Ralph Jonas?

  “You scared to talk to Beth?” A teasing gleam entered Jake’s eyes as he pulled out a chair and sat down at the large, square table near the stone hearth.

  “No.”

  “Then you might make haste and propose marriage before someone else captures her heart—like the good sheriff.”

  “Montaño?” Luke waved a hand. “He’s not a believer. Beth wouldn’t marry a nonbeliever.” He paused before adding, “I wouldn’t let her!”

  “Well, you know what they say about the love of a good woman.” Jake tipped his head. “Haven’t you seen the way Montaño’s face lights up with interest when Bethany enters the room?” Luke didn’t reply, but he’d seen it all right. “He’s most likely intrigued with Beth because she’s the only woman around who doesn’t swoon over his good looks.”

  Jake grinned. “Now, I’d be inclined to think that remark stemmed from sour grapes on your part, Luke, except I’ve taken note of it myself. Beth doesn’t bat a single lash at the debonair Paden Montaño.”

  “Aw, he ain’t so debonair. And where’d you learn that word, anyway?” Luke thought of their sister-in-law. “You sound like Valerie.”

  Again, Jake chuckled. “Can’t say I learned it from her, although she is forever using those fancy French words.”

  They shared a chuckle, and Luke recalled the day their oldest brother, Ben, had introduced him to his blue-eyed, New Orleans socialite wife—well, ex-socialite. That had been six years ago and just after Luke had gone missing after the first battle at Bull Run. He’d been wounded and had lost his memory. Even now Luke only remembered snippets of the event. It took Ben months to find him. In that time, Ben had met and married Valerie Fontaine and helped her escape the city and wrongful allegations of treason.

  “I know you’re not asking for it, but as your older brother I’m giving you my advice anyhow. I think you’d better decide whether you’re going to marry Beth or else stand aside and let other fellas have a chance at her hand.”

  “What are you talking about? There’s no other fellas.”

  “Would be if you’d quit hovering over that young lady like, like…well, what is it like, Luke? Brother or suitor?”

  Luke opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. He didn’t think of Beth in the same way he thought of his older sister, Leah, or younger sister, Sarah. And the thought of other fellas calling on Beth caused a painful knot to form in his chest.

  “You’ve got a point. Maybe now’s the time for action.”

  “I’m thinking so.”

  “Yeah?” Encouragement surged up inside of Luke.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well…all right, then.” Luke proceeded to collect a few things he’d need today and packed his saddlebags. Suddenly he thought he might prefer the blazing sun on Harlan’s range to any kind of rejection from Bethany. “Guess I’d best pray about that today.”

  “Good plan. And will you join me in praying over someone else too?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Annetta Cavanaugh.”

  Luke glanced at his brother. “The new doctor?”

  “Uh-huh. I saw something in her eyes this morning—like a real deep hurt.”

  “Maybe it was aggravation,” Luke quipped, remembering Dr. Cavanaugh’s scrape with Ralph Jonas.

  “No, brother. It was pain. I know pain when I see it.”

  Luke wasn’t about to argue. Ever since he got wounded, Jake struggled with that injured leg of his. Sometimes the intensity of the ache didn’t allow him to sleep at night.

  “All right. I’ll pray for the doc.” Setting his wide-brimmed hat on his head, he sent Jake a parting nod. “You’ve got my promise on that.”

  THREE

  LUKE PAUSED ON THE RIDGE TO APPRECIATE THE SIGHT before him. Harlan Whitaker’s ranch spread out as far as the eye could see, his crops to the east, and cattle on the western edge dotted the countryside. Luke suddenly longed for his own homestead but quickly reminded himself that covetousness was a sin and old Harlan deserved his acreage. After all, he had been one of the few settlers who’d stayed on after the army pulled out when the Civil War erupted. Most ranchers left their homesteads on account of renegade Indians and outlaws who were known for their thieving and murdering of not only whites but other tribes as well. However, Harlan refused to leave his land, even though it had cost him his oldest son and scores of field hands.

  “Sure appreciate yer ridin’ out here today, Preacher,” the aging man told Luke as they met just inside the Whitaker property line. His dark, thinning hair was hidden beneath a red-and-white checkered bandanna, topped with a wide-brimmed hat. Leaning forward in his saddle, he added, “Hard to find good help these days.”

  Luke couldn’t help a grin. It was said that a man took his life into his own hands when he set out to work for Harlan.

  “Hope yer a good shot.” Glancing at Luke’s waist, he frowned. “No holster…gun?”

  “I don’t carry a gun on me—not since my time in the war.”

  “Are you crazy, boy?”

  Luke ignored the remark. Harlan hadn’t been the first to wonder if he was loco not to carry a pistol. However, Luke did pack a Winchester .44 Carbine in his saddle just in case he came face-to-face with a
wild boar, snake, or sundry other nasty critters. He’d shoot them in a minute. But a human being…never. Never again. Luke made a vow to himself the day he arrived home in Jericho Junction with his older brother Ben that he’d never take another human life—even in self-defense. He’d rather die than kill a living soul.

  “Now, Preacher,” Harlan insisted, “you’ll hafta carry a gun today. Just take one look at my hogs and you’ll see why.” Turning his horse, he led Luke around to the far side of his ranch and stopped near the hog pen. “Will ya look at that? And don’t laugh, Preacher. It ain’t funny!”

  Too late. Luke chuckled at the sight. There before his eyes were hogs, all right, but several had arrows protruding from their thick skin, and they squealed loudly as they circled the pen.

  “My wife says they look like four-legged pin cushions.”

  “I’d say that’s about right.”

  Harlan shifted in his saddle. The leather creaked beneath his weight. “Indians come by almost ever’day and shoot arrows into my hogs. Then I’ve gotta butcher ’em. Guess there’s another thing you can help me with later today. Now, about that gun…you can use one of mine.”

  “No, thanks, friend.” Luke sent him a confident grin. “My God is bigger than all the Indians put together.”

  “Yer a fool, Preacher.” Harlan shook his head.

  Luke let the ridicule blow on by like the hot, dusty, desert wind. Still, it stung a little as it passed. But he’d made his decision, and he wouldn’t go back on it no matter what anyone else might think.

  “Well, I reckon I’ll put you in the barn. You can repair a few harnesses. Can’t rightly send you out on the range, seeing as yer being so mule-headed.”

  “Harlan, you want me on the range, that’s where I’ll go, gun or no gun.”

  “You got suicide on your brain this morning, Preacher? You can’t ride the range unarmed.”

  Luke shrugged. “Choice is yours.”

  Harlan thought it over then slapped his hat onto his receding brown hair. “I reckon I got enough men out minding the cattle. You go on over to the barn.”

  “Be glad to.”

  After tethering his horse, Luke walked into the barn, thanking God that at least he’d work out of the sun most of the time. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the rough-hewn, square-shaped building. It smelled of dried grass, sweat, leather, and horses. Luke ran his gaze over the damaged harnesses hanging from large nails on the wall. With little effort, he pulled one down, inspected it, and got to work.

  Hours passed, and the sun blazed mercilessly from its midday perch in the cloudless sky when something at the doorway caused the barn to grow unnaturally dim. Luke looked up and barely glimpsed a man’s silhouette before a shiny object came hurling toward him. He tripped backward just as the knife’s blade whizzed by, lodging itself in the splintering wall. Turning back at the entrance, he watched with a mix of horror and interest as an Indian brave stepped in.

  Luke didn’t utter a sound but stared at the expressionless coppery face framed in long black hair. His gaze moved over the long-sleeved white tunic, belted with ammunition, and sun-bleached britches tucked into leather knee-high moccasins. In his left arm, he cradled a rifle that Luke recognized as an old Henry .44, and suddenly he wished he’d taken Harlan’s advice and packed a pistol. His next thought was imminent death. Oddly, a sense of peace enveloped his being.

  The brave took another cautious step forward, eyeing Luke as intensely as Luke had scrutinized him. Finally he spoke in broken English. “You no have gun.”

  He shook his head. “No. No gun.”

  The Indian narrowed his dark gaze then tipped his head in speculation before glancing over his shoulder warily. “Me kill you, white man.”

  “Yeah, I reckon that’s the plan.”

  The warrior seemed perplexed by the quip and again looked over his shoulder. “Why you no have gun?”

  “Don’t need it.” Luke glanced upward. “My God protects me.”

  The brave followed Luke’s line of vision and studied the roof of the barn. At last, he pointed to it. “Your God?”

  Luke grinned. “No, no, that is not my God. My God is the God of the Bible who lives in heaven…way up in the sky, beyond the moon and stars.”

  Obvious understanding washed over the warrior’s face. “Ha! Your God not protect you from my gun!” He shook his rifle under Luke’s nose.

  “No, but if you kill me, I will be with my God in heaven.”

  The other man frowned heavily, and his jaw dropped in wonder.

  “My God loves all men,” Luke continued, figuring his time was short and he’d best get as much evangelizing in as he could before meeting his Savior. “He loves red men just as much as white men. My God sees no difference between you and me.”

  The tip of the rifle was suddenly thrust against his throat. “White men murder my people,” the Indian sneered.

  “And red men murder my people. But isn’t it time we stop killing each other and live in peace?” Luke’s eyes met the warrior’s fearsome gaze. “Peace.”

  Slowly, the gun lowered from his throat.

  “Hey, Preacher…?”

  At the call outside, the brave startled and cocked his rifle, pointing it toward the door. Luke put his hand on the barrel. “No need for killing,” he whispered. Then, persuading the warrior back into a darkened corner, Luke touched a finger to his lips, urging his uninvited guest to remain silent.

  “Yeah, Harlan, go ahead.”

  “Carolyn’s about got supper on the table,” he hollered from outside, “and she don’t want you eating with the hired hands on account of you being a man of the cloth and all.”

  Luke’s gaze never left the Indian. “I appreciate that. Tell your wife I’ll be along shortly. Just finishing up in here.”

  “Very good.” The sound of Harlan’s retreating footsteps reached them inside the barn.

  For a long while, the two men stared at each other. Finally the brave said, “You, Preacher?”

  He nodded. “Name’s Luke McCabe.”

  “Preacher Luke McCabe,” he said as if the three names were all one word. “Me, Warring Spirit,” he stated proudly, thumping his chest.

  Luke cocked his head. “I don’t suppose you know anything about the raids around here.”

  “I know plenty.” Warring Spirit put away his rifle. “But it is not my people who steal and kill.”

  Luke pulled the knife from the wall. “You were about to kill me.”

  Warring Spirit shrugged as he handed back the knife. “I more frighten than kill.”

  Luke wasn’t convinced, but he wanted more information about the raids. “So you think it’s outlaws, then?”

  “Maybe…or maybe the bloodthirsty half-breeds.”

  Luke set his hands on his hips. “So they are Indians then…”

  Warring Spirit snorted out cynical laugh. “The white men see only one kind of red men, but there are many. Me”—he drummed his fingertips against his chest—“I am Yuma. We hunt, fish, and grow our food from the land.”

  “Farmers?”

  Warring Spirit gave a nod. “But there are white men who want us gone.”

  “Hmm…you’ve got a point. I know a few white men like that.”

  “Yes.” The brave moved closer. “That’s why I must protect my village. We are innocent of the raids you speak of.”

  Luke understood. After all, he himself had been guilty of lumping all Indians into one body of people.

  “Warring Spirit, I understand, and I will pass on this information to our sheriff and some of the men looking for the raiders. I will do what I can to help you protect your village. I hate the thought of innocent people losing their lives.”

  The brave eyed him speculatively before he gave a nod. “Then I will call you friend, Preacher Luke McCabe.”

  Luke stuck out his right hand. “I wish you peace, Warring Spirit. Peace that comes from the one true living God.”

  Warring Spirit took his hand,
and Luke gave it a shake.

  “Peace,” the brave said. Then he turned and left the barn, vanishing as quickly as he’d appeared.

  Having survived his encounter with Warring Spirit, Luke felt unusually courageous as he rode into Silverstone. So after he learned from Jake that Beth was still in the schoolhouse, he decided to pay her a visit. But taking two steps out of the cabin he shared with his brother, he soon realized he smelled about as ripe as a Missouri cornfield during planting season. He quickly adjusted his plans to include a quick dip in the cool Colorado River.

  He turned tail and reentered the cabin. “I decided to take a swim.”

  “Good day for it. I’d be inclined to join you except I’m working on this week’s sermon.” Looking up from the scarred table on which his Bible sat, Jake grinned. “Either way, I imagine you deserve a bath, what with being out on the range all day.”

  “Actually, I was indoors all morning, making repairs. Then I helped Harlan butcher hogs. But I managed to meet up with an Indian brave just the same.”

  Jake sat back, wearing an expression of interest, and folded his arms. “You don’t say?”

  “Yep. And it’s only by the grace of God that I’m alive to tell about it.”

  “Well, hallelujah!”

  “Hand me that soap, will you?”

  His older brother twisted around in his chair and grabbed the strong-smelling bar, tossing it in Luke’s direction. “Since when do you need soap for swimming?”

  “Since I decided to court Beth—starting tonight.”

  Jake let loose with a loud, “Whoo-wee!”

  “Pipe down,” Luke said irritably. “She’s liable to hear you clear to the schoolhouse.” He shifted. “And I’m liable to lose my nerve.”

  “I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about, Luke.”

  “I’m not so sure.” He sensed something was amiss. Maybe Beth wasn’t happy. Either way, he aimed to find out what was going on inside that pretty head of hers.

  What a luxury to read! Bethany closed the book in her hands and stared at its cover. Back on the farm in Wisconsin, Bethany had been so busy she never had a second to herself. Her stepmother, on the other hand, read books all day long. Sometimes while Bethany prepared dinner, she’d share the story she’d been reading that day. While she listened, hot flames of jealousy licked at Bethany’s soul. But she never exerted her will. Her father would have shown his wrath if supper wasn’t on the table by the time he came in from working in the fields.