Forever by Your Side

by Tracie Peterson

  “My sister and others send crates of clothes, blankets, kitchen goods, and so forth. Mercy has been coordinating the distribution.”

  “Yes, well, besides the store missing out on sales, there is some concern that you might also be giving away guns.”

  Adam rolled his gaze heavenward. “Who is saying that? I’ll go speak to them.”

  “I already did. I know you aren’t handing out weapons, but I wanted you to know there were concerns.”

  “You already know what they’re saying about us. It’s ridiculous.”

  The store clerk burst into the office. “You’ve got to stop them.”

  “Stop who?” Adam asked.

  “The Indians. They think I’ve poisoned them, and they’re threatening to string me up.”

  Clint got up and threw on his coat. “What are you talking about, Jeb?”

  “A bunch of folks got sick, and they think it was from the flour I sold them. They think it’s poisoned. I need you to calm them down. Otherwise we’re going to have a riot.”

  Clint and Adam made their way to the group milling outside the small mercantile, where Clint called everyone to attention. “I understand many of you think you’ve gotten sick from the flour Jeb sold you. Even if this is true, I assure you that no one here is seeking to poison you.”

  “It must be poison. My family is sick. They can’t keep anything down,” one man declared.

  “Neither can mine,” another yelled, and soon everyone was protesting their situation.

  Clint waved his hands and called to them. “I can’t help you if everyone talks at once.” One by one, the people fell silent. “Thank you. Look, a lot of things can happen to flour barrels during transport. I can’t tell you why your people are ill, but I will look into this. In the meantime, bring back the flour you think is bad. We’ll send for a new batch, and while you wait, I’ll see that your returned flour is credited to your account. As for the sick, if your own healers are overwhelmed, let me know, and I’ll get the reservation doctor to come.” He paused and looked at Adam. “Or I’m sure Mrs. Browning will be more than willing to help nurse the sick.”

  “Absolutely,” Adam agreed. “You know that we care deeply for the people here. We will do whatever we can to get you what you need.”

  There was a great deal of murmuring and muttering, but the people finally began to disperse.

  Clint looked at Adam and shrugged. “I hope that means they’ve accepted my offering.” He heaved a sigh.

  “I hope so too. I’ll let Mercy know what’s going on, so if someone does want her help, she won’t be caught off guard.”

  “Good. That way she can have her things ready.” Clint smiled. “Maybe make a new batch of vinegar.”

  Adam smiled. “You joke, but my wife swears on it. Says it will cure a great many ailments.”

  “Yes, well, she can put her faith in vinegar. For the time being, however, I’ve got to figure out what was done to this barrel of flour and get a replacement in here immediately.”

  Tom sat on the Brownings’ small porch and thought about everything that had happened since he’d come to Oregon. His main purpose had been to see Connie’s folks cleared of suspicion so Connie could stop worrying about them and maybe, just maybe, put her attention on him.

  He’d been in love with Connie almost from the first moment he’d met her, despite their six-year age difference. Connie had always been mature for her age. She found Washington politics fascinating but took just as much interest in her uncle’s work on the ancient world. Tom remembered one year when her uncle and aunt had taken Connie with them to the Holy Land. She had long given up talking to him about Jesus by then, but upon her return, she was reenergized in her passion for learning everything she could about the Bible. She even tried her hand at learning Greek.

  Tom thought about his conversation with Connie’s father. Mr. Browning had never once tried to force his religion on Tom. The things he said were very different from those Tom had grown up hearing in his father’s church.

  He frowned. The very thought of his father put him in a foul mood. His father had only cared about his success in business and making sure his friends and family seemed perfect. There was never any room for error, and when one was made, Tom’s father was thoroughly condemning. During one particularly severe whipping, Tom’s father had declared that God Himself had instructed that he punish Tom. Maybe that was where Tom’s dismissal of God had its origins.

  An owl hooted somewhere off to his left. Tom wondered at the species and wished he’d studied harder to learn more about birds. There were a good number of them he wasn’t familiar with.

  “I thought I might find you out here,” Adam Browning said, joining Tom on the porch. He sank into his wife’s rocker and smiled. “I can see why she loves this chair so much. I may have to find another one for myself.”

  Tom looked at Connie’s father, although the darkness obscured his features. “I was just thinking of the time your sister and her husband took Connie to the Middle East. They invited me to go along, but I couldn’t manage the time away. Connie came back so excited about everything she’d seen and heard. She was already strong in her faith, but that trip seemed to further stimulate her desire to learn.”

  “That was about three years ago, wasn’t it?” Mr. Browning asked.

  “Yes.” Tom nodded. “She was just nineteen, and I was twenty-five. I was working for the Bureau of Indian Affairs as a lowly office clerk, and it was impossible to leave because I was in line for a promotion. I knew that taking off on a pleasure trip would have spelled doom for me.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish you could have gone. Perhaps you would have had more of your questions answered.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I remember the first time I went to Washington, DC. I walked around the city, thinking about the men who had walked there before me. I imagined men like Lincoln walking the same streets as he considered the Civil War. I thought of Andrew Jackson, the president responsible for driving the Indians into the West. Men like Jefferson who penned the Declaration of Independence. It made them more real to me than any history book ever could.”

  “And you think if I’d gone to the Middle East, the existence of Jesus would have become real to me?”

  “I like to think it would have. I mean, with such a great abundance of history surrounding you with proof, even the writings of those who weren’t of the faith but still encountered Jesus, I believe you would have come to see the truth of Him for yourself.”

  “Why do you believe? I’ve told you why I don’t believe, so now I’d like to know why you do.”

  Adam was silent for several moments. Tom heard him draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “My mother. She taught me through her actions how important her faith was to her. It impressed me that when people scorned her, she baked them bread. When they taunted her, she made them cookies. My mother forgave when it would have been so easy to hate. I asked her how she could possibly forgive such ugliness, and she told me she forgave because that was what the Lord asked her to do. It was what He had done on the cross when people scorned and ridiculed Him.”

  “But, if as you say, He was God—why should that impress me?”

  “Because He was also a man. I know it’s a mystery that goes beyond our ability to understand, but Jesus was both man and God.”

  “That makes little sense to me. Why would He go through the sufferings He did if He was indeed God? He could have stopped the torment at any time. He could have prevented the cross altogether and still gotten His point across.”

  “Yes, He could have, which makes the cross all the more precious to me. Jesus went willingly for the sake of sinners just like me. He knew that without the cross, there would be no reconciliation between God and man.”

  “But God can do anything. Surely there could have been another way of reconciliation.”

  Adam chuckled. “Careful there, Tom. You’re starting to sound as though you believe God rea
lly exists.”

  Chapter 12

  Connie sent a letter,” Faith declared, bringing the mail to the dining room table, where Nancy and Seth were enjoying a leisurely lunch. Mrs. Weaver and Alma had just retired for a nap, while the Clifton sisters and Mimi Bryant had borrowed Nancy and Seth’s carriage and gone shopping.

  “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll read it.” Nancy pushed her dishes back a bit to make room for the letter.

  Faith handed the envelope to her cousin, then took her seat.

  Nancy opened the letter and unfolded the pages. “‘Dear all,’” she began. “‘Life at Grand Ronde is much depressed since last I was here. The storm destroyed many of the trees, and most of the buildings suffered damage. Still, I think this area is some of the prettiest in the state. I had forgotten just how much I love it.

  “‘Father and Mother are well and send their love. I thought them to have aged far more than seven years would normally allow for, but given their worries over all that is going on, it isn’t surprising to find gray in their hair.

  “‘Tom likes the family very much and enjoys working with the Native people too. We’ve been hard at work taking down information from every person who will speak to us about their culture and history. The Fourth of July is soon upon us, and the priest and nuns are planning a celebration where the Native children will put on a play. I think I shall look forward to that. The children are so precious. I wish they could remain as loving and kind as they are now. Sadly, I know that the bitterness of their families will spoil their current outlook. How could it not? Hatred is so strong. I pray for them daily, but evil is strong too. The church hopes to resolve the problem by forcing the children to board at school for the year, but they go home on occasion, and the anger is reinforced. I fear we are doing more harm than good.’”

  “That wouldn’t surprise me,” Faith commented. “Hate is like a disease that quickly spreads.”

  Nancy looked up. “Hate is found on both sides, sadly. I wish there were better ways to make people understand the destructiveness of hatred.”

  Seth shrugged and rubbed his neck. “No matter how strong the hate and bitterness, God’s love is stronger. There is nothing God can’t do to change hearts.”

  “I know, but it’s just so heartbreaking to see how people hurt each other.” Nancy glanced down at the letter and began to read again. “‘We are trying to encourage the people to repair the sawmill and get the lumber business going again. The people are very discouraged from the first time around. They worked hard, only to have their profits stolen by the agent in charge at the time. I thought it might be wonderful if Gabe or Uncle Alex could come and help them get it up and running again, but I don’t think Clint would appreciate our interference. The Indians probably wouldn’t either. Hopefully the Indian Legislature will stir the people to make repairs and once again earn a profit. There are all the storm-felled trees to cut, and I’m certain the railroad would buy the wood—especially if it were cut for ties.’” Nancy looked up again. “Maybe we can encourage Gabe and Clementine to take a little trip to visit Uncle Adam and Aunt Mercy. Surely that couldn’t be frowned upon.”

  “I find that anything, even the best of intentions, can and will be frowned upon by people who are bitter,” Faith countered. “But I suppose we could talk to them about it.”

  “Just remember, it’s usually best not to interfere.” Seth smiled. “Even when that interference is done in love.”

  Nancy returned to the letter. “‘Many of the people want nothing to do with either Tom or myself. They don’t want the government keeping a record of their people. They fear the government is only doing this to gather information that can later be used to destroy them. I find it sad, because their history will be lost if we fail to keep a record.

  “‘As for our other problems, we are no closer to understanding who controls things. We are making it our priority alongside the Bureau’s work, but no one seems to know anything. I talked at length with my parents, but they have no idea—no direction in which to point us. We will continue to do what we can and pray that God will open our eyes to the truth before it’s too late.’” Nancy refolded the letter. “She signs off with love to all.”

  “Well, we didn’t expect them to learn the truth overnight,” Seth said, rubbing his neck again.

  “Are you in pain, sweetheart?” Nancy put the letter aside and got up to massage her husband’s shoulders.

  “I’m pretty stiff, and it has given me a headache. I think maybe a storm is coming. You know how that always seems to bring on pain.”

  Faith frowned. “I could give you some laudanum.”

  “I think I’ll try resting first. If that doesn’t help, I may let you.” He drew Nancy’s hand to his lips. “I believe I’ll go lie down for a while.” He kissed her fingertips.

  “I’ll come check on you after I get the dishes washed. Don’t forget that Jack’s sleeping.”

  He nodded and got to his feet. Nancy worried for her husband. He’d been so wounded by the beating he received only a couple of months earlier. And even though he was healing quickly, there remained issues that Faith said were quite normal. Headaches and body aches, restless sleep. How Nancy wished she could make it all go away. She prayed that, in time, God would take the pain from Seth and give him back a normal life. She gathered the dishes and took them to the kitchen.

  “You’re worried about him, aren’t you?” Faith asked, following her with the remaining food.

  “I am. I can’t help but worry. I hate that he ever got involved with this. I feel like it’s all my fault, since he was investigating my late husband.”

  “It’s a job he chose to take, Nancy. You won’t do either of you any good in placing blame. If it’s any comfort at all, his recovery has been remarkable. This is all very normal, including the fatigue. The body is expending all its energy on healing, and that takes a toll. Resting is the very best thing for him. I think in another few months, you’ll be surprised at just how much better he’ll be.”

  Nancy nodded but wasn’t all that convinced. After reading Connie’s letter, she wondered if the next few months would hold anything but pain and sorrow.

  “We’re leaving now,” Mrs. Weaver said from the arched doorway. Behind her stood Alma and their new friend, Ruth. Ruth and Alma had become the best of friends. Their pasts were very similar. Both had been slaves from the time of birth, and both had been set free with no place to go. Their former owners had been merciful, but in Ruth’s case, her owner had died shortly after moving to Oregon from California.

  Nancy went to Alma and took her hand. “I’m so proud of you for leaving the house and going to this fellowship.”

  “I’m scared,” she admitted, “but we prayed, and I know the Lord will be with us.” She looked to Mrs. Weaver and then Ruth.

  “She’ll be very safe and welcomed,” Ruth declared. “Come on now, Alma. We’d best go, or we’ll be late.”

  “Are the Clifton sisters still meeting you, Mrs. Weaver?” Alma asked. It had earlier been determined that Mrs. Weaver would walk with Ruth and Alma to the church, and then the Misses Clifton would pick her up in the carriage to go shopping for fabric.

  “They are, bless them.” Mrs. Weaver looked at her longtime companion. “I’ll be praying the whole time. I couldn’t bear it if someone hurt you.”

  Alma smiled. “The Lord is with us, and we’ve got nothin’ to fear.”

  Connie kept thinking about Reverend Summers forcing the Indians to sell their artifacts. One woman had told Connie that she faced him at the gate to her yard and told him she had nothing for him to buy. The reverend had pushed her aside and gone into her house uninvited. There he had gathered up the things he wanted and given her what he thought they were worth. It angered Connie to no end, and she thought it was time to confront Clint about it.

  Her father had offered to take Tom on a ride to the far side of the reservation, so Connie saw it as the perfect time. She marched over to Clint’s office and pou
nded on the door. Clint showed up within seconds.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” He grinned. “And my, don’t you look pretty today.”

  She was wearing a forest-green calico with hints of yellow and orange. It wasn’t anything special. “Thank you, but getting compliments isn’t why I came here today.”

  “Well, why don’t you come into my office and tell me why you did come?” Clint stepped back to give her room to pass.

  She made her way in and stood waiting at the corner of his desk, hands on her hips. “What are you going to do about Reverend Summers?”

  “What are you talking about?” Clint sat down. “Why don’t you sit and tell me what has you so upset?”

  Connie shook her head. “I’ll stand, thank you. I’m talking about the way Reverend Summers comes here and forces people to sell their artifacts and heirlooms. It’s wrong, Clint, and you know it.”

  “I’m not happy about it either, but there’s nothing I can do about it. He’s good friends with the governor. He also sells those artifacts to some wealthy and powerful collectors. You aren’t going to get much support to stop him.”

  “We’ve taken everything else from these people, and now you’re taking away their family history. It’s wrong to let this go on.” He watched her with great interest. Connie felt as if he was dismissing the entire situation and focusing on her appearance. “Clint, are you even listening to me?”

  He grinned. “Well, it is hard to listen when you’re standing there being so delightfully pretty.”

  She rolled her gaze to the ceiling and huffed. “You are no help at all.”

  “After that kiss the other day, I’ve had a hard time thinking of anything else.”

  “Oh, for grief’s sake. That kiss meant nothing.” And she realized the truth of it the moment she spoke the words. “I don’t want to start anything with you, Clint. Those childish infatuations have been buried with the past.”