A Promise for Spring (20 page)

At once Tildy dropped from the chair and knelt on the hard floor. Without hesitation, Emmaline joined her. “You jus’ talk to your Maker, chil’, an’ tell Him you want His fillin’. He never denies a request from one o’ His own. Jus’ ask.”

Emmaline squeezed her eyes tight. She licked her lips and began to speak in a faltering voice. “God, I need you. I cannot face things alone. Please come to me. Let Jesus fill my heart, as Tildy said, and give me strength.” A warmth flooded Emmaline’s body. “Oh, thank you, God. Thank you for coming to me. . . .”

She opened her eyes to find Tildy beaming at her. “You ain’t never gonn’ be alone now, chil’. An’ if ’n we don’ see one another again on this earth, we’ll meet up in the Lawd’s house by-an’-by.”

TWENTY

J
IM COAXED HIS horse into its stall by dumping a bucketful of oats into the feeding trough. He ducked when Horace blew air down the back of his shirt. “Here now, you behave yourself.” While the horse munched, Jim stroked its sheeny neck.

“Jim?” Chris called from outside the barn.

Jim trotted to the opening. “Yeah?”

“Did you check to be sure the sluice gate is open on the waterway? The reservoir needs refilling.”

Jim let out a huff. “No. I thought you were going to do it.”

Chris propped one fist on his hip. “I told you to do it. Weren’t you listening?”

Jim let his scowl provide the answer.

“Make sure you ride out there and get it done before supper.”

“But I just unsaddled Horace! I—”

“No excuses, Jim.” His brother’s stern bark stopped Jim’s protests. “The sheep will need the water tomorrow afternoon.” Chris turned and strode away without waiting for a word of agreement.

Jim stomped back into the barn, muttering. Chris had wasted no time assuming the role of “boss” in Mr. Garrett’s absence. Jim couldn’t wait until he was old enough to decide what he wanted to do instead of always having to follow orders.

He headed for Horace’s stall, scuffing his feet against the hay-strewn floor. Bending over to pick up his saddle, his eye caught the brief flash of something shiny. Was there a coin tangled in the hay? His mouth watering at the thought of buying sourballs with his find, he dropped to one knee and brushed aside hay and dirt to investigate.

Rather than a coin, the corner of a small tin box emerged. Jim glanced over his shoulder. Chris was gone, so he scooped the protective dirt away with his fingers and pulled the box free. He set it on his knee. It felt heavy, which excited him all the more. What was inside? He tugged at the latch, but it wouldn’t give. Grunting in disgust, he gave the box a shake. A solid
thunk
sounded from within.

He poked his finger in the lock. Could he pry the box open? Digging into his pocket, he fetched his pocketknife. A few twists with the blade released the lock. He lifted the lid, cringing when the hinges squeaked. When he glimpsed the contents, he slammed the box shut and hugged it to his chest, breathing hard. He leaped up and spun toward the door. On tiptoe, he crept to the opening and looked right and left. Seeing no one, he scurried back inside and hunkered in the corner of Horace’s stall. He opened the box again, slowly. There were three stacks of bound bills! He didn’t even need to count the money to know he had found a small fortune.

Who might have left this here? It couldn’t belong to Chris— Chris always spent his paycheck. Mr. Garrett used a safe in the spare room of the ranch house. Maybe this box had been here when Mr. Garrett bought the land and they had built the barn right over the top of it without knowing. Think of all the things he could buy with this money!

He jumped up and shoved the box under his horse’s nose. “Horace, look here. I can get you all the oats you want with this!”

The horse went on chewing, unimpressed. Jim paced back and forth, the box held tightly between his hands. He needed to hide it. Should he put it back where he’d found it? Nah, both Chris and Mr. Garrett spent a lot of time in the barn—they might stumble upon it just like he had. He needed a better hiding spot. Since he shared a room with Chris, he couldn’t put it in there. If only he had his own private room where no one could go through his things . . .

Then an idea struck. He could put it in the cemetery next to Pup’s grave. No one would think to look there.

He tucked the box inside his shirt and lifted his saddle. “Come on, Horace. I need to go open the gate before Chris has my hide, and then we’ve got some digging to do.”

A distinct heaviness weighed on Emmaline as she placed the last plate on the shelf. How strange it had felt to sit at the table today with only Chris and Jim. Geoffrey’s empty chair seemed to mock her. Where was he now? Might he drop her a letter while he traveled? Maybe he would send her father word as to his whereabouts, she thought with a small smile. Then she wondered how she could find amusement in something that had so frustrated her before. Yet laughing felt better than being angry.

She examined the kitchen to make sure nothing required her attention; then she lifted the lantern from its bracket and headed for her bedroom. But as she crossed through the sitting room, she realized she wasn’t yet ready to turn in. Sinking down on the sofa, she wished she had someone else in the house with whom she could visit.

Her thoughts drifted to Geoffrey. Although at times she had resented their nightly ritual of sitting on the porch together, she now discovered she missed it. She missed
him
. That night before he left, when he had knocked on the door and they had talked in the parlor, she had felt as though she was visiting with the young man who had courted her under her parents’ watchful gazes. It had given her heart a lift to hear him sharing his thoughts and concerns rather than taking her to task for her inadequacies.

She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to remember England and the days when Geoffrey had sent her heart aflutter with words of devotion and declarations of love. She had expected him to woo her again when she arrived in Kansas, but they spoke of nothing personal and spent very little time together; the easy camaraderie they had shared in England had vanished.

But how to fix things? Tildy had told her everything was possible with God’s help. Perhaps she and God together could find a way to bring back the Geoffrey of long ago. . . .

Opening her eyes, Emmaline glanced around the room. The furnishings, though stylish, lined the walls as if they were soldiers on parade. The sitting room in her parents’ home in England had been an inviting place, with groupings that encouraged one to sit, relax, and indulge in lengthy conversation. Might she and Geoffrey find a way to breach the extensive gap between them if this room were more welcoming?

She must find out. She set the lantern on the nearest table and tried to move the sofa in front of the fireplace. The heavy, carvedwood furniture refused to budge. With a grunt of displeasure, she put her hands on her hips and glared at it. She needed help. She hurried through the kitchen and stepped outside to give one quick tug on the dinner bell. In a few minutes, Jim loped from the direction of the sheep barn.

“Did you need something, Miss Emmaline?”

“Yes.” She spun and headed back inside, knowing he would follow. “I want to arrange the sitting room more attractively, but I cannot move the furniture myself. Will you help me?”

“Sure, I will.” Jim held out his hands as he inquired, “Where do you want things?”

For the next several minutes, Emmaline pointed and Jim worked to create two groupings. When he had finished, the sofa and two matching chairs sat in a half circle facing the fireplace. The straight-backed chairs and small table from the parlor fit neatly in front of the window. She stood with her hands on her hips and surveyed their handiwork, smiling brightly. “This is much more pleasant to the eyes, and much more inviting.”

Jim glanced around the room. “It does look nice. But . . .” He scratched his head. “Shouldn’t there be something on the mantel? At our cottage in England, Pa had a clock on the mantel, and Mum had a little china doll. She was very proud of that doll.” He scrunched his face. “I wonder what happened to it. . . .”

Emmaline sighed. “Oh, it would be nice to set something lovely on the mantel. But I brought nothing from England except a rock.”

Jim’s gaze swerved in her direction. “A rock?”

With a soft laugh, Emmaline nodded. “Yes. It came from my mother’s flower garden. My rock is a small piece of England in Kansas.”

Jim fixed her with a pensive look. “Will you stay, Miss Emmaline? Or . . . will you go back to England?”

She had no answer for that yet. Much depended on whether she and Geoffrey were able to work out their differences. . . . Could God repair their broken relationship?

“If you go—” The boy swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his skinny neck. “I could go, too.”

A tingle of awareness crept across her scalp. “That . . . that’s very kind of you, Jim, but why would you want to leave Kansas? You said there is nothing left for you in England.”

A look of devotion came into the lad’s eyes. “But if you were there, then I should have a reason to be there, too.”

Had her attentiveness reminded Jim of his mother’s care? The thought should have been heartwarming, but it carried an element of responsibility that gave her pause.

Forcing a glib tone, she said, “I shan’t be going anywhere tonight—of that I am certain.” She swished her palms together. “Thank you again for your assistance. Now that the room is finished, you may retire for the evening. The leftover raisin biscuits are in a pail on the counter. Help yourself to some before you leave.”

Jim stared at her for a moment. He looked hurt, but she didn’t know why. “Sure, Miss Emmaline,” he said. “Good night.”

She remained in the sitting room when Jim left. She heard the lid on the tin pail clank, and then a click signaled the door closing. With a satisfied glance at the newly arranged sitting room, she hustled through the kitchen and locked the back door.

Geoffrey tossed water over the campfire, listening to the sizzle as the flames died out. The warmth of the evening hadn’t required a fire, but having a blaze pierce the night had made him feel less lonely.

He leaned against his saddle and sighed, patting his belly. He’d eaten the last of Emmaline’s biscuits and the dried venison for supper. The only thing remaining in his pack was a hard lump of cheese. Tomorrow, when he reached a town, he’d need to make some purchases—and he hoped one of the purchases would be feed for his flock.

In his three days of travel, he had made his way out of Kansas and into Nebraska, but he still hadn’t found a farmer willing to part with some of his precious feed. The stories were the same—lack of rain and destruction from grasshoppers had left people hoarding their harvests. Should he have gone to Oklahoma or Texas? Unfortunately, the cattlemen hated sheepherders—he likely would have found no sympathy in Texas.

Maybe Wyoming? Although he hated to venture so far from home, he knew there were sheep in Wyoming. Maybe Wyoming had been spared the drought and the hoppers. If he didn’t find anyone willing to sell him some hay or barley tomorrow, he’d put himself and his horse on a train and ride into Wyoming. Traveling on horseback was taking too much time—he needed to find feed and get home.

Home to his sheep.

Home to his ranch.

Home to Emmaline.

The wagon wheels hit a rut, and Jim cringed as the jars in the back of the wagon clinked together. “Whoa . . . slow down there,” he called as he pulled lightly on the reins. As eager as he was to get back to the ranch, it wouldn’t bode well to arrive with broken canning jars. Or a broken figurine.

That’s what the lady at the general store had called the little item he’d purchased: a
bisque figurine
. It looked like a doll to Jim, but he liked the sound of the word. “Figurine,” he said aloud, letting the word roll off his tongue.

When he’d asked about china dolls, the clerk had first shown him children’s toys. It took some doing before she understood what he wanted, but it had been worth the time of explaining. Emmaline would be so surprised and happy when he gave it to her! Three figurines had waited in a glass case in the corner of the store. Since Emmaline had liked those sunflowers so much, Jim had chosen the one wearing a yellow dress. The figurine’s hair was brown and all wavy, the way Emmaline’s hair probably looked when she took it out of her braided twist. The face of the doll, the clerk had said, was hand-painted, and Jim had duly admired the perfectly shaped eyebrows and delicate lips. Still, it couldn’t compete with Emmaline’s beauty.

The little painted-faced girl in the flowing yellow dress would look perfect on the mantel. Much better than a rock. Even though it had cost him dear, he wasn’t worried—if his month’s pay ran out, he still had the tin box full of money. But he wouldn’t use it unless he really needed it. Chris would get suspicious if he suddenly started sporting new clothes or showed up with a new gun or saddle. There was a proverb that said a fool and his money were soon parted, but Jim didn’t intend to be a fool!

“Gee,” he called, giving the reins a flick. The horses obediently turned right. The wagon rolled up the lane to the front of the house. “Whoa!” Jim set the brake and hopped down, calling, “Miss Emmaline! Your jars are here!”

She came out the kitchen door, wiping her hands on her apron as Jim lowered the hatch on the back of the wagon. Her face lit when he lifted one of the crates of quart jars from the back. “Oh, good! Did you fill my whole list?”

“It’s all back there.” They only ventured into town for shopping once a month, so he’d been given a lengthy list of items. Somewhere in one of the crates, the figurine nestled in a brown paper wrapping, cushioned with cotton batting. He’d have to find that little package before Emmaline started going through things. Then he’d need to find the perfect time to give it to her—when they were alone.

Emmaline rested her fingertips on the edge of the wagon and peered into the bed. “Oh my, there are so many jars! I am eager to get those vegetables preserved before they spoil.” Her face clouded. “I wish Tildy were here to help me.”