Authors: Kathleen Morgan
Tags: #Fiction, #Christian, #Historical, #General, #Romance
Child of Promise
C
HILD OF
P
ROMISE
B
RIDES OF
C
ULDEE
C
REEK
• B
OOK
F
OUR
KATHLEEN
MORGAN
Published by Fleming H. Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
E-book edition created 2009
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-1737-0
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
Scripture is taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
The Scripture found on the first page of chapter 22 is from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.
For Jennifer Leep, my editor
In one way or another, you’ve been with me through this whole series. Thank you for keeping me on the straight and narrow. Thank you for being such a delight to work with. And thank you for all your patience and hard work in helping make these books the best they could be.
ELIZABETH
“God’s Promise”
Ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise.
Hebrews 10:36
The plains east of
Colorado Springs, Colorado
December 1903
Hope deferred maketh the heart sick: but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life.
Proverbs 13:12
Today was the worst day of her life.
Today the world, as seventeen-year-old Beth MacKay had known it and had expected it to be, had turned upside down and inside out. Today her heart would surely break, her romantic dreams would be permanently crushed, and her love would shrivel and die.
Noah Starr was getting married.
Dear, sweet, magnificently handsome Noah would wed another woman. Another woman would carry his name, bear his children, and be his lover and lifelong helpmate.
With a sigh, Beth turned over in bed and buried her face in her pillow. How in the world was she going to live through this miserable, heart-wrenching day? How was she to attend the wedding, pretend to a happiness she didn’t feel, and offer her congratulations to the married couple?
It was too much to expect of anyone. She’d just have to plead a sick headache and beg off going.
Abby would understand. Beth’s stepmother knew of her love for Noah, a love that had begun three years ago when Noah had rescued her from a rattler at a church picnic. As he had held her in his arms to comfort her after he had killed the snake, Beth had fallen in love.
Not that she had been the only female in Grand View to have lost her heart to the young, blond, and eligible pastor of the town’s Episcopal church. Since that day seven years ago when he had first arrived from back East to assist his ailing uncle with his priestly duties, Noah Starr had been the source of much feminine speculation and maternal match–making.
But in Beth’s mind, Noah had always been meant for her. Why else had he waited so many years after coming to Grand View to take a wife, if the good Lord –hadn’t intended him for her? And why, oh why, couldn’t he have waited just another six months until she finished high school? Surely Pa would’ve allowed Noah to begin courting her then, even if she wouldn’t have been eighteen for another two months. For all practical purposes, she would’ve been considered a woman, free to make her own decisions, go off to college, or marry.
Beth sat up and tossed her pillow across the room, striking the door. Then with a groan she climbed from bed. After a quick ablution in a washbasin of icy water, she dressed, brushed her hair, scrubbed her teeth, then headed downstairs to the kitchen.
As always on a cold winter’s morn, Old Bess, the ever-faithful, if temperamental, cast-iron cookstove, warmed the room. Abby, her chestnut brown hair pulled up in a neat, high bun, her cheeks flushed from the heat rising from the stove as she expertly flipped flapjacks, turned and grinned.
“Good morning,” she said cheerily. “Could you finish up the rest of the flapjacks while I see to your sister? Besides buttoning her dress, I’ve still got her hair to brush and her shoes to put on, and Sean’s too busy chasing her around the parlor to be of much help.”
Beth forced a bright smile onto her face. “Sure. Sorry I took so long to come down. I was just . . . well, never mind. It doesn’t matter much anymore.”
Abby paused in her journey toward the hallway separating the kitchen from the parlor. “I know this will be a hard day for you to get through, Beth.” She glanced over her shoulder with an understanding look. “Just remember you’ve always got your family to love and support you.”
And what a family it is, Beth thought, comforted by the realization. Besides her older half brother, Evan, who was married and the proud father of two children, there was six-year-old Sean and three-year-old Erin, the two children of her father, Conor, and his second wife, Abby. Having such a high-spirited half brother and half sister certainly made for a lively household.
Still, Beth reveled in the warm sense of close-knit, affectionate family that had grown from her father and Abby’s love for each other. Even their home, Culdee Creek Ranch, had prospered and bloomed in the years since they had wed. In addition to Evan, his wife, Claire, her brother, Ian, and Evan and Claire’s two children, there was also her cousin Devlin, his wife, Hannah, and their four children. And when one added in the ranch hands who lived in the nearby bunk–houses, Culdee Creek nearly qualified as a little community in itself.
“Yes, I’ve always got my family,” Beth agreed softly, “and I’m ever so grateful for it, too. I just wish it were me getting married today, instead of Alice Westerman. I wish
I
were the one who’d soon be Mrs. Noah Starr, rather than my teacher. How am I ever going to face her when she and Noah return from their honeymoon?”
“The Lord will provide the strength, just as He’ll provide the right man in due time, Beth.” Abby smiled. “You have to believe that.”
“But who could be better than N-Noah?” In spite of her best efforts, Beth couldn’t keep her voice from –quavering.
“Not many men, that’s for certain.” Her stepmother turned and walked back to stand before her. “Nonetheless, there are a few good ones still left out there, I promise you.
And there’s no rush, is there? I thought you still planned on becoming a doctor. Has that changed all of a sudden, and I’m now the last to know?”
A doctor .
.
.
Beth had wanted to become a doctor for years, no matter what obstacles were thrown into her path, no matter how difficult it still was for a woman to be accepted in such a role. Even nowadays, lady doctors were suspected of being involved in feminist causes, dress reform, sex education, and other inappropriate activities. Many were even accused of wishing to be men, of being little more than emotionally stunted women incapable of striking up social relationships or matrimonial links.
But none of that had mattered to Beth, not since she had read about the first woman doctor in America, Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, who had graduated from Geneva Medical College in New York in 1849. Dr. Blackwell’s profound love of medicine and heroism against opposition had inspired Beth from an early age. She had dreamed of following in Dr. Black–well’s footsteps and enrolling in the very same medical college.
And it seemed now, after today, there was no reason not to pursue that dream. Noah had betrayed her, even if unknowingly, and she couldn’t conceive of ever loving another man enough to sacrifice medical school. For Noah, and only Noah, she had been willing to compromise her dreams. But never for any other man, and never, ever again.
“No, Abby,” Beth said, gritting out the words even as she sealed the bittersweet pain tightly within her heart, “my determination to become a doctor hasn’t changed. More than anything, I want to go to medical school. Indeed, I suppose Noah’s actually doing me a favor in marrying Alice. A husband and family would’ve been a stumbling block to my ambitions. Everyone knows,” she added, turning her head to hide her tears, “a woman who intends to be a doctor must be willing to pay the price.”
“And you think you’ll be happy paying such a price, sacrificing the joys of a husband and family, a normal life?”
“Yes.” Beth nodded her head with grim determination. “Now, more than ever, I most certainly do.”
The plains east of
Colorado Springs, Colorado
August 1909
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.
Ecclesiastes 3:1
As the Colorado and Southern Railroad Company locomotive, affectionately known as the “C & S” or “Crooked and Slow” for its sinuous course and many stops, drew near the town of Grand View, the engineer sounded the whistle. On such a clear, sunny day, the shrill cry echoed in every direction. A small herd of pronghorn antelope stampeded. Wings tucked tightly to their sides, a flock of spindly legged sandpipers hiding in the grass beside the railroad bed scrambled for safer cover.
Dr. Elizabeth MacKay glanced up from her book and smiled. It was good to know some things, even after five years’ absence, hadn’t changed. The pronghorn still grazed the rolling hills. The birds appeared to be as abundant as ever. And in the distance to the west, Pikes Peak remained the ever strong, majestic sentinel.
Still, five years were bound to have an effect on things. From Abby’s letters, Beth knew Grand View’s population had almost doubled in size, now numbering nearly four hundred. Gates’s Mercantile had been sold to a John O’Brien and had been expanded until it was now a large L-shaped building. Several new businesses—including a bank—had come to town. And Doc Childress, in his late sixties with rheumatism so bad he could hardly hold a scalpel, much less make the fine stitches needed to suture wounds, needed help.
Beth sighed, shoved her book into a side pocket of her traveling bag, and looked back out the window. Doc Childress had wasted little time, once he had heard of the completion of her internship, in offering her a partnership in his Grand View medical office. “A chance to get your feet wet under the supervision of an experienced physician before taking over the entire practice,” he had written in a letter.
But Beth had mixed feelings about accepting the job. True, she missed her home and family. She hadn’t been home to Culdee Creek in all the years of her medical schooling, fearing anything that might weaken her resolve to stick it out no matter what. Indeed, after a time, she had almost gotten used to the grueling work, the lack of sleep, the gut-twisting loneliness.
Her mouth tightened. It was the taunts, the ridicule, the purposeful obstacles placed in her way that had been the hardest of all to endure. Because she was a woman. Because she was part Indian. Because she was young and attractive. Because she was a fighter and gave as good as she got.
And then there had been Matthew . . . and the baby.
She sighed again. All told, the past five years had been the hardest years she had ever endured. They had left their mark—that much Beth knew. But she hadn’t given up. She had persevered; she had won. They hadn’t beaten her, just as they hadn’t beaten Elizabeth Blackwell all those years ago. But the cost . . . the cost had been far, far greater than Beth had ever imagined.
“Are you getting off at Grand View or traveling farther south?” A stout, gray-haired, motherly woman plopped down in the seat across from her. “I’ve been watching you ever since I boarded in Denver and have been itching to visit with you. But”—she motioned to the volume protruding from Beth’s traveling bag—“you seemed so engrossed in your book, I hated to intrude.”
Beth felt a fleeting moment of regret for putting aside her book—hiding behind it was a trick she had long ago discovered to encourage others to keep their distance—and forced a smile. “Yes, I’m getting off at Grand View, and yes, I do love to read. It helps pass the hours, doesn’t it?”
“It does indeed.” The woman leaned forward and extended her hand. “My name’s Cora Bledsoe. My husband and I run the bakery in Grand View. Bledsoe’s Quality Baked Goods, it’s called.”
“And I’m Elizabeth MacKay.” Beth took Cora’s outstretched hand, gave it a quick squeeze, then released it. “My father’s Conor MacKay, the owner of—”
“Oh, I know who your father is,” Cora said with a wave of her hand. “Everyone knows the owner of Culdee Creek Ranch.” She cocked her head. “But I’ve never seen
you
before, and we’ve lived here all of five years now.”
“I’ve been back East for a time, attending medical school.”
The woman’s silver brows lifted. “Medical school, you say? So you’re the one who went off to become a doctor!”
Beth nodded, already beginning to weary of the conversation. “Yes, I am. I’ve come home to go into practice with Doc Childress.”
“A lady doctor.” Cora shook her head in apparent amazement. “Land sakes. Grand View’s going to have a lady doctor.” “Yes, it is.”
Beth gazed out the window. Blessedly, the town under discussion was coming into view. Situated on a vast, grassy plain of gently undulating hills, Grand View looked like some child’s toy town picked up and set down in the middle of nowhere.
Wooden clapboard buildings made up most of the dwellings. The wide streets were still of dirt, and boardwalks lined the front of the businesses. As the C & S passed over the summer-shriveled Cottonwood Creek, the long white buildings of the grain elevator and creamery seemed to leap out like virtuous guardians on the right-hand side of the tracks. On the left slumped the weather-beaten train station warehouse.
The locomotive began to slow. Brakes ground against iron wheels. Steam hissed. Then with a bone-jarring lurch, the old Crooked and Slow came to a halt.
A crowd had gathered on the train platform, and for an instant the blindingly bright sunlight seemed to meld all the people into one colorful, churning mass. Then Beth blinked, and the faces took on familiar, beloved appearances.
Three dark-haired men towered above the rest—her father, her cousin, Devlin, and her big brother, Evan. Though the two older men’s hair was more streaked with gray than Beth remembered, they both looked just as strong and leanly muscled as her brother. All three were dressed the same as ever, too, in faded, work-worn Levis, scuffed boots, and long-sleeved cotton shirts rolled up above their elbows, their heads covered by dark Stetsons.
Beth’s gaze soon found Abby. Her stepmother was just as beautiful as she remembered her, her chestnut hair covered by a wide straw hat, her figure trim and lithe. Beside her stood Hannah, Devlin’s wife, her blond hair gleaming in the sun. Claire was with them, too. Evan’s Scottish bride was only five years older than Beth, and Beth still recalled the happy times they had once spent as Claire tried to teach her how to play her little Scottish harp.
“Well, I’d best be getting my things together,” Cora Bledsoe said. “Now that you’re home to stay, we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other better. In fact, once you’re all settled in, stop by the bakery. You can meet my husband, Walter, and sample some of our specialties. On the house, of course.”
“I’ll be sure to do that, Cora.” Beth bent over, retrieved her traveling bag, and stood. “It was so nice to make your acquaintance.”
“Oh, pshaw.” The woman began to sidle down the aisle to the nearest door. “It was my pleasure. It’s not every day we get a lady doctor come to town. No indeed.”
Beth pretended some problem with her satchel until Cora Bledsoe had departed the car. Then she placed her broad straw hat, trimmed with blue and white ribbons, on her head, paused to straighten her navy-blue traveling suit, picked up her bag, and headed for the door.
She was back home at last, a doctor and a grown woman. It was time to begin her life anew and put the past behind her. She only hoped that she could.
“How’s my big girl this afternoon?” Noah Starr leaned over the little wicker wheelchair and chucked the blond two-year-old under the chin.
With a gurgle of pleasure, the child lifted her head— which promptly fell to one side—and, with flailing arms, reached out to him. Drool trickled from the corner of her mouth, trailing down to dribble onto her pink-flowered calico gown.
Noah dug out a fresh handkerchief and wiped his daughter’s mouth. “Are you hungry, sweetheart? I brought you a special treat from the bakery.”
“Emily’s just now finished her lunch,” Millie Starr said. “I’m sure she’d love a sweet.”
“Then I’ve come home just in time.” Grand View’s Episcopal pastor pulled over a kitchen chair and sat directly in front of the toddler. “How’s a nice cinnamon bun sound?” he asked, pulling a small paper-wrapped parcel from his coat pocket.
His daughter’s flapping arms increased their movement in speed and intensity. Noah glanced at his aunt.
“She seems more excitable today than usual. Do you think she’s ill or in pain?”
Millie shook her head. “No. You’ve just been working such long hours the past few days, Emily hasn’t seen you much. You haven’t made it home for lunch the past week, and what with you leaving in the morning before she wakes and coming home after she’s in bed . . .”
Noah sighed and dragged a hand through his dark blond hair. Hair, he noted wryly, in dire need of a trim. Yet another chore he must see to, just as soon as he could make the time.
“Well, I’m glad Emily’s not ill. I’ll try to make myself come home for lunch from here on out, and take an hour or so off whenever I can to visit with her in the evenings, too.”
“You might just want to make that evening visit about suppertime,” his aunt said, eyeing him up and down. “Folk are beginning to talk that maybe I’ve lost my touch when it comes to cooking, what with you getting a mite scrawny there.”
He knew she spoke the truth. He wasn’t eating all that well, mostly because he chose to bury himself in his work. He didn’t spend much time at home anymore, save for the few hours he grabbed for sleep. And, worst of all, Noah knew that, deep down, he preferred it that way.
Even though it had been two years since Alice’s death giving birth to Emily, home still reminded him of all he had lost. The rectory was permeated with his wife’s presence, from the framed photographs over the parlor fireplace, to the Montgomery Ward Windsor upright piano, to her beloved four-volume set of the American Encyclopaedic Dictionary. And that was just what he encountered in one room of the house.
No, he didn’t find much joy in coming home anymore. Though Noah loved his daughter, her terrible birth injuries had crippled her for life. She had a brain palsy, Doc Childress had informed him, most likely incurred from a prolonged lack of oxygen during Alice’s complicated labor. It was so painful to see Emily, know the dismal prospects for her future, and realize that even the sacrifice of Alice’s life hadn’t been enough to spare their child.
Noah exhaled a long, slow breath. “Yes, I suppose I am getting a bit thin. I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better by the both of you.”
Millie laid a hand on his shoulder. “Now, don’t go adding us to all the other burdens you carry. I didn’t say that to make you feel any worse than you already do. But if you don’t start taking care of yourself . . . well, soon enough you won’t be any good to anyone.”
Noah unwrapped the paper, pulled off a bit of the cinnamon bun, and offered it to Emily. “You’re right, of course. And just as soon as we get the fund-raiser going for the repairs to the church roof and bell tower and finish up on the side annexes, I’m sure things will slow down. We’ve just needed that addition for so long, what with the growing community, and—”
“That’s not the problem, and you know it.” Millie’s hand gripped his shoulder. “You’ve got to make peace with losing Alice and what’s happened to Emily. You’ve got to put it all, once and for all, in the Lord’s hands.”
“And what makes you think I haven’t given it all up to God?” Noah could feel his muscles bunching, tensing. He ripped off another chunk of the bun and fed it to his daughter. “Sometimes, just because you submit to the Lord’s will, it doesn’t mean He chooses to lift the pain. Sometimes the pain’s a lesson in itself.”
“Yes, you’re right, of course.” Millie released her hold on his shoulder and stepped away. “And sometimes the greater lesson is found in letting go of the pain and starting anew.”
Noah slid back his chair, stood, and turned. “Here.” He handed her the cinnamon bun. “There’s a church-board meeting in five minutes. I really can’t be late. Walter Bledsoe and Harlow Peterson are itching to up the roof and bell tower budget, not to mention making noises about importing some Italian marble altar. I’ve got to be there to put a rein on those two, or we’ll all end up in the poorhouse.”
“Seems like Harlow’d love nothing more than to finance the loan we’d need, wouldn’t he?” Millie shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder about that man. Even if he is the town banker, he puts too much store on money.”
“Harlow means well enough, I suppose. He just needs to realize borrowing money isn’t the end-all answer to what ails this town.”
In the distance, a train whistle echoed plaintively. Millie’s head turned in the direction of the sound. She smiled.
“That’ll be Beth MacKay’s train. She’s finally coming home, after all this time.”
“It’s only been five years. That’s not all that long.”