Love Finds You in Lonesome Prairie, Montana (14 page)

“I’ll be right there, sweetie.” She attempted to open her eyes, but the room was bright—the sunlight streamed onto her face. Julia sat up, reaching. Reaching for Bea…

Yet something was wrong. The room was quiet. Too quiet and still. There were no clomping footsteps or little girl giggles. Then, like dust stirred by wagon wheels over the prairie, truth descended upon Julia’s confused thoughts.
Isaac’s soddy.

She closed her eyes tight once more and tucked her head back under blankets that smelled of the parson and the prairie.

The realization the girls were gone, combined with the loneliness of this place, threatened to engulf her. Yet other thoughts emerged—such as the memory of her conversation last night with Isaac. The way he looked in the lantern light. His smile. His thankfulness for a simple meal, even though
she
was the one taking over
his
space. And even though she’d nearly knocked him out went he’d entered his own home.

The cry wailed again, louder than before, interrupting her reverie.

“What on earth?” Julia slid her feet to the floor and froze when she felt the dirt.

“Don’t these people know about wooden floors?” she mumbled, reaching under her petticoats to peel off her stockings. The last thing she needed was to get them even dirtier than they already were.

She tossed the stockings onto the bed and tiptoed to the window. The crisp morning’s prickly fingers contrasted with the sun’s rays reaching through the glass. She shivered and pulled her arms tight to her.

“Maah!” it sounded again.

Julia directed her gaze to the spot from where she believed the cry had come.
There.
Fifty feet away, she spied a lamb, lolling on its side and caught in the branches of a short, jagged tree.

After Isaac had left last night with a slam of the door, Julia had listened as he and his dog joined the horse in the barn. She assumed that’s where he’d stayed. Was he sleeping in? Why wasn’t he rushing out to save the scared creature? When she spied no movement in the barn—heard no sound of Isaac or Calamity rustling—Julia’s stomach clenched. She was the lamb’s only hope.

“Hold on, little one. I’m coming.”

She plopped back onto the bed, brushed the dirt from her feet, and put her stockings back on. Picking up her traveling boots, she shook them—checking for critters—then put them on and went outside.

Julia hurried through the tall prairie grass, finally reaching the lamb, and spotted one of its front hooves wedged in the tree’s twisted trunk.

“Oh, sweetie.” She knelt down. “Let me help you.”

Her heart pounded as she stared into the lamb’s sweet face. So scared, alone, trapped.
I understand, little one.

“Maah!” The animal’s eyes darted, and its hind legs kicked as Julia reached out toward the embedded front hoof.

“Shh. It’s all right.” She caressed its head, as if she were comforting Bea. The lamb relaxed, and Julia cautiously wiggled the hoof free.

The lamb scrambled to stand and then paused, looking at her.

Julia rubbed its head. “Where’s your mama?”

The lamb let out a low “maah.”

“Well, you can stay here for now, I suppose. C’mon.” She knew the lamb couldn’t understand her words, but maybe he’d realize she would do what she could to keep him safe. She took a few steps and felt pleased when the little lamb followed her.

Julia meandered back to the soddy then walked the lamb around back in search of a shady spot. Finding one behind the house, she showed the creature a spot of greenish grass.

“I’ll come back in a little bit.” She patted the lamb’s woolly back. “I have to admit. It’s kind of nice having you for company.”

Back inside, Julia rummanged in her valise for clean clothes. For now, a bath would have to wait, but it was far beyond time to get out of the filthy traveling dress.

Stuffed inside the valise was the parson’s red bandanna. She hoped today she’d have a chance to wash it. She’d return to the clear water of the coulee if she had to.

Then, if I see him again, I can return it.
The thought made her smile.

She undressed, leaving her clothes in a pile to be washed later, then slipped a simple light blue dress over her head.

Julia straightened the bodice and palmed the skirt. “Now, there’s a woman who can survive on the prairie.” She arranged her hair into a bun without the benefit of a mirror. “If I can just avoid being forced to marry an old prospector.” She chuckled at her own contrariness.

Looking toward the small shelf of food, Julia spotted something on the table and clasped her hands together. A basket, covered with a yellow cloth, and a jar of inky purple jam waited on the table next to her Bible. A fresh bucket of water rested on the floor.

Julia lifted the cloth and breathed in the doughy scent. “Buckwheat cakes!” She’d tasted the baked snacks at one of the depot stops along the way. With the jam—which Julia guessed to be made from wild Montana huckleberries—it’d be a feast.

As she folded the cloth back over the bread, she found a small scrap of paper under the basket.

“Did I sleep all day?” She did feel well rested.

She placed a buckwheat cake on the plate and slathered it with the sweet-smelling huckleberry jam, her stomach growling in expectation. So that’s why Isaac was gone. Long gone. Heading out to meet his parishioners, and she was alone on the prairie.

The lamb’s cry echoed to her again.
Well, alone except for you, little one.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” she called. “I’ll bring you water.”

As she consumed the satisfying meal, her thoughts returned to the handsome parson. His black eyes held such kindness. And something else.
Admiration?
Julia’s heartbeat kicked up its tempo. Couldn’t be. What was there to admire about a poor, stranded, pampered city girl with no family?

But she definitely admired
him
. His wit, compassion, strength. Isaac felt like a friend—a friend she craved to learn more about. Yet, since he was determined to head out on his preaching circuit, she doubted she’d have any time with him before she returned to New York.

She supposed she’d have to settle for spending time with his soddy. Julia’s gaze traveled around the room, lingering over the parson’s few belongings before they rested on the family Bible Miriam had pointed out. She stepped to the bookshelf and tugged it from its spot.

She hoisted the heavy book to the table. It landed front-down with a
thud
, and the flimsy back cover flopped open. The back page was filled with notes in a man’s handwriting, made in thick, broad strokes. A tinge of guilt nudged her. She closed it and folded her hands, considering whether she was prying. Would Isaac want her to read it? Was she being nosy?

Of course, it might not be Isaac’s handwriting at all. If this Bible was as old as her family’s, there could be generations’ worth of notes in here. Julia placed her hand on the leather casing. And if there was anything she wasn’t supposed to read, Miriam wouldn’t have offered it to her.

She reopened it to the back page. Just as she thought—notes dating back to before the War filled the white parchment. Julia was amazed by the prayers and songs of praise, the cries of various men’s hearts. Near the bottom, she read one prayer written in the form of a letter.

December 29, 1882

Dear God,

Julia closed the Bible. Her throat tightened, and her chest ached for Isaac’s loss, for his latent sense of guilt that leaked through. Rising tears burned her eyes.

“I shouldn’t have read that. I’m so sorry,” she muttered in prayer.

She lifted the Bible from the table and shoved the thick book back into its place. Her arms slunk to her sides, and her head roiled with a mixture of guilt, compassion, and curiosity. What had the letter meant? Was it even from the parson? Perhaps he had a great-grandfather Isaac. But the ink wasn’t faded as it was in the other notes, and it was dated not seven years ago.

Julia propped her hands on the table for support. And who was Bethany? How did she die?

Why did I read those notes? What was I thinking?

The next morning, Julia’s eyes drooped as she swallowed her second breakfast in a row of buckwheat cakes and huckleberry jam. She failed to savor the sweet tastes as she had yesterday morning—not because the morsels had grown stale, but because the Herculean effort of the day before to keep her mounting loneliness at bay had left her exhausted. She’d striven to stay positive and busy, but by nightfall the effort seemed useless. Plus, try as she might, she couldn’t squelch her curiosity about Isaac’s past heartbreak. Her guilt about prying gnawed at her.

There was something else that bothered her. If she was honest, she’d have to admit that she was beginning to care for the parson—at least in the sense that his opinion of her mattered.

Julia sighed and wiped a crumb from her lip. Her thoughts had spun around this way for the last twenty-four hours. A knock sounded at the door. She froze.

A second knock, then the door creaked open and she heard a soft footfall.

“Julia? Are you in here?” Miriam hurried in, hands swinging as if to balance her heavy middle.

Julia turned, and a strand of hair fell to her eyes. She brushed it back. “Yes, I’m sorry. You—you scared me.”

But she felt more than fear. The sight of Isaac’s sister had sent a rush of guilt into Julia’s stomach.

“You had me worried when you didn’t come to the door.”

Avoiding the woman’s eyes, Julia glanced down and watched a beetle scurry across her boot.

“Are you all right?” Miriam opened her arms, and Julia stepped into the embrace. “Did you have a difficult couple of nights out here?”

“No, that’s not it.” Julia pulled back. “Well, they
were
difficult, but…” Julia explored the woman’s strong features, her square forehead, her compassionate eyes. “I must admit something.” She took a deep breath, relieved to be able to talk to someone about what had been troubling her, yet nervous to see the kind woman’s reaction. “I was looking around yesterday, and I saw Isaac’s Bible. I didn’t mean to pry, but there were handwritten notes in back.” The words spilled from her. “And now I feel just awful. I think I read something I shouldn’t have….” She swallowed. “Among Isaac’s notes.”

A faint frown crept over Miriam’s face, and Julia’s heart sank. She didn’t know why this woman’s good regard mattered so much, but she didn’t want to disappoint her—not after all the kindness she’d shown. Miriam’s eyes searched hers.

“I’m sorry.” Julia crossed her arms over her chest.

Miriam gently grasped Julia’s shoulders. “I don’t know what my brother wrote, but I can guess, and I don’t want you to fret. My family doesn’t have any secrets, nothing most folks around here don’t already know. The best solution is for you to talk to Isaac. He shares his story and his heart with many. And I can fill you in, too. I’m good at keeping abreast of the matters in my little brother’s life and heart.”

Julia pinched a bit of her skirt’s fabric and leaned a hand on one of the two chairs around the table. “Oh no, I couldn’t ask. It’s not my business. I’ll be gone with the next train anyway. I probably won’t even see your brother again.” That thought sent with it a mild streak of regret.
Why do I so crave to see him?
Julia questioned herself.
I barely know the man, yet my thoughts keep drifting to him.
She returned her attention to Miriam. “If I talk to Isaac about it, it will only be to apologize for prying—and to offer my condolensces. He must have been devastated.”

Miriam pointed to the chairs then walked past Julia to the other side of the table and sat down. “My back aches when I stand for too long—and this way we can talk.”

Julia slid into the chair across from her.

“As for my brother,” Miriam wiped perspiration with the back of her tanned hand, “I don’t think you need to apologize, but if you feel you want to, I’m sure he will understand.”

A hint of relief filtered through Julia’s mind. If Miriam didn’t think her intrusion in the parson’s business was worrisome, she’d also try to let it go. And with the guilt gone, perhaps the curiosity would fly away as well. But Miriam didn’t seem finished with the conversation. She folded her hands and tilted her head. A beat of silence passed before she spoke.

“I, uh, wanted to talk to you, well, about the train….” A sympathetic crease formed in the prairie woman’s forehead, and she twisted her lips as if trying to think of a way to say something.

“What?” Julia leaned closer. “Don’t tell me it comes once a year.”

“No, no.” She shook her head. “It’s just that Isaac, well, he’s up at the ranch resting for a day or two. I guess that storm left him with some aching muscles as well as a bad cold.”