Whispers from Yesterday (27 page)

Esther

P.S. I sometimes wonder if there is not more I could do to help. Surely it is God’s will to stop the killing of innocent people.

Sunday, November 9, 1941

Dear Diary,

Winter is hard upon us, and I am cold much of the time. I try not to complain, but it is hard not to sometimes.

We are hiding two telegraphists from the British Secret Intelligence Service in the church. They parachuted into Denmark and made their way to Copenhagen. Their equipment was smashed upon landing, and they needed the aid of a Danish radio engineer who is working with the local resistance.

Mikkel wants me to stop helping in the resistance efforts, especially now that I am so big with child. In truth, there is a part of me that wants to stop too. But as long as my husband is involved, as long as God is directing him to help end this war, how can I stay hidden in the house?

And there is something inside of me, a place in my heart, that keeps driving me to do what I can. Even when I am afraid, there is a stronger sense of peace. So I continue because God sustains me.

The
LORD
is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the
LORD
is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? When the wicked, even mine enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell. Though an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear: though war should rise against me, in this will I be confident. One thing have I desired of the
LORD,
that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the
LORD
all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the
LORD,
and to enquire in his temple. For in the time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion: in the secret of his tabernacle shall he hide me; he shall set me up upon a rock. And now shall mine head be lifted up above mine enemies round about me: therefore will I offer in his tabernacle sacrifices of joy; I will sing, yea, I will sing praises unto the
LORD.
(Psalm 27:1—6)

Esther

TWENTY-FIVE

Celia Basterra’s cooking was everything Yuli had promised and then some. Karen hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she started to dish up a second helping of crisp apple salad with marshmallows, walnuts, and some sort of sweet, creamy dressing.

“You’ll have to give me the recipe for this salad,” she told Celia.

“Oh, it’s easy. I won’t even have to write it down.”

Karen released a self-deprecating laugh. “Trust me. You’ll need to write it down. And include
all
the details. I’m a dreadful cook.”

“Don’t believe her,” Dusty said to their hostess. “Karen may be a novice in the kitchen, but she’s
not
dreadful. In fact, I think I’ve gained a few pounds since she came to the ranch.”

The praise fell over Karen like a warm down comforter on a cold winter’s night.

“I’d be happy to write it down,” Celia said. “Just give me a minute or two.” She rose from her chair and walked to an antique buffet on the far side of the large kitchen. Once there, she opened the lower right cabinet door and withdrew a recipe card from a box.

The phone rang.

“I’ll get it, hon.” Yuli crossed to the wall phone. “Hello?” After a moment’s pause, he said, “Just a minute.” He held out the phone. “Dusty, it’s Miss Sophie.”

Karen exchanged a quick glance with him before he went to take the phone from Yuli.

“Sophia? What is it?” He listened. Then his gaze darted back to Karen. “We’re on our way.”

She stood. The instant he said good-bye and hung up, she asked, “Is something wrong with Grandmother?”

“No.” He shrugged. “We’ve got an unexpected guest at the ranch. That’s all. But she wants us to hurry back.”

His effort to look and sound nonchalant didn’t fool her. She knew it was something more than what he was telling her. But she decided not to press for information. She would have her answers soon enough.

They thanked the Basterras for the delicious meal, then left the house. Minutes later, they were mounted on their horses and riding away from the farm. They followed the same trail as that morning, but they kept a faster pace on the return trip.

Dusty’s haste wasn’t lost on Karen. Admit it or not, he wasn’t happy about the unnamed guest who was waiting at the Golden T.

Sophia prayed silently and fervently as she watched Mac Gleason stroll around the barnyard. He looked at the outbuildings, corrals, and livestock as if he were actually interested in them. She knew better. This was a man in a hurry, eager to finish his business and be on his way.

Lord, I don’t know what he wants here, but I pray your protection over all of us. Especially Karen, Father. She’s so close to finding Your truth. So close. Prepare her heart. Open her eyes and her ears.

She remembered her dream of that morning.

Esther told me not to let Karen go. Lord, I don’t know if that dream was merely a product of my own imagination or if it was Your way of speaking to me in advance. Whatever it was, I ask You to keep Karen here if that’s what’s best for her. Only You know what’s best, but for myself, I want to keep her here. I love her. She is so dear to me, a treasure in my old age.

She remembered watching Dusty and Karen riding out this morning. They hadn’t known she was up and about, of course, but she’d seen them, and she’d been glad.

Jesus, those two young people love each other. I can’t help believing You brought them together for more than just one summer. Protect them, Lord. Protect them both. Help them to hear You.

“Miss Sophie?”

She opened her eyes. “Yes, Patty?”

“Is that man here to take Karen away?”

“I don’t know.” She took the girl’s hand between both of hers. “He didn’t tell me why he’d come. Only that he needs to see Karen.” “I don’t like him.”

Sophia shook her head. “Don’t be quick to make judgments, my dear.” Sound advice, even though she didn’t want to follow it herself. Everything inside her wanted to dislike the stranger too. She feared his presence at the Golden T would spell trouble and heartache for them all.

Take this fear from me, Father. I know it isn’t of You.

Dusty’s mood grew darker the closer they got to the ranch. He tried to pray, but he couldn’t. Maybe that was because he didn’t want to ask for the Lord’s will to be done. He wanted Karen to stay. He wanted Karen to marry him.

He’d never asked for much, but this he wanted. Wanted it with all his heart.

He didn’t have to meet Mac Gleason to know that her friend,
as she’d described him in the past, had come to take her back to California. What Dusty didn’t know was, would she go?

Karen squinted her eyes against the bright September sunlight as the horses trotted the last quarter mile. She could see the ranch house, and she could see the black automobile parked near the porch. It looked like a new-model Town Car. Not many of those driving around Owyhee County.

She glanced toward Dusty. They’d spoken nary a word for miles, and his forbidding expression didn’t encourage her to try again.

She looked forward, this time noticing a man in a suit stepping off the porch. There was something familiar about—

“Mac?” she whispered. Then she grinned. “Mac!” She nudged the paint into a canter.

The minute she reached the barnyard, she drew her horse to a halt and slipped from the saddle. A few quick strides carried her to him and straight into his bear-hugging embrace.

“Oh, Mac, it’s good to see you.”

“I’d say the same, except I haven’t got much of a look at you yet.”

She stepped back and waited while he gave her a thorough perusal.

After a long while, he said, “You look more than good, Karen. You look happy.”

“I
am
happy.”

“Good.” Mac looked behind her.

She turned to see Dusty dismounting. She walked over to him, took hold of his hand, then drew him back to where Mac was waiting. “Dusty, I want you to meet Mac Gleason, a dear and trusted friend. He was my father’s attorney.”

The two men shook hands.

“What brings you to Idaho?” Dusty asked, his voice a bit gruff. No. It was almost unfriendly.

That wasn’t like him, Karen thought as she watched the two men.

They were each sizing up the other with wary gazes. She half expected them to start circling and growling like a couple of dogs fighting over a bone.

And I’m the bone!
She nearly laughed aloud at the surprising insight.

She slipped her arm through Mac’s and drew him toward the house. “Come onto the porch and sit down. I’m going to freshen up. We’ve been herding cattle, and I’m covered with dust from the trail.”

“Herding cattle?” Mac chuckled.

She elbowed him. “Don’t say it.” She returned his grin. “Don’t you dare say it.”

Karen thought Dusty might follow her into the house, but he didn’t. She paused in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder. He was sitting on the porch rail, watching their guest with obvious displeasure.

She decided she’d better hurry.

Mac Gleason was old enough to be Karen’s father. Pushing sixty, judging by the gray in his hair and his time-weathered face. Handsome. Distinguished looking in a suit that probably cost enough to support the youth camp for a full summer session. Or longer.

A dear and trusted friend, Karen had called him. Her father’s attorney.

What was the honorable Mr. Gleason doing at the Golden T? Dusty had felt twinges of jealousy over this man before. He
remembered when Mac had called Karen a couple of months ago. He’d feared then that they were or had been involved. He didn’t think so anymore. Not after seeing them together. Yet he wasn’t comforted. Mac Gleason had come to Idaho for a reason, and Dusty suspected the reason wasn’t going to make him happy.

“Much better,” Karen called as she came through the doorway.