Whispers from Yesterday (4 page)

He is not at all what I expected. Nor what the congregation expected either. He is much younger than our previous pastor. Papa thinks no more than 25 or 26. (I suppose I would seem a mere child to him, being only 17.) He is ever so handsome. Tall as an oak with hair the color of straw and eyes a piercing blue. God forgive me, I did not hear a word of his sermon, for all I was looking at was him.

Sophia was no better than me. I could tell by the expression on her face. And she blushed three shades of red when she shook his hand at the end of service. Tonight, she pulled out the dress patterns. She wants to have something new to wear to church next Sunday.

But something tells me (maybe only wishful thinking) that it was me whom he noticed. My heart nearly stopped beating when he shook my hand. Such a strong grip and yet so gentle at the same time. He looked directly into my eyes, and it was like he could see straight through to my heart. No one has ever made me feel that way before.

Oh, I ramble. I don’t know what to write tonight. All I can think about is Pastor Mikkel Christiansen.

Esther

Thursday, July 23, 1936

Dear Diary,

Pastor Christiansen came to call on our family today. Only a brief visit. An introductory call, as he put it. Just a few minutes to acquaint himself with members of his new congregation. He sat right here in our tiny parlor, in Papa’s favorite chair, and I was on the sofa across from him. Nervous as you please.

He is even more handsome than I remembered. Sophia was not yet home from her job in town when he came, and she was pea green with envy when she found out she had missed him.

At supper tonight, Papa said he was mightily impressed by the young pastor. He doesn’t have to convince me. My friends at school would call him snazzy, although I’m sure that isn’t a very reverent description for a minister.

Never before have I heard anyone talk about God the way he does. As if God were his closest friend, not someone far away. I think I could sit and listen to him talk for hours and hours and hours.

I cannot tell Sophia how I feel, because I am afraid she
feels the very same way herself. What will happen if I’m right? We’ve been so close, the two of us, able to share our deepest secrets, the ones we can tell nobody else. Papa says we couldn’t be more alike if we’d been twins. It bothers me to think of something coming between us, and yet, I cannot help wanting him to notice me rather than Sophia.

Maybe he won’t notice either of us. But if that’s true, my heart might break right in two.

Esther

THREE

Horses belonging to the Randolph Butlers had been boarded in stables nearly as pristine and spacious as one of the Butler homes. The floors in those exclusive stables had been covered with sawdust or straw, the grounds carefully raked and perfectly manicured. There had been stable boys to clean the saddles and other tack and to groom the sleek, purebred animals when Karen and her friends were finished riding.

The barn at the Golden T was nothing like that.

This rickety building smelled of dirt, manure, and old leather, and it looked as if it were ready to collapse. The only horse in sight was a sorry-looking rack of bones that would have been better off sent to a glue factory.

Mac wouldn’t believe this if I told him,
she thought as she looked around. If he’d known, he wouldn’t have suggested she come to Idaho. If he’d known, he would have—

Would have what? Kept on supporting her? Kept on paying her bills? Let her live in his house while people she used to call friends looked at her with pity in their eyes and whispered behind her back.
Poor Karen Butler. Did you know about her father?

Karen set her jaw. She wasn’t going to think about that. She was going to find some way to get back the things her father had
lost. She wasn’t going to let this beat her. She would show them. She would show them all.

Restless and agitated, she left the barn and headed toward the largest of the other outbuildings. Opening the door, she found one long room with several bunk beds set against the back wall, a wood-burning cook stove, a table with a couple of benches on either side, and a few other pieces of furniture. A second, smaller room to the right of the door held a single bed, a desk cluttered with books, papers, and ledgers, an old office chair with worn upholstery, and an antique wardrobe.

So this was where that cowboy and those boys lived. But why on earth would anyone hire kids to help run a ranch? Even
she
knew that didn’t make sense. Maybe her grandmother was senile, although the old lady didn’t seem so. Or maybe that cowboy was some sort of con artist. Maybe he was stealing from Sophia Taylor.

Karen was tempted to look through the things on the desk, then decided against it. What did it matter who they were or what they were up to? This ranch was nothing to her. For that matter, the old woman was nothing to her. This was a temporary stop.

“And I’ve got to get out of here soon,” she muttered. “I’ve got to get back to California where I belong.” She turned to leave.

But her way was blocked. Dusty Stoddard stood in the doorway, watching her with disapproving eyes.

“Find what you were looking for?” he asked after a lengthy silence.

“No … I mean, yes … I mean, I wasn’t—” She stopped abruptly. She didn’t have to explain anything to the hired man. “Excuse me,” she said brusquely. Then she walked toward him, expecting him to move out of the way.

He didn’t.

She had to stop. Reluctantly, she lifted her gaze to meet his again.

“What is it you want, Miss Butler? What are you doing at the Golden T?”

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”

“Maybe not.” He jerked his head toward the house. “But Miss Sophie
is
my business. She’s a good woman with a good heart. She’s prepared to love you, if you let her. No. She
already
loved you, before you ever came. So don’t hurt her. Whatever brought you here, it better not end up hurting her.”

“You
are presumptuous.” She lifted her chin. “Now kindly get out of my way.”

He had the audacity to grin as he stepped back, giving her room to pass. “Don’t go breaking one of those pretty nails on your way back to California, princess.”

Did she deserve that?
Dusty wondered as Karen swept past him in a huff.
No, probably not.
He let out a deep sigh.
Definitely not.

He wasn’t proud of himself for the way he’d treated her. Not when he knew how much Sophia loved the girl and wanted her to stay.

But I’m not sorry for what I said either.

He’d seen the way Karen looked at him, at the boys, at Sophia’s ranch, and he didn’t like it. It set his teeth on edge, having people act as if they were his betters. He’d always been determined to prove them wrong.

And where did that get you?

No place but trouble.

He turned around in time to see Karen walking toward the draw, following Bonnet Creek. Muttering to himself, he hurried after her.

“Miss Butler!” he called as he approached her. “Wait.”

She glanced over her shoulder but kept going.

He quickened his stride. “Wait.”

She must have realized she couldn’t outrun him, because she stopped, hesitated, then turned.

“Look, I’m sorry.” He stopped too. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

She didn’t appear mollified by his apology. Her light blue eyes were like ice, and she looked at him as if he were a bug she should step on.

A number of comments popped into his head, none of which would have been a proper witness to Christ’s redeeming love. He had to take a deep breath and silently count to ten before he trusted himself to speak.

“Look, Miss Butler, I was out of line, and I’m sorry. Sophia is my friend. I’ve known her a long time. I know how glad she is to have you here. I just … I just care about her. That’s all.”

Her expression didn’t change. “How
long
have you known my grandmother?”

“Almost fifteen years.”

His answer obviously surprised her. “Fifteen?” she repeated, her eyes widening.

“Ever since I came to Idaho. I lived with Jock and Merline Carter.” He pointed toward the river. “The Carter spread was over there. Sophia was a good friend of theirs, and she sort of became the grandma I never had. Kind of like she is to the boys you met.”

“Speaking of those boys, just who are they? What are they doing here? Don’t tell me they’re the hired hands, because I can’t believe it.” She made a sweeping motion in the direction of the house and barn. “And if you
are
the hired help, it doesn’t look like you do anything around here to earn your pay.” That snooty tone was back in her voice.

“The ranch needs plenty of work, I’ll grant you that. But it’s because there isn’t enough money to go around.”

“So why
are
you here?” she challenged.

He lost control of his temper again, his disdain matching hers. “Because this could be the last chance for these kids, and Sophia cares enough to give them a home
and
a chance.” He leaned closer. “It may not look like much to you, but it’s a whole lot better than juvenile hall or prison or a plot in some cemetery, which could be their other options unless somebody steps in to help turn things around.”

“They’re
delinquents?
“

“That’s an ugly label to hang on a kid.”

“But you said—”

“I’ll make you a deal, princess. You stay out of our way, and we’ll stay out of yours. Then we’ll all get along fine.”

He spun on his heel and strode away, heading straight for his horse. He swung up into the saddle and rode out, completely forgetting what had brought him back to the ranch in the first place.

Sophia was old, but she could still see pretty good and her hearing was excellent—when she wanted it to be. From where she sat on the front porch, she didn’t miss the altercation between Karen and Dusty.

It reminded her a little of Bradley and her when they’d been about the same age. Goodness, how the sparks had flown. That was more than fifty years ago, but it was fresh in her mind.

My, how we could get under each other’s skin.

She glanced down at the old diaries, some in her lap, more on the porch floor.

Esther would have liked my Bradley.

There were thirteen diaries in all, the cloth covers showing signs of age. At one time, their pages had been white and fresh and empty, but they’d eventually been filled with the script of a young woman telling the story of her life as it unfolded each day.

Dearest Esther, pouring out her heart into these books, year after year.

Sophia ran a hand slowly over the cover of the top diary, wishing she could go back in time and change the role she’d played in Esther’s life. She wished she hadn’t parted with her sister on such bad terms. She wished she’d answered just one of Esther’s letters. She wished …

But, of course, she couldn’t change what had gone before.

She glanced toward the draw, saw Karen strolling slowly back to the house, an aura of futility hovering over her.

No, Sophia couldn’t change what had happened in the past, but she could change what would be in the future, as far as it was up to her. She could change it by her obedience to the Father’s will. Esther had learned that truth at an early age. It had taken Sophia a great deal longer.

Perhaps Karen had inherited Esther’s wisdom and would see the truth sooner rather than later.