A Promise for Spring (15 page)

His boyish excitement made Emmaline giggle. “Did you finish this one so soon?”

“Chris and I had two pieces each.” Jim puffed out his cheeks and then laughed. “I like pie. My mum baked apple pie—my very favorite. Miss Tildy brings us sweets—egg pie, and shoofly pie, and sweet potato pie like you baked. One time Reverend Stanford’s wife gave us a peach pie, but it was too mushy.” The boy made a sour face. “Your sweet potato pie was just as good as Miss Tildy’s. I would have eaten more if Chris had let me.”

“You may have another piece if you like,” Emmaline said.

“Will you have one, too?”

She looked into his hopeful face. Her stomach growled, reminding her of her hunger. Slowly she removed her hands from the dishwater. “I would like to taste it, I suppose.”

Jim charged to the cabinet and removed two saucers. Emmaline fetched forks, and she put one piece of pie on each plate. They sat across from each other, and Jim dove into his piece with an enthusiastic stab of his fork. Emmaline lifted a smaller bite, but at the first explosion of flavor on her tongue, she raised her eyebrows in pleased surprise.

Jim grinned. “Good, huh?”

“It is.” Emmaline wiped crumbs from her mouth with her thumb. “I hope it isn’t arrogant to praise my own cooking.”

“Not when it’s the truth.” Jim shoved another sizable bite into his mouth and then spoke around it. “When Geoffrey or Chris cooked, they never made sweet stuff.” He swallowed. “Will you learn to make cakes, too? I like spice cake with whipped cream on top. My mum used to bake that.”

Emmaline paused in eating. “Is your mother gone?”

Jim nodded, carrying the last bite to his mouth. “Mum and Dad died of measles when I was six. But Chris took good care of me, and then Mr. Garrett brought us here to America. We have a grand life here.”

His blithe recital made Emmaline’s chest constrict. How much heartache must lurk beneath the simple words? “Do you not miss England at all?”

“Why should I?” The boy pushed his empty plate aside. “It’s just Chris and me, nobody there for us anymore. We have a better job here in Chetwynd Valley than anything Chris could have found in England. Except . . .”

Emmaline tipped her head. “Except?”

“Except since we left England, I haven’t gone to school. I wish I could go to the schoolhouse in Stetler. Mr. Garrett let me go part of the year when we first arrived, but since Ben—” He stopped, his startled expression telling Emmaline he had nearly said something he shouldn’t.

“Who is Ben?”

“Nobody.” Jim stood up. “I mean, just somebody who isn’t here anymore.” He backed toward the door. “I better see to my chores now, Miss Emmaline. Thank you for the pie.” He dashed out.

Emmaline stared after him, wondering at his strange behavior. Why couldn’t the boy speak of this mysterious Ben? What had the man done?

She carried the two plates and forks to the sink and quickly finished the dishes. After returning the pans, plates, and utensils to their places in the cabinets, she went to the bedroom. The carpet bag waited in the closet, still holding her English rock and some of her clothes. As soon as night fell, she would set out.

At that moment, the distant howl of a coyote carried through the window. She shivered at the mournful sound. Did she dare set out at night, when animals prowled? She pushed that fear aside. She must reach Moreland, and if she left during the day, Geoffrey would notice. She must leave at night.

“I can do this,” she told herself firmly. “I
can
.” She sat down on the edge of the bed to wait for darkness to fall.

A banging roused Geoffrey from a sound sleep. He sat up in a rush, his feet flying from the mattress.

“Mr. Garrett?” Chris called through the door.

Geoffrey rubbed his eyes. “What is it?”

The door cracked open. A slice of sunlight spilled across the floor. “I wanted to check on you.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost seven.”

Seven? Geoffrey bolted from the bed and reached for his pants.

He skimmed them over his long johns, berating himself for sleeping so long. He had lain awake last night, praying for wisdom in dealing with Emmaline, but he hadn’t realized how tired he was.

Never had he slept so long past sunrise. “Have you and Jim had breakfast?”

“We ate some canned beans and the last of the pie.”

Geoffrey paused in tucking in his shirt. “Canned beans and pie? Is that what Emmaline put on the table?”

Chris pinched at the whiskers on the side of his face. “Miss Emmaline wasn’t around, either.”

A sick feeling rose in Geoffrey’s middle. He shoved his feet into his boots, dancing a bit as he tried to hurry. “Get the sheep out to pasture,” he ordered as he charged past Chris. “I’ll be working on the ditch again today.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chris trotted in one direction and Geoffrey headed toward the house. She wouldn’t leave. Not again. Not at night. He didn’t knock on the door but charged directly through the house to the bedroom. Maybe she, too, had overslept after a restless night. But the bedroom door stood open, the bed neatly made. And empty. With fear making his mouth dry, he crossed to the closet and looked inside. The carpet bag was missing.

Geoffrey spun on his heel and thudded through the house. Just as he reached the kitchen, Ronald Senger’s wagon rolled into the yard. Tildy climbed down, and Geoffrey hurried to meet her.

“She’s gone. Took off during the night,” he grated out in lieu of a greeting.

Tildy grasped his arm.

“I must go find her,” he said.

Ronald called, “I can look, too.”

“Thank you.” Geoffrey pointed. “You go west; I’ll go east.”

Tildy’s fingers tightened on his arm. “I’ll be a-prayin’ you find her safe an’ sound.”

Geoffrey gave Tildy’s hand a pat, then headed for the horse barn. He hitched the team to the wagon by rote, his mind filled with unpleasant pictures. Determinedly, he set the ugly images aside. He would find her before anything bad happened.

He raced the team at an unsafe pace down the road. Dust billowed from the horses’ hooves and the wagon’s wheels, obscuring his vision. Clenching his teeth, he slowed the team. His eyes scanned the horizon in both directions. Surely she would have kept to the road. At night, with only the moonlight to guide her, she wouldn’t have dared leave the relative safety of the road.

The early-morning sun, huge in the eastern sky, burned his eyes, but he blinked as little as possible, fearful he might miss seeing her.
Let me find her. Please let me find her.
Within a mile of Stetler, his eyes spotted an odd black lump at the side of the road. He leaned forward, straining to see more clearly.

His heart launched into his throat when he realized the lump was Emmaline in her black dress.

“Yah!” He whipped the reins, and the horses lurched into a full run. In seconds the wagon reached her, and he jerked back on the reins so abruptly the horses nearly sat down. He leaped from the wagon and raced to her. Falling to his knees, he cupped her face in his hands. “Emmaline?”

She roused, twisting her face into a grimace. Opening her eyes, she looked around blearily. Then her gaze met his, and she bolted away from his touch, scooting backward on her bottom. When she was out of his reach, she struggled to her feet. Without a word, she grabbed the handles of the carpet bag and staggered off.

For a moment Geoffrey sat on his heels, disbelief sealing him in place. Then he jumped to his feet and trotted up alongside her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

With a determined set to her jaw, she kept walking, her gaze straight ahead. “Now that I’m rested, I am going on to More-land.” “And what are you going to do in Moreland?”

“I am going to purchase a train ticket and return to England.” Geoffrey grabbed her arm, bringing her to a stop. “You will do nothing of the kind!”

“Geoffrey, release my arm.”

The defiance in her eyes raised Geoffrey’s anger another notch. “I will not! You will turn around, get into the wagon, and return to the ranch.”

She glared up at him for several seconds, her lips pursed tightly. Dropping the bag, she pried his fingers from her arm, then scooped up the bag and walked on as if he hadn’t spoken.

Geoffrey clutched his hair. He lowered his head for a moment, fighting for control. After several calming breaths, he stomped after her once more, but this time he stepped directly into her pathway.

She tried to step around him. He blocked her. She tried to go the opposite way. He blocked her again. She huffed, “Geoffrey!

Get out of my way!”

But he set his feet wide and balled his hands on his hips. “Emmaline, if you do not get into the wagon I shall put you there myself.”

Her dark eyes narrowed. “Do not threaten me, Geoffrey.”

“It is not a threat. Will you turn around on your own?”

“No!”

“Very well.” He bent forward, planting his shoulder in her middle and grasping the backs of her knees. When he stood, she fell across his shoulder like a sack of feed.

She dropped the carpet bag and began pounding on his back as he carried her across the ground. “Unhand me at once!”

“If you behave like a spoiled child, you can expect to be treated like one.” He plunked her none too gently onto the wagon seat and then swung up beside her. Taking up the reins, he directed the horses up even with the discarded carpet bag. “Whoa.” Pointing a finger under her nose, he ordered, “Stay put.”

He hopped over the side of the wagon and snatched up the bag. The weight nearly dislocated his shoulder. “What do you have in here?”

From atop the seat, she folded her arms and looked across the prairie, her lips clamped in a sullen line.

He tossed the bag into the back of the wagon and climbed back aboard. He said nothing to her as he turned the team and aimed the wagon toward the ranch. She sat in silence beneath the morning sun, but a constant stream of tears ran down her pale cheeks and fell onto her lap, splotching the fabric of her black dress.

Although he was angrier than he could ever remember being, he was still moved by her tears.
Can I make her stay when she is so
miserable?
He set his jaw.
I waited so long for her. I cannot let her go.

SIXTEEN

W
HAT WAS YOU thinkin’, girl, takin’ off like that? You give us quite a scare.” Tildy wanted to take hold of Emmaline and shake her, but the tears that slid down Emmaline’s cheeks softened her anger. Both women watched Geoffrey drive down the lane toward the barn. He’d unceremoniously brought Emmaline home, assisted her from the wagon, and handed her over to Tildy.

“You gots to think, chil’,” Tildy told the girl.

“I did think, Tildy!” She covered her face with her hands. “I thought very carefully. Oh, why did I fall asleep? If I’d only kept going, I would be to Moreland by now.”

Tildy grabbed Emmaline’s wrists and pulled her hands down. She wanted to coddle her, but Kansas was a hard land, and if Emmaline didn’t learn to let the good Lord give her strength, she’d be conquered by the will of the prairie. “Come on ovah here.” She led Emmaline to the porch and sat next to her on a bench beneath the window. “You gots to stop this runnin’ away from your problems. Runnin’ don’t fix nothin’.”

Emmaline’s chin jutted. “Well, staying will not fix anything, either.”

“So what’s broke? You tell me an’ let’s see if we can find a way to fix it.”

The girl stared at Tildy. “There is no fix for this situation! Geoffrey claims to love me, yet all he does is tell me what to do, or that I am doing something wrong. He is not the same man I knew in England. That man talked to me tenderly. He picked me daisies. This Geoffrey reprimands me for gathering flowers.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I want to go back to England.”

Tildy sighed. “I knows you do. But we don’t always git what we want. Sometimes we gots to be content wit’ what the Good Lawd gives us.”

Emmaline gave her a surprised look.

“You think you’s the only one’s evuh had disappointments?

Life’s full o’ disappointments and unhappiness, chil’. But you gotta look for the good in it.”

“Good? In unhappiness?”

“Why, yes. The Lawd don’t bring nothin’ into our lives that He can’t use for good. Even unhappiness. Why, if we nevah had a sad moment, we wouldn’t get to ’preciate the good times.”

“But—”

“Growin’s a good thang, girl.” Tildy threw her arms wide.

“Why, if a body nevuh overcomes a bad time, we don’t gets to show how God gives us strength.”

Emmaline turned away. “God has nothing to do with my relationship with Geoffrey.”

Tildy nodded at that. “An’ that’s jus’ the trouble. You need God smack-dab in the middle o’ your relationship with Geoffrey.”

She cupped Emmaline’s chin and looked into her eyes. “Honey, Geoffrey’s jus’ a stubborn man who needs to do some growin’ hisself. But if you take off, you’ll nevuh know how God can grow you’s together.”

“I don’t know, Miss Tildy.”

“Well, then, you close your eyes an’ let’s do some talkin’ to God.” She clasped Emmaline’s hand, bowed her head, and scrunched her eyes tight. “Lawd, I knows you gots somethin’ special in mind for Emmalion an’ Geoffrey. Right now things ain’t goin’ as they want, but I trust You’ll turn it aroun’ in time. Give us patience while we waits, an’ give us strength to do the right thangs while we waits. We love You, Lawd. Amen.” Giving Emmaline’s hand a squeeze, she opened her eyes and stood up. “Now, let’s go bake that bread. Nothin’ like the smell of fresh bread bakin’ to put a man in a good mood.”

After putting away the team and wagon, Geoffrey saddled another horse and rode to the river. Stripping down to his cotton underdrawers, he made a shallow dive and skimmed beneath the surface of the water. The cold, clear water rushing across his body cooled his temperature . . . and his temper. He rolled to his back and floated, staring up at the cloudless sky.

The sky in England had been blue-gray in the spring, the color of the bottom of an iron bucket. The vibrant blue of the Kansas sky never ceased to amaze him. He wished Kansas had a few of England’s clouds, however; they needed rain. His pastures were dry, and if the grasses didn’t replenish, he would have to buy feed for the sheep. Maybe he should let the section Ronald rented go to hay and harvest it. The sheep had to eat.