A Promise for Spring (26 page)

Clearing his throat, Geoffrey briefly ducked his head. “I . . . I just assumed . . . I’m sorry.”

Emmaline nearly gasped. Had he truly apologized to her?

His forehead wrinkled, but it was more in puzzlement than frustration. “You have learned a great deal, Emmaline.”

She nodded, but she wondered how he’d react if she told him the most important thing she had learned: to lean on God’s strength rather than on her own.

Suddenly a gust of wind whisked around the house, lifting Geoffrey’s hair and twisting Emmaline’s apron into a knot. They both looked skyward. In the north, the expanse of blue wore a billowing puff of white. Their gazes collided.

“Clouds,” Emmaline said.

Geoffrey’s eyes lit with hope. “Perhaps rain is finally on its way.”

“That would be good news.”

Another gust, stronger and cooler than the one before, pulled the pan from Emmaline’s hands. It clattered against the ground, spewing water on her skirt and Geoffrey’s pant legs. She clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh! I am so sorry!”

Geoffrey picked up the pan and handed it to her. “No harm done.” His lips quirked into a boyish smile. “But you might want to collect whatever supper items you need and close the kitchen door behind you.” He sniffed the air. “I smell moisture.”

Emmaline effortlessly returned his smile. “Then our prayers are going to be answered?”

“I hope so.” Turning, he jogged toward the barn.

Geoffrey pulled the blanket across his legs and lay back on the straw mattress, his ears keenly attuned to the sounds outside the sturdy rock walls of the bunkhouse.

The wind howled and thunder rumbled. All afternoon, he had watched clouds build in the north. When he saw a flash of lightning illuminate the giant puff balls, he tipped his head in anticipation of the first roll of thunder. Not until the fourth or fifth bright flash had the sound finally reached him.

But now it growled repeatedly, following on the heels of jagged bursts of light. Those rumbling clouds would surely bring needed moisture. If the wind didn’t blow them away . . .

He hoped Chris was already safe at the doctor’s residence. After supper, Geoffrey had sent Chris to town to spend time with Jim. By the looks of the sky and the restless behavior of the sheep, the rain would hit during the early-morning hours.

Now, at not quite eight o’clock, full dark provided a vivid backdrop for the flashes of lightning that shot from the heavy clouds. “Rain, Lord,” he murmured. “Send the rain.” Another rumble of thunder rattled the windows of the bunkhouse.

Geoffrey had left the horses in their harnesses with the reins attached. With the strange sounds and the lightning, they would spook easily. But their reins, tied securely to the stall rails, would keep them from dashing out into the night even if they were frightened. He hoped Emmaline wasn’t frightened. Over supper when the thunder rolled, she had merely smiled and commented on how it sounded like home. Thunderstorms were not unusual in England, but she had not yet experienced a storm on the plains. And she was all alone in the house.

He scowled as he remembered her response when he’d asked if she would like him to stay with her. “No, thank you,” she had said with a demure tilt of her head. “I shall be quite fine, and I am hardly
alone
.”

He wished now he had questioned her about what she meant, but she had begun dishing dessert—a beautifully baked brown sugar pie, fresh from the oven—and his attention had shifted.

Now, replaying her reply, he wondered again at the confidence she’d expressed.

A resounding
crack!
brought him to his feet. He stubbed his toe on a loose floorboard while rushing to the window. Standing on one foot, he rubbed his throbbing toe and peered out into the shadows. The wind had picked up, and blowing dust obscured even the stars. He could see nothing.

Geoffrey shivered as thunder crashed again. The lightning must be close for it to rattle the walls. His heart pounded. If he were this affected by the storm, surely Emmaline must be nervous, as well. Despite her claim that she would be all right, he would not be able to rest unless he checked on her. He sat down and tugged on his boots.

He would check the sheep, too, and draw the gates across the broad openings at either end of the barn. If the storm frightened them too badly, they might try to leave the protection of the barn, and he couldn’t tether them the way he had the horses. Keeping them safely inside the structure was imperative—he couldn’t afford to lose another head.

Slipping his arms into a sturdy twill jacket, he looked out the window and shivered again. Did he really want to venture out? Another
boom!
propelled him to action. He must see to his flock— and to Emmaline.

Emmaline placed another piece of wood in the stove. The sudden drop in temperature both thrilled and troubled her. Surely it indicated the coming of rain, but the abrupt change from hot to cold left her somewhat unsettled. Not since her arrival in Kansas had she used the stove as a source of heat. Yet the chill in the air penetrated the walls. If the wind would stop blowing, perhaps it wouldn’t seem as cold.

Over her months in Kansas, she believed she had grown accustomed to the wind. But tonight it howled more loudly than it ever had before, making the windowpanes shake. When combined with the resounding crash of thunder, nature’s cacophony was nearly deafening.

Sitting back down at the table, she pulled the lamp closer to the Bible. Geoffrey hadn’t declared an intent to return the book to the mercantile, so she felt safe in opening it and reading a few passages. The attached red satin ribbon divided the book at the Twenty-third Psalm, so she began reading at that spot.

She especially liked the beginning of verse three: “He restoreth my soul. . . .” Closing her eyes, she let the words fill her. For a moment, the raging winds and powerful crashes of thunder seemed to slip away as a feeling of peace washed over her.

Even though she missed her mother, missed England, and missed Tildy, she still experienced contentedness that defied explanation. Somehow, God had restored her soul, and although she felt distant from Geoffrey and all of the other people she loved, she was still . . . whole.

She drew in a satisfied breath, and the smell of smoke at the back of her throat made her cough. Turning toward the stove, she frowned. Had she not set the damper to allow the smoke to escape? A quick perusal assured her the damper was open. From where was the smoke smell coming?

Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!
She jerked as someone pounded hard on the front door. Her hip slammed against the table, and the lamp tilted. Emmaline quickly grabbed the lamp to keep it from falling. With one hand wrapped firmly around the lamp’s stem, she hurried to the front door. A shadowy figure stood outside, and she recognized Geoffrey. She swung the door wide. The smell of smoke was even stronger outside.

“Emmaline! Lightning struck the horse barn! I need your help—come!”

Without hesitation, she placed the lamp on the table near the door. His hand captured hers, and together they ran across the dark yard. Wind tore at her hair, pulling the pins loose. Her skirt tried to wrap around her legs, and she yanked free of Geoffrey’s grasp to lift it above her knees.

The distressed neigh of horses carried over the howl of the wind, chilling Emmaline even more than the fierce wind. Ahead, a glow lit the night sky, and smoke coiled like a wild, dancing snake.

They reached the barn, and Geoffrey pointed. “There are buckets in the lean-to. Fill them at the Solomon. I’ve got to get the horses.”

Emmaline grasped his arm with both hands. “You can’t go in there!” Flames licked along the eaves of the wooden roof. “The roof could fall on you!”

“I cannot let them burn to death!” Geoffrey broke free of her grasp and ran directly into the barn.

Emmaline stood for one moment in silent horror, but then she leapt into action. She retrieved two buckets from the lean-to, the heat from the barn scorching her skin. Stumbling—blinded by smoke, dust, and her wind-tossed hair—she made her way to the edge of the river and filled the buckets. One horse raced by her, his dangling reins slapping her hard on the side of the face and nearly sending her headfirst into the water.

She regained her footing and lifted the buckets. Her cheek stung, but she ignored the pain.
I must help Geoffrey! God, help me
help Geoffrey!
Slopping water as she ran, she returned to the barn and flung the water from one bucket as high as she could. The wind caught most of it and blew it back on her.

Sputtering, she reached for the second bucket. Suddenly Geoffrey was at her side. He slapped the flanks of a wild-eyed horse. “Yah! Get out of there!” It pounded away. He held his arms outward. “Throw the water on me!”

“W-what?”

“Throw it on me!”

Emmaline lifted the bucket and tossed its contents on Geoffrey. Behind him, flames rose into the air. The crackling roar of the fire added to the awful sounds of the storm. He wiped his face and turned back toward the barn.

“Geoffrey! No!”

But he ignored her cry and dashed into the barn. Although she knew she should be retrieving water, her feet refused to move. She stood transfixed, her watering eyes pinned to the wide opening of the barn. With her hands clenched beneath her chin, she counted the seconds and waited for Geoffrey’s return.

Two horses ran out, their necks arched and their eyes rolling with terror. One came straight at her, and she ducked aside as it raced past. She stared at the barn. Geoffrey . . . where was Geoffrey?

Then she saw him, hunched forward, his face buried in his elbow. With his other hand, he pulled at the reins of Jim’s horse.

The frightened horse fought, yanking its head against the reins and neighing horribly. When Geoffrey nearly fell, Emmaline ran forward and grabbed the reins, too. Together they managed to pull the horse to safety. But it continued to scream, shaking its head wildly and pawing the ground.

“Keep it here,” Geoffrey demanded, releasing the trailing reins into her hands. “I’ve got to get the wagon.” He turned again toward the barn.

Emmaline dropped the reins and the horse dashed away. She wrapped her arms around Geoffrey’s waist from behind. “No! Let it burn!”

“I cannot replace it!” He tried to tear loose of her grip, but she held tight.

“I cannot replace
you
! Please, Geoffrey!”

“Emmaline, let go!”

“No!”

At that moment a roar filled the air, followed by an explosion of flames. He spun and ducked, enclosing her in his embrace as he did so. Smoke billowed, making both of them cough horribly. Still bent forward, they scuttled toward the Solomon and splashed directly into the water.

Huddled in each other’s arms, they watched the barn’s roof collapse and sparks fill the air. Tears rolled down Emmaline’s face only to be washed away by a sudden downpour. The clouds opened up, and huge drops descended, as hard as pebbles. Rain hammered the barn, extinguishing the flames, but it had come too late. She clung to Geoffrey, her cheek against his chest, his arms trembling on her back.

“Why?” he groaned into her tangled hair. “Why did God hold the rain so long?”

She tightened her grip, burying her face against his shirt front. She had no answer.

TWENTY - SEVEN

J
IM STOOD AT the window of the doc’s office and looked out over the street. The crutches bit into his armpits, but he let them hold his weight anyway. His legs—even his good one— felt shaky after five days in bed. But Doc had said he could get up and move around. No matter how weak his body, he wanted to look outside.

There had been times since the afternoon Chris delivered him to the doctor’s care when he wondered if he’d ever glimpse the Kansas landscape again—or if his next view would be the streets of gold the preacher talked about. His last day at the ranch, the yellow sun had glowed in a sky as clear and blue as the ocean. But while he lay on the bed, battling the effects of the snake’s venom, the sky had clouded, and rain had pounded the roof.

The rain of the past three days was now gone, but evidence of the downpour remained. The sky looked pale gray, like a shirt washed too many times in the cloudy river. Even the sun was faded to half its normal glow. Mud splashed midway up the sides of Stetler’s buildings, and the dirt streets were shiny and slick looking. Two wagons, minus their horses, sat axle-deep in muck in the middle of Main Street.

Men draped in rain slickers and women holding their skirts above their ankles high-stepped through the mud on their way to Sunday service, the usual smiles and friendly chatter absent. But in contrast to the somber people, two birds with speckled yellow bellies sat side by side and sang a tune on a windowsill across the street.

The birds’ cheerful chirping reminded Jim of singing hymns at the Stetler church. Was Emmaline there now? Or had Mr. Garrett decided the roads were too muddy to travel? He pressed his forehead against the closed window, straining to see down the block to the churchyard. If she was there, would she stop by the doctor’s office and visit him before returning to the ranch?

The ache in his armpits became a stabbing pain, so with a grunt of frustration, he turned and stumped his way back to the bed. He dropped the wooden crutches on the floor with a clatter and flopped backward, resting his head on the pillow.

Staring at the ceiling, he let his mind click through memories: riding the range on Horace’s broad back; listening to Chris snore at night; seeing Miss Emmaline’s smile from across the picnic quilt. He hungered for a slice of Emmaline’s apple pie and the smell of the sheep barn and even the lingering tang of Chris’s pipe smoke. He’d tasted death and now little things seemed to have an importance they’d never carried before. From now on he would appreciate the pleasures his life in America afforded.

He would also pay attention when walking through the pastures. . . .

A light tap on the door sent him scrambling to throw the sheet over his legs. When he was covered, he called, “Come in.”

The door squeaked open, and the doc’s daughter, Alice, came in. She carried a tray containing a tin plate of fluffy scrambled eggs and biscuits and a tall glass of frothy milk.