A Veiled Reflection (6 page)

Jillian didn't know whether to be relieved or jealous. He said it with such obvious admiration for her sister that Jillian couldn't help but feel a little envious.

“I realize I tried to deceive you as I have the others, but please 41 understand . . .”

“Oh, I understand. I mean, Judith was involved, so it couldn't just be a simple matter. Nothing Judith ever did was simple.”

“Do you always call women by their first names?” Jillian asked suddenly. It struck her as very strange that this man had insisted she call him Mac, while he constantly called her sister by her given name.

“I don't always,” Mac replied, “but your sister was special. She just seemed so at ease with the world. She insisted everyone call her by her first name. She hated it when Miss Carson would get all formal in front of the train passengers. She thought it complete nonsense. If it makes you uneasy, rest assured I won't call you by your given name unless you grant me permission to do so.”

“Well, you won't really have to worry about it, I suppose,” Jillian replied.

“And why would that be?” He leaned forward and his black hair fell across his forehead in a way that made Jillian want to reach up and push it back into place.

“Because now that I'm found out, Miss Carson will no doubt demand I return to Kansas City.”

“Miss Carson would only do that if she found out about your little deception.”

Jillian eyed him very seriously. “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying that I think this will be great fun. What do you say we just be good friends and keep this between us? If you're anything like your sister, I know we'll get along just fine.”

He was serious, Jillian realized. He was laughing and enjoying the situation, and he was willing to let her go on posing as Judith.

“Do you mean it? Truly?”

He laughed again. “I don't see that it will harm anyone. After all, I know Miss Carson doesn't have any girls to spare. So if anything, it'll only be helpful.”

Jillian breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Dr. MacCallister. I can't tell you what this means to me.”

“Mac,” he said, reaching out to help her to her feet. “Call me Mac.”

Jillian warmed to his smile and nodded. “Very well, and you may call me Jillian.”

“I'd probably better call you Judith,” he said, then gave her a wink. “Oh, and I'd keep that arm covered with a bandage if I were you. You go to changing clothes in front of anyone and they'll know right off that you're not Judith. That burn she had was pretty intense.”

“But she was all right, wasn't she? I mean, I never knew in the whole of her visit that she was wounded,” Jillian said, suddenly very concerned for her sister.

“Oh, Judith will get by just fine. She could sell sand in the desert. Your sister is quite a card. She'll always land on her feet. Here, let me put a bandage on your arm and no one will know the difference.” He very quickly wrapped her forearm, then pushed her sleeve back into place. “There.”

Jillian sighed and struggled to rebutton her sleeve. “I wish the same could be said of me,” she murmured. Mac's confused expression caused her to add, “I mean the part about landing on my feet.” She smiled weakly. “After all, I wouldn't be in here now if that were the case.” She couldn't seem to coordinate the work required to secure her sleeve.

Mac pushed her bandaged hand away very gently, then took up the edges of the sleeve and buttoned it for Jillian. Where his warm fingers touched the sensitive skin of her wrist, Jillian felt a tingling sensation that seemed to move up her arm in waves.

“I think it would have been a pity not to have learned your secret, Jillian,” he said softly, glancing up to meet her stare. “A very big pity.”

FOUR

“THE SECOND CHAPTER OF JAMES states, ‘For if there come unto your assembly a man with a gold ring, in goodly apparel, and there come in also a poor man in vile raiment; and ye have respect to him that weareth the gay clothing, and say unto him, sit thou here in a good place; and say to the poor, stand thou there, or sit here under my footstool: Are ye not then partial in yourselves, and are become judges of evil thoughts? Hearken, my beloved brethren, hath not God chosen the poor of this world rich in faith, and heirs of the kingdom which he hath promised to them that love him? But ye have despised the poor. Do not rich men oppress you, and draw you before the judgment seats?”'

Jillian shifted a bit uncomfortably in the hard pew of the tiny Pintan church. Reverend Lister, the round little man with a balding head and spectacles, held her captive with his words. Words that spoke of treating others badly simply because they were poor. She had seen this type of partiality for most of her life. She couldn't remember a time when her parents' social standing hadn't been an important mark of who they were. People looked up to her family. They were given places of honor. So why did that suddenly seem so wrong?

“‘But if ye have respect to persons,”' the pastor continued reading, “‘ye commit sin, and are convinced of the law as transgressors.”'

He gripped the sides of the pulpit and stared intently at the thirtysome people gathered in the little church. “Do we agree that the Scriptures tell us that we are all equal in God's eyes?”

A slight murmuring went through the crowd. A couple of weak “amens” were heard from the very back of the room, and Jillian thought it all rather queer. Her church back in Kansas City had been stately and beautiful in its cathedral-style setting. There had been lovely ornamentation and some twenty stained-glass windows to honor God up in His heaven. Jillian had never really felt inclined to think about God in one way or another. He obviously existed, because she existed. She never thought how pretentious this idea really was—it just seemed logical.

But in all her time of attending Sunday services back home, she had never once heard the minister address his flock in quite this manner. Scriptures were usually read in lengthy monotone liturgies, and these were always followed with long windy prayers that seemed to berate the unworthy congregation for even daring to draw breath without honoring God's generosity for overlooking their sin.

She had no idea what great sin it was that she had committed. She held to the commandments. She didn't steal or murder or lie. She honored her mother and father. Well, usually she did, when she wasn't running off on one of Judith's schemes. She sat faithfully in church to honor the Sabbath. She would never have considered uttering blasphemies against the Lord, and she had never replaced Him with a graven image or had any other gods before Him. But then again, neither did she honor Him in any particular way. Still, it seemed enough to her that she had upheld these rules as well as the other two commandments of the original ten. She certainly hadn't committed adultery. Finally, there was no need to covet anything of her neighbors' since she had everything her heart desired.

“It's rather easy to sit here in the comfort of our friends and say that we agree with the Bible—that we are all equal in God's eyes. However, I would like to point out that God had more folks in mind than those who sit here today. God also has made us equal to the Navajo—the Hopi—the Zuni—the Apache.”

Gasps of discord and a general rumbling of disagreement rose up from the crowd. Reverend Lister waited patiently for the comments to die down before continuing. “I challenge you,” he stated, his blue eyes piercing and ablaze with passion, “no, I demand that you show me where the Word of our God states otherwise.”

The murmurings faded into a deadly silence. Jillian could feel the electricity in the air. This man had dared to compare heathen Indians with their pagan rituals—rituals that Jillian had heard included everything from animal impersonation to human sacrifice—to good Christian men and women. Surely God didn't mean that educated and religious folks were on an equal footing with those who were obviously ignorant of Scriptures and the rules of polite society.

“There is a disease in our midst called prejudice,” Pastor Lister proclaimed. “It allows that our red-skinned brothers and sisters are not worthy to sit beside us in our place of worship. It allows that their hearts are not salvageable—that their ways are too corrupt. But Scripture says that God is willing that none should perish, but that all should be saved. Explain this Scripture to me if that does not include our red brothers and sisters.”

The following silence held the group captive as Reverend Lister moved away from the pulpit and came to stand near the pew where Jillian sat.

“You sit here in your comfort and finery. Various reasons have brought you to Pintan. You come not as natives to the area, but as visitors. You take what you will and strive to build a town in the midst of a desert land. The Navajo were already here. They could teach us much, but we are a prideful people—and what can we learn from mere savages?” he asked, his tone edged with sarcasm. “They have lived off this land for hundreds of years, and yet we bring in our new methods and our ways are proclaimed as better.”

He let his gaze travel to each person, making Jillian most uncomfortable.

“I want to remind you, in case you've forgotten, that the wages of sin is death, and from the Scripture we just read, if you have respect to persons, you commit sin and are convinced of the law as transgressors.”

Jillian was afraid to look anywhere but at the pastor. Her conscience was soundly pricked. She had ignored the Indian women who sat near the edge of the depot and sold their wares. She had smiled at the chubby toddlers and lean athletic children who played with lizards and other desert wildlife, but she had never really given them much thought. They were dark skinned and different. They spoke another language and worshiped another god. They weren't like Jillian and her people.

Realizing she could have heard that final thought coming from her mother's lips, Jillian began to have an understanding of her own attitude and misconception toward the Indians. She hadn't set out to harm the Indian people, but neither had she considered them worth her time and trouble.

Reverend Lister spoke for another ten minutes, admonishing his congregation to be bearers of love and Christian charity. He prayed in a fervent manner that resonated within Jillian's heart. It was nothing like the pretentious and pompous prayers of her ministers back home.

Then, just when she figured things to be completed, Reverend Lister drew a well-rounded, short little woman to the pulpit with him.

“Most of you know Mary Barnes. She's been widowed now for nearly ten years, but she and her husband came to this territory a long time ago with a heart to work with the Indians. Mary is here today to join us for our church social and to gather used clothes and other supplies you might be willing to part with, to aid our Indian brother and sister. I hope you will give generously of your money and material wealth in order to help those less fortunate. Mary, why don't you tell us a bit about what you've encountered.”

Jillian immediately liked the woman. Her face held a look of serenity, despite being tanned and weathered. Her gray hair was pulled back into a neat little bun atop her head, but it was her smile that captured Jillian's interest. It was most generous and sincere.

“Folks, listen up,” the old woman said with a loud, clear voice.

Jillian almost laughed that such volume could come out of such a small package, for the woman couldn't have been over five feet tall—if that.

“Mostly I've been workin' with the Navajo. You've seen a good many of them sittin' around the depot selling blankets and baskets. You've also known me to collect the same things in trade as I swap them for supplies and goods they can use. Those things you donate, I give freely. Those things I have to buy, I use monies I make in selling their trade goods. You know there's been a lot of sickness going 'round. The Indian has been inundated with our measles and smallpox. There's a good deal of need in the various villages, so I'm askin' you to seek the Lord on this matter. I've used up most of the money on medicine and such to help them in their sickness. This makes it kind of rough when it comes to helpin' them in other areas such as clothes, food, and household goods. I ain't picky,” she added with a laugh. “I can probably find use for just about anything you want to donate.”

She sobered and appeared to be studying each person to ascertain their heart on the matter. “The government agencies don't come near to helpin' as much as these folks need helpin'. I'd appreciate your donations of money or goods, and if you have a strong arm and want to help by donatin' time, that's just as good. Like I said, I ain't picky. If you want to talk to me after church, I'd be happy to answer your questions.”

After that, Reverend Lister dismissed the congregation with a hymn, and Jillian found herself moving with the crowd down the short narrow aisle. She heard their murmurs of disapproval.

“Imagine, letting her in here. She's lived with those savages, you know.”

“Why Mrs. Barnes thinks I should turn over my hard-earned money to help heathen brats is beyond me.”

The comments were not declared very openly, but instead ran through the crowd in a barely uttered undercurrent. Jillian felt a sense of frustration from their words. She had been brought up to agree with such thinking. So why did it seem so ugly and distasteful now?

“Why, Miss Danvers, how nice to see you here.”

Jillian startled at Mac's voice. She turned to find that he was not but six inches from her side. “Dr. MacCallister,” she said with a nod. She supposed they were being formal because of the public setting, but since Mac had started the conversation in that manner, Jillian intended to follow suit. Besides, by calling her Miss Danvers, there was no chance of betraying her true identity.

He took hold of her elbow and smiled. “May I escort you to the tables? There is going to be quite a feast. You've not attended one of our monthly church socials,” he said in an informative way, “but they are quite enjoyable.”