Dakota Father (10 page)

“She says she's going to find more healing plants.”

He hadn't noticed Jenny coming out and jerked around at her voice. She stood framed in the doorway, the sun pooling in her features and bathing her in a golden glow. She looked as if she'd been kissed by sunlight. His heart drank in the sight, letting it drench every corner, revealing secrets hidden in the dark.

He wanted to share his life with her.

He swallowed hard. It wasn't possible. She had promised to marry another even though he suspected she didn't love this Ted fellow. To please her pa. Or was it because she didn't want to admit to being the person she truly was?

The woman created by God.

One thought triggered another in rapid succession.

If she was running from who she was, wasn't she running from God? And would God see fit to intervene if that was the case?

He didn't know. But somehow it felt as if God was on his side. He held the thought carefully, wishing he had time to examine it more closely.

Perhaps, in this case, it was fine to ask God to listen to his prayer.
God, you know my doubts, my uncertainties. But this one thing I'm certain of. Jenny is hiding from something. Show her how to deal with it. Help her.

He wanted to ask for more. For Jenny to be willing to stay on the ranch. To help with Meggie. To stay for him.

But he couldn't ask for all that. It was too selfish.

“Ready for our walk?” he asked.

She quirked an eyebrow as if to ask when it had become “our walk.” Then she nodded. “I could use some fresh air.”

Meggie rested happily in his arms as they headed for the barn. She sat on the floor as mama cat greeted her but insisted on being carried again as they went to see the horses. He held her as she touched each muzzle and giggled.

Then they headed for the open prairie.

 

Sure she needed fresh air. However, she didn't need to accompany Burke to get it. But for the life of her she couldn't refuse the opportunity even though she'd been angry with him for poking at her deepest feelings. How often had she wondered why God made her a woman bound by the constraints of her society? She looked about the rolling grassland. Out here, the boundaries were different—pushed back like the horizon was. Perhaps if she'd met Burke earlier….

There she went again, chasing after dreams, ignoring her parents' wise counsel. She reined in her feelings. She would not be making that mistake again.

Some persistent voice whispered, “How is Burke a mistake?” The mistake was in thinking this visit could be anything more than that—a visit with a task to do.

Meggie babbled away contentedly in Burke's arms.

Jenny wondered if Meggie's legs still hurt or if she was enjoying the attention so much she intended to pretend they did. Not that she could blame the little girl. And if it meant Meggie and Burke grew closer, well, all the better.

She sought for something to talk about that would take her mind from these wayward travels. “Is there church in Buffalo Hollow?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“Nothing's been said. I've seen no sign of anyone attending. So I wondered. Lena would surely want Meggie raised to go to church.”

Burke sighed. “I expect that's so.”

“But?”

“I hadn't thought about the necessity. Didn't seem important until now.”

She chuckled, knowing he'd likely given the whole idea little if any thought. “Would you have gone even if there was a church?”

He gave her a mocking grin. “You have come to know me too well, I fear.”

The thought burned through her careful self-
control. Did she know him? Not as well as she wanted. She tried to think of Ted. Did she know him any better? She had no idea how he felt about God. Did he go to church out of habit or conviction? Had he faced troubles? If he had—or when he did—what would his reaction be? Would he be like Burke and say it proved God wasn't interested in details of human existence? She'd never asked him any of these questions. In fact, they had never discussed anything but daily occurrences—how many people had come into the store, the pleasure of the new shipment—mundane stuff about his business interests. She knew practically nothing about Ted and had absolutely no curiosity about him. How odd when her heart yearned to peel back every layer of Burke's thinking until she saw the pulsing core of his thoughts.

She realized he watched her with a bemused expression, as if aware she'd done a mental side trip. It required a great effort to bring herself back. “So would you have gone?” She guessed he might have with Flora's urging but not otherwise.

“I would have considered it when Flora was here.”

She laughed, pleased she had guessed correctly. “And never before or since. Funny, I thought that might be your answer.”

He shifted Meggie to one arm and caught her
hand. “I might see the value of attending if I had someone to go with me.”

He was asking again for her to stay. Using his need to go to church as an incentive. Her thoughts ran away like wild horses turned free. She imagined sitting beside him in a church, singing together, worshipping together. It held appeal like she'd never before felt at church attendance. The skin across her cheeks shrank as guilt flared up her throat. She'd let her willful spirit turn worship into a—she swallowed hard—a romantic event. God forgive her. “I guess you'll see what can be done to start services so you can attend, seeing as you have someone to go with.”

Hope flared in his eyes. “I do?”

She couldn't pull from the warmth in his eyes even though she knew it was wrong. His dark gaze seemed to seek and find secrets in her heart. Secrets she longed to share with someone who wouldn't consider them scandalous. But they were. Furthermore, even her present thinking was wrong and shameful. She had promised to marry another. Yes, of her parents' choosing, but she trusted her parents, knew they understood her, cared only about what was best for her. They'd seen where her rebellious spirit led and had protected her from the damage she might have incurred.

Her fingers cramped. She realized she curled her hands into tight fists and used the pain to fuel
her resolve. “You have Meggie to go to church with you.”

Disappointment flared through his eyes. His smile flattened and his cheeks appeared wooden. “I see you're still running.”

His assessment stung. “I am making what I consider to be a wise decision.”

He snorted—a sound ripe with mockery. “Wise or safe? Or is it fear that makes you cling to what your father decides for you?”

She breathed so hard she wondered if her nostrils flared. “I am not afraid of anything. Never have been. Never will be.”

“Then why are you prepared to return home to marry a man you don't love?”

He touched her arm so gently she couldn't pull away, couldn't deny herself the comfort his touch brought, melting away, as it did, her anger and fear. Yes, she feared where her own desires would lead her but at this moment, with his fingers warming her elbow and his eyes kind and pleading, none of that mattered.

“Jenny, tell me you don't feel a little excitement at the idea of being part of building something solid in this new land. Then I will believe you don't secretly long to stay here.” His voice lowered and he brushed his hand up to her shoulder. She thought he meant
to kiss her by the way he looked at her. She couldn't think past her longing for him to do so.

But he waited.

She realized he expected her to say something but couldn't, for the life of her, remember what they'd been talking about. All she could think was how nothing else mattered but being here with Burke, Meggie safely sheltered in his arm. It would take only one step for her to be as safely sheltered in his other arm.

“No,” she wailed. She would not allow it to happen. Not again would she allow her emotions or her longings to control her actions. “This is all wrong.” She fled back to the house, remembering only after she stood panting inside the kitchen that she had to put Meggie to bed.

She struggled with her thoughts. She knew what was right for her. Being here threatened that. As soon as Meggie felt better she would be leaving. A trickle of guilt pulled at her conscience. Paquette was not able to deal with an active two-year-old. However, that was not her concern. It was Burke's.

But what about her promise to Lena?

Surely, Lena would understand she'd done the best she could. Her resolve firmly under control, she put on her most calm face and turned to face Burke as he stepped through the door. She moved to take Meggie. “It's time for this little one to go to bed.”

Meggie protested weakly at the idea then came to Jenny arms.

“Good night.” She waited for him to leave.

He hesitated, correctly reading the dismissal in her face. She wasn't prepared to discuss this any further. “Very well. If that's how you want it. Just think about what you're giving up.”

She quirked an eyebrow questioningly before she could stop herself and pretend she didn't wonder exactly what he meant. Before he could respond she headed for the bedroom. She tried but failed to stop her thoughts from making a list of what she was giving up—the open prairie, the sense of adventure, a chance to conquer the land as he'd said. All of those things paled in comparison to the knowledge she would give up a chance to share her life with Burke. Not that he had exactly said that. He wanted someone to help with Meggie. That's all. She needed to keep the truth clearly before her.

She didn't love him. She couldn't. As she prepared Meggie for bed, she prayed.
Father God, keep me pure and true. Strengthen my resolve.

Meggie fell asleep almost immediately and Jenny returned to the kitchen. Paquette had not come back and she used the chance to write another letter home. She had to fill the pages without revealing the truth of her heart—that she cared for Burke far more than she should. So she described the prairie.

I want to laugh with joy when I see the wind ripple the grass. And the sunsets and sunrises are so beautiful they make my heart glad. It's a bold, new land that requires strong people. The men are adventuresome. I've met few women but the ones I have seem full of grit and good humor. It makes me want to get to know them better.

She went on to describe how Meggie was doing.

Burke took her for a long horseback ride yesterday and we are all paying for it today. She is very sore. Paquette mixed up some native ointment that seemed to relieve her suffering. Meggie is sleeping now.

I wonder how she will do when I leave. A two-year-old needs so much attention.

Should she explain Paquette would be helping Burke? She could see no reason not to do so.

Burke expects Paquette to care for Meggie while he is out. I try not to worry how it will work. As soon as I am reasonably happy with the situation in regards to Meggie's care I will return home as promised.

She closed a few lines later and sealed the letter, ready to be taken to town the next time someone went.

A glance out the window revealed it was almost dark. Paquette was not yet back. Of course she would be fine. As Burke said, she was born here. Could
probably find her way home blindfolded. But for her peace of mind, Jenny decided to wait up until the older woman was safely back home.

J
enny stared out into the night. A lamp glowed from the bunkhouse window, an echo of the lamp on the table behind her. Otherwise, the prairie was dark and silent.

Several times she'd gone to the veranda and listened. Apart from the evening rustle of the horses settling down and the gentle lowing of the milk cow, the only sound was the far–off yipping of coyotes. She strained to hear something indicating that Paquette had made her way back.

Nothing.

Jenny's neck tingled. She couldn't shake her tension. Didn't know if she should be worried or not.

She turned from the window and walked to the bedroom. Meggie slept. On the off chance Paquette had slipped in unnoticed—and Jenny knew it was impossible—she peeked into Paquette's room. The
narrow, fur-covered cot was empty. She glanced around the room, noting the herbs hanging from the rafters, the little baskets lining a shelf. She smiled. It looked and smelled like Paquette—a comforting presence.

Where was the woman? How long did she wait before she notified Burke?

She returned to staring out the window, feeling alone and abandoned. Burke and the men were only a few yards away, yet were totally unaware of the situation.

Her heart squeezed out a flood of worry. Surely Paquette should be back by now. Something must have happened. She refused to think of what that “something” might be.

She checked again to make sure Meggie slept soundly then obeyed her instincts and marched over to the bunkhouse. The sound of laughter and deep voices came from inside; she heard the creak of wood, like someone tipping a chair or—she swallowed hard, knowing she approached forbidden territory. Forbidden or not, she must talk to Burke. She rapped on the door. Instant silence greeted her knock.

She called, “It's me, Jenny. I need to talk to Burke.”

Lots of shuffling and whispering ensued and then the light shifted. It reappeared when the door opened, held in Burke's hand.

“You need me?”

Was she crazy or did she hear a welcome longing in his voice? Now was not the time to let her emotions take over. “It's Paquette.”

Burke's expression shifted through a range of emotions—surprise, disappointment and then concern. “What's wrong?”

“She's not back. I don't know if I should be worried or not. But I thought you should be the one to decide.” The words came like a bolt of lightning. She didn't realize until she spoke just how concerned she was. “Should she be out this late? Is she safe out there after dark? What if something has happened to her?”

“Whoa. Slow down.” He gripped her shoulder.

His touch calmed her. He would know what to do.

He turned to the men. “Boys, we need to find Paquette.”

“Aww, boss. I'm tired,” Dug moaned but grunted as if getting to his feet. From the thumping inside the bunkhouse, she guessed they all pulled on boots.

“Meet me at the veranda. Bring me a horse.” Burke took Jenny's hand and led her to the house. “You need to stay here with Meggie. If Paquette returns before we do, I need you to signal us.”

“How will I do that?”

He pulled a rifle from the cupboard. “Fire this
off, three shots about fifteen seconds apart. Do you know how to shoot this?”

“I've never even touched a gun.”

He showed her how to load it and pull the trigger. “Most important thing—press it hard to your shoulder and brace yourself for the kick. Oh, and aim at the sky. I wouldn't want you killing one of the horses or blowing a hole through the bunkhouse.”

Her giggle revealed her nervousness.

He looked at her with narrowed eyes. “You'll be able to do this?”

She tipped her chin upward. “Of course.” In fact, it was exciting to contemplate. Who'd believe she might get a chance to fire a real gun? Pa would be—well, she didn't know if he'd be shocked or surprised or what. “I'll be fine. Go find Paquette and, Burke, God be with you and help you find her safe and sound.”

“You really believe God will help?”

“I certainly do. I pray He will give you eyes to see and ears to hear.”

He squeezed her hand. “You pray and we'll look.”

The men rode up to the door, leading a horse for Burke. They all carried lanterns and handed one to Burke as he mounted. He ordered the men in different directions. Just before he rode away, he turned and nodded to Jenny as if they shared something special.
Perhaps they did. A shared concern over Paquette. An agreement to pray.

And something more. Something tenuous and forbidden but real. For tonight she was glad to acknowledge at least a fraction of her feelings for him—her confidence in his ability to find Paquette and a certainty that he trusted her to pray.

 

Burke hoped Jenny hadn't guessed how concerned he was over Paquette's absence. It wasn't unusual for her to wander the prairie but she always returned by dark. She knew better than most the dangers of being out after that. How easily one could get turned around if the stars and moon were hidden as they were tonight. The danger of tripping in a gopher hole, falling and breaking something.

Finding her in the dark required a miracle. Why, they might ride three feet from her and if she couldn't call out…well they would miss her as much as if she were ten miles away.

Jenny said God would help. He wasn't sure he believed it, but she seemed to believe enough for both of them.

He rode slowly, pausing often to call and listen. He heard the men doing the same thing. “Paquette!” The sound echoed across the land, the only answer the whir of birds' wings as they startled from their sleep.

His search took him farther and farther away from the ranch and with every step, his worry grew. Where was she? How could he hope to find her in this pitch-black night?

The darkness and the light are both alike to thee.

The words came softly from some distant room of his memories. He remembered his mother saying the words. They were from the Bible.

He didn't doubt God saw as well in the dark as in the light. But would He allow Burke the same ability? Or at least guide him to Paquette? Jenny seemed to think He would. He certainly needed help beyond human ability. Now might be a good time to forget his doubts and believe in God's divine help.

Lord God, you made the universe. You made night and day. They are the same to You. You know I have trouble believing You bother with the numerous details of mankind but if You do, please be so kind as to show me where Paquette is.

It was a weak sort of prayer yet the first real one he'd offered in too many years to count and it felt good. As if he'd turned from showing his back to God, to showing his face. Whether or not it would make a difference…well, time would tell.

He continued on. Riding a few feet, stopping, calling and listening. Nothing. His doubts returned. Seems God couldn't be bothered with man's many problems.

He got off his horse. Couldn't explain why he did. Wasn't like he was tired of riding. Shoot, he could ride all night if he wanted. He waved the lantern around more out of desperation than hope. Saw nothing and lowered the light. Something on the ground caught his eye. A flash of something bright. He plucked it up. A bead necklace. Like the ones Paquette wore. He straightened and turned again, the light above his head. Did he detect a movement on the edge of the patch of light? He stepped closer. This time he was sure a shadow shifted. Two more steps and he made out a shape. “Paquette, what are you doing?”

She didn't move, her only response a soft mutter.

His nerves tensed. “Paquette?”

She shifted as if startled. Lifted her head then wilted and resumed her mumbling.

He strode over, shining the light in her face. “Paquette, are you hurt?”

She acted as if she hadn't heard.

He touched her shoulder, felt the chill of her body. “Come on, let's go home.” He urged her to her feet. She hadn't walked upright since he'd met her, but she seemed to have curled closer to the ground, her steps agonizingly slow. He didn't ask her any more questions. All that mattered at the moment was getting her home.

Ignoring her mumbled protests, he lifted her to the saddle and swung up to ride behind her. Several
times she swayed. Only his arms around her kept her from pitching headlong to the ground.

She'd be fine as soon as she got back to the shelter of the house, as soon as she got warm. He had to believe it. But his nerves twitched with worry. Paquette was quiet and withdrawn. Flora had been loud and aggressive. Still the similarities stunned him. Seems this land was too much, even for those bred and born in it. He would do well to remember. Expecting any woman to settle here and survive the challenges was not reasonable. He quietly and firmly pushed aside the picture of Jenny in his kitchen every day for the rest of his life. It simply wasn't possible. It would eventually destroy her, and he couldn't bear for that to happen.

He concentrated on getting Paquette back to the house. “Jenny, I found her.”

Jenny was already racing across the veranda, alerted by the hoofbeats of his horse.

He swung down, catching Paquette in his arms as he touched the ground.

“Is she hurt?”

“I don't know. She's cold though.”

Jenny rushed back inside, calling over her shoulder. “Bring her in and I'll tend her.”

He was hot on her heels. As she ran for a blanket, he dragged a chair out with his boot and deposited Paquette. She slumped forward.

Jenny returned and wrapped her warmly. She rubbed Paquette's hands. “Are you hurt? Did you fall?”

Paquette stopped mumbling, slowly lifted her head and stared into Jenny's eyes as if searching for answers.

Burke's heart beat loudly against his chest. This was so unlike Paquette. The woman had fought for survival after being abandoned on the prairie. To see her so small and weak…

Paquette shook her head. “Not remember.”

“I'll make some tea.” Burke filled the kettle and while he waited for it to boil, took out the teapot and tossed in a handful of tea leaves.

Paquette rocked and mumbled. Several times Jenny caught the blanket as it fell from Paquette's shoulders and rewrapped her.

As soon as the water had any color, he poured a cup of tea and laced it with sugar. He knelt at Jenny's side and held the cup to Paquette's lips.

She stared at him, a look of such confusion in her eyes that he sat back, the tea momentarily forgotten. “Paquette, do you know where you are?”

She glanced around. “Dis not 'ome. My 'ome gone. Gone.”

He slanted a look at Jenny. Saw his worry reflected in her eyes. Paquette had lived here three years. This
was her home. Yet she seemed to have retreated to an earlier time. “I wonder if she fell.”

“Do you hurt anywhere?”

Paquette blinked as if she didn't understand.

Jenny gently ran her hands over Paquette, checking her limbs, feeling her scalp. “She seems uninjured.” She again knelt and faced Paquette, studying her face. “Do you know who we are?”

Paquette studied first one then the other. Burke felt as if her gaze reached far into his heart and found nothing she could connect with.

“Maybe I see you afore.”

He remembered the cooling tea and held the cup to her lips, urging her to drink.

“I'll help her into bed,” Jenny said. “Chances are she'll feel better in the morning.”

“Right.”

He stepped outside and signaled the men then plunked to a chair and waited, listening to Jenny's soothing tones. He stayed until Jenny returned. “How is she?”

“She seemed glad to see her bed. I'll check her through the night just to make sure. What do you think happened?”

“She must have banged her head somehow.” It was an easier answer to swallow than to contemplate that she'd lost more than her way out on the prairie.

He rose and found two mugs. The tea was now
strong enough to use as dye, and he poured in more water before he filled the cups and carried them to the table.

“Thanks.” To her credit she didn't grimace when she tasted the strong brew. But perhaps she didn't notice as she stared down the hall.

He was worried about Paquette, too. “She's tough. Likely she'll be fine by morning.”

Horses approached the yard. One by one the men stuck their head in the door to ask after Paquette. “She's home safe and is sleeping,” Burke told each in turn.

When the last had made an appearance, he and Jenny continued to sit side by side.

“Tell me how you found her.”

“Almost didn't. I was only a few feet from her, calling her name but she didn't answer. Should have known then something was wrong with her.”

“God certainly guided you tonight.”

He'd forgotten his prayer. “Maybe He did. I thought we'd look all night without finding her so I—” He turned so he could see her better, observe her reaction. “I prayed. Sort of a doubters' prayer but I asked for help and not more than a few minutes later, I found her.” He recalled the events, telling her every detail—how he'd gotten off the horse, seen the beads, noticed a flicker of movement. “Did God do that?”

She reached for his hand and squeezed. “You know He did, don't you?”

With her warm touch and gentle smile he could believe anything. “Guess so.”

She chuckled. “I know it's hard for you to admit you might need to change your mind, but I think you know as well as I that God guided you to her. I think if you allow yourself to believe, you'll see Him at work in many areas of your life.”

“I guess God helps in emergencies.” He still couldn't believe God cared about everyday, ordinary things.

“‘If then God so clothe the grass, which is to day in the field, and tomorrow is cast into the oven; how much more will he clothe you, O ye of little faith?' How much more basic can we get than clothes and food?”