Edge of the Wilderness (7 page)

There were days when Robert Lawrence’s persistent faith made Daniel angry. The man quoted Scripture he had memorized and even hummed—albeit off key—Dakota hymns when they rode together. He reminded Daniel they were better off here than back in prison in Mankato. He listed things he was thankful for.

“Remember Daniel in the Bible,” Robert said one night by the campfire. “He was a captive in a strange land, but he did not forget his God. We must be like that. God knows where we are, and when He is finished teaching us here, He will take us somewhere else. As long as we have Him, we can be at peace.”

But Daniel felt no peace.

One May morning when the sky was a brilliant blue, Daniel saddled up his bay gelding and rode out of camp alone. He followed the river; up and down rolling hills and greening valleys, past where Sacred Heart and Hawk Creeks flowed into the Minnesota River, across the Yellow Medicine River, past the Upper Agency until he came up over a rise and looked down on the charred remains of what had been the Hazelwood Mission. He took in a sharp breath and let it out slowly, surprised at his physical reaction to the ruined site. He urged his horse past what had been missionaries Mary and Stephen Riggs’s two-story home, picking his way through the remnants of Mrs. Riggs’s white garden fence and heading across the open space to where the sawmill had stood. It was there, after a serious talk with Robert Lawrence about the merits of life at the mission, Daniel had caught his friend Otter drinking whiskey behind a woodpile. Daniel looked away from the blackened rubble and glanced toward the north. He hoped Otter was up there across the border, still living the old life, still hunting buffalo, still free.

A half-burned book lay on the ground near the school. The winter had nearly obliterated the print, but Daniel could tell it was a Dakota grammar book. For the first time, he wondered how the missionaries felt about what had happened. Their lives, too, had been destroyed.

Robert Lawrence had been talking about trying to have church services at the scouts’ camp. Big Amos and the army cook Edward Pope expressed interest. Daniel’s gaze lingered on what was left of the mission church. Dr. Riggs would be pleased to know that some of his converts had not forgotten Christ, Daniel thought. Perhaps they should try to have services. Perhaps it would help.

Dismounting, Daniel walked toward the place where a wild vine was sending green tendrils up over the blackened remains of the teachers’ cottage. He bent down and touched a green shoot, remembering how, by the end of last summer, the mature vine had nearly swallowed up the entire porch. He wondered what had become of the brilliantly colored little bird that used to flit around the orange blossoms, totally impervious to the presence of Miss Jane and Blue Eyes as they sat on the porch drinking tea.

Sitting down on the earth beside the vine, Daniel pulled Etienne LaCroix’s journal out of the blue sash at his waist. He leafed through it, watching Blue Eyes grow up in the sketches. Presently he closed the book and, standing up, tucked it back in his sash. He looked around at the mission and frowned. He should never have come here. Now he was in a darker mood than ever.

He looked down at the journal. He should throw it away, he told himself. Stop thinking about her. Both Robert and Big Amos had wives. Robert had children. Sacred Lodge had said they would be brought to the scouts’ camp. It had not yet happened, but neither Robert nor Big Amos brooded or complained. They simply went on with their duties. They seemed to be able to ignore Brady Jensen.

Daniel mounted his horse and trotted away from the mission. Following a line of trees along a ridge and down into a valley, he dismounted at the lowest part of a dry creek bed. Taking the sash from around his waist, he wound it around the journal. In a few moments he had found a crevice deep enough to hide the bundle. He piled several rocks across the hiding place, climbed back up the bank, and prepared to ride away. But then he stopped and looked behind him. If rain swelled the creek as it had in the past, the book would be swept away and ruined. Daniel sat for a moment arguing with himself. It put him in a dark mood to linger over the past. What did it matter if the book was ruined? Both it and the sash were part of a life that no longer existed.

His horse was growing restless, dancing nervously and pawing the earth. Finally, Daniel let him lower his head and graze. While the bay snatched up huge mouthfuls of the rich prairie grass, Daniel scrambled down the creek bank and retrieved the bundle.

He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.

—Psalm 147:3

Simon had lit the gas lamp in the kitchen just long enough to make coffee, then turned it back off. He sat alone in the darkened room, sipping from his cup and thinking back over the previous day’s events. His closed Bible lay before him. As soon as he finished his coffee he would walk up to the church. By then it would be light enough for him to be able to reread the first chapter of Philippians. The idea that Paul had written the letter from prison had struck him a few days before, and now he was reading it over and over again, with a new appreciation for Paul’s ability to look upon his imprisonment as a kind of blessing. Simon especially liked the passage that read, “But I would ye should understand, brethren, that the things which happened unto me have fallen out rather unto the furtherance of the gospel.” Simon hoped to use Philippians to encourage the prisoners at Davenport.

A commentator had mentioned the Roman guards who heard the gospel because of being assigned to the apostle Paul. Simon hadn’t thought of it before, but now he wondered how many U.S. soldiers had heard the gospel because of their assignment in Mankato, where the prisoners held prayer meetings twice daily and heard preaching at least once a day. It was interesting food for thought, and it resulted in Simon’s looking forward to his ministry in the prison camp at Davenport. Perhaps God would do something through him down there, after all.

For the moment, though, Simon was content to sit alone in the dark thinking back over the previous day’s events. He had done his best to “walk in a manner worthy to his calling,” and he felt strangely content with whatever reaction Genevieve LaCroix displayed when she learned what he had done. He had already cross-examined himself innumerable times in that regard. As much as he could tell, he had taken action as much for himself as for her. No, he thought with a new sense of joy, he wasn’t trying to manipulate her feelings at all. He had simply done what he thought best for everyone concerned. He certainly had no doubt that he had accomplished what was best for Hope.

Footsteps sounded on the narrow staircase that connected the kitchen with the back upstairs hall. Snatching up his Bible, Simon made for the back porch, but before he could get there Gen called his name. He turned back into the room just as she lit the gaslight over the table. She apparently had dressed in haste, for her hair hung in one thick braid across her shoulder. She pulled the note he had slid under her door the night before out of her pocket. Looking down at it she stuttered, “I— How—” She sat down at the table and pushed the note across the table toward him. “How can this be true?” She reached up trying to smooth a dozen tendrils of dark hair back from her face.

Simon smiled. “It’s true. Samuel Whitney witnessed the signing of the papers yesterday evening in the offices of Marshall & Dodd. The Pottses were booked passage on the
Abigail
and settled into their room last night in preparation for the trip back downriver.” He tucked his Bible under his arm.

“And Hope stays with us?” Gen asked.

He nodded. “All the Pottses wanted was five hundred dollars.”

“But Simon,” Gen asked, frowning slightly, “where did you get five hundred dollars?”

He winked. “You didn’t know I was independently wealthy, did you?” He turned to go. “It’s been taken care of. That’s the important thing. I’ll be back in time for breakfast.”

Gen called out, “I’ll only ask Samuel if you won’t tell me. But I’d rather hear it from you.”

He turned back around and leaned against the door frame. “I had some money saved,” he said vaguely.

“Just last week we were wondering how to pay for Aaron’s schoolbooks,” Gen said in disbelief.

Simon walked to where she sat and patted her hand. “The only thing you need to know is that Hope is securely with
us.
The Pottses agreed to appoint me her legal guardian and they gave up all rights to her, which, according to the attorney, means if we ever so desire we can adopt her.” He turned to go. “I hope you don’t mind that I gave her my last name. I thought it would be easier for her in the future if she shared Meg and Aaron’s family name.

Gen snatched his hand up. “Your wedding ring—” She touched the white band of exposed flesh where the ring had been, then looked up at him, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh, Simon—you sold your
wedding
ring?”

He pulled his hand away and shoved it in his pocket.

She moved his coat open a little and peeked at his vest pocket. “And your gold watch—and that gorgeous fob Mrs. Leighton sent out for Christmas—” She stood up, clutching his coat lapel. “What else? What else did you sell, Simon?” When he looked away nervously, her eyes widened and she half whispered, “Not Ellen’s wedding ring? Not the diamond—oh, Simon—that was her
grandmother’s
—it was for Meg—”

“Both Ellen and Meg would have granted permission had they known the situation,” he said firmly. “What
is
important is that Hope is secure in a new life where she is loved far more than gold or diamonds.”

Beginning to cry, Gen wrapped her arms around him, sobbing out thank-yous. He held her for a moment, fearful of the emotions that rose in him at the feel of her body against his. He patted her head awkwardly, murmuring, “Don’t cry, my dear.”

They stood together for a moment until Gen backed away and gestured toward the table. “Let me make you some breakfast.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Simon said. “I was just going out the back door to head for the church. I’ll be back in time to eat with the family.”

“Please, Simon,” Gen begged. “We never have time alone.” She had already reached for the rolling pin and biscuit cutter.

“All right,” he said uncertainly. Putting his Bible back on the table, he sat down. Gen’s back was to him, and for the first time in a long time he could admire her profile without the threat of someone else noticing. When she spun around to pour him a second cup of coffee he looked away quickly and felt his cheeks growing warm.

“Read to me,” she said, quietly nodding at the Bible.

He opened the book and began to read: “‘I thank my God upon every remembrance of you, always in every prayer of mine for you all making request with joy, for your fellowship in the gospel from the first day until now; being confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ: Even as it is meet for me to think this of you all, because I have you in my heart . . .’”

Gen asked over her shoulder, “Where is that?”

“Philippians,” Simon answered quickly. “Paul wrote it from prison. I’ve been studying it, thinking it might encourage the men at Davenport.”

She nodded. “I like the idea of God beginning a work . . . and then sticking with it—bringing it to its logical end someday. It’s comforting, thinking that He cares enough to be involved in our lives that way.” While they talked, Gen made fresh biscuits, scrambled eggs, and dished up applesauce. She set the meal on the table half apologetically. “I know we usually have potatoes, too, but we—”

“I’m not really that fond of potatoes for breakfast,” Simon said quickly.

“Oh—I-I didn’t know that.” She sat down beside him.

The simple fact that she chose to sit
beside
rather than
across
from him did not go unnoticed. Nor did the, way her dark hair glistened against her crisp yellow gingham dress. He managed to mumble a juvenile blessing, but afterward an awkward silence reigned over them both until Meg appeared on the stairs, scooting down on her bottom, Hope in her arms.

“We smelled breakfast,” Meg said, yawning.

The instant Meg’s feet touched the floor, Hope strained to get out of her arms. When Meg put her down, Hope crawled toward Simon, who scooted back from the table and welcomed her with outstretched arms.

“Good morning,” Simon said, looking over Hope’s head to Meg. “How are my two girls this morning?”

“Hungry!” Meg said, and sat next to Gen at the table.

“Pa-pa-pa-pa!” Hope said, and patted Simon’s cheek.

Gen and Simon exchanged glances, and for the first time neither one felt compelled to look away, lest they reveal too much to the other.

Only one week later, Simon stood alone again in the predawn dark. This time, he was in the parlor, looking out toward the street. He had packed last evening and spent a restless night waiting for morning and the time to go. Everything pointed to it being God’s will that he go to Camp McClellan. And every emotion in him still cried out against his leaving. He would miss Hope’s next new words. He would miss her learning to walk on her own. He would miss hearing Meg read aloud every evening and discussing theology with Aaron, who had recently developed a precocious interest in Bible doctrines.

Added to the burden of loneliness he would feel apart from his children, Simon dreaded separation from Gen. Still, he knew it was right to go. He had not heard God’s voice audibly, but phrases from Scripture still rang in his heart, confirming that he was to feed the sheep. If he didn’t obey the inner voice, how could he call himself a Christian? If he did not distance himself from Gen, how would he avoid behaving like a love-struck fool? He had seen Miss Jane Williams watching him closely over the last few days. He assumed Gen had mentioned their private breakfast the previous week. It was time he put some distance between himself and the situation.

“There’s a storm brewing to the northwest,” Gen said from the doorway. She walked toward him and stood at his side, pointing to the west where clouds were just becoming visible on the horizon.

His heart pounding at her proximity, Simon answered, “I’ll be on my way long before that reaches us. As dry as it has been this spring, I’d welcome a thorough drenching if it breaks the drought.”

“I made coffee,” Gen said. “And there’s a small lunch tucked into your saddlebags by the door.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he said. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Gen said quickly.

“What?”

She mimicked his tone as she said aloud,
“my dear.”
She continued looking out the window while she talked. “Yesterday when Aaron was so angry about your not letting him go along, you told him you needed him to ‘look after the girls.’ And you looked right across the table at
me.”
She glanced up at him. “I’m not one of ‘your girls.’”

“I didn’t mean it to sound that way,” Simon said carefully. “I’m sorry if I offended.”

Gen backed away. “I’ll be in the kitchen,” she said and left.

Simon followed her down the hall toward the oblique slant of light coming from the open kitchen door. Gen worked quickly to serve up breakfast for the two of them and then placed the plates opposite one another at the kitchen table.

They ate in silence until Simon said, “I don’t mean anything by calling you ‘my dear’, or one of ‘my girls.’ It’s just—” He hesitated. “I suppose it’s meant as an affectionate way of addressing you without trying to overstep—”

“Overstep?” Gen said abruptly. She set her coffee cup down. “Do I remember correctly? Did you not propose marriage, earlier this month?”

He nodded. “I did. But you said—”

“I asked if you would wait,” she interrupted him. “I never intended for you to go into hibernation.” She watched him carefully, waiting for him to respond. When he didn’t, she stood up and took the two empty plates to the sink. Without turning around she said, “This isn’t working the way it should, Simon. And I don’t know how to repair it. I’ve asked Miss Jane for advice. I’ve asked Nina Whitney for advice. And I’ve asked God. But nothing changes. What should I do?” She turned to face him.

“You needn’t do anything,” Simon said carefully. “You owe me nothing.” Distracted by the silhouette of her slim figure outlined against the white sink behind her, he got up and retreated to the door. Taking his saddlebags off the hook, he slung them over his shoulder. He started to go, then turned back. He couldn’t keep the tension from his voice when he said, “I will ask after Daniel Two Stars at the prison camp. Someone may know something.” He turned to go.

“Wait!” Gen said, rushing to him. When he stopped, she raised both hands and laid her palms on his chest. Drawing them back toward herself she pressed her palms together and rested her chin on the tips of her fingers. She looked like a woman at prayer as she said softly, “Daniel Two Stars was hanged in Mankato, Minnesota, on December 26, 1862. It was a mistake. He was innocent. But he died.” She looked up at Simon again and slowly waved her hands across the space that separated them. “And it is time that he stopped standing in this space, between you and me.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I thought you wanted that, too, Simon. But you’ve been so remote lately—and you’ve taken to using that imperial
my dear,
like you used to do with Ellen.” She shivered. “I hate it. It puts up a barrier between us—”

“A barrier that must exist,” Simon said abruptly.

“But why?” she asked.

“Because,
my dear,
I promised you I would keep my distance. And if I don’t put up a few barriers, I’m not going to be able to do that.” He shook his head and swiped one hand across his forehead. Imperceptibly he shifted his weight so that he was almost leaning away from her. He gripped the door frame behind him. “I’m not good at this sort of thing, Genevieve. You should know that.”