Faith (4 page)

Nicholas gathered the scattered garments and hurriedly
stuffed them into the valise. Climbing aboard, he picked up
the reins and set the team into motion.

As the wagon wheels hummed along the countryside,
Faith drank in the new sights. She'd lived in Michigan her
entire life; Texas was a whole new world! She remembered
how she'd craned her neck out the stagecoach window so
long the other passengers had started to tease her. Gone
were the cherry and apple orchards, gently rolling hills, and
small clear lakes of Michigan. She still spotted an occasional
white birch or maple, and there were pines and oaks, but
the scenery had changed.

With each passing day on her trip, the landscape had
grown more verdant and lush. The closer they drew to San
Antonio, the more the countryside transformed. They
passed beautiful Spanish missions with tall bell towers, low
adobe dwellings covered with vines of ivy, and bushes of
vibrant colored bougainvillea. At night the cicadas sang her
to sleep with their harmonious sczhwee-sczee. Ticks were
plentiful, and roaches grew as big as horseflies!

The elderly gentleman seated across from her had leaned forward, pointing. "Over there is mesquite and-look
there! There's an armadillo!"

Faith shrank back, deciding that was one critter she'd
leave alone.

"It's beautiful land," the gentleman said. "You will surely
be happy here, young lady."

Faith frowned, keeping an eye on the animal scurrying
across the road. She would if those armadillos kept their
distance.

Deliverance gradually faded, and the wagon bounced
along a rutted, winding trail. Faith suspected her new family
wasn't a talkative lot. Liza sat rigidly beside her on the
bench, staring straight ahead, occasionally mumbling under
her breath that "it was an hour past her dinnertime." The
tall, muscular Swede kept silent, his large hands effortlessly
controlling the team.

Faith decided it would take time for the Shepherds to
warm to her. She hoped they would be friendlier once they
got to know her. Still, the silence unnerved her. She and
her sisters had chatted endlessly, talking for hours on end
about nothing. Generally she was easy to get along with and
took to most anyone, but the Shepherds were going to be a
test, she could feel it.

Please, Lord, don't allow my tongue to spite my good sense.

She might not be in love with Nicholas Shepherd, but she
had her mind made up to make this marriage work. Once
she set her mind to something, she wasn't easily swayed.
Besides, she had to make the marriage work. She couldn't
burden Aunt Thalia any longer, and she sure wasn't going to marry Edsel Martin without a hearty fight. She would
work to make Nicholas a good wife, to rear his children
properly, and be the best helpmate he could ask for.

She glanced at Liza from the corner of her eye. Now she
would need a bit more time to adjust to.

Her gaze focused on the passing scenery, delighted with
the fields of blue flowers bobbing their heads in the bright
sunshine. The colorful array of wildflowers nestled against
the backdrop of green meadows dazzled the eye.

She sat up, pointing, excited as a child. "What are those?"

Nicholas briefly glanced in the direction she pointed.
"Bluebonnets."

"And those?"

"Black-eyed Susans."

"They're so pretty! Do they bloom year round?"

"Not all year."

The wagon rolled through a small creek and up a hill.
Rows upon rows of fences and cattle dotted lush, grassy
meadows.

"Just look at all those cattle!" Faith slid forward on the
bench. She had never seen so many animals in one place at
the same time. "There must be thousands!"

"Close to two thousand," Nicholas conceded.

"Two thousand," she silently mouthed, thunderstruck by
the opulent display. Why, Papa had owned one old cowand that was for milking purposes only. She'd never seen
such wealth, much less dreamed of being a part of it.

Nicholas glanced at her. "Shepherd cattle roam a good
deal of this area. Do you like animals?"

"I love them-except I've never had any for my own.
Papa was so busy with his congregation and trying to rear
three daughters properly that he said he had all the mouths
he cared to feed, thank you. I remember once Mr.
Kratchet's old tabby cat had kittens. They were so cute, and
I fell head over heels in love with one. It was the runt, and
sickly, but I wanted it so badly."

Sighing, she folded her hands on her lap, recalling the traumatic moment. "But Papa said no, no use wasting good food
on something that wasn't going to live anyway." Tears
welled to her eyes. "I cried myself to sleep that night. I
vowed when I grew up, I'd have all the sick kittens I wanted.
Mama said, Be merciful to all things, Faith'-did I tell you
Mama died giving birth to my youngest sister, June-did I
mention that in my letter? Well, she did. Faith, Hope, and
June-"

Liza turned to give her a sour look.

"June," Faith repeated, her smile temporarily wavering.
"Papa was kinda mad at June when she was born. He took
his anger out on that poor baby because he thought she'd
killed Mama, but later he admitted the devil had made him
think those crazy thoughts. It certainly wasn't the work of
the Lord. Lots of women die in childbirth, and it's not necessarily God's doing-but by the time Papa got over his
hurt, it was too late to call the baby Charity, like he'd
planned to do in the first place. By then, everybody knew
June as `June' and it didn't feel right to call her anything
else. Now Mama always said-" Liza's iron grip on her
knee stopped her.

She paused, her eyes frozen on the steel-like grip.

"Do you prattle like this all of the time?"

"Do you chew snuff all the time?" Faith blurted without
thinking. She had never once seen a woman chew snuff.
She was fascinated. Perhaps Liza would teach her how-no,
Papa would know. And the good Lord.

"Hold your tongue, young lady!" Liza returned to staring
at the road.

Faith blushed. "Sorry." She watched the passing scenery,
aware she was starting out on shaky footing with her soonto-be mother-in-law. She vowed to be silent for the remainder of the trip, but she couldn't help casting an occasional
bewildered look in Liza's direction. Mercy!

What did it hurt to talk about some poor kitten she hadn't
gotten in the first place?

AITH shifted in the uncomfortable high-back
chair, keeping a close eye on the mantel clock. Minutes
ticked slowly by. Two, two-thirty, three o'clock. Nicholas
had risen before dawn, eaten a large breakfast, then disappeared to the barn. Liza informed Faith shortly after Nicholas's departure that the marriage ceremony was scheduled to
take place in Reverend Hicks's parlor at four o'clock.

Faith glanced at the ticking timepiece, worrying her lower
lip between her front teeth. Already 3:12, and her bridegroom had not appeared.

Twisting her mother's handkerchief in her lap, Faith
watched the doorway, listening for the sound of Nicholas's
footsteps. Was he ever coming?

Her gaze meandered through the Shepherd parlor. The
furnishings were nice, but uncared for. Drab cotton sheets covered most of the upholstery. Everything smelled musty.
A rose-colored brocade sofa lined the east wall; two rigidback chairs in a darker hue sat beside a cold fireplace. The
room was devoid of warmth, with nothing to counter the
wretched dreariness. Faith wondered what pictures had
hung where patched places now spotted the wall. There
were no colorful rugs to soften the neglected floor. Heavy
drapes blocked a faint breeze that struggled to make itself
felt through the open window. Homesickness washed over
Faith when she recalled Papa and Mama's cheery home.
The Kallahans were as poor as church mice, but their rooms
were brightly painted and always smelled of soap and sunshine.

In the brief time she'd been here, one thing was clear:
Nicholas and Liza Shepherd were not happy people.

Isolated, nonresponsive to one another, they were so different from the laughing, happy family she'd grown up in.
Was Aunt Thalia right when she'd warned her not to pursue this plan? Had she made a mistake by coming here? She
glanced at Liza, who hadn't moved in hours. Only the
occasional staccato click of knitting needles reminded Faith
that she wasn't alone.

Supper last night had been an ordeal. Grace was offered
for the food and the hands that prepared it. Then silence
settled over the table. Not a word was spoken as they ate a
heavy fare of meat, potatoes, gravy, and rich yellow butter
spread on biscuits.

Faith winced, still feeling the way the food had lodged in
her throat. She'd been exhausted from the long stagecoach ride, barely able to keep her eyes open, but she had made an
attempt at polite conversation. Her efforts were rewarded
by Liza's reprimanding scowl. Faith had fallen silent, concentrating on the mound of overcooked beef in the center
of her plate.

After supper they had retired in silence to the parlor,
where Nicholas conducted the daily devotion from 1 Peter.
"Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial
which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened
unto you: But rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of
Christ's sufferings; that, when his glory shall be revealed, ye
may be glad also with exceeding joy." He had looked up,
his gaze focusing on her for a moment before turning back
to the page.

She'd felt her cheeks burn. Why had he looked up at her?
Did he already consider her a "trial" in the short time he'd
known her? He hadn't addressed her once since they'd
arrived at the Shepherd farmhouse. The rambling two-story
house towered between the barn and a few weathered outbuildings. Wealth was certainly not evident in the spartanlike setting with neglected flower beds and the house badly
in need of a new coat of paint. There wasn't an ounce of
friendliness to welcome visitors. Faith was certain a ranch
this size would need hired help, but she'd seen no evidence
of a bunkhouse or other lodging.

Nicholas had carried her bags to a small, airless front bedroom, then left without a word. Breakfast this morning had
been conducted in the same uncommunicative manner. Fat
wedges of ham, eggs swimming in bubbly grease, gravy ... biscuits washed down with scalding, bitter coffee. Neither
Nicholas nor Liza had given any acknowledgment that Faith
was at the table. They'd kept their heads bent to their plates,
their utensils methodically scraping back and forth across the
chipped blue-and-white dishes.

Faith's eyes focused on Liza. The drab calico print she had
donned this morning had seen more than its share of washings. How old was she? Sixty? Seventy? Faith wasn't a proper
judge of such matters. Once she had guessed Eldora Farthington's age to be fifty, and the poor woman had suffered the
vapors. Eldora didn't look thirty-five, as she claimed; still,
Papa had instructed Faith to pray for forgiveness for offending
Eldora's delicate nature.

Liza couldn't be too old. She seemed to have all her faculties. Faith's eyes skimmed the older woman's hair. Faded
blonde braids with streaks of silver were stringently pulled
back from her face and secured at the crown with a hairpin.
Though the afternoon heat was brutal, she kept a worn
black shawl fitted tightly around her shoulders.

Faith sighed. Did she truly intend to see her only son
married in that getup?

"Do I have a bird on my head?"

Faith jumped at the sound of Liza's clipped query.

"No, ma'am."

"Then stop staring at me."

Faith blushed, embarrassed she'd been caught gawking.

She pressed her lips tightly together, afraid to speak. Her
gaze dropped to her own gown, a pretty white Irish linen
Aunt Thalia had paid Rose Nelson, Cold Water's only seamstress, to make. For a surprise, June had saved her egg
money and purchased a hat the exact same shade from
Edmund Watt's mercantile. She'd presented it to Faith with
great flourish, and the three sisters agreed Faith would be
the most fashionable bride Deliverance had ever seen.

Faith grinned, thinking about June and the laughter they'd
shared so easily. The hat and gown made Faith feel like a
princess, but in view of Liza's spartan attire she wondered if
she weren't overdressed.

She quickly laid her handwork aside when she heard the
back door open. Springing to her feet, she absently smoothed
the linen into place, then checked her hair, wondering if
Nicholas found her comely. She wasn't, of course. She was
rather ordinary, and she couldn't hold a candle to Hope's
beauty, but she did her best to keep a tidy appearance.

Nicholas walked to the kitchen counter and deposited a
pail of milk. She heard the metal clang of the handle as he
dumped the contents into a large pitcher. The mantel clock
struck the half hour. They would have to hurry to be at the
Reverend's by four o'clock.