Love Finds You in Lonesome Prairie, Montana (17 page)

Julia pulled back, shaking her head. It was all so much to take in.

Her smile faded slightly when she met Miriam’s gaze and saw the
look
—the one that had clearly frustrated Isaac. The one that said,
Our school needs a teacher, but my brother needs a wife even more.

The other women had left nearly an hour prior, but Sarah Mack still sat at the picnic table behind the house. Julia lingered beside her, and together they watched William playing with the lamb. A hint of curls played in the boy’s red hair. His skin was nearly as white as the lamb’s wool. And as mother watched son, Julia spied the love in her eyes.

“William, love,” Sarah called. “Why don’t you walk the lamb back to Mrs. Lafuze’s house. Although,” she added in a lower voice, “he might just run away again and come back.” Sarah glanced around. “It is lovely here,” she said to Julia. “A beautiful spot.”

“Yes.” Julia gazed at the tiny spring, the flowing prairie grass, the big sky. “Even though the soddy is small, the parson seems to take good care of his land—when he’s around, that is.”

“He’s a hard worker, that one. He’s even stopped by our house once or twice to split wood. And once to clean the stovepipe. It was smoking quite terribly.”

Sarah had gray at the temples and was round like Mrs. Gaffin. As they chatted, Julia discovered that the British woman had fallen in love with an American diplomat’s son. Her father hadn’t approved the match, but the two married anyway, moved from England to the United States, and headed out West. Sarah had become a mother and a settler before she was twenty. Now a widow, she’d sent her three older sons to England for schooling, so it was just her and ten-year-old William.

“I’m sure it’s wonderful to get all the help you can, especially with Mr. Mack being gone.”

“Yes.” Sarah let out a heavy sigh. “Did I tell you, dearie, that we originally moved here to study the wildlife? Edwin was an ornithologist, you know. They found him at the bottom of a cliff in the Bear’s Paw Mountains. I’ve no doubt he was watching some new bird in some dodgy spot with his field glasses, not paying attention to what he was doing.” She placed a hand over her heart. “My only comfort is knowing that in heaven, my dear Edwin can talk to the Creator Himself about all the birds. He loved the feathered creatures—second only to the lads and me, you know.”

Julia’s gut ached at the thought of losing a husband in this place—of living off this land alone, without protection, and caring for a child on top of that.

In the distance William hurried down the road to Miriam’s house. He laughed as he jogged along, the small lamb bleating and following behind.

Julia felt Sarah’s hand on hers. “Don’t have a sad mug there, dearie. I know mine’s not a jolly story, but it’s through my heartache I’ve found my hiding place in God. Before then I believed in Him, but now I depend on Him, day by day.”

Sarah removed her hand and played with the cuff of her sleeve, a content look settling on her face. Almost instinctively, the lines of a hymn sang from her lips: “When sorrows like sea billows roll; whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well, with my soul….”

The breeze carried her song, and the two sat in silence a moment.

“Did you ever think about going back? To England.” Julia reached up, plucked a leaf off the tree hanging over the table, and twirled it between her fingers.

“I put my mind to it a couple times, but Edwin was mad for this place. My dear man would recline on the front step for hours just watching the clouds roll in. I think he counted them, trying to calculate how many it would take to fill the vast sky.” She chuckled at the memory. “Make tracks to England, you ask? I’d leave all he loved behind.” She rose and shook out her apron, apparently finished with the conversation.

She began to wipe the lingering crumbs from the table. “Besides, others come around to help, too. Jefferson Lafuze and Abe Falcon. Milo Godfrey stocked my shelves for the first winter after Edwin died. And then,” she paused, “Horace Whitbaum has been the biggest help. He lives the closest to me. Over the past year he’s let William tag along with him as he hunts and traps. It has kept us fed.”

“That’s kind of him. It’s wonderful how everyone helps his neighbor in these parts. In New York, there’s too much suspicion for that. I’ve heard stories of good Samaritans being robbed when they stopped to help someone.”

“Such a shame. You know, Horace truly has been a good neighbor,” she said, blatantly returning to the topic. “Once, during a blizzard, he stopped by to bring in wood for us. He’s a little unrefined perhaps, but underneath all that dirt you’ll find a heart as golden as the treasure he seeks.”

Julia stood and wiped the table with her apron. “Yes, well, I’m sure he’s nice—but I have no desire to marry him.” Julia couldn’t understand why else Sarah would expound on Horace’s finer qualities. “I’m sure you’ve heard of what’s happened? Our supposed marriage is a misunderstanding. It’ll be cleared up soon. Ellen Robertson took the letter I wrote for the headmistress Mrs. Gaffin. Mr. Robertson is heading to Fort Benton tomorrow, and he’ll post it for me. I’m sure Mrs. Gaffin will respond right away to clear this up—and send my return fare.”

Sarah blinked and her lips puckered in a frown. “Yes, of course, that situation must get mended up as soon as possible.” She opened her fan and began waving it again, as if trying to wave away the discussion about Horace.

Julia was relieved to end the conversation but hoped her words hadn’t been too harsh. “I’m so glad you all came to visit today.”

“Yes, lovely, dearie. Now, don’t you think we should head in and make up supper? My belly is rumbling. And while we’re at it, we should lay out some blankets for William in the barn.” Sarah hustled toward the house.

“In the barn?” Julia dropped her leaf and followed.

“There isn’t enough room for three in the bed. It will be cozy enough for you and me. It’s too late for me to head back now, you know. Besides, I thought it would give us more time to make our acquaintance. I’m sure you’re eager to hear about all your new neighbors. Such fine folks.”

Julia paused as she watched Sarah hustle into the house, her wide hips swaying.

“More time for you to extol for me all the good deeds and hidden virtues of Horace Whitbaum, you mean,” Julia muttered under her breath. Was that the main objective of all the women around here—to get any new female in these parts hitched up? At least Miriam’s hints weren’t so repugnant to Julia. Isaac was closer to her age—and her preference. But Horace Whitbaum? Did Sarah honestly believe that Julia would be drawn to him?

Julia followed Sarah into the soddy and was surprised to see the woman already whipping up something in a small bowl. “I hope you like crepes, dearie. I scrounged up all the ingredients in the parson’s cupboards and decided they would be delightful.”

“Crepes?” Julia shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’ve never had the pleasure.”

Sarah turned, her apple cheeks red from the exertion of whipping the batter. “Oh my, I thought you were more sophisticated than that, having lived in New York. Our former maid, Suzette, made exquisite pastries, and she taught me.” Sarah handed the bowl and spoon to Julia. “Here, keep whipping until you get out all the lumps whilst I light the stove.”

Twenty minutes later William had returned with a note and a jar of apple butter from Miriam.

Dear Julia,

Julia chuckled as she read the note. “How did she know?”

“Lonesome Prairie isn’t just a place where people live, dearie, it’s a community of friends. I know you’ll be heading back soon, but you’re here now, and you’ll always be a part of our story.”

Julia placed a hand over her chest and then reached her other hand to Sarah’s, squeezing it. “You’re right. Even when I’m settled back in the city, I’ll never forget the sincere friendship all of you have offered me even in the short time I’ve been here.”

“But we’ll not speak of you leaving just yet. Besides, we need to eat. Horace Whitbaum likes my crepes best straight from the pan.”

Gripping her treasured copy of
Shakespeare’s Comedies
in her hands, Julia watched as the children in her “school” practiced the wedding scene from
Much Ado about Nothing
. Christopher, playing Claudio, returned his rejected betrothed to her father with Elizabethan drama—or at least what he imagined it to be.

“There, Leonato, take her back again. Give not this rotten orange to your friend.”

Christopher waved a claw-like hand in the air. Then, refusing to marry Shelby—playing Hero—he shoved her toward Maradon, an Indian boy who was playing Hero’s father, Leonato.

The brook behind the actors glistened like diamonds as it ambled along the border of Isaac’s property. The coolness of morning had long melted into the usual beating heat, and Julia wiped her forehead. She glanced up to the soddy, grateful the past night had been her last to sleep in the earthen dwelling.

“Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide?” Shelby portrayed the innocent Hero with pleading desperation as the wedding attendees—the other pupils—gasped and huffed in shock. Even Bea cried, “Oh no!”

The five days since Sarah Mack stayed overnight in the soddy had crept by like a lazy caterpillar. Even with Miriam’s daily visits and school time in the mornings, the days presented a striking contrast to Julia’s normal, purposeful life—crammed full from morning till night—and ignited moments of fretfulness.

When Julia felt most useless and lonely, she opened the Word—her own family Bible—and read. Yet, although the words created a hankering for more, she still struggled to fully comprehend them. And she wished she could understand more deeply what they meant.

She flicked a fly from her dress sleeve as Maradon belted out his defense of his daughter with broken English. “Hath no man’s dagger here a point for me?” Then, breaking character, he twisted toward Julia. “What’s a dagger?”

“It’s a small knife with a sharp blade,” Julia answered.

“Oh, like this?” He reached for his belt, pulled out a leather-bound knife, and pointed it at Christopher.

Julia stepped forward. “Put that away.” She sighed, knowing he didn’t mean to hurt anyone. “That’s exactly right, but in plays, we don’t use real knives or swords. Maybe you can find a stick that would work.”

Maradon nodded and shoved the blade back into his belt. “Yes, teacher.”

“Please continue.”

Despite the mild—and sometimes not so mild—incidents involved in educating children of such cultural differences, Julia was thankful for the hours she spent teaching every day. Not only did the precious moments with Shelby and Bea bless her, but she also delighted in getting to know the other children. She appreciated their unique personalities, and she was proud of their scholarly progress. These prairie youngsters knew how to work hard, and that ability transferred to their schoolwork. Julia restored her attention to the play. The children had learned this scene so quickly.

“O, God defend me! how am I beset!” Shelby flung her hand to her forehead and collapsed in Maradon’s arms, the sting of Claudio’s rejection overcoming her. Then she eyed Julia.

“All right, children.” Julia stood and clapped. “That was wonderful! You are definitely ready to show your parents tonight.”

“Can we go?” Young Josh tugged on Julia’s arm.

Julia rubbed his shoulder. “Yes, go eat your lunches. I’ll see you tonight at the Lafuze-Falcon Ranch. And remember, tomorrow we’ll have lessons there instead. All right?”

The children didn’t answer. Obviously too fixed on filling their stomachs, they raced to the brook and pulled their lunch pails from a spot beneath the small cluster of box elder trees.

With the children scattered about munching their food, Julia, too wound up to eat, rushed inside and gathered up the few items left to put in her valise. Miriam would be here with the wagon any moment. Stepping back, she gave the room one last glance, knowing she’d probably never see it again.