Prairie Storm (18 page)

As the wheels began to roll, Lily pushed herself up and peered over the side rail. Gibbons was reloading his six-shooter, while Beatrice glared after the retreating wagon. Her heart sick, Lily read the utter hatred on the woman's face.

How many hours had the two women sat together—chatting, laughing, darning socks, or making show costumes? How many times had they dried each other's tears? Oh, Beatrice! What had driven her to such desperation? Why was her voice so filled with hatred? They had shared dreams of a happy future … plans for wealth and luxury … an opera house … music …

“Wait!” Lily cried suddenly, clapping her hand on Elijah's shoulder. “Pull the wagon around to the barn. I have to get my melodeon.”

Eli's head turned, his hair whipping his cheeks. “Forget the melodeon. We've got to get out of here before that loco-brain blasts us to kingdom come.”

“But I need it, Elijah. I can't get home without it.”

“Mercy, child,” Mother Margaret said, patting Lily's arm as the wagon rolled out onto the main road. “You don't need no melodeon to get home. You're goin' home right now. Home to Hope.”

Elijah studied the vast prairie that stretched out on either side of the road and wondered how it compared to China. He didn't know much about that foreign land, only that it was about as far from Kansas as a man could get.

A part of him really wanted to be there.

As the wagon rattled down the rutted trail between seas of bluestem, broom sedge, and switchgrass, Eli searched the horizon for the shingled roof of the little Hope church. He was headed back there to be a pastor again. Not a missionary. Not a traveling evangelist. Just the pastor of a little flock. Lily had warned him that meant weddings, funerals, planned-out sermons, and deacons' meetings.

Oh, Lord, are you sure you wouldn't rather send me to China?
he prayed.
Surely they don't have committees in China. Or deacons. Or cemetery funds
.

Eli reached down and picked a stem of purple coneflower from the side of the road and twirled it between his thumb and fore finger. The pale petals fanned out from the dark brown, prickly eye. In a few weeks, the petals would fall and the central black pod would cast its seeds across the fertile prairie sod.

Cast seeds, Elijah
, the voice in his soul whispered.
Spread my Word across the prairie. The harvest truly is great, but the laborers are few
.

“Yes, Lord,” he murmured in response.

“What?” Lily Nolan straightened on the seat beside him. “Did you say something, Elijah?”

Embarrassed, he shook his head. “Just praying.”

“I guess I was dozing. It's such a hot afternoon.”

With Mother Margaret at her son's house in Topeka and the baby sleeping in the back of the wagon, Lily and Elijah had been sitting for hours in total silence. He felt uncomfortable alone with her. She was too pretty. She smelled too sweet. His thoughts kept meandering off the main trail and wandering around the notion of what it would feel like to take Lily Nolan in his arms and kiss her pink lips. He wanted to touch her hair too, all that long gold silk. And he wouldn't mind the feel of her soft cheek against his neck or her—

“What were you praying about?” Lily asked.

Eli blanched. Had he been praying?

“Being the pastor in Hope,” he said, forcing his thoughts back onto the main trail. “I reckon it's going to be hard work.”

“You'll be tending lambs among wolves,” she said with quiet assurance. “That's a terrifying responsibility.”

Eli shifted the reins from one hand to the other. No, he wanted to tell her. He'd been a pastor in Hope just long enough to realize it would be the tedium of the job that oppressed him. The same people with the same petty arguments and the same complaints day after day. They'd be pulling on him, tracking him down, sucking him dry. The grind of it all would do him in.

Nothing like being a missionary in China—or even a roving evangelist. In Hope there would be no unknown trails to explore, no hordes of unrepentant souls to gather in, no rugged wildernesses and savage tribes to tame. Nothing but Hope, Kansas. Dirt farmers. Broiling sun. Relentless wind. Cows. Chickens. Wheat.

“When I think about the task of a minister,” Lily said, “and I mean a
real
minister, someone who's honest and loves his flock and truly has faith in God, I think it must be the highest calling in the world.”

“You do?” Eli took his Stetson off, fanned the flies a moment, and put the hat back on. “The highest calling?”

“Mother Margaret could explain what I'm trying to say.” She let out a breath. “Oh, I miss her so much. I feel lost without her.”

“I'd like to hear your thoughts, Lily. How do you figure a preaching job in an outpost like Hope is a high calling?”

“Because the pastor is the only shepherd the people have. That means he sees to the welfare of the flock—their physical health, their daily needs, their harshest trials, and their sweetest joys. A true minister—if there is such a thing—lays down his life for his flock.”

“In Hope?”

“The wolves are all around, Elijah. The hungry lion is on the prowl.”

Seeing the call to preach in a different light, Eli squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “Maybe you're right. I never lived anywhere long enough to have a real pastor, but I sure heard a lot of traveling preachers. That seemed like the best way to get the message across.”

“An evangelist came to our church once,” Lily said. “He was a mighty man with a hypnotic voice. He left everyone in tears. But the main thing was,
he left
. It was our minister, Reverend Hardcastle, who reached out to all the broken spirits and contrite hearts. He was the one who really made the difference.”

“You liked your minister, Lily?”

She shrugged. “Reverend Hardcastle is a loving man—kind to everyone. And that makes him blind.”

“Blind to your father.”

“I don't want to talk about my father.”

“But I do.” He took her hand and wove her slender fingers between his. “Tell me about him, Lily.”

She looked away, across the prairie, seeing places and events Elijah could only imagine. The thought that anyone could hurt Lily was almost more than he could bear. For one thing, she was so delicate, almost fragile. How could anyone—let alone a father—treat her roughly? Thinking about it made Eli so angry he could taste it.

The man had damaged Lily's tender, childlike trust in God. That sin seemed unforgivable. Had her faith been destroyed completely? Or did Lily still nurture a tiny seed?

“Consider the lilies how they grow.”
The voice inside Elijah whispered words from Jesus' teaching.

Could Lily still grow? Was there hope for her? Did God have a plan for her life … even though her heart was hard and her spirit had been shut away?

“Seek ye the kingdom of God; and all these things shall be added unto you.”
Eli raised a prayer of thanksgiving as the words of Scripture flooded through him. It was never too late. Never. Not even for Lily.

“My father is a great musician,” she said softly, her fingers gripping his. “He conducts the Greater New England Symphony Orchestra, and he directs the choir at the First United Church of St. George, the largest church in Philadelphia.”

“People respect him,” Elijah said.

“Yes.” She nodded, but her focus had left the vast freedom of the prairie and was directed on her lap. “He's a great man. He's always very busy attending meetings and speaking out on behalf of his orchestra. They travel often to perform across the East Coast.”

“Has he heard you sing?”

“No,” she said, her voice hushed. “No, never.”

It was as though the very mention of the man lapped at Lily's spirit. She began to shrink and wither, her voice growing small and her shoulders drawing together. Elijah rubbed his thumb gently over hers, stroking away the tension.

“I went to the finest schools,” she continued. “I always wore expensive clothes. My father liked to show me off to his associates.”

“I guess you had a lot of friends.”

“Father didn't like children to come to our house. He didn't want me to spend time with anyone but our family, so he kept me inside. He had to protect me from bad influences.”

“You must have been pretty lonely.”

“Yes, but my father wanted only the best for me. He needed to keep control of things, he said. Everything had to be in order so I would grow up well. He didn't like for me to speak out my own ideas or go places without him. He always kept my mother close, too. She did everything he told her to do, but I … I was naughty sometimes. I liked to climb trees, and twice I tore my pinafores. One afternoon I ate half a cherry pie all by myself. Another time I hid under my father's desk because I wanted to make a house there for my dolls. But he found me and—”

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, unable to continue.

Not far ahead, Elijah could see the little town of Hope, its collection of soddies and timber-framed buildings glazed orange by the setting sun. The glass panes gleamed in the mercantile windows. A drift of pale gray smoke rose from the smithy's chimney. White sheets fluttered on a line. So small and simple the town seemed. A place where children could climb trees and eat cherry pies without fear.

“Your father had no right to hurt you,” he said. “You were just a little girl. You were playing.”

“Rights? What rights do children have? My father was preparing for an important concert that weekend. I disrupted his … his thoughts.”

“Did he beat you?”

She bit her lip as she nodded. “His baton made a good whip. Convenient. But, Elijah,
most
children are punished when they do wrong. I know that. I realize I was—”

“Most children don't wind up black and blue. A papa or mama might give their child one quick pop on the backside to set him straight. But not a beating. Not pouring out anger on a young'un. That's not right, Lily. Is that what your father did to you?”

“I'm sure he didn't intend to hurt me—”

“Did he bruise you?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “He … he broke my ribs once. I remember how hard it was to breathe. My mother told the doctor I had fallen down the stairs.”

“She lied.”

“She didn't want anyone to think less of my father. He has such a fine standing in the community. He's very—”

“Cruel. Vicious. Mean.”

“Talented. He's brilliant and high-strung. They say he's a genius. Sometimes he just can't control everything.”

“He can't control himself.”

“He couldn't control me. Not completely. I frustrated him.”

“You were a little girl. A child, Lily. No one ought to hurt a young'un—no matter what.”

She let out a breath, as though the weight of the past had slipped from her shoulders for a moment. “I know,” she said finally. “For so many years I took it all inside myself. I defended my father. I blamed myself. I accepted my mother's lies to the doctors. I managed both sides of my world—the glittering parties, fine gowns, soaring music … and the shouts of rage, the cruel baton, the bruises and broken bones. And then one day … when I was older … I stepped outside myself, and I saw it.”

“That's when you ran off with the traveling show.”

“Beatrice has not had an easy life either, you know. She took me in when she and the others were barely able to feed themselves. At first, Jakov didn't want me, but Bea argued on my behalf. She said she would rescue me, and she did. Ted Nolan became my husband after that. I didn't know him well when we got married, and over time I liked him less and less. But I needed shelter, and he offered it. In return, I worked for the show.”

“So now you've run off a second time,” Eli said, “and you're feeling just as guilty as when you left your father. You're making up reasons why those people deserve your love and your respect— even though they never loved or respected you.”

“Bea loved me,” she returned. “I know she did.”

“True love doesn't try to control folks.” Eli guided the mule off the road, past a grove of shady cottonwood trees, and down the main street of Hope. “I don't know much more on the subject than what you've taught me, Lily, but I know what I've read in the Good Book. If people love you, they're not going to threaten you or make you feel low. And they're sure not going to make a habit of hurting you.”

“I think Bea lashed out at me because she's terribly frightened. All her life, she's struggled just to survive. She never had anything to call her own until she joined up with Jakov and the traveling show. She truly needs my help.”

“You'd sing in an opera house?”

“You make it sound like another den of iniquity.”

“Ever been inside one? There's drinking and gambling and all kinds of carrying-on. That's not a place for someone like you.”