Authors: Promised to Me
Robin Lee Hatcher (10 page)
“Jakob! There’s been an accident over at the Mason place. A tree blew down in the storm, and Brad’s caught under it. I ran into his oldest boy, Tommy, on the way back to my place. We need your help.”
“I’ll saddle my horse.”
Jakob turned his head to look toward the sofa, but Karola was already at his side, wordlessly holding out her arms to take Aislinn. Her eyes were filled with concern.
I will see to the children,
they seemed to say.
You must take care of yourself.
As he passed his child to Karola, Jakob wished he could take hold of Karola’s small but capable hands. He wished he knew the words to tell her how glad he was she was there with him. He wanted to tell her— “
We need to hurry.”
Lance’s urgency pulled Jakob from his wayward thoughts. With a strange sense of regret, he tore his gaze from Karola. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
T
he rain had slowed to a drizzle and the wind had died down by the time Jakob and Lance arrived at the Mason farm. Geraldine Mason met them in the barnyard. Her hair was plastered to her scalp; her wet dress clung to her skin.
She grabbed the reins of Jakob’s horse. “They’re up along Dooley Creek.” She pointed with her free arm. “Woodrow’s trying to get Bradley free. I sent Tommy to town for the doctor and any help he can get.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Mason,” Lance said. “We’ll get him home to you. He’s gonna be okay.”
It was a rash promise, one Jakob wouldn’t have made, and he was sorry the younger man had. He’d learned the hard way that things didn’t always come out okay, no matter how much a man might wish it so, no matter the effort he made.
“We’ll do our best,” Jakob said.
She nodded, then released her hold on the reins and stepped back to let them pass.
Putting heels to their horses’ ribs, the two men cantered away from the house and up the gentle slope of land toward the tree-lined creek that curled along the southern border of the farm.
They saw the team of horses first, standing idly in their traces, then they saw the fallen cottonwood tree, its roots exposed, stretched across the swollen creek.
Woodrow, Bradley’s younger brother, saw them at the same moment. He stood tall and waved. “Here! We’re over here!”
Jakob was quick to assess the situation. Bradley—a man close to Jakob’s age and about the same height and weight— was lying on the bank of the creek, his left leg in the water, his right leg hidden from view beneath the tree. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes squeezed closed. He was shivering, though whether from cold or from pain or both, Jakob couldn’t be sure.
“Thank God you’re here,” Woodrow said as he approached them.
Jakob dismounted. “I brought my saw.” How long would it take to use the two-man crosscut to saw through the thick base of the tree? Maybe too long, judging by the look of the man.
“We were pulling an old stump when the storm blew in.” Woodrow couldn’t seem to stop talking. “Brad just unhitched the team when a blast of wind hit us. I never felt anything like it before. The horses spooked, and me and Tommy ran after them. Then I heard Brad’s shout and a loud noise. Loud as thunder.”
Lance and Jakob moved to opposite sides of the tree, as close to Bradley as they could stand, then began to saw.
“I turned”—Woodrow’s voice rose above the sound of the saw—“and saw this tree was down and my brother caught under it. I sent Tommy to get help, then tried to dig him out, but the ground’s too hard.”
Bradley groaned, and Jakob paused to glanced down. His neighbor stared at him with fevered eyes, and Jakob wasn’t sure Bradley recognized him.
“Hold on,” Jakob said loudly. Then to Lance, in a softer voice, he said, “We’d better work fast.”
Karola stood on the front porch, clutching a shawl about her shoulders, watching the angry sky. The wind had picked up again, and the temperature had plunged a good fifteen degrees, maybe more.
She shivered, turned, and went back inside.
She wished she and the children had gone with Jakob. She didn’t know the injured man or his wife, but perhaps she could have been of some help. As it was, she could only wait and wonder what was happening. It made the minutes drag like hours. At least the children didn’t seem to notice. They were at play upstairs in the girls’ room, the storm apparently forgotten.
As she walked toward the kitchen, she prayed. “Father, help Jakob and the others. Give the men strength and wisdom. I do not know what is happening, but you do. I do not know how to pray, but you already know the answers. And, Lord, let me feel your peace again.”
Yes, she needed peace—and not only because of the storm and the accident on the neighboring farm.
“I have lost the battle about Jakob, Lord. I have lost my heart to him. I tried not to, but I have. I know I am headstrong and willful and a dreamer. I know I came to America for all the wrong reasons. But I also know you had a higher purpose in bringing me here. I want your purpose, your will to be done.” She sighed. “But is it so terrible that I should love him a second time? Really love him. And love his children, too.”
She stood at the sink and looked out the window. The clouds were heavy and black as ink, and they raced across the heavens with ferocious speed. The storm seemed to be renewing itself, and a flutter of fear quickened her heart.
Protect him, Lord.
Jakob supposed it was a kind of miracle that they were able to free Bradley Mason so quickly. He supposed it was also some kind of miracle that he stood holding Bradley in his arms while Woodrow went for the horses. Otherwise, it might have been him walking across that clearing.
There was a split second of awareness when the whole world seemed to be enveloped by a searing white light, a split second more when he realized he was flying backward, knocked off his feet by some unseen power. And then all was darkness.
There would never be a time in Jakob’s future when he didn’t recall awakening to this overpowering, pungent smell. His head ached, and his body felt as if it had been kicked by a mule. As he sat up, he saw a man’s boot on the ground a few yards away. It was smoldering. Jakob glanced at his feet. He was wearing both of his boots.
He heard a groan and looked to his right where Bradley lay on his back in the wet field grass, his right pant leg torn and muddied. He, too, had on both of his boots.
Jakob managed to rise, stumbled slightly, then righted himself.
It took him awhile to find another body lying several yards beyond Bradley. It was Woodrow. And suddenly Jakob’s mind identified the acrid smell that sickened him: burning flesh. The boot had belonged to Woodrow. He must have been blown out of his shoes by the bolt of lightning that had struck and killed him.
“Jakob? You okay?”
He turned to his left to find Lance sitting on a tree stump, pressing his hands against his temples, his gaze on the ground at his feet.
“I’m all right, but it looks like Woodrow’s dead.”
Lance pushed himself upright from the stump. “What about Brad?”
“I’m not sure.” Jakob moved toward Bradley to see for himself.
Another flash of lightning lit the sky, followed by a crack of thunder. Lance shouted an oath, and Jakob stopped still in his tracks, his mouth gone dry, his heart racing.
We’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to get back to my
family.
The children were already in their beds, fast asleep, by the time Jakob returned home. Karola knew something horrible had happened the instant he came through the back door. She rose from her chair at the kitchen table—where she’d been sitting for the past hour, sipping tea and praying—and went to him.
Wordlessly, she placed the flat of her hand against his chest, as if offering strength to his heart. Jakob shook his head, then placed his right hand over hers, trapping it there.
Neither of them moved for a long time.
Finally, Jakob lowered his hand. “Are the children asleep?”
“
Ja.
For some time now.”
“I’ll walk you to the cabin.”
“You do not need to, Jakob. I am able to find my own way.”
“No, I want to.”
She nodded, deeming it better not to argue.
“I’ll get you a jacket. That shawl of yours won’t be enough. It’s turned cold.”
Again she nodded.
Jakob left the kitchen, returning soon with a short coat made of dark blue wool. He placed it over her shoulders. “It’s a bit big on you, but it’ll keep you warm until we get you home and can build a fire.”
“Danke.”
They left the house, walking up the hillside with slow, even steps. The rain had stopped, and a break in the clouds allowed a first-quarter moon to peek through, shedding an unexpected light on the path before them.
They were halfway to their destination when Jakob started talking. “He was only twenty-eight. He was young and strong. And now he’s dead.”
“The man who was trapped?”
“No. His brother. Woodrow.” Silence, then: “He was struck by lightning. It could have been any of us.”
“Oh, Jakob,” she said softly, a tremble in her voice. “How awful.”
Thank you for protecting him, Lord. Thank you for not taking
Jakob away from his children. And … from me.
“You know what I thought? How Siobhan died that suddenly. For no reason. I thought how quickly the people we love are taken from us, and no matter how hard we try to protect them, we’re helpless to change things. Life’s a series of loss upon loss. That’s all life is.”
She heard more than loss in his voice. She heard a desperation of the soul, and the sound tore at her heart. She had to blink away tears and swallow a lump in her throat before she could respond. “Do things seem as hopeless to you as that, Jakob?”
“There is nothing secure, nothing safe.”
Her heart felt as if it were breaking. “There is safety in God, Jakob. There is hope in him.”
“Is there?” His voice had turned hard. “I’m not so sure.”
“Oh, Jakob. Doubt anything but that. Doubt anyone but him.”
His stride lengthened, anger evident in every step. “Why
shouldn’t
I doubt him? Where was he when the storm hit tonight? Where was he when Siobhan died?”
Karola hurried to keep pace with him.
“There’s no reason my children should’ve been left without a mother. No reason. And what about you?” He stopped, forcing Karola to do the same as he spun to face her. “You deserved a family of your own, a husband and children. When I didn’t send for you like I promised, why didn’t God provide a husband for you?” He stepped toward her, the movement almost threatening. “Your hope was
wasted,
Karola, and so was your trust.”
Speechless in the face of his rage, she began to cry, silent tears streaking her cheeks.
God kept me for you, Jakob. Can you
not see that for yourself?
For a moment, they stared at one another. Even the night seemed to hold its breath.
Jakob cursed softly, then took hold of Karola’s shoulders. “Were all the men in Steigerhausen blind?” The embers of his rage still burned in his eyes. “Couldn’t they see what I see?”
Before she could react, he drew her to him and lowered his mouth to hers.
His kiss was harsh and furious—and like a whirlpool in a river, it sucked her under. She was helpless in the grip of his fiery passion, but she didn’t care. Wouldn’t have fought if she could. She wanted to surrender completely. She wanted—
With a gasp, she pulled away, frightened by the intensity of her response. She touched her lips with her fingertips, staring at Jakob, eyes wide, her pulse pounding in her ears.
He stared back, unmoving.
She formed his name with her mouth but no sound came.
He shuddered, as though seeing his name on her lips had broken him free from his emotions. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, and the sorrow in his gaze raked her raw emotions.
“I’m sorry, Karola. I’m tired. I wasn’t thinking straight.” He raised a hand toward her, then let it fall. “My actions are inexcusable. It won’t happen again.” He glanced up the hillside. “There’s the cabin. You’ll be all right from here.” With that, he spun on his heel and strode into the night.
“I love you, Jakob.”
But he was already gone, and her tearful whisper was caught and carried away on the wind.
12 June 1908
in care of Jakob Hirsch
Shadow Creek, Idaho
Dear Father and Mother,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. I yearn to
hear from you, and every day I hope to receive a letter
written in Mother’s beautiful hand.
I am doing well. I feel more at home in my little cabin
every day. As for my work, I have found my way into the
hearts of the children, and they are definitely in mine.
Even Maeve has decided I am not some wicked witch
come to eat her house of gingerbread. I believe she has
come to like me, although not as much as Bernard and
Aislinn do.
Jakob has begun to give me riding lessons. Can you
imagine me on a horse, Father? And once I have learned
to ride horseback, he plans to teach me to drive a team
pulling a wagon. He says I cannot live out so far from
Shadow Creek without knowing how to ride and drive. I
am nervous around the horses, although I try to hide my
fears.
I feel foolish, being afraid, because both Maeve and
Bernard are able to ride, and Aislinn is totally fearless.
She sits in the saddle in front of her father and giggles as
he trots the horse around the corral. It makes a delightful
picture, the two of them. I wish you could see them.
Not all the news is good. There was a tragic accident
on a neighboring farm last week. One man was injured
during a violent storm, and his brother was killed. The
funeral was held a few days ago, and even though I did
not know these people, I wept for them. And I weep for
Jakob because he seems to be blaming God, not only for
this accident but for his wife’s death and other losses, too.
I long to be able to help him find a place of peace, to
accept God’s comfort, but I feel I know too little myself.
I read my Bible every morning now, and the words often
seem to burn themselves into my very soul. Yet who am I,
who walked apart from the Lord for so many years, to tell
Jakob how to find peace with him? I feel so inadequate.
I have wondered if I should talk to Pastor Joki. Would
I be wrong to express my concerns about Jakob to him?
Would that be gossip? Pastor Joki seems to be both wise
and kind. He was with Jakob, of course, when Jakob’s
wife died, so he must know far more than I. I suppose I
should keep my counsel to myself.
Please remember Jakob in your prayers. And pray for
me as well, that I will hear God’s directions.
Now, let me write of other things.
I will tell you about Lance Bishop. He is a young
farmer who works for Jakob several days each week. He
has his own farm not far from Jakob’s but needs additional
income as his farm is small and he wants to buy
more land.
Do you know what one thinks of as an American cowboy?
Then you can imagine Lance Bishop. He is tall and
slim and always wears a wide-brimmed hat like one sees
in the photographs of the Wild West shows. He is younger
than I, perhaps twenty-two or twenty-three, and as fair
as Gunther Crosby. He is a little bowlegged, and when
he walks, he makes me think of a marionette because his
joints seem that loose. (I wonder if my description can
paint the picture I mean to convey.) When he is in conversation
with a woman, he always tucks his chin slightly
downward, causing him to have to look up from beneath
his brows. There is something quite charming about it.
Herr Bishop has lost his heart to the blacksmith’s daughter, Charlotte White. He confided so to me last night after supper, and my heart breaks for him because Fräulein White has her sights set on another and pays no
heed to Herr Bishop. I wonder as I write this if he shared
his feelings because he has seen my own heartache over
a love that is out of my reach.
Yes, it is true. For the second time in my life I have
fallen in love with Jakob. “Too fast,” I can hear Mother
saying. “You cannot know him any more now than you
did two weeks ago.”
Perhaps. Or perhaps I have loved him all along. Perhaps
I am as foolish as I ever was. I do not know.
I wonder what would have happened if I had married
Jakob when I arrived in Shadow Creek, as planned. Would
I still have loved him today? Or would my heartbreak
have been worse because my husband did not love me?
I wish you were here to advise me. I miss you so very
much.
Your loving daughter,
Karola Breit
