Whispers from Yesterday (7 page)

“No. He died more than thirty years ago.”

“Mother never spoke about either of them. I thought I had no grandparents, that they were deceased.” She stared into the distance. “I never would have known about Sophia if I hadn’t found one of her letters to my mother. Mother was furious when I confronted her about it.”

Your grandmother is a hateful, despicable woman. I was lucky to escape her and that dreadful ranch. Never ask me about her again. As far as I’m concerned, she’s dead.

“She forbade me to ask about her,” Karen continued in a low voice. “And I never did. Not about her or my grandfather or anything else from her past.” She felt a sudden shame. “To be honest, I didn’t care.”

“It’s not too late. Maybe that’s why you’re here.”

“I’m here because I had nowhere else to go. I’m broke. I have a college degree, but I’ve never had a job. I don’t know how to manage money. I’ve never done anything but enjoy myself. I’m basically a worthless human being.”

“No one is worthless,” he said softly. “You were created with love. You have great worth to God. Your circumstances might be His way of drawing you to Him.”

His words made her instantly angry. Who was he to judge her? “Is that what you tell those”—she almost called them
delinquents
again, but stopped herself in time—
“kids
you’ve got staying here? That God loves and values them?”

“It’s one of the things I tell them.”

“And they buy into the fantasy?”

He didn’t answer. Only looked at her. And it seemed as if he could see straight into her heart.

She hated it. She didn’t want anyone to see inside her. She didn’t want anyone to know the real Karen Jo Butler.

This cowboy had said she had great worth to God. But if he saw inside her, he would surely see he was wrong.

Monday, October 19, 1936

Godaften, Diary,

That means “Good evening, Diary” in Danish. It isn’t so
much, but Mikkel Pastor Christiansen seems pleased with the few words I have learned and says I am making progress.

He seemed even more pleased with the cake Sophia baked for him.

Sometimes I have hope. Other days I have none.

I am not certain falling in love is a good thing. I am wretchedly unhappy.

Esther

Tuesday, November 3, 1936

Dear Diary,

Dutch Tallman asked me to go to the movie with him this coming Friday evening. Delphia Plum and Hap Gifford will be with us. I like Dutch and have decided to accept his invitation, if Mama and Papa say it is all right for me to go. We will have the use of Mr. Tallman’s Fordor Sedan, so it will not matter that it is cold after dark.

Of course, I would much rather go to the movies with Mikkel Christiansen, but I have despaired of him thinking to ask me to go to a movie or anywhere else. Maybe he does not go to movies. I know many ministers do not, although our community church is not so strict about such things. And Mikkel did join in the dancing last summer.

Oh, that seems such a long time ago. What I would not give to have him hold me in his arms and waltz me around a barn again. Sometimes I cannot hear his lessons at Sunday school or during worship services because I am daydreaming about that. I am sure that is a horrible sin for which I will have to repent one day.

I am not always daydreaming, of course. I have learned much from his preaching and teaching. And I find there are
times when I am so hungry to know more, to understand more, to feel more about God. I think I should like to love God as Mikkel loves Him, but I cannot say that I do.

Teaching the children’s class has been wonderful, but my time doing so is nearly over. Mrs. Filbert has received permission from the doctor in Boise to resume her normal activities, and she has said she will return to the class the first Sunday in December. In time to arrange for the Christmas pageant. I will be truly sad when this happens, because then I will not have any reason for even a few minutes alone with Mikkel.

Oh, why can I not feel this same way about Dutch? He thinks I am pretty and would like to kiss me. Mikkel thinks I am just a child.

Esther

SIX

“What are you doing with my car?” Karen demanded as she approached the Mustang.

The hood was up, and one of Dusty’s boys was looking at the engine. Without straightening, he glanced over his shoulder but didn’t answer.

“I asked what you’re doing,” she said again.

“Just seein’ what sort of shape it’s in.”

Karen stopped a few feet away. “I did
not
give permission for you to touch my things.”

“Why?” He straightened and turned toward her. His gaze was sullen, his tone defiant. “Afraid I’m gonna contaminate it or something?”

She winced. That was precisely what she’d felt, even if she hadn’t put it into words.

“I know my way around cars, lady. I’m not gonna hurt nothing.”

And how many automobiles have you stolen, you young hoodlum?

For several moments, they glared at each other.

Finally, the boy turned back toward the automobile. “This car’s a classic. If you fixed it up, it’d be worth a lot of money.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not.”

She stepped closer. “How
much
money?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, then leaned over the engine again. “If it was done right, could be worth twenty, thirty thousand. Maybe more.”

“Twenty thousand
dollars?
“ She took another step forward. “That much? For this old car?”

“Maybe. It’s a classic. Lots of people want to own an old Mustang.”

Twenty thousand. That would be enough to get her out of Nowheresville, Idaho. She could return to California. It would be enough to support her for a little while. Not for long, but perhaps long enough. A few months anyway.

“What would it take?” she asked the boy. “And could you do the work?”

He met her gaze again. “You askin’ me to help you?” The defiance was gone from his voice, replaced by surprise.

“Yes.” She didn’t suppose he was any more surprised than she was. “What would it cost to fix it up, get it ready to sell?”

“I’d have to do some figurin’. Look through some catalogs. Make some phone calls.”

“Will you do that?” Of course, she’d have to come up with some creative way to pay for all this.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And what’s in it for me?”

“I … I would share a percentage of the profits with you. Naturally.”

“You serious?”

She hesitated a moment, wondering how little of a percentage she could offer him and still have him accept, then held out her hand. “Yes.”

He looked at her hand, as if not knowing what to do with it.

“I’m quite serious,” she said. “I’m sorry. I can’t remember your name.”

“The guys call me Junkman.” He still didn’t shake her hand. “But my name’s Hal Junker.” His expression hardened. “I’ll have to ask Dusty if it’s okay before I can agree to do the work for you. We don’t get a lot of time to ourselves around this place.”

Of course. In her excitement, she’d forgotten what Hal Junker was doing at the Golden T.

Karen recalled her exchange with Dusty earlier that morning. He’d told her she looked pretty. He’d said she was of worth to God. Apparently he was starting to like her. She could think of no reason why he might deny her this opportunity to escape. Not if she handled him correctly.

“Maybe I’d better be the one to speak to Dusty,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll agree once he understands what a help it would be to me.”

Confidence blossomed within her, the first she’d felt in many months. After all, her one real skill was knowing how to get what she wanted from men. Dusty Stoddard wouldn’t stand a chance once she turned on her charms.

Dusty stared at the notations in the ledger and shook his head. It was always a test of faith when he sat down to pay the bills of the Golden T Youth Camp.

Four churches in Canyon County supported the camp as part of their missions outreach, but their donations only went so far. And parents or guardians paid fees—
if
they could afford it; no boy was turned away from the camp for lack of funds. The boys earned wages by working for a couple of the area farmers during haying season. They got to keep a portion for themselves, but most of their earnings went for room and board.

On the surface, there never seemed to be enough to see them through another month. But somehow they were able to pay the bills and usually have a little left over besides.

Dusty leaned back in his desk chair, the springs creaking as he did so. He covered his face with his hands and rubbed his eyes.

“Well, Lord, here we are again. Faith is believing in what we can’t see, and I sure can’t see how I’m going to make things stretch until the first of the month.”

He swiveled toward the window. Through the dust-covered glass, he saw Karen and Hal talking as they stood next to her car. He rose from his chair.

Now,
what could those two have to talk about?

He saw them shake hands, and he felt a knot of concern form in his belly.

What are they up to?

He wondered if he should go find out.

Hal leaned under the hood of the automobile. Karen soon joined him—being careful, Dusty noted, not to get her clothes or hands dirty. He gave his head a slow shake. He couldn’t figure her out.

Spoiled? Certainly.

Vain? Probably.

Hurting? Definitely.

And pretty as the day was long.

Hal was sixteen. Boys his age had been known to fall hard for women in their twenties. If that were to happen, if Hal was to get the wrong idea about Karen …

Dusty turned on his heel and headed for the door.

Karen must have heard the door close behind him as he left the bunkhouse, for she immediately straightened and looked in his direction.

“Car trouble?” Dusty asked as he drew near. “No. Junkman thinks he might be able to fix up my car.” She smiled, a look of sweet invitation.

If she’d looked at Hal that same way, Dusty was already too late.

“But,” she continued, “he says he’ll need your permission to do the work.”

“What sort of work?”

Without looking up, Hal answered, “Everything. Overhaul the engine. Paint job. You name it, this needs it if it’s going to sell for top dollar.”

Dusty heard the underlying tone of excitement in the teenager’s response, excitement the boy was trying hard to disguise. It was the first sign of enthusiasm Hal had shown since arriving at the Golden T. Dusty wasn’t about to deny the kid a chance to succeed at something.

He looked at Karen. “You plan to sell it?”

“Yes.” Her smile faded. “I need the money.”

“You’d be without a car the whole time Hal’s working on it, and there’s no guarantee it’ll get top dollar when he’s finished with it.”

“I realize that.”

Dusty nodded, then looked at the boy. “You’d have to do it in your spare time. You’ve got your chores to do, just like everybody else, plus your studies. You won’t get to shirk them to work on this car.”

Hal scowled at Dusty but nodded that he understood.

“Then I don’t have any objections. I’ll ask Miss Sophie if you can use the shed to work in. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“Wonderful!” Karen’s smile returned, bright as the noonday sun.

Dusty suspected she was already mentally packing her suitcases. And it would be a relief once she was gone, he told himself.
Liar,
his heart immediately replied.

“Karen’s hurting and she’s afraid,” Sophia told Dusty. “She needs the Lord.”

“You can lead a horse to water …” He let the old adage drift into silence.

Sophia knew what he said was true. Still, she didn’t want her granddaughter leaving the Golden T yet. There was so much left undone. So much still unsaid.

Father, what is it I’m to do?

“It’ll take Hal the rest of the summer to do the work,” Dusty said.