Robin Lee Hatcher (20 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

A
ugust arrived without any change in the weather. The skies remained relentlessly blue and clear. Not even one small rain cloud to give the farmers a glimmer of hope.

The Shadow Creek Irrigation Project board of directors and members met at the schoolhouse on the afternoon of August the fourth to discuss the situation. Jakob returned from the meeting three hours later, looking more grim-faced than when he’d left.

“The Fergusons’ well’s run dry,” he told Karola as he hung his hat on a peg near the door. “They’ve been hauling water from a creek about half a mile away, and that creek’s barely more than a trickle.”

“But Mrs. Ferguson has only just delivered their new baby. How will the family manage without water nearby?”

“They won’t. Quinn says Lettie and the children are going to live with her parents in Pocatello for now. He plans to stay on here until he sees if his crops wither and die. If they do, then he says he’ll let the bank take his place and good riddance.”

“Oh, Jakob. What will happen to them? Six children and no home. Is there nothing anyone can do?”

“Few bankers hold with excuses for not repaying a loan. Quinn knew that when he mortgaged his farm. It’s the risk every farmer takes when he borrows money on his land.”

She touched his shoulder. “And if it rains?”

“Rain could save the Ferguson farm, if it comes soon.” He shook his head slowly. “We all need the rain to come soon.”

Karola wanted to ask if their farm was mortgaged, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. He hadn’t shared such matters with her, not even after they were married. She wasn’t certain she had a right to ask.

She turned toward the stove. “I have kept your supper warm for you.”

“I’ll go up to see the children first. Have they been in bed long?”

“Not long.”

He turned and left the kitchen without inviting her to go with him. The omission hurt. It felt like rejection. They’d been close since the morning they declared their love to one another, even more so in the days since Jakob had given his heart to the Lord. Her husband had walked with a lighter step, and the worry lines on his brow had eased. He’d sought her company at every opportunity. Now his worry lines were back, and Karola felt him withdrawing from her.

“I am being oversensitive,” she whispered, but it did little to improve her spirits.

She busied herself, filling a plate with the food she’d prepared and pouring a large glass of cold milk. She set both plate and glass on the kitchen table, then sat down and waited for Jakob’s return.

Jakob stood at the side of Aislinn’s crib, staring down at his younger daughter. Enough light from the dying day fell through the west-facing bedroom window for him to see her cherubic face, the tiny thumb in her mouth. She slept in her favorite position, diapered rump stuck in the air with her knees tucked beneath her.

What would become of her if he were to lose this farm? He didn’t want his children raised in poverty as he was. He’d come to America to escape that. He’d worked long and hard. Circumstances had slapped him down more than once, but he’d pulled himself up and fought on. Finally, here, in this valley, he’d succeeded. He’d made a good home for his children. He’d done everything possible to provide well for them.

But there wasn’t anything safe and secure. Wasn’t that what he’d said to Karola not all that many weeks ago? He knew as well as any—and better than most—how suddenly a man could lose what mattered to him. Money could be stolen. Good health could vanish. A wife could die.

Karola’s reply had been that there was safety in God, that there was hope in him. And he’d come to believe what she’d told him. So why had the fears and doubts returned to haunt him? Why couldn’t he trust God with this farm, with the future, with his children? What had happened to the indescribable joy he’d felt only a week before? Was it all a mist, an illusion?

No, God was real. The fault had to lie within himself.

He reached down and traced the side of Aislinn’s face with the back of his fingertips.

There were others worse off than the Hirsches. He recognized that. Although his resources were stretched thin and he was in debt to the doctor, they had food in the pantry and smokehouse. They had a sound roof over their heads and plenty of wood stacked and ready for winter. The farm wasn’t mortgaged; no banker was waiting to foreclose.

Not yet. But if the drought continues, if we lose this year’s crops, if …

It could all go wrong so quickly.

“Jakob?”

He turned toward the sound of Karola’s voice. She stood in the doorway to the girls’ room, hidden in the gathering shadows of nightfall.

“Your supper grows cold.”

What if something were to happen to Karola? If I was to lose her …

Jakob had loved Siobhan. Their marriage had been volatile and often stormy, but their love had been real. Yes, he’d loved his first wife.

But
love
seemed an inadequate word to describe what he felt for Karola. His feelings were more complex. It was as if she’d become a part of the very air he breathed. His love for her was a hunger deep inside him. Without her—

“Jakob”—her soft voice came to him like a caress—“do not worry.”

Easier said than done, Jakob had discovered. Much easier said than done.

Charlotte closed the door of her mother’s bedroom, then went downstairs to the parlor where her father was seated, reading a newspaper.

“Mother’s asleep,” she said as she entered the room.

He glanced up and nodded.

“Daddy?” She knelt on the floor next to his chair and rested her forearms on his left thigh. “What happened at that meeting this afternoon? You haven’t said a word about it since you came home.”

“Nothing for you to trouble yourself about, Charlotte. Mostly just grown men talking about the weather, the same way farmers always do.”

“But it’s serious, isn’t it?”

“Yes. The drought’s serious. It could ruin more than one family in this valley. Quinn Ferguson is sending his wife and children to Pocatello, and he may not be far behind them. They could well lose their farm before this month is out.”

Charlotte didn’t know the Fergusons well, and normally she wouldn’t have given their troubles a second thought. But she discovered, with some surprise, that she felt truly sorry for them. “Perhaps Emma and I should take them a food basket.”

“That would be good of you.” He stroked her hair, the way he’d done when she was a little girl. “Very good of you.”

She waited as long as she could bear, then asked, “Was Mr. Bishop at the meeting?”

Her father nodded.

“Is he in danger of losing his place, Daddy?” The thought frightened her. If Lance lost his farm, what would he do? Where would he go? What if she were never to see him again?

Her father’s smile was tolerant, and she read understanding in his eyes. “I don’t know, Charlotte, but I have a feeling that young man will not be easily defeated in whatever he endeavors to do. I don’t think you need to be afraid for him.”

Charlotte hoped with all her might that what her father said was true.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Y
ou look … radiant,” Karola told Laura as the two women sat in the hotel’s kitchen.

It was Thursday, and Karola had come to town with Maeve and Aislinn to purchase a few supplies at the mercantile as well as to pay a visit to her friend. Bernard had chosen to stay at the farm with his father who was repairing the corral fence.

“I feel wonderful.” Laura smiled. “And I’m so happy about the baby.”

That was apparent to Karola. There was a sparkle in her friend’s eyes and a glow in her complexion. Obviously, pregnancy agreed with her.

Laura patted her stomach. “I can’t believe how much more energy I have today than I did only a week ago.” She sighed, a contented sound, then smiled. “It’s a relief to be done with that awful morning sickness, I’ll tell you.”

Karola felt a twinge of envy. How wonderful it must be to carry a child beneath one’s heart. How greatly she longed for it to happen to her.

“Your time will come.”

At Laura’s soft words, Karola felt color warm her cheeks. “I should not be impatient. Aislinn is so young yet.”

“Father Patrick loves to quote a verse to expectant mothers. It says, ‘As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth. Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them.’” Laura placed both hands on her abdomen. “Ian and I are delighted to have this little one coming at last. We feared there might never be an arrow in our quiver.”

Would Jakob think it a blessing if he and Karola had a child? She didn’t know. They hadn’t spoken of it. She knew he loved Maeve, Bernard, and Aislinn, but he hadn’t said he wanted more.

Of course, there’d been no possibility of Jakob siring children with her until quite recently.

She felt her cheeks grow even hotter at the thought, and she rose quickly from her chair, then walked to the kitchen doorway where she glanced into the dining room, empty except for Tulley and the two girls. The three of them were sharing a plate of cookies, fresh from the oven.

“Karola, is something on your mind? You seem distracted.”

She turned toward Laura. She shook her head, but the words came of their own accord. “I do not know if Jakob wants more children. We have not spoken of it.” She felt close to tears. She was determined not to let them fall.

“Oh, Karola. Why would you newlyweds speak of such things? You’re only married a month. You’re still becoming acquainted in many new ways.” She laughed softly. “I remember what it was like for us. Oh, the mistakes we made that first year. Our many silly misunderstandings because we didn’t know how to talk to each other.”

“You and Ian?” She returned to her chair and sat down.

“Of course. All couples go through a period of adjustment, even those who love each other to distraction. It’s all the more difficult for someone like Jakob, who naturally keeps his thoughts so deep inside himself.”

Karola thought of the many times Jakob had turned away rather than talk to her. She’d thought that had changed. She’d thought, now that they were truly man and wife, Jakob would share every thought, every emotion. Apparently, she’d expected too much too soon.

Wasn’t that always the way she was? In a hurry. Impatient. Willful.

Here I am again, Father. Forgive me. Help me to wait and to listen. I know Jakob loves me. Let us learn how to talk to one another. And when he is silent, help me to respect that, too, and not be hurt by it, as if everything were about me.

Unaware of Karola’s silent prayer, Laura went on. “I suppose Jakob is as worried as everyone else about the drought.”

“
Ja,
he is worried, but he tries not to let me see. It does not work. I see anyway.”

“Can you bring me that hammer, Bernard?” Jakob pointed to the object near the corral gate.

“Sure, Da.” The boy ran to obey.

“Few more years,” Lance said, “and he’ll be helping you with just about all the farming chores. I reckon you won’t be needin’ extra help then.”

“I reckon.” Jakob wiped beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.

Bernard returned with the hammer. Lance lifted the new board, holding it tight against the post, and Jakob hammered it into place.

“What else can I do, Da?”

Jakob glanced toward the house as he straightened. “You think you could get us something to drink? Some ice from the icebox in a glass of water sounds real good about now.”

Bernard grinned. “I can do that!” Then off he ran again.

Lance slipped through the corral rails. “Havin’ Karola here sure has made a world of difference in your kids. They’re happy again.”

“She’s good with them, and they love her.”

“What’s not to love? She’s a special woman. Only a blind man would fail to see that.”

Jakob frowned. Did Lance regret not pursuing Karola with a little more diligence? The younger man had said he only felt friendship toward her. Still—

“Maybe next year,” Lance continued, “folks’ll be saying the same thing about my wife.”

“
Your
wife? Are you saying you’ve proposed to Charlotte?”

“Not yet.” Lance leaned his back against the corral and hooked the heel of one boot over the bottom rail. “But I told Edgar White I mean to ask for his daughter’s hand when the proper time comes. He didn’t have any objections, and I think Charlotte’s willing. Or she will be.”

Jakob gave his head a slight shake. He would have stuck a rusty nail through his hand before marrying that girl.

Lance sighed. “I reckon it’ll never be dull around our place once we’re hitched.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I do. I knew she was God’s chosen wife for me the first moment I laid eyes on her, though she was way too young back then. I been prayin’ about it ever since, waiting for God to say the time’s come. I’ve got a feelin’ it’s getting close.”

Jakob wiped his forehead with his sleeve again. If what his friend said was true, if he and Charlotte were going to be married, then he hoped Lance was also praying hard for an end to this drought. Charlotte wasn’t the type to do well in want. She was too used to having her every whim handed to her. Edgar must spend close to half of what he made in his smithy on Charlotte’s new frocks alone.

Bernard came out of the back door, carrying two large glasses filled to the brim. Water sloshed with every step the boy took. Jakob wondered what sort of disaster awaited him in the kitchen but decided to check on it later.

“They’re real cold, Da,” Bernard said as he drew closer.

“That’s good, son. Thanks.” He took the glasses, then handed one to Lance. Both men took a long drink, nearly draining the glasses of their contents.

“Can I go check on the pups?” Bernard asked when his father looked at him again.

Jakob nodded. “Yes, but you don’t get too close to them. Daisy’s a bit snappish yet. I don’t want her biting you just because she’s protecting her babies.”

“Okay. I’ll be careful.”

Lance waited until the boy had disappeared into the barn before he said, “New litter, huh?”

“Born last night. Three of them.” He tilted the glass to his lips again, finishing the last of the water. Then he held the cool glass against his forehead and closed his eyes. “This heat better break soon.”

“Yeah, I’ve been keeping a steady stream of prayers going.”

Before he could stop himself, Jakob muttered, “And what good has it done?” He regretted the words instantly and expected Lance to upbraid him for his lack of faith.

He didn’t. “I don’t know what good it’s done, Jakob, or what good it will do. But that isn’t the point. I pray ’cause God says I’m supposed to pray. He says I’m to do it without ceasing. Can’t say I’m that constant, but I do my best. I gotta trust him to answer those prayers in his way, not my way.”

Jakob peered at Lance, recognizing how rock solid the younger man’s faith was. Maybe it was why Jakob had always liked his company. Because he’d seen something different in him. That same sort of something different he’d seen in Karola.

He wondered if anyone would ever think the same thing about him, that Jakob Hirsch was a man with a rock-solid faith and that he was different because of it.

Lance set his empty glass on the ground. “Let’s get the last of these rails up.”

Jakob nodded, placed his glass beside Lance’s, then grabbed the hammer and headed for the corral.

The two men worked in companionable silence and with a rhythm born from familiarity. They were just about to hammer in the last rail when a childish scream pierced the air.

“Da! Da,
help!”

The horse trotted along the road, raising a cloud of dust behind the carriage wheels. Aislinn was asleep on the seat beside Karola before they reached the road that ran north to American Falls. It took longer for Maeve, who kept up a steady chatter from the rear seat for the first fifteen minutes of their journey. Then her voice began to taper off until at last she fell silent. A glance over Karola’s shoulder confirmed the older girl slept, curled on her side, an arm thrown over her eyes.

“How precious they are,” Karola said softly. “Thank you, Lord.”

Her gaze returned to the road as she pondered her new life. When she arrived in Idaho, she couldn’t drive a carriage or ride a horse. She’d never managed a household or been the mother to three children. She didn’t know how to milk a cow, had never gathered eggs or saved an orphaned kitten. She’d never shared a home with anyone besides her parents or known the intimacies of the marriage bed.

“How different things are now. How different I am. How good you have been to me, Lord. How good you have been to us.”

She drew in a deep breath and let it out, renewing her determination to be patient. With herself. With Jakob. And most assuredly, with God. She
would
learn to wait on him.

She felt the quickened stride of the horse, a sure sign they were drawing close to home. She lifted her gaze—and felt her breath catch in her throat. A pillar of thick smoke roiled above the next rise in the road.

It could only be coming from one place.

O Lord, not the house.

“Maeve, wake up! Sit up and hold on.” She looked behind her, watching as the befuddled girl obeyed. “Hold on, Maeve.” Then she placed one hand on Aislinn and with the other slapped the reins against the horse’s rump. The carriage shot forward.

Jakob! Bernard! God, keep them safe!

Coughing, Jakob stumbled backward, trying to escape the dense smoke and the heat of the fire.

After getting his son to safety, Jakob and Lance had managed to rescue the two horses that had been in separate stalls as well as the new litter of puppies and their mother. Now all they could do was stand back and watch as the hungry flames consumed the barn and everything in it, the smoke and ash rising skyward. Jakob hoped the fire wouldn’t spread. If it drifted toward a dry field or sparks landed on the roof of the house …

The sound of cantering hooves alerted him to his wife’s return seconds before he heard her alarmed cry.

“Jakob!”

He spun around.

“Jakob!” Karola tumbled out of the carriage, Aislinn in her arms. Her gaze moved from him to the barn, then back to him. “Where is Bernard?”

Jakob pointed toward the steps of the house where the boy sat, scared but unharmed.

“What happened?”

Before he could answer, a loud crash caused him to turn toward the barn again. A billow of sparks shot out of the loft and the open doors below it.

Lance cried, “Everybody back! It looks about to collapse.”

His words proved prophetic. Within minutes, the roof sank toward the ground, accompanied by creaks and groans and a series of popping sounds. The blazing walls tumbled inward, like a house made of cards, large and square one moment, thinner and flatter the next.

Jakob felt as if he’d been flattened too.

The barn. The tack. Tools. Grain and straw and hay. Lumber. All of it gone.

He heard Karola’s soft weeping, and he glanced toward her. Aislinn was still clutched in her arms, and Maeve was cuddled up against her side, holding on to Karola’s waist for dear life.

Doom, as dark as the smoke filling the air, settled over him.

Doom … and anger.

No one said anything for the longest time. They simply watched as the fire turned the barn into rubble. It wasn’t until the blaze died down—and the danger of it spreading was over—that Jakob turned toward his son, still seated on the porch steps.

“You go to your room and stay there until I come up.”

Karola shivered at the steel-hard sound of the words.

Bernard—face pale, eyes red, cheeks streaked by tears—shot a beseeching look in Karola’s direction. She wanted to go to him, to comfort him, but to do so would be to interfere with her husband, so she did nothing. Bernard turned and went up the steps, shuffling his feet, his chin drooping to his chest.

Karola looked at Jakob and felt another shiver of dread. “Maeve, take your sister into the house, please.” She set Aislinn on the ground. Maeve grasped the toddler’s tiny hand and led her away. After the girls had gone inside, Karola turned to her husband. “What happened? How did the fire start?”

“Bernard took matches from the kitchen. He was playing with them in the barn.”