Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles 03] (36 page)

“I did.”

“And Father. Was he…”

Mother laughed softly. “He took a little convincing.”

“And a little display of a finely formed ankle.” Aunt Cornelia nudged Mother.

Mother pushed back, then stood up. “Well, I’m so glad we had this little chat. The air is cleared, and Emilie, you can go about finishing that article.” She looked over at Aunt Cornelia. “Calvin can drive you home.”

“Nonsense,” Aunt Cornelia said. “It’s a five-minute walk. There’s a cool bath in my future, as well. And no more camping—at least until Long Pine.” She smiled. “Now that April isn’t retiring from the trio, I’m going to see if I can meet with Mr. Bowers while we’re there.”

“Mr. Bowers?” Emilie asked.

Mother nodded. “Mr. Thomas Bowers, the booking agent for the Redpath Lyceum Bureau,” She smiled. “The bureau that manages Mr. Shaw’s schedule.”

“And if Mr. Bowers takes on the Spring Sisters,” Aunt Cornelia said, “you can be our accompanist
and
a roving reporter at the same time.”

Mother nodded. “I was thinking that you might do a series titled From the Road. But for now, you should get changed so that you can ride back into town and get to work on your article about Colonel Barton. I’m looking forward to reading it. And be thinking about what you’ll do for the
Dispatch.
I know your Father has plans for E. J. Starr, but you mustn’t let him dictate too much.” She paused. “Although I have found that sometimes it’s best to let him think things were his idea.” With a soft laugh, she headed for the stairs.

M
rs. Riley and Miss Barton were out back in the yard when Noah returned his empty dish and glass to the kitchen. Rinsing the glass, he refilled it with water and had just headed back toward the office when Colonel Barton came in the front door. When Noah commented on Emilie’s notebook in his hand, the colonel recounted their unexpected encounter with her mother and aunt at the hotel.

“I encouraged Miss Rhodes to settle things with them instead of coming back here with me.” Back in his office, he laid the notebook on his desk. “I promised to write out the answers for her. She’ll be by later to pick them up.” He settled back in his desk chair. “I assumed you wouldn’t mind having a little more time before you see her.”

“I don’t mind, but I don’t know if more time is going to make any difference. My mind’s still reeling. I don’t know what to do about any of this.”

For a moment, the two men sat in silence. Finally, the colonel said, “How much damage would it do your career if you excused yourself from Long Pine?”

“I’ve never missed an engagement. I don’t really know.”

“Then you’ve established that you’re dependable.”

“I suppose you could look at it that way.”

The colonel nodded. “Can you do without the money?”

“Other than a new suit or two now and then, my needs are minimal. So yes. I could do without.”

The colonel leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped before him. “What if I were to offer to be your guide? I have commitments that will take me east again late next month, but if we were to leave in the next few days, I could take you to see what’s left of Fort Kearny. It was abandoned back in ‘71. I don’t think there’s anything left but the cottonwoods around the parade ground. Still, it’s the place all the wagon trains passed by. And there’s something to be said for seeing a place for yourself, even if it has changed.”

“You’d do that—for me?”

“Not just for you, son. It would help me, too. Refresh my memories. Energize my writing.” The colonel paused. “I’d be doing it for my friend Kit, as well. I am hoping that before all is said and done, you’ll want to meet him.”

“You’re assuming he’d want to meet me.”

“I don’t have to assume anything. He will.”

“You seem very sure.”

“He’s lived alone ever since he lost your mother. He works on a ranch instead of living on the reservation down in Oklahoma. And he chose Christianity. He’s been set apart from the majority of his people for a very long time. It has to be a lonely life. In light of all that, to discover that he has a son? Of course he’ll want to meet you.”

No wife or family…no reservation family…and Christianity?
The last thing was the most surprising. “Christianity,” Noah said. “Really?”

The colonel nodded. “I’ve seen him reading a little testament by firelight. And on more than one occasion when we were all in a tough spot, Kit quietly reminded me that God was with us. Not that he preached any sermons, mind you.” The colonel chuckled. “He always said he’d leave the sermonizing to me.”

The mental image of the man in the photograph bent over a testament, reading by a campfire made Blue Bear more real. More tangible. Noah glanced back at the photograph. “I do think I’ll want to meet him. Someday. But I don’t know when. I just—I don’t know.”

“Can you ride, son?”

“Well enough.” When the colonel looked doubtful, Noah shrugged. “Not very well. Certainly not compared to you. There’s never been a need. I grew up in the city. Rode the rails. Learned to drive a buggy, but that’s about it.”

“If you think you can handle a few weeks in the saddle, we could do the entire trip on horseback. That would enable you to follow the same trail your mother did, from the Blue River here to Fort Kearny and beyond. It’s a week to the old fort and about another two days up to Turkey Creek. The city of Kearney is a booming concern these days, thanks to the railroad. There won’t be any problem getting resupplied along the way.

“After Turkey Creek, the distances get longer again. Powder Horn Valley is a good ten days to the north—assuming our horses stay sound and we don’t run into any problems. Allow another week to get back to North Platte—assuming that you want to meet up with Kit. All told, that’s a month.” The colonel smiled. “And if we make it that far, I can say with certainty we will both be more than ready to ride the train home.” He paused. Tilted his head. “So what do you say? A month, more or less, and a lot of aching muscles. By the time you get back, you’ll either never want to see another sand hill, or you’ll get that same look in your eye you say your mother always had every time you talk about Nebraska.” The colonel looked back over at the portraits on the wall. “We can send word ahead if you want to make a stop at Scout’s Rest before catching the train back here. I’m assuming you’ll want to come back to Beatrice before getting back on the Chautauqua trail.”

Noah nodded. “Yes. To all of it. I’ll head to the telegraph office and let my manager know today. He’ll just have to understand.” He paused. “I hope I don’t turn out to be so much of a greenhorn that I can’t keep up with you.”

The colonel chuckled. “Don’t worry, son. I’ve had plenty of experience with greenhorns in my day.” He paused. “And the truth is, these days my old bones are stiff. I won’t mind it if you do hold us up a little.” He leaned forward and took up Emilie’s notebook. “Ideally, we should go to the livery together. But Miss Rhodes will be here soon. Why don’t we go out on the porch where we can catch a bit of fresh air? I’ll give you more to read, and I’ll work on these questions while we wait. Then when Miss Rhodes comes into view, I’ll head over to Hamaker’s and do some preliminary planning at the livery while you speak with your young lady.” The colonel didn’t wait for Noah to agree to the plan before rising and beginning to gather up more of the papers on the research desk for him to read.

Emilie.
What was he going to say to Emilie? How to even begin to explain this to her? Noah stood up. “Mrs. Riley said that if I respect Emilie, I won’t hide anything from her. She warned me against thinking that ‘the noble thing’ would be to keep her in the dark.” He hesitated. “Again, I just don’t know how to think—or what to do.”

The colonel turned to look at him. “Things have progressed—rapidly between the two of you.”

Noah nodded. “I’d intended to ask her father’s permission to court her before leaving for Long Pine.” He raked his hands through his hair. “I can’t do that now, can I? I mean—really. I thought about little else while you were gone. I’ve looked at it from every possible angle and—I can’t see any other way but to break it off.”

The colonel merely handed Noah a pile of papers to read, then led the way out onto the front porch. As soon as the two men were settled in the rocking chairs facing the street, the colonel said, “I don’t think you could go wrong to listen to Mrs. Riley on the matter.”

“On principle,” Noah said, “I agree with you. But I just can’t see myself saying the words. Not to Emilie.”

“What words are those?”

“Half-breed. Bastard.”

The colonel frowned. “Those are strong words, son.”

“Well aren’t they true? Isn’t that what the world says about people like me?”

“Yes. But labels are just that, aren’t they? Labels. And to my mind, they say more about the people assigning them than anything. For example. My profession invites labels, too. Soldier. Indian fighter. Friend. That’s from one side of things. From the other side, I might be called warrior. Enemy. Killer.” He paused. “Let’s take the other pursuit I’ve been drawn into. People call me a minister. Reverend. Gospel grinder. And some use other, more colorful terms not to be repeated in polite conversation.”

“But that’s all just semantics,” Noah said. “Not everyone agrees with all of those.”

“And the people who know you aren’t going to agree with the labels you just gave yourself, either. The simple fact of Kit’s being your father doesn’t erase any of the other things about you. It can’t unless you allow it to. And the gospel truth is that every single one of us—if we’re honest about it—are ‘half-breeds’ in some sense. I myself am a mixture of English and German. And that’s only the part of the family history I know about. Only the Lord knows what else might be mixed in there. My grandfather told me once that there were rumors in his past of an ancestor who loved a slave. But I’m not going to accept any of the pejorative labels attached to that family history. Why should I?”

“That’s a fascinating argument,” Noah said. “And it would be great material for a debate. But you and I both know that the likelihood of Mr. and Mrs. William Rhodes sharing that philosophy when it comes to their only child…Well. The likelihood of that is just about nil.” Noah stood up, looking out on the lawn and the red geraniums for a moment before he said, “I want to marry her, Colonel Barton. I love her. And the irony in that has just this moment struck me.”

“What irony is that, son?”

Noah turned to face the colonel. “Blue Bear and me. Both losing the women we love because of circumstances beyond our control.”

The colonel was quiet for a moment. Finally, he said, “You’re racing ahead of yourself, Noah. Give yourself time. Give her time. Give God time. A psalm comes to mind. ‘Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.’”

Noah looked over at him. “You think the Lord is going to solve this for me?”

“Whatever He does, He promises to strengthen your heart. You’re leaving for a few weeks. That will give the good Lord plenty of time to keep that promise, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. But I don’t have plenty of time to decide what to tell Emilie. And I can’t just let her think everything is fine—that nothing has changed.”

“I’m not suggesting that you do,” the colonel said. “Of course you should tell her. But use gentler terms. Don’t accept those ugly names you just called yourself a bit ago. And explain the journey.”

“She won’t want to hear it,” Noah said. “Not after she learns the truth about me.”

“Then it wasn’t meant to be,” the colonel said. “And that’s not some fatalistic cliché. It’s the truth. If that’s to be the case, then be thankful you discovered it now. And again, son, don’t forget God in all of this. He isn’t sitting in heaven wondering what to do now that he’s learned that Noah Shaw is part Pawnee Indian. I think He already knew that. And I don’t imagine it’s upset His master plan for your life.”

Noah turned to look down at the colonel. “You think what happened to my mother was part of some master plan?”

“I think,” the colonel said, “that every terrible thing that God allows into a life can be redeemed. But don’t take that to mean that I minimize the pain mankind causes himself. I don’t. I’ve seen too much of it to just wash it over with some convenient verse of Scripture.” The colonel stood up. “Listen, son. I have just as many questions about the rough patches of life as you do. All I know for certain is that there is a God, and He loves His children. He never forsakes us. In my experience, He’s often doing His very best work when we don’t think He’s paying any attention at all.”

A master plan. Doing His best work.
Could that be possible? Was God in all of this? Did He really have a plan?
Think of all the things you have to be thankful for.
That’s what Ma would say right now. He could almost hear her voice. He bowed his head, thinking. He’d been given knowledge of the very things he’d longed for. Not only that, but he had Colonel Barton to guide the way. All those written memories he’d read. All that information. All of it worthy of Noah’s giving thanks. He took a deep breath. “All right,” Noah said. “I’ll try to trust. But I still don’t know what to do about Emilie.”

“The next thing,” the colonel said. “Just do the next thing. And for whatever it’s worth, my housekeeper has proven herself to be a repository of wisdom over the years. Good, sound, old-fashioned wisdom. She told you to respect the young lady enough to be truthful. I think that’s good advice. So you tell her. And you trust God. In the end, He’s the only One I know who can work all things together for good.”

Noah snorted softly. “If He can work this for good—”

“Then he must be not only all-knowing, but all-powerful, too.”

The colonel smiled and patted him on the back. “Lucky for you, He is.”