A Family Found (20 page)

She held out her arms. “Yes!” she called at the top of her voice just as the boy vaulted into her embrace. “Yes, Toby, we did, indeed, stand atop Longs Peak.”

“I knew you could do it,” he affirmed, hugging her around the neck.

When she looked up, Tate and Marcus were waiting, grinning from ear to ear. “You can do anything,” Marcus said.

Tate stood behind Marcus, his eyes warm with pleasure. “I'm proud of you, Sophie. You are unstoppable.”

Despite the fact that her feet ached and every muscle screamed, she felt buoyant. “Thank you.”

Then Tate lowered his head and stepped aside. Sophie's jaw gaped. It couldn't be. “Caleb?” She set Toby on the ground and ran the few steps to her brother, who picked her up and whirled her around and around before returning her to her feet and studying her face.

“Don't ever scare me like that again, sister, but I am so proud of your achievement. You've never taken no for an answer.”

Sophie held on to his shoulders. “I owe all my daring to you and Seth. Thanks for always letting me try things.”

Keeping his arm around her, he indicated Robert Hurlburt, who stood nearby.

Sophie turned. “Robert? How good of you to be here. Did you bring Caleb up from Denver?”

“Yes. I am pleased to offer Effie's and my congratulations.”

A perplexing thought occurred to Sophie and she pivoted back to Caleb. “I'm delighted you're here, but this is roundup time in Kansas. Why did you come?”

“To celebrate with you, of course.” His expression sobered. “And to take you home with me.”

“But—”

“Don't be your typical stubborn self, Sophie. Estes Park is lovely in the summer. But it is no place for you in the winter. Seth, Rose, Lily and I fear for your safety. Most important, we miss you and want you to come home now.”

“Now?”

“With me.”

Now?
Everything was happening too fast. Sophie looked about in confusion. Where was Tate? Where were Toby and Marcus? Much as she appreciated her family's concern, this decision was not up to them. It was hers to make, with God's help. And then she spotted the Lockwoods, hand in hand, walking rapidly toward their horses. Before she could call out to them, a horde of newspapermen surrounded her.

“Miss Montgomery, an interview please!”

“Surely you thought about turning back?” She recognized Rupert Stowe's snivel before others shouted him down.

“Let me photograph you.”

“Can you prove you made the summit?”

She thought she would go mad in the cacophony of shrill, demanding voices. She covered her ears. “Not now!” she finally said forcefully. Caleb took her by the arm, and as Robert led the charge, they made their way to a picnic table laden with dishes where Martha and Dolly were presiding. The two women rushed to embrace her, while their menfolk shielded her temporarily from the reporters.

“Well done, Sophie,” Martha declared. “You two have advanced the cause of women tenfold.” Over Martha's shoulder, Sophie saw Belle holding court with a group of reporters. Just as well. She herself was not in the mood right now.

As the celebration continued and after she had spoken briefly to the newspapermen, Sophie finally had a moment to reflect. She should feel fulfilled, exultant, yet something was missing. In her heart, she knew what, or rather who—Tate and the boys.

“Tired?” Caleb asked as the throng began dispersing.

“I am.”

“Would you join Robert and me at our hotel to spend the night in luxury? My treat.”

The thought of a hot bath, a down mattress and rich furnishings nearly sent her to her knees. “Not today, thanks. I need to go home.”

“Home?”

“To my cabin. Perhaps before you leave, you can come see my place.”

“Before
I
leave? What about you?”

“I can't make any promises, Caleb. Not yet. There is something I have to do first.”

He pulled her close and tucked a curl behind her ear. “We never could tame you, Seth and I. We love you, Sophie, and want your happiness, but your safety is paramount. Take some time to consider what we are asking. Robert and I will be here until Tuesday morning.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

Caleb led her to Ranger and helped her into the saddle. He took off his hat and studied her, before adding one final comment. “Tate Lockwood is a good man, sister.”

Weariness overwhelmed her as she rode to the Harpers', where she fetched Beauty and started on toward her cabin. Despite her aching body, her mind was fastened on her plans for the next few hours. She
was
unstoppable. She
didn't
take no for an answer, and she would
not
be tamed. If she could perform the astonishing feat of conquering a peak higher than fourteen thousand feet, nothing was going to prevent her from making her own decisions. The mountains had taught her about the vast opportunities that lay beyond her limited vision if only she had the courage to seize them.

* * *

Tate had tossed and turned throughout the night and awoke as if drugged, with the blankets tangled around him. He hoisted himself to the side of the bed and held his head in his hands. The boys had not understood why he'd hustled them away from yesterday's celebration, why they hadn't rejoined Sophie or why he'd been silent all the way home. “Why can't you be happy for her?” Marcus had challenged him with his usual piercing insight. Tate raked a hand through his hair. He'd seen the look on her face when she spotted her brother and he'd envied their spontaneous affection. With a sinking heart, he'd known his and the boys' futures were in jeopardy.

He stood and moved to get dressed. Caleb was right, of course. Sophie could not remain in that ramshackle cabin during a high country winter. Tate had offered her a place here, but even as he'd done so, he'd known there were drawbacks to that plan, especially for her. Yet he'd promised himself he'd fight for her. That meant only one thing—an offer of marriage. Marriage. An institution that had failed him once. He had to be absolutely certain he could offer Sophie the independence, companionship and love she needed from a mate. As for him? He'd been lonely many times in his life. Sophie had brought light and joy. He prayed he could trust in her enough to overcome his past and embrace the future.

He had one last opportunity. Sophie had stopped by on her way home yesterday afternoon to give Toby the flag she had waved atop Longs Peak and to ask Tate to join her this morning at Bear Lake for a hike, just the two of them. After breakfast, he set forth anxious for what the day would bring. He feared she was trying to find a gentle way to say goodbye, far from where the boys might create a scene. Given the fact of her joyous reunion with Caleb and the powerful statement his presence made, Tate allowed himself little hope. Was the God he now talked to on occasion a God of surprises? He devoutly hoped so.

* * *

Sophie tied Ranger to an aspen tree and walked to the shore of the small lake, sparkling blue and silver in the morning sun. Above loomed Flattop and its sister peaks. Across the way spruce trees lined the shore and a deer and fawn lapped at the water. Pristine. Still, except for the murmur of the aspen leaves. In her hand she held a slim volume. She knew what she must do. “Thy will be done,” she whispered prayerfully as she turned toward the approaching horse.

Tate waved, dismounted and joined her. “Good morning.”

She slipped the book into her pocket and smiled in greeting. “Shall we walk?”

He offered his arm, and they started slowly around the lake, neither of them speaking. Finally he said, “Are you sure you're ready for another hike so soon?”

“We're not going far,” she answered.

Without another word, she led him to a spot up the trail beyond the lake where a small glade opened up. Nearby she could hear the trickle of a mountain spring. A small bench-like stone invited them to sit.

Tate broke the silence. “It's rather like a cathedral here.”

“So it is.” Sophie reached in her pocket, drew out the book, opened it to a marked page and began to read.

“Once again

Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,

That on a wild secluded scene impress

Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect

The landscape with the quiet of the sky.”

Tate smiled in recognition. “The Wordsworth.”

Sophie glanced around, taking in the scene. “Fitting, don't you think?” She pointed to the words he'd inscribed: “May the memory of the beauty and wonder of nature bless you.” He studied them for a long minute. She swept her arm around the glen. “Is that what you really want? For me to enjoy all of this...in memory?”

“No. I want you here, but only if you want to be. You have family in Kansas, you have the memory of Charlie—”

When she took both of his hands in hers, the book slipped to the ground. “I left Charlie at the top of Longs Peak.”

“What do you mean?”

She could sense the tension in his body and longed to resolve what lay between them. Yet could she be sure of him? “Charlie was very dear to me. He taught me a great deal about love and commitment. I will always treasure his role in my life and miss him. But, Tate, Charlie is gone. I am here.” She cleared her throat, hoping to clarify. “As improbable as it sounds, I experienced a kind of epiphany on the summit.” His fingers tightened on hers. “Up there, one can see for miles and miles. The views in every direction are limitless, and the sky seems both close enough to touch yet millions of miles away. I realized I had to let Charlie go. At one time, I felt him here in the rocks he so loved. But feel.” She guided his hand to the stone upon which they sat. “This is hard, cold. But you? You're warm.”

She heard him draw a quick breath before he asked, “Does this mean you'll winter with us and teach the boys?”

She knew it was now or never, and she was not about to shirk from the unknown. “This is not just about the boys.” She stood up and pulled him to his feet, all the time fixing her eyes on his. “It has everything to do with you. Your strength and love have become the cornerstone of my life. I don't want to live with memory. I want to live with you.”

“Sophie?” He took hold of her shoulders and pulled her close. “Sophie, you mean you're not leaving?”

She pursed her lips impishly. “Well, sir, that rather depends upon you.”

He looked so flummoxed she nearly laughed, but then he wrapped her in his arms and held her for a very long time. When he finally pulled away, she dabbed at his cheeks, wet with tears. “My darling Sophie, without knowing it, I have waited for you my entire life. I love you so.”

“Oh, dearest. I love you, too. I was so afraid you wouldn't—”

“
You
were afraid? I didn't think I had a chance once Caleb arrived.” His relieved laughter was music to her ears.

“I have to warn you, though, I'm looking for another adventure.”

“Oh, no, not another mountain?”

“Well, that, too, but that isn't what I have in mind.”

“What, then?”

“This is most unconventional, but then I've been accused of that before. So—” she ran a hand through his unruly hair “—Tate Lockwood, would you marry me?”

He blushed. “How clumsy of me. I was so caught up in the happiness of the moment, I failed my courting duty. Would I marry you? Of course. The bigger question is whether you will marry me.”

“I told you I wanted another adventure. Living with you, Marcus and Toby qualifies as the most magnificent of adventures. Frankly, Tate, I cannot wait to be your bride.”

Later as they ambled arm in arm toward their horses, Tate asked, “What about your family? Caleb?”

Sophie grinned. “You know what? Once Caleb met you, something he said made me think he's already figured it all out. My happiness is all that has ever mattered to him and my family.”

“I will do everything in my power to justify their faith in me.”

When they reached their horses, Sophie looked into the loving eyes of her husband-to-be and said, “Shall we go tell the boys?”

“They'll be overjoyed. As you know, Toby thinks Miss Sophie can do anything.”

“Even get their father to marry me.”

“Even that,” he said, laughing down at her. “Because—” he turned to the mountains, cupped his hands and shouted “—I love you!”

Luv-yoo, luv-yoo, luv-yoo,
the mountains replied. Sophie shivered. God's help
had
come from those very hills of which the Bible spoke. She turned to Tate and snuggled against his broad chest. “Take me home,” she whispered.

Epilogue

S
ophie watched from the window as Tate, followed by the two red-faced boys, dragged the tall spruce through the snow toward the house. In addition to the Biblical Christmas story, Marcus and Toby had been studying Christmas traditions around the world and had requested a tree like those used in Germany and England. Tate had built a stand for it, and this evening they would place it in the living room and decorate it with colored paper cutouts and strands of popcorn. A fire blazed in the hearth. The smell of a roasting hen wafted through the air. The scene seemed ideal, like something out of a book. Except for... Sophie clutched two unopened letters in her hand, which Sam had brought home from the Harpers' post office—one addressed to Tate and the other, to the boys. Letters that threatened to jeopardize the happiness they had all enjoyed since she and Tate exchanged vows three months ago in a ceremony that had been quickly arranged so Caleb could give her away.

Tate and the boys came tromping into the house, laughing and talking noisily about the fact they had found the finest tree in all the forest. The rambunctious puppies added to the din. Sophie thrust the letters in her pocket and summoned a smile. “So you were successful?”

Marcus regaled her with an account of their search as he shed his coat, hat and boots. “This tree was just waiting for us,” he concluded.

“Wanna see?” Toby asked, grabbing her hand and leading her to the door. “It's really big.”

Sophie made suitable sounds of approval. Tate put his arm around her waist. “A new tradition for our first of many Christmases together.”

The boys raced past them toward their rooms. “Lovely,” she murmured in an attempt to match his enthusiasm.

Something in her tone must've alerted him, for he turned her toward him and studied her face. “Sophie, dear, whatever is the matter?”

She never wanted to answer him, never wanted the perfection of her precious family to be compromised. “Let's go to your office.”

Once there, she shrugged her shoulders in defeat. “Here,” she said, handing him the envelopes bearing a Philadelphia return address below the name
Ramona Lockwood
.

“What?” Tate's face drained of color as he sat down. “Why her? Why now?”

Sophie took a seat beside him. “I don't know.”

“There's only one way to find out,” he said decisively. He slit the letter addressed to him and read silently.

Sophie could hardly draw a breath. What if Ramona was making a claim for the boys? Finally Tate set the letter aside and reached out a hand and clutched hers. “She does not want Marcus and Toby. In fact, she wishes legally to relinquish all claims.”

Sophie felt the tension leave her body. “I was so afraid.” She swiped at a tear moistening her cheek. “What does she want, then?”

“She's written Marcus and Toby to explain why she cannot assume any role in their lives and to ask their forgiveness.” He held up the remaining letter. “She would like me to share this with them.”

“I should be rejoicing, but that sounds sad.”

“More than likely, not sad at all. She is marrying an English aristocrat and moving permanently to London. No doubt a dream fulfilled for her,” he added.

They sat, hands entwined, for several minutes. Sophie knew Tate was asking the same question she was:
How would this communication affect the boys?

Finally, after scanning the boys' letter, he stood. “I see no point in prolonging the inevitable, and they need to hear her message. In the long run, this may be a positive development for Marcus and Toby and for all of us as a family. I will fetch them and meet you in the living room.”

Sophie walked slowly down the hall, wondering yet again how any mother could have abandoned her children. How sad that Ramona had never come to know Toby's charm or Marcus's intellect.

Marcus caught up with her. “Papa says we have something to discuss.”

“Yes.”

“As a family, he said. I like being a family, don't you?”

“Very much.”

Tate entered the room with Toby, and they all took seats around the fire, Marcus impassive and Toby fidgeting with his shirt buttons. Tate caught Sophie's eye, cleared his throat and began to speak. “Boys, we have something to share with you from today's mail. I have had a letter from your mother—”

Toby interrupted, “But, Papa, Sophie's right here. Why would she write us?”

Marcus kicked his brother gently. “No, Toby. Not Sophie. Our mother from before.”

Sophie clutched her skirt and prayed for a swift conclusion to the conversation.

“Marcus is correct,” Tate said. “This is a letter from your birth mother.”

“I don't like her,” Toby muttered.

“Son, we cannot always know what makes people do what they do. I think you will understand more fully when you read what she has written to you.”

“She can say what she wants,” Marcus argued, “but that won't change what happened or how I feel.”

Sophie intervened, “Boys, it is natural that you would harbor hurt and resentment. But Jesus teaches us to forgive. It is not an easy lesson, but one that frees us to love even more fully. You both have so much love to give, as I've discovered from the generous way you have accepted me into your family. Why don't you read your letter in the spirit of forgiveness?”

Tate raised his fingers to his lips and sent her a kiss.

“Very well,” Marcus said, removing the letter from the envelope. “I will read it aloud.”

He began in a cold, steely tone.

“Marcus and Toby, you were always fine little chaps, so I am supposing you are turning into equally fine young men. I pray you do not assume any blame for my decision to leave you and your father. Any fault was mine. I am of a fragile disposition and was accustomed to genteel ways and had always been cosseted by my family. Living in Colorado was a shock in every way. I could not summon love, but rather lost myself in resentment and pain. Ultimately, I feared for my sanity.

I am not proud of my actions or inactions and ask your forgiveness. There is no need to answer this letter. I send it only to clear my conscience and assure you that you played no part in my decision to leave. I am remarrying and will be making my home in England. You will not hear from me again.”

Marcus threw down the letter. “Just as I suspected. She never loved us. There's not one word about love here.”

The anguish on Tate's face wrenched Sophie's heart. “Some people are incapable of the kind of love we need,” she hastened to assure Marcus. “Instead of anger, I pray that you will see that your mother is a tortured soul. She has reached out with the only explanation she is capable of giving. For my part, though, she is to be thanked for the wonderful young men she has left for your father and me to rear—two loving sons I am blessed to call my own.”

Toby had been sitting cross-legged, his brow furrowed, listening intently. “I'm glad I don't remember much about her.” He shrugged helplessly. “I prob'ly shouldn't say this, but that is a sad letter. And, Marcus, what if she was still here instead of Sophie?”

“I don't want to think about that.” Marcus glanced over at Sophie. “If Jesus could forgive her, I 'spect we should try.”

“That is exactly what we will do,” Tate said. “Perhaps we could start by praying for her each day. I suspect she is in need of prayer.”

Sophie smiled at her husband. “That is precisely what God would have us do.”

Marcus looked thoughtful. “Maybe this letter really does help because I won't have to worry or wonder any longer. Besides, now Toby and I have Sophie, and we know she cares about us.”

“I most certainly do.”

Toby stood up and draped an arm around Sophie's shoulders. “I'm not calling her Sophie anymore, 'cuz she's the mother who takes care of us and plays with us and teaches us things—our
real
mother. My mama.” The boy leaned down and gave her an awkward hug.

Tate crossed the room and pulled her to her feet, gathering her into his arms. Amid her joyful tears, she could feel the boys clutching her around her waist. “Mama,” Marcus said. “We love you.”

“And I love you,” she managed between sobs of joy.

Tate's lips brushed her cheek. “You know something, Mama Sophie? As Toby always reminds us, you can do anything!”

Raising her head, she sought her husband's eyes. “Correction.
Together
we can do anything.”

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from WAGON TRAIN SWEETHEART by Lacy Williams.