Providence (30 page)

Luke stood a few feet away, his
back to her, staring at the silver crescent moon hung against the black velvet
sky where a sprinkle of stars glittered like diamonds. Where were his thoughts
just now, she wondered. Were they here at Providence, or did they soar above,
winging their way to lands unknown? Could a man like Luke Josey ever be truly
happy tied to one place? Kate sighed, realizing she still knew so little of
him.

 “Have you ever made a
mistake?” he asked suddenly, still contemplating the vast heavens.

“Well, yes, of course I have,”
Kate answered, puzzled.

“A mistake that hurt innocent
people?”

Kate was silent.

“How can God forgive me, when I
can’t even forgive myself?” Luke asked, anguish beginning to seep into his
voice.

“Luke whatever it is....”

“No, you don’t understand!” He
turned, his eyes held hers, filled with torment and rage.

All the anger she had held in
check suddenly filled her. “Then tell me! Make me understand,” she raged back
at him. “You come in here, turn our lives around, tell me you love me, then you
vanish without a word!” Kate paused, “What is going on? Make me understand.”

She saw his jaw tighten. A tremor
twitched above his left brow as he fought to control the emotions, held so
closely in check, simmering just beneath the surface. His eyes grew darker as
the rage surfaced. The dam broke, the words spilled forth, sweeping Kate along
in a torrent of passions and emotions as the story unfolded.

“So the baby Annie carries is
mine.” he finished brokenly, the storm spent. “How many lives have I ruined?
How many innocent people have I hurt? Three? No, more
-
now you and Jo, the Insley’s, and it just goes on.”

 Kate closed her eyes, numb
from shock. Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t this. Pain flared brightly
within her heart as the truth of his confession struck deep within her.

Listen to him. Do not judge.

Tochoway’s words resounded through
her mind like a chant. Opening her eyes, she saw before her a man, a fellow
being unworthy of God’s compassion and forgiveness, yet the recipient of them
through God’s grace nonetheless. Could she do any less?

She took both of Luke’s hands in
hers. Closing her eyes, she began to pray, “Dear Lord, show this man Your
grace, Your mercy, Your love. Protect him, build him up in Your way.

“Build a hedge of thorns about
the unborn babe, who bears no part in the sin of his parents. Be with the
mother, Lord, in this time of fear that she faces, and Lord, smile on Michael,
the man who is the true earthly father to this precious babe of Yours. We give
you these lives, Lord, that only you can heal. In Jesus’ most holy name we pray
these things, Amen.”

Looking deep into his eyes, she
held his hands for a moment longer, then released him and returned to the house
alone.

***

Tendrils of light painted the
eastern horizon. The deep black canvas of night gave way to rosier hues, extinguishing
the stars one by one. Luke sat with his back propped against the gnarled trunk
of the apple tree watching the unfolding dawn of God’s creation. Fatigue
invaded his bones, his muscles screamed in protest as he tried to move. He felt
like Jacob of old, wrestling with God throughout the night. But was it God or
the devil he had wrestled with?

He stood, stretching his aching
body, and headed to the bunkhouse. Stopping at the pump, Luke splashed the icy
water over his head and face. The bracing cold struck him full force, casting
away the hazy dreams of night. Filling a bucket with the frigid water, he
entered the small room. A brief glance in the mirror revealed his haggard
expression and the filth of days on the trail. He removed his woolen vest,
stripped away the dingy muslin shirt, his nose wrinkling at the stench imbedded
within the fabric. Sitting on the bunk he grunted, struggling with the heavy
boots, finally pulling them off and dropping each one heavily on the wooden
floor along with the socks. The Levis came away, slick from wear, dust adorning
every crease. Begrimed cotton under drawers joined the steadily growing pile.

As he removed the layers of
filthy clothes, Luke felt a burden cast away with every garment. Taking a clean
white towel from the shelf, he immersed it in the water. He brought the rag
dripping from the bucket and scrubbed himself. Feeling the external cleansing
power of the water, he longed to feel the same internal cleansing of his soul.

 Closing his eyes to the
filth about him, he prayed, “God, if you are the God of grace and mercy that I
have been led to believe, I stand here today covered in my sin and shame,
repentant, seeking Your compassion once and for all. Take my life, Lord, lead
me, use me. God show me,
show me
what I need to do.”

He opened his eyes to the morning
sun streaming through the cracked window, pooling in golden light all about
him. A renewing energy began to flow within him, as he dressed for the day
ahead.

Jake and Jonathan were coming
down the path toward the barn when Luke emerged from his room.

Jake stopped, studying Luke for a
moment through narrowed eyes. “Well, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you
looked something like a new man today. Get a good night’s sleep?”

“Not exactly,” Luke answered, slapping
Jake on the back. “Let’s get to work. What are we doing today?”

Jake continued to watch Luke with
a bemused expression before answering, “We’re going to rake and stack that last
field today, probably won’t finish, but I’d like to get as much in as we can
today.”

“Did I see a dump rake behind the
barn?” Luke asked hopefully.

“Yep, goes a might faster than
the old days.” Jake said with a twinkle in his eye.

 Luke nodded, remembering
the raking days of his youth. He, his mother and sister would take the long hay
rakes, turning every blade of cut grass in the field, then going back and
pitching it into long rows that would be forked into the bed of a hay wagon
pulled by a team. It meant days of arduous work in the blazing sun. With a
mechanical dump rake pulled by the horses, a field could be turned and raked
into neat rows in one continuous process, reducing the manual labor to almost
nothing, until it came time to pitch the hay into the wagon.

“I don’t suppose you have one of
those new stackers hiding around here somewhere?” Luke asked.

“Nope, not yet. Will bought the
mow in Missouri before we came down to the Territory,” Jake explained. “Those
first years, we hand raked the fields. After the first good steer sales, Will
managed to buy the rake from a boomer that went bust for next to nothing. He
always planned to get a stacker, but
-
well, things don’t
always go the way you plan, do they?”

“No, they sure don’t,” Luke
agreed.

***

Kate stabbed the tines of her
pitchfork into the ground with a satisfied grunt. The last forks of green-gold
hay had been pitched into the wagon now sagging beneath the stacked tonnage.

 She had worked side by side
with Luke the last two days, sweating beneath the same burning sun, covered in
hay and dust, but able to laugh at his antics when a spider crawled up his pant
leg. Their relationship was forever changed, she knew that. He had been kind
and solicitous, even friendly during the haying, and she was seeing something
new within his character. It was as though they were starting anew, getting to
know one another all over again. Hope dawned within her as she began to see the
man he was meant to be.

“Whoa, Goldie, whoa, Rosey,” Jo
chanted, pulling against the reins with all the might her small arms could
muster. The obedient mares stopped, standing quietly between the traces. The
harnesses jangled as the horses stomped or twitched their backs in an effort to
rid themselves of the ever-present flies.

Bringing in the hay pressed
everyone into service, even Jo was able to help by driving the team slowly
along the rows as the rest of them walked beside, gathering the hay into the
tines of the forks and pitching the heavy loads into the bed. Nana drove the
buggy back and forth, carrying water and food. The work went on until it was too
dark to see, and began again the next morning at the first light. Everyone
heaved a sigh of relief seeing the last of the harvest safely in.

“Well, I say we have us a good
rest for an hour or so, something light for supper, and I believe there may be
enough ice left down in the spring house to make us some ice cream to celebrate
with. How does that sound?” Kate asked the tired crew.

“Ice cream? Yippee!” Jo shouted.

“Who’s cranking?” Jake asked.

“I’ll crank,” Luke offered, “as long
as we can have some of Nana’s good strawberry preserves over the top.”

“I reckon I could scrounge up a
jar of preserves,” Nana said.

 “It’s settled then. Let’s
get this last load put up in the loft.” Kate tossed her pitchfork beneath the
seat of the wagon. “Scoot over, Jo, I’m driving.”

The men clambered aboard the
wagon, Nana took up the reins in the buggy, and Kate slapped her team, “Let’s
get up, girls, we’re headed home.”

A few hours later, the pulleys
squeaked beneath the weight of the last of the harvest as it was hoisted into
the loft through the high, open doors. Kate coughed from the choking dust, and
waved a tired hand shooing the incessant gnats from before her face.

“You look tired, sure you’re
still up to a celebration?” Luke asked.

“I couldn’t possibly look half so
bad as you!” Kate laughed, plucking a stray tuft of hay from his vest.

“Ha!” rejoined Luke, reaching out
to extricate several blades of grass from Kate’s hair.

 “Perhaps, but,
I
wear
it well!” Kate realized it felt good to laugh again. The hay was in, a market
had been found for the cattle, God’s providence at work once more. She wondered
just what His plan was for them. Even the doubts and pain she felt after Luke’s
confession were evaporating in the wake of his Kate turned her face to catch
the glorious last rays of the dying sun.
Thank you, Lord, but just once
couldn’t you give me a little hint about what the future holds? Oh well, I
guess that’s what faith is all about, isn’t it?

“What are you thinking about?”
Luke asked.

“The substance of things hoped
for, the evidence of things not seen,”
she replied cryptically. “I’ll
see you all at the house in an hour or so. C’mon, Jo, I’ll race you home!”

***

Kate filled Jo’s pitcher from the
pump in the kitchen and carried it to the loft. “Wash up as best you can,
Honey, and get those filthy clothes down to me. Nana plans to wash tomorrow.”

“Ugh! Do I have to help with
laundry?” Jo asked wrinkling her nose in distaste.

“Yes, of course you do, but then
so do I,” Kate sighed, rolling her eyes. Laundry was the dreaded chore in the
Shaughnessey house.

“I’d rather be doing hay than
washing.”

“I don’t know, right now, I think
I’d even take the laundry if it meant I didn’t have to go back into that
hayfield again,” Kate decided. “I’m going to wash up, too, then get some
sandwiches made if you want to help.”

“Okay, Momma, I’ll be down
quick.”

 Kate descended to the
kitchen, filled her own pitcher, and went to her room, closing the door behind her.
She cherished these few moments of solitude. Pouring the water in the basin,
she dipped her fingers in grimacing at the chill. There just wasn’t enough time
to heat any right now, the cold would have to suffice. She sat in the hard
chair behind her desk, and tugged off her boots, then slipped out of the shirt
and pants she wore, shaking out enough hay and weeds to start a small meadow in
her room.

Approaching the basin of frigid
water with a clean rag and a bar of lye soap, she glanced longingly at the
small copper tub sitting in the corner of her room. She couldn’t remember the
last time she had a good long soak in there. Soon, she promised herself, I am
going to fill that old black kettle, boil the water scalding and sit in there
until it’s cold. Kate could almost feel the soothing warmth radiating through
her, perfumed water wafting a gentle aroma, pure soft soap to caress her skin.

She had a sudden inspiration.
Tossing aside the rough cake of lye in her hand, she knelt beside the trunk at
the foot of the bed. Rummaging through the camisoles and petticoats, she found
what she had been looking for, the box from Martha. Had it really been over
three months since the trip to Fallis? Selecting a lavender scented beauty bar,
Kate decided she might not have a hot bath, but she didn’t have to smell like a
farm hand tonight.

 Kate scrubbed her skin
until it glowed pink, and all she could smell was clean, fresh lavender. She
brushed her hair with vigorous strokes, shedding the dust and hay. Soon it was
gleaming mass of curls again, caught up in a ribbon at the nape of her neck.
Selecting a rose colored calico dress with delicate white edging, she dressed
with a delight she hadn’t felt in ages. She sighed at the callouses on her
hands as she tugged the long sleeves snugly down over her wrists, but like the
scars, the callouses represented a sense of honor.