Whispers from Yesterday (14 page)

When she heard the piano music, Karen set Esther’s diary aside and left her bedroom. She paused at the parlor entrance, watching
Sophia’s arthritic fingers move over the keys, plucking out the melody of a vaguely familiar hymn. Karen waited until her grandmother stopped playing, then crossed the room to stand at the side of the old upright.

Sophia offered a sad smile. “I used to play well.” She held up her hands, crooked fingers extended. “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

“It was lovely, all the same.”

“I was remembering the way my sister and I used to play duets when we were girls. My, those were delightful evenings.”

“I’ve been reading her journals,” Karen said. “I didn’t think I would find them interesting, but … well, they are a bit captivating, aren’t they?”

Her grandmother’s smile broadened.

Karen glanced toward the kitchen door. “It’s quiet today. Where is everyone?”

“Grant took the boys into town to pick up supplies. And Dusty …” She let her voice drift into silence as she shook her head. Then, more softly, she said, “He’s trying to repair the old bridge over Bonnet Creek.”

Karen sat on the piano bench beside her grandmother. “He’s taking this thing with Hal awfully hard.”

“Yes.”

“Why is that? Hal and Patty must have been seeing each other before Hal came to the Golden T. I mean, the boys have only been at the ranch since the start of summer. She was already pregnant by then. And Dusty couldn’t have prevented Hal from taking off the way he did. So why is he acting like it’s his fault?”

Sophia turned a thoughtful gaze on Karen. “I think you should ask him that yourself.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Try anyway.”

Karen couldn’t deny she’d like to follow her grandmother’s advice. She wanted to understand Dusty. She wanted to know about his past, about his thoughts and his beliefs, about so many things.

“Go on, dear. Just follow the creek up the draw. You’ll find him easy enough.”

Against her better judgment, led by her heart and not her head, Karen rose to her feet. She took a few steps toward the door, then stopped and glanced behind her. “If God is love, the way you say, why is this happening to all of you?”

“I don’t always know God’s purpose,” Sophia answered after a thoughtful pause. “But if I need to know, He’ll reveal it to me.”

Karen shook her head in bemusement and left the house.

The July sun beat down on Dusty’s back. His shirt was damp with his own perspiration, and his muscles ached from hours of exertion. But he didn’t stop to sit in the shade, didn’t try to take a rest. He wanted this bridge fixed. He wanted anyone who came up this trail to be able to use it. It had been in disrepair for too many years.

Hear Me, My son,
the beloved voice spoke to his heart.
Anyone who separates himself from Me, sets up his idols in his heart, puts right before his face the stumbling block of his iniquity.

Ezekiel, chapter 14, verse 7. He’d read that passage this morning, and he hadn’t been able to escape the words since.

“I don’t understand, Lord. I haven’t any idols in my heart.” Kneeling on the ground, he held a nail against a plank of wood and raised his hammer. “I haven’t separated myself from You. I’m trying to serve You.” He struck the head of the nail. “Everything I do is
because I want to serve You. This ranch.” He hit it again. “These boys.” And again. “Everything is for You.”

He straightened his back, resting his bottom against the heels of his boots, then wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist.

For the Lord, whose name is jealous, is a jealous god.

He gazed upward. “I have no idols. I serve no other gods.”

The silence in his heart was more eloquent—and more disturbing—than any audible voice could be.

Dusty rose from the ground and walked to the stack of lumber he’d earlier hauled up the trail using a team of horses and an old rickety wagon that wasn’t in much better shape than the bridge he was attempting to repair. Selecting another plank, he started to slide it from the stack. He stopped when he heard a sound behind him.

Turning, he saw Karen riding the black-and-white paint toward him.

She stopped her horse, then slipped from the saddle. She patted the gelding’s neck with one hand while holding the ends of the reins in the other. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she glanced toward the bridge, then back at Dusty.

“Could you use some help?”

“You
want to help?”

He’d meant for her to be insulted by both his question and his tone. He’d meant for her to become angry and leave. She didn’t do either.

“Yes, I want to help.”

“All right.” He turned his back toward her. “Grab the other end of this, and help me carry it to the bridge.” She did as he’d instructed.

After the board was set in place, she took a step backward onto
firmer ground. “Now tell me how I can
really
help.” There was a stubborn spark in her light blue eyes.

He saw the challenge in them, but he hadn’t the strength to do battle with her today.

“You can’t,” he said as he knelt and reached for the hammer and nails.

“Sometimes it helps to talk. Remember?”

He set the hammer down again, then lowered his head toward his chest and pressed the palms of his hands against his thighs. “I’m tired,” he said under his breath. “So doggone tired.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong. After all, I’m new around here. But it seems to me you can’t possibly take one summer and expect to turn around the lives of every boy who sets foot on this ranch. They can’t all be success stories. So why are you beating yourself up over Hal?”

“I can’t save them all,” he said softly. Then, a little louder, he added, “I can’t save
any
of them.” Understanding swept through him. He raised his eyes and looked at her again. “Idols in my heart. My efforts to save Hal have become idols in my heart.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s what He’s been trying to tell me all morning. No. For much longer than that.”

“Who’s been trying to tell you?”

“God.”

She frowned.

“You were right.
I’ve
been trying to save them. And I can’t.”

Confusion darkened her pretty face. “Isn’t that why you run this camp? To give them some sort of chance?”

If he told her what God had revealed to him, that he’d been trying to do the work of the Holy Spirit, she wouldn’t understand. Some things had to be spiritually discerned, and Karen wasn’t ready yet.

But she wanted to understand. He could see that.

Karen watched the expression on his face, saw the way his brows drew together, could tell he was trying to think of a polite way to tell her to mind her own business.

“I made a mistake coming up here. I’ll leave you alone.” She turned to leave.

“Wait.”

She stopped and looked over her shoulder. He was standing now.

“Please.” He held out his arm toward her. “Let’s talk.”

She raised an eyebrow, expressing her skepticism.

“Please. I’m sorry I was rude. I took my frustration out on you, and that was wrong of me.” He motioned toward the creek. “Come on. We’ll sit in the shade. I could use a rest. I’ve got a jar of Sophia’s lemonade sitting in the water to stay cool.”

“I don’t want to be in your way.” She turned fully toward him.

“You won’t be.” His smile was both gentle and earnest. “You aren’t. Honest.”

Her better judgment told her she should return to the house. Her heart begged her to stay. Her heart won.

With a nod, she said, “Lead the way, and I’ll follow.” She didn’t take his hand.

He walked down a steep embankment, then followed the creek about twenty yards to a place where a couple of tall cottonwoods grew along the bank. There was a large boulder halfway in the water, and Dusty motioned toward it.

“Take your shoes off,” he said. “Sit a spell.”

“You sound like the intro to the
Beverly Hillbillies.”

He laughed, a genuine sound of pleasure. “Guess I do, at that.”

Dusty leaned against the large rock and, with a grunt, pulled off one of his boots, then the other. When he was barefoot, his boots and socks safely placed away from the water’s edge and his pant legs rolled up to midcalf, he waded into the stream, sucking in a quick breath when his feet first touched the water.

“Cold?” she asked.

“Not at all. It’s perfect.” He grimaced—or was he trying to grin around his chattering teeth? “Come on and join me.”

Her pulse quickened. She wondered if he had any idea what he did to her. And if he did, was there even a small chance she affected him in the same way?

“Come on, K-Karen. Don’t be a scaredy-cat.”

“A
what?”

“You heard me.”

“Your lips are turning blue.”

“Naw. It’s just shadows from the trees.” He pointed toward the spreading branches of the cottonwoods. “It’s n-not c-cold, M-Miss B-Butler.”

She knew he was exaggerating his stutter, and she couldn’t help smiling at his efforts. It was good to see him in a teasing mood.

He grinned, a charming, carefree sort of smile.

Her heart flipped, like flapjacks on her grandmother’s griddle.

His grin faded. “Take your boots off, Karen,” he said softly. “It really does feel good.”

She realized she would have done anything to please him at that precise moment. She sat on the boulder and removed her boots and socks. Then she yanked her narrow-leg jeans up her calves as high as they would go—which wasn’t very far. They were certain to get wet.

“Here,” Dusty said from behind her. “Just stay seated and turn around. I’ll join you.”

She did as she was told, a little disappointed not to be standing
with him in the middle of the creek. Maybe if she’d gone to him when he first called to her, he would have taken her in his arms. Maybe he would have kissed her.

Instead, they sat side by side on the large rock, their feet dangling in the icy stream. They weren’t quite touching, but they were close. The silence of the desert surrounded them, broken only by the gurgling music of the creek and the whisper of a hot summer’s breeze rustling the leaves of the cottonwoods.

After a long silence, Dusty said, “Karen?”

She turned to look at him. He was watching her with eyes darkened by deep thoughts, his expression solemn.

“What is it?” she asked.

“There’s something I’d like to tell you.” He hesitated, as if having second thoughts. Then he continued, “I want to tell you about the night my best friend died.”

Friday, August 20, 1937

Dear Diary,

I have been a poor chronicler of events. So much has happened since my last entry, I scarcely know where to begin.

Mikkel and I traveled by rail across the vast United States. How provincial I felt as we were carried from one state to another. America is so much more than the wide swath of Snake River and rolling farmlands of eastern Oregon. I never imagined anything like the majestic Rocky Mountains or the endless prairies east of them or the crowded cities beyond that.

We had a section in the sleeping car, which made our lengthy journey more comfortable than it would have been otherwise. The train was air-conditioned. Such a luxury in the middle of summer.

During the day, we spent many pleasant hours in the observation car. Mikkel knows no strangers, and he initiated many conversations with other passengers. I felt a special thrill whenever he introduced me by saying, “And this is my wife, Esther Christiansen.”

I felt quite pampered by the porters who saw to our needs and answered my many questions. We took most of our meals on the train, but occasionally we ate in a rail station’s modern café. The food in those cafés was good, and the staff behind the counters were faultlessly cheerful to their customers.

I must admit, despite the comfort of our train travel, I was thankful when we reached New York City. I was ready to put solid ground beneath my feet for a time.

But if I felt provincial before, I now felt positively dull-witted. So many people. Such tall buildings. I could not begin to describe it for I do not have the vocabulary. I was a foreigner in a strange land, and my fears I had thought laid to rest returned. If I felt so out of place in New York City, where everyone was American and spoke English, how was I going to feel once we reached Denmark?