Authors: Karen Noland
Kate found herself drawn to the
barn. She pushed open the small side door, letting the lamp cast its glow ahead
of her. The ever-present rodents scurried away before the sound of the
intruder. A soft thud and a muffled squeal revealed the presence of the ginger
tabby responsible for controlling the vermin. Breathing in the rich scents of
the barn, she made her way to each stall, seeking reassurance in a familiar
nuzzle or the sound of a soft nicker.
The door to the bunkhouse
beckoned to her from the far side of the barn. Maybe Luke had returned after
all. He could have slipped in under the cover of night. The buckskin might be
grazing in the pasture even now. Her heart thudding, she approached the door.
Swallowing her fear, she knocked softly upon the rough-hewn timbers. There was
no answer.
“Luke?” she asked tentatively.
“Luke, are you in there?”
Her query met by silence, she
turned to go.
Go in.
Stopped by the insistence of the
command, she shook her head to clear her thoughts. She could not go in and
invade the privacy of another. Kate held the oil lamp high, to light the path
that would lead her home.
Go in.
Instead of the path toward home
,
the glow of her lamp illumined the latch of the bunkhouse door. Without
willing it, her hand reached out, almost caressing the smoothly worn peg. Her
heart tripped as the latch gave and the door swung slowly inward. Shadows
danced upon the walls, showing chinks in the plaster where the logs had
settled. Books lay scattered upon the low table, shirts and a vest hung from
hooks. Kate felt a sense of life interrupted as she gazed about the room.
An errant shutter banged against
the window frame as the evening breeze blew soft across the night, startling
Kate from her reverie. Her eyes were drawn to a scrap of paper peeking from
beneath the washstand. Crossing the dark room, she cast her light upon the
paper, revealing a handbill with the word “Revival” printed in large type
across the top.
Kate set the lamp down on the
table beside the bed and pulled the handbill from beneath the porcelain bowl.
Scanning the paper, she recalled the women at the branding speaking of a large
tent revival to be held in Guthrie in September.
Where had Luke gotten a flyer
advertising the revival? She sat on the bunk, holding the paper close to the
lamp. Her eyes traveled over the words in the dim light, locking on the phrase
“the Reverend Daniel Josey.” Luke’s father. He was to preach at the revival.
Why hadn’t he told her? Did this have anything to do with his disappearance?
Lost in thought , she
jumped when the door opened. “Luke,” Kate cried, turning toward the sound of
footsteps, but the features emerging from the shadows were dark, with piercing
eyes that brought a scream to her lips.
***
The fiery ball sank below the
western horizon, painting the azure palette with vivid hues of red and orange.
The colors seemed to reflect the feverish burning within Luke’s soul. He sat on
the buckskin colt holding a loose rein, letting the horse pick his path
carefully along the ridge, and watching the blazing sun cast its final gory
light across the deepening violet of the night sky.
Seeing Michael Hall at lunch had
jolted Luke from the dream he had been experiencing the past weeks. Living in
Providence, Luke had almost come to believe that God would forgive him. The
image of Christ, torn and bloody, hanging on a rough wooden cross, dying to pay
the debt for his sins had seemed tangible and real when he and Kate talked
about it. She had begun to make him see the God of love and the forgiveness available
to him, so unlike the picture of the wrathful, avenging God his father always
preached. He had almost reached out and grasped the love, claiming the
promise for his own. Until today. The face of the man on the porch had been
vaguely familiar, raising an uneasy feeling within him. Then Kate had
introduced him; his name brought the memories flooding back.
Annie and Michael were
together at a barn dance the night Joe and Luke had ridden into Rush Springs
the first time. Lanterns swung from the rafters, boughs of holly, pine and
mistletoe adorned the posts, and an old black iron stove glowed with radiant
heat in a vain attempt to keep the cold at bay. A young girl, not more than
thirteen, perched precariously atop a hay bale sawing at an old fiddle, it’s
rich finish glowing warmly in the flickering light. She played a lusty tune,
and the dancers’ feet kept up a lively step as they whirled about in colorful
profusion.
A woman with ebony hair and
flashing eyes stood near the table laden with pies, cakes and a bowl brimming
with cider. A small boy with the same dark locks clutched the woman’s woolen
skirt in one chubby fist, the thumb of his free hand planted firmly between bow
shaped lips.
“Zora!” Joe called across the
crowded room. The woman turned, her face alight with joy.
“Daddy!” The cherub beside
her loosed his grasp running full speed into Joe’s waiting arms and was tossed
high in the air, dissolving in a fit of giggles. Catching him neatly, Joe
tucked the child into the crook of one arm, and with the other, he caught Zora
in a passionate embrace.
“Oh, mi amor, I have missed you,”
Zora murmured against his shirt.
“And I’ve missed you!” Joe
answered, kissing her raven hair. “And you, Sam! How much have you grown in the
past couple of months, pardner?” Joe asked the squirming bundle, now fighting
to get down.
“Me growed up,” Sam said pausing
in his struggles. “Momma make me new shirt,” he said puffing out his little
chest to show off the new prize.
“So I see. Quite handsome, too,”
Joe said, setting the boy down. “Guess what?”
“What?” Zora and Sam asked in
unison.
“I’m gonna get to watch you
growed up some more, Sam.” Turning to Zora, Joe continued, “I’ve got some time
off between drives. We’re plannin’ on bunking here till after the new year.”
Zora’s face was a strange mixture
of joy and sorrow. Joy at having her husband home for any time at all, sorrow
at the prospect of him leaving again so soon.
“Aw, c’mon, honey. You know I
have to do this. It’s the only job I know.” He tilted her head up. “Let’s make
the best of our time together, huh?”
“Sí, mi corazón, the very best.”
Her eyes glowed, and the softly accented voice could not disguise the love she
felt.
Luke watched the small family
with a stab of envy. Would he ever know that kind of love? He cleared his
throat, looking pointedly at Joe.
“Oh, sorry! Zora, this is Luke,
he’s a buddy of mine, kind of hopin’ he could stay with us till we have to
leave out.”
“Pleased to meet you ma’am,” Luke
said, taking off his dusty hat.
“And I you, sir. Of course
you will stay with us. Mi casa es su casa.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but if you
have a barn or something, I’d be just as comfortable there.”
“But, no, you may sleep with
Sam,” she smiled. “Our house is small, but there is always room for friends.”
The sincerity in her eyes
silenced any further protest he was about to make, and he simply nodded, “Thank
you, ma’am.”
The music ended, dancers erupted
in applause. A tall woman with auburn hair and luminous green eyes approached
them followed by a large young man in a dark suit.
“Joseph!” the woman exclaimed.
“Annie!” Joe cried embracing her.
“Luke, this is my sister I was
telling you about,” Joe said turning to Luke. “Annie, I’d like you to meet Luke
Josey, son of a preacher, but cowboy to the core.”
“It is indeed a pleasure, sir,”
Annie said, extending a slender white hand.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Luke
replied taking her hand, unable to tear his gaze from hers.
“Annie,” the young man beside her
spoke possessively, “aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”
“I’m sorry, Michael,” Annie
replied turning reluctantly to her escort. “Joseph, this is Michael, he owns
the mercantile in Kingfisher. Michael, may I introduce my brother Joseph.”
“So you’re the trail boss
that Annie has told me so much about.” Michael extended his hand.
“I am,” Joe replied, eyeing the
young man.
The fiddle began a lilting waltz.
Michael grasped Annie’s arm and escorted her to the dance floor where they
joined in the graceful rhythm. Luke continued to watch for glimpses of the
captivating woman among the ebb and flow of the dancers until Joe grabbed his
arm indicating it was time to leave.
Michael left for Kingfisher the
following day, and over the course of the next few weeks Luke and Annie spent
many stolen moments together. One bright December morning found them alone in
the small barn behind Joe’s place. The smell of fresh hay hung in the frosty
air like the clouds of their breath. Dust motes danced in the sunshine forming
a golden halo around Annie’s dark hair. Luke reached out tentatively, tracing
her full lips with the tip of a finger. Bending his head to hers, he kissed
her, tasting for the first time the sweet nectar of forbidden fruits.
The buckskin stumbled in the
gathering darkness, jolting Luke abruptly back from the past, the bittersweet
memories burning within him. Glancing around the unfamiliar landscape, he
realized they had wandered into unknown territory. With the approaching night,
Luke decided to find what shelter he could, and face the future with the coming
dawn.
***
Stifling the scream with a closed
fist, Kate shuddered with relief when Tochoway stepped into the small circle of
light cast by the flickering lamp. Her beating heart rang loud within her ears.
“What are you doing here?” she
asked.
Without answering, Tochoway took
the paper from her trembling hand. He eyes hardened as he glanced over the
words. Placing the paper on the table, he stepped beyond the edge of light into
the flickering shadows. As he stood gazing at the night through the curtained
window, Kate could see the tension in his body, the dim light played against
the bronzed planes of his rough-hewn face.
“Things are not well here,” he
stated.
Kate shook her head, fighting the
tears that threatened to slip down her cheeks.
“A man rides a pale horse upon
the ridge to the south. He is searching.” Tochoway said in a low voice.
“But for what? Everything he
needs is here,” Kate said in anguish.
“No. The peace he longs for can
only be found in his Creator.” Tochoway turned to face her, his eyes
penetrating. Kate glanced down to avoid the intense gaze.
“He will return,” Tochoway
continued. “You must listen. Do not judge, that is not your place.”
“How do you know?” she asked,
wanting desperately to believe. “How do you know he’ll be back
-
what’s in his heart?”
Tochoway was silent for a
moment, his eyes set upon a distant scene that only he could fathom. In the
glow of the oil lamp, Kate saw his face soften, a rare smile tugged at one
corner of his mouth. Her heart quickened as she gazed upon the stoic man before
her. A peaceful calm began to spread its soothing warmth through her in the
hushed serenity. What was it about this man that touched her innermost being? A
coyote yipped in the distance, the cicadas serenaded, and Kate became acutely
aware of the night around her.
“He is a man,” Tochoway said. “He
will come for you, but he must find his God, and his peace, only then can he
truly love you.”
Kate sighed, frowning. She
plucked at a fold of her skirt, nervously wondering how best to ask the
questions that buzzed through her mind. “Tochoway, you know God, don’t you? I
mean genuinely know him.”
“Yes. He is here,” Tochoway
placed two fingers beside his brow, “and here,” the fingers moved to hover
above his heart.
“How?”
Tochoway studied her for a
moment. Then as though reaching a momentous decision, he picked up the small
leather bag that hung at his waist. Loosening the drawstring, he produced a
worn, leather volume.
“The night grows old. I
must leave now. It is safer for me to travel beneath the cloak of darkness.”
Taking her hand he pressed the small book against her palm. His warm hand
resting briefly against the cool flesh of her wrist, he murmured beneath his
breath, “Puha.”
He was gone as quickly as he had
come, melting into the shadows of the night. No sound lingered to tell of his
passing. Kate shuddered as she recalled the dangers he faced traveling away
from the reservation without permission.
The small volume felt unusually
heavy in her hand. Glancing down, she realized that it was a New Testament. The
pages fragile from use, she opened it with great care. Faded writing covered
the front flyleaf. Holding the page closer to the glowing lamp, she was able to
make out, “Depoy Indian Mission, Rev Jonah Walker 1876-1880, Rev Daniel Josey
1880.”
The merciless sun hung motionless
in an azure sky. Kate stood, placing a gloved hand in the small of her back as
she stretched aching muscles. Sweat soaked the shirt she wore and streamed down
her face and neck in salty rivulets. Leaning heavily against the handle of a
razor sharp scythe, she coughed from the dust coating her parched throat. She
looked behind her at the fallen grass, and ahead to the tall stalks spreading
out in a green-gold sea. To the west she could see Jake urging the draft team
on, pulling the hay mow, as row after row of grass lay in undulating ribbons
behind them.