Daughter of Joy (11 page)

Abby awoke early Sunday morning. For a moment she lay there, mildly confused over her immediate and most forceful sense of eager expectation. Then the joyous realization filled her. Church … she was going to church today.

She flung back the covers and leaped out of bed, not noticing, for a change, the ice cold floor and chilly room. In record time, she finished her morning ablutions and was soon scooting out the bunkhouse door. After a quick breakfast, Abby prepared Sunday dinner, placed it in Old Bess’s care to begin cooking, then hurried back to the bunkhouse to put on her best Sunday suit.

A good half hour remained before Devlin and Ella would come by in the buckboard to pick her up. Abby decided it was past time to write her first letter to Nelly. She carried her writing supplies to the worktable, sat, and after pausing a moment to gather her thoughts, put pen to paper.

November 3, 1895

Dearest Nelly
,

I know I promised to write often, but the past days have been so hectic that I must confess I’m only now getting out my first letter to you. I’ll try my best from here on, though, to be more regular.

Where to begin, with all that’s happened so far? Perhaps it’s best to start with Beth. For all her complexity and demanding ways, she, at the very least, is far easier to deal with than her father.

Though she frustrates me on a regular basis, Beth is finally beginning to talk with me and, I fervently hope, unburden her heart. She’s an extremely bright young lady, grasping almost anything I present to her in record time. She’s perhaps half a year behind on her ciphering, but her reading, geographical knowledge, and nature study are advanced, as is her penmanship.

I’m also working on her manners and way of speech, as well as her attire. Her grammar is making the most progress. I’ve yet to get Beth into anything remotely ladylike. But then, her few dresses are in sad need of repair, and nearly too small for her at any rate. Her manners, I’m sorry to say, are also making very slow headway.

I suppose the same could be said for my progress with her father—very slow headway, I mean. Mr. MacKay, in a totally unexpected display of largesse, recently offered to allow me, in addition to my one full day off a month, to attend church services each Sunday with his cousin and his wife, who also live here at Culdee Creek. You know, Nelly, the longer I’m around Conor MacKay, the more convinced I become that a truly decent man is hiding beneath that rough, gruff exterior of his.

Now, please don’t be cross with me over what I’m next going to tell you, or immediately accuse me of disloyalty to Thomas’s memory, but I must confess that I’m most attracted to Mr. MacKay. Yes, I know he’s hardly more than a heathen and not at all the kind of man I could ever consider taking as a husband, but there are times when he says or does something that deeply touches me. Indeed, there are even times when I feel such a kinship with him that I almost believe I can see into his heart and understand him. I’d like to think he’s beginning to understand and respect me as well.

Then there are also times when he frightens me like I’ve never been frightened before. He’s so experienced in the ways of women, and I know only what my dear, godly Thomas taught. I fear my unseemly attraction for Mr. MacKay might be my undoing. You know as well as I of his unsavory past. Who am I to imagine it would be any different with me?

Now, don’t, I beseech you, order your dear husband to ride out here to fetch me the day after you receive this. My body—and soul—are far from mortal danger. Mr. MacKay, as promised, has continued to mind his manners. I just thought, as a more experienced married woman, you might be able to offer me some words of advice about how to deal with my unsettling attraction. I suppose, as a young widow, I’d have had to eventually deal with such feelings at any rate, so any advice will be welcomed.

Well, it’s nearly time to leave for Grand View and services at the Episcopal Churh there. May the dear Lord hold you close, as I know He’ll do with me. I’ll write again soon.

Fondly,
Abby

“I can’t tell you how happy I am that Conor allowed you to come with us to Sunday services,” Ella said, as her husband helped her and then Abby into the back seat of the buck-board. “I told you, didn’t I, that he was a good man?”

“Yes, you did.” Abby smoothed the wrinkles from her good, navy blue woolen suit jacket and skirt, then pulled on a pair of fine kid gloves to protect her hands from the cool morning air. “Still, his offer came as quite a surprise, considering I have only been here a week tomorrow. I didn’t think I’d done enough yet to prove my worth.”

Ella laughed as she accepted the baby, wrapped warmly in a thick shawl, from her husband. “Conor’s a very discerning man, isn’t he, Devlin? I’m sure he took the measure of your true worth quite soon after you arrived here.”

Climbing into the front seat to sit beside his son, Devlin glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “Oh, quite sure,” he agreed amiably. “Quite sure.”

There was something, however, in the veiled glance that passed quickly between husband and wife that made Abby uneasy. Had they been talking about her and Conor?

Devlin took up the reins. “Ready?”

“Just a minute.” Ella pointed to a neatly folded, scarlet woolen blanket lying beneath the front buggy seat. “Abby, would you mind opening that and spreading it over our laps? I think we might appreciate its warmth once we start moving. There’s quite a bite to the air, even for the first week in November.”

Abby pulled out the blanket and, unfurling it, settled it over their laps. “Thanksgiving will be here sooner than we think.”

“Which brings to mind,” Ella said as her husband slapped the reins over the backs of the two horses, “the arrangements for the Thanksgiving meal.”

“I can’t say I’ve given it much thought as yet,” Abby admitted. “What’s usually done at Culdee Creek?”

“Well, the tradition has been to have a big meal in the main house and invite all the unmarried hands. In the past I’ve prepared and served the meal, with more or less help from the current housekeeper.”

“How many people usually come?”

Ella wrinkled her brow in thought. “Hmmm, there’s us—we’ve always been included in the past—and Conor and Beth, of course. As far as the hands go, this year the unmarried ones include Frank and Henry, as well as Wendell Chapman, Jonah Goldman, and H.C. Miles.” She laughed. “Just to save you from asking, since it embarrasses the spit out of H.C., the initials stand for Hezekiah Calvin.”

“Oh, I see.” Abby smiled.

“So, including you, that comes to”—Ella paused to make a mental calculation—“eleven people, considering Mary doesn’t eat enough yet to count.”

Abby nodded slowly. “That’s a few more than I’m used to cooking for, but I suppose I can manage it.”

“I can do it again, if you don’t think you’re up to it. Or we can do it together.”

“Let’s do it together.” Abby squeezed Ella’s free hand. “It’ll be much more fun that way.”

Ella smiled. “I think so, too.”

Abby released her hand and leaned back. The buggy headed southeast away from the forest’s edge, toward the rolling plains. The day was overcast. The sun shone bleakly through a small rent in the clouds. A chill wind blew, reddening their cheeks and making their faces tingle.

Nonetheless, Abby found it all quite invigorating. Nothing could mar the day. She was going to church.

From time to time, Devlin would point out things to his son, who looking so very proud and excited, was perched beside his father on the front seat. A red-tailed hawk passed over on a high current of air, his keening cry both lovely and haunting. A cottontail rabbit poked out his head from some scraggly brush near the road, his pink nose twitching. In the distance, pronghorn antelope grazed, apparently unperturbed by the sound of the approaching buggy.

It was a wild, untamed, pristine land, Abby thought. It took a special kind of man—and woman—to settle it and not only survive, but thrive here. Life could be difficult enough in the relative comfort of Colorado Springs. What with the severity of winter this close to the Rockies, and the frequently arid climate and vagaries of the weather all year around, scrabbling a living this far out in the country could be downright dangerous.

Yet, for all the potential and very real hardships, something drew Abby to this place. Here in these wide open spaces, with the mighty Pikes Peak looming behind her, she felt the majesty and grandeur of the Lord so much more deeply than she ever had at home back East. There was indeed a great and glorious adventure to be had.

“How’re things going for you, Abby?” Ella asked, interrupting her thoughts. “I’m so hoping you’ll stay. If there’s anything I can do to help …”

Abby chuckled. “Just having you around has more than helped, Ella. And I’m determined to give this position a good chance.”

Ella shot her husband a quick look. Father and son were engrossed in a discussion about pronghorn antelopes. She scooted closer to Abby and said, “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this—I want to assure you that I don’t gossip or spread tales with every housekeeper Conor hires—but Devlin told me he thinks Conor likes you.”

Though a thrill of pleasure shot through Abby, she forced a disbelieving laugh. “Forgive me for saying so, but that’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. I’ve never met a man more intent on throwing obstacles in my path. Why, it’s almost as if—”

“As if he were testing you?” Ella offered.

“Rather, as if he dislikes me,” Abby countered firmly. “Besides, why would he test me?”

The red-haired woman shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he sees something special in you. Unfortunately, Conor cannot trust easily anymore. So maybe he’s testing your mettle. One thing I do know. He never did this with the others. I think he knew from the start exactly what he got when he hired them. He’s a realistic man in that way, you know?”

“Pessimistic is more like it,” Abby muttered.

“On the contrary, I think he suspects you’re too good to be true.” Ella cocked her head. “Devlin says Conor gets defensive, and is surprisingly quick to anger, when the topic turns to you. Believe me, he never let any of the others bother him like that.”

She leaned even nearer. “Do you know what I think?” Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “I think he not only likes you, Abby, but he’s attracted to you, too.”

Ella eyed her closely. “Tell me true, because I promise I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone, even Devlin. Exactly how do
you
feel about Conor?”

8

Not my will, but thine, be done.

Luke 22:42

Abby stared back at Ella. How was she supposed to respond to such a question? She knew Ella meant well, that she had both her and Conor’s best interests at heart. Such a question, at the very least, though, was premature. As physically attractive as she may find him, she would never consider marrying Conor MacKay. It was one thing to care about him and wish to ease his pain. It was quite another to wish to bind her life to his.

“How do I feel about Conor MacKay?” she repeated softly. “It’s far too early to tell, Ella. He’s certainly not as bad as the tales would have him be. There are even moments when he pleasantly surprises me, but …”

“You’re being very cautious.” Ella nodded in approval. “There’s nothing wrong with that. But can you honestly tell me that you don’t find him attractive? Why, next to my Devlin—”

“Good looks are a gift of God and granted equally to the bad as to the good,” Abby stated firmly. “As a Christian, though, it’s the heart of the man, his soul, that must ultimately interest me.”

“As well it should.” Ella leaned back in the buggy seat. “But then, I know Conor’s heart, and it’s fine and good.”

“Well, I don’t, Ella.”

“Conor’s a proud man. Too proud to reveal his pain and disappointment. It takes a long time, and a lot of trust, for him to open himself to anyone.” Ella shot her a considering look. “His wife, Sally, left him when their son, Evan, was five. Ran off one day with her music teacher, without a fare-thee-well, or anything. Left Evan all alone in the house. Conor came home after a long day of work to find his son crying in a corner, and no sign of Sally.”

“She must have been very unhappy to do such a thing.”

“She probably was. Those early years here at Culdee Creek—especially after Conor’s father died unexpectedly—were hard ones. They had married very young, you know. Conor was only seventeen, and Sally fifteen. She bore Evan the very next year. In fact, she was just twenty-one when she left.”

Perhaps she shouldn’t ask, Abby thought, afraid it might border on prying into Conor MacKay’s personal business. But if she could just understand the MacKay history better, it might ease her way with them. “You don’t have to tell me this,” she ventured carefully, “but I’d like to know more about Conor’s wife. What kind of a person was she? What eventually happened to her?”

Ella grinned. “Well, considering it’s all but common knowledge anyway, I think it’s safe to tell you. Sally moved here from Missouri when she was fourteen. She was a pretty little thing, with a mass of golden curls and beautiful brown eyes. The boys swooned over her. She had them all at her beck and call. All, that is, but Conor.”

Her brow furrowed in thought. “I think that’s what first attracted Sally to him. He was different, aloof and, even at sixteen, very dark and handsome. Sally, the spoiled and vain girl that she was, found Conor a challenge. Eventually they fell in love. Against both sets of parent’s objections, they wed.”

“Sounds romantic.” Abby smiled sadly. “What happened?”

Ella shrugged. “The harsh reality of Colorado ranching, the difficulties of child-rearing. Conor was struggling mightily back then to keep the ranch out of debt. He didn’t have enough time and attention to shower on Sally. I think her music teacher, who Conor finally hired to placate her, played to Sally’s need for attention.”

She sighed and shook her head. “Sally always had a pretty voice. She imagined she was destined for great things in the music world. I suppose her teacher, enamored by her talent and beauty, encouraged those dreams so as to lure her away from Conor.”

“So she walked out on her husband and son?” Abby frowned. “What about ‘in sickness and in health, til death do us part?’”

“Sally didn’t see it quite that way.”

“How many years has it been now since she left?”

“Over twelve,” Ella replied. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. Conor got word that both Sally and the music teacher died in a Denver boardinghouse fire, eighteen months after they had run away.”

“How sad.” Abby exhaled a deep, pensive breath. “I was hoping she might still return to Culdee Creek and recapture the love they’d once shared. It might be just the thing to free Conor at last from his bitter pain.”

Ella shook her head. “I doubt Conor would take her back now, even if she still were alive. He’s never forgiven her. He loved her deeply and was grievously hurt by her desertion. He waited for her for nearly a year and a half, hoping against hope she would return.” She smiled sadly. “I almost counted the news of her death as a blessing. Her betrayal was tearing Conor apart. Once he knew she was dead, he was free, and soon able to pick up his life and go on.”

“Then he wed Beth’s mother.”

“No.” Ella sighed again. “Conor never married Squirrel Woman. Oh, he loved her, but not as passionately or wholeheartedly as he had loved Sally. She was good for him, though, like a soothing balm to a hideously wounded soul. But he never married her.”

Abby choked back her rising horror. “So Beth’s words were true. How could Conor do that to a child—
his
child? One sin doesn’t justify another. All he’s done is perpetuate the cruelties that his first wife began.”

She clutched a fist to her mouth. “Poor, poor little Beth!” Abby breathed. “The most innocent, yet the most punished.”

Once more Ella leaned close and took her hand. “Do you see now why I hope you’ll stay, Abby? Why I pray that you and Conor …” She caught herself and blushed. “Both Conor and Beth are in pain, but I fear that Beth’s pain will never heal, unless Conor’s heals first. You’d be good for him, Abby. You’re the kind of woman he needs.”

Abby averted her gaze and, lips tight, stubbornly shook her head. “Don’t say that, Ella. I’ve only been here a week. You can’t know me, or who I’d suit. Not yet, anyway.”

“I know enough, Abby. You’re good, kind, and decent. You’re a God-fearing and God-honoring woman. You’ve known great pain and loss, and can understand what it does to a person. You’ve been a wife and mother. And you’re not afraid to face life head on, or”—she added with a wry grin—“as difficult a man as Conor MacKay can sometimes be.”

Abby turned to fully face her friend. “On the contrary, I’m frequently not nearly as wonderful a person as you make me out to be. In the end, though, what really matters is that Conor might not care to take me to wife, or I, him. Sometimes two people can be the most wonderful people in the world, yet still not be right for each other. And I’ll tell you true, Ella. Conor frightens me.”

Ella arched a brow. “Frightens you? How?”

“His pain and anger against life and God are a mighty force. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to withstand the power of those emotions.”

“But you won’t give up, will you, Abby?” Ella squeezed her hand, entreaty in her voice. “You’ll stay on and keep trying, won’t you? It’ll take time and patience. And I’ll help you any way I can.”

There was something in the tone of Ella’s voice, a hint of desperation, that both touched and worried Abby. She’s afraid for them. She fears they’ll be lost, if something isn’t done soon.

If the truth be told, Abby feared the same thing. She recognized the signs of lost souls, teetering on the brink of self-destruction. Indeed, she recognized that special empty, aching desperation all too well. She had experienced the same emotions herself many times in the past two years.

Despair, if tasted too often and deeply, could do that to anyone. It was a drug that slowly but surely numbed the heart, and weakened the spirit, until one finally lost all will to go on. If not for her love for the Lord, Abby feared she would have succumbed long ago.

But Conor and Beth didn’t even have God to comfort and carry them when life’s burdens became too heavy to bear. They had nothing, nothing save each other. Yet both were crippled, their emotions shriveled and weak. Neither could really bolster or comfort the other as each truly and deeply needed.

Ah, Abby thought, if only they knew and trusted in God’s love! It was all the strength and comfort one could ever need. It was a light to guide one through the darkness. It lent purpose and direction when nothing else seemed to matter.

Was this the real reason the Lord had brought her to this place? In her own seeking journey back to life, was she also meant to lead others to Him?

If so, Abby quailed before the task. It was not a calling she was worthy of. She lacked the strength, the courage, the wisdom. She had lost more than just a family when she’d lost her husband and son—she had lost her self.

But then perhaps she had never known who she truly was. All her life, to the first moment she’d arrived at Culdee Creek, had been dedicated to pleasing others and fulfilling their expectations of her. When had she ever before thought—or dared—to please herself? When had she ever felt worthy to do so, or seen the purpose in it?

Indeed, could there truly be any worthwhile purpose served in seeking out one’s own self-fulfillment? And could it be pleasing to or ultimately serve God? Abby didn’t know.

Just then the shrill whistle of the Union Pacific, Denver, and Gulf locomotive echoed over the grassy hills and prairie encompassing the town of Grand View. A flurry of smoke belched from the passenger train’s sootblackened smokestack as it neared the town and began to slow. Scantily clad women leaned from the windows of a large, lavender and pink gingerbread-trimmed house at Grand View’s outskirts, hooting and waving as the train pulled into the depot.

Cheeks warm with embarrassment, Abby quickly averted her gaze, knowing without being told that the garishly painted house must be a bordello. She riveted her attention, instead, on the people standing on the wooden platform before the train depot, watching as they surged forward in eager anticipation. Two men sitting at buckboards parked nearby jumped down to join them.

Dogs barked from nearby houses, pigs squealed, a burro brayed, and horses neighed. A cold wind, careening briefly but wildly through and around the buildings, howled eerily. As they entered the long row of false-fronted buildings and boardwalks of what looked to be the town’s main street, Abby could make out signs for Edgerton’s butcher shop, Mrs. Lombardy’s rooming house, Nealy’s blacksmith and livery, and the feed lot gates that led, on the other side of the street, to what looked to be the livestock loading area of the train depot. Gate’s Merchantile sat nearby, butting up against one side of the town hall. On the other side was the Crown Hotel, then the icehouse and, finally, the town scales.

The firm pressure of Ella’s hand, squeezing it once again, finally beckoned Abby from her avid perusal of the town. She turned to her friend and smiled, knowing that she still awaited an answer to her heartfelt plea.

“No, I won’t give up,” she assured her softly. “I’ll stay on and keep trying, but not for hope of any earthly reward such as taking Conor MacKay as husband. I’ll do it for the Lord, Ella.”

“And if He ultimately means for you to wed Conor and be a mother to Beth? What then, Abby?”

The question took Abby aback. Marry a man the likes of Conor MacKay? Could such a thing possibly be in God’s plan for her? The Lord would never unequally yoke her with an unbeliever—that Abby knew—though, at this point, that was definitely what Conor MacKay appeared to be. But what if, in God’s great, far-seeing wisdom, He knew Conor would someday turn to Him? What then?

“If it’s the Lord’s will that I wed Conor MacKay,” Abby finally replied, her emotions in such a confusing jumble that she didn’t dare examine them, “then so be it. But only if it’s the Lord’s will,” she added. “Not mine, or yours, or anyone else’s.”

Three hours later, after dropping Ella and the children off, Devlin finally halted the buggy before the main house. He jumped down and quickly went around to where Abby sat, helping her down.

“Thank you, Mr. MacKay.” She smiled up at him in gratitude. “I appreciate your taking me with you and your family to church.”

The tall man grinned down at her, his long, dark mustache lifting to reveal strong, white teeth. “My pleasure, Mrs. Stanton. And please, call me Devlin. I’m not much with formalities.”

“Only if you’ll call me Abby.”