A Gown of Spanish Lace (14 page)

When he had finished he lifted his eyes to hers. “Keep it locked,” he said simply. “Don’t ever open it—’less it’s me—or Sam.”

Ariana nodded at another reminder that she was constantly in danger.

She let her eyes fall back to the pages before her. “Trust in the Lord,” she read—then reread—and it brought her a measure of comfort.

She had been going through the Bible since her time of captivity, selecting all the passages that confirmed that truth. She was amazed at how often she found them—and at the heartrending circumstances in which they were spoken. She was excited to read how God acted on the behalf of those folks long ago. Surely she had great reason to trust such a powerful and merciful God.

“What’s yer name?”

The question surprised Ariana. The young man often came and went without any conversation taking place between the two of them. Now he was stacking an armload of wood inside her cabin. He wasn’t even looking her direction.

“Ariana,” she said after hesitating.

“Ariana,” he repeated, and Ariana was surprised at how her name sounded on his tongue.

He continued to stack the logs by the cabin wall.

“And yours?” she dared to ask.

“Call me Laramie,” he replied.

Ariana did not repeat his name aloud but she did mentally. In some strange way it seemed to suit him.

She watched the even flow of his movements as he tucked the logs in place. He looked ordinary—yet she could not forget the change she had seen—had felt—when they had been confronted on the trail. Here was a kind of man she knew absolutely nothing about. So different from those she knew in her own small town. The very thought made her tremble.

Mrs. Benson put another check mark on the wall calender before she loosed her braid and shook the silvering hair out to spill down her back. How long had it been? Thirty-one days. Thirty-one days and no word—nothing. She knew everyone in town had already given up. She wondered if her husband had joined their ranks. But no—not yet. He still included his petition for the safety of their girl in each of his spoken prayers. And how many times each day, like she, did he send up silent but fervent petitions? They both still clung to hope.

Hope in a sovereign God—that was all they had.

But surely—that was enough.

“You must be tired of reading the same book,” Laramie casually observed as he set the extra pail of water on the shelf for her weekly bath.

Ariana looked up. His words surprised her. He so seldom spoke to her—and she never initiated a conversation.

“It’s the Bible,” she said.

“The Bible?”

“One can read it over and over and over—and still never stop learning or run out of fresh truths,” she dared to continue, sensing that he was puzzled by her answer.

“I see,” he said, looking at her, but she felt that he really didn’t.

He changed the topic with, “I’ll bring yer supper. Ya want it after yer bath—or before?”

Ariana thought of the tasteless food. She took a deep breath, then dared to bring up what had been on her mind for the past several days. “If I had a couple of pots—and some supplies—I could do my own cooking and you wouldn’t need to bother—”

“No bother,” he cut in quickly.

She felt disappointment seep through her at her unsuccessful bid to prepare her own meals. She was sick of the sloppy beans and tasteless biscuits.

He seemed to reconsider.

“ ’Course—iffen you’d like to do yer own cookin’—guess it wouldn’t hurt none,” he said tentatively.

Ariana almost smiled in her delight.

“Make out a list of what yer needin’,” he invited.

Ariana was perplexed. “I…I don’t have a pencil or…”

It was his turn to look frustrated.

“Reckon there ain’t one in camp,” he confessed. Then he shrugged broad shoulders. “Suppose ya need the usual grub stake. I’ve picked thet up plenty of times. I can git it for ya.”

Ariana let her eyes travel to the trunk against the wall. “You don’t suppose there is anything like…a pencil…in there?” she mused, nodding her head in its direction.

“Thought you’d looked.”

Ariana shook her head. “No, not at everything. I…I felt like I was…intruding. I just looked partway and then I…I found…I felt that I…that it was…private.”

He nodded, seeming to be pleased at her respect for privacy.

He crossed to the trunk and lifted up the lid. “Maybe we should look,” he said. Ariana joined him as he began to lift out some of the dresses. “Never seen ya wear this one,” he said of a blue check. “It looks kinda pretty,” he added, almost to himself.

“No,” said Ariana in a voice not much above a whisper. “I just took one…change of clothes. I…I use them…and my own, and wash them turn by turn. I…I…appreciate the chance to…change…but I didn’t think that I should…use all her clothes.”

He looked surprised but made no immediate comment.

“These were—my ma’s, I’m told,” he said frankly. He stopped in some confusion, then said, “She’s gone an’ won’t be needin’ ’em.”

“I’m…so sorry,” breathed Ariana.

He came to the blanket, lifted it up, and deposited it on the floor beside him. But Ariana could sense his surprise at the sight of all the baby garments.

Then rather roughly he began to lift out the tiny things and lay them on the floor beside the blanket. He stopped short again after lifting up another handful of small clothing.

He peered into the trunk. A little chest lay on the bottom, and beside it a book with a black cover.

“Look!” Ariana exclaimed excitedly. “A Bible.”

But Laramie was looking at the chest.

Carefully he lifted it up and opened the lid. In it were a number of small items. Brooches—hankies with lace trim yellowed with age—a tintype—buttons—lace—little bits of this and that which he did not take time to sort. He closed the lid again.

“The little chest…it must have been…your mother’s,” she said softly. “You should…keep it. It’s a treasure….”

He looked uncomfortable. He abruptly put the box down on the floor by his knee.

“Didn’t see any pencil or paper in there,” he said gruffly. “Guess it’s not much good to you.”

She reached down into the trunk. Almost tenderly she lifted up the Bible. She could tell from the covers that it had been well used, but she did not open it.

“You must take this, too,” she said in a whispery voice. “I know your mother would want you to have it.”

He did not argue but watched as she placed the Bible on top of the little chest. She had known as soon as the chest appeared that he would take it—would need to take it.

Quickly he rummaged through the rest of the belongings, but there was nothing else among the baby garments. An impatience seemed to have taken hold of him.

Ariana understood his mood. She stepped back. “I’ll put the things back,” she offered. She was sure he couldn’t wait to carefully study each item from the chest in private.

He nodded and picked up the newly discovered items, clearly anxious to be on his way.

Laramie did not forget about the supplies. Sam brought her meal the next morning—thumping on the door and calling out in a louder than necessary voice to identify himself.

When she unhooked the latch to let him enter, he came in growling.

“Day not fit fer man or beast, yet he decides he has to run off. He’ll freeze hisself to death, thet’s what. You’d think there was a train of gold or a—”

He stopped and looked nervously toward the young girl as if he had said too much.

“Said he needed supplies,” continued the man with another growl. “Don’t know what he’s needin’ thet wouldn’t wait.”

He cast a glance at her and Ariana felt embarrassed. Was he blaming her that Laramie had ridden off in the cold? Maybe he was right. She hadn’t given any thought to the weather when she had made her request. She had been selfish. She’d had no idea that the food staples would not be obtainable in the camp.

“Yer breakfast,” said Sam more softly.

“Thank you,” replied Ariana.

“Don’t know why you’d thank me fer it,” Sam said. “Thet stuff ain’t hardly fit to eat. Ole Rawley ain’t much of a cook. Beans an’ biscuits. Beans an’ biscuits. Thet’s all we ever git—an’ they ain’t even good biscuits.”

He set the plate on the table with a grimace and turned toward her. “See yer still readin’ thet book. Must have it near worn out by now,” he observed in a lighter tone.

Ariana managed a wobbly smile. “The pages—maybe,” she said, “but the message—no.”

“Message. Thet some secret code?”

Ariana smiled fully now. “Code? Not to a believer, it’s not.”

The old man frowned.

“It’s the Bible,” explained Ariana. When there was no response she continued. “God’s words to His people.”

“I know what the Bible is,” the old man retorted sharply. “My ma—” He shuffled uncomfortably and said no more about it. “Well—ya jest et up—thet—poor excuse fer breakfast,” said the man, “an’ I’ll be back fer the plate. How’s yer firewood?”

He turned to study the pile. “Look’s like the Kid got ya enough firewood to last ’til a week from Christmas,” he noted, and Ariana thought he looked relieved. “Guess ya need some fresh water, though.”

Then he looked at Ariana with some alarm. “Ya ain’t plannin’ on bathin’ today, are ya?”

“No—not today,” she replied, shaking her head.

“Good,” he said with feeling. “I sure weren’t anxious to do all thet haulin’.”

He left with the pail, and Ariana crossed to latch her door before turning to the food.

As determined as she had been to keep her strength up, she found it difficult to make herself eat the tasteless fare.