A Hopeful Heart (18 page)

The odd desire that had pressed at Tressa’s chest earlier returned, making her gasp. Mrs. Wyatt’s brow immediately creased. “Tressa? What is it, darlin’?”

Tressa caught Mrs. Wyatt’s hands. “Ma’am, how can you be so certain that God wants what is best for us?” Long-buried memories of her father reading from a big black book tried to surface, but so much time had passed, the remembrance was like a wisp of smoke— impossible to grasp.

Mrs. Wyatt chuckled. “Why, I know because I’ve witnessed His goodness again an’ again. He an’ me . . . we’ve been on a first-name basis, you might say, ever since I was a young girl. I trust Him.”

Tressa considered her parents’ deaths, the lonely years with her aunt and uncle, the rejection of the other girls at the ranch. “But not everything that happens is good.”

Mrs. Wyatt pursed her lips for a moment, and when she spoke, her low, husky voice wavered with emotion. “We can’t really define good, can we, Tressa? Good for one person might be ruination for another. The problem with our human eyes is that we can only see the right now. But God? He sees around the corner, over the hill, and clean to the horizon. He knows what’s comin’, an’ He knows what we need to be prepared for what’s comin’. So sometimes those things we face that we don’t understand—the things we think of as bad—are really for our good down the line. Does that make sense to you, Tressa?”

She shook her head, releasing a rueful laugh. “No, ma’am, it really doesn’t.”

Mrs. Wyatt squeezed Tressa’s hands and released them. “Someday it will. You just gotta trust. Even when you don’t understand, you still gotta trust. That’s called faith, an’ it’ll always carry you through.”

After wishing Mrs. Wyatt a good-night, Tressa climbed the stairs and crept into her room. Sallie was already asleep, her red curls tumbling across her pillow and her face bearing a slight smile. Was she dreaming of the kiss she had shared with Cole in Abel Samms’ barn? Tressa’s heart ached anew at the realization that Cole wouldn’t be allowed to court Sallie.

“There is no hope for you, Sallie. Not with Cole.” Tressa whispered the words into the quiet room. Then she shifted to gaze out toward the pale, star-dotted sky. Mrs. Wyatt had indicated God knew what was best. What might God deem best for Sallie?

She tiptoed to the window and rested her fingertips against the smooth glass. “God, do You have something good waiting for me, too?”

18

Tressa awakened to a dark room, lit only by pale moonlight. Through the lace-covered window, she could see stars twinkling like diamonds in a black velvet sky. Although the dark sky should have lured her back to sleep, thoughts of the upcoming courting party—and all the work Mrs. Wyatt had said must be done in preparation for it—prevented her from relaxing. The older woman had looked so tired last night. Perhaps Tressa could prepare breakfast and allow her benefactor a few extra minutes of rest.

She slipped from her bed and dressed in the murky gray, cringing against the groan of the bureau drawer and the creak of the floorboards. With her hairbrush in hand, she tiptoed downstairs, where she lit a lantern and brushed her long tresses into a neat tail.

A plaintive meow sounded from the pantry. With a smile, Tressa opened the door, and Isabella dashed out, tail straight up and whiskers splayed in every direction. With a little cry of delight, Tressa scooped the cat into her arms. Isabella alternately purred and meowed a funny little
mrrp
that sounded more like the chirp of a bird, bumping her head against Tressa’s chin. Tressa laughed softly in response.

“Yes, I missed you, too. I didn’t see you at all last week! How are you, kitty?”

The purring increased in volume, and Isabella worked her paws against Tressa’s shoulder. Being so enthusiastically greeted filled Tressa with warmth. Pressing her face into the cat’s soft ruff, she released a sigh. “Oh, Izzy-B, it will be very hard to leave the ranch when Mrs. Wyatt finds my match. I don’t wish to leave you behind. . . .”

Carrying the cat, she crossed to the table and sat. Isabella perched on Tressa’s lap, her golden eyes peering into Tressa’s face as if inviting her to share her thoughts. Tressa wound her fingers through the cat’s warm fur as she replayed Mrs. Wyatt’s assurance that God had good plans for His children. A fear stabbed fiercely in the center of her chest, and her hands stilled on Isabella’s neck.

“What if . . . what if God has no plans for me because I . . . I’m not one of His children?”

Tressa hugged the cat close, her heart pounding. “How can one know for sure that she belongs to Him?”

A rustle at the kitchen door startled Tressa, and Isabella wriggled from her grasp to dart beneath the table. Mrs. Wyatt shuffled around the corner in her nightgown, her scraggly gray hair sticking out around her face. Isabella scampered out and wove around the woman’s feet. Mrs. Wyatt leaned down and gave the cat a stroke before facing Tressa.

“Land o’ mercy, girl, you gave me a fright. Heard somebody talkin’ down here an’ couldn’t figure who’d be wanderin’ the house at this hour.” Her brow crinkled. “You all right? Feelin’ poorly? I can get the tonic from the medicine box if you need it.”

Tressa did feel sick, but she knew the kind of illness that plagued her—a heart sickness—wouldn’t be cured by a tonic from a bottle. Rising, she held out her hands to Mrs. Wyatt. “I didn’t mean to wake you, but since you’re up, would you . . . would you please tell me how one can be certain she is a child of God?”

Mrs. Wyatt gaped at Tressa with such a look of astonishment that Tressa shrank back in embarrassment. Clasping her hands against her ribs, Tressa ducked her head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I shouldn’t be so bold.”

Mrs. Wyatt bustled forward and took Tressa’s hands. She squeezed hard, tears glittering in her faded eyes. “Oh, Tressa-darlin’, I need to apologize to you. No, you shouldn’t
need
to be so bold. I should’ve explained this to you long ago. I knew your people hadn’t . . .” Her voice caught, and she gave Tressa a little push toward the table. “You sit down. I’m gonna fetch my Bible, an’ you an’ me’ll have us a serious talk.”

For the next half hour, Mrs. Wyatt shared passages of Scripture with Tressa, beginning in Isaiah where God promised to send a Messiah to save the people from their sins and ending in Luke with the death and resurrection of Jesus. Her fervent tone, the tears that continued to wink in her eyes, communicated the sincerity and depth of her beliefs. Tressa battled tears as the knowledge that God loved her enough to allow His own son to die as a sacrifice for her wrongdoings took root in her heart.

“So you see, Tressa, to become a child of God, you just need to accept what Jesus did. Ask Him to be
your
Savior. An’ from that day forward, you’ll be one o’ His—a true child of God.” Mrs. Wyatt closed the Bible and rested her palms on the worn black cover. Her gaze bored into Tressa’s, her expression serious. “Is that what you’re wantin’ to do, child?”

A lump in her throat prevented Tressa from speaking, but she nodded eagerly. Everything within her strained toward the peace and assurance of belonging to God.

“Then talk to God, Tressa. Tell Him you’re wantin’ His Son to be your Savior.”

Tressa linked her fingers together and pressed her knuckles to the underside of her chin. Eyes tightly closed, she whispered, “God, I . . . I want You to be my Father. I thank You for sending Jesus, and I ask that He wash away my sins, just like Mrs. Wyatt read in Your book.” A tingling warmth built from the center of Tressa’s chest outward, filling her with a joy beyond anything she’d ever known before. She identified the source of the joy: love—a deep, pure love that felt like it would be a part of her until her last days.

Tears escaped from behind her closed lids, and a smile broke across her face. “Thank You, God, for this wonderful gift. Thank You for making me Your child. Thank You for loving me. . . . Thank You. . . .” Her praises continued while warm tears ran down her cheeks and across the backs of her hands. When she finally opened her eyes, tiny fingers of sunlight were slipping through the lace curtains, casting a soft glow on Mrs. Wyatt’s beaming, tear-stained face. Tressa released a giggle. “You look like an angel!”

Mrs. Wyatt blasted a guffaw and smoothed down her rumpled hair. “Lands, girl, what a thing to say.”

Swallowing a bubble of laughter, Tressa reached out and embraced the older woman. She pressed her wet cheek to Mrs. Wyatt’s. “Thank you for telling me about God. I feel loved again now, thanks to you.”

Rough hands patted Tressa’s back. “You’ve always had love, darlin’. You’re just recognizin’ it now. An’ you don’t owe me any thanks. That love’s open to anyone who asks. So thank God, not me.”

Tressa knew she would thank God every day for the rest of her life for the precious gift He’d given her. Her circumstances hadn’t changed. She was still the unwanted niece of Leo and Gretchen Neill; she still faced an uncertain future in an unfamiliar land. But somehow the fears and heartache had melted away. In their stead, a glimmer of hope resided. Only God could create such a change.

Tressa offered a shy smile. “But if you hadn’t told me how to know Him, I wouldn’t be His child. So thank you, too, Aunt Hattie.”

The woman beamed. “Ah, Tressa-girl.” They shared another hug.

Footsteps sounded overhead, indicating that the other girls were awake. Tressa leaped from the table. “Oh! I came down early to start breakfast, but—”

Aunt Hattie scuttled toward the door, holding her robe closed at the throat. “I’ll go get dressed an’ then come help you. Just make flapjacks—don’t take much time an’ they’ll fill everybody nicely.”

Tressa stayed busy frying flapjacks for nearly an hour. But finally the girls’ and ranch hands’ bellies were filled, and Aunt Hattie handed out the assignments for the usual Saturday chores and the additional responsibilities of preparing for the courting party. The list went on and on, and Saturday faded in a blur of activity. By the evening, Tressa was almost too tired to climb the stairs, and she fell into bed with a sigh of relief that nighttime had arrived.

Sallie tugged her nightgown over her head and grinned at Tressa. “You look as worn out as an old man’s slippers.”

Tressa managed a weak laugh at Sallie’s analogy, and the other girl blew out the lamp and climbed into the bed. The mattress bounced as Sallie settled herself against the pillow. Tressa closed her eyes, sleep wrapping itself around the fringes of her mind. But then Sallie’s voice pulled her from the cocoon of slumber.

“You’ve been lookin’ all day like a cat with a bellyful of cream. Did ye have a talk with Aunt Hattie?”

A smile lifted Tressa’s lips as she remembered her quiet moments with Aunt Hattie and the wonderful change that had come into her life. “We had a talk.”

“Dare I hope your contented smile means she found a way for me an’ Cole to be matched?”

Regret washed away the peace of only seconds ago. Tressa rolled sideways. “Oh, Sallie, I’m so sorry. I should have told you last night, but you were already asleep . . .” She swallowed, seeking words that would offer the least amount of pain. “The only men who will be allowed to court us are those who have established ranches. It . . . it’s just as you feared. I’m so sorry.”

Seconds ticked by silently. Sallie lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. Although the darkness of the room hid the girl’s features from view, Tressa sensed sadness emanating from Sallie, and her heart ached along with her friend’s.

After a long while, Sallie emitted a short, humorless chuckle. “Ah, well, I should’ve known it weren’t to be. A girl like me . . . the good breaks don’t come.”

“Oh, but, Sallie—”

“G’night, Tressa.” Sallie rolled over and tugged the sheets high, hiding her face. But the slight vibrations of the mattress spoke of silent tears flowing.

Tressa lay back and closed her eyes. The peace that had held her captive during the day wavered in light of Sallie’s deep heartache, but rather than giving in to despair, she closed her eyes and asked her Father to bring comfort to Sallie. She fell asleep, certain God’s good plan for Sallie would be revealed.

Abel watched Aunt Hattie charge up the church aisle with her usual arm-swinging pace. She spun to face the waiting congregation with a huge smile. “Well, fellers, the time has come for that courtin’ party I promised you. Celebration’ll be at my place the ninth o’ July.”

An excited murmur rolled through the church. Abel sensed Cole and Ethan exchanging grins, but he didn’t turn his head to look. Instead, he focused on Aunt Hattie’s round, flushed face. She looked tickled as could be. Seeing her stand in front of the church and make her announcement reminded him of the day she’d queried the men on what kind of women they’d choose for marrying. Now, just like then, his stomach rolled in nervousness. Maybe he wouldn’t even go to the party. But from the gleeful whispers bouncing from pew to pew behind him, he figured none of the other single men would miss it.

Aunt Hattie continued. “Reckon our springs’ll still be twangin’ from the big Fourth of July doin’s in town, but that’ll be all right—make the party more fun. The gals an’ me’ve cooked up somethin’ special, too.” The excited whispers rose in volume as Aunt Hattie explained auctioning off basket lunches to raise money for the church roof. Her grin wide, she pointed to the men. “You fellas bring your dancin’ feet an’ full pockets so we can get a good start on that roof fund.”

Her smiling face swung to include everyone in the pews. “ ’Course you know everyone’s invited—party’s for the whole county, an’ I’m hopin’ it’ll be a rip-roarer. Ladies, if you want to bring a pie or cake or special dish to add to the table, I won’t complain. So plan on bein’ at my place on the ninth.” She clapped her hands together and gave Brother Connor a nod. “That’s it. Thanks for lettin’ me have a minute of your time.”

The service ended with a rousing rendition of “Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow.” Abel felt certain by the booming bass voices echoing off the rafters the men were already thinking how blessed they’d be if they managed to capture the heart of one of Hattie’s girls.

After engaging in their customary greetings, he and his men headed for the wagon. His stomach was growling, but Abel didn’t look forward to the cold lunch waiting. He glanced across the churchyard and spotted Aunt Hattie and her girls climbing into her wagon. His mouth watered, remembering the fine meals Miss Tressa and Miss Sallie had placed on his table during their week in his kitchen.

“I’m goin’ to that party, an’ I’m buyin’ Miss Sallie’s basket.”

Cole’s bold declaration matched Abel’s thoughts so closely Abel wondered if he’d spoken aloud.

Ethan punched Cole’s shoulder. “You buy Miss Sallie’s an’ I’ll buy Miss Tressa’s.”

Abel prickled at Ethan’s comment. He placed his Bible on the wagon seat and then plunked himself beside it. “You fellas have grand ambitions, considering how many men’ll be biddin’ on those baskets.” His voice came out harsher than he’d intended, but he made no effort to gentle it. “Best figure on spendin’ a good month’s pay to win the privilege of time with either of those girls. The ranch owners’ll be biddin’ high.”

Ethan’s brow crunched. “You plan on biddin’, Abel?”

Vince folded himself onto the opposite half of the wagon seat and released a snort. “Abel’s too smart to squander his money that way. He’ll put his dollar in the offering basket in church to contribute ’stead of actin’ like a plumb fool an’ hollerin’ out amounts at a party.”

Abel flicked the reins, battling a grin. The grumpiness in Vince’s tone made Abel think the old cowboy was wishing he was a few years younger so he could court one of those girls. Abel answered Ethan’s question. “I’ve got no plans to bid, Ethan. I figure the competition’ll be stiff—men outnumber gals at least five to one. ’Sides that, Aunt Hattie’ll be doin’ a mess of cookin’, so nobody’ll go hungry, whether he bids or not.”