Bride's Flight from Virginia City, Montana (20 page)

“Velkommen,” she beamed. “Our home is your home as long as you remain under our roof. My name is Rebecca.”

She was short and slender, and dark red hair gleamed under the dark mesh covering on her head.

Zeph lifted his hand to touch the brim of his hat, but it was hanging on a peg in the hall. He touched his forehead anyway and smiled. “Danke, Missus Yoder. I feel very much at home already.”

“We will pray and then sit,” said Augustine. “Everything is cooling off.”

Rebecca laughed. “Just because the food does not smoke like your blacksmith shop, you think it will turn to ice in a few minutes.”

“Still, we’ll pray.”

Zeph bowed his head as Augustine prayed in Pennsylvania Dutch. At his “amen,” Zeph added his own and sat down with them to the meal: chicken, dumplings, a soup.

“This looks much better than train food, Missus Yoder.”

“Rebecca. Well, I am glad to hear it, but it is only a small supper.”

“She means there are only three of us,” said Augustine. “She is happiest when she is cooking for our sons and our daughter and their families. Or for the whole church.”

“Well, once you have put the pot on the stove it is as easy to cook for fifty as it is for five.”

“Start with the sauerkraut soup,” suggested Augustine. “Do you have sauerkraut out west? Very good. Cabbage that is pickled. Great flavor. And the chicken and dumplings, go ahead, fill your plate, taste one of the dumplings, very good—”

“Augustine, for heaven’s sake,” Rebecca said with a laugh, “leave the poor boy alone. It sounds like you are trying to sell him something you have made with your hammer and tongs. Let him eat what he eats. Would you like some coffee with your meal, Zephaniah?”

“Why, thank you, Rebecca, I would like that very much. You’re right, Mister Yoder, the soup is full of flavor.”

“Ah, you see, Rebecca. Now a dumpling—”

“Augustine, enough. Zephaniah, how was your trip?”

“Well, the children saw buffalo and a Sioux hunting party, and they met some cavalrymen from Fort Laramie, so I guess for them it was pretty eventful.”

“It is a lonely land, they tell me.”

Zeph ate and swallowed and then spoke.

“Well, there are vast stretches of open country with not a building or a person in sight, Missus Yoder, but some folk like it that way, and I have to admit I’m one of them. The wind and rain are fresh out of the Lord’s kitchen, and you can see the rims of heaven and earth, sitting astride your saddle in the tall mountains.”

“I am told your Charlotte has a property out there.”

“That’s true. Her brother Ricky made the purchase, but she has been running it since his death.”

“Dairy cattle?”

“Beef.”

“How long since her brother passed away?” “Only a few years, ma’am.”

“I remember Ricky well,” said Augustine. “A fine boy. Very loyal to his father. That is why he left us.”

“Zephaniah, will you have some snitz pie?” asked Rebecca, changing the subject. “It is a pie made with plenty of dried apples and brown sugar and butter.”

“I’d like a slice very much.”

“And perhaps some of our vanilla and mint ice cream with that? Augustine makes it.”

“Thank you.”

She placed the pie and ice cream before him and waited like a mother waits for a favorite child to eat hearty. “Is it to your liking?”

“I haven’t tasted a better pie in years, Missus Yoder.” “Now you are making a joke.”

“Ma’am, I am a bachelor, and I am telling you the plain truth.”

“But don’t you meet with your Charlotte socially? Surely she would bake a good Amish pie for you now and then.”

“At the church picnic I generally have a good feed. But no, ma’am, Charlotte and I do not see one another socially. Until this train trip east, I guess I haven’t spoken more than two dozen words to her in the past year.”

Rebecca frowned, her eyebrows coming together. “Why is that?”

“Well, I suppose we are both very busy. I have a ranch and she has a bigger one. It takes a lot of hard work, dawn to dusk.”

“Is it common for a woman out west to run a ranch and a household?”

“No, Missus Yoder, not common, but Charlotte is very good at it. And her spread is no small enterprise. She has ten men working for her.”

A sudden chill descended on the table. Zeph felt it at once and looked up from what was left of his pie and ice cream. Rebecca and Augustine were looking at each other with the kind of expression on their faces that Zeph would have translated as, “You see what becomes of our women when they leave the church?”

Augustine pushed his chair back. “Will you walk with me to the barn, Zephaniah? I want to check on the horses. It will give my Rebecca time to clean up in here and also to prepare your bedroom.”

Augustine tugged on his overcoat with the cape and Zeph his brown sheepskin jacket. The stars were glittering in the cold night sky like broken glass. Augustine carried a lantern to the barn and looked carefully at all three of his horses, each in its own stable. He rubbed their ears and spoke to them soothingly.

“Shall I pitch them some hay, Mister Yoder?” “Yah. How many horses do you keep at your farm, Zephaniah?”

Zeph located the pitchfork and set to work. “Well, if I have a good spring, I hope to have eleven.”

“Eleven? Yah? And what about your Charlotte? How many horses will she have this spring?”

“Well, if she has a decent spring, my guess is she will have around ninety-five or so.”

“What? So many? Is it true?”

“Some of the spreads down around Texas have remudas that number in the hundreds.” “Remuda?”

“Spanish for a change of horses. It’s the horse herd the hired hands get their remounts from. We do as much as we can with our horses out west, Mister Yoder. There’s friends of mine who think if you can’t do a job from the back of a horse it ain’t worth doing.”

Augustine barked his laugh. “So you care very much for your horses in Montana and Texas?”

“A man that doesn’t care for his horse is a fool, Mister Yoder.

They are the difference between life and death when you’re out on the prairie.”

They walked from the barn to the blacksmith shop. Augustine wanted to make sure the coals were well banked and there would be no danger of a spark starting a fire.

“You did not mind working with me today, Zephaniah?”

“I enjoyed it very much, sir.”

“You would do it again?”

“I would.”

“Well, I have meetings in the morning, but I hope to be back in the smithy after lunch. How does that suit you?” “I’ll meet you there.”

“Or at lunch. Rebecca will certainly be expecting you at our table.”

“All right.”

Augustine glanced up at the February stars. “I never tire of God’s handiwork. In my own poor way, I try to do what I can to emulate him in my shop. I try to make everything come together just so.”

“I know what you mean. But when I look at the Rockies it puts me in my place, Mister Yoder. On moonlit nights, with the peaks glowing with snow, you kind of feel you’ve died and gone to heaven. I do the best I can with my hands, but it’ll never be like the work of the Master.”

Augustine looked at him. “You think about such things?”

“When you spend whole days in the saddle, you get to think about a lot of things.”

Inside the house, Rebecca was waiting with an armful of towels. “Zephaniah, I have your room ready. Here are some towels when you wish to wash up.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” “Now just follow me.”

He walked after her down a short hall to an open door that looked to be about three inches thick. Inside was a bed; chair; desk; washstand with basin and jug; and a freestanding, full-length mirror. A candle burned beside the bed.

“Well, that looks mighty cozy, Missus Yoder.”

“Rebecca. It was our Daniel’s right up until the day he was married. This room has many good memories for Augustine and me.”

“Thank you for fixing up such a special place for me, ma’am. I could’ve made do in the barn.”

“The barn!” she snorted and then said something in Pennsylvania Dutch. “You are not a cow.”

“I sure admire that quilt you put on the bed.”

“It is the lone star. Those are log cabin blocks around it.”

“My Rebecca made this only last winter,” Augustine spoke up. “Many hours, many fine stitches sitting by the fire.”

“Hush, Father, there is no need to say all that.”

“It will keep me plenty warm, I can see that, just as if I’d made my bed in the stove.”

Rebecca smiled. “Well, good night then. If you need anything, we are upstairs.”

“I’ll be fine, Missus Yoder. Good night.”

“God bless.”

When they had left, Zeph shut the heavy door and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress felt pretty firm, and he was glad for that. He watched the candle burn and let what thoughts he had been holding back for a quiet moment come tumbling into his head. He was pleased that the first ones were images of Charlotte—her blue eyes, her golden hair down around her shoulders and uncombed, her lips, her smile.

What was she doing right now? What would she be doing tomorrow? When would he get a chance to see her again?

He lay back on the bed, his feet still planted on the floor.

No way around it. This was her childhood home. Shunned or not, she was an insider; he was an outsider. She fit in; he was like a donkey kicking up its heels among palominos.

It’s Thursday night,
another part of his mind cut in,
so that gives you the weekend, and then you’d better be gone.

“I know it,” he said out loud.

But gone where?

He thought about the passage from Revelation again. Raber calling himself the Destroyer made sense enough, but what was the Place of Destruction? The first woe was past—the holdup at the train? But what were the second two woes? Especially if Raber only meant to see them one more time and then kill them.

The Place of Destruction. The two woes.
Zeph felt there was a message from Raber for him in those phrases, but he couldn’t figure it out. There was a knock on the door, and he almost jumped.

“Mister Parker.” It was Augustine’s voice. “I am sorry to disturb you. Could you please come to the front door? There is someone here to see you, and it is urgent.”

Zeph sprang to his feet. Had something happened to Charlotte or Cheyenne or Cody? He came out of his bedroom. Augustine was gone. The house seemed deserted. He made his way to the front door and stepped outside. A person was standing by the road.

“Who’s there?” he asked.

The person did not answer. Zeph walked up to them in his shirtsleeves. A woman in a bonnet turned to face him.

“Charlotte.” He wanted to hug her, but her face was like rock, and he hung back. “I thought I wouldn’t see you for days. What’s wrong?”

She reached out and took one of his hands in hers. Her fingers were like ice, and her eyes like dark pits.

“I thought I could keep my secrets forever. But I realize it cannot be done. God will not have it.”

Fear tore down the track of his heart like a wild horse.

“Charlotte. What is it?”

“You call me Charlotte. No one else here does, do they? Why is that, Zephaniah?”

“I thought it was because they know you by another name, a childhood name.”

“Oh, yes. They know me by another name.” She reached a hand to his cheek. “Thank you for all your gallantry and kindness. And now it is finished between us.”

“What are you talking about? What have I done?”

“No, it is nothing you have done. It is I. My hair should be sheared in shame. You know me by the name Charlotte Spence. But that is not who I am. I have another name I thought I could leave buried in Pennsylvania, but I find I cannot. Now everything in my life has caught up with me, and you will see I am nothing more than one great lie.”

“Charlotte—”

She put her fingers to his mouth. “Hush. No more of that. My real name is Lynndae Raber. The Angel of Death is my brother.”

Chapter 23

L
ynndae finished buttoning her sky-blue dress and then put the long light-blue apron over it, fastening the apron at the back with pins. She looked in the mirror and placed the white prayer covering on her head—her blond hair had been pinned up as tightly as she could manage.
Perhaps too tightly,
she thought,
I am going to get a headache.

The tabby with the coffee-colored fur on her tummy rubbed against Lynndae’s legs, purring like some sort of small train engine. She smiled, bent down, picked the cat up, and cuddled her.

“Guten morgan,
Snitz,” she cooed. “It would be nice if they would let you into the meeting with me.” The cat pushed her head against Lynndae’s face.

There was a tap at the door. “Lynndae, the pastors are ready.”

“Thank you. I will be right out.”

Lord, please be with me at this hour. Help me to be honest with them and also with myself.

She opened the door with the cat still in her arms. Mary Beachey, Sarah’s mother, smiled. She took the cat from Lynndae and handed it off to her daughter, who stood nearby. “Sarah, please take care of our little Princess Snitz.”

“Yes, but she will be on the loose once I leave to teach school, Mama.”

Mary came with Lynndae into the room where four men were waiting, closed the door, and sat beside Lynndae in the center of the room. Augustine Yoder nodded and stood up. He prayed for several minutes and then sat down again.

“Do you know all the pastors, Miss Raber?” he asked in Pennsylvania Dutch. “Here to my right is David Lapp. On my left, Malachi Kauffman. And Moses Beachey you know.”

Lynndae inclined her head.

“We wanted first of all to offer thanks to you for bringing Samuel Troyer and Elizabeth Kauffman back to us. It is our understanding that your journey was not without its hazards. We are grateful God’s hand of protection was upon you.”

“Thank you, Pastor Yoder, but I must tell you that God worked through the person of Mister Zephaniah Parker in a very great way—”

Augustine held up a hand. “We will speak of your young man later, Miss Raber.”