Edge of the Wilderness (27 page)

“Grandmother says Mother loved red roses. So we’ll have red for Mother and Father. Pink for us children, and yellow for Uncle Elliot and Aunt Jane,” she said. From where she knelt in the garden she looked up at Gen. “And white for you and Grandmother, Gen.”

“What color for Hope?” Gen asked.

“Meg said pink for the children,” Mrs. Leighton said. “She is one of ours now.” She tapped Meg’s nose. “And you must teach her to call me Grandmother.”

Gen squeezed Mrs. Leighton’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she said, surprised when her eyes filled with tears.

The rosebushes arrived in a special container sent from a private garden. Gen lingered in the garden long after everyone else wandered off to pursue other concerns. From her seat on the swing beneath an oak tree, she gazed at the nine healthy bushes, marveling at the ability to order plants that might bloom the very first year they were planted. She was happy to see her vine obediently climbing the latticework up one side of the gazebo standing against the stone wall on the opposite side of the garden. Mrs. Leighton told her it was honeysuckle and would attract honeybees and hummingbirds to its orange flowers. It reminded Gen of the wild vine Jane had planted and replanted until it grew up and over the teachers’ cottage porch back at the mission in Minnesota.

Minnesota.
Gen closed her eyes, remembering. When she opened them, she looked up at the blue sky and, as she had as a child, began to imagine figures in the clouds: a horse’s head, a turtle; a bird. The game brought back sweet memories . . . and one deep hurt. She must never speak of it to anyone. She was a widow, a resident of New York State, mother to three adopted children. She would be content, she told herself. Sighing, she got up and went inside. It would be summer soon. She should be glad she wasn’t back in Minnesota where Elliot said drought was making it almost impossible to grow food, where life was chaos. She should be glad. But she was not.

For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.

—Isaiah 55:9

In the matter of my children, Aaron Riggs and Margaret Marie Dane, and my adopted daughter, Hope Ellen Dane, my desire is that they be remanded to the care of Mr. and Mrs. Elliot Stephen Leighton, to become their legal wards and to be educated in New York.

Gen’s dark eyes widened. She looked at Elliot and Jane, but neither of them returned her gaze. Studying their profiles, she could see they were not surprised. Nor was Mrs. Leighton. Even Aaron, who had been allowed to come, would not look at her. He stood behind Elliot, his hands stuffed in his pockets. At least, Gen thought, she caught a glimmer of a tear in his eyes.

The lawyer’s voice droned on, but Gen didn’t hear anything after the awful sentence that ripped away the center of her world. She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap and bit her lower lip. At least, she thought, she would not break down and sob. She sat, head bowed, while tears coursed down her cheeks and dripped off her jaw and onto her hands.
Why, Simon? What did I do?
She closed her eyes.

The lawyer’s voice receded to a background drone. She felt dizzy and realized she was hardly breathing.
I will not faint in a lawyer’s office,
she thought, and willed herself to breathe evenly. She must have done something terrible. She searched the past, castigating herself for every failure, every argument. There must be some clue, if only she could remember what she had done to make him do this. He was not mean-spirited. He had a reason. She must know. She must.

Elliot’s hand was on her arm. “Gen.”

She blinked and looked at him. He was handing her something. She looked stupidly around the room. Everyone had gone. Everyone except Jane and Elliot.

“This is from Simon. I’m sorry it’s taken so long but—”He thrust the letter at her and sat down. “You’ll understand why it had to be this way. Just read the letter.”

Beloved wife,

If you are reading this, it means that Elliot has succeeded in accomplishing the task with which I charged him on that day when I ordered you out of my room so that I could speak with him alone. Would that I could write something poetic, something beautiful that you would remember. Forgive me for not having the energy to say everything on my heart. I love you. You have given me everything a man could wish for. And now, I am giving you the only thing I can think of that will tell you how much I love you. Elliot has found Daniel Two Stars. I want you to go to him and to live a happy life.

Gen caught her breath. She put one hand over her mouth and blinked back fresh tears. How could he think she would do that? The words of Simon’s will came back. This was why he had given the children to Jane. To free her. She would not let him do it. She could not. She frowned and looked up at Jane.

“I know what you are thinking,” Jane said. “Keep reading. Don’t say anything until you finish reading.”

You cannot be both mother to my children and wife to Daniel. Society would not allow it. They would take their stupid hatreds and prejudices out on the children. Forgive me for the heartache this must cause you. As you read this, know that Elliot and Jane have already spoken to Aaron and Meg. My instructions were that if Aaron and Meg could not part with you willingly, that Elliot was to take the knowledge of Daniel to his grave. Again, the fact that you are reading this letter means they have, as much as they can, agreed that you should go. They will have a good home here in New York. An education and the best of futures. Elliot has promised me they will visit you.

I have loved you with all of my heart that did not already belong to Ellen. I believe you loved me in the same way—with all of your heart that did not already belong to Daniel Two Stars. Ellen and I are together again. I want the same for you and Daniel.

Someday, dear Genevieve, you will cross over and be rewarded for your unselfish commitment to me. I will be there and my love will not be diminished.

Until THAT DAY . . .

Simon

Gen laid the letter in her lap. She was trembling all over. “How—how can this be?” She looked from Jane to Elliot. “I can’t. I can’t just walk away from the children. I love them.”

“Of course you do,” Jane broke in. “And they love you. But they don’t want to go back to Minnesota. And you belong there. Not here.”

Gen rested her chin in the palm of her hand. Then, she got up and crossed the room to peer out the window and up the street toward the churchyard. She shook her head. “This is too—strange.” She looked at Elliot, her eyes pleading. “Why did he have you do this Elliot? Really. Why?”

“Is it so difficult to believe that he did it simply for you?” Jane interrupted. “Do you think you are the only one capable of unselfish love?”

“Of course not,” Gen said quickly. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Your emotions are in a muddle,” Jane said. “Take a walk. Think about it. We’ll be at the house.” She tugged on Elliot’s coat and reached inside. “While you are thinking, you can open this.” She pressed a small package into Gen’s hand and fairly shoved her out the door.

It was a beautiful spring day. Gen walked past the Leightons’ house and up the hill to the churchyard. Sitting down on the now-familiar cement bench beside Ellen’s and Simon’s graves, she laid the brown-paper package in her lap.

Oh Lord, show me what to do. This seems impossible. So selfish.

She untied the package in her lap, and stared in disbelief at a metal cross hanging from a beaded necklace. She closed her eyes. She could still see him, shaggy black hair, a plaid shirt with sleeves rolled up . . . and this very necklace.

The iron cemetery gate creaked. She turned her head just as Aaron stepped through. He came toward her, his hands shoved in his pockets. He sat next to, her on the stone bench. After a moment or two of awkward silence he leaned down and picked up a twig, twirling it between his thumb and index finger nervously. “We were waiting for you at the house.”

Gen sighed and picked up Two Stars’s necklace. “Do you remember this?”

Aaron nodded. “You used to have one just like it. What happened to it?”

“I took it off and put it away when I decided to marry your father,” she said. “Eventually I threw it away. To show God I meant to cut all the ties to the past and to be happy here.”

“But you aren’t happy here,” Aaron said softly, looking up at her, his dark brown eyes filled with understanding far beyond his years. “You love us and you want to do what is right. But you aren’t happy.”

“Neither are you. We are all sad. It’s a sad time in our lives.”

Aaron shook his head. “I don’t mean Father’s dying. With you, it’s different.” He pursed his lips together. “Father always said I grew up a lot when I was with him at Crow Creek. He said I had a gift for understanding other people’s problems.” He looked down at the grass. “I think maybe Father was right.”

Gen put her arm around Aaron’s shoulders. “I know he was right. Someday you are going to make him very proud by doing wonderful things for other people.”

“Let me start with you.” He cleared his throat. Pushing himself away from her motherly embrace, he said, “We want you to go home where you belong. We’ll come visit. It’s not like we’re saying good-bye or anything. I’m going to the military academy next year. Uncle Elliot said he would help me get in. Meg loves her Aunt Jane. She’s going to be very happy tending her rose garden and living here with Grandmother. And Hope—”

“Hope would forget me,” Gen said, her voice breaking. She swallowed hard. “She’s too young to remember.”

“We won’t let her forget you,” Aaron said abruptly. “We’ll never let her forget.”

Suddenly Aaron grabbed Gen. He hugged her fiercely. “You belong in Minnesota with Two Stars. Father wanted you to go. And so do
we.”
When Gen said nothing, he asked to see the necklace Two Stars had sent and quickly slipped it over her head. “You always told me to do what God wants. I think God wants me to become a soldier so I can go west and help as an interpreter. Sometimes it scares me, but I’m going to do it.” He looked at her again, his dark eyes shining with courage and honesty far beyond his years. “It seems to me God has gone to a lot of trouble for you and Two Stars. How can you say no?”

When Gen still did not speak, Aaron said, “Will you at least think about it?”

She nodded. “But I don’t think I will be able to change my mind.”

“He’s happy, Gen. He’s with Mother. Why shouldn’t you be with Two Stars? You aren’t abandoning us. We
like
it here in New York. And we want you to be happy.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

Gen shook her head slowly and stood up. “Your father used to do that.” She rumpled Aaron’s hair. “Although he didn’t have nearly as much hair to mess up.” She smiled. “Walk me back to the house.”

“What are you going to do?” he demanded as they opened the iron cemetery gate and stepped onto the road.

“I can’t leave.”

He pulled the gate closed and offered his arm. “Do you remember telling me about the time you argued with your father about coming to our house to school?”

Gen nodded, slipping her hand beneath his arm, realizing that he was taller than she.

“Do you remember what you yelled at your father?”

She let out a little breath of frustration and looked away. She nodded.

Aaron said it for her. “You said, ‘I’m not going and you can’t make me!’ And you said you finally realized your father knew what was best for you, even though at the time you didn’t understand it.”

Gen put her hand on Aaron’s arm. “All right, Mr. Thirteen-going-on-thirty. I understand what you are trying to say. Now hush and walk me home.”

“I can’t,” Aaron said. “I can’t walk you all the way to Minnesota.”

Together, they made their way back to Leighton Hall.

He wasn’t ready. Brushing away the sweat running down his face with the back of his sleeve, Two Stars squinted toward a farm wagon coming up the road from the direction of Fort Ridgely.

“You expecting company?” Jeb Grant teased, tossing another ear of corn into the back of his wagon and staring toward the newcomer. He clucked his tongue. “Hoo-ee. Neighbors must know some hi-falutin’ people. That there’s a parasol. I ain’t seen one of them since Marjorie’s ma carried one to our weddin’ back east.” He wiped the palms of his hands on his backside and headed back into his stand of corn to refill the burlap bag slung over his shoulder.

At the mention of the East, Daniel almost panicked. What if it was—he glanced down at the sweat staining the front of his shirt, the field dust splashed across his thighs. He brushed his hands through his shaggy black hair. It had grown too long this summer, what with working all day for Jeb and then building two log cabins. Robert and Nancy had insisted on finishing his first. But with all the work, things like haircuts hadn’t seemed important.

But as the wagon grew closer and he strained to see the tiny figure holding the white parasol, he nearly panicked. He smelled like a filthy field hand who hadn’t had a bath in a couple of days. He should run away, he thought. But the sight of her made him catch his breath, and so instead of disappearing into Jeb’s cornfield and buying himself some time to get presentable, he walked around the back of the farm wagon and headed for the road.

The tiny figure perched on the wagon seat lifted her hand to her throat, and then raised it to shield her eyes, as if the parasol didn’t even exist. She motioned to the wagon driver and he pulled his team up. Tossing the parasol into the wagon bed behind her, she jumped down from the wagon seat and began to run. He felt as he had in the dream long ago, as if he could not move . . . but he must have managed it, because there she was in his arms, looking up at him with those blue eyes, her eyes brimming with tears as she whispered his name in Dakota.

When she looked up at him, he traced her eyebrows, ran his finger along her hairline and her jaw, touching the dimple in her chin. “Those eyes have followed me everywhere. Just as I said that night when you stood on Miss Jane’s porch in the moonlight.” He clutched her to him and now it was his turn to cry. Tears of joy welled up in his eyes and overflowed, running down his cheeks, dampening her dark hair. He held her close, looking across the road to the cabins he and Robert had built this summer. They were small—only two rooms. But he had dreams. Not big dreams, like Jeb Grant, who wanted to be the biggest landholder in the county. No, Daniel thought with a smile. His dreams were small compared to Jeb’s. He only wanted this woman in his arms and the chance to add another room to the little cabin across the road someday. For a son. Or perhaps a daughter with abundant dark hair and blue eyes.