Whispers from Yesterday (28 page)

I should’ve told her I love her. I should’ve done it before now.

She glanced toward Mac. “I still can’t believe you’re here,” she said to him. “Did you look around the place while you were waiting?”

“Yes.”

“Too bad you didn’t come this summer while the boys were here.” She sat on the chair next to Mac. “Dusty runs a youth camp in the summer months. The boys live in the bunkhouse and learn to ride and rope and all sorts of things.”

Mac looked at Dusty. “Really? Sounds interesting. You’ll have to tell me more about it.”

“Another time maybe,” Dusty replied. “For now, why don’t you tell us why you’re here? It must be important for you to come all this way.”

“Yes. It is important.” Mac returned his gaze to Karen. “I’ve brought good news.”

“Good news?” she echoed, sounding curious. Nothing more.

“Something’s come to light, and I didn’t want to tell you over the phone. Too good for that. It seems your father didn’t leave you totally impoverished.”

“What are you talking about, Mac?”

“There’s money in an account we only recently discovered. Money the IRS can’t attach. It’s complicated to explain, but the bottom line is, it’s yours, Karen.”

“What’s mine?”

“Over three hundred thousand dollars.”

“Three hundred …” Her eyes widened in disbelief. She looked at Dusty. “Three hundred thousand dollars?”

“Yes,” Mac answered. “But I need you in California. This could take months to untangle.”

Dusty pushed off the porch railing. “This sounds like something the two of you should talk over alone.” He turned toward the steps. “I’ll take care of the horses.”

Then he strode away before anyone could see that his heart had just broken in two.

Thursday, December 11, 1941

Dear Diary,

It was reported on the BBC’s Danish news bulletin that, in support of their Japanese ally, Germany and Italy have declared war upon America. Mikkel says it is all the more important our foreign identity be concealed. We have carried forged papers almost since the war began, but I wonder how long it will be before the German Gestapo finds us out.

My God reigns, and the joy of the Lord is my strength. God cannot fail, nor is He discouraged, He will keep me in perfect peace because I trust in Him.

Esther

Friday, January 2, 1942

Dear Diary,

I spent the day in the nursery. Mikkel was away again. He does not tell me where he goes or what he does. He says it is better I not know. My darling Mikkel seeks to protect me.

I grow eager for the birth of this baby. When my fear of the future threatens to overwhelm me, I remember the promise God gave me about my descendants. Faith is believing things not seen, not in believing those things that can be seen. And so by faith, I trust God will do all He has said He will do.

I made a rag doll for the baby. I remember many years ago when Sophia taught me how to make my first rag doll. I was six or seven at the time. We sat at the kitchen table. It was winter, as it is now, and there was snow on the ground. The wind blew around the corners of the house and whistled beneath the eaves, rattling the windowpanes. But Mama had a fire burning bright in the stove, and the kitchen was toasty warm.

Sophia was so very patient as she taught me what she knew. It was a wonderful day. I wish I had brought that doll with me from America instead of leaving it packed in a trunk in Papa’s attic.

Does Sophia still have her doll? Does she ever look at it and remember me fondly?

I wish my sister could be with me when I give birth. I miss her in countless ways. I long to know if she has found contentment, if she has forgiven me, both for the wrongs she thinks I did her and for the wrongs I am guilty of.

Perhaps she is married. Perhaps she has a child or children of her own. It has been nearly three years since I have had a letter from home. It is terrible not to know how they fare in these troubled times.

O God in heaven, let Sophia know how much I love her, have always loved her.

Esher

TWENTY-SIX

Sophia awakened before dawn. She didn’t rise to turn up the heat, even though the air in her bedroom was cold. To do so would risk waking Karen, who slept on the cot in the parlor. Instead, she remained in bed, her comforter tucked around her for warmth.

Father, I don’t want Karen to leave us. Dusty doesn’t want her to leave us. How do we stop her? Or should we
try
to stop her? Maybe she’s meant to leave us. Was my dream of Esther from You? Was it a warning or merely my imagination? I don’t know. I don’t know what to do or what to say. Help me, Lord.

She opened her Bible, but the words seemed to float before her eyes, a jumble of letters that made no sense.

“Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace,” she quoted from memory, the words as familiar to her as her own name, “whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.”

Poor Karen. It was clear she was torn, that she didn’t know which direction to turn. And Sophia felt ill equipped to advise her. After all, three hundred thousand dollars was a fortune.

She closed her eyes and whispered, “Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.”

She knew she could play upon Karen’s affection for her. If she protested that, because of her heart condition and poor health, she needed Karen to stay, then she would stay. But Sophia also knew she couldn’t ask Karen
not
to go with her attorney. It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be reasonable.

Poor Dusty. She knew he was equally torn. Because he loved Karen, he wanted to do what was right. He didn’t want to impose his wants and desires upon her. Poor boy. The poor dear boy. He thought he was hiding his true feelings, but Sophia could see through to his aching heart.

Jesus, apart from You, I’m helpless. I’m an old woman. I have little in the way of worldly possessions. I don’t have any answers, but I know You have
all
the answers. You’re the Author and Perfecter of my faith. We need to see You moving in a divine and miraculous way.

Karen wasn’t asleep. She didn’t think she’d slept more than half an hour all night long. She’d tossed and turned for hours.

What am I supposed to do? What’s the right thing to do?

A year or two ago, she wouldn’t have thought three hundred thousand dollars was all that much. She could have easily spent it in one summer in Europe. But those days were gone. Three hundred thousand dollars meant a lot. It could change everything.

Is
this
what I have to give up, God? Then I’m not sure I can do it. Why
should
I do it?

She’d seen the way Mac looked at the ranch. He’d been nothing short of appalled by the lack of amenities. It hadn’t surprised her when he’d declined Dusty’s offer of a bed in the bunkhouse, opting instead to drive to Nampa and stay in a motel. He’d promised to return this morning.

What am I going to tell him?

She wished her grandmother or Dusty had told her what to do, but they hadn’t. Nor would they. She knew she would have to decide for herself.

“I wish I believed in You the way they do,” she whispered.

She waited a moment. Hoping …

But God didn’t speak.

With a sigh, she turned on the lamp next to her cot and reached for the twelfth of the thirteen journals.

“Maybe I shouldn’t feel so sorry for myself. It could be worse. I could be in Esther’s shoes, couldn’t I?”

She opened the book and looked at the familiar script without reading it. It was strange, how close she felt to this young woman. Through these entries, she’d watched Esther grow from an innocent child on an Oregon farm to a minister’s wife living in a war-torn country, a woman living out each day with courage and faith.

She smoothed her fingers over the open book. “I wish I had her faith.”

It seemed to Karen that Esther had never wavered. Not once in all those years. Not when her own sister had turned away in anger and bitterness. Not when she’d felt so alone and out of place in Denmark. Not even when her little daughter had died or when she’d miscarried her second child.

“What would Esther have done if she were me?” she asked aloud.

Of course, there was no answer to that question either. She began to read, hoping it would take her mind off the decision she had yet to make.

Bundled in a down-filled coat, his breath forming tiny clouds in front of his face, Dusty set about his morning chores while the earth and sky blended together in shades of gray. According to the calendar, autumn was officially a week away, but Dusty knew it wouldn’t be long before flurries of snow fell.

Would Karen be at the Golden T to see that first snowfall of the season? Or would she be enjoying the California sunshine with some of her old friends?

He wished he knew. He wished he could read her mind.

He’d almost gone up to the house to see her last night after Mac Gleason left. He’d almost told her he loved her and wanted her to stay, to marry him, to forget the money her attorney had found.

But he hadn’t done it. He couldn’t.

Not then. Not now.

This was a decision she had to make on her own. And whatever that decision was, Dusty was going to have to live with it too.

Delight in Me, My son, and I will give you the desires of your heart. That is My promise to all who believe in My name.

The moment the Voice touched his heart, Dusty stopped in his tracks, struck by the truth. He’d been expecting the worst. He’d been preparing himself for heartache and disappointment.

But if he truly believed God wanted the best for him, then his expectations should be just the opposite. He should expect that, no matter what happened, joy would be the result. Joy rather than sorrow.

Forgive me, Father.

Once before he’d relinquished Karen into God’s tender care, but somewhere along the line, he’d taken her back.

Lord, You have only good in mind for us. I give you Karen, and I trust You to do what is best in her life and in mine. You know I love her, but You love her even more. Whatever comes, whatever tomorrow may bring, I’ll delight in You all the days of my life, for You are the foremost desire of my heart.

A sense of peace washed over him, pervaded him, the first peace he’d felt since learning of Mac Gleason’s arrival at the Golden T.

“This is the day that the Lord has made,” he said aloud as he looked up at the brightening sky. “I will rejoice and be glad in it.”

Friday, January 9, 1942

Father God, we thank you for our daughter, Margaret Rose Christiansen, born at 2:00 this morning, healthy and beautiful. I give her to you, Jesus, and ask You to keep her safe. Draw her to You. Let her know You early in her earthly walk.

In Your blessed name I ask it. Amen.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Karen stared at the words in the journal, awash in disbelief.

Margaret Rose Christiansen.

January 9, 1942

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t mean … But it could and it did.

Even as she tried to deny it, she knew it was true. Her mother was the daughter of Esther Christiansen, not of Sophia Taylor.

Which meant Karen wasn’t Sophia’s granddaughter.

Tears stung her eyes as a sharp sense of grief and loss pierced her heart. It was as if someone she loved had died.

Why didn’t Grandmother tell me?
She closed her eyes.
But she isn’t really my grandmother, is she?

Following on the heels of her hurt came anger.

Why does everyone lie to me?

But Sophia hadn’t lied to her really. She’d given Karen these journals. She’d known if Karen read them she would realize what this entry meant.

But why?
Why?