Whispers from Yesterday (5 page)

“Come.” Sophia patted the seat of the chair across from her. “Join me. I have something for you.”

Seeing no gracious way to avoid doing her grandmother’s bidding, Karen crossed the porch and sat in the proffered chair.

Sophia lifted some clothbound books toward her. “These were my sister’s. Esther was her name. I thought you might like to have them.” She motioned toward her feet where there was a stack of similar-looking books. “And those, too.”

Karen took those that her grandmother was offering, placed them in her lap, then opened the top one. She was surprised to find handwritten entries rather than typeset print. “It’s a diary.” She checked the others, finding the same neat script in them all, then glanced up. “Why would you want me to have these?”

“I want you to read them. I think they’ll help you to know and understand your family. I suspect your mother said as little as possible about me.” She closed her eyes. “And she didn’t remember Esther.”

Karen didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to read old diaries, especially those of a poor farmer’s daughter.

Sophia looked at her. “Esther and I grew up in eastern Oregon. Then she married and moved away. I never got to see her again. After her death, her journals were sent to me. From them, I learned what an extraordinary woman she became. A woman with a remarkable faith in God and tremendous courage. I think you might discover the same.”

“All right. I’ll keep them in my room while I’m here at the Golden T.”

That was noncommittal enough to get her off the hook, in case she never opened one of these book covers again.

And, if it was in her power, she wasn’t going to be at the Golden T long enough to read anything.

Saturday, August 22, 1936

Oh, Diary,

I just returned from the Draker barn dance. I danced and danced and danced and danced. Best of all were the times I danced with Pastor Mikkel Christiansen.

Mikkel.

Oh, Mama would wash my mouth out with soap if she knew I was thinking of him by his given name, let alone writing it down that way. She wouldn’t care that I am seventeen and not a child any longer. She would still punish me.

But I cannot help it. It is how I think of him all the time now.

Mikkel.

He danced with me twice, and he gave me the most dazzling smile afterward. Both times.

Sophia did not even speak to me during the drive home, Mikkel only danced with her once, and I know she is jealous. But I didn’t care that she didn’t want to talk. The old Ford is too noisy anyway.

And why would I want to talk to her when I could close my eyes and think about Mikkel?

Esther

Monday, August 31, 1936

Dear Diary,

Sophia and I had a horrible argument this afternoon. We were picking tomatoes in the garden for Mama, just the two of us. All of a sudden, Sophia accused me of flirting with Mikkel. She said I should be ashamed for throwing myself at
Pastor Christiansen the way I’ve been doing ever since he came to our church.

But I have not been flirting. I have not thrown myself at him. I am quite sure I have not done anything of the kind. I go to his Sunday school class, and he speaks to me after services every week. But I have done nothing to be ashamed of. Mama and Papa would let me know if I had, and I told Sophia so. She said they are blind to what I am doing because I am their favorite daughter.

But that is not true either. Sophia has always been the apple of Papa’s eye. She is much smarter than I am, even though she is only a year and a day older. She was the most popular girl in the class, all through high school, and Bobby Kingston asked her to marry him before they graduated. She refused because she was not in love with him. So it is her own fault if she does not have a boyfriend.

But how did she know if she loved Bobby or not?

I have never been in love. Is that what I am feeling for Mikkel Christiansen? Is it possible to fall in love with a man without ever being alone with him?

Oh, I am confused and most dreadfully vexed. Yesterday, Mikkel’s sermon was about taking all hopes and dreams to the Lord, no matter how big or how small. He said God cares about us so much, He wants to be involved in all matters of our lives. Even the smallest of details. I never thought about God caring for little everyday things.

I wonder if it would be all right to ask God to make Mikkel love me.

Esther

FOUR

All her life, Karen had lived according to certain rules.

She’d attended the right schools. She’d lived in the right exclusive neighborhoods and driven the right make and model of expensive cars. She’d belonged to the right social and philanthropic organizations. She’d played golf and tennis at the right country clubs and vacationed at the right resorts around the world. She’d been surrounded with the right friends, and she’d dated the right men. Her calendar had been filled weeks and months in advance, making certain she was seen where she should be seen—at the right charity functions, at the right parties, even at the right political rallies.

But there was nothing on her calendar now. There weren’t any friends to call or parties to attend. Everything familiar to her was gone, stripped from her, first by her father’s foolish ambition and then by his selfish cowardice.

She was pondering the futility and emptiness of her life when her grandmother rapped on her bedroom door, about an hour after they’d finished eating an early supper, just the two of them.

“Karen?”

“Yes.”

The door opened. “Are you ready to go for that ride?” Sophia stepped into the room. “Dusty is here with the horses.”

“Ride?”

“Remember. I told you this morning that I’d asked him to take you out on horseback and show you around.”

“But I thought after—”

“Dusty is a man of his word.”

Inwardly Karen winced. He’d promised Sophia, and so, no matter how he personally felt about Karen, he was here to keep that promise. Maybe he considered her a challenge, like one of those delinquent boys of his.

“Do this for me, will you, dear?” Sophia asked softly. “There is so much more about this ranch than what you see on the surface. I think you’ll fall in love with it too, if you give it a chance.”

Karen doubted that. Still, she couldn’t refuse her grandmother’s request. She was, after all, a charity case.

“All right,” she answered. “Give me a few minutes to change.”

“I’ll tell Dusty.” The elderly woman smiled. “Give him a chance too. You’ll find him a very nice young man.” As she spoke, she took a step backward, then closed the door after her.

“Oh, right,” Karen answered to the empty bedroom. “A real peach of a guy.”

Dusty wasn’t surprised that he had to wait. A princess had to make a tardy entrance in order to be properly noticed. If it wasn’t for the promise he’d made …

“Ah, here she is,” Sophia said, drawing his attention to the front door.

He couldn’t deny that Karen looked spectacular in her designer jeans and boots, her silky blond hair tucked beneath a short-brimmed baseball cap—designer variety, of course. Only a dead man wouldn’t have noticed how pretty she was.

But that didn’t change the way he felt about her. She didn’t belong at the Golden T, and in his humble opinion, the sooner she went back to California the better for all of them.

“Dusty, take her up to the bluff overlooking the gorge so she can get a good view.”

“Will do,” he answered Sophia.

Karen came down the steps, moving with the same reluctance Dusty felt. Her gaze flicked between the two horses, then shifted to him. “Which one is for me?”

“This one.” He handed her the reins to the paint. “Need a hand up?”

“No, thanks.”

She spoke the truth. She mounted the horse without difficulty. Dusty swung into the saddle, gathered the reins, then said, “This way.”

He nudged the gelding with his boot heels, and they set out. They rode without speaking for a good thirty minutes, the horses following a well-worn trail.

It was Karen who broke the silence. “How much of the land belongs to my grandmother?”

“Not much anymore.” He glanced at her. “Sophia’s had to sell off a lot as she got older. The Taylors weren’t ever rich, from what she’s told me. They never would have mixed with your crowd.”

She stopped her horse.

He did the same.

Their gazes clashed.

“Why do you dislike me?” she asked.

It was a fair question. He decided to give it an honest answer. “I suppose because of the way you look down that pretty nose of yours at everything and everyone.”

“But I don’t—”

“Yes, you do.”

She looked away, releasing a sigh.

“This country isn’t for the idle or the pampered, Miss Butler. Your grandmother’s worked hard for everything she has. That may not be much, materially speaking, but Sophia Taylor is a rich woman in all the things that count.”

Karen continued to stare at the rolling, sagebrush-covered valley.

“So why’d you leave California if you didn’t want to be here?” he asked. “And it’s plenty obvious you don’t.”

That drew her gaze to him. “She didn’t tell you why?”

“No.”

“Because I had nowhere else to go after my father … died.”

For just an instant, her superior, aristocratic facade crumbled, exposing the raw vulnerability beneath.

“I’m sorry,” Dusty said, meaning it. “I didn’t know you’d lost your father.”

She looked away again, her cool demeanor returning. “I’d rather not talk about it. Can we go on now?”

“Sure.” He clucked to his horse. “Follow me.”

Silence returned.

Neither of them spoke while they finished the ride to their destination—a ridge with a spectacular view of the river plain and the dramatic bluffs to the north of them. At their backs, the Owyhee Mountains rose toward the sky, the peak of War Bonnet Mountain still covered in snow.

They dismounted, then left the horses with reins trailing the ground.

“The Birds of Prey Reserve is over that way.” Dusty pointed with an outstretched arm as they walked on a bit farther. “I’ll be taking the boys there this month. Maybe you’d like to come along.”

She looked at him, surprised by the invitation.

“I think you’d enjoy it,” he added.

Was he asking her because of another promise to her grandmother?

“And up that dirt road”—he turned around and pointed in the opposite direction—“is Silver City. It’s a ghost town now, but in its heyday, it was quite the place. We’ll take the boys there, too. Probably in August. It takes about an hour, even though it’s only twenty miles. The road climbs more than six thousand feet in elevation. It’s mighty steep and windy in places. Worth it though. I think you’d enjoy seeing it. Silver City’s a real slice of Idaho history.”

Karen didn’t want a history lesson. Nor did she want to be some cowboy’s good deed for the day. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anybody.

That was a lie, and the minute she thought it, she knew it.

I’m pathetic. I wish I were dead.

A glaze of unshed tears blurred her vision. She had to turn quickly, before he noticed them.

“Karen …”

“What?”

“I lost my dad when I was sixteen. It was hard, especially since I was such a disappointment to him. I ran with a tough crowd and got into lots of trouble. Bad trouble.” He paused a moment, as if remembering something he’d rather forget. Then he continued, “After Dad died, I left Chicago. Hitchhiked my way west. Wound up in Idaho about a year later.”

“Chicago?” She turned around to stare at him in disbelief.
“You’re
from Chicago?” Her gaze traveled the length of him, from the brim of his dusty Stetson to the tips of his well-worn boots.

“Yeah. Guess there isn’t much of a city kid about me any longer.”

“Not much.”

He grinned, apparently amused by her surprise.