A Promise for Spring (22 page)

“Snake!” The boy’s terror-filled eyes bore into hers. “A snake! Oh, please, Emmaline, I don’t want to die like Ben!”

Ben . . . She gulped as realization washed over her. How she wished Geoffrey were here! She cradled the boy in her arms. A feeling of helplessness made her want to collapse into wild sobs, but the remembrance of a voice whisked through her mind: “
Lean
on God’s strength, chil’ . . .”
She cried out to the blue sky, “God, help me!”

Steely resolve poured through her. She looked directly into Jim’s white face. “I will not let you die.” A vision of the cross behind the barn flitted through her mind, but she pushed the image away.

“I know Tildy told me what to do in case of snakebite. . . .” She pressed her memory. “Stop the poison from spreading!”

Grabbing the hem of her skirt, she ripped the fabric. “Where is the bite?”

Jim pointed to the top of his foot, his face contorted in pain. “Here. Right here.”

Emmaline yanked off Jim’s boot and thick sock. Two angry red dots marked the place where the snake had bitten him. The flesh swelled, forcing his toes to splay. She tied the strip of cloth above the bite but below his ankle. “Now lie still. I’ve got to get help. Where is Chris?”

“No! Don’t leave me!” Although man-sized, Jim proved his youth with his tearful plea and his grasp on her arms.

Emmaline pressed him gently backward. He fought against her hands. “Jim, you must lie still! The poison will spread if you don’t!” She yanked off her apron and wadded it into a ball. “Use this as a pillow, but please—lie down.”

Jim slumped back and dropped one arm over his eyes. His body shook with sobs. “Please, Emmaline, I don’t want to die.”

Emmaline took his hand in hers. “You shan’t die. But I must get you some help. I shall bring Chris.”

The boy continued to moan, “Don’t leave me.” No matter how many times she asked, he wouldn’t tell her where to find Chris. Finally, she stood, her frantic gaze searching in all directions. He could be anywhere on the ranch. Clenching her fists in frustration, she cried out, “I don’t know where to look, God!” Emmaline dropped again to her knees. Opening her hands, she held them outward and prayed, “We need help, God. Please, please send help for Jim.”

As she prayed, an idea formed in her mind. She jumped up. “Jim, I shall be right back. Lie very still and pray!” Running as fast as she could, she covered the ground between the barn and the house. She came to a panting halt beside the dinner bell. She grasped the rope and pulled. And pulled. And pulled.

The clang made her ears ring and her head pound, but she continued to yank, all the while scanning the grounds. Geoffrey had said no matter where he was on the ranch, he would always hear the dinner bell. Surely Chris would hear it, too. “Let Chris hear the bell, God!”

Just as she had hoped, a horse pounded toward the house with Chris in the saddle. “Emmaline—what’s wrong?”

Emmaline raced to his side. “It’s Jim—a snake bit him.”

Chris went pale. He held out his hand. “Take me to him.”

She placed her hand in his and he swung her behind him. Emmaline directed him to the area behind the barn. Without taking time for questions, Chris lifted Jim onto the saddle then climbed up behind him. He supported the boy by wrapping one arm around his middle. Jim slumped against his brother’s chest.

“I’m taking him to the doctor in Stetler, Emmaline. Can you see to the sheep?”

Emmaline had never cared for the sheep before, but she had no other choice. She stared at Jim’s pale face and nodded. “Go quickly!”

Chris whipped the reins against the horse’s neck, and the horse shot off toward the road.

Emmaline found Jim’s horse ground-tethered beside the sheep barn, still saddled from his day’s work. Seeing that saddle slumped her shoulders in relief—she didn’t know how to saddle a horse. She would ask Geoffrey to teach her when he returned. After leading the horse to the fence, she managed to clamber aboard. Her feet didn’t reach the stirrups, so she clamped her legs against the horse’s warm belly, grasped the saddle horn with one hand, and held the reins with the other.

Her head spun when she looked down—the ground seemed so far away! The horse whickered, tossing his head. She presumed her skirts upset him, and she released the saddle horn to tuck them in as best she could. Then, as she’d seen the men do, she tugged on the reins and bounced her heels on the horse’s tawny hide.

With a slight snort, the horse trotted forward. “Please go to the sheep,” she commanded. Emmaline held tight to the saddle horn, wincing with every jolt of the horse’s hooves against the ground, but to her relief the horse headed for the open pasture. By the time she reached the grazing flock in the far northern pasture where the grasshoppers had left a few blades of grass behind, her thighs ached from the effort of remaining in the saddle. But she hadn’t yet begun to work. “What do I do?” she asked aloud. A few sheep lifted their heads, eyeing her with curiosity, their jaws working in circular motions. Emmaline sat high in the saddle and surveyed the contented flock. Despite her worry for Jim, despite her concerns about bringing the sheep safely home, a feeling of peacefulness washed over her. In that moment, she understood why Geoffrey liked being out in the pasture with the sheep.

But she couldn’t leave them out here. Geoffrey always brought the sheep to the barn at night. Once more, she voiced the question, “What do I do?” The horse pawed the ground, softly blowing air. Emmaline wished he could understand her and answer, and then the thought of a horse replying made her giggle. At her laughter, several sheep gave a start. One leaped forward, three others following.

“Oh!” Emmaline waved her hands. “No, do not leave!”

But it was as if a silent message had been passed through the flock. Like a rolling tide, the sheep began to move, heading in the opposite direction of the sheep barn. And Emmaline sat, helpless to stop them.

Suddenly, to her surprise, the horse bounded into action. She grabbed the saddle horn with both hands and bounced in the smooth leather seat as the horse galloped along the outer edge of the moving throng of wooly creatures. When it reached the front of the flock, it angled sharply left, and the sheep turned with it. Her mouth open in amazement, Emmaline simply held on as the horse turned the entire flock and prodded them toward the barn.

With a series of bleats and quavering baas, the sheep made their progress across the pasture. The horse trotted back and forth at the rear, nosing at the occasional straggler and preventing any from leaving the group. The sheep barn waited ahead, its doors open. Emmaline stared in amazement when the sheep fell into line and entered the structure without any prompting.

When all of the sheep were safely inside, the horse stopped outside the doors and tossed his head. Emmaline slid from his back, her aching legs nearly collapsing when her feet met the ground. She held to the horse’s reins until her quivering muscles stilled enough to support her weight, then she gave the beast several pats on his glossy neck. “Good job, boy. Thank you. You did a good job.” The horse turned his head, snuffling against her neck, and she laughed. “I shall give you a treat after I figure out a way to make sure the sheep stay in the barn.”

Leaving the horse standing along the fence, she tugged a few empty barrels into the doorway as a makeshift barrier. She felt certain the barrels would do little to prevent the entrance of marauding animals, yet she had no idea what Geoffrey did to ensure the sheep’s safety at night. The barrels would have to do until Chris returned.

With the thought of Chris, a pang of worry shot through her. Had Chris been able to locate the doctor? Might Jim lose his foot . . . or his life? She shook her head. Worrying would accomplish nothing. “
Lay it all at Jesus’ feet. . . .”
Tildy’s reminder rang through Emmaline’s memory. Grasping the horse’s reins, Emmaline closed her eyes and whispered a prayer for Jim’s well-being.

The prayer complete, she gave the reins a tug. “Come with me. I have something special for you.” She fed the horse two crab apples, laughing at his obvious enjoyment of the fruit. He nosed her hands, searching for more. “Now, do not be greedy. We must leave some of these apples for Jim. I’m to bake him pies, you know.”

Baking would be the perfect way to keep herself occupied, she decided. She wished she knew how to remove the saddle from the horse, but that task would have to wait until Chris returned. She spent the next hour slicing apples, preparing a crust, and putting together two well-filled apple pies with extra cinnamon and sugar. That boy had such a sweet tooth.

While the pies baked, filling the room with the aroma of apples, Emmaline chopped vegetables for a stew. She could keep a pot simmering, and Chris and Jim could eat whenever they returned.

The evening stretched endlessly while she waited, alone. She filled the time by peeling the remainder of the apples, slicing them, and hanging the slices on twine that she stretched across the parlor. Jim had planned to dry the slices on the roof of the springhouse, but she didn’t know when he might be well enough to do that. Thinking of Jim made tears prick behind her eyes. Lowering her head, she began to pray once more.

Geoffrey jolted awake when someone tapped his shoulder. He blinked, clearing his vision, and peered into the face of the conductor.

“You asked me to wake you when we were within a half hour of Moreland.” The man tapped his watch. “We’ll pull in at five-oh-five—twenty-five more minutes.”

Geoffrey sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Thank you.”

The conductor waddled off.

Geoffrey glanced out the window. The familiar rolling landscape filled him with pleasure—home was so close now! He removed his hat, dropped it on the empty seat beside him, and ran his hand through his hair. His weeks on the trail hadn’t allowed time for bathing or shaving. Emmaline might turn up her nose at him when he arrived. His heart rate quickened at the thought of seeing her soon. How he had missed her over the past two weeks.

Often, alone beneath the stars, he had thought of that last night, sitting next to her, talking quietly. She had listened, and her expression had been serene, not scared or defensive. They might have been in her parents’ sitting room in England, sharing their thoughts with each other. That evening had given him hope that they could recapture what they’d shared while living in the little village of Wortley—a deep friendship, a tender love. . . .

He drew in a deep breath, and the packets in his shirt pocket crinkled. He slipped the packets free and counted them. Three packs of flower seeds—bachelor buttons, daisies, and black-eyed Susans. The merchant in Nebraska had assured him they would last until spring if he kept them in a warm place.

These were wild flowers—not the roses that grew in her mother’s garden back home—but they would survive on the plains where roses would surely wither and die. Besides, Geoffrey knew Emmaline loved any kind of flower. If it would make her feel more at home, he would harvest wild flowers for her. And if they were growing near the house, she would have no reason to venture out onto the prairie in search of flowers. She would be safe.

Slipping the packets of seeds back into his pocket, he closed his eyes and pictured Emmaline’s face beaming with pleasure at the unexpected gift. He could hardly wait to get to the ranch.

The sun was a mere thumbnail on the horizon beneath a dusky pink-and-purple sky when Emmaline finally heard the clop of horse hooves. She stepped outside, pausing beside Jim’s horse, which still stood in the side yard with its saddle in place. A tall bay, carrying Chris, entered the yard and stopped in front of Emmaline.

Chris swung down, meeting her gaze. His unsmiling face sent a chill of unease down her spine. She moved forward, her hands tangled in her apron. “Jim—is he . . . ?”

“He’s alive.” Chris swiped his hand beneath his nose. “Let’s go to the house. I could use something to eat.”

“I have the soup pot waiting.”

He gave a somber nod, and then he headed for the house. His slumped shoulders and plodding steps spoke of a heavy burden. Emmaline winged a silent prayer heavenward for his aching heart.

She dished up a bowl of stew while Chris plopped tiredly into one of the kitchen chairs. He picked up his spoon, but instead of digging into the bowl, he fixed Emmaline with a serious look. “The doc says there’s a good chance Jim will make it.”

“Oh, thank the Lord . . .” Emmaline sank into the chair across from him.

“The snake didn’t bite deep—probably because Jim’s boot leather took some of the force. Your wrapping that bandage prevented the poison from going up his leg.” Chris ran a hand down his face and sighed. “The doc sucked out what poison he could, and he put a raw liver poultice over the bite. But it sure looks ugly. Jim’s foot is twice its normal size, and he’s thrashing around like he’s not in his right mind. The doc gave him something to make him sleep and sent me home. He said there’s nothing more we can do except . . . wait.” The torment in Chris’s eyes pierced her heart. “Emmaline, if he dies . . .” Chris swallowed. “After we lost our mum and dad, I figured it would always be Jim and me. I get aggravated with him sometimes, but he—he’s all I’ve got. I can hardly think of—”

“Don’t.” Emmaline grabbed his hand. “Don’t even allow yourself to have such thoughts.”

“But you didn’t see him—rolling his head back and forth like someone was torturing him.” Chris clamped his hand over his eyes, and his chin quivered.

Emmaline rounded the table and wrapped her arms around Chris’s shaking shoulders. “Shh, now. You needn’t distress yourself. Jim is with the doctor. He’s being cared for. Now we need to pray that he will be all right. Do you want me to pray?”

Chris nodded.

Emmaline lowered her head, pressing her cheek to his hair. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth to petition God on Jim’s behalf.

“This is a pretty picture.”

At the harsh exclamation, Emmaline bolted upright and Chris jerked around in his chair. Geoffrey stood framed in the kitchen doorway. A saddlebag dangled from his hand and his eyes flashed with fury.