The Crossed Sabres (25 page)

Winslow had not seen her like this, and the outburst of fiery temper pleased him for some reason. “You look like a Sioux on the warpath,” he grinned at her. “Would you scalp that newspaperman if you got a chance?”

Faith stopped her pacing, gave Winslow a startled glance; then a rueful smile tugged at her lips. “Well, maybe not—but I’d like to yank some of his hate-filled hair out by the roots!”

“Gosh!” Laurie’s eyes were wide and her mouth open with surprise. “I didn’t know preachers ever got mad!”

Her remark tickled Faith, and she ran over and gave the girl a hug, laughing as she did so. “Now you know better,” she said, then straightened up and gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. “I guess you’re shocked at my fit, aren’t you, Tom?”

“No. You look very attractive when you’re mad. Makes your eyes sparkle.”

His remark took her off guard, and she studied him to see if he was serious. When he smiled, she asked him, “Tom, will it happen like he says? Will there be a big battle?”

“Yes, it’s coming. That editor could have said it all a lot
quicker, like, ‘You Indians have the land and we want it, so we’re going to get it if we have to kill every last one of you.’ ”

“And we call ourselves
civilized!
” Faith exploded. “How can I preach the love of God to them when every day they see we don’t mean it?”

“
You
mean it, Faith. Some of them will see that.” He hesitated, then added, “I don’t think people find God in big groups, do they? It’s always one at a time. And you’re here to do that, I take it.”

“But . . .it’s so
slow,
Tom!” Faith said, her tone sad. “I’m only one person and there are so many of them!”

“Well, Jesus was just one person, wasn’t He?”

His question caught at her, turning her silent. She stood there, her hands behind her back, clenched together, and finally she nodded, “That’s right, He was. And He spent most of His time with just twelve men. Oh, He preached to large crowds, of course, but it was those twelve He really gave himself to.”

“That’s what you’ll have to do, isn’t it?” Winslow asked. “Get just a handful to believe you’ve got the right way for them. Then those few will have to go out and convince others.” He stopped. “Listen to me,” he said, “telling you how to do your job!”

“Don’t say that, Tom!” Faith protested. “Because you’re right. I can’t be grieving because I can’t do it all. But I
can
reach a few!”

“Are you going to preach in the morning?”

Faith glanced at Laurie, smiled, and nodded. “I’m going to try. Will you interpret for me, Tom?”

“If you trust me.”

“I trust you,” she said quietly. “There’s nobody I trust more.”

****

The congregation Winslow faced the next morning was predominantly women and children, with a sprinkling of
older men. He had gone in and built a roaring fire in the large potbellied stove, then after a good breakfast, had gone back to the larger building with Faith and Laurie for the service. Faith wore a light gray dress with dark maroon trim and a pair of high-topped black shoes that peeped in and out from beneath her skirt. Her hair was pinned up, piled in a rich gathering, and she looked very attractive as she stood up and said, “We are happy to have Mr. Winslow and his daughter Laurie with us this morning. Mr. Winslow has worked with your people for many years, and I have asked him to interpret for me. But as usual we’ll have a song service first. Join with me as much as you can.”

The hymns were all familiar to Winslow, and he sang along, though feeling a little uncomfortable. The Indians knew only a smattering of the words, but they enjoyed the singing, humming along and pronouncing such words as they did know.

When they had sung several numbers, Faith looked a little nervous, but said in a strong, halting voice, as simply as possible without interpretation, “I have a little surprise for you.” Then she lifted her clear voice in a verse of “Amazing Grace”—in the Sioux language.

It was a poor translation and she made more than one error in pronunciation, but when she ended, a mutter of approval went over the congregation, and one old warrior smiled, saying, “Good!”

Faith sang the song several times, and by the time she had completed it three times, most of the congregation were singing along—especially the young people. “That’s so very good!” Faith nodded, pleased with her effort. “Soon we’ll have many songs in your language. And one day I’ll be able to speak to you without an interpreter, but today Mr. Winslow will help.”

Winslow stood next to Faith as he translated and found that she had mastered the art of using an interpreter well. She broke her thoughts and words up into small phrases, then waited until he had put them into the Sioux language.
More than once he had trouble with some word or phrase, and the Indians liked that. This occurred early, for her text was from John, chapter three, and when she read the verse, “ ‘Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God,’ ” Winslow hesitated. “I don’t know just how to put that,” he said to Faith.

“Just put it like it is,” Faith insisted.

Winslow did, and immediately an old man lined by years and trouble spoke up. “Why would any man want to be born into the world twice? Once is trouble enough!”

A giggle swept over the small congregation, and when Winslow translated the old man’s response to Faith, she said, “Yes, it is a hard world, and Jesus knew that. But there are two worlds, as you well know, Father,” she said to the man. “One is dirt and water and sun and food. We all enter this world. But not all things are beneath a person’s feet. Some things can be found only in his heart.” She was encouraged when she saw heads nodding, and began to preach, stressing those two aspects of man: the physical and the spiritual.

Winslow did his best, struggling at times over the concepts, but anxious to get the clearest meaning across.

But he discovered that the task of giving the Gospel to the Sioux was not so difficult as another factor. The story of Jesus as Faith told it stirred old memories, flashing back to his earliest childhood. He remembered the first time he heard about Jesus with any sort of clarity—the first time he’d thought of that moment for years. He’d been about six or seven at the time, and when a visiting preacher had described the sufferings of Jesus on the cross, Tom had pulled at his mother’s sleeve, asking when she bent down, “Why did they hurt Him, Mama?”

Even as Winslow was speaking, giving Faith’s words to the Sioux, the memory welled up in him—of the tears that had stood in her eyes, the smell of lavender, the pressure of her arm hugging him, and the answer she gave: “He came to be
hurt, Tom. He gave himself to be hurt—so that we wouldn’t have to be hurt.”

Winslow had understood almost nothing of his mother’s words, but over the years the truth had kept coming back to him, and now the impact was so powerful, he suddenly faltered, his voice breaking.

Faith glanced at him quickly, noticing the hesitation in Winslow’s delivery as she mentioned the cross and the death of Jesus.

Finally she concluded. “All of us have been born into the world of stones and trees and the earth. But Jesus says that is not enough. He came to help us enter that other world—the world of God himself. And He did it by the only way possible.” She paused. There was a stillness in the room. Everyone’s eyes were focused on her. Then she went on. “God had said that sin must be paid for. Jesus said, “I will pay it for them. I will become a man and go to the earth. There I will die—and then they can come to the Great Spirit freely.

“And how can a man or a woman or a child enter this other world—be born again?” Faith asked. “Jesus tells us how in this book that gives the words of the Great Spirit. It says, ‘Jesus said, if any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink.’ ” Then she closed her Bible and looked out at them, her eyes glowing. “Jesus is the water of life. If you have no earthly water, your body dries up. You all know that. But we are thirsty for another kind of water. We long for God, for the Great Spirit. So Jesus says that He is
that
water!”

She stopped then and offered a simple prayer. As she prayed, Tom Winslow found himself greatly moved. He had grown up among Christians, but the war had hardened him. Now he felt some of the same urgency about God that he had as a very young man. Faith had made no appeal as he had heard countless evangelists do—yet now he felt as if God was speaking directly to him.

When she opened her eyes, Faith saw the struggle in his face. She wanted to go to him, but felt the Lord’s restraint,
so she prayed that this—the first vulnerable trait she’d seen in Winslow—would be an open door to God.

But even as she watched, she saw him pull himself straight, his lips drawing into a thin line. He had hardened himself. Why, she didn’t know, but the evidence was clear.

Faith was right. Tom’s realization of his need for God had been invaded by thoughts of Spence Grayson, and all at once his bitterness flooded back, drowning out the gentle urging of the Spirit.

Later as Tom and Laurie were leaving, Faith sensed his openness was gone, but she said only, “It was so good to see you. Will you come again, both of you?”

“Oh, I will!” Laurie cried.

“I can’t promise, Faith,” Tom said. Then seeing that he had hurt her, he added, “You’re a fine preacher.”

As they rode away, Faith’s heart ached.
He came so close!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Officers’ Ball

The Officers’ Ball for the Seventh Cavalry was held in the only structure suitable for such an event—the upper story of the Citizens’ Bank, which was utilized for political meetings, lectures, and church meetings by groups having no buildings of their own.

Spence Grayson tucked his hand under Faith’s arm and guided her up the wooden staircase attached to the outside frame, smiling wryly.
Never thought I’d be taking a lady preacher to a dance,
he thought. He had tried to convince himself that the scarcity of women had brought him to such a strange choice, but despite his flaws, he was always honest with himself.

When he had asked Faith to the ball, she had stared at him, surprise leaping into her eyes. “Why, Spence, you don’t want to take me to an affair like that! You might as well ask your elderly aunt to go!”

He had liked her forthright manner, answering it honestly in a manner he would not have used with any other woman. “I don’t think it’s
quite
that bad, Faith, but you know me pretty well, I think, where women are concerned.”

“They’re a challenge to your ability, Spence.”

Her directness surprised him. “Yes, I suppose so. They’ve used their wiles on men, and I’ve answered in kind.”

“So now having tried your luck with all the available women, you’d like to see how well I can withstand your charm?” She had laughed outright at his embarrassment, but surprised
him by saying, “I’ll go with you, Spence. I think a woman needs to be tested by a good-looking rascal once in a while.”

“Might get you in trouble with your deacons.”

“They’re not paying me, so I guess they can’t fire me!”

Now as they walked up the steps, Faith’s foot slipped on a board, slippery with ice. As she faltered, Spence put his arm around her and steadied her. Holding her he said, “Feeling properly tempted, Miss Jamison?”

“It’s better than falling down the stairs, Lieutenant,” she teased, aware of his powerful charm. He had the clearest blue eyes she’d ever seen in a man, and his intensely masculine features would attract any woman. She had accepted the invitation out of curiosity, prompted to a large degree by Tom’s animosity toward Grayson and, she had to admit, out of a perverse determination to throw herself into the officer’s company—to prove that she was immune to his charms. But as she entered the ballroom, she was uncomfortably aware that despite her frivolous teasing of Spence, she did sense an attraction to him that went beyond what she felt for most men.

She enjoyed the startled expression that swept across his face as he looked at her after slipping the coat from her shoulders. The dress was stunning. Elaine Owens had practically forced her to wear it, despite Faith’s protests. It was a form-fitting gown of pale blue watered silk looped with blue ribbon and tiny blue flowers. Mischief danced in her eyes as she said to Grayson, “Just an old dress I salvaged, Spence.”

His eyes glowed with admiration. “I’ve not seen anyone like you, Faith!”

His voice was quiet but resonant, and she understood at that moment how he could win a woman. A scoundrel he might be, but there was such intensity in his gaze that she knew she would be in danger if she didn’t stay on her guard.

“They’ve done a marvelous job with the room, haven’t they?” She swept the ballroom with an approving glance. The walls were decked with colorful bunting; the ceilings with long graceful festoons of brightly colored paper, catching
and reflecting the myriad rays from the lamps. At the end of the room a band, composed of a piano, two guitars, a mandolin, and a violin, started to play. Immediately couples began to swirl around the room. The brass buttons on the officers’ coats winked merrily, mingling and shifting like a kaleidoscope with the colors of the women’s gowns—red, yellow, green, blue, white.

Grayson handed their coats to a corporal, turned to Faith, and put out his arms. “Come now, before those green young lieutenants carry you away!”

Faith smiled and the two swung into the waltz rhythm, sweeping across the floor. He was, as she had guessed, a fine dancer. “When I became a Christian, I cried because I thought the Lord would make me give up dancing.”

“I’m glad to see that wasn’t one of God’s conditions!”

“Well, it was—for quite some time. But later I came to understand that it wasn’t the
dancing
that God was displeased with; it was my unwillingness to give it up.”

“That could be said of any pleasure, do you think?”

She laughed, tossing her head back, the bright amber beams of the chandeliers catching the golden highlights of her auburn hair. “Now, Lieutenant,
that
won’t do!”