The Crossed Sabres (8 page)

Tom nodded. “In that, I guess you’re right, Mark.” He felt embarrassed, but said quickly, “Think you’ll ever get your kid brother raised?”

“I don’t believe I’m up to such a task!” Mark rejoined. “You’ll be a general, and I’ll be a worn-out old railroad man!” He looked at Tom with affection. “Come back to New York with me for a visit before you enlist. There’s time for that—and for a trip to see Mom, too. She’ll be glad to hear about this.”

“All right.”

The two sat there talking quietly, both sensing the deep affection that lay between them. Finally they rose and went inside, Tom picking up Laurie, who protested, “I’m not asleep!” He put her on the bed and stood there looking down at her face bathed in the argent moonlight. She looked so much like Marlene. With a sigh he tucked the covers around her, kissed her cheek, and went outside. He looked up at the stars, his
mind awhirl as he thought about the future. What did it hold for him? For Laurie?

CHAPTER FIVE

Before the Wedding

“You’re going to wear that wedding dress out, Faith!”

Susan DeForest smiled across the room at the girl standing before the oval full-length mirror peering at herself. Susan herself was rather a plain girl of twenty, and it was a tribute to her generous spirit that she could feel such a depth of affection for one who so outshone her. They had been friends since childhood, growing up together in St. Louis, or the outskirts of it, attending the same church, the same school, and enduring the fearful anxieties of adolescence.

Now, with both of them at the age of twenty, they had crossed safely over those dangerous shoals, and despite their differences, they had remained fast friends.

“Oh, Susan,” Faith cried out, pulling at the bodice of the dress, “this thing
still
doesn’t fit! I might as well wear a pair of overalls!”

Susan, well-accustomed to Faith’s excesses, smiled. “I think I can find a pair of my father’s somewhere. That would give Carl quite a shock, wouldn’t it? Marching down the aisle and finding you in a pair of greasy overalls!”

Faith gave Susan a startled look, then broke into a giggle. “Wouldn’t it, though?” She turned back to examine herself critically, seeing a young woman five feet five in height with a rounded figure and beautiful carriage—shoulders well back, trim waist, and shapely limbs and upper body. The face that stared back at her was not beautiful, but pretty in a lively way. Gray eyes that had a steady look at most times, but
could gleam when the humor that ran just beneath the surface broke out. Beautiful auburn hair, with traces of gold, made a natural cascade of curls down her back. Fair skin showed a few scattered freckles across the high cheekbones. Her nose was short and slightly tilted upward, which added to a piquant expression, and her teeth were perfect as she smiled at herself.

“I hope Carl will be as pretty as I am for the wedding,” she said solemnly, then laughed at her own foolishness. “But he’s better looking than I am to begin with.”

Susan got up and came to pull the back of the white satin dress together at the nape. “Yes, he is, but nobody looks at the groom at the wedding,” she smiled. “Let me take a stitch here.”

As she worked on the dress, Faith rambled on about the wedding and the plans for leaving St. Louis. Susan listened, but at the same time thought of the bundle of paradoxes that came together in Faith Jamison. She was, Susan had often thought, like two individuals. Not that she was unsteady or unreliable, but Faith was a complicated girl in many ways. She was highly competent and methodical—yet there was a streak in her that came close to rebellion, or at least a tendency to be impulsive.

That trait, Susan feared, had gotten her friend engaged to Carl Vandiver. When Faith had first come running in to tell her that Carl had asked her to marry him, and that she had accepted, something about the match had bothered Susan. She had said little, for Faith was euphoric, to say the least; but during the engagement period, it had become more apparent that the two were not alike. Carl was a handsome man of twenty-five, the son of a wealthy factory owner. He was a fun-loving man, one who treasured the finer things of life—meaning the expensive things—and his decision to go to the mission field had displeased his parents greatly. They wanted him to be a minister, for they were devout in their religious duties, but they wanted to keep him in the city, pastor
of a large church, or a leader in their denomination. Carl’s decision to marry a young woman from a lower social level and go with her as a mission volunteer to the Indians of the far West had been a terrible strain on their family.

But Faith, despite her usual level-headed approach to things, seemed oblivious to the problem. She had never before been serious about a man, and her total dedication to marriage with Carl prevented Susan from saying much about the difficulties she would face. Now as she took the tiny stitches in the fine material of the wedding dress, Susan found herself wishing she’d tried harder. But it was too late now, for the wedding was at three o’clock the next day.

Leaning forward, she bit the thread, tied it off, then stood back to examine it with a critical eye. “That’s better,” she announced, satisfied with the result.

“Oh, Susan, I’m so excited!” Faith said, her eyes almost snapping with bright glints. “Just think, tomorrow I’ll be Mrs. Carl Vandiver!”

“I’ll miss you,” Susan said. She was a thoughtful girl, not given to expressions of her emotions, but the knowledge that the two of them would be parted was now very real. “I’ll never see you again, Faith,” she said, shaking her head slightly.

“Oh, don’t be silly!” Faith came to her friend at once, putting her arms around her. That was another of the paradoxes to this girl. One moment she could be totally immersed in herself; the next, forget herself completely and become immersed in the needs of others. “Why, there are trains that run all the way to Dakota now. Carl and I’ll be coming back every other year, and you’ve already promised to come and have a long visit with us.”

“I suppose, but it won’t be the same,” Susan said. Then she forced herself to smile. “What am I thinking of, carrying on like this? We had to grow up, didn’t we? Now, let’s go over all the things that will probably go wrong at the wedding tomorrow.”

Faith, glad to see her friend smile, began to talk rapidly
about the ceremony. The rest of the afternoon the two women spent going over the details until Mrs. Jamison knocked on the door and entered, saying, “Faith, Reverend Thomas is here. He wants to see you.”

“Oh, dear!” Faith moaned. “I can’t see him in my wedding dress!”

She began to strip off the dress so quickly that her mother cried, “Don’t tear the dress, Faith. Reverend Thomas will wait.” She and Susan managed to get the dress off, handling it carefully. As Faith threw on a blue dress, Mrs. Jamison stroked the wedding dress, her eyes thoughtful. She was an attractive woman of thirty-seven, a widow who had lost her husband at Gettysburg. “This hasn’t been worn since my wedding day.”

“You must have been a gorgeous bride, Mrs. Jamison,” Susan said. “It’s a beautiful dress.”

“My father had it made for me in Chicago. I thought it was the most wonderful dress in the world.”

“It
is!
” Faith nodded, slipping into a pair of tan shoes. She got to her feet, then said, “Come with me, both of you. I’m so excited I can’t think straight. Reverend Thomas might not let me go to the mission field if he sees how silly I am.”

The three women went downstairs, where Reverend James Thomas rose to greet them. “Hello, ladies,” he said, smiling. He was a tall, rotund man of sixty, with a beautiful shock of pure white hair and a pair of sharp black eyes. “Well, is the bride ready?”

Faith took his hand, smiled up at him, saying, “Yes! But if I go blank, you may have to prompt me during the ceremony, Reverend.”

“My theory about all weddings is simple,” the minister said. “If something can go wrong, it will. However, when it’s over—no matter how many things go wrong—you and Carl
will
be married.”

“Come along, Susan,” Mrs. Jamison said. “Let’s fix tea while these two go over the ceremony.”

When the pair had left, Faith and Reverend Thomas sat down on the horsehide sofa, Faith bubbling over with excitement. The minister let her run on, but finally said, “Faith, I’m not worried about the ceremony, but there is something that—well, I’ve felt we should talk about it.”

Faith looked at him, curious. “Is something wrong with the appointment, Reverend Thomas?”

“No—not really wrong,” the minister said slowly. He was a dignified man, experienced and capable, able to handle any of the thousand details that came over his desk. He was head of the newly organized Department of Missions for his denomination, and took great satisfaction in the work. He had been Faith’s pastor for years, and when she had announced that God had called her to work with the Indians of the far West, he had been delighted.

Now he looked uncertain, a manner rare for him. Faith began to feel a vague fear building up within her, and when he spoke, she listened with apprehension.

“Preaching the gospel to the Sioux people,” Thomas said carefully, “is a difficult matter. They are different from us in almost every way, Faith.”

“But the gospel is the same for everyone, isn’t it?”

“Yes, of course, but the
presentation
of the gospel differs. Here in St. Louis, even in the worst areas, those we talk to about Jesus have heard of Him. But not so with the Indians. They live in a whole different world, have worshiped idols for centuries.” He shrugged and went on. “I’ve been a preacher for forty years, Faith, but I’d be almost useless in their world.”

Faith stared at him, not certain where he was headed. “Are you saying I’m not fitted to be a missionary?”

“Oh no!” Reverend Thomas lifted his eyes, startled. “Certainly not, my dear!” He was distressed and leaned forward to put his hand over hers in a reassuring gesture. “I was speaking in general terms. All of us on the board think of you as one of the bright stars in our little firmament. No question at all of your calling or of your capability.”

“Then what
is
troubling you, Reverend Thomas?”

“Well, to be frank with you, Faith, some of the board are not certain that your fiance is ready for the work in the West.”

“But Carl is far more able than I am!”

“Perhaps, in some ways.” Thomas braced himself. He had been sent by the board to do a difficult task because he was a good friend of the Jamisons, but he saw rough going ahead. “Carl is bright and active, and there’s no question of his Christian walk. But some of the board feel that he would not function well in such a—a
rough
situation.”

Faith was close to anger, but knew that this man was her friend. “Is that what
you
think, Reverend Thomas?”

Her question, direct and blunt, brought a grimace to Thomas’s lips, but he was an honest man. “In all candor, Faith, I do think there’s some doubt of Carl’s call to this work.”

“I see.” Faith sat there, her mind whirling, but she made an effort to suppress the apprehension rising in her. “Why have you waited so long to speak about this? We’re getting married tomorrow, and we have our train tickets for the trip.”

“We have had several interviews with Carl, as is customary with all our volunteers. Over the past few months, as a matter of fact, I have talked with him myself several times.”

“I didn’t know that!”

“He didn’t tell you?” Thomas lifted his eyebrows, obviously surprised. “But he has spoken to you of his doubts, I’m sure.”

Faith blinked, taken off guard by the question. “Why—in some ways I’m sure we all feel some doubt. It’s such a big step, and Carl feels a little inadequate. I feel the same way,” she said, lifting her head with a touch of defiance. But even as she spoke, she was thinking back, remembering how Carl had shown more uncertainty as the time to leave grew near.

Reverend Thomas let the silence run on, reading Faith’s thoughts. He was genuinely fond of the young woman, but he never felt as certain of Carl Vandiver’s commitment as he would have liked. He wished to do nothing to hurt Faith, yet
he knew that the worst tragedy of all would be for the young couple to get on the field, and
then
discover that they could not handle the problem.

At that point, Mrs. Jamison and Susan entered with tea and a pound cake, so Reverend Thomas departed, saying only, “I’ll be available if you and Carl wish to speak with me this evening.” He hesitated, then added, “There are many ways to serve the Lord, Faith. Even Paul had to change his plans more than once. Perhaps you two would find it possible to serve the cause of the gospel here in the East. At any rate, talk it over with Carl.”

“Yes, I’ll do that—but we must go to the Indians.” Here Reverend Thomas was aware of another of the paradoxes in the young woman—which consisted of a soft gentleness that was backed by a stubborn determination. Her lower lip lost its softness, growing firm, and her back grew straighter as she looked at him.

“Yes—well, we’ll pray about it, of course—”

After the door closed behind him, Faith stood in the middle of the room, unconscious of the sound of the voices of her mother and Susan humming in the next room. The grandfather clock ticked solemnly, then the half-hour note struck, sending a brassy signal throughout the house. It seemed to touch her, for she blinked, then turned and walked in to join the two women.

“Mother, I’m going out for a little while,” she announced.

Mrs. Jamison looked up with surprise. “Going out? Where to?”

“I have to see Carl.”

Susan started slightly, for she saw that Faith was disturbed. “Would you like me to go with you?”

“No, thank you, Susan.” With this brief word she put on a coat and left the house.

“She’s upset, isn’t she?” Susan said. “It must have been something Reverend Thomas said.”

Mrs. Jamison was staring at the door, her eyes troubled.
She had a long, sobering thought, but said only, “I suppose she’s just anxious about the ceremony. She’ll be fine when it’s over.”