Tracie Peterson (7 page)

“I told you to stay down there!” Garrett yelled, pointing to the dugout.

“Dear God,” Maggie breathed her prayer. “Deliver us.”

The twister played out its energy on the open prairie, darting from side to side as if in some frenzied dance. Maggie could see bits of dirt and debris flying up in the air as the storm approached. The tornado was enormous, and its path still headed directly toward the dugout.

“Let’s take cover,” Garrett said.

“Where?” Maggie asked fearfully, running down the stairs in front of him. There were tears in her eyes.

Garrett took everything off the table and pushed it against the wall of the dugout.

“Here. Get under the table.” He pulled the mattress and blankets off the bed.

“Take these,” he said, thrusting the blankets at Maggie’s huddled frame. He crawled under the table and pulled the mattress in with him, securing it around them to shield them from any debris.

“Give me those blankets,” he instructed.

Maggie started to hand the blankets over when the roaring of the wind caught her attention. It had started as a dull, constant noise in the background. Now it sounded as if a train were nearly upon them. Maggie caught Garrett’s expression and knew instinctively it was the tornado.

Garrett grabbed the blankets and pulled them over their heads. He wrapped his arms around Maggie as the door to the dugout burst open, and the roof began to give way.

Above the roar of the Kansas twister, Garrett began to pray. “Dear Father, protect us from the destruction of this storm and give us shelter in Your watchful care. We pray this in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

“Amen,” Maggie murmured in agreement. Warmth washed over her and her fears abated even though the storm continued to roar. Was this the peace of God that her grandmother had tried so often to explain?

Suddenly, Maggie found it difficult to breathe. It was as if all the air was being sucked out of the room. Her ears popped from the pressure of the storm. But more than anything else, she felt Garrett’s strong arms around her.

Chapter 9

T
he storm completely destroyed the roof of the dugout, but Maggie and Garrett escaped without a scratch. Maggie was amazed by the power of the storm, but even more, she wondered at the power of God to protect them from destruction.

When Doc and Dottie returned to the dugout, Garrett was already repairing the roof and Maggie was clearing debris.

“We were lucky,” Doc said as he gave Garrett a hand with the long roof poles. “The twister didn’t touch Newton.”

“We were blessed here too,” an exhausted Garrett answered. “The twister only skirted the edge of the dugout. The barn and smokehouse had some shingles blown off, but the rest of the farm is undamaged.”

Maggie and Dottie carried handfuls of sod outside and stopped to appraise the situation.

“Could’a been a lot worse,” Dottie said, wiping sweat from her forehead.

“That’s just what Garrett was saying, Dot,” Doc replied as he secured his end of the support poles.

“I’ve been through some bad storms before, but usually it was from the comfort of a cellar,” Maggie exclaimed, still amazed at the calm, unchanged land around them.

“Well, these dugouts work nearly as well,” Doc exclaimed and took the sod and branches that Maggie still held. The four worked until nightfall. After a hearty supper of Dottie’s fried potatoes and pork chops, everyone went to bed early.

Days later the dugout was back in order, and Dottie declared it better than ever. Maggie seemed to thrive on the physical work, and Doc declared her completely healed. With that announcement, Garrett determined he and Maggie should move on to Newton and catch the earliest westbound train.

Maggie was sorry to leave Doc and Dottie, but more than that, she was scared to be traveling alone once again with Garrett. It wasn’t that his company was unpleasant. It was the pleasure she found in his companionship that worried Maggie. Her fear was clearly reflected in her eyes, and she flinched when Garrett took hold of her arm after he’d finished packing their meager possessions in the buckboard.

“It’s going to be alright, Maggie,” Garrett whispered as he helped her into the wagon. “Trust me.”

Maggie met Garrett’s eyes. Excitement surged through her as she realized that this man would one day be her husband.
Trust him?
Maggie questioned her heart.
Was that possible?

Maggie roused from her thoughts as Garrett and Doc sat down on either side of her. She waved a bittersweet goodbye to Dottie, promising to write. But once the farm was out of sight, Maggie fell back into silence. She thought about the future and wondered about God.

Maybe her grandmother had been right. Maybe Maggie never felt like she belonged because she didn’t. She didn’t belong to God.

Maggie lost herself in the memory of things her grandmother had told her about salvation. Over many Sunday dinners, the older woman had gently shared the need for Jesus Christ and eternal life.

“One can’t outrun or outgrow one’s need for Jesus, Maggie,” Sophia had reminded her granddaughter. “Oh, people try. They find ways to compensate for the loss of God in their life.”

“Such as?” Maggie had questioned.

“Well, look at Lillie.” Sophia had referred to Maggie’s friend. “There is no need for God in Lillie’s life, at least as far as she is concerned. Her money brings everything she thinks she needs.”

“Don’t be hard on Lillie. She’s very precious to me,” Maggie had argued with her grandmother.

“Exactly. If you knew Lillie was in danger—the kind of danger that could take her life—and you could show her how to be saved from that perilous end, would you save her?” Maggie remembered the question as if it had been yesterday.

“Of course, Grandmother, you know I’d give my life for Lillie,” Maggie had replied, knowing where the conversation was leading.

“Well, Maggie, Jesus has already given His life for Lillie and for you. You are both in risk of an eternal danger that I can never save you from. I can help you to see the need, but only God can deal with your heart, and only Jesus can save you from death.”

Maggie chilled at the memory of her grandmother’s words. She rubbed her temples. If only there weren’t so many things to consider.

Garrett arranged for rooms at the Harvey House in Newton, and Maggie was grateful to find bathing accommodations that didn’t require a metal wash pan. She lingered for a long time in the hot water.

“I do believe in God,” Maggie reasoned with herself in the tub. “I just don’t know about trusting Him with everything. Surely God expects me to take care of myself, especially when I get myself into trouble through carelessness.” Just then a flash of pigtails, a bedroom window, and her mother’s smile came to mind. Despite her best efforts, Maggie couldn’t focus the memory.
What was haunting her?

After warming the water in the tub twice, Maggie pulled a soft fluffy towel around her and prepared for dinner. She went to a small wardrobe and pulled out a pale blue silk gown, lavishly trimmed with Irish lace and satin ribbons.

Maggie pulled the dress over her head and gently smoothed it out. The Harvey House laundress had done a good job of removing most of the wrinkles. Maggie fastened the tiny buttons up the back of the gown, struggling to secure the last few.

She stood back to survey herself in the mirror, fluffing the slight fullness of the sleeves. Satisfied, Maggie sat down to the task of putting her hair in order. After another fifteen minutes, she was finished. She was just putting her hairbrush and mirror back, when a knock sounded at her door.

“Coming,” Maggie called. She opened the door without thinking to ask who it was. She knew it would be Garrett.

Garrett studied her silently and smiled broadly. “I’ve seen the other women downstairs, and you’ll outshine them all.”

Maggie blushed, not knowing what to say. She was quite inexperienced at this type of flattery. Garrett seemed to understand and took her by the hand.

“Let’s go to dinner. The train passengers have finished and the dining room will be serving supper to the public.” Maggie pulled her door shut and allowed Garrett to lead her down the hall.

The dining room was no shoddy affair. People from town seemed to revel in the finery and quality of Fred Harvey’s English taste and decorum. The crystal was spotless, the china without cracks or blemishes, and even the fine linen tablecloths were immaculate.

Maggie ate lobster in a rich cream sauce, as well as baby carrots cooked with grated orange peel, greenbeans with red pimentos and almond slivers, and a variety of other things she couldn’t even remember. After dinner, Garrett suggested a walk.

“Will you be sorry to meet him?” he asked.

“My father?” Maggie inquired, knowing very well the answer.

“Yes. Will you be sorry to meet him again?”

“Sorry? No, not really sorry. I was sorry he had to go away and sorry we both seemed to cause each other such heartache, but I can’t honestly say I’ll be sorry to meet him again.” Maggie went on to tell Garrett about the last time her father had come to Topeka.

“I stole out the back and ran to Lillie’s house. Her parents weren’t home, but she was. We went to her upstairs bedroom and spied on my father and grandmother as they looked for me. Part of me wanted to run back to him.”

“Why didn’t you?” Garrett questioned as he assisted Maggie over a missing portion of boardwalk.

“I don’t know,” she answered softly. Suddenly she didn’t want to talk. They strolled in silence for the remainder of their walk.

When they returned to the hotel, Maggie reached into her purse for the key to her room. Without a word, Garrett took it from her and opened the door. “We’ll be leaving quite early. I’ll ask one of the Harvey girls to wake you in time for breakfast.”

The silence fell between them once again, and Maggie felt the intensity of Garrett’s stare. Sounds from the restaurant faded away, and even the commotion of hotel guests at the far end of the hall seemed to be in another world.

Garrett stepped forward, and Maggie knew he would kiss her. She wanted him to, yet she remembered her grandmother’s warning about being unequally yoked with unbelievers. Grandmother had spoken of men who might court Maggie, but the truth was Maggie was the unbeliever.

Maggie backed into her room abruptly, leaving a surprised Garrett standing with his arms slightly outstretched.

“Good night, Garrett,” Maggie whispered and closed the door.

Maggie leaned hard against the door after locking it. She wondered if Garrett was still on the other side. Her heart pounded and her mind was muddled with conflicting emotions. Maggie prepared for bed and hoped sleep would come quickly.

The train ride to Trinidad, Colorado, passed uneventfully. Summer storms had cleared the air, making temperatures quite bearable. The air also became dryer the farther west they traveled. Maggie loved to study the changing landscape. They had passed from rolling prairie hills to parched lands of sagebrush and juniper.

Maggie knew her feelings for Garrett were growing, and Garrett had made it clear how he felt about her. The confusion came because of her own spiritual battle. Maggie didn’t want to deal with God or her father, and on the last day of their train journey, she determined to put them both aside and concentrate on her feelings for Garrett.

When dark hues of purple lined the western horizon, Maggie grew curious. “Are those the mountains?” she asked Garrett in little girl excitement.

“Yes, but this distance doesn’t do them justice. Wait until we’re closer.” Garrett shared Maggie’s enthusiasm. The mountains meant they were almost home.

Several hours later, Maggie was rewarded with a pristine and glorious sight. The Rocky Mountains in their summer splendor towered majestically before them.

“I’ve never seen anything like it in all my life. Just look!” Maggie exclaimed as she lowered the train window. She quickly pulled her head back in, as cinders flew back from the smoke stack, stinging her eyes. She tried to fish her handkerchief out of her bag, but it eluded her.

“Here,” Garrett offered. “Look at me and I’ll get it.” Eyes closed, Maggie obediently turned her face to Garrett and allowed him to work.

“There! Good as new,” Garrett proclaimed.

When she opened her eyes, Maggie met Garrett’s eyes only inches from her own.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Desperate to regain her composure, she added, “Does it always look so grand?”

Garrett laughed softly. “Yes, it always does. I find it hard to believe you’ve never traveled to the mountains before. I’m surprised your grandmother never took you.”

“Grandmother wasn’t one for traveling. She liked to stay in Topeka, garden whenever possible, and go to church activities.”

“I see,” Garrett said thoughtfully. “What about you? What did you like to do?”

“Well, let’s see. I liked to go to the picnics our church had down by the river. We’d have at least one a month during the summer. I also enjoyed reading and the parties Grandmother and I went to.” Maggie poured out the words easily but continued to look out the window, refusing to miss a moment of the newness that passed by.

As the tracks began to climb the steep grade of Raton Pass, Maggie couldn’t help but gasp at the scenery. The mountains rose imposingly on either side, and the evergreens reached for heaven. There was snow on the higher peaks, and wildflowers waved along the tracks.

“We certainly don’t have anything like this in Kansas,” Maggie said, turning briefly to meet Garrett’s eyes.

“That’s true,” Garrett agreed.

“You must love it a lot,” Maggie said thoughtfully.

“Indeed I do. I can only think of one other thing I care more about.” Maggie knew Garrett was struggling with his feelings just as she was. They seemed to have an unspoken agreement to leave the subject alone, so Maggie attempted to steer the conversation to safer ground.

“Is my father’s ranch this beautiful?”

“Every bit as much and more. It lies in a rich green valley on the other side of the mountains. It’s protected on both sides by the Sangre de Cristo range.”

“The what?” Maggie questioned, giving Garrett her undivided attention.

“Sangre de Cristo. It means the blood of Christ. Your father said it reminded him of what was important in life. His ranch sits in a deep valley. It’s great land for cattle and horses. The Pueblos have a mission not far from the ranch house. Your father set it up for a missionary couple down there. The Pueblos raise fine crops and sheep, and they share portions with your father in exchange for beef,” Garrett shared eagerly.

“The Pueblos? Who are they?” Maggie questioned.

“They’re Indians. Perfectly harmless,” Garrett added at the look of alarm on Maggie’s face. “They have a way with irrigation and planting that would make your head spin, and they live in adobe houses like the ranch, only smaller.”

“Adobe? I can see I’ll have a great deal to learn,” Maggie murmured
thoughtfully. “We might as well put this time to good use. Tell me about adobe.”

“Adobe is an orange clay brick.” Garrett was more than happy to teach Maggie about her new life. “The bricks are formed from straw and clay,” he continued, “and then allowed to dry in the sun. The adobe is used with a small amount of timber to create a house. Then the workers mud the entire house, filling in the cracks and smoothing over the surface of the walls. The bricks are quite thick and keep the houses well insulated.”

“I see, and my father’s house is made of such adobe?”

“That’s right. It may not seem as refined as your house in Topeka, but it holds a charm all its own.”

“And the interior?” Maggie asked, trying to get a mental picture.

“We don’t waste much wood out here, and you won’t find a lot of it used in the house. There are some hardwood floors and paneling is used on the walls in a couple of rooms, but usually the stone walls are whitewashed. The interior of your father’s house is as nice as any I’ve seen. I think you’ll like it.”

“I suppose so,” Maggie said softly. She remembered her home in Potwin Place, and how she’d helped her grandmother pick out the colors, wallpaper, and furnishings. “I know it will mean a great deal to my father if I do.”