“We haven’t had any snow, yet. Touch wood.” Mrs. Kirkland said to Ruth Clumpit from the parlor’s entrance. On her head perched a most elegant hat with a stunning red bow held in place by a sapphire brooch with diamonds outlining it. Puffs of white feathers rose like clouds behind the bow.
Sarah folded her hands in front of her and waited in the hall. Mrs. Kirkland could go on so, but since the lady stood at the door, she’d likely finish soon. Sarah admired the woman’s shapely blue dress with a wide white collar and large white buttons. Mrs. Kirkland’s gloves were quite elegant as well. Sarah pressed her fingers to her lips to hide her smile. The woman looked ready for a formal afternoon tea at the Banff Springs Hotel.
“Didn’t you get that bit last week?” Ruth’s sweet voice seemed a bit preoccupied.
Sarah peered around the parlor door. Her friend knitted furiously, something Sarah knew Ruth did only when agitated.
“No, no. Our farm being so low in the coulee, well the snow just doesn’t settle there. Although, I will admit the pasture by the Blacks’ got a good dusting.”
Sarah cleared her throat, and Mrs. Kirkland jumped. The woman touched her hat then settled her hand on the handle of her white parasol.
“Mrs. Black, how nice to see you. Feeling better these days?” Mrs. Kirkland slipped out of the parlor entrance like a nervous gopher, her head looking in all directions while holding her purse and parasol with both hands at her chest.
“Yes. Thank you for asking.” She mustn’t think poorly of the woman. Mrs. Kirkland really was a nice person, but Sarah was tired of everyone tiptoeing around her.
“I had just come with a dozen eggs for Mrs. Clumpit here.” Mrs. Kirkland touched her hat again and scurried to the door. “Best be going now. Do say hello to your hus—oh—ah. Well, do have a nice day.”
Sarah smiled politely and waved good-bye as the woman dove out the front door.
“Everyone’s embarrassed, you know.”
“Pardon me?” Sarah stepped into the parlor. She loved this room. Ruth had such a gift for decorating. The white walls gave a cheery appearance, and chairs dressed with flower-patterned cushions gave it a summery feel.
“Everyone feels sorry for you, but they don’t know quite what to do.” Ruth looked up from her knitting. “They were that way when I lost Mr. Clumpit and baby Joe. Everyone, that is, except your husband and Sergeant Dixon.”
Did Ruth blush? Sarah suppressed a smile. It was no secret that the sergeant and Ruth had been making eyes at each other for the past year. “Yes, I suppose it is difficult to know what to do.” She raised her hands dejectedly. “I’m in the middle of it, and I don’t know what to do.”
Ruth nodded and motioned for Sarah to sit in a rocking chair by the wicker teacart.
“I lost my Bible in the fire.” Sarah squeezed her hands. Before she could return to Joab, she must gain some strength. Had he not always said strength could be found in God’s Word? Bibles were expensive, and, while much could be brought on the train, it always took a while. Then, she didn’t have any money. Oh, why did God bring all this upon her?
Ruth raised her eyebrows. She rested her needles on her lap and settled her pleasant gaze on Sarah.
“Would you mind if I borrowed yours?” It had been so long since she had even prayed. If her encounter with that man who seemed to know so much about her did anything, and he did seem familiar, it made her realize she needed to get right with God. “I’d like to walk up to the farm.” She gulped back the humiliation. She wasn’t some sinner in need of great repentance—or was she? “I need to pray.”
Ruth set her knitting in the wicker basket at her feet and reached for the black book on the end table. “You go right ahead, dear. I’ve done my reading this morning, before the sun rose. I’ll not need it until tomorrow.”
Sarah clutched it against her bosom. “Thank you.”
“Hurry along and don’t worry none about getting back.” Ruth settled back with her knitting. “I’m sure Joab would appreciate a visit, too.”
Joab. She wanted to see him, but could she bear to look at him? Oh Lord, help me.
Sarah stepped off the dirt road to cross the small coulee that wound past their farm like a moat around a castle. The smell of sage crushed beneath the feet brought memories of breaking land so many years ago, when they first arrived. They were so full of hope and promise. “Lord, how could you have let all this happen?”
A tear trickled down her cheek. Over there, at that low spot, they had planted their first flax field, a sea of blue blossoms surrounded by the greenish-gold of prairie grass. “We were so proud then, Lord. What did we do to deserve this—this destruction?” She gagged and fell to her knees by the burnt grass that crowned the top of the shallow coulee.
“How do we move forward? How do we recover? God, I see no hope.”
A breeze’s gentle finger ruffled her bonnet.
“How can we begin again? We’ve nothing but the clothes on our backs and even those are tattered rags. If it were not for the gracious loan of my friends, I would stand here nigh naked.”
The horizon wavered in a mirage, making the low rise of the Buffalo Hills come alive, like a gigantic moving caterpillar. Those hills had no relief. They provided no protection. Too far away to block the winds that rose against them and too near to allow the vision of the destitute to see hope on the horizon.
“Oh my God, my God, why have You done this to us?” She bent forward over her stomach as though punched by nature. “What evil thing did we do that You have chosen to punish us?”
The wind brought no words. Even the birds were silent. Sarah pressed her hand against the black, charred ground. This land had turned against them. The weather the night before the fire must have been God’s wrath unleashed, for now they were as desolate as the land in which they lived.
“Why didn’t You take my life, too?” She cried and fell prostrate on the powdered remains of their labor. She coughed as ash floated up her nose, and the Bible, held in her hand, pressed against her head.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
“But You weren’t there. I walked through that valley, and You deserted me.”
Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words without knowledge?
“What words? I know nothing. I only want to understand … to have hope.”
Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth?
“I know, Lord, that I am a miserable sinner. I know, Lord, that I deserve none of what You have given me.” She pressed her face against the blackened soil. “Joab was right when he said, ‘The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.’ for You have taken it all away. I have no hope.”
“Anyone who has Christ as their Saviour has hope.”
Pastor Perkins’ voice startled Sarah, and she pushed up from the ground. “Sir, forgive my appearance.”
He raised his hand. “You were baring your soul to your Heavenly Father. You need not apologize.” His round face beamed with graciousness. Tall and muscular, his stature emanated strength that was tempered by his kind eyes beneath thick brows. His rosy cheeks brought cheer and only increased the pleasant feel his smile gave.
“How long have you stood there?”
“Not long, but enough to know that you are hurt, and alone, and scared.”
Sarah looked at her hands. “I don’t know where we go from here.”
“You have lost everything but the most important thing.”
“My salvation.”
He nodded. “The difficulties of this world seem to weigh heavy on us, might even seem unjust, but in the light of eternity …”
Sarah lifted her eyes and beheld a new farm in the distance, an oasis in a desert of stubble. Whose place was it?
“The vastness of God’s love extends the length of eternity.” Pastor Perkins turned and walked to the edge of the coulee. “A new beginning takes courage and faith, but is not impossible when God is in control. Tomorrow may seem a little less void of hope than today. And so the next day, and one day you will find yourself once again seeing the blessings of God and knowing His tender mercies. Until that day, remember the hope of eternal life.” He stepped down into the coulee. “The troubles of today will seem a mere speck from the panoramic view of eternity.”
In the horizon beyond the pastor’s head, the white peaks of the Rocky Mountains turned purple in the setting sun. A distant hope, Joab once called them. Was that what she faced now? A distant hope?
Between her and those mountains stood a great expanse. Could that be as the vastness of God’s love? She rotated a full circle, taking in the endless miles of prairie. Could it be that this was not the end, but merely the beginning? Did God have more for her and Joab?
A hill, set out from the rolling terrain of the Buffalo Hills, stood capped by a farm. Above it the great expanse of blue sky darkened. She lifted her hands and tilted back her head. “I am Thine, oh Lord, I have heard Thy voice.” The song sprung from her spirit, setting it free to soar through the blue sky, which now spoke to her of God’s glory.
How could she have forgotten to Whom she belonged in the wake of all that happened? Even in the midst of the fire and in the valleys of her sorrow, God had been there, touching her with the hands of kindness. She would hope again.