And so it was that a few days later Sophie found herself staring out the window of a passenger train heading east across the vast open spaces of Kansas. With every muscle tensed in a vain effort to speed the locomotive toward her destination, the passing landscape held little interest. Would she arrive in time to spend precious hours with her beloved father? Or would she be too late? She prayed not. The ride down to Denver had been both an emotional and physical challenge, and only Effie’s soothing ministrations after they arrived had renewed Sophie’s energy sufficiently for her to undertake the remainder of the trip. Now, in diabolical concert with the rhythmic clanging of wheels on rails, questions pecked relentlessly at her brain: Should I ever have left Cottonwood Falls? Was I selfish to follow my dream rather than concerning myself with my family’s needs? Can Pa forgive my absence? Will I be able to forgive myself?
A debilitating dread sapped her energy, energy that would be sorely needed when she arrived. Her brothers and sisters-in-law had borne the brunt of her father’s incapacitation. Now perhaps she could lend a helping hand, God willing. But the thought of saying a final goodbye? Unbearable.
Only the breeze blowing through the open window kept her from expiring in the beastly heat. Laying her head back and closing her eyes, she tried to capture the majestic Colorado peaks, the melody of icy stream water, the fragrance of fresh mountain air. She must’ve dozed off, because she was suddenly awakened by the sound of her book falling to the floor. Retrieving it, she held it to her chest, cherishing the memory of Tate’s thoughtfulness.
He had joined Robert and her in the ride across the park to the point where the descent began. The three had dismounted briefly to exchange farewells. Tate had drawn her aside and thrust a small volume into her hands. In the early-morning light she had made out the title—William Wordsworth’s Lyrical Ballads. When she’d looked at him inquiringly, with one finger he’d traced the line of her jaw and said in a low tone, “So you don’t forget the mountains—or us. I’ve marked a passage or two in the ‘Tintern Abbey’ poem.” Then, as if he’d revealed too much, he took a step back and studied the lightening eastern horizon. “You’d best be on your way. I wish you well on your journey.”
“Thank you.”
“There’s one more thing.” He cleared his throat. “The boys wanted me to ask if you’re coming back.”
In that moment, she saw the raw hope in his eyes. Yet, in honesty, she could make no such promise. Instead, she’d lowered her head and whispered, “I don’t know, Tate. I...I don’t know.”
A mournful train whistle punctuated her reminiscence, bringing her back to the reality of the looming decisions threatening to overwhelm her. As she had often done since leaving Estes Park, she opened the book of poems and turned to the first passage Tate had marked.
Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
In the margin he had written “May the memory of the beauty and wonder of nature bless you.”
With care she closed the volume and grasped it tightly, a kind of lifeline. She bowed her head in recognition of a truth. Perhaps this was as close as Tate could come to prayer. Yet it was, for her, just that—a prayer.
* * *
Six days had elapsed since Sophie’s departure, time marked by Toby’s daily question at breakfast: “When is Miss Sophie coming back?” Tate tried to remain optimistic, but could ill afford to give the boys false hope. He’d carefully explained to them the reason for her sudden departure. Toby had accepted the explanation, but Marcus was more perceptive. This morning he had asked Tate to follow him into the library alcove. There he proudly opened the Latin primer that had arrived earlier in the week. “I’m getting some of this, Papa, but without Miss Sophie, it’s really hard. She is coming back, isn’t she?”
“I hope so.”
Slowly closing the book, Marcus sighed. “She might stay in Kansas.” It wasn’t a question. “Her family is there. They may need her. She likes it here, I know, but she has no family in Estes Park.” He shrugged in resignation. “Except for us.”
Tate was at a loss for words. He could neither encourage that line of Marcus’s thinking nor deny it. Sophie had become far more than a tutor to the boys and, if he was honest, far more than a friend to him. If she failed to come back? It didn’t bear contemplating. Yet if she did return, what would that mean? Was he prepared to think of her as family as Marcus obviously did? “We’ll have to wait and see. For this afternoon, how about riding over to her cabin to check on things.”
“Can Beauty come with us? She’s probably missing home.”
“Good idea.”
Later as the two trotted down the road, Tate marveled. Marcus was not an outdoorsman and often rejected offers to go riding. Today, though, he’d accepted with alacrity. As soon as they arrived at the cabin, they went to work airing it out. Then with Beauty following closely behind, Marcus helped stack firewood and joined Tate in sweeping and dusting. All the while Tate did his best to avoid looking at the sampler on the wall and its words of challenge: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.” He didn’t want to think about the questions that message raised for him. Was there really a God he could trust? As for his own understanding, was his confidence in his abilities and decisions justified...or arrogant?
Marcus pulled him from his introspection. “Toby and I had fun the nights we stayed here,” he volunteered as he pushed a broom around.
“Despite the flood?”
“I knew we’d be safe with Miss Sophie.”
Safe. Tate wondered if Marcus had ever felt that with his own mother.
“If she comes back, Papa, it won’t be for a while, right?”
A lonely pang shot through Tate. “No, son. It will take time for her to settle her affairs.”
“I miss her.”
All the way home, Tate’s chest was tight. The very thing he’d worried about had happened—had been happening all along. Nor had he been powerless to stop it. He could’ve done something. But, just like his sons, he was captivated by Sophie. And he wanted more.
When they arrived home, Tate was surprised to see Joe Harper’s gelding tied to the hitching post. After suggesting to Marcus that he brush Beauty, Tate headed for the house. Bertie told him Joe was waiting in his office. Tate hung up his hat and entered the room. “Harper, good to see you.”
After shaking hands, they both sat down. Joe nodded in the direction of Tate’s desk, where several letters were stacked. “Thought I’d bring those along.”
“You didn’t need to.”
“I know. But I wanted to talk to you about that citified crowd over at Lord Dunraven’s place. Some bigwig who owns a London newspaper is summering up here and has gotten wind of Belle and Sophie’s plan to climb Longs Peak. Scuttlebutt has it that now editors from papers all around Colorado and beyond may send reporters and photographers up here, and that to a man, they are hoping for a failure, no doubt so they can ridicule the women.” He leaned forward. “I’ve done everything in my power to get Belle to drop the idea, but she’s determined. Perhaps you can persuade Sophie to give up their summit ambitions.”
Tate knew Sophie. An attempt to dissuade her from any goal to which she had set her mind would be doomed. “I don’t have that kind of influence, Joe. What she does in regard to scaling Longs is her business.” Even as the words left his mouth, frustration mounted—frustration with the idiots who would set women up as sources of ridicule, with Sophie for being so reckless and headstrong and with his own helplessness in the matter. “At the moment, of course, she is in Kansas with her dying father. Whether she returns is a matter of speculation.”
“Rest assured, we would all like her to come back, Tate. She’s a delightful young woman, which—” he winked “—surely has not escaped your notice. Belle is very fond of her. But I shudder to think what might happen if their Longs Peak climb results in a journalistic frenzy. Belle claims she and Sophie have discussed what they might be up against, but...” He lifted his hands in consternation.
Tate frowned. “They may think they know how to handle the attention they will attract, but I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
“Nor do I.” Harper stood. “Those of us with their best interests at heart will have to be vigilant.” The two men, preoccupied by their concern, walked in silence to the front door. There Harper spoke again. “The personal letter on your desk has a Denver postmark. Maybe it brings news about Sophie.”
After his neighbor rode off for home, Tate stood in his office, staring at the mail lying on his desk. He picked up his letter opener and slit the top envelope. One sheet of paper fell out. Dread mixed with eagerness as he unfolded it and quickly assured himself of Sophie’s signature.
Dear Tate,
When I arrived at the Hurlburts’, a telegram had come saying Papa was weak, but hanging on to life. I will not know until I get to Kansas what the future may hold for me. I miss the boys and hope it will be possible for me to return and continue tutoring them. Time will tell. I have also written Belle Harper with this news of my indefinite stay. Whether it happens this year or next, I have told her not to give up on our plans to climb Longs Peak. I send the boys my love and ask you to be patient with me.
Patient? Easier said than done when all he wanted to do was follow her to Kansas and make sure she returned with him to the mountains she loved. And to somehow dissuade her from the perilous trek up Longs.
* * *
At last. As the train slowed for her stop, Sophie blew the dust off her hat before putting it on. For the past hour, she had reveled in the sight of her beloved Flint Hills, her heart pounding in anticipation. And there! Tears flooded her eyes when she spotted her brother Caleb standing on the platform, with Lily beside him. How she had missed her family. She clenched the handle of her reticule. Dear God, what news have they brought?
Assisted by the porter, she climbed down from the train and was immediately engulfed. “Sophie, dear,” Lily whispered, while Caleb held her by the shoulders studying her intently.
“Colorado seems to agree with you,” he said.
She looked from one to the other, scarcely able to believe they stood before her. “I’m so relieved to be here.” Then gathering her courage, she asked the question that had plagued her throughout her journey. “Pa? How is he?”
“Eager to see you,” Caleb answered solemnly. “Come along now. I’ll gather your bags and we’ll talk along the way.”
Sitting between the two on the buggy seat, Sophie scanned the familiar countryside, so different from the Rockies. With each turn of the wheels, not only did her concern for her father increase, but so did the sudden, spontaneous ache of Charlie’s loss. This stony land had been her beloved’s workshop...once.
Caleb spoke just loudly enough to be heard over the road noise. “There is no way for me to soften the blow, Sophie. Pa is near the end. He goes in and out of consciousness. Aunt Lavinia and Rose are with him now, and when he’s not working, Seth hardly leaves the bedside.”
Sophie grabbed her brother’s knee in an effort to hold herself upright. “I should’ve been here.”
Lily placed an arm around Sophie’s shoulders. “Please don’t blame yourself. My father has assured us that medically there was nothing any of us could have done to prevent this last stroke. None of us ever knows what a day will bring, yet there is consolation in knowing that God is with us everywhere, even in the valley of the shadow of death.”
It was as if only with those words had the finality of her father’s situation hit Sophie. She sagged into her sister-in-law’s comforting embrace and let her pent-up tears flow. As they neared Cottonwood Falls, Sophie straightened, willing herself not to look at Charlie’s courthouse building, wiped her streaked face with a handkerchief and found her courage. “All right. That’s enough of that. Tell me what I must do, how I can help.”
For the rest of the trip to the Montgomery ranch, Lily outlined the schedule of care aimed at making Andrew comfortable. “Your father hasn’t much time, Sophie, but I know at some point he will be aware of your presence. Having all his children surrounding his bed should soothe his agitation.”
“We’ve arranged for you to stay in your old room,” Caleb added, “so you can be in the house with Pa. We are taking Rose and Seth’s boys home with us for a few days.”
“I hate to inconvenience anyone.”
Lily smiled. “Our girls are excited about the prospect of having their cousins come for a visit.” Her smile faded. “Given the circumstances, it’s probably best that Alf and Andy are away during this time.”
When the buggy rolled to a stop in front of the house, nostalgia nearly overcame Sophie—for gardens planted together, chess games contested, stories told around a winter’s fire. Rose came running toward her, followed by Seth, and hugged her close. “Dear girl, what a joy to see you, despite these sad circumstances.”
Then her tall, broad-shouldered brother took her fingers in his work-roughened hands. “I don’t have words, sister.” When Sophie looked into his warm, hazel eyes, she saw the quiet heartache in them.
Sophie studied the sturdy limestone house with its riotous flower beds surrounding the deep porch. “There’s no place like home, is there?” she asked without expecting an answer.
“Come freshen up,” Rose said, “and then I’ll take you to your father. Lavinia is sitting with him currently.” Lavinia, Lily and Rose’s aunt, was a wonder—the grand Saint Louis society woman had been transformed by family into a Flint Hills fixture.
Seth carried Sophie’s bags to her old room under the eaves, its comforting furnishings so full of reminders of her girlhood. When he left her there, she slipped off her travel jacket and used a soft cloth to soak up cool water from the basin. Heat, unlike any in the mountains, suffused this second story. She wiped her flushed face and neck and redid her hair, lifting it higher off her neck. Before she went to her father, she uttered a silent prayer that she might be a source of light and comfort to this dear man who had so valiantly undertaken to raise three motherless children.
Lavinia stood at the bottom of the stairs. “My dear,” she said, “we are so glad you have come.” She nodded toward the downstairs bedroom door. “Rose and Seth are with Andrew.” Then she cupped Sophie’s cheeks and kissed her on the forehead. “Go with God, child.”
No amount of imagining could have prepared her for what greeted her upon entering the sickroom. Her sturdy, muscled father had been reduced to a fragile wraith laid out on the bed beneath a light counterpane. His sunken cheeks and pale skin bore no resemblance to the tanned, laughing face she held in her memory. Seth yielded his chair at the bedside, and Sophie rushed forward. “Papa, Papa,” she said as she sank into the chair and gathered his cool, dry hand in hers. “It’s Sophie.” She leaned even closer. “Papa, I’m home.”
His ragged breaths filled the silence. Sophie waited for what seemed an eternity for his eyes to flutter open. “Swee-har,” he mumbled. Then he repeated the mangled word in a more demanding tone. “Swee-har!”
Sophie stood and leaned over him, her fingers smoothing the hair off his forehead. “I’m here, Pa. Your Sophie.”
“No,” he rasped. “No. Swee-har.” He thrashed impotently, then once more fixed his rheumy eyes on Sophie. “You. Bride. Love.”
Seth came up behind her and ran his hands up and down her arms, which were suddenly pebbled with goose bumps. “It’s all right, Sophie. He thinks you’re Mother.”
Sophie could have wept with the sadness of it all. Now, in his final hours, her father was turning to the sweetheart he’d lost to childbirth all those years ago. The woman he had continued to love. And loved now.
“Swee-har,” her father whispered, just before closing his eyes. “I see you.”
“He’ll sleep now,” Rose said. “Let’s get you some supper, and then, if you wish, you can sit with him for a time before bed.”
Worn-out from the trip and the emotions of the day, Sophie hadn’t realized how hungry she was. As usual, Rose had prepared a delicious meal. Sophie ate quickly, anxious to get back to her father’s bedside, praying he would recognize her before slipping off to eternity to join his “Swee-har.” Just once more, she begged God, let him see me and hear me tell him how much I love him.
Despite her exhaustion, Sophie remained at her father’s side until ten, when Caleb was due back to relieve her. Rose and Seth had retired earlier, and the house was eerily quiet except for occasional ghostly creaks and the relentless ticking of the hall clock. Fighting drowsiness, Sophie passed the long minutes by recalling her many happy times with her father—from his clumsy attempts to braid her hair before she learned to do it herself to his mischievous teasing about Charlie’s courtship. Occasionally Pa would stir, even reach up and claw the air as if searching for something—or someone. Then his arm would fall limply back to the bed. She had so hoped he would open his eyes, recognize her, and...what? Forgive her for her absence?
Just as the clock struck ten, Caleb entered the room and stood at the foot of the bed. “You should get some sleep. I promise to call you if he needs you.” With that Caleb helped her to her feet and walked her into the hallway. There he paused and drew her into a brotherly embrace. “I’m glad you’re here, dear Sophie. It’s not just Pa who needs you. Seth and I do, too. You are, and always have been, our gift from God.” Then with what sounded like a muffled sob, he turned and reentered their father’s room.
Lying in her bed, Sophie was convinced she would never sleep, the events of the past few days whirling in her brain. Heavy-eyed, she tried to think what the morrow would bring. And the day after that. She wanted to keep her father here on earth, to hold him ever closer to her heart. Yet simultaneously, she prayed to be able to release him, for him to arrive at a peaceful end.
Finally, she dozed off, only to be awakened at dawn’s first light by Rose, gently shaking her and whispering, “Come, now, Sophie. It’s time.” She hastily donned a robe and followed Rose down the stairs. Lantern light from the bedroom cast long shadows on the floor and in the distance a cock crowed. Seth and Caleb stood one on each side of their father’s bed. Seth turned and led her to the chair. She picked up her father’s hand, calloused from a lifetime of hard work. Across the bed, she noted Caleb’s lips moving in a silent prayer. Pa’s mouth was open and the sound of each irregular breath wounded her.
Then he roused, and another garbled “Swee-har” escaped his lips. Sophie clutched his hand and stood up, leaning close. “I’m here, Pa.” Then a wondrous thing happened. He turned his head. His eyes were open and clear. “Sophie?”
She kissed his hand. “Yes, I’m here.”
“Good girl,” he mumbled.
“I love you, Pa. So very, very much.” She was aware that Caleb now sat on the bed and Seth was supporting her.
The old man looked then at each of his children. “Good boys. Good girl.”
Just before he once more closed his eyes, he looked straight at Sophie. “Mountains. Your dream. Be happy there.”
Caleb cleared his throat and Seth tightened his grip on her. Minutes passed where words were unnecessary to express the bond of love blessing them all.
Then, almost without their notice, the labored breathing ceased and the wrinkles on their father’s face relaxed in such a peaceful expression that Sophie could not help but murmur a relieved “Amen,” even as her heart broke.
“He was waiting for you,” Seth whispered.