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Somehow, Jesse managed to keep his thoughts from wandering to his parting from Shiloh that morning. Managed, that was, until he made camp for the night. Then he had nothing to distract him. Then there was nothing to do such as racing his pony, fording streams, climbing hills, and constantly scanning the terrain for anything unexpected or unfriendly.

But in the quiet of a star-pierced, blackened night, with only the company of his pony and a crackling fire, Jesse’s head was flooded with memories and his heart with emotions. Emotions that were, at best, bittersweet.

Once again, he had fled rather than face what was happening between him and Shiloh. That he loved her and wanted her for his own. But the confrontation with her brother had only confirmed what he’d always known. That he would never be considered good enough for her, that his motives would always be suspect.

And, in truth, what could he offer Shiloh? Life on a reservation, living like a Ute? Not that it was such a bad life, just one he knew she wasn’t accustomed to. But at least there they’d be accepted as a mixed-blood couple.

If he chose instead to take her off the reservation, they’d have to face the ostracism and unkindness of many of their neighbors. As would any children they might have.

Could any love long endure such obstacles thrown in its way? His own parents’ relationship hadn’t, but then Jesse wasn’t convinced it had ever been a love match to begin with. He’d never seen any affection shown to his mother by his father. And, as the years went by, his father became more and more abusive. Until Jesse was old and big enough to finally stop him.

He tossed that unpleasant memory into the fire along with another piece of wood. His parents’ fate didn’t have to be his. Nonetheless, he didn’t have much hope of a lasting marriage with Shiloh.

She loved her family, and if Cord Wainwright’s reaction was any indication, it didn’t look like they’d be eagerly stepping forward to accept him. Jordan, if she ever regained any semblance of a normal life, likely wouldn’t either. To do so would require her to acknowledge her part in the fiasco that had been their liaison. And Jesse doubted that day would ever come.

No, he thought as he leaned back on his bedding and cradled his head in his hands, as hard as it had been today to ride away from Shiloh, he knew he’d done the only thing he could. In time, Shiloh would realize that too. All that was needed was for them to put as much distance between each other as they could.

And each remain where they truly belonged.

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In the ensuing days, it soon became apparent that Jordan’s recovery was going to be a long, tiring, and frustrating one. Though she could remember Emma, her two brothers, and her sister, she had no recollection of Sarah. And, though she knew she was the wife of Robert Travers, she had no memory of the night he’d almost killed her. She was also unaware that baby Cecilia, even when shown to her, was her own child.

As the three women of the household took turns caring for her and working to help her regain her memory, the full scope of what Jordan had lost with her brain injury was gradually revealed. She had trouble identifying the names of some objects, while others she immediately knew. Her usually flawless handwriting was greatly impaired, and at first they couldn’t even decipher what she wrote. She could barely read above a first grader’s level.

Jordan’s days of progress, however minuscule it sometimes seemed, were usually followed by a few days’ relapse when she fell back into exhaustion and pain. Her mood was frequently very low as well, in the moments when she’d realize how much she had to relearn. The only bright spot was that, though she was weak and unsteady, she had good use of her arms and legs. With help, she soon managed to walk around in her bedroom, then down the hall, and finally out onto the front porch to sit in a comfortable rocker for some fresh air.

One hot, late June afternoon almost three months after her horrifying beating, Jordan and Shiloh decided to cool off by sitting on the front porch. As Jordan contentedly watched the ranch activities, Shiloh busied herself shelling some freshly picked peas. The mild spring weather this year had encouraged a bumper crop of peas, spinach, and salad greens. The pole beans, summer squash, potatoes, and various other warmer weather vegetables had just been planted a few weeks ago. If the weather continued to be favorable, this would be a good year for putting up a lot of vegetables to enjoy through the next winter.

Shiloh loved working in the garden, digging in the rich dirt, planting seeds and watering them, and then watching as the first leaves broke through and reached toward the sun. She found the picking of the harvest produced by the lovingly nurtured plants satisfying, and the preparation of all the vegetables for storage comforting and reassuring. But then, she’d always reveled in almost all the chores of ranch life. Even the smelly work of shoveling manure into the compost pile, which eventually turned into rich nutrients to add to the garden soil.

“Here,” Jordan said of a sudden. “Let me help.” She reached over to take the bowl of unshelled peas from her sister.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Shiloh said. “I enjoy doing this.”

“Yes, but I need to use my . . . my . . .” A look of confusion spread across her face. “What do you call this?” she asked, holding up a hand.

“It’s a hand.” Shiloh smiled. “Can you spell it, Jordan? The word hand?”

As if in intense concentration, her sister scrunched up her brow but finally shook her head. “It’s there, just beyond my reach,” she said. “But I just . . . can’t . . . remember.”

Shiloh leaned over and handed her the bowl of unshelled peas. “It’ll come. It’s just going to take time and a lot of patience. And you spell it h-a-n-d.”

Jordan thought about that for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I do remember that.” She lowered her head and began to expertly open a pea pod and then slide her thumb down its interior to expel the plump, light green peas.

Pulling up the small table that held their glasses of cider, Shiloh placed the other bowl of shelled peas between them, then reached over and took a handful of pea pods to work on in her lap. They labored in companionable silence for a while, Shiloh stealing occasional covert glances at her sister. It was almost as if she still couldn’t believe Jordan had survived, and needed a reassuring reminder from time to time.

The bandages had been removed for good about a month ago, and Jordan’s head, which had been shaved for the surgery, was now covered in short blonde curls. The terrible bruises had completely faded, and her split lip had healed save for a faintly darker red line. She was still thin and pale, but her appetite seemed to be improving with each passing day. Save for any unexpected complications, Doc Saunders had pronounced her well on the road to recovery.

Robert Travers’s trial date was set for a week from today. Cord, a trained lawyer, would prosecute the case. His considerable criminal trial skills, combined with the community outrage at the severe brutality of the act and the Wainwrights’ influence in the area, would likely ensure Robert’s conviction. Even his own family had distanced themselves from him, despite his claims that Jordan had driven him to hit her, and that she had fallen against the stone fireplace mantel and cracked her skull. The injuries were just far too severe to claim they were all “accidental.”

Shiloh struggled with the need to forgive him, though she knew her religious faith required it. She tried, but then every time she saw her sister, how she looked and how she fought to regain her memory of things that had always come so easily for her, Shiloh’s fury at Jordan’s husband would flare into a fiery conflagration yet again. After a time, she decided to lay her conflict at the Lord’s feet and just concentrate on helping her sister.

Surprisingly, these days she found herself actually looking forward to being with Jordan. Something had changed in their relationship. Shiloh knew part of it was that her sister wasn’t the same as before. Jordan was unsure, physically weak, and mentally struggling. But it was more than just Shiloh holding an unaccustomed position of superiority over her.

Jordan was so appreciative of even the smallest things done for her. She thanked everyone profusely. She didn’t pretend to be happy, that everything was wonderful, when it wasn’t. She was open and honest.

Perhaps, in time, her sister would regain enough of her memory to become the old Jordan again. If that happened, Shiloh knew she wouldn’t begrudge her, for it would mean Jordan had fully recovered. Still, she couldn’t help but enjoy this special time. She’d been given a great gift in the chance to make amends for her part in the sisterly estrangement. And she meant to make the most of it.

Even the passing thought of the cause of the estrangement, however, soon stirred memories of Jesse. By now, he’d been back at the White River reservation for about two months. Shiloh wondered if he ever gave her a passing thought. All the hard work she put in every day from dawn to dusk did little to banish him from her mind.

The sensible thing to do, she well knew, was to take him at his word and leave him be. The sensible thing to do was to use the quite legitimate excuse of her sister’s care needs to end her employment at the Agency. Doing so would effectively—and quite permanently—sever any contact with Jesse. But every time she sat down to write a letter to Nathan Meeker to include in a weekly letter she always wrote Josie, something always held her back.

The Indian agent, via his daughter, kept informing her to take all the time she needed to help her sister. He assured her that her position would remain open for at least another few months before he would be compelled to begin looking for another teacher. And so Shiloh put that decision on the back burner as well.

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As the days and weeks passed, Jordan ever so gradually improved. If one looked at her handwriting on a day-to-day basis, one saw little progress. But Shiloh wisely saved weekly samples, and when her sister would get discouraged, she’d pull out earlier ones to show the slight but encouraging gains. There were still memory issues and what seemed, over time, to be lasting changes in Jordan’s personality. She continued with balance issues, but with the help of the cane her brother Nick fashioned for her with a cunning horse’s head at the top, she was finally able to get around independently.

Still, an aura of melancholy hung over her. Though gradually Jordan ceased disavowing that little Ceci was her daughter, it was more than evident that something was blocking her true acceptance of that fact. Shiloh suspected her sister’s denial hinged on her continued muddled memories of Robert Travers and the night he’d nearly killed her. Muddled memories and sudden if lessening attacks of panic and near hysteria.

Both Shiloh and Sarah tried all sorts of activities to cheer up Jordan. Like today’s picnic lunch down by the creek that ran through the ranch property, just over the hill separating them from view of the main house. It had been a sweltering, very dry summer with many wildfires burning throughout the Rockies, and the three women had longed for any excuse to get out of the overly warm house. So, one hot day near the end of August, Sarah had convinced Shiloh and Jordan that a picnic would be a most splendid idea.

Since Sarah, by now, was in her last month of pregnancy, and Jordan had all she could manage just walking down to the creek, Shiloh offered to carry the blanket and picnic basket. The smells of Emma’s delicious fried chicken, buttermilk biscuits, thick-sliced garden tomatoes, and still warm from the oven applesauce raisin cookies made her mouth water. The ever-thoughtful housekeeper had also included a big jar of cider, tin cups, and, besides a plate for the tomatoes, large cloth napkins to put the rest of the food on.

Even burdened with the basket and blanket, Shiloh soon left the other two women behind. She found a nice drooping willow tree that provided excellent shade but didn’t block the wonderful, cooling breeze, laid out the blanket, and set down the picnic basket. She retrieved the big jar of cider, walked to the creek, which was just a few feet away, and lodged the jar between some rocks. The cold creek water would soon cool the cider to a refreshing temperature.

By the time Sarah and Jordan arrived fifteen minutes later, both were perspiring, flushed, and winded. Shiloh jumped up, helped Sarah work her awkward way down to the blanket, then steadied her sister as she sat.

“This is perfect,” Cord’s young wife said as she maneuvered to lay on her side, the flat of one hand propping her head. “I may just set up house here and stay until the summer’s long gone.”

Jordan chuckled. “Would that be with or without our brother?”

Sarah shrugged. “Oh, he’d be welcome to visit anytime he wanted. Just as long as he didn’t snore. With this huge belly, I have enough trouble sleeping these days, without him waking me up.”

“I’ll bet Cord would deny he snores.” Shiloh pulled out the tin cups. “Anyone ready for a cool drink of cider?”

“I sure am.” Sarah raised her hand. “And you’re right. He does deny it, then turns around and accuses me of snoring. Can you imagine?”

“It’s just his way of diverting the discussion away from him,” Shiloh said and looked to her sister. “Isn’t that the way Cord always liked to win any arguments he had with us? Because he knew he couldn’t outtalk us.”

Jordan nodded slowly. “Yes, I do believe I recall that. Probably where he first learned his wily lawyer ways.”

As the other two women laughed amongst themselves, Shiloh climbed to her feet and headed to the creek to fetch the jar of cider. It had chilled nicely, she thought as she carried it back. Just what all of them needed.

After a couple of cupfuls each, the three women lounged back to rest a bit before they tackled their picnic meal. Shiloh soon rejoined them after depositing the cider jar back in its rocky niche in the creek to stay cool. Profoundly content, she smiled at Sarah and Jordan.

“I’m so glad everything’s turned out as it has,” she said. “You marrying Cord, Sarah, and soon to have your first child. And you doing so well, Jordan.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re home again where you belong.”

Her sister’s pronouncement took Shiloh aback. True, there had been occasional glimpses of the old Jordan at times, but she wasn’t so sure she wanted to continue on the tack her sister seemed to be taking. If Jordan started in again on her job at the Agency being a fool’s endeavor . . .

Before she could even offer up a silent prayer for patience and a gentle rejoinder, her sister hurried on. “Oh, I didn’t mean it quite the way it sounded,” Jordan said. “It’s just that I love having you home. We’ve got so much lost time to make up.” She paused, glancing down for a moment. “I do remember that we never got on very well, after that . . . day . . .”

Relief flooded Shiloh. She smiled. “And I love making up for that lost time.”

“So, are you ever going to write that man—Nathan Meeker, isn’t it?—and tell him you’re resigning?” her sister prodded, lifting her gaze to Shiloh’s. “Or are you of a mind to return to that job?”

It was Shiloh’s turn now to look down. “I haven’t decided.”

“But isn’t the deadline he gave you about ended?”

The passing thought that Jordan’s memory could be surprisingly acute, despite her head injury, flitted through her mind. “In another month, so I’ve still got time. But I need to get a letter off in the next day or two so he’ll know what I intend to do.”

“What exactly is holding you up, Shiloh?” Sarah asked, concern shining in her eyes. “From deciding, I mean.”

How could she share her feelings about Jesse? Shiloh still hadn’t sorted them out herself. Despite the ensuing months since he’d left, time and distance hadn’t soothed the tumult she felt whenever she thought of him. It had only clarified the certainty that she loved him, and that he indeed had feelings for her. Whether they were ones of love, however, Shiloh didn’t know.

All she knew was she’d never have the answers unless she confronted him, and to do that, she had to return to the Agency. There was also the growing conviction that she should honor the agreement to fulfill her year’s contract. Problem was, she was now fully aware of the difficulties awaiting her if she returned. The difficulties of getting any straight answer out of Jesse, as well as the demands of her contract. Even before she’d left to rush to Jordan’s side, Shiloh’s doubt that she’d be able to get the Utes to allow their children to attend school had reared its ugly head.

No, she decided, she couldn’t tell Sarah and Jordan about Jesse, but her concerns about her teaching job seemed safe enough to share. “I suppose I’m just enjoying being home too much, and I dread the task awaiting me back at the White River Agency,” she finally replied.

With the other two women’s encouragement, Shiloh soon had the tale told of the Utes’ reluctance to have their children schooled, and Meeker’s problems establishing a lasting, positive relationship with the Utes. “And then,” she finished, “the unrealistic demands and unfulfilled promises of the US government to the Indians haven’t helped much either.”

“It puts everyone in an untenable position,” Jordan said. “Indeed, a no-win situation.”

Shiloh nodded. “The Utes most of all. But I still haven’t given up my hopes to help them by educating their children. I truly believe that it’s their only chance of survival in a world that’s so rapidly changing around them.”

“First, though, they must face the fact that there’s no going back, no matter how badly they wish it so.” Sarah reached for the picnic basket and pulled it over. “If you can just accomplish that, you’ll have given them a great gift.”

The thought heartened Shiloh. She didn’t know how she was going to accomplish such a thing, but at least she had a definite, if less grandiose, goal to work toward now. A baby step, to be sure, instead of the giant ones she’d first envisioned, but hopefully the first of many steps. Because it was truth, what Sarah had said. There was no going back for the Utes, or any of the tribes for that matter.

“Thank you,” she said, her heart full of gratitude.

Sarah’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “For what?”

“For clarifying some things for me.” Shiloh motioned to the picnic basket. “So, are you going to hold on to that all day, or are we going to eat some lunch?”

“Oh, are you hungry?” Her brother’s wife shot her an impish look. “And I thought it was just me, having to eat for two and all.”

Jordan laughed. “Hardly. The smells coming out of that basket have been driving me crazy for the past half hour.” She scooted closer to Sarah. “Let’s eat!”

They enjoyed a tasty meal, full of laughter and camaraderie, and even argued over who’d get the last piece of fried chicken before deciding Sarah and the baby needed it most of all. As they cleaned up and put all the remnants of the lunch back in the basket, Sarah winced and put her hand to her belly.

“Is something wrong?” Shiloh was quick to ask.

“Oh, no.” Cord’s wife shook her head and managed a smile. “Just some prelabor contractions. I’ve been having them for the past few months. They come and go. Doc Saunders says it’s my womb practicing for the big event. Though, usually they don’t hurt or last so long.” She leaned back and began rubbing her distended belly.

“Just give it a few minutes and it’ll be gone,” Jordan offered, then stopped short. “Now, how did I know that?”

Shiloh bit her lip. Though Jordan helped with Ceci’s feeding and care these days, she remained distant and stiff with the child. But this unexpected comment on the childbearing process was encouraging, actually the first one Jordan had made since her injury.

“Guess you’re starting to remember the birth of your own child,” Shiloh said, ignoring the enigmatic look her sister sent her. She looked to Sarah. “Is the contraction going away yet?”

Sarah nodded. “Yes.” She sat up again. “That was a strange one, though. I’ve never felt one like that before.”

“Well, you are getting close to your confinement, aren’t you?” Shiloh set the picnic basket aside.

“Still have a couple more weeks before it’s really safe to deliver.” She picked up her tin cup. “Any cider left in that jar in the creek?”

“Just a little.” Shiloh rose. “I’ll go fetch it for you.”

They finished up the cider, put away the cups, and stretched out on the blanket for a nap. Despite the heat, it had been a perfect day, Shiloh thought as she lay there, watching the long, limp willow branches gently sway in the breeze. Her time here at Castle Mountain Ranch had been pleasant, especially once Jordan began to recover. It wasn’t the same as it had been when she was a child, but it was pleasant nonetheless.

Soon, however, she must head back to the Agency. Perhaps not for long, or for the extent of the full year. That would depend on Nathan Meeker. It would also depend on how things went with the Utes. But she was determined to give it her best try.

The White River Agency and the Ute people were where God had called her. She’d known that from the start, and the certainty hadn’t faded. True, she’d been very discouraged at times, and she wasn’t sure if, despite the Lord’s summons, she’d ultimately be successful.

Well, successful in the eyes of men, anyway, Shiloh quickly amended. She needed to change her way of viewing things, she well knew. Most times, she saw things with human eyes rather than the eyes of God. Her notion of success was so shallow, going no deeper than the superficial perception the world took of things.

She yawned. A heavy drowsiness settled over her. She levered up on one elbow and took in the sight of her two companions, both sleeping soundly.

Let them doze for a while longer, she thought. No harm done. She’d stay awake and keep an eye on things. Keep thinking about what it would take to change her outlook, to see everything in a new and better light.

To accomplish that, however, she’d have to do something about her infernal pride. She didn’t like to fail. Perhaps, though, a lot of that was caught up in how others might see her if she failed. As hard as she tried to deny it, she was very much directed by the opinions of others.

Yet Christ had never let the opinions of others direct Him. Indeed, He’d instead emptied Himself of His pride to the point of becoming a servant. He hadn’t viewed His role as being and acting godlike, but solely in doing His Father’s will. And that was the view of success she must take from here on out. Becoming a servant of others, being obedient, doing the Lord’s will.

A warm, soft breeze caressed her face. Birdsong came from somewhere up in the willow, sweet and soothing. She felt replete, at peace. Her lids began to droop, and this time Shiloh didn’t fight to remain awake.

Sometime later, she was jerked awake by a soft cry. She pushed up, rubbed her eyes, and looked around. Sarah was kneeling there, both hands clutching her belly, rocking back and forth.

“What is it, Sarah?” Shiloh asked anxiously. “What’s wrong?”

Tears filled Sarah’s eyes and trickled down her cheeks. “The baby . . . I think the baby’s coming . . .”