Beneath the Heavens Page 8

  Baldwin tilted his head side to side. “I think, Joe,” he pinned Joseph with his gaze. “I think it’s about time you retire from the Rangers.

  Joseph shot to his feet. “You say you don’t blame me and then turn around to tell me that I need to retire!” he shouted, fists clenched. “Rangers are my life, Lieutenant.”

  Baldwin stood up. “No one is doubting that, Captain; now sit down and breathe before you get all trigger-minded and go storming off.”

  Joseph narrowed his eyes and slowly sat down. “You’ve been talking to Jefferson?” he asked wearily, knowing his stepfather kept in contact with the Lieutenant and other captains in regard to Joseph’s whereabouts.

  Baldwin shook his head. “No, Joe, I haven’t. Not for a while,” he said as he sat down. “Jefferson is a good man and ain’t the kind to coerce me into telling you to quit. I only said what I did because, well, Joseph you are a good man, too. And, I could not help but think at Jesse’s funeral how I would hate to see you buried with no legacy. Joe, you are the type of man who I want to shake hands with at Christmas parties and spring festivals. I want to see you with bonny children and a pretty wife.”

  Joseph partly smiled. “I got no interest in marriage,” he replied coldly.

  Baldwin grinned. “No Ranger does. The difference, Joseph, is that those Rangers out there, good men that they are, they are parading around like tomcats and spending their free time in saloons. You on the other hand, have remained…”

  Joseph raised his eyebrows with amusement as Baldwin struggled for a manly way to say pure. It was known among the Rangers that Joseph, although not very religious, lived a chaste lifestyle. He owed it to his mother’s firm and good teachings. Out of respect to her, he kept the standards she taught.

  “Remained a good boy?” Joseph said with small humor, despite his sorrow.

  Baldwin threw his hands in the air. “You know what I mean. Anyway Joseph, I won’t ever take your badge. You’ve earned it for life, but I think it might be time to hang it up over a dresser and not pinned to a shirt that will eventually be stained with blood.”

  Joseph remained silent for a bit. It was coincidence that Jeff had said practically the same thing and that his presiding officer was ordering time off. All coincidence, but still hard to ignore.

  “I’ll take a week off,” Joe agreed.

  “You’ll take a few months off,” Baldwin replied with a stern brow. “I don’t want to see you until December. Go live the life of a normal man. Flirt with gals, attend boring church parties, live a little. Then if in December you want to stay a Ranger, I will welcome you back and never mention you leaving again. If you want to retire, I will release you with pride and honor.”

  Joe nodded and stood up. “Very well, Lieutenant. I won’t disobey an order.”

  Baldwin held out his hand and gave Joseph a firm handshake. “Oh and Joe, you may want to visit your parents. I did receive a letter from your mother saying that were you not to visit her she would set fire to my office, or something along those lines.”

  Joseph smiled thinly and walked out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. A flood of emotions stirred within him—anger, sorrow, confusion. He was used to suppressing such emotions. Anger did not help him shoot straight, sorrow muddled his thoughts, and confusion just annoyed him. Maybe some time off would be good, but what was he to do with himself? He would have to stop by home, but he did not want to stay there and be bombarded with Abby’s flock of friends, nor his parent’s urges to take up ranching. There was Abby. She asked nothing of him, except his company. Something he hadn’t been able to give her for some time. His parents couldn’t scold him for leaving quickly to visit the family princess. A change of scenery should be enough to clear his mind—there was just one thing he had to do first.

  Turning to the outside wall, Joseph slammed his fist, tearing the skin and leaving an indent in the wall. Pain seared through his hand and up his arm, creating an equilibrium between pain of body and pain of spirit. He felt better. Giving a casual nod to a few people staring, Joseph put on his hat and straightened his badge. Next stop, Colorado.

  Four

  Abby shivered as an icy wind blew through a window cracked open. She clutched the quilt around her shoulders tighter and continued to stare down at the blank sheet of paper that was to be a letter to her parents. What should she write? That it had only been a few weeks and she was ready to come home? That she couldn’t control the children who drove her to tears—all except Michael who was her gem—that they seemed hardly interested in her lessons and laughed at her Texan accent?

  A high whistle from the kitchen made Abby jump. She had forgotten about the teakettle. Running to the kitchen she realized that she had also forgotten about the potatoes for dinner. They were now burnt and stuck to the bottom of her only pan. The teakettle continued to scream and Abby frantically tried to turn off the stove, without realizing she had dragged a corner of her quilt onto the stove as she reached for the kettle. The smell of burnt cotton reached her before the flames could travel to her arm.

  “Oh no!” Abby shrieked, dropping the kettle, shrieking louder when boiling hot water fell all over the floor and her dress. Quickly, she dropped the quilt, her only quilt, and stomped on the small flames. She managed to get them out fairly quickly, but not soon enough to save the corner. The warmest thing she had, the quilt that Will had been kind enough to supply her with, was ruined. She would once again have no dinner, unless she wanted burnt potatoes for what seemed like the hundredth time, and she was hurt and wet from the boiling water. Abby looked around her. The kitchen was messy and smelled of smoke. She had tried to make curtains from some of her useless dresses, but instead of looking like the elegant white curtains she had imagined, they looked like wispy petticoats. When she then had tried to dye them, they came out splotchy, and now she had pink hands from the dye. She had tried to wash the floors and walls and managed to only spread the dust. All in all, the house looked terrible. It was as if the more she tried, the worse it became.

  The wind blew through the cracked window again, cutting viciously into Abby’s wet skin.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Abby cried suddenly. Picking up the quilt, she marched into the sitting room. She didn’t know what she was calling stupid—herself maybe, the situation, the house… possibly all three. All she knew was that she couldn’t do this. She did not even know how to light a proper fire, although she had tried. She was starving—already her skirts were looser—and she couldn’t teach. Maybe she really was only a pretty, empty-headed useless girl. She should leave and go back home to Texas where a life of ease awaited her. Will was still at the accident in the nearby mining town, but as soon as he was back he could drive her to Denver where she could start making her way back home.

  Shame suddenly filled Abby. She would have to go back and face her parents, having only survived hardship for a few weeks. A few blooming weeks. The hereditary stubbornness in Abby began to rise up in her chest. She couldn’t go back just yet, even if she froze and starved, she had to at least do this for a year. A year was an honorable amount of time, as her father put it. Jutting her chin with determination, Abby wrapped the now-wet-and-burnt quilt around her and walked back to her crowded writing desk. She sat down with chattering teeth. What should she write her parents? Did she lie and say everything was going well and that they had misjudged her? No, she could not lie. Abby knew she had many vices, but lying was not one of them.

  “Oh for golly sakes!” Abby tapped the dry ink quill on the desk. “I can’t tell them how awful it is,” she moaned, “and yet, I need to tell someone.” Abby sighed and folded her hands under her chin, her elbows resting on the desk. She needed help, divine help, not to mention someone in whom to confide. “Dear Lord,” she began, her voice quivering with homesickness and fatigue, “I’d like to believe that it was you who sent me out here. I agreed because I believed that this was your plan for me, that you guided my parents. Is that true or was I just caught
up in emotion and a need to prove my worth?”

  She wiped away an escaping tear. She did have a desire to prove her worth, and she wanted to feel special. Why was that? Why did she constantly parade in the fanciest dresses and say the silliest things? Did she really need her parents’ approval so much? Hadn’t they always shown and expressed their love to her?

  “Really Lord, I don’t know what I am doing here. I can’t teach, I can’t clean, and no one talks to me. The women scamper away with their children as soon as school is done. I am starving…” the tears were flowing freely now from self-pity. She didn’t want to feel sorry for herself, but she couldn’t seem to help it. All she wanted was respect from others and maybe from herself, too, and yet she couldn’t even get that. Did God respect her, or was He laughing at her like everyone else seemed to be doing?

  “Please help me. I feel like I am doing everything wrong, and I don’t know what to do,” she pleaded, tossing down the ink quill. Before she could continue her prayerful ranting a clear voice echoed in her mind and bathed her in warmth.

  I am helping you.

  Abby’s tears stopped and she looked around. It was not a spoken voice, just one inside her mind and heart. Again it repeated, I am helping you. Abby took a deep, steady breath, feeling suddenly calm and at peace. God was helping her—even if she did not quite know how. She looked to where she had tossed the ink quill. She reached over to remove it from her beloved Bible that had her name engraved on it. The pages fell open to where she had been reading last. It was about Joseph in Egypt, a young cocky boy who boasted proudly of his prophetic dreams and was confident in his father’s favoritism towards him. Then in a blink all was taken from him, and his own brothers sold him as a slave. Chewing her lip, Abby wondered if Joseph felt like she did now. A life of ease suddenly replaced by a foreign and hard one. Did he know that God was simply preparing him for greater things? Happier things?

  Abby stroked the beloved page. Joseph never faltered. He always remained true and positive towards God no matter what.

  “Alright Lord,” she said, resolution in her voice. “I promise not to whine. I promise to take whatever task you give me.” She ran a hand through her loose brown curls. “However, if you find in your will to send someone my way who may help, I would not object,” she laughed and concluded her prayer with an “Amen.”

  As she began to close the Bible, she caught Joseph’s name one more time. Suddenly it hit her. Joseph! Her brother Joseph always told her that hearing her trivial problems helped keep his mind off the bad things that he saw in his work. Maybe he would even visit. She had asked him in a letter before she left if he would come see her, but Joseph was always so busy being a Ranger that she doubted he would make the journey. Perhaps another letter explaining her sorrows would encourage him to do so.

  “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered. “You gave me peace and reminded me that you know more than I.”

  /

  The children all screamed, save a few of the boys who were immersed in chasing a large fat rat. Abby herself stood on her desk. She’d never seen a rodent so big. Her ranch back home had about a half dozen cats, so rats were scarce. Several of the children were crying, scared that the rat would bite off their toes. Michael was one of the boys chasing the rat, the classroom broom in his hand as he leaped and bounded after the speedy rodent.

  “Don’t you worry, Teacher, I’ll fight it for you,” Michael reassured her. Even in Abby’s fear, she found his choice of words sweet.

  “Just chase it out of the building, Michael,” she yelled. “Don’t kill it!” The last thing Abby wanted was to take care of a dead rat, and she knew she could not ask one of the children to throw out a dead and possibly squashed rodent.

  “Teacher, watch out!” Michael cried out as the rat scurried around her desk. Abby screeched and Michael swung at the rat, trying to reach it before the creature dodged under the desk. The children were now completely out of control. Some of the boys had used the chaos as an opportunity to create a battle of paper, pebbles, and other little things that they threw back and forth at one another. Most of the girls were now crying hysterically, and Abby felt very near to breaking down herself.

  “Please, everyone calm down,” Abby tried to shout, but her voice came out more as a squeak. Michael was on his belly trying to scoot out the rat with the end of the broom. “Everyone, please,” Abby tried again. Little Daisy Gable had been hit on the head with a pebble and was now crying and holding her head. Abby swallowed a lump in her throat. She would have to remove herself from the desk in order to help Daisy.

  “Hold on, sweetie, I am coming,” Abby reassured her as she took a step timidly off the desk and then another. Just as her feet touched the ground Michael poked the rat again, forcing it to run out from under the desk and over Abby’s feet. Abby squealed and involuntarily jumped. Her landing was not only ungraceful, but off balance; before she knew it, Abby was on the ground, her skirt and petticoats over her head and her bottom throbbing.

  “Teacher, are you alright?” Michael cried out. Michael reached out to touch Abby who mistook his hand for the slimy rat. She screamed, hitting Michael’s hand and throwing him off balance as well. Abby was ready to either scream or cry as she wrestled with her petticoats while trying to help Michael stand on his feet when a strong voice shook the schoolhouse.

  “Everyone in your seats now!” Will roared, arms crossed over his wide chest and his longish hair combed back, making him look older and stronger than the tired unshaved boy Abby had met. “Michael, help up Miss Abigail,” he ordered as the children sat down in unison. Michael helped Abby to her feet. Her petticoats fell to the ground and Abby knew her face was burning with embarrassment. Will had seen her bloomers. He’d seen her lose control of the classroom. She did not know if she would have cared as much had this been Esther or one of the other parents, but Will…that was too much to handle. She had so hoped when he returned that he would be stunned by her success, and instead he returned looking handsome and mature while she looked diminutive in her now baggy clothing and the students seemed no more advanced than when she had started a few weeks ago.

  Will looked at Abby, his eyes boring into her like a hot poker. Suddenly Abby felt exposed. Will seemed to be examining her, measuring her by some unseen standard.

  “Miss Abigail, are you alright?” Will asked steadily. Abby nodded; she must look like a mess, and why was he looking so sharp?

  “I am fine Pastor Will. Thank you.” She smoothed her skirt and folded her hands calmly in front of her as if nothing chaotic or out of the ordinary had happened. The rat now scurried past the desk and out the front door through Will’s legs. Abby cleared her throat. The rat did not seem as big as it had when she had first seen it take refuge under her desk. “Is there anything I can do for you, Pastor Will?” Abby asked almost sternly. She wanted him to leave, and yet she wanted him to stay. It was so lonely living by the schoolhouse; all the parents left quickly after they fetched their young ones and Abby had gone days without having a conversation with an adult.

  Will walked down the small aisle that separated the boys and girls. “I thought I would stop by and see how things are going.” He now stood in front of Abby at a respectful distance, but close enough that Abby could smell the pine on his windblown skin.

  “Well, I appreciate your concern, but things are under control now so please don’t feel the need to stay if it is not convenient,” Abby looked up at him, trying to hold his gaze and waiting for him to look away as a gentleman would. He didn’t look away. Will took a small step closer and Abby had to clench her toes to keep herself from stepping back.

  “I think I will stay,” he said, his voice low, almost in a whisper. Abby’s lips parted but no words came out. Will couldn’t stay and listen to her teach. She still had not figured out how to keep the children’s attention. Had she not had enough embarrassment for one day? Will seemed to sense her apprehensiveness because he grinned mischievously and then spun around to go sit in on
e of the desks dwarfed by his size.

  Abby wanted to smack that smile off his face. He was not here to offer support. He wanted to validate his poor opinion of her by witnessing her stutter and fall over a lesson. Abby’s jaw tightened and she turned around so that he wouldn’t see her glaring. She walked to her desk and picked up the lesson plan that she had carefully written out the night before. It was now time for mathematics, a subject that Abby herself often disliked, and one that her students seemed to despise. Abby bit her lip. She had to teach differently today if she wasn’t to make a fool of herself. She had to inspire these children with the desire to learn, but how could she? These were country children; their lives revolved around food, farms, and animals.

  Suddenly an idea came to Abby. Why had she not thought of this before? Often her mother, in order to illustrate a point to Abby as a child, would use Abby’s dolls as examples. As Abby matured, her mother would use society and social events as examples. Smiling to herself Abby turned around, looked at Will smugly, and then at the classroom.

  “Mathematics,” she announced and was answered with groans of boredom. Abby smiled and waited for the moans to subside. “Mathematics,” Abby said again. “Why do we learn math?” she asked and was rewarded by confused expressions.

  “‘Cause we are supposed to,” Timmy Wilson answered with an exaggerated sigh.

  “And why are we supposed to?” Abby asked, walking down the aisle. Suzanne Harrison raised her hand eagerly. Abby nodded in her direction, “Yes Suzy, what do you think?”

  “‘Cause it makes us smarter,” the young girl announced proudly with a little lisp.

  “It does make us smarter, but that’s not why it’s so important. We learn mathematics because it can help us a lot. Let me explain,” she looked at Michael for reassurance, and he flashed her one of his charming grins. “Let’s say Michael here grows up and has twenty horses. Twenty beautiful thoroughbred horses that run like the wind.”