The Hope of Azure Springs Read online

  Abigail had left a clean nightgown, undergarments, a fresh bandage, and a comb for her hair on a chair near the tub. Em stood looking at the bounty. Then reverently she ran her hand across the simple gown. There was no lace, no ribbons. Nothing but soft, clean fabric. She gathered it in her hands and brought it to her cheek. The smell of sunshine wafted from it. Em felt her chest tighten as she realized it was not just a nightdress, it was kindness. She allowed herself to feel nothing but gratitude. Later she would worry about repaying the Howells and the tremendous debt she owed them. Tonight she simply felt their goodness and savored it.

  She removed the old bandage and for a moment looked at the red stitched skin. It was healing quickly, and someday it would be nothing more than a scar. One that when she looked at it would cause her to remember the night she was finally set free.

  Em pulled the clean cloth over her head, letting it fall against her newly scrubbed skin. In an uncharacteristic moment of pure delight, she twirled around, letting herself pretend this life of luxury was hers and not something temporary. She was filled with joy and an involuntary smile spread across her face. Twirling did not last long. She stopped when she felt light-headed, the sharp pain in her side a reminder that this was not truly her life—at least not permanently. Soon enough she’d be back to merely surviving, but for now, in this moment, the world felt brighter.

  Sitting on a stool, she caught her breath and regained her composure. She ran her fingers through her hair, which quickly became ensnared in a mass of tangles. Then she began combing it, starting at the ends. She winced as she worked out the stubborn knots. At last the comb slid through her hair unimpeded. Her straw-colored locks were long and straight against her sides, reaching nearly to her waist. Mounted on the wall was a small mirror. Em stepped closer and watched her fingers work the long strands into a tight braid for the night.

  Then her eyes met those of her reflection, and seeing herself in the glass flustered her. The quivering creek had been her only mirror for seven long years. The last time she’d looked in a real mirror she’d been a child; now she was a woman.

  Stepping closer, she looked hard at her face, hoping to see a little of her mother staring back at her. Always she had wished when she grew up that she would look like her angel mother. Where was she? Not in her dull hair. Not in her freckles or harsh cheek bones. Em closed her eyes, longing to find the loving image in her mind and heart.

  It had been so long, but she could picture her mother’s arms around her, her face looking down at her own. Her pink lips smiling at her. Soft blue eyes—the color of a cloudless summer sky—met hers. Em touched her forehead where her mother had planted so many kisses. She allowed herself a long moment to savor the feeling of love that had once been a regular part of her life.

  At last she opened her eyes. Again she saw her plain face looking back at her, and the warmth of the past drifted from her like vapor rising from a smoldering log. Turning away from the mirror, she finished quickly, wrapping a fresh bandage around her wound and readying herself to leave the room.

  A rapid knock sounded at the door. “Em, are you clean? I heard you’re going to move to our room,” a little girl’s voice called from outside the door.

  “I’m clean. I’ll be out in just a moment. Will you show me where your room is?”

  “I will. I’ll go get Mae—she’ll want to come too.” Millicent padded away from the door.

  With her health rapidly improving, Em hoped she would get to know the two small girls better. Now that they’d be sharing a room, it could hardly be avoided.

  Glancing back at the mirror one last time, she accepted the face that looked back at her. It wasn’t a beautiful face and she couldn’t change that. No prince would ever sweep her off her feet and ease her burdens. Hard work was how she’d always survived, and she’d go on that way. This was no time to lament a body she had no way of changing. She opened the door, determined to embrace whatever was ahead.

  “You look different. You were so dirty before, and now you smell better too.” The two girls were looking at her, studying the change. Both faces equally rosy and full of life. “Come with us!” the girl on the right said.

  Em had not seen them together until now. They looked so much alike, both round-faced little cherubs.

  “I’m so glad you’ve come to show me the way to your room. First, you must remind me which of you is Mae and which is Millicent.”

  “She is Mae and I’m Milly,” said the girl on the left.

  “Are you twins?”

  “Yes,” they said at the same time.

  Em pretended to be thinking hard. “And let me guess, you are both . . . fourteen?”

  The girls giggled infectious little-girl giggles. “We’re seven. When we had our birthday, we had real ice cream with berries in it. It’s a shame you weren’t here. We’ll have to ask Mother if we can have it again.”

  Seven. Just like Lucy. The last time Em had seen Lucy, she’d just had her seventh birthday. Em had wanted to do something special for her. She had wished she could bake her a sweet or buy her a doll. All little girls loved dolls and sweets. They were what she’d longed for herself at seven. But she had not been able to give those gifts to Lucy. Instead, she’d taken her for a very long walk to a small park, tucked among the tall buildings. They had spent the afternoon making little people out of sticks and leaves, laughing and smiling the hours away. Lucy had said it was the grandest day. On the walk back Em had picked her a daisy, tucked it behind the small girl’s ear, and whispered, “Happy birthday, princess.”

  And now here she stood with two seven-year-olds. “My, my, seven years old. Well, that’s halfway to fourteen. You’ll be there before you know it. But don’t grow too fast. Seven is a magical age.”

  Using wisdom beyond their years, they walked slowly, making it easy for the still-recovering Em to keep up. They went up the stairs, one on each side of her, and led her to the right. Em glanced to the left and saw another door.

  The girls noticed her gaze. “That’s the boys’ room. We have a boy room and a girl room up here,” Mae said.

  “A boy room?” Em had not heard of or seen any boys.

  “We had brothers. But they died from a fever.” Millicent spoke matter-of-factly. “We were little, but we know Mama thought they were the best boys. She cries whenever she goes in there. Usually, she just leaves the door closed and tells us we are not to play or go inside. I don’t know why she goes in at all. It just makes her sad.”

  Em wondered if Lucy was as resilient as these girls or if she had a locked-up wound like Abigail. A wound that ached whenever the door swung open but that begged to be opened when closed.

  Mae led the way into the girls’ room. It was a big room with two beds, each covered with a brightly colored patchwork quilt. One bed was bigger than the other and had two pillows on it. Em guessed that was Mae and Milly’s bed.

  A small window looking out toward the road was cut into one wall and violet curtains hung along each side of it. A rocking horse and a little table with two little chairs sat in the corner. On the table were two little teacups and saucers. On each chair sat a rag doll—one with brown hair and one with yellow. Em’s gaze lingered on the dolls. She was surprised to feel emotion rising to her eyes again. Fighting the traitorous tears, she smiled at the two little girls, grateful that they were enjoying being children. Feeling happy for them was better than feeling sorry for what could never be.

  “We share this big bed and Ma put new linens on the other bed for you,” Millicent said.

  “That will be perfect. It’s a beautiful room and that bed looks so soft. I’m sure I’ll be happy in this room.” Em wished she could fall into the inviting bed right then. She was so tired. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

  “Ma says you don’t have to go to bed when we do. But if you want to, you can,” Mae said.

  “Hmmm. What would you think about me coming up here when you go to sleep and telling you a story? Then I could go help y
our mama with anything she needs and come back quietly later.”

  “You know stories?” Millicent shrieked, her big brown eyes dancing.

  “I know a few. I might know a story you’ve never heard before.”

  “Will you tell us one now?” Mae asked. The two of them looked at her with such pleading eyes that even if Em had wanted to, she would not have been able to say no. Em climbed onto the big bed and a girl curled up on both sides of her.

  “Once I went for a long ride on a train. There were many, many children on the train. To entertain ourselves we told all the stories we could remember.” Em forced a smile, even though the memory was dark. “When we were little, we’d all been tucked into bed by our own mamas. Each night we’d listened to different tales. So when we all got together, we sat around on the bumpy train and shared the stories we’d learned.”

  “You rode a train with all your friends? I’ve longed to ride a train. Tell us what it’s like. Was it fast? Was it fancy?” Millicent asked.

  “I thought you wished for a story?” Em said, hoping to avoid sharing the details of that fateful train ride.

  “I suppose we did. But you must tell us all about trains another day. You’re so lucky to have done something exciting,” Millicent said. “We never do anything exciting.”

  “Hush, Milly. I want to hear her story,” Mae said.

  “Do you want one about a princess? I knew a little girl once who loved stories about princesses.”

  “Yes!” the children said together.

  “Very well. I remember a story about a prince in need of a princess to marry. He had trouble finding a real princess. He decided he must find a way to test the women to see if they were indeed princesses . . .” Em told the story of the princess and the pea. The two girls listened, hanging on every word. She finished by saying, “When the girl woke covered in bruises from the one tiny pea, they knew she must be a real princess. The prince and his princess soon married and lived happily ever after.”

  When the tale was complete, the two girls sighed.

  Mae, who was curled against Em’s right side, said, “That was a very good story. I hope to meet a prince someday, a real prince that lives in Azure Springs. I don’t want to move too far from Mama and Papa, but I do want to marry a prince.”

  Millicent spoke then. “Do you think Eliza is a princess? She always complained about that bed.”

  The girls started giggling.

  “Enough stories.” All three looked up to see Abigail smiling from the doorway. “It’s time to tuck you girls into bed.”

  Then, turning to Em, she said, “You look refreshed.”

  “The bath was wonderful. Thank you for your kindness.”

  “And thank you for telling these two girls a story. It’s been years since I heard the tale of the princess and the pea.”

  Em listened as the two girls said their prayers. They both thanked the Lord for Em and for her story. Em prayed a special prayer that night for her new little friends. She prayed their dreams of princes would come true, or at least be broken softly. Earnestly, she prayed that Lucy had been tucked into a warm bed and told stories. That she’d been loved.

  Three

  For at least eight miles Caleb had been riding along Hollow Creek. According to the deed James had given him, the house should be right around here. Trees, tall grasses, and a rushing creek caught his eye, but there was no sign of human life.

  Normally the beautiful country full of rolling hills, tree-lined creek bottoms, and swaying grasses would be a welcome change from town life. Today was different. He felt little pleasure in his ride and struggled to see beauty in the surroundings. Even the warm sun on his back did little to soothe his soul. Knowing a dead man who needed burial days ago awaited him left little room for tranquility. He felt only anxiety about what he would find—if he could ever find the home. It didn’t help that yesterday he’d ridden from dawn until dusk taking a rowdy teenager to the county courthouse. And here he was back in the saddle again.

  George Oliver, the deed said, paid in full eight years ago. But where was the house? Em said she’d lived there too. There ought to be signs of life by now. Frustrated, he urged Amos on.

  Caleb reasoned with himself as he rode, perplexed by the mystery of it all. If George had been living there for eight years, Em couldn’t be his wife, not unless he’d married her later. She said she had worked for him but had received no wages. How did the two end up together? Caleb loved and hated mysteries. Loved solving them, hated being stumped by them.

  Trodden grass caught his eye. Looking closer, he knew he’d arrived—a well-worn path led from the creek toward the clearing. Slowing Amos, he turned cautiously up the narrow trail. His heart beat wildly inside his chest, and he could hear it thudding, pulsing through him. He had to remind himself that despite its rhythmic thumping, he alone could hear it.

  After jumping off Amos, he walked the path. He took each step slowly, easing his foot down as gently as possible. Looking down at his feet to check his footing, he saw stains upon the grass. Blood.

  Up ahead he caught sight of a charred dugout. Early settlers lived in dugouts, usually only for a season until they could get a house built but sometimes longer. He hadn’t seen too many of them around anymore. The few he’d seen were not used as homes. A barn or a chicken coop perhaps, but no one he knew lived in a dugout.

  Off to the side of the primitive home stood a small, dilapidated barn. It leaned heavily to one side like an old man bent from age. A sudden gust of wind would surely knock the bedraggled building off its feet. He decided to check it out first. With his rifle tight against his shoulder, he stepped inside only to be greeted by the vile smell of rotting animal dung and something dead. Looking behind a half wall, he saw the remains of a small calf. Caleb stepped back quickly at the site of vermin crawling across the corpse.

  Covering his face, he took a few gulps of air and then looked over the rest of the building. There were no signs of any other animals. Nothing remarkable. Tools were few, feed was scarce, and the walls were so full of gaping holes he doubted the structure had provided any real shelter to the animals it had housed.

  He left the barn and headed for the dugout. It was collapsing on itself. Blackened earth lay in mounds all around it. The air carried the smell of burned wood—the pathetic dugout had been the victim of a fire.

  Caleb approached cautiously, prepared to meet anyone who lurked about. He entered the dugout and no villains pounced on him, but the darkness did assault him. He waited while his eyes adjusted, giving them time to find what light they could. The single room had only one small window. Even after several minutes, his eyes still had trouble determining what the room held. Using his hands to aid his eyes, he felt around the tiny space. A couple steps in and he was already touching the back wall of the small room.

  Remnants of furniture were all the fire had left. There had been a table and at least a few dishes, which lay broken on the floor next to the remaining table leg. On the other side of the room he made out what was left of a fire pit cut into the earth.

  Caleb kicked his booted foot hard into the wall. It wasn’t right—the pieces were supposed to come together. He was supposed to be able to make sense of it all, but there were no real clues. There was blood on the grass, more and more of it as he walked and explored. A tragedy had happened here. The blood and charred wood testified of it.

  Caleb stepped away from the dugout, grateful for the light from the afternoon sun, but even it could not shake the darkness he felt inside. He began walking the property, attempting to regain control of his temper. Convinced he was alone, he stormed about upright and clumsily.

  This was his job, and he’d always done it well. Calming his racing heart, he slowed down and let his eyes wander the property looking for anything he’d missed.

  A bird caught his eye. It flew through the trees, black wings spread wide. Gliding among the branches. Graceful. Serene. Caleb’s eyes followed the bird until he caught sight of a f
ar-less-enchanting scene. A crawling sensation worked up his spine, followed by an involuntary shiver.

  George.

  At least he suspected it was George. High in an old oak tree, a blood-stained man was hanging, swaying slightly in the breeze. Bile rose in Caleb’s throat, threatening to escape. He spit the putrid taste from his mouth and instructed himself to stay in control.

  Everyone dies, he reminded himself. He’d seen death before. He didn’t like it, but he’d seen it and he’d taken care of it. Today would be no different.

  Up the tree he crawled, armed with a knife to cut the man down and a pistol in case whoever had the audacity to do this returned. Getting to George was no easy task—the tree branches weaved around one another, braided in the most inconvenient way. Whoever had taken the time to do this vile act was trying to accomplish something or send a powerful message. Or was it a threat? Caleb didn’t know what the men were trying to say, but what he read was, This isn’t over.

  Once he got George cut down from the tree, Caleb went to work digging a grave. He picked a spot close by but not in the way of the paths. Minutes became hours before he had a hole large and deep enough to house the man’s body. Caleb’s muscles were burning, sweat dripped from his forehead. The work of digging a grave was no easy task. He found a meager amount of humor picturing that scrawny girl digging. She’d thought she could do it. Maybe she could have, but he had trouble believing it.

  Before throwing dirt on the body, he took a thorough look at it. No pleasure came from it—in fact, the sight of death always left him with a sinking feeling. But being able to tell Em what the man looked like would confirm that it was George. He had gray hair and green eyes. A thick scar ran under his jaw; it was old and had mended itself poorly. He looked to be in his fifties, maybe even sixties, and just like Em had said, multiple bullet wounds dotted his chest. In the man’s pockets Caleb found nothing but a piece of tobacco. Unable to find anything else on the man, Caleb laid him to rest, covering him in both dirt and rocks to keep the animals away. Then he marked the grave so Em could return and mourn if she so desired. The burial had taken longer than Caleb had wanted, but it needed doing and he’d done it.