A Time to Bloom (Leah's Garden #2)(55)

Who would have thought that woman would be Delphinium Nielsen?

Once the music began, though, the grinding pain began also. It seemed sometimes it had a fiendish mind of its own, starting its torturous tattoo whenever he let his guard down or dared even an inkling of hope for finding a place to belong out here in this territory. The more everyone sang and tapped their feet around the campfire, the more the agony drilled deep.

“‘. . . Glory, glory, hallelujah! His truth is marching on!’”

At the rousing finish and burst of applause, RJ leaned his elbows on his knees and pressed his hands over his ears, hoping the darkness kept him from being too obvious.

As the sisters led into the gentler “Abide with Me,” RJ rose and headed toward the wagon, sucking deep breaths of the cool evening air. Maybe being away from the smoke would help.

If only he’d brought some opium. He’d thought of it but resisted, blindly hoping he could get along without it for one evening.

More fool he.

He braced his hands on the side of the wagon and looked up at the sky. Stars upon stars, millions, billions of miles away. Bright as the fireflies and making him feel as small.

God . . . I know you’re up there. I just kinda doubt you want to be bothered with me. But if you do, please . . . please take away this pain. He closed his eye and swallowed hard, feeling weak and childish. What did the Lord of Lords care for one injured soldier’s eye? So many had been hurt worse.

“RJ.”

He started at the voice behind him and whirled to see Adam’s shape in the darkness.

“Here.” Adam pressed a cool tin cup into his hand, the rim glinting in the moonlight.

RJ took it. “What . . . ?”

“Just drink.”

Hardly knowing why, RJ obeyed, then nearly spat out the liquid. Cold tea, but another flavor laced it. His throat burning, he tried to push the cup back. “No.”

“Take it.” The doctor’s voice came low, empathy without condescension. “For tonight.”

RJ resisted a moment longer. Then, blinking back tears of relief mixed with regret at his own weakness, he downed the cup of opium and tea in one swallow.

The doctor gripped his shoulder in the darkness. “This isn’t forever, RJ.”

But what if it was?





16


Boys!” Del used her sternest voice. “Down out of the tree and into the wagons now. Josie, Clarabelle, what are you doing under the church steps? Get in, all of you, unless you want to be sent home and miss the entire outing.”

That threat sent eighteen excited youngsters scampering into the wagon beds, the older ones boosting up the younger. Jesse perched on the seat of the Brownsvilles’ wagon, Climie beside him. Isaac McTavish was helping out on the farm today, and Lark was harvesting seeds with Forsythia and her little ones, so she’d sent Jesse to help drive for the school trip. Lilac drove the Nielsen wagon, leaving Del free to supervise the children with the help of Climie and Beatrice.

“All right.” Del counted heads once more. “That’s everyone. Let me pray a blessing over our day, and then we’ll be off.” She bowed her head, needing the Lord’s presence and focus for herself, not to mention everyone else. Why had she thought taking the entire school on an outing would be simple?

“Father, we thank you for this chance to enjoy and learn from your creation. Please cover us with your protection and peace, and let us listen to each other and especially to you. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

A chorus of Amens, and then Josie piped up. “Let’s go!”

Amid the chuckles, Del climbed up to sit on the back of the wagon beside Josie and Clarabelle. “I agree. Onward, drivers.”

They laughed and sang as they rumbled over the rough grasses, strains of “Oh! Susanna” and their new favorite, “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” ringing out amid the meadowlarks and dickcissels. An enormous flock of geese honked overhead, nearly covering the sky.

“Look, children.” Del craned her neck and pointed. “They’re going south for the winter. What do we call that?”

“Migration,” called Elsie Weber from the other wagon.

“That’s right. We’ll see even more birds where we’re going today.”

The sharp tang of salt in her nostrils announced that they’d reached the salt marshes. Jesse and Lilac stopped the wagons, and the children tumbled out.

“Watch out for the mud,” Del cautioned. From the dampness beneath her feet, she wished she’d cautioned the mothers to dress their children in old clothes today—not that many would have more than one set of everyday clothes anyway.

The children scattered along Little Salt Creek, voices ringing out. Lilac gathered several of the older ones by the water to study and draw cattails and saltwort, along with the waterfowl and shore birds that gathered. Del and Beatrice strolled along the creek’s edge, keeping an eye on the younger ones.

Del breathed deeply of the salt-tanged air, the dampness of the earth. A killdeer started up before her and winged away. Such a unique spot on your earth, Lord. Thank you for letting us know it.

She saw John Kinsley perched on a rock near the creek, clumsily trying to draw a clump of saltmarsh asters with his paper spread on his knee.

“Aren’t those pretty?” Del crouched beside him and brushed the delicate white petals with a finger. “What if you spread your paper on this flat part of the rock? That might make it a bit easier.”