In His Eyes(91)

The man bobbed his head and snatched up the piece of paper. “Will you return for a response, sir?”

Would she send word back? Likely not. And he doubted Colonel Larson would waste his time in sending a response down the wire. “No.”

The man lifted his brows, but didn’t reply. Westley turned for the door, but then stopped. “I am leaving four days hence, but if by chance word does return, I am staying at the inn two streets over.”

“The Blue Moon?”

“That’s the one.”

“I’ll send my boy if word comes back.”

Westley thanked the man and stepped back out into the sunshine, feeling as though he had taken the first step in claiming his wife. And for that, the world outside seemed all the brighter.

He visited a bathing house and then a barber before returning to the inn for the evening meal. He found a table in the back where he could eat alone, and pulled out the little book he had promised Ella he would read. So far, he had made it through the gospels and had continued reading on to first John.

As he read over the fourth chapter in the dim light, a verse seemed to grab hold of him and wrench his heart from his chest. Westley ran his finger over it. Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God. He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love.

That was the answer. He did not know how to love Ella as she should be loved, with patience, kindness, and longsuffering, because he had not submitted to the one who was love.

Westley leaned back and tapped his fingers, staring at the open book. The reading had begun as an obligation, but to his surprise he continued out of fascination. He had heard the stories, but he’d never noticed something about the Savior. Always the church portrayed him as kindly and meek, but he wasn’t weak. Jesus defied leaders, drove out greedy men in the temple, and volunteered for an excruciating death so that he could complete his purpose.

This was someone that a man could look up to. One who he could learn from. And the more Westley read of him, the more he wanted to be like him.

Lord, forgive me. I called on you as a boy, but I never really knew you. Teach me to live my life according to your ways. Show me your love that I might show that love to others. Especially my Ella.

“Here’s your dinner, mister,” a wispy girl said, interrupting his prayer.

He laid down the Bible and smiled at her as she plopped the plate of pork down in front of him. “Thank you, miss.”

She smiled and moved away to the next table, and Westley put the book back into his breast pocket. He would have to tell Ella what he had been reading, and the discoveries he had made. Perhaps he would pen her a letter tomorrow and send it out before he left St. Joseph.

He cut into his slab of pork, spearing a cube of the white meat and chewing it slowly. No telling what kind of pitiful supplies he would get out on the Santa Fe Trail. Best he eat well while he still had the chance.

A boy sidled up to his table and leaned close. “You the Yankee soldier that sent a telegram to Mississippi?”

Westley frowned. “I am.”

The boy reached in his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “My Da said I should bring this to you.”

Westley accepted the paper. How had a response from Ella come back so soon? He glanced up and saw the boy still lingering, and remembered what the little fellow waited for. He fished a nickel out of his pocket and tossed it to the boy. “Thank you, young master.”

The boy grinned and shoved the coin in his trouser pocket. “You need anything else, mister, you let me know.”

Westley chuckled as the youngster ducked into the gathering dinner crowd and slipped out the door. Westley leaned back and opened the folded paper.

Colonel Larson for Major Remington. Westley’s eyes widened as he read the lines, and then he crumpled the paper in his hand and threw it down on the table.





Ella dressed Lee in a cotton gown and placed him in a light shawl she then tied around behind her back. Today would be a good day for a walk to check her garden, and then after that, perhaps she would try again with the goat’s milk.

She closed the door to her bedroom and made her way down the stairs. It was still cool enough this morning to take Lee out to see the late garden she had attempted to plant—with a lot of help from Basil—before the day grew too warm for Lee to be out in the sun. Then they would go to Riverbend this afternoon for tea and a visit with the Martin ladies. Such had become her life since she’d wed. She still helped with some of the cooking, but Sibby wouldn’t have her doing much of anything else anymore. Her days were spent gardening, tending Lee, visiting with the neighbors…and aching over Westley.

She pushed the longing aside and donned a practical straw bonnet, tying the bow under her chin and wondering how he fared at Fort Aubrey. He should be settled in Kansas by now, protecting brave travelers from losing their lives to Indian threats.

Keep him safe, Father. And, please, help me not to love him.

Such was her prayer throughout each day, one she whispered each time he took hold in her thoughts. And the man never strayed far from those thoughts.

She shook her head as though that could dislodge the pain he had caused. He didn’t love her, and she would have to accept that and ignore this dark feeling that hung over her shoulders like a death shroud.

Lee cooed, and she looked down at him. “Ah, wee one, but you are worth it.”