Page 50 of Wyoming Promises
Grace shuddered as they rounded the corner. The lines of wagons thinned as her home came into view. “The funny thing is,” Grace said, the edges of her lips tilting in a sad smile, “I loved that about him. Pete was forever helping other people, and that’s part of what made me love him so much.”
The team slowed to a stop in front of Lola’s door before Grace faced her, unshed tears threatening to spill. They only added brightness to the desperation in her eyes. “I don’t understand why God had to take him, Lola. I don’t. I’ve talked with Pastor Evans, with Mother and Father, with God Himself, and it makes no sense, not now.”
Lola’s heart gripped with the strength of a grieving widow’s handclasp. What comfort could she offer her friend, when she didn’t have any answers?
“When? When would it have been a good time, Grace? Five years from now, when your baby is old enough to know his father is gone? Five years ago, when you were courting? Or fifty years from now, leaving you alone after he’d grown fifty years more dear to you?”
Grace blanched white as if she’d been slapped, but Lola pushed on. She coughed, throat tight with tears. “There’s never a good time to die. I’ve learned that. Not for those of us left behind. But think of Pete, Grace. He’s enjoying all the glories of Heaven right now. Would you want to call him back from that?”
Grace bowed her head, and Lola thought she’d have curled into a ball if the roundness of her belly hadn’t prevented it. Lola rubbed a hand over her shoulders, soothing the muffled cries that escaped.
Lola rested her head on Grace’s shoulder, shedding a few tears of her own. She battled through the same questions with no answers. But she had experienced the Lord with her through the sorrow. She’d also come to realize the depth of her selfishness, because her first response to the question had been an adamant yes. She still hadn’t reached the point where she saw any goodness in her father’s death, but her faith and trust in the Lord had grown.
Moments passed before Grace shuddered in her arms and sat against the wagon seat. “I just miss him so. I’m sorry.”
Lola patted her shoulder and handed Grace a handkerchief. “I know, and that won’t change. But with the Lord’s help, you can accept it and grow through the pain. That I can promise you.”
Grace’s mouth wobbled, as if she intended to smile but her lips refused. “Your father once told me the comfort you provided families couldn’t be taught. He was right.”
Warmth filled Lola at the gift of her father’s praise through Grace. “Do you have to hurry home? I could make some lunch.”
Grace looked at the sky, judging the time. “No, I really ought to get home. Mother’s feeling a little under the weather and I don’t want to be away too long.”
“Nothing serious, I hope? Maybe Dr. Kendall should check on her.”
“No, no, nothing like that. Just the spring sniffles, I’m certain. I’m sorry I’ve taken our entire visit. How have things been with you?” Grace grasped her wrist as Lola stood to leave the wagon.
Lola examined the trees standing like sentries on distant ridges, knowing Bridger rode among them. She sighed. “It’s been a quiet few days.”
“No more strange noises?” Grace’s eyes squinted with concern.
Lola’s gaze snapped to her house, the woodshop door barely visible from this angle. “Not exactly.”
Grace tugged her to the wagon seat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Lola looked down rather than face her friend’s alarm. “Well, I haven’t heard anything, but I’ve had a fresh bouquet of wildflowers at my back doorstep every morning this week.”
“Bridger’s still out of town?” Grace asked.
Lola’s gaze flicked toward her friend. “He’s to meet with Jake Anderson on Saturday, so he’ll return by then.” Or hopefully sooner. “Why?”
Grace smiled, showing a row of perfect white teeth. “My heart has eased about him, you know. I’m glad he’s around to keep an eye on you. I guess I hoped he brought the flowers.”
Warmth toasted Lola’s face despite the brisk air. “Why should he? I’m his boss, after all. It wouldn’t be proper.”
Grace bit her lip. “I can’t help it if I’m a hopeless romantic.”
“We hardly know him! He’s under investigation by a federal marshal!”
“Yes, because you alerted the authorities. At the time, I thought it wise, and I guess I still do. But I’ve seen him in church, around town, and I’m telling you, Lola, he has a good soul. Don’t get me wrong, there’s dangerousness about him, but the kind that makes you think he’ll stop at nothing to see that right is done.”