“We’d like to invite you over for dinner after church every Sunday, both you and the children. Even if you don’t go to church, you’re welcome to come to dinner. And then Victoria and I were thinking we could pick another day of the week and watch them for you. A man who works as hard as yourself needs a break every so often. Maybe we could even watch them on Fridays or Saturdays so the children could spend the night.” Elijah twisted his hat again. If the man said no, he’d pound the gates of heaven with his prayers until he had some kind of agreement worked out with the logging boss.
O’Byrne scratched his beard. “Ya really don’t mind having a bunch of young’uns underfoot?”
Mind the young’uns? Elijah swallowed some of the thickness in his throat. Had Alice ever curled herself onto her father’s lap the way she’d curled up on his? “Not in the least. You got yourself some mighty special children.”
The man shrugged. “Don’t see no harm in you watching them some. Maybe ya could come get them tonight? I’ve a hankering for a drink or two.”
A smile spread across Elijah’s lips, probably the biggest smile since he’d learned the other man was in town. He’d take O’Byrne’s offer. And he’d thank God for it. And he’d keep trusting that God knew what was best for him and Victoria, all the while praying God would see fit to give him and Victoria the desire of their hearts—in the form of a child or two.
One day at a time, one visit at a time, one prayer at a time. If God could help him through the death of his father, then that same God could help him and Victoria through their childlessness.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Thomas pushed open the door to the telegraph office, his shoulder giving a slight twinge as he left the blustery road and headed inside. It had been a week since he’d taken Frank Ebberhard down on the floor of the sheriff’s office, and his shoulder still pained him.
Was it ever going to get better? How could he provide for his family when he could barely open a door without hissing in pain?
No, Thomas, I told you. Your shoulder is like the scars on Christ’s hands.Jessalyn’s words from that night inside the sheriff’s office floated back to him.I don’t need you to haul crates or chip away at mine rock. If you can love me with all my flaws, then I can love you with yours.
He sighed. He needed to start thinking of himself as a whole man instead of always grumbling about his shoulder. Wasn’t there a verse about being made strong through weakness somewhere in the Bible?
But if given a choice, he still wanted his good shoulder back.
Except it looked like God wasn’t going to give him a choice—at least not in this area. Which meant he better accept his ailingbody for what it was—frail and finite—and move on. Besides, he was blessed with other things that were more important than his shoulder anyway.
“Mr. Dowrick, why didn’t you ring the bell?” Mrs. Runkle bustled out from the back room and gestured to the little bell sitting on the counter. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I was just getting ready to, ma’am.” He tipped his hat at the grandmotherly widow.
“It’s a good thing you stopped. I have a telegram that you’ll be hankering to see.” She headed to the counter, her gait slow and stiff, which was probably to be expected considering her age. “Now where did I put it?” Her brow furrowed, and she looked down at the counter, then began rummaging through a small stack of papers.
He took a step closer. He hadn’t actually expected a message to be waiting for him. Was the quick reply time a good thing, or a bad?
Probably bad. It couldn’t be possible to…
“Ah, yes. Here it is.” Mrs. Runkle straightened and held the piece of paper up, then handed it to him.
Thomas stared down at it, the words blurring together for a moment as he tried to make sense of them. Too soon? That proved how much he knew.
“Are you unwell, Mr. Dowrick?” Mrs. Runkle shifted on the other side of the counter. “I was under the impression you’d look forward to the news, what with all the other telegrams you’ve had me send over the past few days.”
He looked up, then smiled and glanced at the telegram one more time before slipping it into his pocket. Yes, he really had just read those words. Yes, they were true. His smile widened into an all-out grin. “Couldn’t be better. It’s good news, indeed.”
The woman’s eyes lit. “Does anyone else know?”
“No.” He patted his pocket. “And I need it to stay that way until I tell my wife.”
She gave a firm nod, her lips almost trembling with the news.
Which meant he had all of five minutes to tell Jessalyn before the other woman started spreading the story. “I’d best be on my way, then.”
He squashed his hat low on his head to combat the driving wind outside, then pulled open the door.
“Thomas.” Isaac hastened across the street toward him. “Figured you’d be in your apartment.”
“What can I say? I enjoy being home with my wife and daughters.” Every night. And every morning. And every afternoon. And all the times in between. After saving Jessalyn from Frank Ebberhard’s attempted murder, he hadn’t been able to tear himself away from her.
“I have this for you.” Isaac turned his shoulders away from the wind and handed him a paper. “The judge will be in town next week for Ebberhard’s trial. You’ll need to testify about the kerosene and finding Jessalyn restrained. It wouldn’t hurt if she could give a few words of testimony too, but if she’s not up to facing Ebberhard, we should be able to get a guilty sentence just on what you have to say.”
