Never before had her faith been more severely challenged.
Mr. Jarvis helped her up to the wagon and lifted Poppy to her. “Things will work out. You’ll see.”
“Thank you.” But it would take more than the shopkeeper’s pleasant words for that to happen.
Zach studiedthe woman out of the corner of his eyes as they left the dusty town of Golden Valley and continued down the dusty trail toward the ranch. If they didn’t get rain soon, everything would turn to dust. And he didn’t mean gold dust, such as what occupied greedy miners to the west. Of course, not all were greedy. Some were desperate. If the drought continued, he might have to join the ranks of the latter and try his hand at panning for gold in order to save the ranch.
He’d about worn out his hope that God would listen to any of his prayers and send the urgently needed moisture. How many petitions had he uttered about Pa’s mental state, about the ranch, the need for rain, and his sister, Kathy? At fourteen years of age, she’d turned into a rebel. Ma would be so disappointed. Not only in Kathy but also in Zach, although he was doing his very best to handle everything.
None of his prayer requests had been answered. None since his ma’s death. Maybe God only listened to Ma’s prayers. and with her gone…
He stifled a groan. Such thoughts were foolish, which signified the depth of his discouragement.
Poppy shifted in Miss Pressly’s lap and studied Zach. The child was sweet-looking with fair hair sticking out from under her bonnet and dark eyes that seemed to search into his very soul.
It was only the intense look of a baby. He remembered when Kathy had studied him the same way as if memorizing him. Now her looks seared his skin.
“Bird.” Poppy pointed to a crow flapping in the air.
“Yup, a crow.”
“Bird.”
Miss Pressly laughed. “Poppy, a crow is a bird.”
Zach’s gaze connected with Miss Pressly’s over Poppy’s head. Her eyes were an unusual green color, like some kind of a gem. Her hair wasn’t blonde, nor was it brown. No doubt there was a proper name for the color, but it reminded him of a field mouse. He almost snorted as he thought about how the young lady would react if he described her hair as mousy-looking.
“Is Poppy your daughter?”
“If you’d read my letters, you’d know she’s the daughter of a friend who died, and I’m her guardian.”
“I would have read your letters if I’d gotten them.” Someone was playing a cruel trick on both of them. Come to think of it, though it was an inconvenience for him, it was more like a disaster for her. But no matter her predicament, he didn’t intend to marry her to correct it.
“Well, someone got them and wrote back to me.” She faced forward, her lips pressed into a disapproving frown.
“Are you suggesting I got them but am pretending otherwise?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer. “How am I to know you aren’t making this all up?” Except she knew about Kathy and his parents. But how hard would it be for her to get that information by asking around?
“Mr. Taggerty, even if I didn’t have Poppy to consider, I would not be so foolish as to arrive in this place without believing I had a home waiting for me.”
“I suppose not.” They rode on in silence except for Poppy pointing to things and calling the names of them, though he often guessed that the words she spoke carried a meaning. He slanted a look at her. He could remember when Kathy was learning to talk. So sweet and innocent. Now look at her. He sank into his troubled thoughts.
Miss Pressly leaned forward. “There’s the turnoff to the ranch just like you described it. The big trees on either side of the gate. The sign over the top. Bar T. You said you wanted to put some flowers here in memory of your ma. Guess you never got around to it.”
“Guess I never knew I planned it in the first place.” But it was a good idea. If this drought ever ended, he’d do that.
They turned off the road and onto the trail leading to the ranch.
Miss Pressly sat straighter, her arms around Poppy, her fingers intertwined, her knuckles white. For a moment, he allowed himself a little pity toward her and her situation.
She sucked in air. “Is your pa any better?”
“What do you know about Pa?”
“What you told me.”
“I wish you’d stop that.”
“How else do I explain it? In the letters you wrote, you told me how he’d been losing his ability to remember or to thinkclearly. Last letter I got said he’d wandered off, and it took you half a day to find him.”
