Edge of the Wilderness

Two


LORD, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is.

—Psalm 39:4

“Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma.” The blonde-haired child they had come to call Hope pulled herself up to the kitchen chair where Genevieve LaCroix sat shelling peas.

“Ma-ma-ma-ma,” Hope said a little louder, rocking back and forth on her bare feet and patting Gen’s yellow calico skirt with one dimpled hand.

Miss Jane Williams swiped a bit of dried food off the canning jar she was washing and winked at Gen.

“Ma-ma-ma-ma!” Hope shouted gleefully.

Miss Jane blew her frizzy red bangs out of her eyes. “Bossy little miss wants her mama to pick her up.”

Gen swallowed, surprised at the lump in her throat, the tears filling her eyes at Miss Jane’s use of the word mama. She ignored Hope’s hand drumming on her skirt just long enough to strip the last five pea pods of their treasure. Then she swept Hope up and sat her on the edge of the table before her, leaning forward to rub noses and kiss the toddler on her cheek.

“I’m not your ‘ma-ma-ma,’ little doll,” Gen said softly, pulling Hope into her lap.

“Closest thing to a mama she’ll ever have,” Miss Jane interjected. She continued scrubbing jars as she added, “And I imagine her first mama is looking on from glory and thanking the dear Lord for sending you and Daniel Two Stars up to that cabin.”

Gen smiled sadly. She lowered Hope to the floor, then extended one finger of each hand for the child to grasp. Hope pulled herself up immediately and began to march across the spotless board floor. As she followed Hope, Gen murmured, “Sometimes I wonder if Hope’s mother would be all that happy to have me raising her child—after what happened.”

“You don’t have any more relation to the Indians who killed that baby’s mama than I have to President Lincoln,” Miss Jane said firmly. “And if you and Two Stars, God rest his soul, hadn’t wandered up to that homestead a few days after the murders were committed, Hope wouldn’t even be alive. And look how she adores you. Can’t anyone argue with that. I’d say the good Lord provided Hope a mother . . . and,” she said with conviction, “I’d say He did a good job choosing.”

Gen had reached the screened back door of the kitchen, following Hope’s baby steps across the kitchen. “I’d say the good Lord did a similarly good job when He led Rebecca and Timothy to you, Miss Jane.” She guided Hope back toward the table and sat down again.

Miss Jane snatched a linen towel down from the shelf above the sink and began to dry the clean canning jars. She sighed.

“Thank you. I have to keep reminding myself that Rebecca and Timothy are only mine temporarily.” She shook her head. “I just don’t understand why someone in St. Louis hasn’t responded to any of Reverend Dane’s letters to the newspapers.” She paused for a moment, absentmindedly putting one hand in her apron pocket. “You’d think anyone with relatives in this part of the country would be desperate to know about them—and thrilled to hear about children who survived.”

“I don’t understand it either,” Gen agreed, handing Hope a wooden spoon and bowl to play with. “Simon has written so many letters about the Suttons—and Hope.” When Hope began to beat on the upturned bowl, Gen grinned at Miss Jane. “It would be just awful if we had to keep them, wouldn’t it?” She bent down and tapped on the bowl, creating her own rhythm along with Hope.

Hope dropped the spoon and, placing her little hands on either side of Gen’s head, grabbed two hands full of thick dark hair and pulled. Gen protested, “Ouch! That hurts!” and scooped the toddler off the floor and back onto her lap, whereupon the child reached into the bowl before her, grabbed a handful of raw peas and shoved them into her mouth. Gen laughed. “If only Two Stars could see what a scamp he rescued!” She ducked her head and swiped unexpected tears away with the back of one hand.

“It’s perfectly natural to grieve, Gen. You needn’t be embarrassed with me,” Miss Jane said gently.

Gen sighed. “I have grieved. I was very nearly a complete idiot for two whole months.” She caressed the back of Hope’s pudgy hand and said quietly, “Simon shouldn’t have to put up with any more of this.”

“Reverend Dane doesn’t consider himself to be ‘putting up’ with you, Genevieve,” Miss Jane said gently.

Gen blushed and led Hope in a rendition of patty-cake before setting her back down on the floor. “Can you watch her while I pick more peas?” she asked. “We have at least four more rows ready. With the weather turning so warm, they won’t last much longer.”

Miss Jane nodded and set a pot of water on the stove to boil. “I’ll get these blanched and put up while you’re outside.”

But Gen paused at the doorway. Turning around, she asked abruptly, “Does God—does He ever ask His children to do things they really don’t want to do?”

“Constantly,” came the abrupt reply. Miss Jane looked over her glasses again. “Does that surprise you?”

Gen shook her head. “Not really. At the mission school we memorized all kinds of verses about giving one’s life to save it, and sacrificing yourself.” She sighed. “But I’m new at really wanting to live what the Scriptures teach. Sometimes I think I’ll never learn it all.” She bit her lower lip.

“What is it, dear?” Miss Jane prodded. “You know you can ask me anything.”

“What about the promise that He will give us the desires of our heart? Doesn’t He ever give us what we want?”

Miss Jane dried her hands and leaned against the sink while she talked. “I don’t think that promise means God gives us what we want. At least not in the way you mean. I think it means He shapes our desires. And He does give us everything we need. We need to be loved. God gives us His perfect love. We need someone to share our lives with. God promises to never leave us. We need to know who we are, why we are here, where we are going. God tells us.”

“I know all that,” Gen said impatiently. “I was talking about more practical things. Everyday things.”

Miss Jane bent down and picked Hope up. “When God says no to something His children want, it is because He has something better for them. It’s not just a cliché, Gen. He does what is best. Always.”

“Did you feel God was doing what was best for you when your fiancé died?” Gen asked abruptly.

Miss Jane shook her head. “No. I didn’t.”

“But you feel that way, now?”

Miss Jane didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Absolutely.” She kissed Hope on the cheeks, gave the baby a cracker, and set her back on the floor. “If I had married Andrew, I would never have become a teacher.” She looked at Gen with a mischievous smile. “And I am a much better teacher than I would ever have been a wife.” She sighed, picking up a fresh dish towel. “Don’t misunderstand me. It took a while before I stopped longing for the leeks of Egypt. Even after twenty years, there are still times when I don’t especially like being a spinster. But this I know: in a hundred million years, it will not matter if I was Mrs. Andrew Ganesborough. It will matter if I stepped through the open doors God gave me after He called Andrew home to heaven.” She smiled at Gen. “God was patient and He brought me through. He will do the same for you.”

Gen leaned against the screen door, her hands behind her back. “Simon wants me to marry him.”

“Of course he does,” Miss Jane answered matter-of-factly. Her blue-gray eyes sparkled with amusement.

Gen looked at her, startled. “You aren’t surprised.”

“Not in the least,” Miss Jane said. “Everyone has expected it.”

Gen sighed. “He asked me weeks ago.” She walked back to the kitchen table and sat down. “Nina Whitney once told me a marriage doesn’t have to be based on romance to be right.”

Miss Jane nodded. “I’ve seen many good marriages that began as friendships. So have you.”

Reaching up to touch the frill of lace at her throat, Gen said quietly, “Last week, after we went down and saw the prisoners from Fort Snelling leave for the new reservation, I came back here and took that beaded necklace—the one Two Stars gave me—I took it off. Hearing the Dakota singing after all they’d been through—I told you how it affected me. I felt a new determination to have my life count for something. I even pictured myself putting my future in my hands and tossing it up to God—the way Mrs. Riggs said she used to do with her burden for her Indian students at the mission.” Gen continued to fumble with the lace on her collar. “I thought the thing I could do to count for God was to marry Simon and be a mother for the children. I even waited up for him to come home from a meeting one night. I was going to tell him. To say yes.” Gen’s voice quavered. “But when I heard his steps come up the walk, I . . . I just couldn’t go through with it.” She looked at Miss Jane and drew her dark eye-brows together in a little frown. Then she blurted out, “I’m very fond of Simon. We could have a good marriage. A very good friendship. But—” Her face grew red with embarrassment.

“Go on, dear,” Miss Jane said gently. “Get it out.”

Gen sighed. “I want more than just a good relationship with my husband. I want what my parents had. They were—” She dropped her hand away from her collar and reached up to tuck a strand of dark hair behind one ear. “One night when I was little I heard an odd noise. When I realized Papa wasn’t getting up to check on it, I crept down the ladder to get him. But when I got to the doorway to Papa and Mother’s room—” She grinned sheepishly at Miss Jane, then shrugged. “The next day, I began to see things I had never noticed before—Papa winking at Mama in the morning; the way his hand lingered on her waist; the way she smiled at him after supper some evenings.” She shook her head and brushed her hand across her forehead as if to erase the thoughts. “Tell me what to do, Miss Jane. Tell me what you think.”

Miss Jane gestured toward a kitchen chair. “Sit down, dear,” she said, taking Gen’s hand as soon as the girl obeyed. She waited a moment before speaking. “You have been through a great deal in the past two years of your young life. First your father virtually forced you to leave home and go to school, and then he died before you ever got to see him again. Then you traveled back to New York with the Danes, and Mrs. Dane died. You arrived back in Minnesota only to be taken captive by your own people. And then you lost your first love when they mistakenly hanged Daniel Two Stars. As if that weren’t enough, everything in all our lives is a muddle right now. Our missions are destroyed. We are living in temporary quarters with Samuel and Nina Whitney and we have three orphaned children to care for.” She patted Gen’s hand. “It’s no wonder you can’t decide what to do. Give it time, dear.” She asked, “Is Reverend Dane pressuring you?”

Gen shook her head, clutching her hands in her lap. “No. He’s just”—she took a deep breath—“he’s just there.” She shivered slightly. “I feel him watching me.”

“Like your papa watched your mother?” Miss Jane asked with a smile. Without waiting for Gen, to answer, Miss Jane said, “You can’t expect him not to look at you, Gen. You didn’t refuse his proposal. And you are a beautiful young woman—all that dark hair, and those eyes.” She continued, “And as if it weren’t enough for you to be so attractive physically, you are by far the best person to satisfy his fatherly concern for his children.” Miss Jane smiled. “You must remember that he’s caught up in the same uncertainties as the rest of us. No congregation to preach to. No students to teach. No real schedule to keep. About the only thing the poor man can see clearly is that you love Meg and Aaron and they love you. You can’t blame him for wanting to settle his personal life.”

“But—” Gen protested quietly.

Miss Jane held up her hand. “Let me finish. I’m certain Reverend Dane’s love for you will make him want what is best for you. He’ll wait while you sort things out.” When Gen didn’t budge, Miss Jane added, “I’m sorry I don’t have anything more earth-shattering to advise, Genevieve. God has placed you here, for this moment, among children who need loving in a house that needs keeping—” At the sound of children’s voices just outside, Miss Jane finished, “—and peas that need picking.” She picked up the empty pot and handed it to Gen. “Very often I’ve found that in simply doing the next thing God has given me to do, His will is revealed.” Miss Jane patted Gen’s shoulder. “Give it time, Gen. While you wait, just do the next thing. Harvest the peas. God will eventually show you what must be done about Reverend Dane. If He can turn the heart of kings, He can turn the heart of one slightly defiant Dakota–French nanny.” She winked as four children clattered up the back stairs and into the kitchen.

Dark-haired Timothy Sutton threw his arms around Miss Jane. “I can write my name, Auntie Jane. My whole entire name, first and last and everything!”

Timothy’s older sister Rebecca, bronze-haired and dark-eyed, corrected her brother. “In cursive, Timothy. That’s even more special.” She looked at Miss Jane soberly. Witnessing the murder of her parents by Dakota warriors had settled the mantle of parenthood over Rebecca’s thin shoulders only a few months ago. She would never return to innocent girlhood. “Was there any mail?” she asked.

Miss Jane shook her head. “Not yet, dear.”

Twelve-year-old Aaron Dane interjected wisely, “It takes a good while for letters to come from St. Louis, Rebecca.”

Rebecca shifted her gaze to the ceiling, then to Timothy. “Yes, but it only takes a few minutes for a telegraph message. And the reverend said he requested a prompt reply. Those were his exact words. Anyone would know he meant to telegraph.” Her voice wavered. “Anyone who really cared about lost relatives would—” She stopped abruptly. “Are there more peas in the garden?” she asked Miss Jane in a perfectly calm voice. “Timothy and I can pick them.”

“Me, too!” Meg Dane said quickly. She slammed her books down on the table. “I’ll help!”

“Not before you all have some milk and cookies,” Miss Jane said. She walked across the room into the pantry. Reappearing with her arm wrapped around a large gray-and-blue crock, she removed the lid and frowned. She bent her head and peered fiercely at the children over her gold-rimmed glasses. “Now who do you suppose ate the last one?”

Timothy giggled. Two brown curls on either side of his head bounced as he pointed to the taller boy next to him. “Aaron did it!” When Aaron nudged him, Timothy added, “But I helped.”

Miss Jane sighed. “The guilty must be punished.” She set the crock on the table and pointed to Aaron and Timothy. “You’ll have to make more.”

Grinning, Aaron began to roll up his sleeves. Timothy headed for the pantry to get flour and sugar.

“Cook-eeeeee!” Hope shouted suddenly, pointing at the crock. Everyone’s eyes grew wide as they stared, disbelieving, at Hope.

“Cook-eeee,” Hope repeated firmly.

“The cookies are all gone, Hope,” Rebecca said, showing the baby the empty crock.

Hope thrust her lower lip out. She looked up at Gen mournfully. “No cook-eee, ma-ma.”

The four children clustered around Hope.

“Say Aa-ron, Hope.” Aaron leaned down and peered into the baby’s face.

“No—” Meg shouldered Aaron out of the way. “Meg. Say Meg.” Aaron picked up Hope and headed outside. “I’m teaching her to say my name first!” he taunted the other three, just as Reverend Dane came up the back steps.

“Hope can talk!” the children shouted gleefully. “She called Gen Mama. She said cookie.”

Simon took off his hat and grinned at the baby, who poked his cheek with a chubby finger.

From where she sat at the table, Gen watched Simon smiling at Hope. Suddenly the children grew quiet. Simon blinked in surprise.

Aaron spun around. “Gen! You won’t believe it. She called Father Pa.”