Read Online Laura Abbot by Into the Wilderness - Free Book Online
Authors: Into the Wilderness
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across the parade ground at this unusually early hour. You looked sad, and I wanted to be of assistance...comfort...” He struggled to find the right note. “It is not my intent to intrude, but...”
She laid a hand on his shoulder. “No harm. You are right, I am overwhelmed with grief, frustration—and questions.”
Confused by her answer, he tucked her hand in both of his. “Pray what has happened to cause you such distress?”
She shook her head as if dispersing cobwebs. “I shall not burden you with my concerns.”
“Let us walk together.” He took her elbow and they started slowly toward the hospital. “You could never burden me. If you want to speak of whatever has happened, I will gladly listen.”
Then, more to herself than in dialogue with him, she told of the senseless death of the settler’s wife despite efforts to save her. She bit her lip in the effort, he guessed, to keep from crying when she told him about the precious little boy, now motherless. As if coming out of reverie into the harsh light of reality, she vented. “I can’t bear thinking about the travails of women, subject to the whims or ambitions of their husbands, who risk their lives and the lives of their children, for what? For some distant paradise gained only by crossing vast miles of unknown land where death waits at every turn of the trail?” She stopped again, sweeping one arm in a gesture encompassing the empty horizon. “Who leads them? God or ruthless ambition?”
Caleb knew he should be shocked by her outburst, which went beyond the accepted standards for polite conversation. Instead, he was moved by her passion and grateful that she could speak so openly.
“Last night had to be a wrenching ordeal. I have known that same kind of powerlessness to stop the inevitable.” His jaw worked as he recalled his inability to alter the unconscionable massacre at the Washita, over in a matter of minutes but horrific for its victims. “Sometimes there are no answers to the question ‘Why?’”
“God may know, but at times like this, that is little comfort.” She cocked her head to one side, studying him intently. “Tell me about your mother. How did you go on without her?”
He rarely spoke about that time before his mother died when she filled the house with laughter and song. About her cinnamon rolls which had spoiled him forever from savoring any others. About the way she cuddled him and his brother at bedtime and made Bible stories come to life.
He must’ve gone to another place, because Lily’s voice returned him to the present. “Forgive me, Caleb. That is an overly personal question.”
“Not between friends,” he said, swallowing hard. They resumed strolling. “As a little boy, I thought I was the luckiest child in the world to have a mother who looked like a princess. Ours was a happy family. My older brother, Seth, and I never tired of her songs and stories. But she also didn’t put up with too much mischief from us. As hard as I try, though, there are some things I can never remember. But I always knew she loved me.” He was silent for several minutes. “After she died, Father, Seth and I had difficulty speaking of her. It was too painful. Besides, boys don’t cry. It was easier to let baby Sophie divert us.”
“Your mother would be proud of the man you’ve become.”
“I hope so.” Yet even in that breath, guilt washed over him. His mother, who had revered each living creature God had put on the earth, would have been appalled by what happened with Black Kettle and his band and, no doubt, ashamed of her son’s role. And even though it was a necessary cause, could she have countenanced his behavior in the heat of battle in the War between the States when his very survival depended upon killing the enemy? He sighed as he thought about the dubious acts he had committed when following orders. Perhaps it was best that he would never know what his mother might have thought of his soldiering, nor was
She laid a hand on his shoulder. “No harm. You are right, I am overwhelmed with grief, frustration—and questions.”
Confused by her answer, he tucked her hand in both of his. “Pray what has happened to cause you such distress?”
She shook her head as if dispersing cobwebs. “I shall not burden you with my concerns.”
“Let us walk together.” He took her elbow and they started slowly toward the hospital. “You could never burden me. If you want to speak of whatever has happened, I will gladly listen.”
Then, more to herself than in dialogue with him, she told of the senseless death of the settler’s wife despite efforts to save her. She bit her lip in the effort, he guessed, to keep from crying when she told him about the precious little boy, now motherless. As if coming out of reverie into the harsh light of reality, she vented. “I can’t bear thinking about the travails of women, subject to the whims or ambitions of their husbands, who risk their lives and the lives of their children, for what? For some distant paradise gained only by crossing vast miles of unknown land where death waits at every turn of the trail?” She stopped again, sweeping one arm in a gesture encompassing the empty horizon. “Who leads them? God or ruthless ambition?”
Caleb knew he should be shocked by her outburst, which went beyond the accepted standards for polite conversation. Instead, he was moved by her passion and grateful that she could speak so openly.
“Last night had to be a wrenching ordeal. I have known that same kind of powerlessness to stop the inevitable.” His jaw worked as he recalled his inability to alter the unconscionable massacre at the Washita, over in a matter of minutes but horrific for its victims. “Sometimes there are no answers to the question ‘Why?’”
“God may know, but at times like this, that is little comfort.” She cocked her head to one side, studying him intently. “Tell me about your mother. How did you go on without her?”
He rarely spoke about that time before his mother died when she filled the house with laughter and song. About her cinnamon rolls which had spoiled him forever from savoring any others. About the way she cuddled him and his brother at bedtime and made Bible stories come to life.
He must’ve gone to another place, because Lily’s voice returned him to the present. “Forgive me, Caleb. That is an overly personal question.”
“Not between friends,” he said, swallowing hard. They resumed strolling. “As a little boy, I thought I was the luckiest child in the world to have a mother who looked like a princess. Ours was a happy family. My older brother, Seth, and I never tired of her songs and stories. But she also didn’t put up with too much mischief from us. As hard as I try, though, there are some things I can never remember. But I always knew she loved me.” He was silent for several minutes. “After she died, Father, Seth and I had difficulty speaking of her. It was too painful. Besides, boys don’t cry. It was easier to let baby Sophie divert us.”
“Your mother would be proud of the man you’ve become.”
“I hope so.” Yet even in that breath, guilt washed over him. His mother, who had revered each living creature God had put on the earth, would have been appalled by what happened with Black Kettle and his band and, no doubt, ashamed of her son’s role. And even though it was a necessary cause, could she have countenanced his behavior in the heat of battle in the War between the States when his very survival depended upon killing the enemy? He sighed as he thought about the dubious acts he had committed when following orders. Perhaps it was best that he would never know what his mother might have thought of his soldiering, nor was
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