did this night.”
I blushed, the heat of jolted embarrassment filling my cheeks more than the excursion of the dance. A choice leapt within my mind. I could be coy. I could flirt. I could bat my lashes and giggle like the other girls. But all I wanted to do was take his sweet, tired soul into my arms and comfort him like a mother.
Oh, Lord! If I am in this much sympathetic turmoil on my first night, what will I be like by the end of the week? Give me something to say to him. Give me some of Your hope and vision for this man.
I’d prayed! I actually cried out to God for the first time in longer than I could remember. “What’s your name?”
“Joel Hobson, ma’am.”
An idea formed as fast as I spoke it. “Well, Joel Hobson, I’m taking down names tonight for those who want prayer. Would you like to be on my list?”
“You’re a religious woman?” His brows shot up to his receding hairline.
“I love God . . . and I pray. I’d like to pray for those who want it.”
The music ground to a sudden halt. We swayed with the effort to still ourselves. I allowed him to take my arm and then steered him toward the bar as instructed. Just before releasing his grasp on me, he leaned in and whispered in my ear, “You surely are a jewel. I’d like to be on that list.”
I bit my lower lip and nodded. What had I done? One prayer didn’t make me any kind of expert. I didn’t have my own life figured out, so how were my prayers going to help anyone else? The joy faded as doubt raised its ugly head and stared me straight in the eyes.
Dear Buck,
I heard you were in Forty Mile, and while I know you may never receive this letter, I wanted to write out my thoughts to you. I’m staying at the El Dorado Saloon and Dancing Hall and have taken a job as one of the queen of Dawson’s famed dancing girls. You might be surprised by this news, and then again, when I think of all you have been through in your life, all that you’ve seen, I think you might understand.
Most of the men are a decent sort. They want someone to talk to, someone to listen and care. A few are frightening to me. When I am asked to dance with a man who has that lustful stare, looking me up and down in a way that makes my spine crawl, then I question my decisions. But I’ve found something, some key. I didn’t realize the lesson of it when Jonah was alive, but in living with him, I learned a talent. I learned how to look beyond a face and see into a hurting, lonely soul. I have begun to pray again, for others at least. I pray for you every day. If anyone deserves God’s grace, it is you.
I miss your face. I miss your crystal eyes that glow like blue ice. I miss your strong voice and shoulder and the curve of your neck. I miss your kisses. I miss you.
You promised to come back for Christmas. I cross off each day and wonder, will you come? Even if you have not healed your heart by confronting your past, will you come? Even though you promised me, and promises broken are all I’ve known, will you come?
Regardless. You will live forever in my heart.
Ellen
I stared at the letter, my hands trembling, and tried to keep the dripping tears from staining the yet-dry ink. Should I really post it? My heart galloped at the thought of him reading my deepest, innermost thoughts.
My body answered my question before my mind and will had thought it out and made a conscious decision. I rose from the bed, sealed the letter, and wrote out the address. I walked from the room with strong, determined steps, into the parlor, dim and empty, and laid the letter on the table by the door where all letters to be posted were laid.
I placed my letter, my heart, on top of the small pile and backed away. Then I covered my face and cried.
Chapter Eleven
Twelve days until Christmas.
Stella and I squeezed in with the hundreds of people attending Father Judge’s Sunday service. The crowd grew quiet and respectful as he entered from a side door. Surprise filled me at his
I blushed, the heat of jolted embarrassment filling my cheeks more than the excursion of the dance. A choice leapt within my mind. I could be coy. I could flirt. I could bat my lashes and giggle like the other girls. But all I wanted to do was take his sweet, tired soul into my arms and comfort him like a mother.
Oh, Lord! If I am in this much sympathetic turmoil on my first night, what will I be like by the end of the week? Give me something to say to him. Give me some of Your hope and vision for this man.
I’d prayed! I actually cried out to God for the first time in longer than I could remember. “What’s your name?”
“Joel Hobson, ma’am.”
An idea formed as fast as I spoke it. “Well, Joel Hobson, I’m taking down names tonight for those who want prayer. Would you like to be on my list?”
“You’re a religious woman?” His brows shot up to his receding hairline.
“I love God . . . and I pray. I’d like to pray for those who want it.”
The music ground to a sudden halt. We swayed with the effort to still ourselves. I allowed him to take my arm and then steered him toward the bar as instructed. Just before releasing his grasp on me, he leaned in and whispered in my ear, “You surely are a jewel. I’d like to be on that list.”
I bit my lower lip and nodded. What had I done? One prayer didn’t make me any kind of expert. I didn’t have my own life figured out, so how were my prayers going to help anyone else? The joy faded as doubt raised its ugly head and stared me straight in the eyes.
Dear Buck,
I heard you were in Forty Mile, and while I know you may never receive this letter, I wanted to write out my thoughts to you. I’m staying at the El Dorado Saloon and Dancing Hall and have taken a job as one of the queen of Dawson’s famed dancing girls. You might be surprised by this news, and then again, when I think of all you have been through in your life, all that you’ve seen, I think you might understand.
Most of the men are a decent sort. They want someone to talk to, someone to listen and care. A few are frightening to me. When I am asked to dance with a man who has that lustful stare, looking me up and down in a way that makes my spine crawl, then I question my decisions. But I’ve found something, some key. I didn’t realize the lesson of it when Jonah was alive, but in living with him, I learned a talent. I learned how to look beyond a face and see into a hurting, lonely soul. I have begun to pray again, for others at least. I pray for you every day. If anyone deserves God’s grace, it is you.
I miss your face. I miss your crystal eyes that glow like blue ice. I miss your strong voice and shoulder and the curve of your neck. I miss your kisses. I miss you.
You promised to come back for Christmas. I cross off each day and wonder, will you come? Even if you have not healed your heart by confronting your past, will you come? Even though you promised me, and promises broken are all I’ve known, will you come?
Regardless. You will live forever in my heart.
Ellen
I stared at the letter, my hands trembling, and tried to keep the dripping tears from staining the yet-dry ink. Should I really post it? My heart galloped at the thought of him reading my deepest, innermost thoughts.
My body answered my question before my mind and will had thought it out and made a conscious decision. I rose from the bed, sealed the letter, and wrote out the address. I walked from the room with strong, determined steps, into the parlor, dim and empty, and laid the letter on the table by the door where all letters to be posted were laid.
I placed my letter, my heart, on top of the small pile and backed away. Then I covered my face and cried.
Chapter Eleven
Twelve days until Christmas.
Stella and I squeezed in with the hundreds of people attending Father Judge’s Sunday service. The crowd grew quiet and respectful as he entered from a side door. Surprise filled me at his
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