Walks Alone. Sandi MDiv Rog

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ poor people. How could anyone be so cruel? Her father had nothing but good to say about the Indians he’d met along the Arkansas River. They had treated him with kindness and let him stay in their tent-like homes. Why would anyone want to kill them?

      Indians.

      She’d come to a land where Indians roamed. What did they really look like? Her father talked about them, had even described them in his stories about his long-ago travels to the West. It fascinated her to read about Denver City where she and her father would begin a new future. They were so near to their dream, and yet so far.

      No, he wouldn’t die. He couldn’t die! They had to go to Denver to fulfill their dream.

      “You may see him now.” The doctor’s voice carried down the quiet hall from her father’s room.

      Anna slid off the chair, bringing the paper with her. Perhaps reading about the West would help boost his spirits and make him well again? She’d try anything at this point. They’d been in New York much longer than planned.

      When she entered the room, she walked slowly to his bedside and kissed his cheek. “I bring something for you, Papa.” She spoke in English, remembering their promise. She held up the paper for him and pointed at the familiar Dutch name.

      “Wynkoop?” Her father coughed then slowly turned his weakened gaze toward her. “As much as I’d like to, I can’t read this right now.” To her surprise and worry, he spoke Dutch.

      Anna placed the paper on the nightstand. “I understand, Papa. You can read it later.”

      She straightened, trying to ignore how he’d changed in appearance just since their arrival in New York, his cheekbones more prominent, his skin pale, and his eyes surrounded by dark circles.

      “Little one, I don’t know,” he paused as coughs racked through his body, “any other way to say this.”

      “Then don’t say it.” She shook her head and her throat tightened. “Please, don’t say it, Papa. We’re going to Denver City.” She smiled even though tears burned her eyes. “You need to get better so we can go.”

      “I’m dying.”

      His words struck her like the Vesta plunging into the waves, only this time, the ship sank beneath them, and the cold water swallowed her and the ship whole. Not daring to breathe, for fear she might release a wail as she drown, she stared for a long time at the lacy curtains draped over the window. Beautiful dreams, all fading away with the sun. She swallowed hard, widening her eyes to keep from crying, but she felt the betrayal of a tear as it trickled down her cheek and onto her chin. Soon, like that tear, she would be alone.

      “Papa, please don’t die.” It was a foolish request, but she couldn’t help herself. She felt like she was falling and had nothing, no one to cling to, no one but him. She fell on his chest.

      The bed shook as her father coughed.

      Was he laughing? It’d be so like him. Her head shot up.

      He smiled. “If I had a choice, I’d stay alive.”

      How could she be so selfish? She wiped her eyes. At her age she should have known better. Ten was quite old, after all, but right now, she felt like a baby—his baby, and he was leaving her.

      She scooted closer, desperate to take in every word, clinging to him over the bedcovers.

      He ran his finger down the bridge of her nose. “Don’t cry anymore. You must be brave.” He gulped in air. “You will live with your uncle Horace, your mother’s brother, and he will take care of you. I’ve arranged for him to provide for your needs and your education.” He turned his head and panted for breath then expelled a long wheeze.

      His face turned bright red against his light blond hair while he coughed. He was so thin, and his skin so pale. He no longer looked young and full of life like that day on the ship’s deck.

      He cleared his throat. “Just do as your uncle says and be a good girl.” He coughed. “It’s a shame . . . he never married,” his words came out in spurts, “then he would . . . have a wife to mother you.”

      “I don’t need a mother, Papa. I just need you.”

      “You have to be strong.” He wiped a tear from her cheek. “No more tears.”

      “Yes, Papa.”

      “I wish I could send you back to Amsterdam. But no one is left. It’s just you and me.”

      Just you and me.

      “Oh, Papa!” She wailed. How could he leave her alone? “Please don’t give up. Jesus will heal you! He’ll make you better.”

      “It’s not the Lord’s will.” He fought off another attack.

      She waited and watched him battle for breath, his blue eyes now watery pools of gray. His words made her heart, like the ship, sink even further. He wasn’t just going away for a short time, he was going away forever. Her throat hurt as she fought back tears, trying to stop crying.

      He looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get over this, little one.” He wheezed. “Just know I’m proud of you. If only I had more time . . . more time to teach you.” He coughed. “Remember, I may be leaving, but the Lord is always with you. You won’t be alone.”

      “Yes, Papa.” She hugged his chest again, trying to swallow the knot that formed in her throat.

      She wouldn’t cry.

      ~*~

      The heavy tray quivered as Anna set it on the small table in the study. She felt his gaze on her, watching her every move. When she first met Uncle Horace, he reminded her of Mama. They had the same eyes. Even though she’d never met her mother, she recognized the similarities from photographs. She’d felt less troubled when she’d noticed the likenesses, but immediately learned that those outward similarities where all that existed.

      Anna picked up the porcelain teapot and tipped it over a cup. The hot liquid gushed out from its weight. She caught the long spout with her hand, burning her fingers and filling the cup much closer to the brim than she’d intended.

      Her gaze darted to her uncle, who thankfully grinned at the lovely Mrs. Craw, missing the slight blunder. She set the heavy teapot back on the tray next to the dishes, her hands trembling and her arms aching. With clammy fingers, she lifted the cup and saucer then held it out for Mrs. Craw.

      “No. Sugar!”

      Startled, Anna jerked to the sugar, sending the cup over the saucer and onto the hem of Mrs. Craw’s gown. The dishes clattered on the table as she grabbed the tea towel to wipe off Mrs. Craw’s dress.

       “You horrid little creature!” Mrs. Craw slapped her, sending stings of pain across her cheek.

      Anna put a hand to her face and turned to Uncle Horace who sat across from them.

      His eyes blazed, and a frown darkened his threatening face.

      It had been two months since her arrival, and she still hadn’t found a way to please him. She held her СКАЧАТЬ