A Home in the Wilderness

Greetings, friends. The story I am starting for you today is set in 1948-49 and captures a historic event here in Wyoming while it weaves the tale of a family that braves the wilds to build their home. I spent longer than usual researching the background to try to paint a picture of the time and places in order to bring you an authentic feel for the characters and the land. Because of the complexity of this story, woven as it is into an actual event, I will share it with you in three or four parts. Enjoy!

A Home in the Wilderness

Part 1

by Sheri Schofield

Spring rains pelted my bedroom window as I gazed out at Mom and Dad’s back yard. It was spring of 1948 in Rapid City, South Dakota. Winter snows had melted, and daffodils were pushing their heads up in bunches along the wooden fence which enclosed the small back yard.

   “Helen,” Mom said entering my room. “How are you feeling today?”

   “Better. My leg is almost healed now, and I was able to walk over to the closet without pain.”

   “Good.” She nodded with satisfaction. “Breakfast is ready. Do you want me to make your tea?”

   “Thank you, but I think I can make it myself this time, Mom. I need to use my leg more if I’m going to head out to the ranch in a couple weeks.”

   “I wish you wouldn’t,” Mom said. “I know Will has the barn built on the property, but where will you and the children stay while you’re working? It will still be cold, you know.”

   “Will had one end of the barn closed off for living quarters and left some cots for us to use. There’s a wood stove in there, too. We will be fine. Don’t worry about us. The kids are strong and healthy.”

   “Yes, they will probably be okay. Luke and Elijah are tough. But I worry about Liza. She’s eighteen now and should be meeting more young people her age.”

   “I’m sure she will make friends at church. So will Luke and Elijah. Luke’s a full-grown now. A man. He’s probably going to take the lead in getting acquainted in town. Elijah? Well, I’ll make sure he gets to weekly youth group. He’ll make friends quickly with his cheerful spirit.”

   My boys, Luke at nearly twenty and Elijah at fourteen, were both independent spirits. Liza was the quiet one who liked to write, play the guitar and sing. But she was also skilled in carpentry, like the boys were. She would find her place in the church music groups. Hulett, Wyoming was a small town in the year 1948, but it was a friendly place.

   My husband, Will, had dreamed of ranching in Wyoming someday. When he sold our house in Rapid City, he was able to purchase land near Hulett and the Devil’s tower in Wyoming. It was undeveloped land, but Will had enough money to buy the land plus all the building materials, which were now locked up in the barn he and our children had built last fall. We’d left the property for the winter months and returned to Rapid City to stay at my parents’ home until spring. We hadn’t expected for Will to die in a car accident two months before, or for me to break my leg as well.    

   Mom and Dad were wonderful. They’d helped me through the worst of the pain and grief, but I knew there would always be an emptiness in my heart, a place only Will could fill.

   With the warmer weather, I knew we should be heading out to the ranch. I dreaded leaving Mom and Dad, but if the children were to have a good future, I needed to complete the job Will had started and finish building the ranch.

   Whether we stayed there or not after we finished building the house remained to be seen. With a barn and a house on the property, we could sell for a good sum and move into a place in town if we wanted. Maybe. Not a lot of people liked to live in remote areas.

   There was a good school for Elijah in Hulett. Liza had graduated the year before, having worked extra hard. I wasn’t sure what she would do after the house was built, but she was an excellent carpenter, as was Luke. Will had taught them both his trade. Elijah at least knew how to hammer a nail straight and saw wood right on the mark, even if he didn’t have the experience his older siblings had. We would be fine, I told myself.

  The first week in May, we loaded our possessions into a small trailer Dad loaned us and headed west in the used Chevy I’d bought to replace what we’d had before the accident. Waving goodbye to my parents, we headed west. I wiped tears from my eyes, but the children were excited about the trip.

   “How long do you think it will take to build the house?”

   “I wonder if we’ll have any close neighbors!”

   “Mama, how long will it take to get there?”

   “Are there many neighbors near our place?”

   I smiled. “I know. You’re full of questions and curiosity. But we’ll be there later today.”

   When we finally arrived at the gate to the ranch and Luke pulled the gate open for us, I was exhausted. But we were pleased to be at our own home again. We’d spent last fall here, so the kids knew where everything was.

   The house foundation was tucked up against a cliff on the west side, a cliff that curled around on the north end making a perfect defense against the winds of Wyoming. This was tornado country. The shelter would help protect our home. The barn and chicken coop were close to the cliff too. Wyoming also had hailstorms which sometimes dropped ice balls the size of goose eggs. The protection of the cliff would help preserve the house during a storm. Of course, Will had dug a cellar under the house, a place of retreat if a severe storm came our way.

   I unlocked the padlock Will had put on the side door of the barn. “Luke. backed the trailer up to the door to make unloading easier.”

   “Okay, Mom.”

   “Elijah, I want you to build a fire in the stove before we unload.”

   “Will do.”

    Bedding, household goods, clothes… It took some time to unload and organize what we’d brought with us. But by dinner time, the space was feeling cozy.

   The fire in the wood stove where I now cooked dinner for the family warmed the room. We were camped out in the back part of the barn under the loft. Later, this would be the milking area for the cow.

   Will and I had planned to buy a milk cow as well as a few red Angus cows and a bull. If we decided to stay, I would follow through with that plan. Liza and I could churn butter and bake goods and sell some of those items, plus milk, to the neighbors or to the local store, depending on the need. I could bake bread and cookies for market as well, once we were settled…if we decided to stay.

   When we sat down at the plain wooden table for a supper of roast beef, baked potatoes and greens from Mom’s garden, I led the family in prayer.

   “Father in heaven, thank you for  this ranch and the food you have provided for us. Lord, please make us truly grateful.” My heart ached for Will, especially here at the ranch where we had spent so many happy times together.

   The next morning dawned clear and cool.

   “Liza, I’ll take care of the dishes. Go ahead and help the boys take the lumber out to the house site and start laying the walls out on the ground. Luke, Dad’s plan for the house is on the shelf at the head of my bed.”

    By the time I’d finished with kitchen clean-up, my young people had hauled much of the lumber out to the house site. I went out to help. As I loaded a wooden cart with more lumber to take over to the site, I heard hoofbeats approaching. An older cowboy rode up to the site, pushed his hat back on his head and looked at me in amazement.

   “Ma’am, are you building this house on your own?” He sounded astonished.

   “Not exactly. My children are helping me.”

   I looked up into his face. He looked to be a little older than I was, with curly brown hair laced with gray peeking out beneath his cowboy hat,, and a big mustache.

   “Hi. My name’s Helen Curtis. Who might you be?”

   He dismounted and stepped forward to shake my hand. “The name’s Jerome Whitmore. I own the ranch next to yours, the Bar W. I met your husband Will when he first arrived. Is he around?”

   “No, unfortunately, he died in a car accident this past winter. We’re here to finish what he started.”

   “I’m so sorry.” Gazing at the progress my young folk were making on the frame, he said, “When you have the frame finished, I’d like to bring some of my hands over to help you raise it.”

   I smiled up at him. “That would be very kind of you. I’ve been wondering how we’d get the building up with only the four of us.”

   Jerome walked over to where my children were working and introduced himself. After studying their progress he asked Luke, “My name’s Jerome Whitmore. I have the ranch bordering yours on the north. I met your dad a few times in town last summer. He was a fine man. I’d like to help you finish what he started, if I may. How much longer until you’re ready to raise the walls?”

   Luke looked him over thoughtfully then glanced at me. I nodded. “I’m thinking we’ll be ready to raise them by Saturday, if all goes well.”

   “Good. I’ll come over and check on Friday and bring a crew over on Saturday if you’re ready for us.” He nodded at Luke. “You’re doing a good job here. It’s nice to see a young man finishing the work his father started.”

   “Thank you, Mr. Whitmore.” Luke looked around at Liza and Elijah. “We’re all in this together. Not one of us would do it anything different. Honoring Dad—it’s what we do.”

   Jerome nodded. “See you Friday late afternoon.” He headed back toward his horse.
“Ma’am, I’ll have my cook put together food for my men for the house-raising. Don’t you worry about it.” He turned to mount his horse.

   “Mr. Whitmore,” I said. “We don’t have anything fancy, but I’d like to invite you to stay for supper when you come over on Friday. Please bring your wife, too. That would give us a welcome chance to get acquainted with you all.”

   He looked into my eyes thoughtfully. “I’d like that. But I’m afraid I don’t have a wife anymore. She passed away two years ago.”

    “Oh.” I knew the pain he suffered, for I was walking through it myself. I laid a handon his forearm. “I’m sorry.” I met his eyes. “I’d still like you to come.”

   “Thank you for the invitation.” He tipped his hat. “I’ll see you Friday afternoon, Mrs. Curtis.”

   I watched him ride away to the north, where his ranch must be. Luke, who had come over to stand by me, commented on our visitor. “He’s nice. I’m glad we’ll have a crew to help us raise the house. I was wondering how we could manage on our own.”

   “I believe God sent him to us.” I nodded in agreement.

   My young people had finished and were cleaned up on Friday by the time Mr. Whitmore arrived to inspect the framework. He brought a large roasted and sliced beef stored in gravy, and a sack of fruit and potatoes and other vegetables, plus four loaves of bread on a pack horse. “This should be enough to feed my crew tomorrow,” he said, carrying it into the living area. “I had my cook prepare the roast, so all you’ll need to do is heat it up.”

   “Thank you so much!” I was overwhelmed by his generosity.

   Mr. Whitmore smiled. “I have a crew of healthy eaters. I wouldn’t want you to go broke trying to feed them all.”

   “I am most grateful.”

   “Let’s take a look at that frame,” he said, turning to my sons.

   Luke and Elijah accompanied him while Liza helped me set our rustic table.

   Over dinner, we became better acquainted with Mr. Whitmore. He was thoughtful and reserved, supportive of our project. He told us about his wife, Rosalee, who had suffered with cancer for a year before passing. I saw the grief on his face, but he didn’t say much more about the battle she’d fought, just that it had been hard.

   I shared a little about Will’s death. “I miss him dreadfully. We’d been in love since grade school. He’s always been part of my life.”

   “Yes. I understand. Rosalie and I met in high school.” He paused. “You should call me Jerome. Okay?” He looked around at the younger folk.

   “Sure.”

   “Okay.”

   “Alright.”

   “I will,” I said. “And call me Helen.”

   “Yes ma’am.” He grinned at me, his eyes twinkling.

   Later that night while my young people cleared the table and washed up, I walked with Jerome out to his horse.

   “Thank you for inviting me here for dinner,” he said. “It was a pleasure getting acquainted with and your young people.”

   “I’m glad you could come.”

   We paused by the horse there in the moonlight.

   “I’m sorry for your loss, Helen. I do understand how difficult it is to lose the one you love. I want you to know that I will be here to help you and your family, and please count me as a friend.”

   “With pleasure,” I said, looking up at him. “It’s good to have friends here in the wilderness.”

   Tipping his cowboy hat, he mounted his horse. “See you tomorrow, ma’am.”

The Newcomer

By Sheri Schofield

Hi friends. My husband Tim and I just returned from a long trip which took us through the Wyoming wilderness where rolling hills are covered with sage brush and mountains thrust their peaks up sharply from the desert floor. The ground and mountain colors vary, sometimes gray, sometimes red, and other times almost white, where a different layer of rock thrusts up against the blue-gray mountains like giant, smooth fingernails clawing their way to the sky. It is a wild, rugged, beautiful land. As we drove, I imagined living in the area, where towns are small, few, and far between. What would a young woman do in such a setting? I let my imagination take over, but every now and then, I’d ask my husband, retired physician who once served in the military, for advice about the hero in the story I was imagining. Now I share it with you – “The Newcomer.”

Anna Carpenter waved good-bye to her last piano student and reached for her gardening gloves, a trowel, and one of her geranium plants. She knew everyone in town thought of her as an old maid, for she was twenty-seven and still lived with her mother. But this did not bother her, for she was happier than many married women she knew in town.

Nevertheless, she did harbor a secret longing for marriage and children. Sometimes in the evening when she was brushing her long, sandy colored hair the recommended hundred strokes, she found herself wishing for a husband. Her gray eyes would deepen in color as she dreamed. Then she would shrug, sigh, and move away from the mirror. There was no point in wishing for something that would probably never happen, she thought. Having grown up in the small town of Elk Crossing, she had also grown up with the young men and hadn’t found one who shared her interests in books, music, or flowers, and she couldn’t imagine being married to someone who didn’t share those interests.

She was planting the geraniums in the large, wooden barrel in her front yard that afternoon, when a moving van pulled into the house across the street. The house was set back behind the country feed and farm supply store which had been empty for several months. Mr. Jansen, the previous owner, had moved to Cheyenne to live with his daughter in his old age. Anna had heard that the house had recently sold, but nobody knew who the new owner was.

Curiously, Anna stood and looked across the street. A tall man with a slight limp climbed out of the truck and walked around to the back an opened the doors. It wasn’t a large truck, but he might need help. From where she stood, she could see that his face was framed with dark hair with some gray around the edges. She pulled off her gloves, dropped them beside the barrel, and walked across the street

“Hi. Welcome to Elk Crossing,” she said hesitantly but with a smile. “I’m Anna. I was planting flowers at our place across the street and saw you come in.”

“Hi Anna,” the man nodded. “Glad to meet you. I’m Jared Jones.” He reached out and shook her hand, a shy smile on his face. He looked to be about thirty, and he was pale, as though he had been ill for some time. She noticed he wore a brace on the lower part of his left leg.

“Could you use some help unloading the truck?”

“I could, but I don’t want to impose.”

“No problem. I’m glad to help. Do you have family coming?”

“No. It’s just me.” A sharp look of pain crossed his face for an instant, then he relaxed.

“I can help,” she said.

“Thank you, Anna.”

Together they began unloading the truck in companionable silence, speaking only when necessary. Having two older brothers, Anna understood the need to focus on the job. She also knew he would be hungry after unloading.

“My mom has a beef roast in the oven and scalloped potates ready to add. Would you like to join us for supper?”

Jared’s face lit up. “That sounds great. What time?”

“In about an hour. We’ll see you then.” Anna smiled and headed back to her place to alert her mother about their guest and to finish planting the geraniums.

Over the next week, other neighbors stopped by to welcome Jared to town, and though he received many invitations to meals, he thanked them for the offers, but said he needed to focus on unpacking and getting the feed store open. They understood, but everyone was curious about him. Anna smiled quietly to herself when she heard of the invitations and said nothing.

Sunday after church, Jared accepted the invitation to join Anna’s family for lunch. Her brothers liked Jared, with reservations which they shared with her later.

“Anna, he’s a nice guy. But with that limp…and he wears a brace… you could do better,” Kurt said.

“You don’t want a man you’ll have to take care of,” Josh said. “You’ll want someone who will look after you, sis.”

Their wives nodded complacently, satisfied that their husbands were strong and healthy.

“You need to think about that when choosing a man,” Josh’s wife Mandi said.

“Of course,” Sally, Kurt’s wife, added with a nod.

Anna just smiled and ignored their interference. She had gone out with the various single men in town and was not interested in them. She’d gone to school with most of them since childhood and felt nothing but casual interest in them as adults. But she liked Jared. He had a dry sense of humor, and he rarely said anything unless it was worthwhile. Being quiet herself, Anna appreciated his reserve and good manners.

Later that week as she was working again in the garden, Jared walked across the street.

“Anna, I’m not familiar with what people need in a feed store around here. Would you advise me?”

“Sure.” Anna stood and walked across the street with Jared. She told him what the last owner had carried, and he promptly ordered those items.

Jared took frequent breathers as he stacked the heavier items when they arrived. “I can’t work as steadily as I used to,” he commented. “I spent the last several months at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in D.C. recovering from an injury.”

“Oh! You were in the Army?”

“Yes. I flew a chopper in Afghanistan for a few years. Got hit in the knee with a bullet when I was pulling some soldiers out of an ambush by the Taliban. Army sent me home.”

“You flew a helicopter in a war zone?”

“Yes. It was dangerous work, but I enjoyed it.”

Later that day, Jared invited Anna over to his store for tea and cookies, which he had bought at the local bakery. Later he showed Anna through the house. Though he didn’t have a lot of furniture, it was enough to get by. She noted with satisfaction the guitar in the corner and the bookcase in the living room which indicated there were shared interests between them.

Anna saw a framed portrait of Jared and a dark-haired woman on his dresser. They looked happy and in love.

Jared reached for the photo. “This was my wife. Her name was Hunoon, which means compassionate. And she was truly compassionate. I adored her. She and her family were secretly Christians, which was not accepted in her village. We were only married a few months when the Taliban massacred Hunoon and her family when she was visiting her aunt in a nearby village. She was expecting our first child.”

Anna heard the grief in his voice. She touched his arm gently. “I’m so sorry, Jared.”

“Thanks for caring.” He inhaled and stood straighter. “Let’s get outside in the sun. It helps.”

“I noticed you are planting geraniums. Do you buy them locally?” he asked, changing the subject.

“No. We have to drive into Casper for flowers. It’s too expensive to drive all that distance, and I usually like a lot of color in my garden, which is also expensive. I winter over my geraniums. That helps keep the cost down.”

“Hm. I see. I wondered about flowers. I haven’t seen any stores in town that carry them. I was thinking about putting a greenhouse behind the feed store and growing flowers as well as fruit and vegetables to sell locally.”

“What a good idea!”

“Will you help me? I don’t know what the people here like to grow.”

“Sure. Be glad to.”

Anna’s brothers scoffed when she mentioned the greenhouse idea. It didn’t seem manly enough for them. But she kept her thoughts about Jared to herself and didn’t tell them about his military experience. She knew his worth and respected his private confidences. Jared would speak up when he was ready.

By July, Jared had the greenhouse up and operating. He imported plants to get started, and they sold well. The feed store was a necessity in their community, and the ranchers were grateful to have a nearby supplier.

Over a Sunday dinner in October, Josh and Kurt announced they were going on an elk hunt back in the wild country. Their freezers were getting low on meat for their families. Jared asked where they would be hunting. That was all it took to turn the conversation toward elk, deer and antelope habitats and past hunting stories.

Josh and Kurt had been gone for almost a week when Josh called on his satellite phone. “Kurt and I are stranded in the canyon east of Red Mesa. He broke his leg. We need to be airlifted out. Call 911.”

Anna called the emergency number. Soon a helicopter landed in field outside of town. She drove out to meet the pilot and showed him where her brothers were located.

He studied the map and shook his head. “Well, I can try. But I don’t think I can land in that canyon. It’s too narrow. I’ll have to land about six miles away. We’re going to need more help.”

“We have an experienced helicopter pilot who flew in Afghanistan living in town. He might be able to fly in, if you’re willing to let him.” Anna searched the pilot’s face.

“He flew in ‘Stan, huh?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like to talk with him. I served there myself, and the country is wilder than this. I’ve seen those chopper pilots dive into places I’d never attempt.”

Anna drove him over to the store and led him inside. “Jared, Josh called. He and Kurt are stranded in a canyon east of Red Mesa. Kurt broke his leg. I called for an emergency airlift, but the pilot—what is your name?”

“It’s Henry, ma’am.”

“Thank you. Henry doesn’t think he can get into the canyon. Would you take a look at the map and see if you might be able to help?”

Jared walked over, looked the location over carefully and asked a few questions. “Sure. I could do that, if you’re willing to let me fly?” He looked at the pilot.

“Anyone who flew in ‘Stan is good enough for me. I know what y’all did. Let’s go.”

At the helicopter, Jared climbed into the pilot seat and donned the headgear. Glancing back at Anna, whose brows were furrowed with concern, he said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got this. Better get back. I’m going to start it up.”

Anna moved away and the blades began to move. The helicopter rose into the air and flew toward Red Mesa in the distance.

Anna called Sally, Kurt’s wife, and let her know what was happening. Sally drove their van over and waited nervously for the helicopter to return.

“He was a helicopter pilot in Afghanistan?” she asked, her eyebrows rising high. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“I don’t share what people tell me in private.”

Sally rolled her eyes. “Tsk,” she snorted.

Less than an hour later, they heard the chopper returning and drove out to the field. Sally drove the van to meet the aircraft. Josh and Henry moved Kurt out of the helicopter on a stretcher and brought him to the van.

Jared had climbed down from the helicopter and handed his headgear to the pilot, who shook his hand. “Man, I’ve never seen anything like it! You did a fantastic job, sir.”

Jared smiled. “Lots of practice.”

The pilot flew Kurt and Sally toward the hospital in Casper, leaving Anna with Josh and Jared in the field.

“So, Jared, how many missions did you fly into the mountains of Afghanistan?” Josh asked with great interest.

Anna smiled quietly and listened as Jared opened up about his life to her brother. They hardly noticed when she left them talking in the field and drove home. She knew just what to expect later that afternoon when Josh dropped by the house.

“He’s quite a guy,” Josh said quietly, patting Anna on the shoulder.

“Yes, he is.” Anna smiled.

That evening Jared and Anna sat on his porch swing listening to the crickets.

“Anna, thank you for recommending me for that helicopter rescue flight. It meant a lot to me.”

“You were obviously the man for the job,” she said complacently.

Jared slipped his arm over her shoulder and drew her closer.

Anna leaned her head against his shoulder. This was her man. She understood him and loved him just the way he was.

Complete acceptance and respect. It is the mark of true love which lasts forever. Anna smiled into the night, knowing she would never again feel alone as long as Jared was by her side.

Janey's Secret

Janey’s Secret

by Sheri Schofield

Hi Friends. Today’s story takes me back to my senior year of high school, when I was doing my senior classes at home on weekends as I finished up my junior year of high school in the classroom. I loved to study outside in the fresh air instead of inside, whenever weather permitted. I used to walk up to a meadow behind the house and study in the shade of a tree near an old house foundation where daffodils bloomed in the spring. I used to wonder about the house which used to be there. Who were the people? What was their story? Nobody knew. So now I’ve come up with a story of my own to go with that memory. Here it is.

   It was my senior year of high school when I found the box which would change everything.

   “Mom, I’m going up to the meadow to study,” I called, grabbing my English literature book, a small quilt, and heading for the door.

   “Okay. But remember to be back by four.”

   “What’s at four?” I paused, hand on the door handle.

   “Oh, Susan, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten we’re having Pastor and Carol over this evening!”

   “Right. I’ll be back in time to help you with dinner.” I pushed the back door open and headed up the woodland path toward the meadow. It was springtime in southern Oregon after a long winter. The air was fresh. The sky was blue with a few puffy clouds floating by.

   I rarely had time for walks up the mountain, but studying in my room when the sun was shining seemed impossible that day. The old cherry tree in the meadow offered shade. Spreading the quilt over the uncut grass beneath it and breathing a sigh of contentment, I sat down and opened my book.

   Ten minutes later, a bird began to sing. I looked up and searched the field. A meadow lark sat singing on the crumbled foundation of the old house not far from me. It had evidently burned down years ago, for there were still black marks on the foundation. Daffodils still grew around it, though, their heads nodding in the in the breeze.

   My concentration wavered. Turning my book upside-down on the blanket, I stood and walked over to the flowers which had been planted around the house many years before. They needed weeding, but I had no trowel. Finding a sharp stick and dropping to my knees, I began to clear the dead grass around the flowers.

   I’d always wondered about the old house. What was it like? Who had lived there? How did it burn down? Mama didn’t know, neither did Dad. They just shrugged. It was before their time, I guess.

   I pulled and moved the grass away from the flowers and reached for another handful. That’s when I noticed a slight gleam in the dirt. It looked like the corner of something metal.

   Using the stick, I dug around the metal object. It took some work, but I finally unearthed it. A small, metal box about the size of a square baking dish, rusted in places, emerged from the dirt. I brushed it off.

   From its weight, I guessed there was something inside. I shook it. Whatever it was didn’t make much sound. Could I open it with all that rust? I tried. Gradually, I worked the lid off.

   Inside was an aged book. The word Diary was etched on the front. Tied to the cover with a ribbon were two wedding rings. Intensely curious now, I opened the diary. The name inside was Janey. Whoever she was, she was long gone. I began reading. It looked like a woman’s handwriting:

   “Today is my seventeenth birthday. And today I met Allen Leigh. He graduated last year and is nineteen. I like him. He’s funny and kind and very smart. His parents are rich, but you’d never guess it. He’s not a snob. He goes to our church. After the service, my friends invited me out to lunch at Denny’s and Allen came, too. He’s new to town.”

   The story recounted their first date, falling in love, keeping their relationship secret because Allen’s parents wouldn’t approve, and neither would Janey’s. Because of the money. Allen was the only heir to the Leigh fortune. His parents wanted him to marry a society girl. But Allen fell in love with Janey and she with him. Then disaster struck. The Korean War started on June 25, 1950,  and within a month, Allen was drafted.

   “I cannot bear to part with him! I love him so much! We cried together when he got his orders. Afterward, Allen asked me to marry him. Before he leaves in two weeks! I said yes. If he never comes back from the war, I will have known his love for a short time.

   “We went to the courthouse the next day and pledged our lives to each other in marriage. He placed a gold ring on my finger, and I placed one on his. We went downtown and had our picture taken at the photographer’s shop to remember this day.

   “My parents were visiting my aunt over in Nevada for two weeks, so we’ve had that time to ourselves. My older brother Sean was taking care of the livestock on our farm and watering the garden. We swore him to secrecy about our marriage, then left for a short honeymoon at the Oregon coast.

   “We returned the day before Allen had to leave. He packed a small bag, which included a small photo of the two of us on our wedding day. I kept its twin, hiding it in my closet in a secret place. We said good-bye at the bus station and held each other until the last moment. Then he was gone.

   “Three months later, Allen was killed in action in Korea. I heard about it first, for the Army contacted me. Dad and Mom were at work at the time. I cried until there were no more tears left. By then, I knew I was carrying Allen’s baby. But my parent knew nothing, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  “Hugging my secret marriage to myself, I told them I was expecting a baby. Dad demanded to know the father, but I wouldn’t tell him. Dad was a difficult man. He ranted and raved at me, demanding to know more. I told him it didn’t matter, because my lover had been killed in Korea. If Dad knew about Allen, he would have hauled me over to the Leigh place and demanded they take care of me. Mom just cried and said nothing. And she didn’t come near me.

   “We need to send her away so she won’t tarnish our family’s standing in the community,” Dad said.

   “That’s how I came to live with the Browns here in the back woods of Oregon, seventy miles from my parents.

   “The Browns were good to me, though I could see Mrs. Brown highly disapproved of me. When the baby was born, she loved him, though, and that made up for her disapproval of me.

   “I’ve named my baby Allen Madison Leigh, but I haven’t told anyone. As far as they know, his name is Allen Madison, my family name.

   “My parents want me to give him up for adoption, but I will not. My father is furious, but I don’t care. I will be receiving survivor benefits from the Army and Social Security, and I will work for this baby and raise him myself.”

   A photo fell out of the diary. It was the picture of Janey and Allen’s wedding day. They looked so happy! What time they had together was good.         Allen looked familiar to me, though. He looked a lot like a young man who worked in the grocery store in town. His name was Cole Standish. I wondered if he was related to the young man in the photo. Turning the diary upside down, I shook it to see if it contained anything else. A clue maybe.

   A birth certificate fell out. It was for Allen Madison Leigh, a baby boy.

   I closed the diary gently and placed it back inside the tin box. It was hard to concentrate on my studies afterward, but I forced myself to do it.

   Back at the house, I slid the metal box with its precious contents into a dark corner of my closet, just as Janey had done long ago.

   Saturday, I went shopping in town with Mom. I searched the aisles quickly when I arrived at the grocery store. Cole Standish was stocking the shelves in the coffee section.

   “Cole?”

   “Yes,” he said, turning his head toward me and flashing a smile. A quick look of recognition crossed his face. “Aren’t you one of the McLean girls?”

   “How did you know?” I asked in surprise.

   “You have the look. I know Jerry McLean. We played football together, and I remember he had a couple of younger sisters back in our high school days. Which one are you?”

   “I’m Susan. I’m seventeen this year.” I smiled up at him. “You look just like a photo I found this week.”

   “A photo?”

   “Yes. But it was in a picture of a young married couple named Allen and Janey Leigh.”

   “Leigh? Aren’t they that rich couple that live out in that big mansion near the river?”

   “Yes. They were the parents of Allen Leigh.”

   “And you think I look like that Allen?”

   “Yes.”

   Allen laughed. “Well, that explains why Mrs. Leigh looked like she’d seen a ghost when she came in here last week. I was at the cash register at the time. I thought maybe she was having a stroke or something. But she snapped out of it.”

   “Cole, when are you off work today? I need to talk with you.”

   His eyebrows went up. “I’m off at three. Where do you want to talk?”

   “Can you make it to Riverside Park?”

   “Sure.”

   “Then I’ll see you at three.” I smiled and turned away. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Cole staring at me, his mouth slightly open and his brows drawn together. I waved and walked out of the store.

   Later that day, I borrowed Mom’s car and drove to town. I took along some sandwiches and milk in a cooler. It has been my experience that men are always hungry. Finding a shady picnic table near a giant cottonwood tree, I set my offerings on the table, the little metal box next to them, and waited.

   Cole found me fifteen minutes later. “There you are. Now what’s this all about?” he asked, obviously consumed by curiosity.

   “Let’s eat first,” I suggested. “I’ve brought some sandwiches and milk.”

   “Huh? Oh. Okay.”

   After we had eaten, Cole said, “Okay, now tell me what this is all about.”

   “Well, I found this box buried next to the foundation of an old house that burned down years ago. When I opened it, here’s what I found.”

   I laid the diary with its two wedding rings, the photo, and the birth certificate on the table between us.

   Cole glanced at me then reached for the photo.

“You’re right, Susan. That man could be my twin!”

   “Were you, by any chance, adopted?” I held my breath, wondering if I was being too bold.

   Cole paused for a moment, lifting his eyes to the river not far away. Finally, he looked at me. “Yes. I was adopted. But I never knew who my parents were. All I know is that my mother died when I was a baby, and there was no birth certificate. The people who took me to the adoption agency said my name was Allen. That was all they knew. My parents changed my first name to Cole, but my middle name is still Allen.”

   “Wow! That can’t be a coincidence.” I paused to absorb the information. “The house where I found this box burned down many years ago.”

   Cole studied the photo. “Are you thinking this might be my real parents?”

   “I think it’s something we should look into.”

   “We?”

   “Yes! This is my find, and I’m in on the hunt!”

   Cole laughed. “You are certainly a McLean. I know that look from your brother.”

   “Then let’s do this.” I handed him the diary with the wedding rings and the photo. “You read the diary tonight, and let’s meet again tomorrow and decide what to do. Okay?”

   “Yes, ma’am!”

   The next afternoon, we met again at the park.

   “I read the diary,” Cole said. “It’s a sweet, sad story. But I don’t know any way to discover if it’s my parents or not.”

   We fell silent for a couple of minutes. Then I thought of something.

   “Let’s check out the photographer. Don’t they keep photos and records for years?”

   “It’s a long shot. But sure. Let’s go there first.”

   We drove downtown to the photography studio typed on the back of the picture. Welby & Son.

   A man about my dad’s age came forward to greet us. “Can I help you?”

   “We hope so,” Cole said. “We’re wondering whether or not you still have records going back to 1950?” He held out the photo.

   The man looked at it and raised his eyebrows, glanced at Cole, then said, “We have records. Let me check.” He disappeared into the back room with the photo. A few minutes later, he returned with a larger photo and a receipt.

   “This was ordered during my Dad’s time by a couple named Allen and Janey Leigh.”

   “Could we get a copy of that?” Cole asked.

   “Is this your father and mother?” the photographer asked.

   “We think so. I was adopted, and my parents died when I was a baby. There was no birth certificate at the time, but we found this.” He handed the man a copy of the birth certificate from the book plus a copy of his own adoption birth certificate with the name Cole Allen Standish on it.

   “It looks genuine. Let me make a copy of it, then I will give you a copy of my order form and this photo from the files.”

   A few minutes later, we walked out of the shop and climbed into the car. For a full minute, we couldn’t say a thing. It was an amazing confirmation.

   “I wonder if my father is buried in the local cemetery,” Cole thought aloud.

   “Let’s go see.”

   We found Allen Leigh’s grave after some searching. Looking down at the gravestone, Cole said, “He was only nineteen when he died, a year younger than I am.” He sighed, saddened by the loss. “I wish I could have known him.Do you think we dare visit the Leighs and find out if this is truly my father?” Cole asked.

   “Maybe we should call them first.”

   “Okay. But you should be the one to explain. You found the box. I don’t want those people thinking I’m trying to trick them or take advantage.”

   “Where can we call from?”

   “I have a phone at my place. It’s not far from here.”

   Twenty minutes later, I made the call. “Mrs. Leigh?”

   “Yes.”

   “My name is Susan McLean. I found a tin box buried next to the foundation of a house that burned down years ago. In it was a picture of your son, Allen, and a young woman. We stopped at the photographers to check on the photo, and he said they took the photo in June 1950, and the couple were listed as Mr. and Mrs. Allen Leigh. In the box I found, there was a diary, too. The woman in the picture was Janey Madison Leigh. They were married just before Allen shipped out to Korea. Janey had a son, but she refused to tell anyone who the father was.”

   There was silence on the other end of the line for a long moment. “You’re saying our Allen may have had a son?”

   “Yes.”

   “Do you know where he is?”

   “Yes. He’s standing right next to me. He was adopted after his mother died. We think she died when the house she was staying in burned down, or maybe shortly afterward. He was adopted by the Standish family. There was no birth certificate to tell who his parents were. But there was a birth certificate in the box I found. The agency said his name was Allen, but that was all they had on him. His new parents named him Cole Allen Standish.”

   Her voice trembled. “Can we meet him?”

   “If you would like. We can come over and show you what I found when you are ready.”

   “I’m ready now!” she exclaimed. “Please come!”

   “Okay. We will be over in a few minutes.”

   I hung the phone up and looked at Cole. “Let’s go.”

   He was nervous all the way over to the Leigh mansion. Neither of us felt like talking. He pulled his car up to the house, climbed out, then came around and opened my door. “Okay, Susan. Let’s see if this is for real.”

   We had barely reached the front door when it opened. A white-haired woman stood there looking at us. After a long moment, she said, “You’re the young man from the store! Please come inside.”

  She ushered us into the living room and asked her housekeeper to bring tea.

   “You look exactly like my Allen!” she exclaimed, her voice quavering, her eyes filling with tears.

   “Ma’am, I’m just learning about this, too. Susan came into the shop yesterday and showed me this photo.”  Cole handed the picture to Mrs. Leigh, along with the receipt. “Here’s the photographer’s receipt and my adoption birth certificate. We wanted to be sure.”

   “There it is. Mr. and Mrs. Allen Leigh!” The old woman shook her head in amazement as she gazed at the photo. “After all these years, I didn’t think I could be surprised!”

   “Ma’am, I don’t want to take advantage of something I cannot prove. I just need to know if we are related. If we are, I want to know about my father. I don’t know who to ask about my mother. All I have is her diary.”

   “Could … could I see it?” she asked timidly.

   I reached in my carry-all bag and pulled out the tin box. Opening it, I handed the diary with its two gold rings to the small woman.

   She gasped when she saw the rings. “This is my mother’s wedding ring! Look!”

   Inside the ring was the inscription, “E all my love T.”

   “My mother’s name was Elizabeth. My father’s name was Tom. This ring disappeared about the time Allen left for Korea. I never knew what happened to it … until now.”

   She looked up. “No one needs to prove anything to me. This is proof enough. Cole, I am your grandmother.”

   Cole gasped and blinked. He slid from his chair and knelt next to hers. “I am glad to meet you, Grandma. I will be here for you in the years ahead.”

   The old woman cried, but her face was lit with a smile. Looking over at me, she said, “My dear, come.” She motioned to me.

   Speechless, I walked over to her and knelt next to Cole.

   “You must let us become acquainted,” she said. “Can you come over again for Sunday dinner?”

   And that was how a small tin box opened a hidden doorway into the past that led to a beautiful future. Allen found his birth family at long last and introduced them to his adopted family. His grandmother was eager to learn all about his childhood and got along great with his adopted mom. We learned his grandfather had passed away three years earlier. But Allen was able to learn much about him over time.

   We eventually tracked down Sean Madison, Janey’s brother. He was pleased to meet Cole and welcomed him to the family, which had grown into a large clan by then. Janey’s parents had passed away years before, but Cole learned more about them and the family over time.

   A great friendship was forged that day between Cole and me, too. He took me to all the family events with him and showed me off as the one who had solved the mystery of his past.

   Shortly after I graduated from high school, Cole asked me to marry him. When I said yes, he placed his great-grandmother’s engagement ring on my finger. At our wedding, he placed his mother’s wedding ring on my finger, too.

   Later that same week, Cole and I visited the old house foundation together.

   “Mother,” he said into the still air, “this is Susan. We were married this week. I just want you to know we are happy. Tell Dad, will you?”

The Waterhole

Hi Friends! Here’s a contemporary western romance for you. Since I live in Wyoming now—The Cowboy State— I’m bringing the flavor of this culture into the story. I’ve been intrigued by an old, abandoned house nearby, a red house, the porch leaning to one side because of the fierce winds.. It sparked my imagination, so I’ve gone back in time and developed a story for it. Water has always been a cause of tension between ranchers here in the west, where water is scarce. This old house has a pond out front. In the springtime and early summer, Canada geese raise their young there. In the later summer, cattle are drawn to the pond. They tromp the ground down and drink it nearly dry and nap under the big old willow tree hanging over the pond. I hope you will enjoy The Waterhole.

The Waterhole

By Sheri Schofield

   “Well, there it is,” old man Taylor said, nodding toward the ranch house. Looking doubtfully at the young woman sitting next to him in the pick-up, he asked, “Are you sure you want to stay here, ma’am? It’s a long way from town, and with only your brother …”

   Glancing at the rancher and giving him a cheerful smile, Sylvia March nodded. “Yes. Thank you for bringing us out here. Jake and I will be fine.”

   Roy Taylor nodded. “Okay. But if you need help, remember my ranch is just two miles down the road. Come over whenever you like. The missus would love the company.”

   Jake hopped out of the truck and helped Sylvia down and lifted their bags out of the truck bed.

   “Thanks, Mr. Taylor. We appreciate the ride out here, and we’re pleased to have you for a neighbor.”

   “Take care,” Roy Taylor said. He revved his engine and drove homeward, leaving behind the two youngsters. “I can’t believe George left this place to those kids,” he muttered into his beard. “It’s not for the inexperienced, and it’s gonna take a lot of work, that’s for sure. How are they gonna manage?”

   Sylvia and Jake watched the older man drive off then turned toward the house situated next to a hill, the green prairie fields stretching out in front of it. The house was shaded across the front by porch to shield it from the sun, its red paint looking worn from wind and weather.

   Out front was a small pond, a big old cottonwood tree hanging over it. The water looked fresh with no scum on it. Mr. Taylor had said it was spring-fed. To one side of the house was a smaller structure, a bunkhouse for hired hands. In the pasture on the other side of the old wooden fence stood a barn, gray and weathered. A weed-filled corral stood next to it.

   Only two weeks earlier, Sylvia had received a letter from her great Uncle George’s lawyer. Sylvia was twenty, working as a maid at a small hotel outside Chicago, where she earned enough to rent rooms for herself and her brother at a boarding house. Jake, who was still in high school, had a job after school at a local service station fixing cars and filling gas tanks. He’d always been good at mechanics. When Dad and Mom were alive, Dad had taught him all about car engines, and Jake used that information to bring in enough money to provide food for Sylvia and himself.

   When the lawyer told her she had inherited George’s four-hundred-acre ranch, Sylvia was stunned but delighted. No more working as a maid! No more scrimping to make ends meet! She sighed with pleasure thinking of the freedom.

   “Are there any cattle or horses on the ranch?” she asked.

   “Yes. You’ve inherited a herd of sixteen red angus. You have cows, calves and a bull. There are four horses on the ranch. I’ve asked a local cowboy—Wilson—to check on things daily and make sure all the livestock have been fed. Oh, and there are chickens, too. I’ve paid them out of your inheritance to keep things running smoothly for you.”
   “Thanks you so much. But isn’t there grass for the cattle yet?”

   “Yes. But it was a long winter and just recently warmed up. The grass is new. There’ve needed hay through those last two cold months. Your uncle had a good supply for them.”  

   He hesitated then said, “It will be a lot for you to handle alone. I’d advise selling the ranch.”

   “My brother Jake will help me. We’ll be fine. I do not want to sell. We’ll manage.”

      The year was 1975, only one year after the Equal Credit Opportunity Act gave women the right to open their own bank accounts. Sylvia thought gratefully of the account her uncle’s lawyer had helped her establish at the bank in the near-by town of Gillette, Wyoming. It was only ten-thousand dollars, but it seemed like a fortune to her.

The red paint looked worn.    Now the two of them stood looking out over their land. Dark red cattle dotted the nearby hills feeding on the new grass of spring.

   “We can do this, Jake.”

   “You bet. We’ll make a go of it. If Great-Uncle George could manage it at his age, we should be able to do it.”

   “Well, let’s go inside and see what’s there.” She picked up her suitcase and headed for the house. Jake followed with his own luggage.

   The place was clean except for a light film of dust which had settled over everything since Uncle George had passed. Sylvia was grateful. The house wasn’t small and cleaning it would have taken a lot of time. Dust was an easy challenge for her, though.

   “Looks like there’s three bedrooms. Which one do you want, Jake?”
   “You go first. It’s your inheritance.” He grinned and bowed, sweeping his felt cap before him.

   Sylvia moved toward the bedrooms, examining each one, and settling on the one with the double bed and rosebud wallpaper.

  Jake laughed. “Perfect. You chose the one room I’d never want! I’ll take the blue room at the end of the hall.”

   “I wonder if there’s any food in the house?” She walked back into the kitchen and searched the cupboards. There was a large pantry with canned goods. “This should last us a while.”

  “Hello the house!” came a call from outside.

   Sylvia stepped out through the open doorway. The old man sitting on the bay horse looked very much like her idea of a cowboy. His hat shaded his face, so she couldn’t see him well.

   “Hello. Are you our new neighbor?”

   “You could say that. I’m Andy Wilson from the Bar W down the road from here. I’ve been watching over your ranch until you could get here. I was passin’ by and saw your door was open, so I thought I’d better check if everything’s all right here.”

   “Thank you, Mr. Wilson. Won’t you come in?”

   “Call me Andy.” He swung down from his horse, tied it to the rail in front of the house and came over. He smiled and removed his hat. “I’ve told you my name. What’s yours?”

   “I’m Sylvia March.” Hearing Jake behind her, she introduced him. “This is my kid brother, Jake.”

   “Howdy.” The old cowboy held out his hand to Sylvia first, then to Jake. “Glad to meet you both. My ranch is just over the hills a ways.” He pointed northeast. Here’s my phone number. If you need anything, just holler.” He fished a piece of paper with his contact information from his shirt pocket and handed it to Sylvia.

   “Thank you, Andy. Won’t you come in? We just arrived, but I think I saw some tea and coffee in the cupboard.”

   Andy nodded. “Thanks. It will give us a chance to get acquainted.”

   Quickly, Sylvia dusted the table and chairs with a dishtowel. “It’s a little dusty.”

   “Yes. Wyoming is like that. Lots of wind. Lots of dust.”

   Over coffee Andy asked, “Where are you all from?”

   “Chicago area,” Sylvia said. “Before that, our family owned a farm out in the country. But when our folks passed away, Jake and I moved to a town near the city for work.”

   “So you’ve had some experience with livestock.” Andy nodded his approval. You’ll have a good idea about what needs to be done.”

   “Yes, but we never had this much to manage before. Our farm was only forty acres. We had a couple of cows, some sheep, a few chickens, and some pigs. Mom had a small garden, too. We earned enough to live on, but not a lot left over. When our parents died, we had to sell the farm to pay expenses.” She looked down and sighed.

   “I think you’ll manage fine. And when you need to move cattle, just let me know, and I’ll help. If you have questions, feel free to call me.”

   “Thanks, Andy.”

   “You may have a little trouble from one of the other ranchers. Carl Miller and your Uncle George were disputing a waterhole over the hill from here. George’s property line went right through one end of the waterhole, so he fenced it. But in summer, the side Miller owned dried up. That meant his cattle can’t get to water. He has another watering hole, but it isn’t enough for his cattle, so he had to pump water for them from his well. That well isn’t adequate for both humans and cattle, so he had to limit the size of his herd considerably. Miller has asked your uncle to share the waterhole, but George didn’t want to do that. He was a real stickler for boundaries. Miller finally gave up and handed the ranch over to his son Ross. I’m sure you’ll have the same conflict with him. I can’t see any good solution. If you let him use the waterhole, he might want more than his share. Buy too many cattle and crowd yours off.” Andy shrugged.

   “That’s good to know,” Jake said, speaking for the first time. “What’s this Miller look like?”

   “He’s on the tall side. Dark hair. About twenty-five, I think. Usually rides a big gray horse. I got nothing against him, but that waterhole could be a problem.”

   Jake nodded. “We appreciate the warning.”

   After Andy left, they went out to the pasture to check on livestock. One of the horses, a bay mare that was feeding among the cattle raised its head. After a minute, it ambled over to the fence.

   Jake ran a hand along its neck and started talking to it.

   The other three horses came over to greet them too. Choosing a roan mare for herself, Sylvia led the horse to the barn and saddled up. Jake did the same.

   “Let’s check out our ranch. I’m going to change into my ranch clothes and boots.”

   A few minutes later, Sylvia and Jake mounted up and rode out to see their inheritance. “I especially want to see that waterhole,” Sylvia said.

   “Andy said it’s over that hill,” Jake pointed and kneed his horse forward.

   A few minutes later, they reined in their horses on top of the hill. Below them, a  wide, shallow pond glistened in the sunlight.

   “Looks like a run-off pond. On our way out on the train, I heard the land here is bentonite, a kind of clay. It expands a lot when wet. After a rain, the clay traps the water on the surface for the animals to drink. But in the summer, when there’s not a lot of rain, the ponds mostly dry up. Unless they’re deep.”

   “I see the problem, Jake. That end Uncle George fenced off looks pretty shallow, and it’s not very large.”

   “What are we gonna do about it?”

   “Well, we need to pray about it. God will show us what we should do.”

   “Good idea, Sis. I guess God’s ways aren’t often man’s ways. It’s better to know what he wants us to do.”

   “Let’s follow the fence line and see the rest of the ranch.”

   A teenage girl stopped by the next day while Jake was tinkering with Uncle George’s pick-up.

   “Hey there,” she called.

   Jake lifted his head from the engine and blushed. A girl with wavy blonde hair and blue eyes grinned at him. She tipped her cowboy hat back so it dangled by the cord.

   “Hey there yourself,” Jake said, smiling broadly. “Who might you be?”
   “I’m Sandi Jenkins. I live about three miles from here.” She pointed west. “My folks own the J-Bar. You must be Jake. Wilson stopped by and told us about you and your sister.”

   “So you came by to check us out?”
   “Of course.” Her eyes twinkled. “Are you some kind of mechanic?”
   “I’m whatever it takes to get the coon.”

   “Good. It’s gonna take that kind of spirit to keep this place running. At least that’s what my dad says.” Sandi dismounted and came over to where Jake was wiping the grease from his hands.

   “Glad to meet you, Sandi. Say, do you know where the high school is?”

   “Sure. It’s in town. Dad drives me in every day during the school year, except when there’s a big snow and we can’t get through. Then we wait for the snowplow, and Dad drives me in. Unless the school is shut down. We could take you too, if you want a ride.”

   “Thanks. That’s good to know.”

   “What year are you?”

   “I’m going to be a senior this year. How about you?”

   “I’m a senior, too. We’ll be in most of the same classes. Except for home economics. The guys take shop while us girls take home ec.”

   “It was the same where we used to live—out near Chicago.”

   “Have you and your sis heard from your neighbor Ross Miller yet?”

   “No. But we’ve heard a little about him. What can you tell me?”

   “Well, he’s a determined man, but nice. Kinda quiet. His dad and your uncle used to argue over the use of that big pond on your property—and partly on Ross’s. When his dad retired, he left the ranch and the problem to Ross to solve. What are you all going to do about it?”

   “I don’t know yet. Sis said we should pray about it and find out what God wants.”

   “I like that. Sounds more pleasant than what has been going on for years.”

   “Hey, Ross,” Matt McCoy called from his truck window as he stopped alongside the road.

   Ross Miller was at his mailbox collecting the day’s delivery. “Hey, Matt. What’s up?”

   “Did you hear about the new owner of old George March’s ranch?”

   Ross stiffened. “What’s he like?”

   “He’s not a he. He’s a she,” Matt said, grinning. “I saw her working in the garden yesterday.”

   “A woman? How could a woman run a ranch like that?” Ross looked startled.

   “Her brother’s helping her.”

   “Okay. Have you met them?”

   “No. But she’s good-looking. Dark hair. Nice shape.”

   “I see. Well, thanks for telling me.”

   “No problem.” Matt grinned wickedly. “I wonder what she’ll say when you ask if you can use that waterhole?”

   Ross looked away. “Maybe she’ll be neighborly and share.”

   “I wouldn’t bet on it. Sandi Jenkins met her brother. Says she’s the religious type. Supposedly, the gal is praying about that waterhole. Better watch out!” He laughed and headed down the road.

   Ross stood there for a good minute, a frown on his brows. He had nothing against religion. He liked going to church himself. Prayer was part of his life. But he wondered. He’d seen many cases of someone praying for something they wanted without consideration for other people. Was this woman like that? Or was she a genuine believer serving God?

   “I guess I’d better get to work on that waterhole before finding that out,” he muttered to himself. “I’ll start digging tomorrow.”

   The next day, Ross packed his pick and shovel, waders, plus a jug of water and a couple of hearty sandwiches on the back of his packhorse. Mounting his big gray gelding and leading the packhorse, he headed for the pond.

   Dismounting and picketing the two horses, he unloaded the tools and donned his waters. He went to work where the fence crossed the pond, chipping away at the bank and throwing the dirt and mud away from the water. It was going to be long, hard work, but if he could get his end of the pond deepened and the edges moved out a ways, the pond would collect more water. Maybe there would be enough to get through the long, hot months.

   The next morning, he headed out early to put in an hour or so of digging before returning to the ranch. Dismounting near the pond, he started to picket his horses when he noticed a roan mare picketed across the fence line.

   The evening before, Sylvia had ridden out alone to check on the cattle and to take another look at the pond. Sitting on a rock overlooking the water, she noticed the fresh diggings across the fence.

   This morning, as she sat on her horse there thinking about the situation, a young man on a horse came over the hill from the Miller place. Behind him was a pack horse with a pick and shovel showing. He pulled up to the small end of the fenced pond and dismounted, then unloaded the tools.

   “Hello there,” she called, waving and dismounting. She ground-hitched her horse and walked over to the fence where it met the pond and smiled at the young man. “I’m Sylvia March. Are you Ross Miller?”

   The young man walked over to the fence, stunned at seeing a woman there. “Yes, I’m Ross Miller. Are you …”

   “I’m George Hyde’s niece.” She held out her hand.

   Ross, at a loss for words, reached out and shook the small but firm hand.

   “I understand we both inherited a feud over this pond.” She cocked her head to the side, her dark curls framing her face where they escaped the long braid wrapped around her head like a crown. Her clear blue eyes looked up into his.

   Ross cleared his throat and looked away. “I guess we did.”

   “I’ve been wondering what to do about it. I see you have an idea?”

   “Um—uh—well I thought I’d dig my end of the pond a little longer to catch more water.”

   “That’s great! Let me help.” Sylvia lifted strand of barbed wire and tried to slip through, but it was strung tight and caught her shirt.

   “Let me help,” Ross said, freeing her shirt and holding the wires for her.

   Once on the other side, Sylvia headed for the tools.

   “I think I can manage the shovel if you will loosen the dirt up with your pick.”

   “Ma’am, this is heavy work!” he protested. “I can’t let you do this.”

   “Sure you can. I’m stronger than I look.” She grinned up at him.

   He started to protest again, but Sylvia held her gloved hand up to stop him. “Now Ross Miller, let’s work together on this and put an end to that foolish feud. There’s no reason to fight over it.”

   Bemused, Ross reached for his pick. “Come on then.” He led the way to where the fence divided the pond and began loosening it with the pick. After he’d loosened up a fair portion, Sylvia dug in with the shovel and tossed the loose dirt out.

   After an hour, Ross stopped and wiped the sweat from his brow. “I think that’s enough for one day.”

   “Okay. Let’s work on it again tomorrow.”

   “If you insist,” he grinned. “I surely like this solution to our feud, ma’am.”

   “It’s Sylvia.”

   “Okay. I didn’t want to presume.”

   The local ranchers and ranch hands were disappointed not to see fireworks between the two young people. Life on the prairie had so few entertainments.

   When the ponds in the area began drying up in the hot months, the pond Ross and Sylvia shared held enough water to get their cattle through. Occasional rains added to their supply.

   “Ross, I think I ought to put in a windmill near the pond and see if we can make sure of good water supply year-round. What do you think?”

   “It’s a mighty expensive project, Sylvie.”

   “Uncle George left me some operating money. Do you know anyone who could drill a well and put up a windmill?”

   Before the dryest part of summer arrived, the windmill was pumping good water into the pond.  

   Though the neighbors couldn’t see it, they’d noticed the equipment being hauled out to the pond. They could guess what that meant.

   Ross was looking relaxed and happy the next time Matt drove by for a gossip in late September. The rains had come, damping down the dry land.

   “So tell me, Ross. Just what has been happening out at that pond? Did you put a well out there?”

   “No, I didn’t. Sylvie did.” He smiled with satisfaction.

   “’Sylvie?’” Matt stared at Ross. “She lets you call her Sylvie?”

   “Sure does,” Ross grinned.

   “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” He shook his head. “How’d you get her to do that?”

   “Wasn’t my idea. She thought of it all by herself.”

   “But that’s expensive, man!”

   “It is. But it seems that her uncle left her enough money to improve the place.”

   “Nice. Uh, how are you two getting along?”

   “Finer than frog’s hair.”

   “You don’t say!”

   What Ross didn’t tell Matt was that he had bought a diamond ring. It was sitting in the drawer next to his bed. That evening as he headed for Sylvie’s place, that ring was in his pocket.

   Sylvie had cooked a hearty meal for Ross and Jake. Afterward, when Jake had gone out to finish up a chore and Ross had helped Sylvie with the dishes, he asked, “Sylvie, how about a moonlight ride out to the pond?”

   He stacked the dishes in the cupboard and put the dish towel neatly on the rack.

   Drying her hands, Sylvia smiled at him and said, “I’d like that, Ross.”

   Hand in hand, they walked out to the corral and saddled their horses. Fifteen minutes later, they sat looking out over their work with satisfaction. The cattle had drunk their fill and had bedded down for the night. An owl swept across the sky looking for mice. In the distance, a coyote yapped at the rising moon.

   Dismounting, Ross and Sylvia picketed their horses and walked toward the pond, their fingers linked. When they reached the edge, Ross turned to face Sylvia, whose eyes were fastened on his. He drew her close and kissed her gently.

   “Sylvie, I love you,” he breathed against her hair. “We make a great team, don’t you think?”

   “Yes, Ross.”

   “Will you marry me, Sylvie?”

   Sylvia laughed softly. “Yes. I’d be delighted to, Ross. I’ve been working on my wedding dress for a month now.”

   Ross whooped and swung her in a circle. Things were looking up.

   Two days later, Ross and Sylvia took the fence around the watering hole down.

   Three weeks later, there was a wedding at the ranch. Everyone was invited. Standing under the bright, harvest moon, with tiki torches surrounding the seated guests, Ross and Sylvia pledged their hearts and lives to each other.

   As the groom kissed the bride, Jake set off the fireworks. All agreed this was definitely the best conclusion to the feud.

   Leaning over to the young lady sitting next to him, Matt said quietly, “Sandi, I don’t suppose you and I could set off some fireworks of our own someday?”

   Sandi pressed her lips together, a twinkle in her eye, and said, “Miracles have been known to happen.”

I hope you have enjoyed The Waterhole. On a personal note, my new book Sunflower Love, is now available on this website (www.sherischofield.com) under adult books. It is a collection of country stories featuring elk, deer, porcupines, geese, and other wildlife, which serve to illustrate Bible truths. A fair number of the stories are funny, too.