[Desert Roses 02] - Across the Years

  © 2003 by Tracie Peterson

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2011

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-0314-4

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

  The internet addresses, email addresses, and phone numbers in this book are accurate at the time of publication. They are provided as a resource. Baker Publishing Group does not endorse them or vouch for their content or permanence.

  Cover design by Koechel Peterson & Associates

  To my dear friend Ramona Kelly

  who has been with me across the years—

  encouraging, supporting, loving me

  through all the good and bad.

  You are a blessing to me from God

  and I cherish you.

  CHAPTER ONE

  WINSLOW, ARIZONA, SEPTEMBER 1929

  Ma’am, my train leaves in less than ten minutes,” an irritated passenger complained.

  Ashley Reynolds pulled a slip of paper from her apron and handed it to the man. “Sir, there’s plenty of time. Here’s the check, and I’ll have those sandwiches ready for you to take momentarily.” She sighed. The life of a Harvey Girl was not all it was cracked up to be. Especially when working the lunchroom counter. Ashley much preferred her regular duties in the dining room. It always seemed the lunchroom counters of Fred Harvey’s restaurants were frantic-paced battlegrounds where a girl’s only weapons were her charm and quick wit.

  In another hour it was all behind her—at least the work was behind her. The worst was yet to come. With feelings of trepidation, Ashley finished straightening her station and headed to the back room.

  “Are you going home?” one of her co-workers questioned.

  Ashley didn’t feel like chatting. “Yes,” she answered in a rather curt manner. “See you tomorrow.” But even as she said the words, Ashley realized that wasn’t true. She wouldn’t be back to work tomorrow or the day after. Maybe never.

  Turning in her resignation was the hardest thing Ashley had ever done. After working nearly ten years for the Harvey Company, Ashley was quite comfortable in her routine. Now everything was changing—and not for the better.

  A hot desert wind whipped across Ashley’s skirt as she made her way home from work. Worn and perspiring from her long hours waiting on customers, the dry breeze created the tiniest sensation of cooling, and Ashley cherished it. A weariness unlike any she’d ever known, however, sapped all remaining strength. How was she ever to find solace when she would soon become the bearer of such bad tidings?

  Walking past the construction of the new Harvey hotel resort, Ashley couldn’t help wondering if the throngs of tourists would come as they had predicted at the onset of this proposed high-dollar dream. Vast gardens, orchards, and lavish furnishings were to beckon the wealthy to come and take their rest—and spend their money.

  Having worked for nine years at the established Harvey House to the west, Ashley thought the new resort a waste of money and time. She found it impossible to believe people would actually spend a small fortune to come and bask in the desert heat. Not that she didn’t love Winslow and all it had to offer. This had been, after all, home for the last ten years, and she’d grown rather attached to its idiosyncrasies and lovable characters.

  “Mama!”

  Ashley glanced up the street. The animated movements of the skipping girl brought a smile to Ashley’s face. Despite the warmth of the day, her daughter fairly danced along the brick sidewalk.

  “What are you doing this afternoon, my little miss?” Ashley questioned.

  “I took over that mending you did for Mrs. Taylor at the boardinghouse. She said to tell you that you sure do fine work.” Natalie beamed her mother a smile. “She also gave me a nickel for being such a good delivery girl.”

  Ashley couldn’t help grinning and shaking her head. The child positively owned Winslow, Arizona. She was everybody’s darling. Everyone from the train yards to the downtown businesses knew Natalie Reynolds. Knew her and loved her.

  “Well, that was kind of Mrs. Taylor.”

  Natalie fished into the pocket of her cotton dress. “She said to give you this.” She handed a dollar bill to her mother. “She said this was for last week’s mending too.”

  Ashley tucked the bill into the skirt of her Harvey apron and pulled out a nickel. “Why don’t you go get an ice-cream cone. I need to talk to Grandpa, and dinner won’t be for hours yet. You might well feel done in before then.”

  “I already have the nickel Mrs. Taylor gave me.”

  “Yes, but you may need that later for some other treasure. This time the treat’s on me.”

  “Thanks, Mama.” Natalie took the money. She leaned up on tiptoe as Ashley bent down, then kissed her mother soundly on the cheek before making a beeline for her favorite ice-cream parlor.

  Ashley sighed as she watched Natalie’s gleeful exit. She was such an easy child to care for, but Ashley worried about her. Being loved by the town regulars, Natalie held a loving attitude toward most everyone she met. With the trains that came and went at a constant pace, there were always strangers in town, yet Natalie knew no stranger. She would just as soon strike up a conversation with someone she’d never met as to talk with a friend. Soon she’d come to an age where that could be misconstrued as flirting—or worse yet, it could become very dangerous.

  She’s growing up so fast, Ashley thought as she continued her journey home. Had it really been ten years since Natalie had come into the world? Ashley remembered the easy delivery with fondness and regret. She had been alone, except for Grandpa Whitman. Her own parents had exiled her, rejecting her for marrying without their permission. Worse still, she’d married a man of no real means or status, something absolutely vital to her social-climbing mother and father.

  Ethan . . . her beloved. The pain that had one time been a stabbing, white-hot torture was now a dull ache. Expecting Natalie had given her a will to go on after receiving notice that her war-hero husband had been killed. Ethan had never even known about the baby they’d created. They’d married in a whirlwind in March of 1918, and before either one knew what had happened, Ethan had gone to war and had given his life for his country. There was no time for letters to tell of the pregnancy. No time for letters telling him how much she loved him. No time for letters saying good-bye.

  Ashley paused at the iron gate and stared at the brick house she’d called home. The two-story house was quite simple, but it suited her and Natalie and Grandpa Whitman just fine. They’d had a great life there—just the three of them. Together they never felt isolated. They had each other . . . and loved each other and it was that love that helped them through each difficult event.

  But with the doctor’s visit at the Harvey House today, Ashley knew all of that was about to change. She’d been serving at the lunch counter when he’d come in and asked to talk to her privately. The news was not good, and now she would have to break it to Grandpa. But how? How could she tell him that he was going to die—and quickly?

  Cancer of the liver was th
e culprit, and like an unseen evil that had crept in while everyone slept, Ashley felt the burden of this horror wrap around her and threaten to squeeze the life out of her.

  She pushed open the gate, her legs heavy—weighted, barely moving. She trudged toward the front door and sighed. A person should never have a duty like this befall them, she thought. Ashley had been the one to make her grandfather go to the doctor, and upon completing the exam, Grandpa had flippantly told the doc to just let Ashley know the results of his tests. Grandpa had strolled out of the office as if he owned the world, in spite of the pain he’d been suffering.

  Now the tests and examinations were complete, and the doctor felt confident that her grandfather would rather hear the truth from her than from him. He’d offered to accompany Ashley, but she knew her grandfather would resent the intrusion. He hadn’t wanted to go to the doctor in the first place, but the pain had become nearly unbearable, and he could no longer ignore his weakness and loss of weight.

  “Grandpa?” Ashley called out as she pulled open the screen door.

  “I’m here.” His voice lacked its usual firmness.

  She entered the room, pausing momentarily to allow her eyes to adjust to the shaded room. Grandpa sat slumped at the dining room table, a newspaper laid out before him.

  “We need to talk,” Ashley stated matter-of-factly.

  Russell Whitman looked up at her, appearing to gauge the importance of the matter without being told. “Sit down and tell me what’s wrong.”

  Ashley pulled out the simple wooden ladder-back chair and sat. It felt so good to be off of her feet. She stretched her legs out under the table before looking up to meet her grandfather’s intense stare.

  “I talked to the doctor today.”

  Grandpa nodded, seeming to understand. “It’s not good, is it?”

  Ashley fought back the urge to cry. “No. It’s very bad. You have a cancer in your liver.”

  “Can anything be done?” the eighty-two-year-old asked as he straightened in the chair.

  Ashley longed to give him better news. She wanted so much for the entire matter to be a mistake. She bowed her head. “No. They can’t do anything to eliminate it. The doctor did say he could give you morphine for the pain, but otherwise . . . well . . . it’s just a matter of time.”

  “How much time, Ashley?”

  His tone was almost childlike, causing Ashley to immediately seek his face. She saw the acceptance in his expression but also something akin to concern, even worry. “The doctor said it could be weeks, maybe even months.”

  “Not much time, then,” he said, growing thoughtful.

  Ashley reached out her hand and covered his bony fingers. “Not nearly enough.” Again, she forced back the tears. His gruff, weathered face appeared so thin and pale. Just months ago he’d seemed vibrant and alive and now . . .

  “Well, we need to make plans.” He got to his feet slowly, grimacing in pain. “We have to see to everything right away. I can’t be taking medicine like morphine and think clearheaded. I saw what it did to old Jefferson Dawson.” He paused and looked at Ashley. “You remember him, don’t you? Used to work at odd jobs around town.”

  “I remember.”

  “As I recall, he took up with using morphine after he’d had that scaffolding accident. Never was the same after that. I don’t need that kind of confusion.”

  “But you also don’t need to live in anguish,” Ashley said, getting to her feet and coming to his side. “I don’t want you hurting anymore.”

  He patted her hand. “Sweetheart, soon there will be no more pain. I reckon I can bear up just a little while longer. But the truth is, you and Natalie need for me to make some good choices and decisions now. I don’t intend to see you left without provision.”

  With those words Ashley allowed the tears to come. A sob broke from her throat. Even with this terrible news, the old man was more concerned for her well-being than his own. “I can’t lose you.”

  Grandpa pulled her close and gently patted her shoulder. “There, there. You’re not losing me. You know that. I’ll go to a better place. A place with no pain or sorrow. Would you deny me that?”

  Ashley shook her head. “But I’ll still be here with the pain. I know that sounds selfish, and I was really determined to be brave and strong for you. But, Grandpa, what will I do without you?”

  “You’ll survive. You’ll live for Natalie, and you’ll work to see her happy and healthy. It’s just as it should be. I’ve lived longer than most. I’ve had some very good years.” He chuckled weakly and added, “And some not so good years. But you’ll see. It’s all going to work—”

  “I know. I know. ‘. . . together for good to them that love God.’ But this is serious.”

  “So is that. God didn’t give us His Word just to have us ignore it or take it lightly. I know you don’t hold much stock in such matters. God knows I’ve tried to help you see the truth of it for yourself, but maybe this is one way you’ll finally come to know the truth.”

  Ashley pulled away. Her grandfather had been after her for over ten years to join him and Natalie at church on Sundays and Wednesdays. But Ashley couldn’t understand a god who would let a woman fall in love with the man of her dreams, only to kill him off and leave her alone to raise a child her husband never even knew existed. That wasn’t the kind of god she wanted to serve. So she always made sure she had to work whenever church was in session. She also made sure her heart was closed off to any of Grandpa’s suggestions regarding God’s love.

  “Please, let’s not make this about me. I want to know how I can best help you. The doctor said you’d need round-the-clock care before long. I’ve put in for a leave of absence from the Harvey House. I intend to take care of you.”

  Russell Whitman looked at her with an expression that suggested he just might put forth an argument about her actions, then nodded slowly. “I’d like for you to be with me. It won’t seem nearly so tiresome or lonely with you by my side. You’ve been like a daughter to me.”

  Ashley hugged him, careful not to hurt his fragile body. “When my world fell apart, you were the one who was there to pick it back up for me. When Mother and Father turned me away . . . when Ethan died . . . when I found out I was expecting Natalie, you were the one who stood by me. Now there will be no one.” She pulled away and swiped at her tears with the back of her hand.

  “I’m sorry. Here I am a thirty-two-year-old woman, and I’m acting like a ten-year-old. Not even that. I know Natalie will handle this better than I am.”

  “You mustn’t fret. I’ve got a plan,” Russell Whitman said, going to the door. He took up his hat from the peg there and grabbed his cane. “I’m going for a walk just now.”

  “I’ll start supper,” Ashley offered.

  “Nothing for me,” he said as he often did of late. Ashley wondered how he’d managed to stay alive this long with the little he ate.

  “I’ll just fix something light. You might be hungry when you get back.”

  He nodded but said nothing more.

  * * *

  Russell Whitman took himself off toward the depot. He liked to sit and think while watching the trains come and go. The rhythmic rumblings as the wheels rolled over the tracks seemed to block out the rest of the world.

  Lord, he prayed, this is a hard one to face. He continued ambling toward the tracks, mindful of the pain in his right side. I always knew the day would come when you’d call me home, but there’s so much I’ve left undone—so much I thought I’d have time to see to.

  He lifted his snowy head to the heavens. White wisps of cloud hung like gossamer veils to the west. The land needed rain, but it probably wouldn’t come.

  “Hey, Russ!” a brakeman called. The man’s face bore the same grease and grit that marred his overalls.

  Russell waved his cane briefly. His steps slowed to accommodate the lack of support. “How are you doing, Bob?”

  The man pulled his billed cap from his head and wiped his forehead. �
�Doing good. Doing good. The missus told me to invite you over for dinner next time I saw you. Said she’d make your favorite.”

  Russell smiled and leaned heavily on the cane as he paused beside the boxcar the man had just jumped from. “She makes the best Swedish meatballs I’ve ever had.”

  “That’s ’cause she is Swedish,” the man said with a laugh. “God bless Fred Harvey for bringing those girls west. My Inga was the best waitress he ever had and now she’s mine.”

  “She’s a keeper, that’s for sure,” Russell replied.

  “You’ll come, then?”

  Russell thought of his situation and all the work that was yet to be done. Still, it might be one of the last times he’d have the opportunity to share a meal with his friends. “I’ll come. Just tell me when.”

  “How about tomorrow about seven?”

  Russell shifted his weight and began walking toward the depot bench. “Tomorrow it is.”

  He left the man behind and nodded to other workers as he crossed over the tracks. He liked the life here. It was so much more peaceful than Los Angeles, where he’d spent a good deal of his adult life.

  He approached the depot and spotted yet another friend of his. Sam Spurgeon got to his feet and waved to the bench he’d just vacated. “I was keepin’ it warm for ya.”

  Russell chuckled and shuffled toward the respite. “Good of you, Sam. Are you heading home?”

  “Yup. Been here too long as it is. My daughter’s gonna be wonderin’ where I got off to.” He laughed. “Like she wouldn’t know where to find me. I tell her, ‘Sissy, I go to watch the trains or to the cemetery to talk with your mother.’ Never go anywhere else—no need.” He shrugged. “Be seein’ ya, Russ.”

  Russell smiled and took a seat, then sighed in relief. The pain dulled a bit. How long had he ignored it? Two, maybe three months? And now the doctor could only say that it was too late—that there wasn’t much time. Maybe he’d known it all along—down deep inside. Maybe that was the reason he’d put off going to the doctor. It wasn’t until Ashley had insisted that Russell had finally gone for an examination. Now the truth was known. Cancer.