A Gown of Spanish Lace by Janette Oke Page A

camp who could have done so.
    No, that wasn’t true. Laramie remembered being surprised one time to find Shadow reading fluently. Who knew what other secrets the men of the camp might have? No one ever asked them to share about their past.
    But Sam, as his father’s right hand, might have some valuable information. If Laramie could just ease it from him.
    It was almost sundown before Laramie found himself alone with the little man. They were both in the crude barn, preferring the company of their mounts to the company of the men in the smoke-filled, smelly cabin.
    Laramie let his eyes travel around the dark enclosure to be sure they were alone.
    “Sam,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “ya know I got me this here new duty.”
    Sam nodded and rubbed the curry comb over his horse’s withers.
    “Well—I don’t rightly know how to take it on,” went on Laramie.
    He waited. There was no response.
    “I don’t know nothin’ ’bout lookin’ after…after a woman,” he added. “Know far more about carin’ fer a horse.”
    Sam chuckled, then said, straight-faced, “Reckon there’s not much difference.”
    Laramie waited.
    “Ya gotta feed ’em an’ keep ’em warm and healthy,” commented Sam.
    Laramie stopped his brushing. “But—it’s the healthy part what gets me,” he observed in a soft drawl.
    “Meanin’?” asked Sam, not missing a stroke.
    “Well—fer starters—how long ya think she’s gonna be here? Thet might have a heap to do with what she be needin’ to stay healthy and all.”
    It didn’t look as though Sam was going to be drawn in. He shook his head to indicate he had no information, or else would give none.
    “Well, it seems to me thet she’s needin’ more’n a basin and a slop pail,” argued Laramie.
    Sam chewed on his mustache.
    “Well—she did ask me fer a tub of some kind,” he replied with little concern or emotion.
    “A tub?”
    “She wanted to bathe—wash her hair an’ her clothes, she said. Womenfolk do thet. Right in the dead of winter,” Sam noted with some astonishment.
    Laramie nodded. He led the brush over the chest of his horse and on down the left front leg.
    “Where we gonna git a tub?” he asked.
    Sam shrugged. “I’ve no idee,” he answered.
    “But thet was what she asked fer—a tub?”
    Sam nodded and spit into the straw at his feet.
    “Then I guess I’ll jest have to ride on out and find us a tub,” mused Laramie to himself.
    Sam’s head came up. “Ya can’t do thet,” he exclaimed. “Yer pa’d have yer hide.”
    “He told me to take care of her,” said Laramie, his hand continuing the even strokes with the brush.
    “He said to guard her,” growled Sam. “Not—fuss.”
    Laramie let Sam’s words drift into the air of the steamy barn, and then he turned to the older man.
    “I really don’t see much difference,” Laramie said softly, “her being a woman. Ya can’t do the one without the other.”

    Mrs. Benson rose from her knees and wiped her eyes one more time. One day had slowly passed into another, day after day, and still there was no trace of Ariana.
    She had grieved and hoped and wept and fretted and prayed. She had tried with all of her heart to trust. She had pleaded with God. Had begged for His intervention. She had even bargained—offering her own life in the place of her daughter. Still, the searchers returned empty.
    But this morning as she wept before the Lord, a strange peace had entered her aching heart. She couldn’t explain it. Wasn’t even yet sure if she could fully trust it. But something seemed to be assuring her that Ariana, wherever she was, was in God’s care. Her mind had told her that ever since that first dreadful night, but now her heart was answering yes.
    “God,” she whispered softly into the quiet of the room, “help me to trust. Help me to go on with life. Help me to forgive those who have tried to find her and have now gone back to minding stores and caring for businesses. They