Chapter 17
“…patient…”
1 Corinthians 13:4
Agatha Tabitha Freegrace had stopped in a town somewhere along her route to find Clarky in Prodigal, Wyoming. She didn’t know what territory she was in, but the town sign read “Providence Station.” She was staying in a small room at the local inn, and was eating a quick breakfast at the dining hall before she would get on her horse, and continue her journey to the boy she had always loved, and the man she had grown to love even more.
“What can I do fer’ ya?” a plump woman wearing a bright calico apron smiled down at Agatha.
“I’d just like a light breakfast, I should be getting on the road soon,” Agatha answered politely. The kind woman could hear the anxiety in her voice.
“If ya’ don’t mind me askin’ deary. What’s layin’ so heavy on your heart?” Recently, Agatha had closed herself off to these kinds of inquiries, but the last few days had brought so much anxiety, so much fatigue, so much worry that hearing the gentle voice of this woman, caused the tension she had been carrying to break in a gush of tears and words.
“Its just, its just, I’m trying to find this man that I love, who was also the boy I loved when I was younger, and then he came back as someone else, but then he left again, because he’s hiding something, but then I figured out it was him, and I’m going after him, and I’m just so tired, and I’m afraid its too late, and, and I just don’t know what to do…” Agatha let the tears flow like she hadn’t in at least a day. It was like the waters of the Amazon, the Nile, and Niagra Falls put together, places Agatha had never even heard of.
“Oh let it out hun. It sounds like you’ve had a powerful hard day.” The kind woman put her arm Agatha, and offered her the edge of her own apron to wipe away her tears. “You know, I’m going to bring you a cinnamon roll. You just sit right there, and don’t worry your pretty head about a thing. I’m Hope, and if you need anything else in the meanwhile, just holler for me.”
“Thank you Hope,” Agatha choked out through her tears. Hope wound her way through the tables of the dining hall toward the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. A young man stopped her right as she was about to step into the back.
“Excuse me Mam’ can I have a few biscuits to go. I need to get on the road again soon, I’m in a hurry.”
“That seems to be the trend of the day young man. Have a seat, and I’ll grab you some; are you alright young man?” Hope sensed the same tenor of anxiety in this young man’s voice that she had heard in Agatha’s.
“I’ve been better. It’s just, I think I really screwed things up with the woman I love. You see, I lied to her about who I was, and then I didn’t even give her a chance to respond to the truth. I really think I’ve made a mess of things, and now she’s out on the frontier somewhere,” Clark spilled his heart out for Hope, who had an uncanny way of getting a person to tell her his or her plot synopses…er life story.
“Well Son, you should meet that little lady over there. She’s having the same kind of day,” Hope chuckled to herself. Providence station only had this much drama when characters form Christian romance novels came through. Otherwise, it was a pretty normal town.
“I’m not interested in other ladies,” he said blushing, realizing that Hope hadn’t meant her comment like that. “I’ll just sit down right here.” The young man sat down at the table immediately to his left, his back to the crying girl by the window. He heard rather than saw the woman Hope had pointed out to him.
Soon Hope was back with a checkered red cloth folded into a satchel with three warm biscuits inside. In her other hand, she held a plate with a steaming hot cinnamon roll. “Thank you mam’” the stranger said. He handed her some money, and started heading for the door. He went to tip his hat to Hope as he exited, but realized he had left it at the table he had been sitting at. “Forgot my hat!” he yelled across the room to Hope. The yelling of the strange young man woke Agatha up from her crying haze, and she raised her gaze from the cloth napkins she’d soaked through with her tears. As the young man picked up his hat, he also took a glance at the young woman Hope had pointed out to him earlier. Both froze on the spot as they looked into each other’s eyes. A wellspring of joy and relief welled up in Agatha as she saw the face of the stranger, who wasn’t so strange after all, and this time she wouldn’t believe any stories about an alternate persona (I.e. Drake Mangerride). She formed the words on her lips that she had wanted to say for so long, “Clarky, its you, it really is you.” Clark’s heart melted to hear his love call him by his real name…Clarky.
