Chapter 19

"This room is yours for as long as you need it," Marybeth Vogel told Melody. "If you need anything at all, you have only to ask. Just consider our home yours."

Melody glanced around the room. "I'm so grateful to you for taking me in. I couldn't bear the idea of staying at the tent without Da. Just being there made me sadder than I can even put into words."

"I know how that feels. Coming home after my father's funeral was almost more than I could stand, and I had Carrie to take my mind off things. Still, the house was so incredibly empty without him, and I'm sure your tent felt the same way. And even though Cheyenne is much safer than it was even a few months ago, it still wouldn't be wise for you to stay there alone. It's far too easy for someone to break in to a tent."

Melody nodded and plopped down on the edge of the bed. She really wasn't worried about her own safety right now—it was the dreaded void left by her father that seemed more threatening.

"I don't know why, but I thought we'd have more time. I mean, I knew he was failing quickly. He slept almost around the clock and wasn't eating or drinking anything." She could remember times when Da had eaten huge meals and had greatly enjoyed himself. He always loved a good meal and appreciated her cooking. "I don't know how to go on without him in my life. I just didn't plan for this."

"I know. It's a hard thing to face."

"I wouldn't have wanted him to have to go on hurting. The look of pain on his face was more than I could bear. I guess I feel guilty and angry at myself for not having seen it sooner. For not having known how bad it was."

"He didn't want you to know," Marybeth said, coming to sit beside her. She took Melody's hand. "He wanted to spare you the pain and sorrow for as long as possible."

"I know, but I was so selfish. I took a job because I wanted to prove to him how I could remain behind in Cheyenne, even if we didn't find someone for me to marry. I wanted him to see that I could take care of myself."

"And you can. You're strong and capable. You can go back to work for Mrs. Cooper and live here with us, or, if you don't want to share the house, you could live in the little woodshop out back. We lived there quite snugly, and I know you could as well."

"Thank you. Thank you for everything. I feel so silly in some ways. I mean, I had planned to stay here without him. But I knew I could visit him if I needed to. I could talk to him about my troubles. This isn't the same at all." She paused and looked at Marybeth. "He has been my mainstay. My everything."

Melody shook her head. "I keep thinking that somehow I replaced God with Da. I never meant to, but I did. I would talk out a thing with Da until I felt I understood or had an answer. I shared all my joys and plans with Da. I asked Da for directions and advice. I'm ashamed to say it, but my prayers are hollow when compared."

"God gave you a good father for the very purposes you mentioned. Don't feel guilty for seeking his guidance. Maybe you did lose sight of God—I can't judge that. However, I know God is still there waiting for you." Marybeth smiled. "He'll be happy to guide and direct, cheer and encourage. God will show you where to go from here."

Melody knew she was right. "I guess I need to spend some time in prayer."

"Then I'll let you be alone to do so." Marybeth got up and headed for the bedroom door. "Just rest and pray. You'll find it helps more than anything else."

Knocking sounded from downstairs. Marybeth frowned. "I wonder who that might be." She left the room, and Melody could soon hear her talking to someone. In a few minutes, she returned.

"Sorry to bother you, but it's Dr. Scott. He wants to talk to you. He said it won't take long."

"It's not a problem. I wanted to speak to him as well."

Melody made her way downstairs and found the older man waiting for her in the front room. She could see the compassion in his expression.

"Dr. Scott."

"Melody, I'm so sorry to hear about your father."

"Thank you. Won't you sit down?" She hurried to take a chair as she felt her strength giving way. It was as if she'd run a long race and didn't have the ability to take even one more step.

"Would you care for some coffee or tea, Dr. Scott?" Marybeth asked.

"No. I have no need for either. I just came to let Melody know that her father arranged everything. The service will be this Saturday on the thirtieth. Your father wanted a very simple service."

"That sounds like Da." Melody knew her father wouldn't want people dwelling on his death. He would prefer people focus on life, and not even his, but rather the life abundant they could have in Jesus.

"What time and where?" Melody asked.

"Ten o'clock. If it's not raining or stormy, we'll hold the services at the grave. Your father said he hated the thought of having to hold his funeral indoors."

Melody smiled. "He loved being outside. Even when the weather was questionable, he preferred to be in the open air."

"That's what he told me. The undertaker will wait for everyone to gather at the depot and then lead the processional down Fifteenth Street to the cemetery. If we have inclement weather, we'll simply meet at the school as we would for Sunday services. I'm getting the word out to all I know and asking them to do the same. I know the editor at the Leader plans to put in a small funeral notice."

"I have to admit, I'm glad to have the matter already arranged. Da was so good to have taken charge. I wish, however, that I would have known sooner just how bad things were."

"He waited until the last minute to tell most of us," Dr. Scott replied. His tone was full of sympathy. "He told me he didn't want people spending his final days mourning him before he was gone." The doctor smiled. "He said that he wanted to live his days to the fullest, right until he drew his last breath, and he couldn't do that if everyone had already buried him."

She understood exactly what her father had said. Understood and respected it, but that didn't stop the pain of loss from tearing at her heart.

Dr. Scott got to his feet. "There was just one more request your father had."

She looked up. "What was that?"

"He didn't want you wearing black. Said he'd prefer no one wore it, but he had no say over other folks. He did feel he had a say over his daughter, though, and he didn't want you to worry about the mourning rites or processes. He wanted you free to marry Charlie as soon as possible and to move forward with your life in happiness. He said to tell you this so you knew it came from him." Dr. Scott paused and looked as if he were thinking hard to recall something to mind.

"Gan aon chiontacht i ngrá." The words came with difficulty from the older man.

Melody smiled at his Irish. Her father's last message for her. "‘No guilt in love.'"

Later that day, Edward Vogel came to the bank to update Charlie on the posse hunting for Jefferson Lane. "About two dozen men have headed south to search for him. They'll follow the stage line and inquire at each stop as to whether Jefferson was seen. There are a couple of good trackers among the men, so we feel confident they'll find Lane."

"I appreciate knowing about that. I received a telegram from my father. He intends to be here on the second of June. It would be nice if we could have the matter wrapped up by then."

"Our men are determined to find him. The vigilante committee members are doing less and less and will soon be disbanded altogether now that we have a good police force in place, but they wanted to participate in this. Many of them had money in your bank. It's their way of making sure they get it back."

Charlie ran his hand through his hair. "I wish they wouldn't worry. I told them I'd back it with my own money if need be. I have an inheritance I can draw from."

Edward shook his head. "You're a good man to do such a thing, but isn't it really your pa's responsibility? After all, it's his bank."

"But it happened under my leadership, and I am, therefore, the one who must make it right. I failed to get the bank's keys back from Jefferson. Had I done that, he wouldn't have had a chance to take the contents of the smaller safe. I never even thought about it." Charlie shook his head. "I'm not cut out for this job."

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Charlie. Nobody blames you."

Charlie met Edward's gaze with a smile. "You haven't met my father."

Edward shrugged. "No, I guess I haven't. Sounds like he's pretty hard on you."

"He's just got his ideas of how things need to be, and when they aren't, he takes that as his cue to put everything in order. He'll blame me for this and rightly so. I just hope he'll forgive me and understand that the decision I've made was made before Jefferson took the money."

"What decision is that?" Edward narrowed his eyes. "You aren't pulling out, are you?"

Charlie laughed. "No, just the opposite. I've found a house I want to buy, along with the land beside it to build a school for boys. I want out of the banking business. This proved to me once and for all that this job isn't for me. I'm not a banker, and my father is just going to have to accept that."

"Sure glad you aren't planning to go. I was just starting to think of you as a friend."

"Of course I'm your friend, Edward. I figure God put us together for a reason. Maybe catching Jefferson is the purpose. Who can say?"

"Well, whatever the purpose, I'm glad you're sticking around. I'd best head out. I still have to make the rounds. Working during the day now has me kind of mixed up. I got so used to working at night that it still seems I ought to be sleeping."

"Thanks for coming by to tell me about the posse."

"No problem."

Edward was hardly gone two minutes when the front door opened again, and no fewer than a half dozen brawny men entered. Charlie recognized most as railroad workers and freighters. Men with the muscle to impose their will. He made his way to the front of the bank to greet them.

"Afternoon, gentlemen. How may I help you?"

"You can give us our money," one of the men asserted. The others nodded their heads in agreement. "And don't be tellin' us we shouldn't worry about whether it's safe," the man continued. "We know it ain't."

"We've been workin' and just got back to town to hear there was a robbery and our money might be gone. I worked hard for that money," a tall, well-muscled man declared. He probably had forty pounds on Charlie.

"Don't try to change our minds neither," a shorter but equally robust man with a beard and mustache said. "We want our money now."

Charlie knew that it would be easy enough to make a scene about the money and how they didn't need to worry, but he also knew it wouldn't change their minds. He called each man to the teller's cage one by one. He prayed, asking God's guidance in his words and manner. The last thing he wanted to do was further upset these men. He looked up their accounts and counted out their money and had them sign the receipt.

"I appreciate that you trusted us with your business. I'm sorry you feel you can no longer work with us. Given the circumstances, however, I understand. I accept responsibility for this."

This seemed to surprise the men, who in the beginning looked as if they were just itching for a fight.

"Well, it ... it ain't you personally," one of the men said, stuffing his money in his trouser pockets.

"No. It's not you, Mr. Decker." This came from a man Charlie had seen at church.

He smiled. "I know it's not me. It's the situation that has angered you. You're worried that if you don't take your money now, someone else might. I completely understand. You have to look out for yourselves. There are a lot of bad people in this world. I hope you have a good day, gentlemen."

He left them standing there in the lobby and went back to his desk. Charlie had hoped after the initial run on the bank that people would settle down and not worry if the bank could keep their money safe. Now, with these fellas taking out their cash, Charlie worried word would get around, and people would once again get stirred up and come to demand their money. If they did, Charlie wasn't sure if there would be enough cash to cover all the withdrawals.

The men left without another word, and Charlie was relieved to see that it would soon be closing time. A wave of discouragement washed over him. All of his life, he had tried so hard to please his father and do as he asked. If it hadn't been for his father telling him how much he needed him, how now more than any other time it was imperative that Charlie do as he requested ... Charlie wouldn't even be here.

But if he hadn't come to Cheyenne, he never would have met Melody or Clancy. He never would have met the woman he intended to marry. Never dared to dream of a boys' school to the point where he was ready to purchase the land and see the place built.

He supposed the good was bound to be mingled with the bad, and yet it seemed almost too much to think about. In some ways, he wondered if he would lose his father just as Melody had lost hers. Would this be the final thing that caused his father to turn away from him once and for all?

It wasn't that his father was unreasonable. Not really. He was assertive and focused on the vision he had for his family and business. He had his plans and didn't brook interference. Father was a man of strength and character whose impeccable reputation for getting things done had made him a man of high regard in the Chicago area and elsewhere.

Charlie buried his face in his hands. "God, I don't know what I'm supposed to do now. I don't want Father to think I'm walking away because of what Jefferson did, but it sure didn't help things at all.

"I also feel Clancy's death deeply. Even though I didn't even know him that long, I feel as if I lost a dear friend. And, of course, there's Melody and my feelings for her."

He raised his head and looked for a long while at the ceiling. Was God even listening? Charlie had never felt so alone.