ST "…where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty." 2 Corinthians 3:17 Chapter One April 1870 Liberty Gates looked up from the last of her mending when she heard the rattling approach of Mr. Fulton's buckboard in the distance. Knowing that she had a few minutes before the wagon reached the front porch, Liberty quickly finished the sock she was working on and put all of her sewing notions back in the old cracker tin that housed them. As she gathered up all of the clean socks, shirts, and trousers that had met with her needle and thread, Liberty hummed a happy tune as she put the newly mended clothes away, thoroughly amazed at the peace that enveloped the place when her father was gone. Having left the previous day for a neighboring county's cattle auction, Nabal Gates had taken all six of their ranch hands with their own horses, and had driven their only wagon. The wagon, which had seen better days, was pulled by the only two horses Nabal Gates owned, which had also seen better days, leaving Liberty stranded there not only to do her chores, but everyone else's as well. But Liberty didn't mind one bit. She got the work done easily enough, all the while enjoying every speck of her freedom. With her father gone, there was no turmoil, strife, or abuse. Just rest. And a whole week of it to boot, she thought to herself as she merrily whistled a tune. She had just set a basket, filled and running over with dirty clothes, that had an appointment on the morrow for a good scrubbing, by the back door, when she heard a familiar voice calling out her name. But it was a voice she hadn't expected. "Mornin', Jake," she said as she stepped out onto the sagging front porch, smiling at her visitor. "Mornin', Miss Liberty! I brung the things yer pa ordered yesterday 'afore he left." "Oh, I see. I wasn't expectin' to see you drivin' the wagon, though." "Neither was I, but Mr. Fulton's payin' me to deliver yer supplies." "Jake, do you mean to say that you have to be paid before you'll come and see me?" she teased him. "Oh, no, Miss Liberty!" he grinned mischievously. "But it sure does help!" Liberty laughed, which made Jake grin even wider. "Where do you want me to put all this stuff, Miss Liberty?" he asked as he jumped down off the buckboard and grabbed a burlap sack of flour from the wagon's bed. "Just put it all on the porch here,” she motioned with her hand and went to help him unload. "No, Miss Liberty!" "What?" "Mr. Fulton was very clear on this. I don't get paid the full amount if I don't do all the work." "He won't know about it." "Mr. Fulton will ask and, well, I don't lie very good. He'll know. Thanks just the same, Miss Liberty." "All right then. Thanks Jake,” she smiled as she watched him go to work taking crates and bags out of the wagon and carefully placing them on the floor of the porch. Jake Saunders was one of the scruffiest looking men that Liberty had ever seen, but he was also one of the kindest. At least he was with her. She knew that the town of Dry Springs, Texas considered Jake to be nothing more than the local character: a lazy bum that worked only when it was of absolute necessity. Yet, Jake would go out of his way to help Liberty if he could. And being paid for it only sweetened the deal. Seeing this man always brought to mind something that her mother used to say, "You get what you give.” Liberty gave kindness to the vagabond and got so much more in return. Jake stacked the last of the staples on the porch floor and then looked up at Liberty with a crooked grin that put a light in his good eye and even cast a glimmer in his stray wooden one. "All that's left is a couple bags of feed. Do you want me to take 'em to the barn for ya?" "Why, thanks, Jake. That'd be real nice of you." As Jake jumped back onto the wagon, snapped the reins on the grey work horse, and started towards the barn, Liberty called to him. "Stop back up here before you leave, all right?" “Sure thing, Miss Liberty,” he waved in acknowledgment as he drove past the house. Hauling the supplies in from off the porch and quickly putting everything away, Liberty then went to the kitchen and cut a generous wedge of sugar cream pie and poured a tin cup full of milk. She had just stepped out onto the porch when Jake pulled up next to the rail and gratefully accepted the mid-morning snack by taking the cup in one hand and picking up the slice of pie with the other, foregoing the plate she had brought it on. "No one around here can cook like you do, Miss Liberty," he mumbled around a mouthful of pie. "Thanks. It's nice to hear someone say so," she said as she held the unnecessary fork and plate, working at not letting any bitterness, from the years of put-downs from her father where her cooking was concerned, take hold. "So tell me, Jake," she went on, embracing the warmth of the southern Texas sun on this unusually chilly spring morning, "how did it happen that I got the pleasure of having you deliver the supplies today? Were there a lot of customers at the store?" Jake made a face. "One other, 'sides me. Not exactly what I'd call a 'boomin' business' today. No," he paused to take a gulp of the cold milk. "Mr. Fulton practically grabbed me from off the street sayin' he wanted me to deliver the stuff and that he'd even pay me." He took another bite of pie and spoke with his mouth full. "But I wasn't gonna take it no matter how much money he offered. Not until he told me that the delivery was for you. You're the only person in town that treats me decent," he stated rather shyly. Liberty smiled at him as he went on. "Anyhow, Mr. Fulton, he had to stay close to the store in case anyone lookin' for work came by so he could send them to the hotel." "What?" she asked, a bit puzzled. "Oh, well, you see, some fella came ridin' into town real early like this mornin' and asked Fulton if there was ever anyone comin’ in lookin' for work. Fulton said that there always was. Then the fella, I think his name was Crawford? Carson? Car…? Carpenter! That was it!" He took the last bite of pie and explained as he chewed. "Well anyway, this Carpenter fella asked Fulton if he'd send anyone wantin' a job to the hotel and this fella'd talk to them there." "Well, maybe you could go talk to this 'fella' and get a job," Liberty offered her support. Jake made another face. "Even if I wanted a job, they wouldn't want me!" "Well, what kind of work is it?" "I'm sorry, Miss Liberty. I didn't give you the whole scoop. This Carpenter fella is a trail-boss." Something began to awaken inside Liberty. "He's drivin' a big herd from San Antone up to Abilene on the Chisholm Trail." Liberty schooled her expression into that of nonchalant interest as excitement started to rise in her middle. "And about a week ago, they lost their cook. Must've ate some of his own cookin'," Jake chuckled at his own attempt at humor. Liberty just looked on in interest while trying to rein in her thoughts that wanted to gallop off. "Anyhow, the cook's louse, bein' a young'un and new to the whole thing, decided to take the news and head back to where they'd come from. So now, Carpenter's lookin' for a new cook. And I can't cook," he stated before he drained the last swallow of milk from the cup and handed it back to her. "Well, that's too bad about the cook." Liberty tried to show respect and not look like she wanted to dance. "Yeah, sure is. I only hope this Carpenter fella can find someone before he has to leave." "I'm sure he will,” she said as she mulled everything over in her mind. "When does he have to leave?" "Fulton said that he's leavin' at eleven o'clock this forenoon." "Hmmm, really," she absently responded. "Had anyone come by to see about the job before you left?" Liberty asked, feigning a casual interest but holding her breath all the while. Jake shook his head. "Not a one. Which is kinda strange,” he frowned in wonderment. "There's always guys comin' thru here lookin' for work. Weird." Liberty felt like shouting. "That is strange," she calmly replied. "Well, I gotta get back to town so I can get paid. Thanks for the pie and milk, Miss Liberty," he said as he picked up the reins again. "And, Miss Liberty?" She looked up at him, taking her mind off the flurry of activity that was going on inside her head. "Thanks for always bein' so nice to me." Liberty smiled now. "You're a sweet fella, Jake. You make it easy to be nice to you." "Aw, I don't know about that," he timidly shrugged one shoulder. "But there's one thing I do know." "And what's that?" He looked around at the tattered house with its well weathered and chipped whitewash, broken down porch steps, and leaky roof. He took in the surrounding area of a newer barn and fencing and then back at Liberty. "You deserve so much more than yer pa will ever give you. Have a nice day, Miss Liberty," he grinned as he tipped his hat, and then flipped the reins to get the horse moving and drove on out to the road. "Good bye, Jake!" she called to him. He in turn waved as he disappeared down the road. A slow smile covered her face. She walked back into the house and closed the creaky door, leaning against it. Looking at the clock on the rough hewn mantel piece, she saw that it was just past eight thirty. "If I hurry," she whispered to herself, "I just might make it." Liberty went and put the plate, cup, and fork in the sink that was full of dishes, which she had planned on washing that afternoon. Standing at the sink, she held out her hands that were now shaking from being so wrought up over the news. On wobbly legs, she walked into her sparse, dank bedroom and fell on her knees beside her bed. "Oh, Lord God," she prayed, "help me." Still on her knees, Liberty reached under her bed and retrieved an old, worn, leather satchel. From this she pulled a discarded leather coat a ranch hand had left behind two years earlier and a folded piece of paper. Unfolding the parchment, she looked at the list she had compiled over the last few years. With her heart beating at a fast pace, she set to work. Liberty quickly kicked off her boots and stripped down to her under-things to pack her only clothes without patches: a dark grey wool flannel culotte and a white blouse with a rounded collar trimmed with a bit of lace. Next, she packed the small quantity of treasures that she had of her mothers: a black leather bound Bible, which held the last letter she had written to Liberty neatly folded inside it’s delicate pages, a silver hair brush set, a gold lapel watch, and a cameo brooch, which was housed in a small wooden box, along with the only picture she had of her mother. The picture itself was encased in a folded tin frame, and she carefully wrapped these precious items in her clean under-garments and put them in the satchel. From the bottom drawer of her plain wooden dresser, Liberty pulled a package wrapped in brown paper out from under the few linens she had kept from her grandmother, packing the delicate doilies and hankies in her satchel as well. As she tore the paper away, the account of Noah's Ark crossed her mind as she pulled out, two by two, navy blue kerchiefs, grey socks, white long johns, men's dark blue denims, and long sleeved cotton shirts, one dark green and the other a navy blue and white check. Liberty had also made sure to get the jeans and shirts a couple sizes too big, so as to hide her slender, yet, curvy frame completely. After changing out of her unmentionables and putting them into the pillowcase from off her bed, so as to keep the already worn articles of clothing away from the clean garments until she had the opportunity to wash them, she covered her entire body in the long white underwear before slipping into the larger men's wear. She was thoroughly glad that she had taken the time, after sneaking her purchases home at different times, to scrub the stiff items into softer submission. As soon as she pulled her nondescript boots back on, she covered the tops of them with her new jeans and packed the remaining articles of clothing. Once that was finished, Liberty completely removed the dresser's bottom drawer and reaching into the hollow opening, latched onto another package that she had hidden there. This one contained the articles that would afford her the anonymity that she so required. Standing in front of her dull mirror, Liberty gathered her long, wavy, dark brown hair at the base of her neck and wound it around, pinning it in place. She then took one of the common, navy blue kerchiefs from the first package and covered her hair with it, tying a knot in it at the base of her neck to camouflage the bump her small chignon made. Liberty looked at her youthful reflection briefly before continuing. It will be a long time before I see this face again, she thought to herself as she uncorked a little glass bottle of costumer's glue and spread a very thin layer over her upper lip. Before it had time to dry, she took a fake mustache from the wrapping and pressed it onto her upper lip, smoothing it down until it was set. Working as fast as she could go without making a mess of things, she applied more of the mild adhesive just above and below her dark eyebrows. Within a few seconds, bushy eyebrows masked her own gently arched ones, transforming her face even further. "If I had one large, gold earring, I'd look like one of those pirates I've seen in books," she muttered to herself. Following close behind the eyebrows, a pair of tinted spectacles, that had once belonged to her grandfather, now hid her green eyes. Close to finishing, she next outfitted her decidedly feminine hands with a pair of worn, brown leather work gloves and then enveloped herself in the large leather coat. And last but not least, she topped it all off with a dark brown, wide brimmed hat that she'd had scrunched up in one of her drawers. Liberty stepped back and inspected her handiwork. "Who is that?" she whispered in surprise. She slowly shook her head and grinned. Well, at least she tried to grin. The glue holding the large mustache on didn't allow a full bore grin. A half smirk was all she could manage. "I'll have to experiment with glue amounts along the way, 'cause I don't have the time to work on it now," she spoke to herself through stiff lips. "'Sides," she considered her somber reflection, "the glue will keep me from smilin' too much. After all, most men don't seem to do an awful lot of smilin'." Wrapping the glue back up, she then stuffed it into the satchel along with an envelope, which she had also retrieved from under her dresser. This envelope was full of paper money that her mother had managed to secretly save and then had given to Liberty shortly before she passed away. Checking her list, she crossed off everything on it and then tore it up into tiny pieces and put them in one of the pockets of her jeans. Liberty planned to burn them the first chance she got. Glancing at her reflection one more time, she almost jumped at what she saw. Whoever it was, it was not Liberty Gates. The person she saw was a young man with plenty of facial hair and eyes that were hidden by darkened glasses. A bit of a mystery man, one might think. Setting her hat firmly on her head, Liberty found herself hoping that her fair complexion wouldn't detract from the disguise. But upon checking her reflection again, she knew her secret would be safe. Picking up her satchel, she slung the long strap over her head and left shoulder, letting it hang around her back. And after putting everything to rights, she walked out of her small bedroom with the certainty that she wouldn't be back. As she headed for the front door, Liberty felt no compulsion to look back at the only home she had ever known. Of course, it had never really been a home. Just a house: a house full of abuse, condemnation, fear, and bondage. A prison she was glad to be leaving once and for all. For an instant, the mess of dishes she had left in the sink, the rest of the uneaten pie in the pie chest that was sure to spoil in a couple days, along with the overflowing basket of unwashed clothes by the back door made her cringe at the thought of her father finding the place in such a state. She knew full well that he would be livid because she had seen it plenty of times for much less, and oftentimes for no real reason at all. But she knew she could not take the time to tidy the place up. He would just have to rant and rave all he wanted. After all, Liberty wouldn’t be there to hear it or be affected by it. Not this time. Not ever again. Closing the door behind her, Liberty stepped off the porch and made for the road, marveling at the lightness in her heart. Over the years she had wondered what method of escape the Lord would use to rescue her. She had imagined a multitude of different scenarios, but a cattle drive had never even entered her mind. "Thank You, Lord,” she approached Him. "Thank You for all of this. You really are Somethin'." Liberty thought it pretty lame to refer to the Creator of the universe as "Somethin'," but right at this point in time, words escaped her as she thought about how perfectly the Lord had caused everything to fall into place. First, her father being gone for a week and taking all the hands with him, as well as ordering the supplies to be sent out to the ranch instead of him picking them up as he usually did on his way back home. Then there was the timely, yet unfortunate, demise of the cattle drive's cook, the trail-boss looking for a replacement in Dry Springs, and Mr. Fulton sending the ever-free-with-town-news, Jake Saunders, to drop off the order and fill her in. And on top of all that, the fact that no one, at the time Jake had told her, had been in looking for any work. This had to be a move of God on her behalf. For there was, as Jake had said, never a lack of men looking for work in town. And yet, today, not a soul inquiring about a job. Surely, this was a day orchestrated by the Lord Himself. It had to be. She understood that she was still pretty new to the ways and workings of God. Even though she had received Jesus as her Lord when she was a little girl, their relationship, if you could call it that, had been one of polite regard sided with the "knowledge" that if she messed up, God would sooner walk away from her and pretend she didn't exist just so the temptation to strike her down wouldn't be there. After all, she had reasoned that since her earthly father, who toted a Bible everywhere he went, acting so pious and holy, treated her that way, why wouldn't her Heavenly Father? But, that was before she picked up her mother's Bible, with all of her hand written notes along the margins, two years earlier, and found out that her Heavenly Father was nothing like Nabal Gates. Her Heavenly Father welcomed her, embraced her, and loved her. He didn't want her to be hurt anymore than she did. In fact, He wanted her to be free from the hurt and torment more than she did, which kind of set her mind to spinning. She wanted her name's sake more than anything right now. Yet, He wanted it for her more, for His Word said that Jesus came to, "set at liberty them that are bruised.” And Liberty had found that words bruise just as surely as a hand. But now her true Father was setting her free. Breathing in the fresh morning air, Liberty gave a whoop and took off running down the empty road, towards town, with a speed she didn't know she possessed. “Seven miles," she huffed between foot falls. "Lord Jesus, help me get there on time." Chapter Two Joshua Carpenter sat on one of the upholstered chairs in the far corner of the hotel lobby, paging through his pocket sized Bible, and occasionally glancing up at the tall grandfather clock that stood along the stair wall opposite himself. It had read half past ten the last time he looked, which was five minutes ago. Joshua wasn't nervous. He just knew what time he was supposed to leave. Eleven o'clock. That was the reason for the frequent time checks. No, he wasn't nervous. He knew the Lord was fully aware of his need and what he had asked of Him: A cook, and one that wouldn't drop dead after two weeks on the trail. Joshua also knew that the Lord would come through for him. He always did. Joshua looked towards the front door when he heard it open and saw an elderly couple stroll in. Their arms were linked, and they headed back towards the parlor, where another elderly couple was waiting at a table, who greeted them upon their arrival. As they took their seats, one of the gentlemen started dealing out cards to the foursome as conversation started to flow. A round of laughter came next as they laid down cards, and picked up others. One of the men, Joshua observed more than heard, told a joke, which resulted in a snicker from the other man, but brought a look of disapproval and a reprimanding tap on the joke teller's arm from his wife. Choking on his own laughter, the man looked sheepish and then appeared to apologize to the other lady, who graciously accepted. When the game resumed, Joshua saw the jokester's wife lovingly pat her husband's arm that had only a moment ago met with a gentle chastisement. Men would go far, indeed, Joshua thought to himself, if they would heed the wisdom and grace women have to offer, like that man just did. We'd be better off, the whole lot of us. He looked at the time before returning to the Word. Maybe, he thought with a smile, I ought to hire a female cook. See what she could do with my drovers. Perhaps whip 'em into shape by the time we reach the railheads. Quietly chuckling, Joshua went back to his search for a particular passage that was on his heart when he suddenly came upon it in the book of Isaiah. "The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me; because the LORD hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; He hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound…” ST End of sample. Evergreen Tree Copyright © 2007 by Jenny Blessing. All rights reserved. Revised/Expanded Version Copyright © 2017 by Jae Blessing All rights reserved.