Page 158 of In These Hills

“I believe we have surpassed Miss Dunham, have we not, Uncle Jack?”

Pleasure lit his face. “Josephine, I carry a message from Calla. She asked me to tell you that your friendship—and your example—gave her the courage to tell Miss Mary about the honey . . .” He arched a brow. “And that Miss Mary and Doc Wyatt have pledged to walk this road with her.” His gaze sharpened. “I cannot say for certain what she meant, but I have my suspicions. And if I am correct, then a single nod from you will command every resource I possess to aid her. With the greatest discretion, of course.”

Josephine took his hand in hers, and nodded.

“Are you trying to steal my girl, Uncle Jack?”

They both laughed, looking up at Dodge.

“Why, you know I’d never try such a thing.” Uncle Jack wriggled his mustache. “Besides, she’s a mite too tall for me.”

Two short whistle blasts signaled departure, and a minute later, the train surged forward.

“Go ahead and lie down,” Dodge urged gently. “I’ll sit with you for a minute, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll lie down. But I want you to stay, at least until I’m asleep?”

He bent closer. “Josephine, I never want to leave your side. And don’t plan to. Not until we’re good and settled in Fountain Creek . . . for at least a decade or two.”

She smiled, the rhythm of the train rocking her gently back and forth, and she held tightly to his hand even as her heart slipped to its knees in prayer. She could only marvel at what God had done. He’d led her down a road she would never have chosen for herself, in order to give her the life she never knew she needed—and wanted. But he had known. And despite her ingratitude, doubt, and rebellion, he’d given her blessing after undeserved blessing.

Drifting closer toward sleep and feeling the miles fall away behind them, she turned onto her side and drew his hand to her chest. “I love you . . . Hezekiah Eustace Coburn.”

His gentle laugh warmed her. “And I love you, soon-to-be Josephine Dunham Coburn. Rest well, my love.”

Epilogue

MAY 1909

FOUNTAIN CREEK, COLORADO

“Finny! We got something from Uncle Jack. It’s a package this time!”

At the sound of Bethie’s shout, Josephine looked up from the typewriter and out the open window to see her, still some distance away, racing across the meadow toward the cabin, long legs devouring the distance. Eager to hear from Uncle Jack, Josephine also wanted to finish this article while little TJ and Kathleen still played quietly at her feet.

She took another bite of jerky and scanned the last paragraph she’d written.

“Failure is impossible” is a mantra our beloved Miss Anthony wrote on my heart, and one I hear echoed every day inside me. As we continue to make great strides, we will also face seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Doors will close that we would wish open. But we must stay the course and patiently persevere, holding fast to the eternal truth that God created all men and women equally. He created us to work alongside each other in His Kingdom, and we are not merely “better together,” we need each other—women and men partnering together—to bring the change we so desire for this world, and for our daughters and granddaughters. And if it riles you to read that, my dear sisters, then be riled. But it is the truth.

She smiled at the last part, remembering that night with Dodge on Miss Mary’s front porch, another lifetime ago. Three years had passed since dear Miss Anthony died, passing the torch to younger leaders, and still the movement pressed forward, gaining momentum. Which reminded her of dear Todd and her parents, and the costly legacy they’d left behind. A legacy orchestrated by God and that had given her another chance at life.

Glancing back out the window, she saw Bethie had stopped to give Honey a rub. Uncle Jack had sent the then-young calf by rail soon after they’d settled, along with a dozen of the distillery’s finest heifers and a bull. She feared the man’s generosity might one day bankrupt him, and had written him as much, assuring him they had all they needed and more. But still, the gifts came.

Eager to get one last thought on the page, she turned back when her gaze fell to the little blue bottle she kept on her desk. She pulled out the rolled-up piece of paper peeking above the rim and let it unfurl. Though she’d long ago memorized its contents, she treasured the bottle—and Psalm 56:8 that Calla had written in her own words.

“You keep track of all my sorrows,” she read aloud. “You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.”

Thanking God again for Calla and Nannie and how they’d changed her life, her attention was drawn to Kathleen’s blue metal pitcher on the kitchen table. Bethie kept it filled with purple coneflowers planted from seeds Calla had sent them from Lynchburg. Everywhere she looked, she saw reminders of God’s faithfulness. Through good times and bad.

She continued typing.

In closing, a dear friend once counseled me not to judge God by my circumstances. I confess with shame that for many years I did just that. But no longer. His faithfulness stretches to the heavens and his compassion knows no end. It is my perspective that skews my earthly lens. I have realized this: If I had the power of God to change my circumstances, I would. But if I had the wisdom of God, I would not. He knows what I need far better than I do. So wherever you are in your life and in this continuing battle for justice, dear sisters, and brothers, take heart. God sees. He knows. He’s working.

Bethie raced through the front door of the cabin, nearly tripping over the twins. “Finny, look! It’s a package!” She gave Josephine a quick peck on the cheek, her own flushed from the run.

“Be careful, sweetheart!” Josephine laughed and scooped up Todd Jasper and Kathleen, one on each hip. At three years old, TJ was getting especially heavy. And Kathleen, talkative. “Go grab your uncle. He’ll want to be here.”

“Where’s Sarah?”