Free The Mother Lode by Gary Franklin

hell to think when it came to the confusing mysteries of the heart.

8
    E LLEN JOHNSON WAS a strong woman both physically and mentally, but she hadn’t been prepared for losing Joe Moss. It had, of course, been far harder to lose her husband because they’d been married for sixteen years. And although they’d sure tried hard enough and often enough, the Lord had not seen fit to bless them with children, so they’d only grown closer with each passing year. And despite or more likely because of being childless, they’d worked even harder to take a piece of bare land and transform it into a fine and profitable farm. In fact, they had thrown themselves into such a fit of working from dawn to dusk that they’d often been reproached by the Mormon elders for neglecting their church duties.
    In response, Ellen and her husband had always countered that they were laboring for the Lord and that their profits only increased their tithing to their Church. And when it came to tithing, the Mormon elders had not seen fit to criticize or encourage the industrious Johnsons to work less and pray more.
    But now with her husband gone, and then with Joe coming into her life so completely dependent on her nursing and loving care, Ellen found that there was a vast, empty place in her heart that made it ache from morning to night.
    â€œJoe wasn’t the man that my husband was in many ways,” she whispered as she fed her pigs and chickens, “but there were things about him that I cannot forget. He was illiterate and probably had killed men and had many women . . . but still, there is a simple goodness and courage in Joe Moss that I cannot deny. And despite his rough language and ways, Joe has a strength that more than matches my own . . . an attribute that my husband did not share.”
    There were days when Ellen Johnson felt so sad and lonely that she could hardly force herself through the day, and then she felt guilty for not working harder. Often, she pushed herself to her absolute physical limits so that she would not have the time or energy to think about Joe and how he had gone away to find the love of his life . . . Fiona.
    â€œI hope he finds her and it goes well for him up on the Comstock Lode,” Ellen often told herself, trying to believe those words. “And that he has a fine son or daughter that will soften him and make him wiser. And I’m glad that I had the time to share with him and give him some book learning. Joe Moss, though he might not fully realize the fact, left my farm a far better and more knowledgeable man than when he had arrived half-dead.”
    Ellen told herself these things a thousand times a day to buoy her troubled spirits, but even so, she missed Joe all the time and the pain in her heart would not go away.
    She was weeding the garden one morning and working up a good sweat when Elder Eli Purvis arrived in his buggy dressed in his Sunday clothes. Ellen was so busy attacking the weeds with her hoe that she did not even hear or see Purvis arrive until he had driven into her yard, scattering her flock of chickens.
    â€œGood morning, Mrs. Johnson!” he called, smiling grandly and removing his hat to reveal his baldness. “You are working too hard again today.”
    Ellen leaned on her hoe and surveyed the devastated weeds that she’d just chopped, trying to think of a suitable response. Finally, she was able to muster a half smile and reply, “Yes, there is much to do while the weather holds.”
    â€œToo much for a woman of your age.”
    Ellen felt her hackles rise. She was, after all, considerably younger than Mr. Purvis and . . . she would bet . . . far fitter. “I’m not that old, sir. And I am plenty capable of hard work. I’ve done it all of my life.”
    Purvis could see that he had misspoken and angered the woman, so he placed his hat back on his head and forced an even wider smile. “Of course you’re not old! In