Joab's Fire
In Joab’s Fire, Lynn Squire tells the story of Job in a new setting—one that allowed me to relate to the story’s timeless themes in new ways. The accompanying discussion questions place the story firmly in context with the whole counsel of scripture. Joab’s Fire eloquently displays the eternal truth that God’s light shines most brightly in darkness.
— Lynn Dean, author of Discover Texas, a history curriculum for Christian schools
Joab’s Fire illustrates how God uses setbacks and tragedies to work in our lives. In the study, Lynn uses scripture to allow God’s healing truth to seep into the hearts and minds of her readers, drawing them closer to the One who leads us not only to the top of the mountain, but through the valleys as well.
— Fay Lamb, author of Tatted Angels, staff writer for Wings of Hope Magazine, and freelance editor
Like Job in the Old Testament, we wonder how such a good man as Joab Black could suffer so much. Then, through the darkness, we see God’s abiding grace. Lynn’s writing beautifully portrays how our Heavenly Father raises His children from the ashes.
— Linda Strawn, author of Singing Winds
A compelling saga of faith in the midst of tragedy that will capture your heart and stir up new compassion for those who are suffering around you. I highly recommend this book!
— Lisa Jost, singer/songwriter/mother with The Josties, www.josties.com
Lynn is a master storyteller who weaves her love of Jesus Christ and the truth of His scripture throughout all her writing. Joab’s Fire will ignite a flame of hope and faith within you as you journey with Joab, his wife, and friends through countless tragedies and unimaginable heartache. This book and accompanying Bible study will challenge and encourage you to seek God in the midst of every storm.
— Debra Shirley, speaker, author, and Ladies Sunday School teacher at Tannehill Baptist Church
Joab’s Fire will stir your heart and soul as the NWMP officer seeks to find God’s will for his life without realizing that is what he is seeking. Lynn Squire is one of the finest writers I’ve ever come in contact with. Her writing mirrors her life as she writes for the Christian readers, unafraid to show her love and trust in the God she serves.
— K. Sue Morgan, multi-published Western historical romance author
Joab’s Fire
a distant hope
Joab’s Fire
a distant hope
by
Lynn Squire
Joab’s Fire
by Lynn Squire
Published by HigherLife Development Services, Inc.
400 Fontana Circle, Building 1, Suite 105
Oviedo, Florida 32765
(407) 563-4806
www.ahigherlife.com
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system,
or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or
otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United
States of America copyright law.
All scripture quotations are from the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible. Public
Domain.
Copyright © 2011 by Lynn Squire
All rights reserved
ISBN 13: 978-1-935245-51-3
ISBN 10: 1-935245-51-3
Cover Design: Principle Design Group
Cover Artwork: Copyright© 2011 by M. Darlene Crane. All rights reserved.
Second Edition
10 11 12 13 — 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Printed in the United States of America
This book is dedicated to my parents, Ted and Sheila Burger, whose love, care, and faithfulness to me will always be cherished. Thank you for walking with me through every valley and standing with me on every mountaintop with prayer, wisdom, and unconditional acceptance. Your lives have been a true example of how to walk in the Lord.
Acknowledgments
This book would never have happened without the support of my wonderful husband and faithful companion. Thank you for listening, letting me cry, and making me laugh. I can’t imagine my life without you. You are my perfect match.
My children, who accompanied me on walks through coulees and runs through grain fields and put up with my endless picture taking, each of you have brought a special clarity of purpose to my life.
Thank you, Calvary Baptist Church (including the wives of our church planters, Mrs. Debi Gray and Mrs. DeAna Warthan), Pastor Stevens, and Brother Rod Burkholder. Where would I be without your continuous and fervent prayers? You’ve taught me so much and have been such faithful friends and leaders. I love you all.
Sue Bell, dear friend, you are my constant encourager. Ready Pens, my praying critique group, you’ve been my allies through this entire journey. Vicki McCollum and the Fellowship of Christian Writers, you’ve been with me from the beginning, teaching me, guiding me. Thank you.
My parents and dear sisters have listened, read, evaluated, and cheered me on. Your help in clarifying facts and pointing out what I needed to know has been a major contribution to this story.
I also want to thank the wonderful people at HigherLife. Thank you, Alice Bass, for understanding my vision and helping me make it possible. Thank you, Hope Flinchbaugh, for not only encouraging me to step out on this journey, but also giving such wonderful suggestions to make the story and the message of this book that much stronger. I love working with you.
Darlene Crane, thank you for capturing the vision and passion of Joab’s Fire. You poured your heart into creating the cover and for that I am truly grateful.
Above all, I thank God for the salvation He gave me and for allowing me the privilege of His presence in my life. I’m so undeserving of Your love and sacrifice, Dear Lord. How can I not but thank You and give myself wholly over to You?
“For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” Philippians 1:21
Table of Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
To the Reader
Optional Group Discussion and Study
Concluding Remarks
Introduction
The idea for a story about a NWMP officer and a farmer in Alberta began after considering the many hardships my great grandparents and others like them endured to settle a wild and vast country. So many of them suffered like Job in the Bible, losing everything to the erratic weather and savage land. Western Canadian history may differ on many accounts with the settling of the American western states, but human needs and sufferings remain the same no matter where you live or what era you live in.
While the characters in the book are fictional, if you are a student of Western Canadian history, you will recognize the names of some of the people mentioned by them: Thomas Hardwick, otherwise known as th
e Green River Renegade; Louis Riel, a devote Catholic who determined to form his own nation, and his nominal president Pierre Parenteau; Inspector Dickens, in charge of Fort Pitt on the North Saskatchewan River; Major Crozier in charge of Fort Carlton and who led the mounted police and volunteers into the Duck Lake Massacre; and, of course, Premier Frederick William Haultain.
Certain events in the story, like the hailstorm and the fire, are based on actual recorded occurrences in Alberta. While the burning of Fort Carlton and the Duck Lake Massacre were real events, I wrote them from a fictional character’s point of view. It seems no one knows for sure how the fort burned down. Some speculate that the NWMP burned it so that the rebels could not take possession of it.
Surbank is situated where my hometown, Arrowwood, lies. Arrowwood did not exist at the time of this story as the location was still a part of the Blackfoot Indian Reserve. Local people would recognize some of the geographical references, but none of the locals were used as characters.
I hope you enjoy reading Joab’s Fire as much as I have enjoyed writing it. However, I pray that this fictional account of a man’s sufferings will inspire you to read the book of Job in the Bible and learn directly from God’s Word. I have done my best to give hope in times of hardship through this story. I pray the Holy Spirit will guide you into a closer relationship with God after reading this book and through the sufferings you may encounter in your own life.
Your servant in Him,
Lynn Squire
Chapter 1
Surbank, District of Alberta, North-West Territories, Canada 1903
Sergeant Clarence Dixon leaned against the rough wall of the Surbank Train Station and surveyed his territory. Along the western stretch of the rail line waved golden wheat, and the tracks faded into the horizon where ragged mountain peaks rose like jagged teeth. Few homesteads interrupted this view of the Rocky Mountains, though each year another brave family dared to challenge the temperamental land with its ceaseless wind. He rolled a straw between his fingers. It was his duty as one of the North West Mounted Police to be the guardian knight of the territory—do all he could to ensure their safety—whether the locals liked him or not.
In the southeast rolled the Buffalo Hills. Good land there, if anyone dared to tame it. ‘Course, sod houses and barns already speckled the southern landscape. Most of them popped up when the Americans pushed north into Canadian territory.
Dixon took a deep breath of hot air and wiped away the beads of sweat forming under his Stetson. A whistle blew, and the afternoon train rattled into view as it crossed the trestle that stretched over the coulee a mile away. He scanned the prairie for any wagons coming into town. Typically, the Kirklands or one of the local farmers met the train with goods to ship out or orders to pick up.
Sure enough, there was Mrs. Kirkland coming up from the east, and Joab Black rode by him with his son on their Morgan horses. Only people in the country who owned such well-bred animals.
“Hello, Joab.” Dixon touched his Stetson and stuck the straw in the corner of his mouth. He noted the gray western hat on Joab’s dark head. It suited his broad shoulders and thick chest.
“Good to see you.” Joab waved back, and then reached between the mounts to slap his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Getting Rupert his own horse today.”
Rupert beamed up at his dad. “A pinto pony.” His voice squeaked with excitement. He turned and saluted Dixon.
Dixon chuckled. “Well, you deserve it, son. Saw you driving the team the other day. Pretty soon you’ll be taking over your father’s farm.”
Rupert grinned, but Joab’s grin stretched wider. They waved goodbye and continued on to the blacksmith shop. Not a finer man in the country than Joab. Honest, faithful, and always there to help. Dixon was honored to count him a close friend.
The straw Dixon gnawed on twitched from the corner of his lips while he looked down the tracks. Strangers from the east running from the law often rode the rails, so he made it a habit of watching when the trains came in. No sense in letting bad blood mingle with these fine folks. Now that the whiskey traders were abated, things had settled down nicely in the District of Alberta. Dixon wanted to keep things that way.
The train slowed just as bow-legged Barty Dunsmuir stepped onto the platform from Main Street. Dixon nodded to him and swiped a lock of wet auburn hair from his brow. Was Barty here to meet someone, or did he have business? No doubt he’d be pickin’ a fight. Don’t think there was a day in his life that Barty didn’t throw a punch at some poor soul … but he’d be there in a pinch if you needed a helping hand.
The wheels of the train screeched to a halt. It sighed and rested next to the station then released its passengers.
Steam whooshed around a stranger as he stepped onto the platform. The steam cleared. Dixon pushed away from the wall. The man looked like white lightning against the sun. His white hair blended in with his white overcoat and unusually pale skin. Skin so thin the veins beneath rippled in colors of blue, purple, and black.
Dixon shivered. He’d seen albino deer before, but never an albino human. The man crossed the wooden platform, passed the station building, and stepped onto the street.
Dixon tugged at his white gauntlets as he watched the clouds of dust puff up around the stranger’s feet. Surbank didn’t attract too many visitors, not like Calgary. So what brought this man to town?
The albino’s white overcoat glistened in the sun, shimmering like a polished pearl, and his long white hair hung down his back in a thick braid. He turned and tipped his white hat at the sergeant.
Dixon nodded back.
Barty stopped beside Dixon. “Wonder what he’s doin’ in town?”
Dixon shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know. We don’t get too many strangers.”
“Pardon me, Sarge?” Barty pushed his dusty hat to the back of his red head.
Dixon motioned to the man who now stood in the middle of Main Street. “Weren’t you talking about him?”
Barty chuckled, his whole body rumbling with it. “Nope. I was talkin’ about Nathaniel. Thought he said he was goin’ to Calgary for work.”
Dixon rubbed his NWMP insignia. “Didn’t hear that.” He didn’t want to get into it either, not with his policeman’s instincts crawling.
“So who’s the stranger?” Barty spit tobacco juice from the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t know.” But Dixon had better find out just to be sure the man’s business was honorable.
“Sure white and shiny for these parts.”
“Yeah.” Dixon grunted. But underneath all that shine, Dixon saw a face that wolfers like Thomas Hardwick wore. Nothing but trouble and able to kill without emotion.
“Seems nice enough.” Barty glanced at Dixon. “Well, since Nathaniel’s in town, I’ve got a few questions to ask him.”
Dixon touched his Stetson in a salute goodbye, then got caught in the stranger’s gaze. The man’s eyes sparkled like a speck of silver in the prairie sunlight.
An instinctive zing shot up Dixon’s back. Not sure he’d describe this man as “nice enough,” like Barty did. Dixon had never seen eyes like that. Nor felt the intensity of such a bold look—except maybe when he faced Louis Riel. But that was to be long forgotten, and Riel was dead.
The stranger shot him a brilliant smile then headed up the steps to Pastor Perkins’ apartment above the general store.
What did he want with the pastor?
“Good day, Sergeant.” Sheila Kirkland drew near him, her Irish lilt ringing in his ears and the scent of lavender swirling about her.
He touched the side of his hat. “Good day, Mrs. Kirkland. How’s your husband doing?”
She scowled. “He’s still a bit suffering from the dance Friday night. Don’t know why he likes to dance. ‘Tis a sin, I think.”
Dixon nodded and resisted the urge to smile. It wasn’t the dancing Blain Kirkland liked as much as the drinking.
“Is the pastor in? Do ye know?” She looked toward the door a
nd tugged at the ribbon of her blue bonnet.
“Yes ma’am. He’s not leaving ‘til this afternoon, but he has someone with him right now.”
She grimaced. “I was hopin’ he’d see it good to come and talk with my Blain.” Her blue eyes shone out from beneath her bonnet, and she tucked some wild curls of auburn hair behind the tie.
Shivers ran up Dixon’s back. He sensed someone watching him and looked to the pastor’s door as the albino stepped out. The man wore a smug smile on his face and flung a knowing look of triumph at Dixon. If the shivers meant anything, they meant that man was no good.
“Oh, it appears Pastor Perkins is free now. Good day, Sergeant.” Mrs. Kirkland bustled away, her skirts stirring up dirt and the feather atop her hat waving in the hot breeze.
The unusual man strode past Dixon as though he owned the town. But this was Dixon’s town—well, his to protect at any rate.
Dixon straightened and flexed his muscles. Sure, maybe the man was harmless. No law against visiting a town or a preacher. Yet, something about him didn’t sit right. The locals were peaceful enough. Experience proved that real trouble came to Surbank from visitors.
He leaned back against the station wall and scratched his chin as the stranger walked down the dirt road leading out of the village.
Maybe he was just making too much of it. Best rein in his thoughts.
The man moved with an air of pompous elation toward little Rupert Black. No, not pompous elation. More like a hawk diving for a field mouse.
Dixon stepped down off the train station platform.
With the smoothness of a snake, the stranger coiled down by little Rupert Black.
The boy drew in the dirt with a stick as the man spoke. His voice trilled like a meadowlark, but still too far away for Dixon to make out what the stranger was saying.
Dixon pulled to a halt. No Canadian law prohibited a stranger from speaking with a ten-year-old boy. Could be an innocent conversation. Then why the devil did he feel like trouble brewed?
Angry shouts came from Main Street, and Dixon swung around in time to see Barty throw a punch at Nathaniel. Nathaniel blocked it. He then twisted Barty’s arm behind his back.