None of the boys at her table spoke to her, but when Mr. Whitehall stalked further into the tent to deal with some infraction at one of the other tables, the boy across from her—the son of one of the recently-arrived sawyers, she thought—reached over and snagged her still-half-full bowl, leaving his empty one in its place.
Aurora offered no challenge. She merely studied a knot in the table-board before her. The last thing she wanted to do was get in a fight with the boy. And besides, it mattered not. Her stomach was already fuller than it had been all week. And for that she would choose to be thankful.
The meal soon finished and Mr. Whitehall waved them all outside. “Right lads. Get to work now. You there, new boy, wait for me,” he instructed.
Aurora paused outside the tent, trying to decide what to do while other boys streamed past her and headed for their various chores. The longer she remained in camp, the more chance there was of someone recognizing her and reporting her to John Hunt, so she should make her escape at the earliest opportunity. On the other hand, John wouldn’t likely think to search for her here in camp right under his nose and maybe she could make enough money to hire someone to take her to a nearby city.
Each of the boys grabbed an apple from the small barrel that sat outside the tent door as they went by. That would be their lunch, then. Mr. Whitehall came out, but his attention was immediately taken by two boys who had set to scuffling over one of the larger apples.
Still undecided over whether to stay or flee, Aurora figured that an apple would be a benefit no matter what she did. She took one up and turned, but ran smack into the chest of the boy who’d stolen her porridge. He was a large boy for twelve. And since his arrival a few days ago he hadn’t let any of the other boys forget it. She’d seen him picking on younger or smaller boys several times.
He knocked the apple from her fingers and gave her a challenging look. One eyebrow cocked. And his gaze slipped over her from head to foot, brow furrowing.
Her pulse tripped. Did he recognize her?
After a long moment, he must have given up on whatever thought he’d been pondering because he gave her a shove and stepped closer. “You only get an apple after you’ve proven that you are a good worker, greenhorn.”
Aurora looked around for Mr. Whitehall, but he would be no help. He was at this very moment hauling the two delinquents in his charge back into the tent, holding each one by an ear. She raised her hands to indicate that she wanted no confrontation. “I don’t want to fight you. How about we both simply withdraw?” She started to ease away, but the bully hooked one of his legs behind hers and shoved her hard.
She sprawled onto her back in the dirt. Right at the feet of a horse.
“Whoa!” The rider pulled his mount to a stop. It danced sideways a few steps and then the man leaned over and peered down at her.
With dark hair that curled out from under his Stetson, a close-cropped beard that accentuated an angular jaw, and eyes as green as morning dew on spring grass, he was probably the best-looking man she had ever seen. But his lips tilted up into a slant of a smirk that set her teeth on edge and her blood to boiling. What kind of a man found humor in a predicament like this?
Teeth gritted, she leapt to her feet and folded her arms over her chest.
Her decision was suddenly made. She wasn’t going to stay in a camp where boys were treated like this!
CHAPTER TEN
Preston Clay had ridden through the morning mist toward Camp Sixty-Five with Kin Davis riding beside him—well, more like grudgingly, barely keeping up. Kin was in what Preston’s gran would have termed a ‘foul as a rooster destined for the pot’ mood. And Preston had to admit that, with his patience running thin, he might have been a bit short with the kid this morning. But Kin’s backtalk and rebellion were getting a little old.
Preston rubbed a hand over the nape of his neck and blew out his frustration. At twenty-five, he wasn’t old enough to know how to handle the bad attitude of a contrary teen. Kin may have lived with Preston since the death of his father when he was fifteen had left him an orphan, but that didn’t mean it had been easy. And the truth was, two years hadn’t done much to improve the kid’s wayward ways.
No matter how much Preston forced him to read the Word, or lectured, or prayed, Kin seemed determined to persist in his penchant for choosing trouble. At first his antics had been over more innocent things like skipping school to go fishing. But recently his rebellion had taken a more sinister turn, as evidenced by the fact that Doc had found him in McGinty’s last night—again. Kin had earned seventeen cents from tips at Dixie’s Boardinghouse the day before and of course McGinty, a man who saw the world in dollars and cents, had been happy to take it from him. Dixie had promptly fired Kin when Preston had taken him to her back door this morning, and Preston was honestly thankful for Dixie’s quick decision. Kin had always admired Dixie. She had always been kind to him and offered him jobs whenever he had need. Preston figure that maybe getting fired by her would shake up the kid’s world a bit.
No wonder the kid was in a foul mood. He’d lost the respect of one of his favorite people in town and he likely had a headache that felt like a crosscut saw at work.
Preston smirked and set to whistling—loudly.
Behind him, Kin grunted.
Preston led the way over the last rise and down into the shanties on the near end of camp. Doc had said the girl would be in one at the center of the encampment beneath a wild lilac tree. What had he said her name was? Preston thought he had said, but he’d been so frustrated with Kin, who had been grinning drunkenly at him, that he couldn’t now remember it. No matter, she could give it to him when he spoke to her.
A commotion off to his left drew his attention.
Two boys of about fourteen had faced off. One of them appeared to have ganged up on the other. He gave the smaller boy a shove and he sprawled on his back in the dirt right in front of Preston’s horse. “Whoa!” he called, hauling on the reins.
For one terrible moment, he thought his mount had stepped on the kid, but then his horse sidled sideways and the boy was still there, breathing and all in one piece. Dirt smudged the kid’s face and he presented such a forlorn picture that before Preston thought better of it, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It never ceased to amaze him how God brought him ‘the least of these’ to help.
The kid on the ground scrambled to his feet and folded his arms over his chest, digging at the ground with the toe of one scuffed boot.
“What’s going on here?” He dismounted.
The other boy continued to glower at the kid.
Kin pulled his mount to a stop, but only leaned on his pommel looking bored. He likely wouldn’t be any help if this came to blows.
The bully, fists still balled, tipped a nod to the kid who’d been on the ground. “He’s new ’round these parts. I caught him skulking ’round. Just was letting him know we don’t put up with no troublemakers.”
“I ain’t no troublemaker!” The new kid kept digging at the ground. He looked younger than the other. Smaller. Lighter. With a voice that hadn’t changed yet. Pale, gaunt cheeks. Hungry looking.
Preston’s stomach crimped. Well he remembered what it was like to go days on end without food. “What’s your name kid? You hungry?”
Wide pale green eyes flashed to his for a fleeting moment before returning to the ground. After another moment of hesitation, the boy said, “Rory. And yes, sir. A little bit, sir.”
The kid’s hesitation made Preston wonder if that really was his name, but what mattered at this moment was saving him from the bully and then maybe getting him some food.
“You got a ma and pa around?”
The boy shook his head. And was that a sheen of tears casting that highlight in his eyes?
Preston motioned from the boy to Kin. “Why don’t you join us? You can ride behind Kin there. I just have one stop to make and then I can get you some food.”
The kid glanced toward the tent behind hi
m and seemed to think on it for a moment. His gaze bounced between the bully, Kin, Preston, and the hole his boot continued to dig in the dirt. Finally, he nodded. “All right.”
Preston felt unaccountably relieved. He nodded the boy toward Kin’s horse. “Go ahead. That’s Kin. He looks meaner than a wild dog with a broke leg, but he doesn’t bite. Much.”
Kin rolled his eyes, but he did motion the kid over and reach down a hand to help him swing up behind his saddle.
Preston tipped his hat to the bully. “You have a nice day now. I’ll make sure the kid stays out of trouble.”
The chubby red head puffed out his chest. “See that you do!”
Preston hid a smirk. He had half a mind to give the boy a fistful of his own medicine, but could also remember what it was like to feel protective over the few possessions he had called his own as a kid.
Only a moment later, they were on their way again and it wasn’t hard to find the shanty under the area’s only lilac tree.
Preston swung down. “I’ll only be a moment—” he started to explain, but, behind Kin, the kid’s eyes were so wide and his face so pale that Preston paused. “You okay, kid?”
The boy nodded. He gave a little squirm on the horse and his voice was barely audible when he said. “What are you doing here?”
Preston’s heart went out to the kid. Maybe he feared their intentions.
Kin released an audible sigh. “Heck, kid, relax! The parson there ain’t never hurt a fly!”
At his purposeful use of such slang, Preston’s teeth set together. Kin was just trying to bait him. And now was not the time for an argument. Instead, he would choose to be thankful that Kin had actually stood up for him. As for ‘never hurt a fly…’ well, that was a talk he hadn’t worked up the courage to have with Kin. One day God would make him tell that story, but not today…
He offered the boy a nod and a reassuring smile, gave Kin a look that he hoped said ‘don’t try to ride away while I’m not looking, and be kind’ all in one, and then approached the shanty. He knocked. No one answered, and he was just about to knock again when a woman stepped out of the next shanty over.
“What you lookin’ fer, mister?”
Preston pressed his hat to his chest as he faced her and gave a sketch of a bow to show respect. “Morning ma’am. I am Parson Preston Clay. I heard that a woman in this shanty was feeling poorly and that her daughter might need some…assistance.”
The woman appeared only somewhat appeased by his introduction, but she did give an attempt at a curtsy. “Joanie Pence at yer service, Parson. And ’tis true enough what ye say. I done spoke to Aurora jus’ this mornin’. The doc done said her ma had only a week to live and that she herself was likely contagious, poor lass. She ain’t answering? She has to be in ’cause I ain’t seen her leave yet today.”
The kid behind Kin suddenly seemed very interested in something on the other side of the encampment away from the woman. Preston tried to see what might have caught his attention. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Was the kid running from home? Did he have parents out looking for him? Preston looked again, but he didn’t see anyone frantically searching the encampment for a lost kid, just people going about the hum-drum everyday tasks of camp life.
Preston brought his mind back to his present task. He would have to grill the kid about the details of his life later. Right now, he needed to try and find the girl Doc had said needed some help. He knocked on the door again. When he still received no answer, he motioned for Kin to wait, and made his way around to the back of the shanty. But there was no back door, and there wasn’t even a slit of a window to peer through like some of the other shanties had. Completing a full circle, he pondered what he ought to do.
But Joanie Pence took the decision out of his hands. Eyes widening, she started to back away from the shanty as fast as her legs would take her, one arm swinging up to cover her mouth and nose. “They done both died then? Aurora done said the doc told her whatever her mama had was deadly. But she—only an hour ago she—” Joanie seemed to have run out of words.
Preston frowned. Doc had said nothing to him about it being contagious. Kin looked a little wide-eyed when the woman turned and ran away, but Preston held up one palm and patted the air a few times.
Turning the handle on the door, he gave it a push. It squeaked inward. He proceeded cautiously lest he might be barging in on someone who was sound asleep, but it was soon apparent there was only one person in the room—and she had passed on. A quick check showed that the girl—Aurora, he mentally thanked Joanie for the reminder—wasn’t in sight. Had she gone to get someone to carry out her mother? A touch to the woman’s throat found her cold. So she passed sometime in the night, then. If that were the case, the girl should have returned by now…
He stepped back out into the morning light, hat pressed to his chest and a furrow on his brow. Somewhere in this camp there was a young girl whose life would be torn apart if John Hunt got hold of her. And hang it all if he knew how to go about finding her without making things worse for her.
Aurora stood next to the newly opened hole on Camp Sixty-Five’s boot hill, teeth clench with the reminder to withhold her tears.
Much as she’d wanted to run in terror when the minister had insisted on searching out John Hunt to let him know one in his employ had passed away, and to see to the burying, her fear of being caught had held far less weight than her desire to see Ma safely into her final resting place.
Hidden as she’d been for most of the day behind the rather broad back of Kin Davis, it hadn’t been hard to keep out of John and Joanie’s sight, and she wasn’t too worried about any of the others—none of them would expose her, even if they recognized her, though none had even given her a second look. Not even when Parson Clay had asked the women to go in and prepare Ma for burial, and none of them had wanted to go inside since Joanie had already spread her story through the camp, so Aurora had volunteered to help the parson. Kin had rolled his eyes at her, clearly thinking the boy, Rory, was only sidling up to the minister to get on his good side, but she’d ignored him and followed the man inside the shanty. The parson had seemed much relieved when he’d noticed that Ma was already washed and prepared for the grave. And Aurora had been touched by how gently and carefully he had handled Ma. He’d wrapped her in the quilt from her bed, tucking it about her as though he might be tucking in a small child for a night of sleep. It had been all Aurora could do to keep herself from collapsing into a fit of sobs at the small table she and Ma had shared for so many years.
Throughout the day, it had been quite clear the minister was looking for her. He had asked several of the camp wives if they had seen where she might have gone, and she’d overheard him tell one that Doc had told him she might need his help. Which was true enough. But he was helping her. And revealing her identity to him while Hunt and his men were still about would only ensure a fight that a kind man like the minister was sure to lose. So, she kept her silence and watched.
The minister said some nice sounding words over Ma, though Aurora had to admit she didn’t quite understand the meaning of them all, and then before she realized so much time had passed, the camp folk were heading back to the camp.
What would he do with her now? Her stomach rumbled a reminder that the only thing she’d had to eat all day were the few bites of gruel this morning. And yet somehow, she didn’t feel like she could swallow anything without the danger of it coming right back up. The forced withholding of her emotions was making her literally queasy.
But the parson must have heard her stomach, because he stopped by her side and ruffled her hair. “Never did get you any food, did we lad?”
Aurora felt weary to the bone. She only wanted to sleep. Sleep for years and never wake up.
“Come on, kid. Back on the horse. You look all done in.” He grabbed one of her arms with one hand, and her backside with the other, and boosted her up behind Kin’s saddle.
She gave a little squeak of surprise and t
urned away before he could see the flush that she could feel warming her cheeks. Having spent the day with the man, she had no doubt that he would never manhandle a woman in such a manner. She reminded herself that he didn’t know she was anything other than a grubby kid who needed his help. But none of that erased the memory of the feel of his hand on her backside.
Nor did it eliminate the question of what she would do after the man fed her and sent her on her way. Where was she going to go? How was she going to survive? She had no skills. Sure, Ma had tried to do her best by her. She’d taught her the basics of sewing and cleaning and instilled in her the importance of working hard for anything she got. But she had no real-world skills. Nothing that would convince someone to give her a job. Nor even any knowledge of how to go about attaining a job.
All of the questions had her pulse thrumming and her lungs tighter than the scarf about her chest. And over top it all, a heavy weariness draped, making the answer to each question harder to come by and the sight of the deforested hills around them naught but a blur that urged her to close her eyes and cease the battle, even if only for a few moments.
For now, she was safe. She would relish in that, and take the next days and hours as they came. She slumped forward and rested her cheek against Kin’s back, and let the world fade away.
Joe propped his hands on his hips and gawked at Liora, who was busy kneading a loaf of bread at the table. Tess sat at one end, nursing a cup of coffee and glancing between them.
Beauty from Ashes (Wyldhaven Book 3) Page 11