His Dry Creek Inheritance

by Janet Tronstad

  “Are there any Bible verses about how to do in your enemies?” Mark asked as he buttered a second slice of toast. “To really get them good?”

  That woke everyone up. Even Rosie looked alarmed.

  “The Bible says we should do good to our enemies,” Bailey said firmly. She wore her faded robe over a blouse and had a bit of jam on her chin. Her hair was tied up in a blue bandana. “We don’t do them in. We need to turn the other cheek. Humble, like. That sort of thing.”

  “I can’t tell the boys and girls to turn the other cheek,” Mark protested. “They need to grow up in the real world.”

  Rosie grinned. Her hair needed to be combed and she had a crooked bow pinned in it, but he knew she was going to say her piece. “All the boys in Mrs. Hargrove’s class don’t treat their enemies very nice. I know that. You better not go near those Baker boys.”

  “Do they bother you?” Mark asked, frowning. He didn’t like the thought of anyone pestering his Rosie.

  “Not anymore they don’t,” Rosie said with extreme satisfaction as she took another spoon of her flakes.

  Bailey looked curious, too, by now. She’d wiped off the jam while her daughter was talking. Then she slipped her robe off like she was going to leave the table. Mark thought she looked particularly fetching in the black silk top she had been wearing under the robe. It had crystal buttons and pleats all the way around the front. No wonder she wanted a robe over it while she ate jam and toast.

  Bailey started to rise, but she was still studying her daughter. “What did you do to those boys?”

  “I popped them on their heads with Mrs. Hargrove’s cane,” the girl said in a very matter-of-fact manner. “I didn’t break their heads, but they felt it. And I could reach them because her cane is longer than their arms. They couldn’t get me back.”

  “Well, I don’t think that’s—” Bailey said, her face troubled.

  “She must have had to,” Mark said to stop the scold he could see was coming. “You see, that’s the problem with enemies. They don’t always want to be nice to us just because we’re being nice to them.”

  “That’s when we pray,” Bailey countered as she picked up her robe from the chair and folded it over her arm.

  Mark smiled. “You used to hit boys on the head with an old broom when they were teasing me. Remember, when I first moved here. I think I was still six-years-old and finding my way around.”

  “I was saving their lives,” Bailey said self-righteously as she looked him in the eye unflinchingly. “It was an act of mercy. I knew if you got your hands on them that it would be much worse for them even though they were bigger than you.”

  “So it was a preemptive strike,” Mark nodded. “The military knows that strategy, too.”

  “You can’t tell those children it’s ever okay to attack their enemies,” Bailey said firmly. “We’d be at war all over the place if we did that.”

  “That pretty well sums up where we are,” Mark agreed. “Just check your world news.”

  Everyone at the table looked at him and he wondered if he should simply refuse to talk to the kindergarten class.

  “Maybe I should stay home,” Mark said. That sounded good to him.

  Josh grunted. “Maybe you should all go. It sounds like you have a good discussion right there with everyone. The peace people. The war people. You have it all.”

  Mark liked the thought of them all going up front together. “How about it?”

  “I’ll go,” Rosie said, eagerly.

  “You’re already in that class, sweetie,” Bailey said. “We’ll have to talk to Mrs. Hargrove and see if it’s okay if you are also part of Mark’s lesson.”

  “You’re coming, too, aren’t you?” Mark asked Bailey.

  She nodded. “I feel I need to get to know the Baker boys better.” She turned to Rosie. “Maybe we should make them some cookies tomorrow.”

  Rosie looked horrified. “I don’t think so.”

  “Well,” Bailey said. “We’ll talk about it later. We best get going or we’ll be late.”

  Mark wore his uniform and Bailey wore enough black to be in the military, too. She managed to look the part, too, because she stood straight and looked all of the kindergarten students in the eye.

  “We have with us Army Sergeant Mark Dakota from Afghanistan and his friend, Bailey Rosen,” Mrs. Hargrove introduced them. She had suggested Rosie sit with her class until they did a segment on how to handle bullying. She also cautioned all three of them not to name the Baker boys.

  “We don’t need to name them,” Rosie had whispered to Mark. “Everybody will know who you’re talking about anyway—especially the other boys.”

  Mark nodded. Children did usually know those kinds of things.

  “The sergeant is going to tell us about war and what it’s like to face a real enemy,” Mrs. Hargrove said.

  The half hour went quickly. The boys wanted to know if he got to carry a gun and the girls wanted to know if he got to keep all his medals or if he had to turn them in like library books when he gave back his uniform. He explained that every one of them, including the uniform, were his.

  Then the Baker boys wanted to know what to do about an enemy who was bigger than them. Mark talked to the boys a little and found out that their uncle, who was living with them and their mother, was hitting them. Mark could see they were scared of the man and he offered to go talk to their uncle. The boys huddled together looking at him, clearly torn between hope of what could change and terror of what could go wrong.

  “I think it’s for the best, boys,” Mrs. Hargrove finally said, encouraging them. “I’ll go with Mr. Dakota to be sure your uncle gets a proper invite to church.”

  Mark hadn’t planned on suggesting the man come to church, but he did think it was good for Mrs. Hargrove to go with him when he met with the uncle.

  Bailey suggested a couple of verses for the children to learn and they seemed satisfied with the lesson. Mrs. Hargrove said a prayer before she dismissed the class. When it was over, most of the children came up to reverently touch the medals Mark had on his chest. He had a Purple Heart and a couple of other golden medals.

  When the children left, Mrs. Hargrove asked Mark to stay back for a few minutes. Bailey took Rosie upstairs.

  The older woman gestured for Mark to sit and he did, even though the chairs were too small for him and he sort of teetered on the edge of one.

  “I want to thank you for offering to take up for the Baker boys,” she said.

  Mark shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

  The older woman gave a sad smile. “It reminds me of how we failed you when you were a boy here.”

  “No one failed me,” Mark said.

  “I know that’s how you feel,” Mrs. Hargrove said. “But those Baker boys remind me of you. We never taught you to trust people to help you. We could have probably gotten Eli to be more welcoming to you. He treated you like a hired hand and you were just a boy. We never even taught you to trust God.”

  “That’s okay,” Mark rushed to assure her. “I do all right.”

  “Do you?” she asked. “Or is it only that you have accepted too little in life and have yet to face a problem so big that you can’t take care of it by yourself?”

  Mark didn’t want to answer, but Mrs. Hargrove kept looking at him with worry in her eyes.

  “I don’t want to be a hypocrite,” Mark finally said. “I’m not going to expect God to get me out of trouble when I haven’t bothered with Him before. That doesn’t seem right.”

  “It would be all right with Him,” Mrs. Hargrove said confidently. “God doesn’t care when you turn to Him—just that you do. He’ll take you any time. And no one deserves it so don’t let that stop you.”

  Then she reached over to a nearby table and picked up a small booklet that she held out to him. “I give this to all my stud
ents so I’m sure I gave you a copy years ago when you were in my class.”

  “I do remember the blue on the cover,” Mark muttered. He felt awkward taking the pamphlet, but he didn’t know what else to do. By then, they could hear the music starting upstairs in the sanctuary and Mark decided that was his cue to leave.

  “Thank you,” he said and put the pamphlet in his pocket.

  Mrs. Hargrove sat there silently.

  “I’ll see you upstairs,” he said as he started to walk out of the room. When he got to the door, he turned around and spoke softly. “I want to thank you for caring about me, Mrs. Hargrove. I might not know how to trust, but I do appreciate you caring for me all those years ago and now, too.”

  “Well, then,” the older woman said as she stood with a smile on her face that looked genuine and warm. “We have hope for you yet, Mark Dakota. I have faith you’ll come to our Lord in His time. Let’s go up to church.”

  Bailey had saved a place for him and he felt good slipping into the pew beside her and Rosie. He let the words of the sermon flow over him. He couldn’t remember now why he had decided he’d had enough of church when he was twelve years old. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought that Mrs. Hargrove had instructed the pastor to preach on how much God loves people and how they’re to love each other.

  He figured the man’s sermon even did some good. When he walked out of the sanctuary after the service was over, several of the ranchers who had given him such a hard time the week before crowded in to shake his hand. Half of them even asked how his dog was doing and said they were glad he’d taken the poor mutt home with him.

  He was thinking how well it was all working out when one of the ranchers cleared his throat and spoke.

  “We hope that dog gives you comfort,” he said, his gravelly voice thick with emotion. “None of us would have objected if we’d known about your troubles. I have a nephew who suffers from the same thing. He’s going to beat it though. He’s got him a doctor and everything.”

  Mark stared at the man in confusion.

  “Josh told us,” another one said.

  Mark swallowed and forced the tension back from his voice. “Josh is mistaken. I don’t have PTSD.”

  Some of the men looked at him in alarm.

  “Is that a symptom?” one of them asked. “Forgetting, like?”

  “No,” Mark answered sharply. “I don’t forget anything.”

  The whole circle of men shifted on their feet, but they were silent.

  “Any of you men know the Baker boys?” Mark finally asked when the conversation seemed stopped.

  They all nodded, looking relieved to have a change of conversation.

  “The man they call uncle,” Mark continued. “Is he a real one?”

  They no longer looked so comfortable.

  “I hate to say bad about anyone,” one rancher finally mumbled.

  That was news to Mark. They had seemed ready enough to do that when they were against him and his dog.

  “Their mother claims the man is,” someone finally admitted. “I knew her family though and she didn’t have a brother. No sister either. As to that husband of hers who left, I don’t figure any of his worthless family would be showing up. They’re all out east someplace and he never mentioned any closeness to any of them.”

  “What’s this uncle do for work?” Mark asked.

  A few of the men snorted in disgust.

  “Nothing more than he can help,” a man finally answered. “I think the family gets by on some kind of government assistance. And the church gives them food baskets here and there.”

  “Thanks,” Mark said and then the conversation died down again.

  “If you go out there,” a man in suspenders said then. “I’ll go with you if you want. I wouldn’t recommend you go out there alone.”

  “Thanks, but Mrs. Hargrove offered to go with me,” Mark said.

  The men nodded in seeming approval.

  “She still got that cane of hers?” one of them asked. “It might be good for her to take it along.”

  Mark smiled. “I wouldn’t want her cane to get scuffed up.” He looked down. “Of course, I always have my cane with me. It’s sturdy enough to be knocked around some.”

  The men seemed satisfied with that and they turned to leave with their respective wives.

  Mark saw Bailey and Rosie waiting for him. It was a small thing, but it made him feel good to have someone. He reached into his pocket and felt the pamphlet that Mrs. Hargrove had given him. He did remember it from her class. He’d thrown it away back then and never read it. But maybe he’d look it over this afternoon after dinner. He owed the older woman the courtesy of doing that.

  * * *

  Bailey was glad when one of the women from the church gave her a frozen casserole during the coffee time, explaining that she knew the food from the funeral was probably gone by now and she knew how hard it was to cook during the last month of a pregnancy.

  It was snowing in earnest by the time they started home from church. Bailey had her coat wrapped tight around her and she had bundled up Rosie, too. The pickup’s heater was pushing out hot air and the little girl was leaning against her side.

  “When are you planning to go see the Bakers?” Bailey asked as she shifted so she could put her arm around Rosie.

  Mark looked over. “Mrs. Hargrove and I thought we’d go late tomorrow morning, around ten thirty. She’s going to call and see if they would be available then.”

  “Just like a proper appointment,” Bailey said in approval.

  “They won’t want you to come,” Rosie muttered softly.

  Bailey looked down at her daughter. “That’s a good reason for us to make them some cookies. Everyone likes company when they bring cookies.”

  Rosie looked up, eyeing her skeptically. “What kind of cookies?”

  “How about oatmeal raisin?” Bailey asked. She knew that was Rosie’s favorite cookie so she figured they were popular with others her age.

  “Let’s leave out the raisins,” Rosie said grimly. “We don’t want to run out in case I need some raisins in my cookies.”

  Bailey was aghast. “We’re making the cookies to share with the Baker boys. We want them to be the best cookies we can make. Maybe they’ll want to be our friends, but even if they don’t, it’s a gift so it has to be nice.”

  Rosie grunted, but she didn’t say anything more. She snuggled down next to her mother’s arm until her little nose was burrowed in the folds of Bailey’s coat. Bailey wondered if her daughter was getting enough sleep. She was usually full of light and sunshine, but lately she’d been subdued.

  “Thanks,” Bailey said as Mark gently swerved the pickup to avoid a rut in the road. He was being careful to give them a smooth ride and it wasn’t easy due to the falling snow. The view through the windows was mostly white. The windshield wipers were pushing the falling snow off the glass and the heater was melting some of the accumulated flakes, but it was clear a blizzard was underway.

  “I’ll be glad when we’re home and out of this weather,” Mark said and it made her feel good.

  “I’ll be glad when we’re home, too,” she said.

  She could see the tracks of Josh’s pickup since he’d gone ahead of them after church. His tracks would lead on past the Rosen Ranch though, as Josh was planning to visit his uncle’s family this afternoon.

  Because of the weather forecast, Gabe had called last night to say he was staying in Miles City this weekend. He sounded sorry about it and she realized how much a part of his life these Dry Creek visits were. He had a long-standing agreement with Mrs. Hargrove to rent her room and bath over her garage for every Saturday night. Bailey knew the black dress the older woman had worn to Eli’s funeral had been one of those extras that she had deemed affordable because of Gabe’s rental income.

 
Bailey was relieved when Mark turned the pickup into the lane leading up to the house. It hardly seemed possible, but the storm looked like it was getting worse.

  Mark drove the vehicle up close to the front door. By that time, Rosie was sleeping.

  “I’ll come around and carry Sleeping Beauty into the house,” Mark said with a fond glance at Rosie.

  “That would be nice,” Bailey said.

  “But,” Mark said and gave her a stern look. “You have to promise to wait right here until I get back. I don’t want you to try to walk into the house by yourself. There’s likely a layer of ice under this snow and you’ll go flying like a Frisbee.”

  “I will,” Bailey said softly. It wasn’t a hardship to promise anything to a man like this who cared about her, even if his caring wasn’t of a passionate, husbandly kind.

  She waited for Mark to come around to her door.

  “Time to wake up, sweetie,” Bailey whispered to her daughter when she saw the outline of Mark against her window. The girl burrowed in deeper.

  Mark opened the door and cold air blew inside. Rosie groaned and opened her eyes.

  “I’ll need you to hang on again,” Mark said to the girl. “I have my cane so I can only use one arm.”

  Rosie woke up more than Bailey expected and smiled. “Horsie?”

  “Yeah,” Mark said and gave a guilty glance at Bailey. “It’s necessary.”

  Bailey nodded. Her daughter was delighted and scrambled over Bailey.

  Mark slid his coat down and Rosie wrapped herself around his back. Bailey reached over and adjusted the coat so it covered them both.

  “Hold tight now,” Mark said.

  “I know,” Rosie assured him.

  Mark stepped away from the pickup and walked the few steps to the front door. They’d left the door to the house unlocked and he opened it easily and walked inside. Bailey knew it would be warm because they had left the furnace on low.

  Before she had time to get chilled, Mark was back for Bailey. He helped her slide out of the cab and offered her his arm. She held the covered dish on one side and used her other hand to hold on to Mark’s arm. Together they slowly walked to the door and he opened it.