by Jillian Hart
Family. That’s what they had become. Since they were little girls skipping rope at recess. She would never want to ask too much of them, though. She didn’t want to risk damaging their bond.
That was why she fashioned a falsehood to tell them. Not a lie, exactly, for she held hopes that it would come to pass. “I know you mean well, but I will manage just fine from now on. Kol’s brother is a good, dependable man. I am certain he will come through.”
“Oh, it’s decided then.” Betsy looked crestfallen. “I know, I know. You’ve talked about needing to leave, but I just want you to stay so badly. I have room here. I could share my business with you, until you get on your feet.”
“There isn’t enough business in this small town for the two of us, and you know it. It’s good of you, Betsy.” Rayna had guessed, although Betsy had never said, that she was barely getting by as it was.
How could she impose on her friends further? “No, it looks as though my future lies elsewhere. You two have to promise to write me as often as you can. I know you’re busy, but—”
“We promise!” Mariah and Betsy interrupted at the same time.
Their talk turned to happier things. Betsy had more stories of her laundry customers. Mariah told of her children’s latest tales. Her friends wanted to know more about all Daniel Lindsay had done for her before the crop was lost. How he’d come to harvest and how he’d bandaged her hands, which were almost healed now, and how he’d given her a ride when she reeked of cow pies and acted as if he hadn’t noticed. That was a good man.
After dessert was consumed, the three of them gathered in the cozy parlor, drinking in the pleasant autumn sunshine, for the weather had decided to give them an Indian summer after all. And chatting of small things while they sewed gave Rayna a sense of normalcy.
This is one of the things that matters in life. Time spent with friends. Rayna savored the few hours left before she had to hurry to finish her errands and head home. She loved the way Betsy was always making them laugh. And how Mariah could be so much fun.
As Rayna pinned seams together of a flannel shirt of Kol’s she was trimming down to Kirk’s smaller size, she realized her spirit felt a little stronger. It was amazing how friendship could strengthen a person.
“I swear that man hides in the woods every time I drive out to his cabin.” Betsy stopped pinning the hem in her new dress to continue her tale of her most dreaded laundry customer. “I can feel him watching me. And not in a good way, either.”
Rayna, remembering the subtle leer in Clay Dayton’s manners toward her recently, felt her stomach tighten. Some of the sun seemed to dim from the room. “Betsy, if he could be a threat to you, you must be careful.”
“Oh, I keep Charlie’s Winchester right next to me on the seat whenever I head up into the mountains, don’t worry.”
“I wasn’t talking about wild animals. I mean, the human kind. Those who think widows are…are…well, easy women.”
“Goodness, I learned to handle that problem a long time ago, don’t you worry.” Betsy’s chuckle was infectious. “A girl doesn’t grow up with four older brothers without learning a thing or two about male weaknesses. Anytime I have trouble, I just kick the offending man in the—no, don’t laugh, Mariah, I don’t get him there first, they always expect that.”
Mariah covered her mouth, trying to keep her laughter in as Betsy continued. “I kick ’em in the shin. I’m always careful to wear my brother’s old steel-toe riding boots, and, one kick, I’ll make a grown man cry. The second blow comes from my reticule right upside the jaw, and you know how heavy my reticule is. It knocks them right over. Then, if they aren’t in the middle of apologizing, I make sure they apologize real nice, or that’s where the next kick goes. Believe me, those men are nothing but polite to me next time I see them.”
“Our sweet, little, softhearted Betsy.” Rayna threaded her needle. “The lioness who can take down any man in the county but she can’t eat her own beef cow.”
“That thing’s going to die of old age first,” Mariah commented as she got up to fetch the coffeepot.
“My neighbor keeps threatening to butcher poor Edgar, if I’m not. But he’s my pet. I didn’t mean for him to be a pet, you know. I wanted a dog, but the steer simply followed me home. I tried to stop him, but really, how do you reason with a thousand-pound male, even if he does have his, er, oysters missing?”
As Betsy regaled them with that tale, Rayna laughed too hard to baste the interfacing into the collar. She set it down to enjoy Betsy’s story. By the time she was done, they were all laughing too hard to speak. As much as Rayna had always treasured this weekly tradition of sewing with her friends, she always took it for granted. The three of them had been gathering to sew and talk and laugh since they’d been girls.
Rayna hated that the minutes were ticking past and the sun was making a slow journey through the room. But there was no holding back time. When Betsy’s mantel clock bonged two on the hour, it was with eye-stinging regret that she tucked her needle safely into the seam. She folded up the shirt and placed it into her small sewing basket. As she had many hundreds of times before, she hugged her friends goodbye.
Trying not to think about how hard it was going to be to leave them behind for good soon, Rayna unhitched the placid old gelding Mariah’s husband had lent her. Moments later she was riding down the tree-shaded lane to the main street of town, where she hurried about her few errands.
She picked up two pieces of penny candy along with a small bag of flour at the mercantile, for which she paid with the dwindling cash she had on hand. Ever since she’d mentioned Daniel Lindsay this afternoon, he had been at the edge of her thoughts.
She’d left his rain slicker, cleaned and neatly folded, on the top step of his tiny porch. He hadn’t been home, and on her way to town she’d spotted him far out in his fields, plowing under the miles of ruined wheat and stalks.
Surely he’d found the coat, but that wasn’t what troubled her. The look of him, a solitary figure with his horses and plow small in contrast to the vast expanse of the windblown prairie, got to her. He’d looked…lonely.
Her heart squeezed, remembering, for she knew the bitter taste of that emotion. Of emptiness. In the bed beside her at night. In the chair across the table each morning. The boys kept her busy, and she wasn’t alone, of course, but the aloneness when she’d been part of a team, wife to her husband—she could barely stand it.
How did a person live alone, by choice or circumstance, and feel this way year after endless year?
She was about to find out what it was like. Perhaps the real reason she’d done her best to avoid Daniel Lindsay was that image of him alone on the plains hadn’t spoken to merely her aloneness. Kol was the great love of her life. She could never replace him. He’d been a part of her soul. She wanted no other, not now, not ever. Loneliness was her only fate.
So when she recognized Daniel’s gelding tied to the rail across the street, she whipped her gaze away and hurried directly to the post office.
“’Afternoon, Miz Ludgrin.” Walter Svenson looked up from his work behind the counter. “I got a letter come in for you just today. Oof, where did it go?”
Was it from Kol’s brother? Nerves buzzed in her stomach through the long minute it took for the postmaster to locate the letter and hand it over.
Yes, it was. Thank goodness. She kept hold of it, rather than slip the envelope into her reticule. She hardly remembered exchanging pleasantries with Mr. Svenson, only that she was outside in the sunshine, tearing at the envelope in her haste.
She squinted at the poorly written and spelled words. “I am agreeved to hear of Kols passing. As I have come on hard times, I wil take one of the boys.”
What? Only one? Rayna had to read the sentence twice. One of the boys? Did he mean to separate them? But they were brothers, and her sons. There was no way. Surely he did not mean—
Then her eyes followed the rest of his unschooled scrawl. “I wont the stronger boy, t
o work my feelds.”
He wanted a field worker?
She didn’t understand. What could he be thinking? She’d very clearly stated in her letter that she needed a place for all three of them. Temporary shelter. But to take Kirk out of school so he could be a common laborer—
No. Absolutely not. She wasn’t about to read one more word of such nonsense!
She crumpled the letter into a ball. Angry? No, she wasn’t angry. She was furious. It was a horrible letter. Kol’s brother must indeed have come upon more than hard times. He’d turned into an opportunist, too! Using a child like that for field labor. His own nephew—
“Rayna.” A familiar baritone. A dependable hand at her elbow. Holding her up when she would have fallen. “You’re as white as could be. Are you feeling well?”
Her head was spinning. The boardwalk tilting dangerously. Yet the steady concern in Daniel Lindsay’s honest hazel eyes seemed to be the only thing that wasn’t moving. She concentrated on them, but no, she was still falling.
Then she was in his arms, her cheek against the stony hardness of his chest as he carried her.
“No, put me down. Please.” The last thing she wanted was to be a spectacle in plain view of the main street, but he didn’t listen.
Cradling her against him, he kept on going with his long hard strides, turning down a quieter street and into the shadows of a building.
She breathed in the scent of lye soap on his shirt and recognized the sharp, sweet straw and the warm, comforting scent of animals—he’d brought her to the livery. Quiet and private, he set her down in the bed of a clean stall. Tufts of hay and straw seemed as luxurious as a new feather tick.
Thank heavens. She gladly lay back in the softness and prayed for the dizziness to fade and for her stomach to stop twisting. She wasn’t about to be sick—not in front of Daniel. There was a rustling and he placed something soft beneath her head. His jacket.
“Just rest quiet. I’ll fetch you some water.”
Then he was gone, and she was alone, listening to the muffled sounds of horses shifting in their stalls and then his footsteps returning.
“Here. Just sip slowly.” He supported her head as he held the dipper steady for her.
The water was cool and clean, and left a cool trail when she swallowed. Her stomach coiled, but she didn’t become sick. She risked another sip.
“I’ll get the doctor.”
“No—” She couldn’t afford it. She didn’t want it. “I’m not ill. I just…it was a shock, I guess.”
“What was?”
“I was counting my chicks before the eggs hatched. That isn’t wise.” She didn’t know what she’d do now.
“Hmm, did you hear from Kol’s relations?” His hand closed over her fist where the parchment was still balled tight.
She still had the letter? “I was so sure he would offer real help. We don’t require much, a corner of his house. The attic, even. Right now I’d settle for a space in his barn.”
“You have no other family? What about you? Sisters? Brothers?”
“No siblings. My brothers died long ago, both of scarlet fever. And my parents died many years ago.” She couldn’t concentrate for the press of his hand on hers offering her comfort and empathy and strength—but only for this moment.
She could shoulder this burden alone, but for an instant, it felt good not to be alone. To feel the hard male warmth of his skin and muscle and bone, and the sense of protection he emanated.
“There’s no one else?”
“Back in Sweden. My mother and father came from there.”
He fell silent. “Then let me see.”
“The letter? No, it’s horrible. He needs Kirk to work for him.”
“And the younger boy? What are you going to do with him?”
“I’m not going to let either one of them work. They’re children. They need to go to school. They need their father.” She needed their father.
Right now Kol would know what to do. He always did. Everything he’d done was always right, or it had seemed that way. He’d always been her center, her strength. Now he was gone, and she had to find her own strength. It was in her, and she would find it.
But it wouldn’t hurt to confide in Daniel. Would it?
“Let me see.” He took the balled-up parchment from her fingers and patiently straightened it out. “Please, read it for me.”
“I had hoped to lease the land to you, or to sell it and keep the acre the house sits on. I’d hoped I could find work, enough to get by on. But there is no work in this town. Shops are closing up. We are not the only family losing their farm.”
He appeared to scan the lines, and his mouth tightened with frustration. “Tell me. What about your youngest?”
“He’s found a place for Hans. The town smithy has room in his home and has offered to teach him his trade, in exchange for his labor. Oh, but he’s a child.” The image of her sweet baby, his face smudged with ash and smoke from the blacksmith’s fires, made her sick.
Fighting the sudden watering of her mouth, she crawled toward the aisle but couldn’t make it any farther. She emptied her stomach, wretch after wretch carving up her throat, leaving her shaken and weak. Daniel Lindsay crouched beside her and held back her hair.
When she was through, he withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket, unfolded it and carefully wiped her lips and chin. “It’s a common fate for children to get room and board in exchange for long days of farm work.”
She shook her head, scattering her soft blond curls that were escaping her hairpins. She looked beautiful—and too young and vulnerable to be a widow. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“I have.” Grim, he closed off his memories of that time. “I don’t recommend that for your boys, Rayna. No child should grow up little better than a slave.”
“No. Not my boys.”
There was the iron in her, not glaring or brash, but silent and strong. An unwelcome twist of emotion wadded up in his chest, cutting off his air, opening his heart. He returned the dipper to the pump, taking his time, but it wasn’t time enough for the fierce ache that went with that tangle of emotions to fade. It grew until his eyes smarted from the pain of it.
No kid deserved a life like what could await Rayna’s boys. Work, work and more work. Hunger and more work. Fear and— No, don’t do it, man. Don’t remember.
He filled the dipper and drank deep. Nothing. He splashed water on his face and the shock of the cold water helped. But there was nothing on this earth that could scratch out the effects of the suffering he’d endured as a boy, and he felt half sick with the thought of Kirk and Hans going through the same thing.
Daniel squeezed his eyes shut against the memories. Kirk was already showing the impressive signs of the good man he was becoming. He didn’t deserve to know what it was like to work fourteen hours in a sun-scorched field with open wounds on his bare back stinging from his own sweat.
To work beyond exhaustion just so he wouldn’t feel the bite of the foreman’s whip—
A distant metallic clatter tore him from his thoughts. From the brief image of cotton fields to the shadowed warmth of the livery stable. Safe, with the dipper at his feet. He didn’t remember dropping it.
He went to retrieve it, the bunch and pull of his muscles as he knelt reminding him of the man he was. When he reached for the dipper, his fingertips were whole and not bloodstained. Not the hands of a cotton picker but that of a man in control of his own life. He gave thanks for that every day.
He gave thanks for it now.
“Daniel?” Rayna was in the aisle, her butter-yellow dress glowing like a gentle spring dawn, hugging her willowy woman’s body.
With her hair tumbled down and falling loose around her face and shoulders, cascading over her breasts to curl at her waist, she was a vision. A rare glimpse of goodness and gentility and kindness so powerful he stood in a daze, unable to tear his gaze away.
No wonder Kol had protected her. Kept her safe from t
he world of cruel, ruthless men. Who would protect her now?
It wasn’t his right or his duty. And he couldn’t figure that a fine lady like Rayna, with her fancy shoes and reticules to match her numerous dresses, would see much in a man like him. One who had no fancy buggy or fine airs. Just a man with a section of land who felt satisfied with how far he’d come in life. And aspired for nothing more.
“Your coat.” She held out the worn garment to him.
He took it and didn’t know what to say.
She apparently did. “It seems as if I’m always returning your coat. I’m obliged to you, Daniel. I would have been mortified if I’d become ill on the street in front of everyone. Thank you for sparing me that.”
“Just afraid you’d fall and get hurt. I didn’t do much.”
“It was everything to me. I—” She was strength and fight, despite the tears filling her eyes. Tears that shimmered but did not fall. “Your kindness matters.”
She gestured again for him to take the coat she’d gathered up, shaken out and folded with care. He couldn’t seem to make his feet move forward and he felt awkward, the simple effort of reaching out to take the garment felt strenuous.
Why did being near her make him want to head in the other direction?
When he wanted to run, he forced his fingers to grasp the collar of his winter coat, hardly aware of the sheepskin lining against his skin as sweat broke out on his brow. For a brief moment he inhaled her sweet, warm, woman scent that made him think of lilacs and spring breezes and lark song. Desire stirred in his blood, for he knew she would smell like that all over. Knew her smooth skin and soft curves were made for a man to caress and to cherish.
Unaware of his thoughts, Rayna lifted her right hand, no longer bandaged, to stroke her loose hair away from her eyes.
Although it wasn’t a seductive movement, it might as well have been for the blood roaring in his ears.
“I need to finish my errands. Good day to you, Daniel.”
She walked away, and it felt to him as if she took all the light with her, leaving him in utter darkness.