“They’ve been up here several days, Ursula. I know it hasn’t been two weeks, like Grandma asked of Grandpa, but it has been days.” Six days for Dave and his men. Two for Quill and Ma and their cowhands. One day for Mitch. Jo didn’t want to load Ursula down with details. “And none of them have any illness. So, we won’t get sick from them.”
It hadn’t really been long enough—not by Grandma’s standard—certainly not long enough in Mitch’s case—but Jo didn’t want to debate how long it took for someone to come down with a disease. Surely Grandma was being overly cautious. “And if the Wardens being up here draws outlaws, we won’t have to worry about that until spring. And we’ll have to worry about that in the spring no matter where they sleep while they’re here.”
Ursula flinched and clutched the book tighter.
Jo whispered, “It’s time to be brave, Ursula.”
That earned her a furious glare.
“It’s time to be the Good Samaritan. They aren’t the wolves in sheep’s clothing. They’re real sheep, nice as can be.” Jo wasn’t exactly sure the Wardens were sheep, but sometimes a woman got to talking and her mouth led her in strange directions.
Anyway, better to encourage Ursula to think of them as sheep instead of wolves. Probably best if she thought of them as people, but—Jo shook her head.
Turning to Ma, she said, “Last night’s apple pie was as good as anything I’ve ever eaten. Will you really make us another one?”
“I would love to.” Ma smiled. It touched something in Jo. Something that had been sleeping for a long time. A part of her that had missed a mama she couldn’t even remember, except for a few wispy moments. When Dave had touched her, Jo had realized she thirsted for physical touch. Now she knew she thirsted for a ma, too, and maybe everybody did. Why wouldn’t they? It seemed normal and good to like Ma Warden so much. . . . It wasn’t about temptation, it was about loneliness and love.
Jo gently elbowed Ursula, who seemed to be sitting balanced between yes and no. The elbow knocked her to the yes side.
“You can stay. And I’d like a bite of pie, too. And I’d like to learn to bake one. Maybe we can work to-to-together on it.” Ursula was a loner, even among the three of them. She didn’t do “together” very well. It might be fun to watch her try.
A shout came from the bedroom. Quill, in pain.
“Watch what you’re doing,” Mitch thundered.
“I can’t pack this wound right without it pinching a little.” Ilsa’s voice bit like a rattler. Jo looked at Ursula, who looked back, alarmed. Where had that voice come from in their little fairy princess of a sister?
“Pinching? He about came off the bed.”
“Mitch Warden, you get out here.” Ma had herself a voice, too.
Jo wasn’t sure if she could snap people to attention like Ma or roar like Mitch. But if Ilsa could do it, then Jo could. Although honestly, she hoped no need came up to yell at anyone. She was a peaceful woman.
Then she snuck a look at Ursula, clutching the book Jo now realized she really couldn’t read. A strange notion because she thought she knew how.
And who would tell such a story as a boy crying wolf if not some kind of prophet or even Jesus himself? It was too wise to just be some idle story. Why, there was even a moral at the end about honesty that was right out of the Ten Commandments. Frowning, she listened to Ilsa hiss like some kind of demented rattlesnake. Ma yelled again, and Mitch came out snarling.
Strange, he’d mostly been hugging people up until now. This was an unfortunate side of him.
Ma jabbed a finger at Dave. “You go in and help Ilsa.” Then that sturdy weapon turned to point at Mitch. “You go see what needs doing outside. Unload the supplies we brought. Put our horses up. Do any outside chores, and don’t come back in until you’ve calmed down.”
Then Ma’s bottom lip quivered, and she launched herself into Mitch’s arms again. “I’m sorry. You’ve barely been home a day. I’m sorry to scold. I won’t do it again. You just sit down, and we’ll get you a meal, and—”
“No, now calm down, Ma. I don’t think our doctor lady knows what she’s doing, strange medicines and whatnot. But I don’t know any better, either. I reckon it’s just been a long journey, and I’m overly worried for Pa. I will go put the horses up and get the supplies brought in. I would be mighty pleased if you’d make a pot of coffee.” He’d never removed his coat, so he gave his ma a loud smacking kiss on the cheek, tugged his hat in an odd way, then left.
Jo turned to see tears coursing down Ma’s face. She went to her. “What can I do to help? I don’t want you to cry.”
Ma produced the fussiest looking piece of cloth from the wrist of her sleeve and used it to wipe her eyes, then blew her nose.
“I’m just so happy to see my son. I’ve got this huge joy just packed inside, and it’s coming out in wild ways. Tears and hugs and even temper, I’m afraid. As if a simple smile of happiness just isn’t big enough to express all I feel. Does that make sense?” Ma dabbed at her eyes again.
“Not even the littlest bit of sense, Ma.”
A chuckle escaped with a few more tears. “No, well, it hardly makes sense to me. I’m just fumbling around trying to apologize for all my rudeness, and explain it to you and to myself at the same time.”
Ma tucked the cloth away. “I’ve got control of myself now.”
Mitch came in right then carrying sacks loaded with supplies. One of the cowpokes brought in another. They both left and returned with as much of a load a second time.
“That’s a good start,” Mitch said. “I’ll be in with more later, but I’ve brought most of the food. You can find what you need for a meal.”
He reached for the door and paused. “Jo, do you have chickens to feed and cows to milk, chores like that? I can see to them.”
“Oh yes, that would be fine.” Jo carried a bucket to him in one hand and a bowl for the eggs in another. When she got close she whispered, “I don’t think I should leave Ursula alone until she’s calmed down some.”
Mitch whispered back, “Try to calm both of your sisters down. The one working on Pa is a caution, too.”
Jo quickly explained what Mitch needed to know for the chores, including the hidden cave where the chickens roosted and the side canyon where their cattle grazed, tucked away from view of the cabin.
Dave stepped out of the room where Ilsa tended Quill.
Mitch said, “You shouldn’t leave Ilsa alone with Pa.”
Dave stared at his brother in a mighty confused way, then turned and went back to Quill’s bedside.
The second the door clicked shut with Mitch leaving, Dave came back. “I can’t figure what he didn’t like about the way Ilsa was treating Pa. His wound is tender, but I watched her, and she’s doing it same as usual, and Pa wasn’t fussing. He was embarrassed he let out that one shout.”
Ma rested one hand on his shoulder. “Don’t get on about it, David. I think Mitch is just feeling like he should have been here before. Now that he is, he’s trying to make up for his absence by being overly protective of your father. It’s a shame he scolded Ilsa, but I think his heart is in the right place.”
Ma turned to her cooking and began mixing and chopping, rolling and measuring, with speed and skill.
Jo watched in wonder as Ma turned apples into peeled and sliced curves, then threw things into a bowl and mixed with her hand until she produced a white ball that she put on a floured spot on the table and flattened into a circle, her hands moving so fast Jo couldn’t catch all the details.
Jo noticed Ursula watching, too, but with a slightly less friendly expression. In fact, Ursula looked for all the world like someone had taken her place.
Dave helped Ma, and Jo listened to them visit about simple things like food and the weather and how happy they were to see Mitch.
Jo got the feeling both of them were talking lightly and moving carefully to give Ursula time to calm down and maybe start to believe they meant her no harm.
&nbs
p; Jo wondered if she should press her back to the door to prevent Ursula from making an escape attempt. There was still the window, too, but Jo could only be in one place.
When the Wardens were giving all their attention to the kitchen chores, Jo eased up by Ursula and tugged on her arm. She got Ursula moving and didn’t stop until she’d drawn her into an empty bedroom. Ursula’s own room, where it looked like all three Nordegren sisters would be sleeping tonight.
Jo closed the door, shutting themselves away from the Wardens. Whispering, Jo asked, “Can we read?”
Ursula jerked as if Jo had jabbed her with a pin. She opened her mouth, anger flashing in her eyes, then said . . . nothing. She looked down at the book she held clutched in her arms, she relaxed her hold, then slowly, as if afraid something might jump out at her, she went straight to the story of “The Boy Who Cried Wolf.” There was a drawing at the top of the first page of a wolf, and Jo realized she’d always known which story it was by the picture. All the stories began with a simple drawing.
Staring at the words, Ursula began slowly. “A shepherd boy tended his master’s sheep near a dark forest, not far from—” She clamped her mouth shut and stared at the words. Finally she closed the book with reverent silence and looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. “I can only read it in the exact right order. Your fr-friend is right. I can’t pick out a word on its own and read it. But I know the whole story—isn’t that reading?”
Rather than answer the question, Jo clutched Ursula’s arm. “I know all Grandma said about how dangerous the outside world is.”
Ursula trembled violently. Jo slid an arm across her back and pulled her into a hug. “Think of how much they need help. They don’t even know about this whole other Bible. We can teach them. And Ursula, think of how much they could help us. The food will be so welcome. Mitch is doing the chores for us right now. And what if—” Jo leaned close, to enlist Ursula’s cooperation before any of the Wardens could hear—“what if they could teach us to read?”
Ursula looked up and a single tear rolled down her cheek.
“You know there are long stretches of the big Bible that we pass over. I’d decided it was because they weren’t important. Remember how Grandma would skip whole books? She’d call them history lessons not heavenly lessons, remember? Maybe we shouldn’t be skipping them. They can help us, and we can help them.” Jo leaned closer. “The Wardens are wrong about there being one Good Book. We can teach them more than they can teach us. It’s an act of Christian love to share our other Good Book.”
“B-but how can we share it if we can’t read it, and they can’t read it?” Ursula clamped her lips shut as if she knew she’d just accepted that the Wardens were staying.
Jo’s spirit soared, but she controlled the excitement, instead, frowning down at the open book. “Grandma spoke these Bible stories in English. So even if the Wardens can’t teach us to read this, we can tell them the stories. If they don’t learn what’s in both Good Books, can their souls be saved?”
Ursula looked at the door, looked through the door as if studying the Wardens’ souls.
“We have to help them, Ursula. They are the lions caught in a trap of ignorance. We will be the mice that nibble them loose.”
Ursula reluctantly looked down at the Good Book. “It’s as if God sent them here so we could teach them and they could teach us.” She hugged the book to herself then, and though it trembled, her chin came up and determination flashed in her eyes. “It’s our Christian duty to let them stay.”
Jo threw her arms around her big sister, too pleased to hide it.
“If they become dangerous,” Ursula said sternly, “we have to flee. We have to. I won’t let our family die. Grandma taught me too well.”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to flee at least until spring.” Jo heaved a sigh of relief and said, “So you’re all right if I tell them they can stay?”
Ursula’s mouth turned down into a deep frown, her brows lowered, and creases appeared on her forehead. Everything about her seemed to speak of defeat and fear.
“God didn’t ask the Good Samaritan to give his life.” Jo pushed Ursula to get past her doubts. “But Jesus had to. It’s the Christian thing to do, even if it endangers us. ‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.’”
Ursula’s brow arched and she scowled. “They’re not my friends.”
“‘Love does no ill to his neighbor.’”
“‘A fool is reckless.’”
“‘Let not your heart be troubled.’” Jo could keep this up all day.
“‘A prudent man foreseeth the evil, and hideth himself.’” Ursula could too.
Jo wanted to quit now that Ursula was going to let the Wardens stay and go help Ma. So she pulled out her strongest verse.
“The greatest commandment: ‘Thou shalt love the Lord thy God.’” Jo met Ursula’s gaze. “‘And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.’ The greatest and second greatest, Ursula, no verse you quote can be above these.”
Jo wanted to shake her sister. They weren’t going to die just because they had company come over, for heaven’s sake. But she didn’t want to make any sudden moves around Ursula, not when she’d given her consent, however reluctantly, to letting the Wardens stay.
“Let’s go tell them. And tonight, after the meal, maybe we can try and help them understand about the second Good Book.”
“The poor things,” Ursula whispered.
Nodding, Jo led the way out of the bedroom.
17
Wax waited until he was summoned.
It didn’t suit him to wait on any man. But he wanted his pay from Bludge, and it was gettin’ so he could barely look at his boss. Wax was in no hurry to see him.
He sat in a cabin usually given to the ramrod, the second-in-command after the ranch foreman. But Wax didn’t like sharing, and the ramrod had moved on with the cold weather.
He liked to live in an orderly place. As neat as his waxed beard and moustache. And in a bunkhouse full of cowhands there was always a mess. He also liked privacy to clean his guns and sharpen his knives because he didn’t like anyone knowing where he kept his hideout weapons.
A couple of the guns he wore right out front where anyone could see them. His two Colt Peacemakers, holstered on each hip. His Winchester was always either hanging from a strap over his shoulder or stuck in his saddle. But he had Russian two-shot pepperboxes up both sleeves and a Smith and Wesson rimfire six-shot in a special holster under his shirt. The same with the knives. One was in a scabbard on his belt, easy to see, but he had four more concealed here and there.
He cleaned the guns, sharpened the knives, and put all his firepower and cutting power back where they belonged. He even slept with most of them. Then he waited for Bludge to demand a report. He was mighty demanding, as were most men who hired their fighting done.
A hard fist hit the door. “Boss wants to see you.”
The footsteps faded away fast. No one liked to look him in the eye when they were hollering out orders.
No one except Bludge.
Wax judged the rest of the men to be wiser than the boss, and that was never a good thing.
Jo and Ursula came out of the bedroom where they’d been whispering over that strange foreign book.
The sisters made a picture. The three were so different from each other. Jo was the prettiest with pale yellow hair and eyes so light blue they were almost gray. Those eyes flashed like fire when she was aiming and shooting with that bow and arrow. Jo was a little thing with fine bones.
Next to her, Ursula had hair more white than yellow, but Ursula was a good five or six inches taller. And she was a full-grown woman with generous curves and visible strength in her arms. As different as two blue-eyed blondes could be.
Ilsa wasn’t beside them, but she wasn’t a woman to be forgotten. She was an inch or so shorter than Jo, and so dainty she looked like she might be able to fly. Masses of dar
k hair and bright blue eyes full of mystery and dreams. But when it came to doctoring, Ilsa was confident and quick. All that mystery faded to knowledge and practical thoughts.
Of the three, Ursula was by far the most hostile. Right now, trouble flashed in her eyes. Dave saw only two ways for this to end. Either she left or his whole family did. He hunted around in his brain for something to say to Ursula to pick a third way and all stay together.
He figured he would’ve had less trouble reasoning with fractious longhorns.
What could he say? What would make her accept them and trust them? Well, trust them might be a little much to ask. But what could they say that’d keep everyone inside out of the cold?
Be honest? Ask about the reason for her fears? Talk of things . . . like . . . his pa taking a bullet to the belly? An oncoming snowstorm that would trap her with strangers for months? Ask her what in the world made her think there were two Bibles?
Nope, honesty was a bad plan, nothing in the truth to make her calm down.
“Ursula, we brought flour with us. And Ma’s making bread. What do you use to make bread if you don’t have flour?” That’s it. Ask her about her life. She could teach them.
Ursula’s eyes narrowed, and she clutched that strange book tighter. What was in it? He’d have to let one of the Nordegren women read it later, and by read he meant quote it from memory while turning the pages. Could they possibly have the whole Bible memorized in the same way? It wasn’t possible that they could read English but not realize this book wasn’t in English.
“I know some healing. Near as much as Ilsa. Let me go see how your father abides.” Ursula headed straight for Ilsa’s room, now remade into a hospital.
Dave opened his mouth, then closed it and watched Ursula walk right past him without once glancing his way. She went into Pa’s room with Ilsa, and he knew a little of how Mitch felt with a strange woman tending Pa. He didn’t put any crazy behavior past Ursula, but he thought Ilsa would protect her patient, so he let Ursula go.
The minute she was out of sight, he rushed to Jo’s side and whispered, “What did you say in there?”
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