One Wish

by Jodi Thomas

  “Why?”

  “I don’t really know. We keep to ourselves. Some of my relatives have been known to trade with outlaws and Apache from time to time, but I can’t think of anyone I’m related to who has spent a night in jail. Rumor is we’re a mixture of Gypsy and Indian blood, but the truth is probably we’re the stray dogs of civilization. Part everything but belonging to nothing.” He thought about it for a moment and added, “Folks don’t tend to trust people who aren’t like them, and the Thompsons are just different.”

  She twisted until she could see the outline of his face. “You saved my life tonight, Samuel. As far as I’m concerned, that makes you a knight of the realm.”

  He smiled. “That would make you a lady fair.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll settle for just being your friend.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, “but it’s been a long time since I’ve been around anyone who’ll talk to me. I may not be good company.”

  In the darkness as he moved through trees and down into a valley, she decided now might be the time to talk about the rules. She had no idea what they were riding into, but if she was to act properly, she had to know what was expected of her. “Samuel, maybe we should talk about how it will be while I’m staying with you. We can set a few ground rules so I won’t get in the way. First, I’d like you to know that I plan to help out and pay my way.”

  “I’ll not take a dime of your money, Maggie, but I could use some help. With the storm coming in I’ll have my hands full the next few days.”

  “Don’t hesitate to ask if you think I can do anything to lighten your load.” She almost giggled thinking of the excitement of doing new things. “I think there are those in town who think it would be most improper if we stay under the same roof without a proper chaperone.”

  “Are you worried about that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then rest easy. We won’t be alone.”

  She took a deep breath and felt his arm tighten slightly as if he feared she might fall off. “I’m not going to fall, Samuel. You don’t have to hold me so tightly.”

  He laughed in her ear. “I kind of like holding you.”

  She patted his hand awkwardly. “I shouldn’t be saying this, but I like having you close also. It’s nice to have a friend.”

  “Same here,” he answered.

  “Then that can be our second rule, Samuel. We’ll be respectful, but comfortable around one another.” She didn’t want him to step away from her when they reached his place. Once at a dance she’d attended while still in school, a boy had said he wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole. She hadn’t known it then, but that seemed the standard for her life. People didn’t come close.

  Collecting her bravery, she added, “I think it would be fine if we touch now and then. Maybe even hug good night. I’m not from a family who ever touched, but I almost died tonight, and I think it might make me feel safer.”

  “You’re such a gift.” He laughed. “I think it would be real nice to have someone to hug good night, even if only for a week.”

  They were both silent as he crossed back and forth through a path she saw no markings for. It occurred to her if she had to leave alone, she might never find her way back to town. Slowly, she relaxed in his arms knowing he’d hold her safe even if she fell asleep. All her life she’d held herself in close check, but no longer. This was Samuel, the boy her mother had thought a saint, the man who’d risked his life for her.

  A half hour later he helped her down. “We’re home,” he said.

  He grabbed a few of her bags with one hand and walked ahead of her along a brick path to a door that looked like it had been built into a wall of stone. A few feet from the door he whispered, “There’s something I haven’t told you. It’s too late to explain now, but promise me you won’t say anything to anyone about what’s in my house.”

  “All right,” she whispered back frightened.

  He laughed. “It’s nothing terrible, but I won’t promise he won’t bite.”

  Without another word, he opened the door.

  Chapter 5

  Maggie stepped into a wide room with a polished brick floor and long beams running twenty feet above her. She’d expected a farmhouse with low ceilings and dirt floors. “How lovely,” she whispered. A huge rock fireplace hugged one corner of the room, its chimney climbing a buckskin-colored wall made of stucco. There was a simple set of stairs running along the opposite wall leading to rooms above. Beneath the stairs was an arched doorway to what looked like a kitchen. Light from the fireplace danced around the room in welcome.

  An old woman, round as a barrel, stepped to the doorway. Her face was scarred, the skin twisted like an ancient root across her throat. In her arms, she held a child dressed in a homespun tunic. “You said you’d be back in one hour,” she said with a patchwork accent that seemed from no country but her own.

  “I was delayed, Nina.”

  “I don’t like walking back down the canyon after dark.” The old woman glared at Maggie. “Next time do your business with your whore in town. Don’t bring her here.”

  Maggie held her breath. No one had ever mistaken her for a soiled dove.

  Samuel dropped her bags and took wide strides to the old woman. “That’s enough, Nina.”

  Maggie wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d slapped her. There was a wildness in the old woman’s eyes as if she wanted to draw anger from all she met before she had time to see pity in their eyes. She glared at Maggie for a moment and then blinked a smile. “My mistake. If this one was a working girl, you couldn’t afford her price.”

  Maggie didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.

  Sam lifted the child from the old woman’s arm. His voice was calm, almost soothing. “You can go, Nina. We both know nothing will attack you on the way home. Even a coyote wouldn’t eat your old flesh. But if you’re so afraid, use the passage.”

  She snorted. “Did you bring my whiskey?”

  “I did.” He pulled the bottle from his pocket. “One pint for one hour. I’ll bring an extra the next trip.”

  The old witch smiled a toothless grin. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your woman?”

  “No,” Sam snapped. “You didn’t see her. Do you understand? No woman was here with me.”

  She shrugged. “Just like I don’t see this baby or that blood all over your shirt. As long as you bring me my whiskey, I’ll hold my tongue and not see a thing.” She turned, pulling her shawl over her head, and walked to the back door. “There’s stew on the stove and corn bread in the skillet. Nice to not meet you, miss.”

  Maggie watched her go. “Is that the woman they call the witch of Hideout Canyon?” Rumors had circulated about her for years. Maggie’s mother used to whisper about her to some of the ladies who came in the store. People said the old witch could make potions and stop a woman from having a baby or keep a cheating husband from wandering. She used to be the only midwife who’d travel out to the ranches. Maggie’s mother had been fascinated by legends and witches.

  “That’s her,” Sam said, but his attention had turned to the child.

  In her letters Maggie’s mom wrote her about the witch. A dozen years ago a fire had run the canyon. Her place had burned to the ground, but the old woman walked out once the ground cooled, her little herd of goats around her. Some said no one could have survived the fire, but she came covered in ashes and moving slowly like black smoke on a still night. Others believed that the witch had already been scarred by a fire in childhood and this one hadn’t touched her. Men even searched the canyon walls, but they found no cave wide enough to keep a woman and a dozen goats away from the fire.

  After that the rumors grew. Some said any baby she delivered would be marked. People avoided her, and she took up the habit of yelling out at folks, calling them terrible names when she walked the roads. In an odd way Maggie felt lucky to have met her . . . pleased to know the legend was real.

  Sam finally turned his at
tention back to her. “She’s no witch, though I don’t think all her mind remains.” He held up the child in his arms. “This is my son, Webster. He’s almost two and growing like a weed.”

  “I thought you said . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to finish. The child obviously hadn’t died.

  “My wife died delivering him. I said he weighed three pounds. The midwife who pulled him out told me he was dead and even if we fought to make him take air, he wouldn’t live more than a few days.”

  Maggie stared at this man she thought she was beginning to understand and realized she didn’t know him at all. He didn’t seem to notice that the child was tugging on his beard.

  Sam grinned and continued talking, though his attention was now on the boy. “I couldn’t do anything to help. The midwife just left him in the pan with the afterbirth while she tried to save my wife. When she ordered me out of the room, I took the pan. I thought he was dead and I ached to hear him cry out. I took him to the sink out by the barn and washed the blood off him, wanting to see my tiny son before I buried him. The cold water must have shocked his system. When he cried, I knew I had to help him fight for life. I picked him up and he grabbed my finger like he didn’t plan to ever let go.”

  Maggie looked at the beautiful, healthy child leaning on Sam’s unharmed shoulder. Sam’s big hand patted him gently on the back as he walked slowly across the room.

  He closed the door. “I’ll put him to bed and get the rest of your things.”

  Maggie waited in the center of the big room as he walked up the stairs. She was almost afraid to touch anything. Not that there was much to touch. A high worktable with leather rigging stretched across it. A stool behind it. One rocker by the fire. One blue army-style blanket folded on the side of the wide hearth.

  The room looked hollow.

  She moved to the archway and peered into the kitchen. A stove, a sink, shelves set high on the wall with cans lined in order. Two hooks near the back door, one with chaps hanging from it and the other with a heavy, well-worn coat. A long table sat in the center of the room with two chairs. One had a pot turned over in the seat.

  Again, Maggie had the feeling the room was hollow. Not lived in. Not a home. The house had enough to be serviceable, but not a home. There was no color, no keepsakes, nothing that told anything about the man and child who lived here, or the woman who’d once been the lady of the house. Maggie wondered if Sam’s wife had put up curtains or covered the table with a cloth, then added flowers. Maybe he’d removed it all to push the sadness of her death aside, but that made no sense—he had the sandy-headed child, who must favor his mother, for the child had none of his father’s dark hair or eyes.

  “He’s asleep.” Sam startled her. “Nina always keeps him up talking to him, probably because no one else will listen to her. Luckily, Web doesn’t understand a word.”

  “How did you keep him alive?” She saw this man before her in a totally different light.

  “I took him to the canyon edge. Old Nina had built another dugout over the ruins of the one that had burned years ago. A few good rains brought back the grass, but the fired trees still stand like headstones around her place. I bought a goat from her and she said she’d keep the baby until I buried my wife. When I got back to the house, Danni’s family had come and taken her body. They blamed me for her death, and her father, who’d beat her all her life, threatened to kill me if I caused any trouble over them taking her home. No one asked about the baby. The midwife had told them it was stillborn.”

  Maggie gulped down a sob.

  Sam moved to the stove and shoved a log in. “I’ve never told anyone about the boy. My wife was fifteen when she crawled to my door and begged me to take her in. She’d been whipped until she couldn’t walk for a month. I doctored her up, and when she did walk, she moved like a shadow about this place. I’d never seen anyone afraid of everything. If we hadn’t married, her father would have taken her back home and continued abusing her until she died.

  “If her father finds out the boy is here, he and his sons will come after Webster.” Sam moved a pot to the stove, then turned to face her. “They’d have to kill me to take my son, and I have no doubt they’d try. Old man Dolton placed no value on girls, but he keeps his two boys close.”

  “Don’t worry, Samuel, I’ll keep your secret.” She moved toward him. “You could have told me earlier. I would have helped. There must be things you need for a baby. I could have helped you order them.”

  “I’ve made do. What I couldn’t make, we did without, but thanks for the offer.”

  She lifted her hands to his shoulders, carefully avoiding the bandage as she hugged him.

  For a moment he was stiff, cold, as if he didn’t know what to do, then he curled into her as if he’d been freezing for years and she’d offered him the first warmth.

  For a long while they just stood there, pressed together so close she could feel his heart pounding against her. He’d been standing so long against the world, she sensed he didn’t know how to let another person in.

  Finally, he pulled away until she could look into his eyes. “Do you think it would be all right if I kissed you, Maggie?”

  She felt her cheeks redden. She nodded, not trusting her voice.

  He touched her lips lightly with his own, then straightened. “I’ve been wanting to do that for almost twenty years.”

  She laughed. “I wish you’d done it before you grew that beard.”

  “I’ll not do it again until the beard is gone.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Chapter 6

  Sam had no idea what to do with Maggie. He’d only had one houseguest, and he’d ended up married to her. In the months Danni was with him she’d never said more than a few sentences to him. He didn’t think he’d have that problem with Maggie.

  He dipped her up a bowl of stew. When they sat down at the table he began eating in silence as always, but she cleared her throat.

  He looked up at her. “Do you need something?”

  She smiled. “Thank you for the meal.”

  He didn’t think it was necessary, but he said, “You’re welcome.”

  “You have a beautiful place here.”

  “Thank you.” He stopped eating and waited for her to pick up her spoon.

  “Did you build it yourself?”

  “No.” He thought maybe she was asking questions while she waited for her stew to cool, so he played along. “When I was twelve I went with my grandfather to take horses down to Fort Worth. He left me for over a year with a man who bred some of the finest horses I’d ever seen. That next summer when my grandfather came back to get me, the man paid me for the year’s work in stock. They were the culls of his herd, but they were still the best horses I’d ever seen. I brought five mares and a stallion back with me.”

  “I’m surprised your parents let your grandfather take you away like that.”

  “My folks died before I had time to remember them, and Gran raised me like a free-range chicken. I remember once when I was five, I decided to stay out until he came looking for me. After two nights and nothing to eat but a few apples, I was so hungry I went home. I don’t think he’d even noticed I’d been missing. Had the same feeling when I came back from Fort Worth.

  “Gran took one look at the horses and told me I could have the canyon land he owned because it wasn’t fit for farming. I was fifteen when I started this place. We built it together over three winters. I’d work for him all summer farming and raising grain, then he’d come over a few days a week all winter and tell me how to construct a house that would stand the winds. He thought I was crazy when I wanted to build the roof high and the doors wide. It took me all one winter to put the rock on the front, but it turned out like I hoped. From the road no one could make out my house from the wall of rock behind it. It’s invisible, kind of like I was, growing up.”

  “I’ll look forward to seeing it in the daylight.” She finally lifted her spoon.

  They were almost
finished when he said, “I’ll bunk in with Web. I do anyway when he’s sick or wakes up in the night. You can have my room.”

  “I hate to put you out.”

  “No trouble,” he lied. He loved his room, or rather the view of the canyon at dawn. Tomorrow she’d wake to that view, and the thought of it made him smile. Even though he’d been married, Danni had never slept in his bed. She’d come to him, then slip away as soon as he was finished. At first he thought she cared for him, but finally he’d decided she’d only wanted a child. As soon as she knew she was pregnant, she told him and never came to his bed again. He’d watched her growing and wanted to touch the place where his child grew, but she never came close.

  Maggie stood and picked up his bowl. “You cooked. I’ll do the dishes.”

  He watched her as she moved about his kitchen, washing up, then exploring. She was as different from Danni as night from day. He cared for Danni, protected her, tried to stay out of her way because he knew she couldn’t stand to be too near, but Maggie was an equal—no, correction, she was so far his better he wasn’t sure how to act. It never occurred to her that he might not want her to explore his world.

  “You’ve a well-stocked kitchen, Samuel,” she announced.

  “I have a root cellar and a smokehouse out back.” Sam felt a sense of pride. Before his grandfather died, he harped on the importance of being self-sufficient. By the time Sam was twenty he either grew all he needed or traded for it among his kin. Once his grandfather was gone, Sam worked from March to September on his ranch and the small plot of land that his grandfather called the farm. As his herd grew, so did barns and shelters in each pasture. From October through February he guarded his land and saw to his horses.

  By the time his son was born, Sam was twenty-four and considered himself settled. He could afford to stay home more to take care of Webster for a few years and allow his herd to grow. It meant less farming and an occasional trip into town, but Sam thought the time with his son was well spent. Nina was the only person alive who knew of the baby. She came by to help out in the summer, trading watching the baby for stores of food. In the winter she traded her time for whiskey. She was dependable, but rarely said more than a few words to him.