by Linda Ford
He clamped his hands on her shoulders to steady her. “Whoa there, girl.”
His warm and firm hands held her like an anchor. His fingers pressed into her shoulders, easing an ache she’d developed while hoeing in the garden and then hammering nails. A scent of warm soil, hard work and strength filled her nostrils and tugged at something deep inside. She fought to right herself—not physically but mentally. When had she ever reacted so strongly to a simple touch? Or the nearness of a man? She certainly hadn’t had these unexpected feelings around Evan.
Evan! Remembering him made her pull back.
Wyatt’s hands dropped to his sides.
She sucked in air to keep from swaying. “Sorry,” she murmured. “Wasn’t paying attention. Truth is, I don’t usually see anyone around when I’m milking.” It was one of the times she could count on solitude.
“Let me guess. No one else wants to share the task.”
She couldn’t decide if he teased or not and wouldn’t look directly at him to gauge. She was finding it much too difficult to think clearly already. “Did you want something?” Of course he did. What other reason would he come to the shed?
“I think you and I need to talk.”
“Yes, we do.”
“Would you like to go for a walk after supper?”
Her thoughts hammered against the inside of her head. It sounded like a courting request, but of course it was only a way for them to talk.
No reason for her to be on edge.
“That will be fine.” She took the buckets of milk and headed for the house. She could walk with a man without her heart racing ahead with possibilities.
* * *
Wyatt knew Cora would demand to know about Lonnie’s reaction. He thought of what he’d say while he and Lonnie tended the horses and built a small fire to fry up the potatoes and the last of the eggs. He hated to always be asking, but he needed more eggs and meat if the Bells could spare some. Lonnie needed to eat better. The boy was as scrawny as a poplar sapling.
“Did you like working on the barn?” Lonnie asked.
Wyatt wasn’t sure what the boy wanted with his unexpected question. “I like building things. Always have.”
“Huh. What have you built?”
“Have you forgotten I built that rocker Ma had?”
“Pa broke it after you went to jail.”
Wyatt glanced both ways out of habit.
Lonnie jerked around and studied the surroundings. “Sooner or later they’re gonna find out.”
“Maybe so, but I don’t intend to tell them.” He turned the conversation back to building.
Lonnie looked interested for about thirty seconds, then his expression soured. “Suppose that’s why Pa broke it? ’Cause you built it?”
“Likely. But I still had the fun of making it and seeing her rock in it.”
Lonnie stared at the fire.
Wyatt waited, hoping he would say something more. When he didn’t, Wyatt returned to Lonnie’s original question. “The Bells have been hospitable to us. Mr. Bell is finding it hard to get around, and the womenfolk shouldn’t be trying to build a barn on their own. So maybe God brought us here to help them.”
“God don’t care where we go or what we do.” Those few words carried a whole world of misery that Wyatt would erase if it was possible, but he knew it wasn’t. He could only pray Lonnie would find his way to trust. Not only trust God but trust people.
“I guess I have to believe otherwise or life looks mighty uninviting.”
Lonnie’s only reply was to sag over his knees.
“Supper’s ready. Hold out your plate.”
Lonnie did so and ate in a distracted way.
Wyatt waited, hoping his brother would open up and say what he was thinking.
Lonnie finally spoke. “Did you see the pigs?”
“Uh-huh.”
“They sure are cute, aren’t they?” Lonnie’s eyes lit with joy in a way Wyatt hadn’t seen in a long time.
“How about we have pigs on our new farm?”
Lonnie nodded, a genuine smile on his face. “I’d like that.”
“Me, too.” If it made his brother smile like that he’d raise a hundred pigs. “I asked Cora to go for a walk with me this evening.”
Lonnie bolted to his feet. “You’re going to court her? What’s gonna happen to me? Nobody will want a young brother tagging along. You ever think of that?”
“You don’t need to worry. In the first place, I don’t think anyone is going to want a jailbird. But even if that wasn’t the case, you and I are brothers. We stick together no matter what.” As an afterthought, he added, “This isn’t courting. Just need to straighten up a few things with her.”
“Like what?”
Wyatt wasn’t about to tell him the whole reason—that Cora had grown curious about Lonnie’s odd behavior. Instead, he said, “What all she needs done so we can earn our keep.”
“Oh.” Lonnie sat down again and nodded, but the fearful look did not leave.
Wyatt squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “If it ever comes to choosing between you and someone else, I promise I’ll choose you.”
Lonnie nodded, but kept his eyes on the dying flames of the fire. “Want me to wash the dishes?”
“We’ll do them together.” He filled the basin with hot water from the fire and Lonnie grabbed a towel. The few dishes were soon done.
“What are you going to do while I see Cora?” Wyatt asked. He must talk to her but didn’t care for leaving Lonnie alone.
“Guess I’ll watch Fanny. Maybe she’ll have her foal tonight.” Worry lined his forehead. “What if she foals while you’re gone? Something might go wrong.”
“I expect she’ll be fine, so don’t worry.”
“But what if—”
“You go up and find Mr. Bell. He’ll know what to do.”
Lonnie rocked his head back and forth.
Wyatt grabbed his chin to stop the movement. “Would you let your choices hurt Fanny and her baby?” He waited as Lonnie considered the question.
“Guess I wouldn’t.”
He released Lonnie’s chin. “I knew you wouldn’t, but kind of figured you needed to know it, too.”
Lonnie snorted but a smile tugged at his lips and Wyatt knew he’d gained a small victory. He almost wished Fanny would foal while he was out walking with Cora so Lonnie would go to Mr. Bell for help. Wouldn’t that be a giant step forward for his brother?
“I’ll see you later.”
Wyatt climbed the hill and leaned against the corner post of the garden fence to wait for Cora. The scent of flowers wafted through the air on a gentle breeze. Birds sang and scolded from the trees and fence lines. Grub wandered over and flopped down at Wyatt’s feet. He scratched behind the dog’s ears and earned a moist lick of Grub’s tongue.
The dog equivalent of thanks.
Wyatt filled his lungs to capacity with the warm, sweet air. If only life could be like this always.
The screen door squawked open and Cora stepped out. She glanced around until she found him. The air between them shimmered with tension. She would demand answers. He must say only enough to satisfy her questions. At all costs, he must protect their secret.
She smiled, and the tightness in his chest eased.
He continued to lounge back as she crossed the yard toward him. All day, as they’d worked on the barn, she had worn a floppy straw hat. Now her head was bare. The sun shone on her hair, making it shine like gold. Each stride she took said she knew who she was. Moreover, she liked who she was and was confident of her place in the world.
He wished he could share that feeling.
As she approached, her smile never faltered. Her eyes said she had purpose.
He knew all
too well what that purpose was. And he meant to delay the moment as long as he could. He pushed away from the fence post that had been his support for the past fifteen minutes and smiled at her. He was glad of her company despite the reason for it.
“Let’s walk,” she said.
His smile deepened. Maybe she wasn’t any more anxious for the moment of truth than he.
He fell in at her side and they made their way to the river and turned to the left to walk along the bank.
“The wildflowers are so bountiful this time of year. I love the summer flowers.” She pointed out a patch of brown-eyed Susans and bluebonnets. “There’s some balsamroot. Ma uses the root to make a tonic and cough medicine.”
Content to let her talk and simply enjoy the evening, he turned toward some flowers. “Does your ma use these for anything?”
She squatted by the patch of flowers, touching the blossoms gently. As she lifted her face to him, a smile filled her eyes. “Yes, she does.” Cora straightened. “Every year, when the brown-eyed Susans—or, as she prefers to call them, black-eyed Susans—are at their best, she fills a jug with the blossoms and puts it in the middle of the table.” She looked into the distance, the soft smile still on her lips. “And she repeats a poem about the black-eyed Susan who was a woman. Her sweet William was sailing away and she feared he would forget her. He said she would be present wherever he went. Her eyes would be seen in the diamonds they found, her breath would be sweeter than any spices and her skin prettier than any ivory. Every beautiful object he saw would remind him of his pretty Susan.” She drew in a slow breath. “It’s a lovely poem.” She shrugged. “Now you’ll think me a romantic, and I’m not.”
“What would be wrong if you were?” She’d certainly sent his mind on a lovely romantic journey. Oh, that he could promise some sweet Susan such fidelity. His heart hurt at the knowledge that the best he could offer any Susan was to protect her from sharing the shame of his past. For, although he’d done nothing wrong, he’d learned people only saw the fact that he’d spent time in jail.
She laughed, a merry little sound. “I’m Cora, the practical sister.” She turned her steps back to the riverbank. “I take care of business.”
“Because you have to or because you want to?”
She stopped dead and turned to face him squarely. “Why, both, of course.”
“You mean your sisters or your ma or pa couldn’t look after business if you didn’t?” He didn’t know why it mattered one way or the other to him, but for some reason it did. Perhaps because he felt as if she was creating a prison for herself—one with no walls or bars or guards except of her own making. And jails, real or otherwise, were not pleasant places.
She shrugged. “I suppose they could, but they don’t have to. Come this way. Shh.” She pressed her finger to her lips as she tiptoed toward a swampy area. “I like watching the baby ducklings.” She plopped down as if prepared to stay awhile.
He sank to the ground beside her. He’d been dreading this walk and the talk that was to accompany it. But sitting by the slough and watching birds was fine with him.
The mother duck had flapped the ducklings into hiding in the reeds at their approach, but as they sat quietly, the little family soon emerged and resumed looking for food.
He realized Cora had shifted her attention from the birds to him and studied him intently. Slowly he brought his gaze to hers. The moment had come, and he drew in a deep, steadying breath.
“I want to know why Lonnie is so afraid,” she said, her voice soft, as if she thought he might react the way Lonnie had.
He’d considered how to answer, had even rehearsed what he’d say, but now it didn’t feel right, so he stared at the water before them and tried to shepherd his thoughts into order.
“The reason he acted like that was because you said not all fathers are like your pa. He knows too well the truth of those words.” Wyatt slowly returned his eyes to her, wanting to see her reaction, assess her response.
Her brown eyes softened and he drew in courage at the thought that she was sympathetic.
“My father beat us regularly.” He recalled so many times being kicked or hit with something—whatever his pa could lay his hands on. One time, the old man had come after him with an ax. It had been one of the few times Wyatt had defended himself.
She touched the back of his hand. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry. Poor Lonnie. No wonder he shrinks back when someone gets too close.”
Wyatt nodded. The pressure of her fingers on his skin unwound a tightness behind his heart. “The worst part was not knowing what Lonnie endured the last year of Pa’s life.”
The movement of her fingers stilled. Slowly she withdrew her hand.
He tried to think what he’d said to make her pull away and look at him as if he’d admitted to some terrible behavior.
“Where were you that you didn’t know?”
He resisted an urge to thump his forehead. He’d opened the door a crack and she meant to walk right through.
“I had to be away.”
“You left him?” Her shock echoed through his head. Every day he’d prayed that Lonnie would be safe. In fact, it was in prison that he’d learned to pray and been forced to trust God, simply because there was nothing else he could do.
“I had no choice,” he murmured.
She shook her head and turned to stare ahead. “I would never abandon my sisters.”
“Sometimes you don’t have any alternative.” Misery edged each word, but she didn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps she didn’t care.
“I can’t imagine any reason strong enough except death.” The look she gave him seemed to point out that he was very much alive, so he couldn’t claim that excuse.
His eyebrows went up. She had laid down a challenge—give me a good reason or face my censure.
He could not give her a good reason. That secret remained locked up for Lonnie’s protection as well as his own.
She jumped to her feet. “I’d better get back before Pa comes looking for me.”
He rose more slowly, aching with disappointment, though why it should be so he would have to reason out at a later date. He only knew he wished their time together could have ended differently. He touched the spot on the back of his hand where her fingers had rubbed.
Then he flung his hands apart. Bad enough to be condemned for supposedly abandoning his brother. Think how much worse it would be if she learned he’d been in jail.
No woman would ever touch him in a gentle, accepting way once the truth was discovered. It hadn’t taken many days of freedom to learn this truth. People crossed the street to avoid him. Fathers and mothers dragged their daughters away as if a mere glance at him would ruin them for life. And discovery was always a possibility no matter how far he and Lonnie went. Nor had he forgotten the threat of one Jimmy Stone. Jimmy knew where they lived. He’d made a point of reminding Wyatt of the fact when Wyatt had got out of prison. Wyatt didn’t doubt the man’s intention to get revenge. He wasn’t even that surprised when he heard a man fitting Jimmy’s description had been asking about him. If Jimmy meant to find him, he would, unless they could outrun him. They had to move on as soon as possible to escape their past.
Wyatt had even considered changing their names but drew a line there. He was Wyatt Williams and he’d live and die with that name.
* * *
Cora steamed away. How could Wyatt have left Lonnie, knowing full well the abuse he would suffer? Had he done it to escape his father’s wrath? He claimed he’d had no choice. She snorted. A person always had a choice. Some chose to fulfill their responsibilities. Some chose to abandon them.
All her life she’d lived with not knowing why their papa, as she always referred to the man who had been their father, had walked away from them. She couldn’t even remember their last name. Not that it matt
ered at all.
What mattered to Cora was that a man had shirked his role as a father. For whatever reason. No doubt he would also say he didn’t have a choice, but she couldn’t believe there was any good reason to abandon three little girls in the middle of the prairie. They would surely have perished if Ma hadn’t been out looking for her medicinal plants and found them.
The twins had quickly responded to her hugs and kisses and the food she’d shared with them from her satchel. Cora had been more guarded. Her papa’s promise to return had sustained her the two days and a night of fear.
Ma had asked a few questions—enough to know Cora’s papa wasn’t coming back.
Agitated by the memories, Cora spun to confront Wyatt, who had followed her. “There is no good reason for abandoning family. Ever.”
“You certainly have very strong opinions about it. But how can you possibly understand? You enjoy your parents’ love and have two sisters to share it with. You simply couldn’t begin to understand.”
“Oh, I understand far better than you think.” She stomped three more paces. She would not blurt out the words on the tip of her tongue, but she knew exactly how it felt to be left behind, and no excuse in this world or the next would be enough. She might just tell him that. She turned again. A hornet flew in her face and she brushed it away. It didn’t leave but stung her on the cheek.
“Ouch.”
Others buzzed around her, a swarm of angry hornets bent on attack. She swatted at them, shook her skirts to discourage them and stepped backward. Her heel caught on a clod of dirt and she fell down hard, smacking her head on the ground.
The hornets buzzed about her, stinging her hands and face.
Wyatt scooped her up and raced for the river. “What are you doing?” She hung on as he jostled her.
They reached the edge of the water and he set her down. “You were standing on their underground nest.” He pushed aside her hair to examine her stings, pulled up her hands to look at the exposed skin. “You were fortunate. Only six stings. Sit here.” He scooped up some river mud and returned to her side. “This is the best way to stop the pain. Close your eyes.”