Claiming Mariah

by Pam Hillman

  Instead of heading directly into town, Slade led the way along the creek bank. They rode slowly, enjoying a cool breeze that had sprung up. About a mile from the ranch, they came to a grove of trees clustered on the banks of the creek.

  “This has always been my favorite spot,” Mariah said. “We used to have picnics here all the time. If Amanda and I didn’t show up for supper, Grandma would know where to find us.”

  “You don’t come here anymore?”

  “Not very often.” She let her gaze rove across the tranquil scene. “It’s just not the same.”

  Soon the three of them arrived in town, Jim talking nonstop. They rode down Wisdom’s main street as most of the shops closed up for the day. Mariah waved at Mr. Benedict and Mr. Tisdale as they locked up the bank. They passed the church, crossed the railroad tracks, and headed out of town.

  Jim pointed toward a run-down shack in a grove of cottonwoods. “That’s where I live, Miss Mariah.”

  Mariah stared in dismay at the weathered building—the chimney that tilted dangerously to one side, the broken windows, and the torn and patched roof. “That’s the old Hancock place, Jim. Nobody’s lived there in years.”

  “I know.” He grinned. “But Mr. Tisdale at the bank said we could live here until Pa got back on his feet. And he ain’t charging us rent either.”

  “I would hope not,” Mariah said under her breath.

  “It’s better than living in the tent,” Jim prattled on. “The tent leaks awful bad when it rains.”

  She gazed at the broken-down home, thankful for Mr. Tisdale’s generous heart. “You’re right, Jim. It is better.”

  Jim slid off Slade’s horse. “I’ll tell Ma you’re here.” He raced toward the house.

  Mariah looked at Slade. A muscle jumped in his cheek, and she wondered if his own poverty-stricken childhood came to mind.

  “I can’t believe they’re living in this . . . this—” she searched for the right word—“hovel.”

  Slade’s mouth thinned into a harsh line.

  “I wish you’d told me.” She sighed. “I could have done something. More.”

  “You’re doing all you can for now.” He turned toward her, raw pain reflected in the depths of his blue eyes. “They’re proud. Too much and they’d refuse to let Jim come out to the ranch. Then you couldn’t help at all.”

  She nodded. What else could they do? Help me, Lord, she prayed silently. Help me to say the right thing. To do the right thing. I don’t want to offend Jim’s parents, but they need more help than I’m giving.

  Jim came out on the porch followed by his mother. His sister clung shyly to her mother’s skirts, watching them curiously. In spite of the poor condition of the house, the woman’s patched dress was clean. It pleased Mariah to see that Becky wore one of the dresses she’d sent with Jim.

  “Ma, this is Miss Mariah. She’s the one who made Becky’s dress.” Jim grinned from ear to ear, proud to introduce them to his mother.

  Mariah couldn’t help but stare. The tired-looking young woman with wheat-colored hair didn’t seem old enough to be Jim’s mother. Mariah smiled. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Denton.”

  “Miss Malone.” Her eyes darted toward the door of the cabin.

  “Please, call me Mariah.”

  “I’m—Elizabeth. Thank you for the clothes and potatoes,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She placed a hand on Jim’s shoulder, a look of love softening her features. “I’m right proud of Jimmy.”

  “He’s a hard worker, ma’am,” Slade said.

  Mariah bit back a smile as Jim squirmed with pleasure. “He’s been a big help out at the ranch.” Her gaze swung to Becky. “I’d love for you and Becky to visit sometime. My grandmother doesn’t get out much nowadays and loves having company stop by.”

  Jim’s mother shook her head. “Thank you, but I couldn’t—”

  A dark-haired man lurched into the doorway of the cabin, and it seemed as if Jim, his mother, and his sister all shrank within themselves at the sight of him.

  “What’s all this yakking about?” he asked, his unkempt beard and hair sticking out in every direction. His stained undershirt appeared to have been slept in for several days. About the same age as Slade, he might have been handsome once, but hard drinking had taken its toll.

  “James, Mr. Donovan brought Jim home.”

  The man scowled. “Get in the house.”

  Mariah watched helplessly as Jim’s mother hurried the children inside, leaving her husband weaving drunkenly on the porch. He fixed his bleary gaze on Slade. “You treatin’ my boy right, Donovan? He’s doin’ a man’s job, ain’t he?” he asked. “I’ll take a switch to ’im if he ain’t.”

  Mariah gritted her teeth. He wouldn’t work but expected Jim to do a man’s job. She wanted to tell the lazy drunkard what she thought of him, but a sharp glance from Slade warned her to hold her tongue. She hid her clenched fists in her skirts.

  “He’s doing a good job, Denton,” Slade answered, his voice calm and even. He didn’t sound the least bit angry. “He’s turning out to be a hard worker.”

  “Ain’t it about time he got paid?” The man rubbed his hands expectantly down his filthy undershirt and licked his lips. “He’s been working out there at that ranch over a week now.”

  “I expect you’re right. I don’t have much money on me, though.” Slade considered him. “Tell you what. How about I give you a small portion of his wages? I’ll make up the rest later, along with vegetables from the garden out at the ranch.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. Finally he reached up and scratched his chin through his scraggly beard. “How much you going to give me now?”

  Mariah balled her fists more tightly.

  “A nickel,” Slade drawled.

  Denton grunted. “T’ain’t much.”

  “It’s all I’ve got on me.”

  “All right. I reckon that’ll have to do.” He held out a grubby hand.

  Slade rode forward and handed him the money. “I’ll be here in the morning to pick up Jim.”

  He reined his horse around. The moment they were out of sight, Mariah hissed, “You know good and well he’s not going to keep that money. He’ll drink it up before morning.”

  “I know.”

  “Why did you give it to him, then?”

  “If I had refused to give him a bit of money, he wouldn’t let Jim come back. And worse, he would take his anger out on his wife and kids.”

  Fear clutched at Mariah. “You don’t think he’d hurt them, do you?”

  Slade pulled his horse to a stop. Mariah did the same, scanning his face.

  “You saw how scared they were. He won’t hesitate to hit them if he thinks it will make him feel better.” He pushed his hat back and rested his forearm on the pommel of his saddle, his face level with hers. “But he won’t feel any better. Not until he can control his drinking. He’s too much of a coward to take care of his family and too ashamed of himself to let someone else do it. Of course, he won’t admit that. He hides behind the fact that he’s the head of the house, and they’ve got to do exactly as he says.”

  “Isn’t there something we can do?”

  “Not much more than we already are.” He straightened. “Denton’s in control here. He’s calling the shots.”

  “We can pray.” Mariah blinked away the sting of hot tears.

  Slade’s jaw hardened, and he gathered up his reins. “You can pray. Pray that Jim’s pa will let him keep working. Pray that his guilty conscience won’t get in the way of putting food on the table for his family. Pray that he doesn’t decide to up and move before Mrs. Denton can save up a nest egg for herself and the children. You can pray, Mariah, but it won’t do any good.” He jerked his head back toward the run-down shack hidden in the grove of trees. “His kind don’t respond to prayers.”

  “That’s not true, Slade. They will if we don’t give up on them.” She could see the pain in his eyes, hear it in his voice.

  “Pa didn’
t.” His gaze bored into hers. “Ma prayed for him for years. He laughed at her. If he found out she’d taken us to church, he’d beat the living daylights out of her—and us, too.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way.”

  Suddenly the fight went out of him, and he shook his head. “I’m telling you it won’t do any good, but you just keep on praying. In the end, it won’t make any difference.”

  Sorrow etched itself across Mariah’s heart. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and pondering the situation with the Dentons. Surely she could do something more for Jim’s family.

  Imagine being afraid of your own father! The one man who should love and protect you. She couldn’t make sense of it. She wanted to fix the problem but didn’t know how.

  What would she have done if her father had been like James Denton or Slade’s father? Even though her mother had died when she was small, her father and grandmother had showered her and Amanda with love and affection all their lives. She’d never been afraid of either one of them.

  “Lord,” she whispered, “please take care of Elizabeth Denton and her children. Protect them and provide for them. And help James Denton to see the error of his ways. His family needs him. They need a godly man to be a husband and father. Help that family, Lord, in Jesus’ name I pray. . . . And, Lord, help Slade see that people can change. Just because his father never turned his life over to You doesn’t mean Jim’s father won’t. I’m trusting in You, Lord. Amen.”

  She’d ask Reverend Winston and Sally to spend extra time in prayer for the Dentons. And she’d enlist her grandmother’s prayers as well. Where two or three agreed, God would intervene.

  Rolling over, she stared out the window. She stilled as she heard the creak of the barn door. Frowning, she threw back the covers and padded to the window. Light shone through the cracks in the barn door.

  Dusty. Buck had said she’d probably foal tonight. A bubble of excitement tingled through her. Without bothering to light a lantern, she found a heavy wrap and headed toward the barn, braiding her hair as she went. She eased the door open, its creak announcing her arrival. She spotted Slade leaning over Dusty’s stall. He glanced around, an eyebrow quirked in question.

  “Dusty?”

  He nodded.

  Easing inside, Mariah moved closer. “How’s she doing?” She spoke softly, careful not to disturb the mare.

  Slade left his position and eased over to where she stood. Resting his hands on his hips, he glanced back at the stall as Dusty whinnied. “She’s getting there. Buck says we should have a foal before long.”

  “Wonderful. Jim’s going to be so happy when he gets here in the morning.” She gestured toward the barn door. “I’ll make some coffee.”

  Slade squinted at her. “We didn’t wake you, did we?”

  “No. I wasn’t asleep.” She chewed her lip. “Worrying and praying about the Dentons.”

  Surprise registered on his face, but he only nodded.

  A scrambling and a heave came from the stall. Slade turned away. “What’s she doing?”

  “Just standing up. Restless.” Buck’s calm, soothing voice wafted toward them. “Easy, girl. It’s all right.”

  Mariah touched his arm. “I’ll be back soon with that coffee.”

  He winked at her, and her stomach flipped. “Thanks. Looks like we’re going to need it.”

  Slade watched as Mariah lifted the voluminous folds of her heavy wrapper and picked her way across the open space between the barn and the house. She hadn’t bothered to lace up her boots, and they flopped around her ankles. She teetered, one boot almost slipping off, before she regained her footing.

  He grinned, thinking of the package stored under his bunk. He’d meant to give it to her tonight after supper, but he’d lost track of time, and then Buck had called him to the barn to see about Dusty.

  He’d take care of it tomorrow for sure—before he lost his nerve.

  She stepped onto the porch, her long braid swinging across her back. He wondered what her hair would look like unbound and cascading over her shoulders, how it would feel to run his fingers through the thick, lustrous mass.

  He jerked his mind back to the task at hand as she slipped through the kitchen door. Mariah wasn’t that kind of woman. He’d never see her that way unless they were married. And with their past, it was unlikely that would ever happen.

  Buck eased out of the stall. “Just giving her a little room. She’ll settle down and have this foal a lot faster if we don’t crowd her.” He glanced at Slade. “What did Mariah want?”

  “She saw us out here and figured out what we were doing. She’s gone to make coffee.”

  “Sounds good. I could sure use a cup.”

  They waited in companionable silence. Dusty sniffed at some hay and started nibbling at it like having a foal was the last thing on her mind. In a few minutes, she grew restless again. She groaned and lay back down, stretching out on her side. When the contraction passed, she sat up but didn’t try to stand again.

  Slade sat on an old split-bottom chair and tilted it back against a post. Buck crouched down near the stall where he could keep watch on the mare.

  Slade’s thoughts went back to earlier in the day when he and Mariah had taken Jim home. “I’ve been thinking about offering James Denton a job. You think he’d take it?”

  Buck squinted at him in the dim light cast by the three lanterns they’d lit. “Don’t know. But it’s worth a shot.”

  The mare whinnied and Buck stood, peering into the stall. “Her pains are coming a lot closer than before. It shouldn’t be long now.”

  Dusty had stood, turned, and endured another round of pains by the time Mariah returned. She carried several mugs and a pot of coffee wrapped in a towel. Doling out the cups, she poured.

  The barn door opened and Duncan stepped inside. “How’s it going?”

  Buck shook his head, a worried frown creasing his forehead. Dusty lay on her side, breathing heavily. “Not good. She should have had that foal long before now. Something’s not right. If she doesn’t give birth soon, we might have to help her.”

  Slade had already come to that conclusion but had decided to let Buck make the call. His brother had a sixth sense about these things.

  “Oh no. I hope the foal’s all right.” Mariah flicked her nail against her teeth.

  Dusty had another contraction. Buck set his mug on a post and went back to the stall. “Duncan, bring a couple of ropes and hobble her. Mariah, hold the lantern.”

  Duncan grabbed the ropes and did as Buck instructed. Then he held on to the halter and tried to keep the horse calm. They waited in tense silence as Buck examined the mare. She strained as another pain hit. Finally Buck glanced up at Slade. “I’ve got one foreleg. It’s in position, but from the feel of it, it’s big.”

  Dusty heaved as if to sit up, and Slade patted her neck, ready to help Duncan hold her down, or Buck if he needed more muscle for the pull. “Easy, girl. Easy.” She lay back, panting, her nostrils quivering, eyes wide and frightened.

  Buck worked to secure a rope around the foal’s front feet, stopping each time Dusty had a contraction. “Okay, I’ve got it.”

  On the next pain, Buck pulled and the mare strained. Sweat drenched Buck, running down his forehead. He swiped it away.

  “Any progress? Can you see the hooves?” Slade asked.

  “Not yet,” Buck panted. “It’s stuck in there. There she goes again.”

  “Lord, help us.”

  A coughing spell hit Buck, and Slade scrambled to help. His brother wasn’t strong enough to pull the foal by himself, and if they didn’t do something, they’d lose both animals. “Here, let me.”

  “Oh, Lord, save this baby.” Mariah’s whispered prayers floated over the rustling, heaving tension.

  Buck handed the ropes to Slade as Dusty groaned and gave a mighty push. Slade braced his boot against the mare and pulled, hoping the foal would ease out of the birth canal. He felt a slight movement, but not the easy one
he expected.

  Dusty relaxed and Slade let the ropes hang slack, gathering his strength for the next contraction.

  “Please, Jesus.”

  “Get ready,” Buck muttered, hands on the mare’s distended stomach.

  As soon as the mare groaned and pushed, Slade took a deep breath and pulled with the contraction. Finally he felt the foal start to move. He kept pulling, sweat dripping from the end of his nose.

  “Is it coming?” Mariah asked.

  Slade gritted his teeth. “Yes.”

  “Praise the Lord!”

  Slade didn’t slack up. With the foal halfway out of the birth canal, it was now or never. Buck joined him and the two of them gave one more heave, and the foal slipped right on out.

  For a moment, no one moved, and the sounds of heavy breathing filled the barn. Buck cleared the foal’s nostrils, and it lay prostrate for a moment, then shuddered, taking a deep breath.

  Mariah broke the silence, her voice trembling. “It’s breathing. Thank You, Jesus.”

  “What a beauty. No telling what he weighs.” Duncan sounded relieved. They all were.

  Dusty heaved herself up into a sitting position, and Buck started pulling the ropes off the colt. “Untie her. I think she can take it from here.”

  They stepped out of the stall as Dusty stood on trembling legs and turned to her baby. Nature took over, and she started taking care of business as if she’d done it a hundred times before.

  Mariah gathered up the coffeepot and the mugs and stepped outside, Slade at her side. Buck and Duncan stayed inside, admiring the healthy colt.

  As they breathed in the fresh night air, Mariah sighed. “I’m glad that’s over. For a minute there, I thought we were going to lose both of them.”

  “We came close.” Slade studied her. “You’ll pray for just about anything, won’t you?”

  She appeared startled. “What do you mean?”

  He jerked his head toward the barn. “You were praying to beat sixty in there.”

  “What else could I do? Just stand there and hope the foal would survive? The Bible says God sees the sparrows when they fall. I think He’d be concerned about a mare and her foal.”