She gave him a loving smile. “Oh, honey, you were born before your sister. Such a strong, strapping lad you were. And hungry from your first few minutes.”
Those details—sparse though they were—matched what Simeon had said. Except Mum spoke as though she’d been the one giving birth, didn’t she? Maybe she hadn’t said that specifically. Perhaps he should come directly to the point and ask her.
Steeling his nerves, he worked to find the right words. “Mum, did you give birth to Nora and me, or did our blood parents give us to you and Pa to raise us?”
That confused look came again. Not so much like she was shocked that he’d ask such a thing, but more like she was trying to remember. Had she perpetrated the lie for so many years, she’d forgotten the truth?
At last, her face shifted into another loving smile. “I prayed and prayed for you. And I was so thankful God gave me my little boy and girl. But my Nora...” Her hands slipped to clutch each other in her lap. “My Nora’s in heaven. I had so little time with her.” She began rocking in her seat, red filling her eyes.
He’d not meant to upset her so. Rising, he moved closer and patted her shoulder. “It’s all right, Mum. Nora’s in heaven, but I’m here. Everything’s all right.” He hated feeling so incapable when a woman he loved cried.
She patted his hand as she sniffed. “You’re a good son.”
He should probably get her in bed before he did or said something else wrong. Maybe she’d be able to answer more questions later, but he’d push no further this night.
SIMEON GRANT THUMBED through the letters again as he knelt by his pack the next morning. Why had he waited so long before coming to find his son? If he’d come just a few years earlier, both Quinn and Ellen would have been alive and in their right minds, able to explain to Reuben the truth of his past.
But would they have?
He’d agreed when he rode away thirty years ago that the Scotts could raise his twins as their own. He hadn’t realized at the time that they wouldn’t even tell the babes they’d been born to other parents. But maybe that had been best for the children.
Best for Reuben anyway, because tiny, sweet Nora hadn’t lived past her first six months.
That old familiar ache tightened his chest again. After he gave Reuben these letters, he’d go visit his first wife’s grave. And maybe their baby daughter had been buried alongside the mother who nurtured her in the womb and gave her life with her own last breaths.
He swallowed down the sting of emotion in his throat, then pushed to his feet.
The women had all gone berry picking or something like that. It appeared Reuben had found a good wife in Cathleen, and the love between them was easy to see. Lord, let him be as happy as Emma and I have been.
Even with the challenges of their remote life, even with the two babies they’d lost in the early years, Emma was God’s gift to him. His second chance, standing by his side as they’d built their home and family.
He pushed to his feet and headed toward the door. The thwack of an ax rang through the clearing, coming from the woods to the right of the house. He strode toward the sound and, as he made his way through the trees, saw Reuben’s form hacking at the base of a massive trunk.
Mayhap he was trying to vent his frustrations on the poor elm. Should Simeon allow him time alone?
He would just deliver the letters, then leave Reuben to sort things on his own. When his son was ready, he’d be around to talk. Hopefully that would be soon and they could stay on in Reuben’s home to get to know him better. But if Simeon, Emma, and Hannah had to take up residence for a while in the nearby town of Butte, they’d do it. Making things right with Reuben—restoring some kind of relationship between them—was more important than he could put words to.
Simeon let his tread ring loudly through the woods so he didn’t startle Reuben. His son didn’t stop swinging mighty strokes into the trunk, even when Simeon stood near him.
At last, Reuben lowered the tool, his breath coming in and out with a hard rhythm. He didn’t look at Simeon, just kept his gaze on the tree. “I’ve been wanting to pipe water in from the creek so Cathleen doesn’t have to haul buckets. I’d like to order metal pipes, but it’d cost a small fortune to get them up here. Elm will have to do.”
An ambitious project, to be sure, boring out the center of trees this long. Simeon scanned the area. “Do you have enough trees to reach?”
Reuben pointed at the felled trunk. “If I could find one more elm this length, I think I’d have enough to reach. Unfortunately, the only other elm I’ve found isn’t near as tall.”
Simeon raised his eyes to the heavens, taking in the expansive height of this tree. His son had chosen well. Then he scanned the woods around them. “I’ve bored hemlock to use as pipe before. Do you have any of those around here?”
Reuben cocked his chin. “I don’t know it.”
“It’s an evergreen. Needles look like a fir, but the tree’s much taller and scrawnier. I’ve seen it mostly in the lowlands though.” He propped his hands on his hips as he scanned the area once more. “I don’t see any around here.”
Reuben hoisted the ax again. “Guess I’ll have to keep looking for another elm.”
Simeon reached for the tool. “Let me have a few swings.”
His son didn’t hand it over but finally looked at him. In fact, he looked him up and down, as though assessing whether or not such an old fellow was capable of the work.
Simeon raised his brows. “I’m not so old I can’t swing an ax.”
Reuben dipped his chin, handing over the implement like an offered gift. “Have at it.”
As he swung the blade into the tree’s wedge, the effort felt good through his travel-worn muscles. Robert and William, his younger sons, handled most of the firewood chopping these days, but his body hadn’t forgotten how to swing a finely sharpened ax.
After a while, Simeon handed the ax back to Reuben while he caught his breath. They worked back and forth like that until they’d felled the tree and cut off most of the branches.
Laboring alongside his son—alongside Reuben, at long last—was a special event he’d thought he’d never experience. Yet still, there was an underlying tension, a strain that seemed to drive the man hard.
Cathleen brought plates of her fresh biscuits and roasted meat partway through their work, but Reuben scarcely stopped long enough to swallow down the food.
When he’d cut the last of the branches away from the elm’s scarred length, Reuben finally lowered the ax and leaned against it, gazing around. Simeon was moving branches into a pile, separating them by size according to how each would be used. He stopped to rest when Reuben did, mostly so he could hear anything his son would say.
“I suppose I need to get started on evening chores.” Reuben picked up the ax and hoisted it onto his shoulder. “I’ll cut up the branches another day.”
Simeon nodded. He could come back tomorrow and work on them if Reuben didn’t need him for anything else. He followed his son back through the trees toward the cabin.
When they reached the clearing, Reuben slowed enough for him to come alongside.
Simeon took the opportunity to talk like he’d been wanting to. “I think Cathleen said you’ve a herd of cattle, too?”
Reuben nodded. “Not as many anymore. Almost thirty head.”
“Sounds like us. About thirty cattle and a handful of horses. That’s a nice colt you have in the corral. Mama and baby both.”
Reuben’s gaze lifted toward the barn and fence they were approaching. “Tashunka always throws good foals. She’s worth her weight in gold.”
Tashunka. Sounded like an Indian word, maybe Apsaalooke. Did his son have friends among the Indians? There was so much he didn’t know about this man. But, though he was eager to question him, better to take things slowly. He had a feeling if he pushed Reuben with anything more than surface enquiries, he’d back away. His son would have to open up when he was ready.
Simeon could
only pray he’d still be around when that happened.
Chapter Four
Something doesn’t feel right. Are these my instincts, or only my inability to adjust to life as a civilian?
~ Nathaniel
As Nathaniel rode into the Scotts’ farmyard the next morning, he scanned the clearing for signs he wasn’t too early. Several horses milled in the corral, so hopefully that meant the morning chores were finished.
Reuben had offered to ride with him to look at their neighbor’s cattle today, but in the hurry of his other unexpected visitors, they’d not set a time. If the man wasn’t ready, Nathaniel would find a way to make himself helpful around the place.
As he neared the porch, the cabin door opened and a woman stepped out. Not Mrs. Scott.
No, this was the younger woman who’d arrived as he was leaving two days before. She was carrying a bucket toward the side edge of the porch until she caught sight of him and froze.
Recognition took only a couple of seconds to dawn on her face, for which he was grateful. He certainly didn’t want to frighten her.
He tipped his hat as he reined in his horse. “Hello, ma’am. Is Mr. Scott around?”
She nodded. “Of course.” With two quick steps she reached the edge of the porch and dumped the water from her pail onto the ground below, then turned and strode back to the door. Just before she moved back inside, she turned a smile on him that lit her pretty face so it almost stole his breath. Then she turned and disappeared in the house.
He eased out a long exhale. Settle yourself, Peak. The last thing you need right now is a woman. As he dismounted, he pictured a herd of cattle spread across the grassy bottom stretch of his land. Horses scattered around the bovine, with long-legged foals running and bouncing between the mares.
That scene was exactly what he had to focus on. No distractions, just a long awaited dream that was finally on the verge of coming to life. He no longer had to bide his time for his term of service in the cavalry to end. All that was required now was solid hard work.
Reuben Scott stepped out from the cabin as he was tying his horse to the hitching rail.
Nathaniel offered a salute. “I know we’d said today, but we didn’t agree on a time. If I’m too early, just put me to work.” As he offered a smile to soften the words, memory of the pretty lady who’d just been on the porch slipped in. Maybe Reuben was too busy with his visitors.
He quickly added, “Or if this is a bad time, I can go on my own.” He’d sure rather have this new friend along with him, but he could stand on his own two feet as well as the next man.
Reuben glanced toward the barn. “Today works. Let me just throw hay out for the horses and saddle my own.” The man turned back toward the cabin door, then paused. “You, uh, wanna come in for coffee? The cabin’s a bit crowded just now, but one more body won’t make a difference if you don’t mind.”
Nathaniel shifted from one foot to the other. He wasn’t particularly fond of a room full of people himself, as much as he’d like to lay eyes on that pretty lady a final time.
Better he stay put, though.
“’Preciate the offer, but I’m filled up for now.” Even as he spoke the words, the smooth taste of Mrs. Scott’s coffee wove its way through his memory. He could taste it, even after two days.
Reuben nodded, then disappeared inside. He stayed in there longer than Nathaniel would have expected. Maybe the man was finishing his morning meal? Nathaniel really should have waited another half hour at least before coming.
Finally the door opened again and Reuben strode out. Behind him came another man, the same older fellow from the other day. Hadn’t he introduced himself as Grant? Another body stepped through the opening—the younger woman.
Nathaniel’s mouth dried up at the sight of her.
Reuben motioned to the man. “This is Simeon Grant and his daughter, Miss Hannah Grant. Is it all right if they ride along? If you want to move any of the stock today, they can help.”
The woman wanted to talk animals with the neighbors? And help drive said animals back? Could she even do that in a sidesaddle? He scrambled for an appropriate response. “Oh, um...sure.” He should have settled for a nod. His mind and mouth were clearly disconnected.
She gave him a half-smile that didn’t meet her eyes, nothing like the angelic look from when he’d seen her on the porch. Maybe this was best. If he’d be spending a good part of the day in her company, he’d better steel himself against her charms.
He followed the group toward the barn and fed hay to the animals as Reuben directed while the others saddled their horses. Miss Grant managed her own animal, without even an offer of help from her father. Interesting.
Before long, they were on the trail. He started off trying to make small talk with Reuben and Mr. Grant, something he wasn’t very good at. But neither seemed especially talkative. Actually, it seemed like Grant might have conversed easily, but every time the man spoke, his glance slid to Reuben as though he wasn’t sure how much he should say.
What exactly was going on with those two? Nathaniel almost turned his conversation to Miss Grant. She didn’t ride sidesaddle as he’d expected, but sat astride as though she’d spent every day of her life on horseback. Focusing his attentions on her would simply get him into trouble with himself. Best he relax into the silence and enjoy the ride.
O’Hennessey turned out to be a pleasant fellow. The lines on his face proved he was getting up there in age, but he still moved like a man accustomed to hard work. Lord willing, Nathaniel would be that capable when he’d doubled his twenty-five years.
They rode down the mountain to give Nathaniel a chance to take a look at the stock. O’Hennessey said he was happy to part with a dozen or so cattle. As long as the animals seemed healthy and young enough to keep calving, Nathaniel would probably take them all. Wasn’t a cow a cow? Horses, though, were another animal altogether.
He knew exactly what qualities he wanted in the horses he raised. Strong animals with hardy hooves, horses capable of riding long distances over rough terrain. Long-legged and muscled, too, so they could carry cavalry troopers of all shapes and sizes.
The animals he and his mother had raised for the cavalry back in Virginia had always contained a strong portion of Thoroughbred, for both height and speed. But when he came west, he noticed the horses weren’t quite as tall but possessed a wiry endurance that served him and the other troopers well on many campaigns.
Sergeant Glover said many of them were native to this land, sometimes Indian ponies. He’d love to find some of these animals and cross them with the Thoroughbred stock he knew and loved. The horses that resulted would be perfectly suited for cavalry life, and would bring him a pretty penny, no doubt.
The sound of lowing cattle drifted to them before they rounded the trees to reveal a clearing of thick grass. A herd of at least fifty gleaming animals grazed in the area, their coloring a diverse collection of brown, black, or white. At least a third of them were calves, and most of the youngsters were a rich reddish brown. A reflection of the bull, no doubt.
O’Hennessey was doing well for himself.
They all reined to a stop, and Nathaniel couldn’t help but glance sideways at Miss Grant. Loose tendrils of her pretty auburn hair played around her face, and her skin wore a healthy glow from the sun and the ride.
In truth, she was captivating, and he was quickly becoming much more interested in her than livestock. He needed to keep his wits about him.
“If there are any bull calves or yearlings you wanna raise to sire your herd, you’re welcome to any of them.” O’Hennessey’s gravelly voice broke through his thoughts, pulling his focus back to the animals, where it ought to be. “If you wanna pick through the females and decide on ten or twelve, I’ll let ya know the price for ’em all.”
Nathaniel nodded, then glanced at Reuben. Did he have good experience knowing which would be the healthiest and most likely to produce strong calves? Simeon Grant looked as if he may have more kno
wledge than any of them. Something about the man bespoke competence.
The older man met his gaze, and the corners of his mouth tipped in an easy smile. “These seem a bit like my herd. Shall we have a closer look?”
HANNAH WATCHED AS MR. Peak, Reuben, and her father rode around the outskirts of the cattle, pointing at some as the rumble of their voices sounded across the clearing. Mr. O’Hennessey had dismounted and was walking among the animals, rubbing heads and murmuring to them. The man who drew her gaze like a compass to true north was Mr. Peak.
He looked younger than Reuben by three or four years, and his manner was so engaging, as if he had a zeal for life that wouldn’t be held down. Maybe that was why he was willing to take on so much, what with starting a ranch in these mountains. Storing up enough hay to feed even a dozen cattle and a few horses would take one man all summer. Surely he planned to hire help.
Did he have a wife somewhere? The thought sent an ache through her chest. Wouldn’t he have said something if he had? At least to Reuben.
Her new brother had only said the man served in the cavalry for four years—a fact which didn’t stand in his favor if he was anything like the Mounted Police stationed at the forts around their ranch. Those men could be hard—even brutal at times—in their enforcement of the trading laws and efforts to keep the natives quelled.
Was Mr. Peak like that too? He seemed so amiable, yet every man possessed a temper. Did he know how to keep his in check?
The man in question turned his attention to Mr. O’Hennessey, and the two held an animated conversation as they pointed to several cattle. Probably haggling over pricing.
At last, they both nodded, and the men set to work cutting cattle from the herd. It was time she step in and lend a hand.
When she rode near them, Pa pointed out a red heifer, probably no more than two years old. “Can you cull that one?”
She nodded and set to work, guiding her gelding around the animal. They’d performed this task so many times with Pa’s stock, it wasn’t hard for either of them to read the cow’s mind.
This Healing Journey Page 3