Gather The Children (Chronicles of the Maca Book 2)

by Mari Collier

  Lorenz grinned. “No, suh. I don't like beer, and I ain't supposed to go in there without Papa.”

  Rolfe nodded and hurried off while Lorenz kept shoveling. The clouds were forming and re-forming, never dense enough for rain, but always threatening. The day was becoming hotter and stickier, the ground seemed to become heavier with each shovelful, and his stomach was growling. He heard the clops of an approaching horse and wiped the sweat from his face and eyes.

  MacDonald dismounted and looped Zark's reins around the split rails of the cemetery fence and came toward him, a strained, set smile on his face. The dark eyes probed at him and as he came nearer he asked, “Are ye all right, laddie?”

  Lorenz took a deep breath and felt his whole body relax. He couldn't believe he was so glad to see this huge form blocking the sun. “Yes, sir, is Mama mad?”

  MacDonald glanced down at the half-filled grave and nodded. “Oh, aye, that she tis, but she tis more angry with me than with ye.” He gave Lorenz a rueful smile and then surprised them both. The huge arms went out and he picked Lorenz up and hugged him. “Thank Gar, ye are well. I sorrow for what has happened.”

  Lorenz felt the heat from his body and heard MacDonald's tongue make a “tsk” sound in his right ear and then the left ear.

  “Uh, Papa, what if somebody's watching?”

  “Who cares?” MacDonald lowered him to the ground, his hands resting on his shoulders. “Now what tis this about Kasper?”

  “He's on the sofa. Tante Gerde says it is his heart and she doesn't want anybody to disturb him. She's been so busy taking care of him that I don't think she's bothered to fix any lunch.” He glanced skyward to confirm the sun was slightly beyond its zenith.

  “Damn,” MacDonald looked towards the store. “Have ye done all this work by yereself?”

  Lorenz gave a quick grin. “Naw, Rolfe, Mr. Rolfe helped until it was time to shovel the dirt back in. There ain't too much left to do, but I don't know what kind of words to say once it's done.”

  MacDonald grabbed the other shovel. “There twill be nay words over these two.” He flung the dirt in rapid motion.

  They worked in silence until it was finished. Then they mopped their heads, lifted their hats to let the breeze blow through, and headed towards the store. As they passed the Schmidt plot, MacDonald spoke. “I have an idea.” He smiled broadly and placed his hands on his hips and looked downward.

  Then he turned to Lorenz, his eyes dancing with amusement again. “We are going to bury Kid Lawrence.”

  Lorenz looked at him in disbelief. “Won't that be kinda hard to believe with me walking around upright?”

  MacDonald chuckled. “And just who tis going to call MacDonald a liar?” He clamped his hand on Lorenz's shoulder as they walked. “We twill use the money or goods that those two had on them to pay Cruz to dig an empty grave. He can throw some rocks in to make it look like someone tis buried there. I twill have Kasper or Tom carve out the tombstone. Twill be very nice.” MacDonald doubled the r sound in very, so pleased with himself he did not bother trying to hide his considerable accent. “We twill tell the world that Kid Lawrence died defending his kin. Tis a fine solution should yere Mr. O'Neal nay send a telegram confirming that ye are innocent.”

  At the fence, MacDonald picked up Zark's reins and they headed towards the stable. He made sure Zark was watered and checked out the new horse and riding gear. “We twill let Kasper sell the saddlebags and the contents, and we twill split the money with him.”

  They found Chalky on the back porch chewing on one of Tante's rolls. He stuffed the last of the roll in his mouth, and stood an eager, expecting look on his face. “Do yu all reckon what ah told wuz worth some extra money? My Ma'am sure will be needin' hit.”

  Lorenz swallowed, and MacDonald kept his face bland. “The information ye brought twas all that ye said. However, I would like to talk with Mr. Schmidt ere I pay ye. It may be there twill be some work for ye ere ye return home.” He looked at the saddlebags and hat stuffed with the dead man's belongings and turned to Lorenz.

  “Tante didn't want them in the place. She acts like they're cursed.”

  MacDonald shrugged and hurriedly verified the contents. “We twill leave them here for now.” He walked to the door and knocked. “Hallo, the house.”

  “Ja, I'll be right there.” After a moment, Tante Gerde appeared, drying her hands on the apron, her work shift stained with her sweat, wrinkled, and grime-streaked from being on the floor. Her face was stonier than usual and she paused to brush back a strand of hair. Lorenz wondered how that strand of hair had dared escape from her bun. “Good afternoon, Herr MacDonald,” she said through tightly held lips.

  “Good afternoon, Frau Schmidt. I wondered how Mr. Schmidt tis.”

  Gerde decided to open the door and let them in. “He is better and resting.”

  “Would it be possible to speak with him?”

  Gerde considered and decided if she did not let the husband of Kasper's twin see him, she would have more visitors tomorrow. “Ja, but just for a little while. I do not want him to tire. He must rest.”

  They removed their hats and stepped into the kitchen, the heat from the woodstove radiating throughout the room. The slight breeze coming in the open window and door did little to dissipate the heat. Lorenz spotted the bowl of rolls sitting on the table and ran his tongue over his lips. Gerde softened enough to say, “You may have one or two.”

  He lost no time in grabbing two as he trailed along behind them, munching as he walked. At the door of the living room, Gerde barred his way. “Just one at a time, please.”

  Lorenz leaned against the doorjamb and continued eating. He was close enough that he could hear everything that was said.

  Uncle Kasper had the afghan pulled up to his chest, but Aunt Gerde had placed another pillow under his head, effectively elevating his upper body. The leather folder lay on his stomach, his hands still grasping it. He gave them a wan smile. “It seems the spirit is willing, but the body is weak.” To Lorenz his hair looked whiter than the grey shade it have been a few hours before.

  “Look at this.” Using one hand, Kasper raised the folder. “There is a contract in here and signed by O'Neal. It promises those men one-hundred dollars after they bring back proof of my death. It seems my life is not too highly valued.” There was a slight trace of bitterness in his voice.

  MacDonald opened the folder and read the contents. He returned the package to Kasper. “Ye twill, of course, keep that to show the law when they come calling for Lorenz and Mr. Rolfe.”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. I have been thinking now would be a good time to bury Kid Lawrence with today as the date of his death. I twill pay Cruz to dig the grave in our plot and throw in some large stones ere he shovels the dirt back in. If ye dinna feel like carving out a wooden marker for over the grave, perhaps Mr. Jackson would do the honors.”

  Tante Gerde straightened, her eyes opening wide at the thought, and said, “That is a good plan.”

  Kasper seemed to be thinking and then looked up. “Yes, it is a good plan. It would satisfy the law. I believe I can at least whittle out a wooden marker for over the grave. That won't require me to walk or lift anything heavy.”

  “How long do ye believe ye twill need to rest?”

  Kasper gave a rueful smile. “Until I can move without being in agony and not become exhausted. It's Gerde I worry about. She will have to do the work of both of us.”

  “Ye should hire Chalky. He should nay return to his homestead. He twill find nay but death there. He can bring in the wood and water for Gerde and take care of the horses in yere stable; mayhap even some of the work in the garden. There should be space enough in the storeroom to place a cot or sleeping blankets, and room and board would be part of his pay.”

  Kasper closed his eyes for a moment, and Lorenz could see the weariness that folded over him. Then the grey eyes came open, dull and flat, beaten by the economics of the situation. “There is no money.”
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  “There tis a bit left that Lorenz found on the one man, and ye can sell the saddlebags and gear that the man carried. We twill split the money. Till that time, I twill be happy to pay the laddie as it would be nay more than a quarter a week, plus his room and board that ye would supply. Gerde twill be free to tend ye and the store.”

  Kasper gave a slight smile and looked at his wife. “Yes, I was worried about her. Can you arrange everything?”

  “Aye, twill be my pleasure.”

  Chapter 13: Daniel

  The two men rode slowly into town, glancing at every burnt out building and the existing run-down ones. “At least there's a bar,” said the smaller, older man. “I do believe that lost shoe of your horse has slowed us too much.”

  They pulled up in front of Schmidt's Corner and dismounted. Both were dressed in collarless working shirts, handkerchiefs tied carelessly around the neck, denim trousers, newer Stetsons, and new boots. Both wore guns belted at the lower part of the waist and tied to their thighs. They presented a picture of affluence rarely seen on the few passing, northward migrants. The younger man was taller, broad shouldered, and slim of hip. He tried to hide his pride in the black hair covering his upper lip, but he was young, and kept fingering it. His body and grey eyes seemed to convey movement even when still. The afternoon had barely begun and the street was empty; so empty that no dust hung in the air from anyone else passing by. The younger man looked to his left and the older to his right before they entered the store.

  A small, middle-aged woman stood at a doorway into the back of the store, her hands firmly grasping a shotgun. “I don't know you. State your business.” Her face was bitter and the brown eyes hard, when suddenly the barrel slumped downward and her eyes widened. “Mein Gott, Daniel.”

  Daniel, surprised by the recognition, remained speechless long enough for the older man to remove his hat. “Ma'am, you must be Mrs. Schmidt. Our employer found out that his father had sent two men here to do bodily harm to you and your husband. We've been sent to prevent that if possible. I hope we are in time and if we are, could we speak to your husband and devise a plan of action.”

  Gerde continued staring at the young man and barely whispered, “Du look so much like Kasper. Don't du remember me? Lorenz did.”

  “Ma'am,” Collins broke in, “right now time could be very important.”

  Gerde straightened herself, the relief of seeing her nephew receded, and doubt about their intentions returned. “You are too late. Those two men are dead.” Her voice was firm again, the German accent retreating.

  Outside they could hear the scuffle of boots as though someone was hurrying, yet trying to hide the fact they were approaching.

  It was, Collins decided, a community on edge, and the neighbors, whoever they were, were about to help out, probably with guns of their own. Damn, Daniel, why wasn't the young fool saying something.

  Daniel obliged. “Mrs. Schmidt, I'm sorry we are so late, but my horse threw a shoe, and we couldn't…”

  Gerde snapped at him. “I am your Tante, not Mrs. Schmidt.”

  Her stern tone silenced Daniel, and Collins tried again.

  “Mrs. Schmidt, I can assure you, we were sent to try and stop a tragedy. I have a letter here from Mr. Jeremiah O'Neal that will explain everything. If you and your husband would be kind enough to read it before your friends and neighbors open fire, I think another shooting can be avoided.” He kept his speech mild, not wanting to frighten the woman.

  Gerde, a strong, perceptive woman, realized what was at stake and decided to believe this man. “Ja, you are right. I am Mrs. Schmidt and my husband is indisposed at the moment, but I will speak to our friends.” She stepped towards front door, but paused long enough to give Daniel an order. “Take off your hat. Were you too long with the savages?”

  Daniel felt his body stiffen and a slight flush spread over the planes of his face. Who was this woman to call his parents savages? And what in the hell did Tante mean?

  Collins suppressed a grin. He wasn't sure what or why O'Neal was paying Daniel, but it was surely too much. He knew the young man had an exaggerated notion of his own abilities. This lady had taken him down a peg and was sure to do so again. “I do recommend you remove your hat,” he said in a low tone. There was a Missouri drawl to his speech cadence, not the exaggerated drawl of a Texan.

  Gerde returned. “If I may see the letter, I'll take it to Mr. Schmidt. If he is feeling well enough, he will speak with you both. I know he will make an effort to talk with his nephew.”

  Collins reached inside his vest and pulled out the oilskin wrapped letter. “I do hope your husband wasn't wounded in any shootout.”

  Gerde accepted the letter. “No, they came in the front like you did, and Mr. Rolfe and Lorenz shot them.” It was a simple, but chilling statement for them to mull on. She disappeared into the doorway without telling them why Kasper was laid up.

  “Interesting,” Collins muttered. “Do you have any idea who Mr. Rolfe is?”

  “No.” Daniel snapped out. Why should Lorenz get all the glory? He had a vague feeling it was always that way, but his remembrance of that long ago home was practically nil. He'd only been eight-years-old, and his father and mother had both assured him he would forget that early time with a first family. Up until now, he had believed them. He honestly could not remember his white aunt and uncle, nor could he recall with any clarity what his white mother looked like. He did remember fighting with Lorenz, and that seemed all wrong too. He couldn't have been the one on the floor.

  “You need to remember that this is their household and they will have more civilized rules than what you've been around. I'd take off that gun belt when she asks. If we're lucky enough to be asked for supper, I aim to take mine off.” His voice was moderate, but he spoke with authority.

  Daniel swung around to regard the older man. Red had implied that he was to follow Collins orders during a fight, but he hadn't said anything about letting Collins take the lead in his personal life. “I don't trust anyone. The guns stay on.”

  Collins shrugged. He was tired of the trail and their campfire meals. They had pushed the horses and themselves hard to reach Schmidt's Corner before the other two, and they had ridden through or around some fair sized towns. This town did not have a hotel, bathhouse, or an eatery. It was little more than a settlement, and unless Mrs. Schmidt extended an invitation, it looked like another campfire meal and hard ground tonight. Damn the kid for his lack of feelings for meeting family. It wasn't right. He started looking around the store for supplies to take on the way back. It looked like they would need to make a stop at the MacDonald household if they were to find the other kid and convince him to ride back with them. He couldn't figure why his employer wanted another wet-behind-the ears kid, but that wasn't his problem. O'Neal paid regular and the amount was more than fair. This kid wasn't going to mess up his reputation. O'Neal would get his full report.

  Gerde came back without the paper and a face softened from speaking with her husband. Her eyes, however, were still guarded and she showed no emotion as she regarded the two of them. “My husband needs to rest. He thanks you for coming and he will write to Mr. O'Neal thanking him.” She drew a deep breath and looked squarely at Daniel. “You are going to go to your mother's now, is that not right?”

  Daniel swallowed. “No, ma'am.” He saw no reason to explain he needed to have his horse shod. Collins stepped in when he saw a look of horror on Gerde's face.

  “Ma'am, we rode the horses hard to get here, too hard. Daniel needs to get his horse shod before we can go to the MacDonald's place. Until then, we need to water and feed our horses. Is there a place we can do so? If you will kindly give us directions before we leave, we'll be most grateful.”

  Gerde looked at him and cocked her head. “You are from Missouri.” It was a statement and a question.

  “Yes, ma'am, I'm Jethro Collins from Jefferson County.”

  Gerde nodded her head. “We're from Perry County, Missouri.


  “There is a river out back which you saw and anyone can use, and we have a stable with some hay. If you stay all night it's fifty cents for each horse. Mr. Schmidt will probably let Daniel's stay for free.” The implication that she would not let Daniel stay for free was clear.

  Collins laid four bits on the counter, doffed his hat, and said, “Thank you, ma'am. We'll be back to buy some things for the trail before we leave.”

  When they were outside, Daniel looked at the graveyard. “I'm checking that out next. Something wasn't right in there.”

  Collins shrugged and walked along. He too felt that Gerde had not said everything, but then, he wasn't family and it must have been a shock to her to see Daniel and not get any acknowledgement. He knew how families grieved for the lost ones, and yet those “lost” who accepted the Indians didn't seem to be as lost as the ones left behind.

  Like the town, the graveyard wasn't much. The Schmidt plot held a small grave for a boy that died of typhus in 1858, the Rolfe plot was marked as the grave of Mrs. Rolfe, who died in 1858, and the MacDonald plot had two graves; one a small child's grave and a new unmarked grave. There were other graves in the back; one large mound was new and unmarked. They both stared down at the new grave in the MacDonald plot. “Damn,” said Daniel.

  “It doesn't look like there's anyone to take back to Mr. O'Neal,” said Collins. He turned back to the horses. “Standing here won't get us back, or our wages. We'll talk with one or both of the Schmidt's before we leave. Maybe that saloon will have something to eat.”

  They watered the horses, and then Daniel took his to have it shod while Collins put his horse in the stable. Collins noted that there were three horses and a mule out in the back yard. When they watered the horses, he'd seen the open back door to the saloon and headed that way. Mrs. Schmidt was out in the garden and he nodded to her. She kept swinging her hoe like there was something personal in her fight with the weeds. A straw-headed kid was carrying firewood up the steps. Gerde swung one more time and walked over to the fence. “Mr. Collins, are you and Daniel planning to stay for supper tonight?”