by Cox, Carol
Rachel tried to maneuver past an old packing crate, caught her foot on something, and fell sprawling to the floor. She swiveled her head to see what had tripped her and saw the corner of a trunk protruding into the walkway. Muttering, she got to her feet and braced herself to shove the offending trunk back where it belonged, then paused and looked at it appraisingly, scattered recollections from the past appearing before her eyes like images in a scrapbook. With a grin, Rachel flung open the lid and started piling the clothing inside onto a shelf.
“Good, you’re finished,” she told Violet as she backed into the room, dragging the heavy chest. She tossed a stack of papers on Violet’s lap. “Take these and line the trunk while I go get some hay.”
“Do what?” Violet’s hand paused in the act of stroking the little squirrel on her lap, and she gazed at Rachel in astonishment.
“Make it several layers thick, and don’t leave any spaces.”
“Rachel, are you all right?”
“Just do it. I’ll be right back.” Ignoring Violet’s look of concern, she hustled outside.
In the barn, she stuffed armloads of grass hay into a gunnysack and returned to the house, humming merrily. “Are you finished?”
Violet, on her knees beside the trunk, looked up warily. “Will that do?” she asked, smoothing a sheet of paper into place.
Rachel looked at it judiciously. “Put one more piece in the corner. We want it to be completely sealed.” Violet obeyed, keeping a cautious eye on her sister. Rachel, still humming, rummaged through the linen cupboard and pulled out an old pillowcase with a jubilant cry.
“Good job!” she told Violet. “Now stuff that with hay,” she ordered, flinging the case her way.
Rachel dropped to her knees and began packing hay into the trunk. Violet watched her nervously, then grabbed fistfuls of hay and rammed them into the pillowcase with trembling hands. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked in a shaky voice.
Rachel didn’t respond but danced across the floor to the kitchen, where she lifted the large stew pot from its hook and waltzed back to the trunk with it. Nestling the pot on the bottom layer of hay, she continued to pack hay around it.
“Rachel?” Violet said in a tiny voice.
“Oh, you’re done.” Rachel squeezed the pillow. “Yes, that feels fine. Now stitch it closed while I finish up here.”
Violet reached for the mending basket and did as she was told.
Rachel continued stuffing hay around the pot, pressing it down firmly. Taking the pillow from a bewildered Violet, she placed it on top of the pot, then closed the lid with a flourish. “And there we have it!” she cried triumphantly. When Violet didn’t reply, Rachel turned to see her sister watching her with worried eyes.
“You’ve been working awfully hard,” Violet began, putting a comforting arm around Rachel’s shoulders. “Why don’t you climb into bed? I’ll bring you a nice, hot cup of tea.”
Rachel sputtered with laughter. “Violet, you ninny! Don’t you remember the hay box we used back in Missouri?” Violet shook her head slowly. “Ma used it when she had a lot of canning to do. I’d completely forgotten about it until I tripped over this fool trunk.
“Look,” she continued, dragging Violet over to the contraption and flipping the lid open. “Before we head out to the field in the morning, we’ll heat some meat and vegetables on the stove. Then we’ll pour it into the stew pot, cover it up, close the lid, and it will keep cooking all day while we’re gone. We’ll have stew tomorrow night, Violet. A real meal!”
“No more eggs?” Violet regarded the hay box thoughtfully, assessing its possibilities, then threw her arms around Rachel in an exultant hug. “Then hooray for the hay box!”
❧
Rachel sat before the fire, her Bible open in her lap. Violet, reassured of Rachel’s sanity, had gone off to bed. The squirrel, bedded down in the dynamite box with a splint on its injured leg, slept contentedly, and Rachel rejoiced in having some unaccustomed time to herself. She smoothed the pages with her hand, closing her eyes to reflect on the words from the Forty-sixth Psalm: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea. . . .”
Rachel smiled drowsily, her soul at peace for the first time in weeks. God was with her, and she would not fear. Not even if Thumb Butte and Granite Mountain parted from their moorings and sailed away. Not even if Hiram Bradshaw showed his ugly, threatening face on her property. God was her help.
A tentative knock at the door interrupted her reverie, and she sprang up, shaking her head to clear it. Late night visits only meant trouble. She approached the door cautiously, one hand at her throat, trying to recapture the serenity she had felt only a moment before. Opening the door a mere crack, she peered out into the darkness.
“I’m sorry to call so late.” The voice belonged to Daniel Moore. “I saw the light and figured you were still up. May I speak with you for a moment?”
Rachel frowned, then backed away, allowing him to enter the room. She stood near the fireplace, not offering him a seat. Whatever he had to say, he could say it quickly and be on his way. If he tried to give her any trouble, Pa’s Henry rifle hung over the mantel less than an arm’s length away.
❧
“I’ve been thinking,” Daniel said, unaffected by her lack of hospitality. “I can understand your reluctance to accept free help. I guess I’d feel the same way in your place. How about if we work it another way?”
“What did you have in mind?” Rachel asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
Daniel licked his lips, choosing his words with care. What could it be about this woman that turned his usual assurance into self-doubt? And why did she want to be so all-fired difficult? He only wanted to help. “What if I work for you, just like I offered the other night, but you pay me for it?” He raised his hand when she opened her mouth to protest.
“What I’m thinking is that after the loan payment is made, you and I split any profit that’s left. That way, you’d be assured of making the payment, and you’d know I was giving you my best so there’d be as much profit as possible for us to share.” He pasted a confident grin on his face that didn’t at all match the uncertainty he felt.
Rachel measured him with calm brown eyes that seemed to probe his innermost being, and Daniel’s heart beat faster. Finally, she nodded.
“It’s a deal,” she said solemnly, extending her hand to seal the bargain. “After the loan is paid, we’ll split what’s left right down the middle.”
Daniel started to object that he’d figured on giving her and Violet the bigger share but clamped his lips shut and took her hand. She had agreed to let him help; he wouldn’t jeopardize that by quibbling over the split. Her grip was firm, but not at all masculine. As little as he trusted women, he felt that when this one gave her word, a person could take that to the bank.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he told her and let himself out.
❧
Rachel lay in her bed, looking up into the darkness. Had she done the right thing in striking a bargain with Daniel Moore? She truly believed God had shown her the way to save the farm by cutting out labor costs, but she now knew she and Violet could never do it alone.
Allowing Daniel to help should make it possible to save money like she’d planned, and paying him a percentage of what was left over would soothe her pride. There might not be much to divide between them, but that was a chance they would both take.
“You must have sent him, after all, Lord,” she whispered into the night. “Thank You for giving me a second chance. And thank You for reminding me about the hay box. You really are leading me one step at a time. . .even if some of those steps cause me to fall flat on my face!” She chuckled and rolled onto her side, drifting off to sleep.
❧
Rachel pulled the wagon to a stop behind Samson’s General Store and smiled at Jake Samson when he came ou
t the back door to help her unload. “Mornin’, Rachel,” he drawled, his genial face breaking into a mass of creases when he smiled. “What do you have today? I hope you brought more of those sweet carrots of yours.”
“I have those, plus turnips, potatoes, and string beans.” Rachel slid the sacks of vegetables down the wagon bed to Jake with a sense of satisfaction. Getting the harvest in on time might be a tricky proposition, but the vegetable business she and Pa had built up continued to flourish.
She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. “I brought something else too,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Would you be interested in some eggs?” She lifted the basket from its carefully padded resting place and held it out for Jake to see. The general store was her first stop today, and Jake had always been her favorite customer, but if he wasn’t interested, she could always try the Prescott Mercantile and Grady’s Market down the street.
Jake pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. “How’d you know folks have been clamoring for these?” He grinned and shook his head admiringly. “You’re a shrewd one, all right, just like your pa. I’ll pay you top dollar,” he said, naming a price that took her breath away. “And I’ll take every one you can bring, all right?”
Rachel finished her rounds in a happy daze. If the hens kept laying like they had been, she calculated the eggs alone would bring in enough to keep them going from day to day, leaving the vegetable money free to go into the loan fund. Raising three hundred dollars by the fifteenth of December still seemed an unattainable goal, but God had been faithful to meet their needs so far. Surely He would open other opportunities to keep the farm safe.
Elated by her newfound source of income, she treated herself to a small bag of lemon drops and had nearly reached the wagon when a rough hand grabbed her by the elbow. Whirling, Rachel found herself staring at a faded checkered shirt front. She tilted her head back and looked up into close-set blue eyes that regarded her coldly.
“Hiram Bradshaw, what on earth do you think you’re doing? Let go of me this minute.” She twisted her arm to escape his grasp, but he only tightened his grip.
“We need to talk,” he told her and propelled her unceremoniously past the corner of the market and into an alleyway between two buildings.
More angry than frightened, Rachel spun around to face him. “Are you out of your mind?” she demanded, wrenching her arm free at last. She glared at him while massaging her elbow where his meaty fingers had dug in. “I have nothing to say to you. Nothing at all.”
Hiram’s beefy face turned a dull red. “You’ll have plenty to say to me before I’m through with you,” he rasped. He took a step toward Rachel, his massive bulk looming over her, filling the narrow confines of the alley. Rachel backed away, her nose wrinkling in distaste at the smell of stale liquor on his breath.
“I hear you’re having problems coming up with the money you owe on your farm. Looks like your pa wasn’t the slick operator everyone thought he was.” Hiram’s mouth twisted in a crooked grin. “It’s a shame he left you girls in such a fix.”
“You need to find a better informant. We’re doing fine, just fine.” Rachel glowered at him, daring him to disagree. Now that Daniel was helping them, they’d be able to make the payment with no problem. She edged away, intending to slip between Hiram and the board-and-batten wall, but he propped an arm against the building to block her escape. Rachel backed away, feeling the rough-cut wood behind her snag the fabric of her dress.
Hiram continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “There’s no way you and your sister will be able to come up with that kind of money.” He leaned closer, his heavy breath stirring the loose wisps of hair at the sides of her face. “I’d like to help you out. I’ll give you a thousand for the place, and you two can move to town. No more breaking your pretty little back doing all that heavy work. What do you say?”
“I say you’re just one step above a common thief!” Rachel retorted, eyes flashing. “You know as well as I do our place is worth at least three times that.”
“It’s a thousand more than you’ll get when the bank forecloses. I’d hate to see you two sweet things out on the streets, penniless.” He edged back, giving Rachel room to move again. “Think about it.”
The cramped space barely gave her room to squeeze by him. She shrank back and slid past against the wall, preferring to risk a rip in her dress rather than any contact with Hiram. With his taunting voice echoing in her ears, she emerged from the alley and hurried to the wagon. “The nerve of that lout!” she fumed, heading the horses toward home.
Her earlier joy ebbed away, and an icy knot formed in her stomach. Was Hiram right? Could they really lose the farm? Despite his unappealing appearance and utter lack of manners, Hiram had a reputation as a canny businessman. If he honestly thought they wouldn’t be able to raise the money in time. . .
“Nonsense! The man just wants to get his grubby hands on our land, and I won’t let it happen.” They had Daniel’s help now, and they would be all right. The faint suspicions she first felt when he’d offered to work for them returned, gnawing at her, teasing her with questions. Why would he want to spend so much time helping them, especially when he had no guarantee of much, if any, income for all his efforts? Did he have some unspoken motive?
Rachel fretted over those questions all the way home and had worked herself into a foul mood by the time she reached the house. Molly met her on the porch, wrapping around her ankles with loud purrs. Rachel looked at the cat, looked again, and stomped inside.
“Violet!” she hollered, glad to be able to vent her pent-up frustration.
Violet appeared in her bedroom doorway, cuddling her furry patient. “Look how much he’s improved. He’ll be ready to be on his own again in a few—”
“What have you been giving Molly?”
Cut off in midsentence, Violet stared, her face a puzzled blank. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play the innocent. I can tell you’ve been slipping her extra food.” Rachel swung the door open and pointed dramatically. “Look at her. She’s positively fat!”
“But Rachel, I—”
“It better not be eggs again. We’re going to need every last one of them to sell in town. I appreciate your tender heart, Violet, but you need to realize we’re going to have to tighten up until this land payment is taken care of.” She leaned forward, jabbing a finger in the air to emphasize each word. “We’ll have everything we can do just to feed ourselves. We certainly can’t waste food on the cat.”
Instead of looking contrite, Violet took a combative stance and raised her chin. “I don’t know what she’s been eating, but it didn’t come from me, not after the way you got after me last time. We’ve been clearing the cornfield; maybe she’s catching extra mice.” With that, she tucked the squirrel back into his box and stalked off toward the kitchen garden.
Rachel stared after her, unconvinced, although she knew Violet was not a devious person. She tilted her head and considered Molly, now washing herself with slow, deliberate strokes of her tongue. “Extra mice, is it? You must have found every mouse in this part of Yavapai County.” Molly stopped her cleaning and regarded Rachel coolly, then walked away in the direction of the barn, tail held high.
“You too?” Rachel muttered. She leaned back against the doorjamb, then slid down until she was sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees. First her sister, then the cat. Was everyone going to turn away from her?
She stared at the solid outline of Granite Mountain and shook her head slowly. Honesty compelled her to admit that Violet had ample justification for leaving in a huff. Even though she had a soft spot for animals and spoiled them rotten, she had never lied to Rachel. There had been no earthly reason to upbraid her like that.
Rachel buried her head in her arms. This whole miserable situation had turned her into a cynical shrew, suspicious of everyone. Although, she reminded herself, some people positively invited suspicion. “Like Hiram,” she grumbled. “I wouldn’
t trust him as far as I could throw him.”
“Do you always sit around in doorways talking to yourself?”
Rachel sat up with a start, cracking the back of her head on the doorjamb. Daniel stood at the bottom of the porch steps, one corner of his mouth tugging upward. Rachel scrambled to her feet. Being on the porch while he stood on the ground gave her the advantage of height, and she scowled at him from her superior position.
“Do you always sneak up on people like that?” she countered waspishly. “Seems like every time you come around, I wind up banging into something.” She touched the back of her head gingerly, wincing when her fingers made contact with the sore spot.
Daniel’s half smile immediately disappeared. “Are you bleeding?” he asked with concern and mounted the porch steps. “Let me look.”
“I can take care of myself just fine, thank you,” Rachel snapped. “Now what was it you wanted, besides scaring me half to death?” She fixed him with a steely glare, and the hand he had raised toward her dropped back to his side.
“I just wanted to let you know I’m ready to take another wagon load of corn over to Fort Whipple,” he said stiffly.
“Oh. That’s fine. I’ll see you when you get back.” Rachel stepped off the porch and strode away briskly, silently raking herself over the coals. Daniel had come to help them of his own free will, for goodness’ sake. How long could she expect him to stay if she jumped down his throat every time he turned around? Her steps faltered, and she realized she had no idea where she was headed.
To the garden? No, Violet had gone there to get away from her. The barn was out too—even the cat didn’t want to be near her. Rachel sighed and turned toward the cornfield. Out there, at least, she could do something productive.
❧
Daniel watched her walk away, easy grace in every stride. Why couldn’t Ike have produced a quiet, easygoing daughter instead of this spitfire? On the other hand, a meek, docile woman wouldn’t have the spirit needed to try to keep the place going. Rachel might be as prickly as the cactus that dotted the nearby hills, but he had to admit she wasn’t afraid to get out and work hard. Most days she kept right up with him.