As Harold finally ran out of chatter and turned to leave, Hannah, now sworn to her job for the rest of her life, asked, “Who do I talk to about the school? I want to know all of my pupils’ names, and I hope to visit them in their homes before the start of the winter school term.” Grace had written that a teacher must visit, and Grace was the best teacher Hannah had ever known. Although, honesty forced Hannah to admit that Grace was the only teacher Hannah had ever known.
“No time for that. School starts Monday.”
Already she was failing. “Well then, I’ll visit after school starts.”
“Try asking Louellen downstairs. Running the diner the way she does, I reckon she knows about everything that goes on around here. I know there are a dozen children in town and maybe that many again in the surrounding ranches. Oh, and Grant’s young’uns? That’s another dozen.” Harold broke down and laughed until he had to wipe his eyes.
Hannah’s jaw clenched as she waited the man out.
Tucking his handkerchief back in his pocket, Harold shook his head. “He doesn’t usually send ’em in ’cuz he hasn’t liked the teachers we have. So don’t count them. They’ll be here for a few days most likely, and then he’ll just take ’em home and school ’em hisself like always. Were I you I wouldn’t even let ’em sit at a desk. They’ll be gone afore you need to bother.”
“He don’t. . . ” Hannah stumbled then corrected her grammar. Honestly, she’d only been here an hour and she already sounded like Harold. “He doesn’t send his children to school? Well, we’ll see about that. Could you direct me to his ranch?”
That question seemed to amuse Harold because he began chuckling and shaking his head. Of course Hannah was beginning to believe that a rabid wolf would amuse Harold so she didn’t put much stock in what struck him as funny.
“Gonna get after Grant, miss?”
Hannah crossed her arms while she waited for directions.
“That I’d like to see.”
“Directions?” Hannah tapped her toe.
“You can hire a horse at the livery stable or the blacksmith shop. But Ian O’Reilly is the blacksmith, and I think he’s gone for the day, so don’t waste your time goin’ there. He wouldn’t like you scolding Grant anyway, because he’s one of Grant’s kids.”
“The blacksmith? How old is he?”
Harold shrugged. “About Grant’s age, I ’spect.”
“Mr. . . Grant adopted children his own age?”
“To get to the Rocking C, go straight out’a town west for about five miles. The woods clear out for a spell, then there’s a thicket of bright red sumac and huckleberries that’s been cut back so’s a trail’ll go through it. Take that trail and go south a spell. The woods’ll start up again and the bluffs’ll rise up on both sides. Gets might rugged. Grant has an old wagon wheel by his place, with a piece of bent iron hooked on it in the shape of a C. Turn east and that trail’ll take you right up to the cabin.”
Hannah tried desperately to remember everything he’d said. West five miles. Trail through a thicket. South between some bluffs. Wagon wheel. East.
Harold gave her a jaunty wave and went out. He was back the next second. “There’s a shorter way, but it’s kinda confusing.”
Hannah shuddered at the thought of directions more confusing than the ones she’d already been given. “No, thank you.”
He said good-bye and exited her room. He came back in. “Turnin’ into a mighty mean day, miss. Not fit for a ride by my way’a reckonin’. If you can wait till tomorrow, Grant’ll be in to Sunday services so you could ride back out with him.”
When Harold said Grant would bring the children to church, Hannah doubted herself for the first time. That spoke well of the man. Parrish had certainly never let her or the other children attend church. But she couldn’t overcome her first impression of Libby and Charlie being taken off into a dangerous situation. And if her instincts were right, she didn’t think it could wait until tomorrow.
“I believe I’ll go on out myself.” How well she remembered her first night in Parrish’s clutches. She wanted to save those children before Grant had time to frighten them into submission.
Harold shrugged.
Hannah had heard this was the way things worked in the West. People minded their own business. Indignantly she thought that was the very reason Grant had been allowed to abscond with so many children.
Harold went out, then he came right back. “If’n you get lost just start heading south. You’ll run into the spring. Sour Springs we call it. Named the town for it. Stinks like a herd of polecats. Can’t miss it. Upstream’ll lead you right smack into town.” He tipped his hat and left.
Hannah sighed in relief to have the bad news bearer gone.
He popped his head back around the corner. “Oh, and don’t touch the sumac. It’s poisonous.” He left again.
Hannah stared dolefully at the empty doorway where the man bobbed in and out like a sneaky prairie dog.
He rounded her door again. “But the sumac’ll be buried by snow more’n likely, so forget about it.”
He’d told her to turn at the sumac. If it was buried, how was she supposed to use it as a landmark? She waited for the voice of doom to return so she could ask him. He appeared to have given it all to her at last. She pulled her worn-out coat tight around her and headed for the stable before she could second guess herself.
A mountain of a man forked hay into feed bunks for a half dozen horses. He introduced himself as Zeb Morris. He was as hairy as his horses, nearly as big, and he smelled none too much better. Hannah knew that even though she stayed well away.
“Hey, missy. Heard you’re the new schoolmarm.” Zeb grinned, showing more teeth missing than present.
Word did get around in this town.
“Welcome to Sour Springs. My pappy founded this settlement.”
Sour Springs was named after a spring? Or the way his father smelled? Then she thought of a town that would ignore the plight of orphans and wanted to sneer at his pride. Instead she said politely, “I’d like to rent a carriage for the rest of the afternoon.”
The man looked doubtfully out the wide open door. “No day for pleasure ridin’, miss. I wouldn’t stray six feet from town if’n I didn’t have to.”
“Well, I have to. So, if you’ll please do as I ask?”
The man hesitated. Then, just as Harold had done, he let her go about her own business. “Don’t rent carriages, only saddle horses.”
That wasn’t what Hannah wanted at all, but her fear for the children overruled her fear for her own safety. “That will be fine.”
She rented a horse that seemed as unhappy to go to work as it was swaybacked, but Hannah had grown up in the Wild West, or the next thing to it—Chicago. So she’d ridden a horse a time or two. Actually she thought carefully and decided exactly a time, not two. Well, there was no help for it. The children needed her.
She was tempted to ask for directions again from the man who rented her the horse, but she thought she had Harold’s advice memorized and didn’t want to muddy the waters.
Zeb saddled the horse. He—Zeb, not the horse—got far too close for her nose’s comfort when he boosted her on its back. Then he led her out the door.
Taking up the reins, she kicked the horse and the horse kicked back. Since she sat on top of the beast, it didn’t hurt her but it bounced her around some. Finally, with a slap on the backside from the hostler, she got the beast moving at a snail’s pace in the right direction.
She hadn’t ridden five minutes on the lazy, uncooperative creature before she admitted to being hopelessly lost. The skittish horse twisted around and pranced sideways. If there’d ever been any trail, it’d been well and truly buried under the snow. Once she’d left the meager shelter of town, the wind whipped harder until the snowstorm became a full-fledged blizzard.
Looking desperately, she searched for the prints of her own horse in the snow to make sure she hadn’t left the trail. The snow around her was
trampled down in all directions by the nervous horse, and his prints were filling in fast. She gave the animal its head, hoping it would start for the barn, but the horse just let its head sag as if it didn’t have enough energy to move another step.
Hannah kicked the horse, and it moved a few steps forward then stopped again. Her heart pounded as the snow drove itself through her thin coat. Fighting down panic, Hannah realized she’d become hopelessly lost in a Texas blizzard. She should have left Libby to Mr. . . Grant for one night, because now Hannah would freeze to death in a blizzard and not be around to save her from her nightmarish fate.
FIVE
Libby snuggled up on Grant’s left knee and, with a smile, rested her head on his shoulder.
Grant eased his toes closer to the fire with a blissful sigh and opened the book.
Benny scrambled onto Grant’s right knee. Charlie sat on the floor with his back leaning against the stones that edged the fireplace. Joshua leaned on the other side of the fire playing “Silent Night” softly on his mouth harp. Christmas was just over, and the whole family still felt the glow of the holy season.
Sadie and Marilyn sat at the table doing the studies Grant had set for them, but he wondered if the girls were really reading. Josh’s playing was too sweet to ignore. He could coax music out of that harmonica that could break a man’s heart or make him laugh out loud.
When the music ended, Grant opened his well-worn copy of Oliver Twist. He produced it every time a new child came into the house. Grant had found it helped start the new young’uns talking about where they’d come from.
Of course Charlie had that hostile look. Children with that look rarely talked about their lives before they came to Grant’s home. And Libby wasn’t likely to start in talking. But they could at least hear that a book had been written about some of what they’d been through. It was Grant’s way of letting them know he understood, and they weren’t alone.
Grant looked up from the book before he began. “Dinner was good, girls. Thanks for having it hot and ready when I got in from chores.”
Marilyn, his oldest daughter, her blond hair curly and fine as a cobweb, nodded. “You’re welcome, Pa.”
Sadie grinned, her white teeth shining against her ebony black skin. “We all cooked together whilst you, Joshua, and Charlie worked with the cattle. We had the easy part of this storm.”
“Knowing we’d have a hot meal kept us going.” Grant pulled Libby closer, his arm around her, holding the book.
Six-year-old Benny, supposedly near Libby’s age but about twice her size, snuggled closer, his head resting on Grant’s shoulder. He glanced up through the shaggy hair that had flopped onto his forehead. “Want me to hold the book, Pa?”
“Thanks, Benny. I just remembered I hadn’t said a proper thank you to the girls.” He let the book settle in his youngest son’s hands. Grant wasn’t the only one in this family who needed a haircut. “Let’s get started reading.”
Grant looked around the tiny room. Yes, it was a tight squeeze for them all, three bedrooms—if those tiny spaces could be called bedrooms—for seven people. And yes, he’d be sleeping on the kitchen floor for a while. But he’d done that many times to make space. The kitchen was warm, and he didn’t mind being cramped.
He loved this tiny house, these children. He loved his whole life. God had given him the family he’d dreamed of while he shivered in the New York City alleys. Here they sat with full bellies thanks to the girls’ dab hand with a skillet, a warm, crackling fire, and a roof over their heads no one could take away from them.
He gave Libby a gentle hug, and she looked up and smiled her quiet smile. That smile meant more to Grant than if a million dollars had rained down on his head. He had everything in the world that mattered. He was a happy, contented man.
His contentment was broken by the memory of that snippy woman at the train station. All she’d accused him of, all her insults. The smile faded from his face for just a second. Why would she come to mind now? It’s like she meant to ruin his night.
Maybe it was because she looked cold and hungry.
And why had she gotten off the train and let it leave her behind? What business had brought her to Sour Springs? She must have family here. Grant hoped she finished her visit lickety-split and got back on her way before he ever had to see her again. How dare the little meddler accuse him of mistreating his children?
He could picture her right now, sulking, judging him and his orphaned children while she sat somewhere warm and fed and comfortable.
Driven snow slit at her skin like a million tiny knives. The wind lashed her.
Disoriented, Hannah thought of the times she’d been lashed by Parrish, his belt punishing her for something or nothing.
God, no, don’t let Parrish get me. Protect me.
How often had she prayed that prayer as a child? How many nights had she been jerked awake by nightmares and been punished for screaming out in her sleep? How often had Hannah clung to God, even when Parrish came and God let the worst happen?
As the storm assaulted her, Hannah thought of how Parrish dragged her out of the bedroom she shared with her sisters. How Grace tried to turn Parrish’s anger away from Hannah. Sometimes it would work. More often Parrish would laugh at Grace and slap her aside, then whip Hannah until she collapsed.
Now, in the wind, Hannah heard her father’s sadistic laughter ringing in her ears.
And then Grace had done the unthinkable. She’d fought back. She’d had Parrish arrested. Drawing Parrish’s fury on herself, Grace had run like a mother bird faking a broken wing. . .with Parrish in pursuit. Hannah had taken the other children and hidden away in Chicago’s streets until Grace could send for her.
Despite Grace forbidding it—Grace had a deep horror of adoption—Hannah had found homes for the four little sisters left in her care. And then, before Hannah had set out to join Grace in Mosqueros, Texas, she’d found more children.
Trevor, who tried to rob Hannah and ended up sharing what he’d already stolen. Nolan, who crept into the shed she and Trevor lived in and defiantly slipped up to their tiny bit of heat, expecting to be thrown out but willing to face danger to escape the killing cold of another winter night. Other children had come and gone and Hannah had found them homes, all but Libby with her broken body, silent lips, and heartbreaking, beseeching eyes.
Now Libby was gone. Grace was gone. Hannah, alone, shouted into the teeth of the blizzard, “God, they’re all gone.”
The horse jerked forward, startled by Hannah’s screams.
Hannah broke down and wept into the bitter, driving, merciless wind. Shuddering with sobs, holding her arm up to shield her face, Hannah blinked and, as if God himself had pulled back the veil of driven snow, she saw a blurred object. She clung to her horse’s reins with one hand and dropped her shielding arm to clutch the collar of her coat. Peering into the storm, trying to make out the shape, a strange peace settled over her.
As she calmed, she realized it was a building she’d passed just moments ago on the edge of town. She could find her way back. She could save herself.
But what about Libby? Who would save her?
Hannah knew she could do nothing tonight. Wiping the already freezing tears from her face, she headed quickly back toward Sour Springs, leaving Libby to her fate for one night. But Hannah promised it would be one night only!
She left the horse with the smug hostler, who kindly returned her two bits, only saying, “I told you so,” six or seven times. Then Hannah trudged through drifts to her room.
As she battled the storm, she saw that all the businesses were closed and shuttered. It was late enough in the afternoon that the sun had set and there’d be no customers in this weather.
Then as she passed a building near the mercantile, she saw one lone light flickering in a window. Through thin curtains, Hannah saw a tall, reed-thin shape pass the light. Prudence, maybe, the seamstress she’d met in the general store. Hannah paused, drawn by the light and life of tha
t building, even as she knew she didn’t dare pause on the way to her own dark room.
As she watched, a second shape moved in the same direction as Prudence. A man, a giant of a man, bigger even than Harold, was in Prudence’s room with her. They’d offered Prudence the job as schoolmarm, hadn’t they? Only a single woman would be offered that job. And Mabel had definitely said Prudence was new in town. So what man was with her on this bitter cold evening?
True, it wasn’t very late, just after suppertime most likely. But people would want to get home and tuck themselves in safe for the night. The aching of Hannah’s feet prodded her onward. She had almost no feeling in them as she hurried home.
The diner was closed but the back door was unlocked, and Hannah got to her room without trouble. She spent the rest of the bitter night clutching her worn coat and the single thin blanket she’d pulled off the narrow cot around her. Leaning into the stovepipe with its meager warmth, she trembled with cold in the wretched room and thought of the glowing letters she’d gotten from Grace about her comfortable situation in Mosqueros. Hannah, with no food and no dry clothes, shivered and her stomach growled.
Hannah wrapped her arms around herself, missing all of her sisters. If Libby were here, the two of them would snuggle in bed, share their warmth, and survive the night by being strong for each other. They’d done it many times in Chicago and Omaha and other places.
Hannah vowed to God, as she stared into the ceiling of her black room, that she’d save Libby. She’d save all those children Grant had taken. Then she’d show this town there was such a thing as a teacher who stuck, no matter the provocation.
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