“Even with your crosses?”
“Even with our crosses.... What we do have is grit and heart. Two things you and that boy of yours are going to need in full measure.”
Ant let out a discouraged sigh and dropped into the chair. “I don’t know that I have enough of either.”
“Son, I don’t know that anyone thinks they have enough. Both are qualities that take patience and persistence, especially during times of great difficulty.”
“This seems like one of those times.” Ant rose from his chair and paced the room. Four steps could take him from end to end. “Yet that notion also seems ridiculous. I have David. He’s safe… Great difficulty was when I found my murdered sister’s body and realized that David was gone. Great difficulty was times I had to endure in my two-year search for my nephew. This shouldn’t be a time of great difficulty.”
“But it is,” the minister said, compassion in his voice. He waited a beat. “I’m sorry to hear about your sister. When a loved one is murdered, we feel a grave sense of injustice and anger…. Sometimes that anger can interfere with our mourning.”
Ant felt himself close up. “The murderer, David’s father, is dead. It’s time to focus on the future, not the past.”
Like a snowy owl, Reverend Norton watched him with wise eyes.
Ant almost came close to pouring out everything, but he settled for a brief statement. He rubbed his hands over his eyes. “I’m thinking of staying here. I’m just not sure that’s the best thing.”
Reverend Norton held up one bony hand. “Let me get my helpmate in here. When it comes to children, I value her advice.” He paused. “When it comes to anything, I value her advice. Although, I’m told I frequently cut her off in my enthusiasm to voice my opinion.” He shook his head, as if thinking. “We’ll talk about it, then we’ll pray about it. Hopefully, both will help you find your answers.”
* * *
David awoke slowly, half conscious of the softness of the bed and the warmth of the coverings. In a moment his mother would come and urge him to get up but for now, he’d snuggle into… He went under again, and only later did he gradually float into wakefulness. Then a sharp feeling of fear propelled him into alertness, and he bolted upright, fists raised in protection, looking for his pa, prepared for the blow that would knock him off the pallet if he hadn’t scrambled off beforehand.
The unfamiliar room made him dizzy, and he glanced wildly around before the events of yesterday caught up with him. He wasn’t on a hard pallet on the floor of the shack, but in a real bed.
Since he was alone in the room, David relaxed his fists and leaned a shoulder against the wall covered in little flowers. Tears choked his throat, and he tried to hold onto them. For a long time now, he’d manage to keep from crying, no matter what his pa did to him. But yesterday unsettled him somehow. That bath...remembering made him burn with embarrassment.
The tears now were different. They wanted to come from a place deep inside himself. He thought if he let them up, he’d never stop crying. Be a big baby. He had himself two choices. He could drift away, or he could run.
Today, feeling stronger than he had yesterday...than he had in a long time...he chose to run.
Popping out of bed, David realized he was still clad in a man’s white shirt that hung almost to his ankles. He lunged for his new clothes, folded neatly on a wooden chair backed against the wall at the foot of the bed. For a moment he paused, running his hand over the stiff new material. He brought the blue shirt to his face and sniffed the crispness, feeling a tingly bit of happy in the pit of his stomach.
Disconcerted by his reaction, David dropped the shirt back on the chair. He fumbled with the stiff buttons of the man’s shirt, so different from the two that had remained on his old one, the thread holding them to the cloth so limp that the buttons sagged when pushed through the buttonhole.
David let the big man’s shirt drop to the floor, and he scrambled into the new clothes. He debated about the boots. He’d gone barefoot ever since his shoes had worn out at the end of the winter, but the shiny brown leather convinced him to pull on thick socks without holes, then the boots.
Once dressed, David clomped down the stairs and through the kitchen. He would have stopped to snatch something to eat, but the old biddy set up a squawk when she saw him and flapped her apron at him, just like an angry chicken. So he kept on going. He ran into the street, avoiding the few people he saw. The dust puffed with each step.
David felt a slight regret for the shininess of his boots, but even that didn’t stop him. He kept on running.
* * *
After an almost sleepless night, in which her mind refused to let go of the visions of her assault, Harriet dressed slowly. Her ankle ached, and she felt tired, sore, and reluctant to go downstairs and face the Cobbs, as well as everyone else. Even the treat of picking out a new shirtwaist wasn’t enough to prod her through the door.
She wondered if anyone would miss her if she stayed in her room and read. The Count of Monte Cristo beckoned to her. After all, she hadn’t touched that book since she’d joined forces with Ant to find David. It had been a tumultuous few days. I deserve some solitude.
She almost sat down in the wooden chair by the window. She’d made a cushion for that chair the first few days she’d lived with the Cobbs. It was her favorite place to read. Now she longed with all her heart to plop down, well, ladies didn’t plop...gracefully seat herself...and shut out the world through reading a book.
But she doubted even revolutionary France would be enough of an escape from Sweetwater Springs. Even if she could immerse herself in the story, she’d still have to return to her surroundings when she stopped reading.
Besides she wanted to know how David was doing. Not that she could go to Widow Murphy’s to find out. After yesterday, with Mrs. Cobb’s insinuations about her reputation, Harriet had to tread carefully. Continued close association with Ant might, indeed, cause gossip and jeopardize her job. Besides, news of David’s condition would be all over town today. The Cobbs probably already know. I won’t need to go over there—won’t need to see him … see them. The thought hurt.
Her heart sank to her knees at the thought of interacting with the Cobbs. How can I continue to live with them? She’d wracked her brain much of the night, trying to come up with an alternative, but couldn’t see one—except for leaving Sweetwater Springs, which she didn’t want to do.
Single ladies had few respectable choices in a small town. Living with the Cobbs, paying only a small room and board, allowed her to save money for her eventual home. She should really count her blessings, instead of complaining. Nothing good ever came of complaining. One of her mother’s favorite sayings, uttered far too often, whether Harriet had actually grumbled or just expressed a wish for something her mother couldn’t afford.
Harriet braced herself and reluctantly descended the stairs. She took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen.
Mrs. Cobb stood at the stove, deftly turning bacon strips in the cast iron skillet. The smell made Harriet realize how hungry she was. Mr. Cobb was already seated at the table reading the day-old newspaper that had arrived on the train.
Neither greeted her, although Mr. Cobb made a grunting acknowledgement when Harriet took her place at the table. Mrs. Cobb bustled over, the towel-wrapped handle of the iron skillet in one hand, serving spoon in the other. She scooped some scrambled eggs onto Harriet’s plate, followed by two strips of bacon and a piece of toast.
Harriet ate in silence. The Cobbs sometimes spoke to each other, but didn’t include her in the conversation. Harriet didn’t care. She tried to ignore them in the same way they ignored her.
The name Elizabeth Sanders caught her attention. Mrs. Cobb started complaining about Nick’s wife shipping her family’s possessions from Boston to Sweetwater Springs. Mrs. Cobb seemed to think it was a deliberate slight to them. It wasn’t as if the mercantile could stock the valuable items Elizabeth had reportedly lived with.
Harriet thought her spirits couldn’t sink further. But at the thought of Nick and Elizabeth, they crashed to the floor at her feet. She kept her head down, slowly eating, although the food had lost its flavor.
“Six wagons, mind you. Six!” Mrs. Cobb exclaimed.
Mr. Cobb looked up from his paper. “Who all’s driving them wagons?”
She counted them on stubby fingers. “Nick Sanders, of course. Carter. Thompson. Mack Taylor. Payne. Hart.”
He snorted. “Be a regular parade. Probably have folks come just to gawk.”
Mrs. Cobb perked up. “That’s right. And since folks are here, they’ll probably frequent the mercantile.”
Harriet’s mind was full of memories, pondering the foolishness of first love. The whole time Nick was building a house on his new ranch, Harriet had fantasized about living there with him. She’d even secretly ridden over there one afternoon, stopping at the edge of the woods nearby. In her mind, she’d added a white picket fence with rose bushes trailing over it. She’d made curtains for the windows and planted a vegetable garden in the back. She had her own chicken house off to the side of the garden. She’d loved his house as much as she’d loved Nick, and giving up the dream of both had been the hardest thing she’d ever done.
Harriet had forced herself to stop fantasizing once Nick and Elizabeth had married and moved into the little house. Then the wealthy bride had commissioned a bigger house, using her funds to import carpenters and masons to build it on the hill overlooking a lake. When Harriet had heard the news, she’d felt outraged. She couldn’t believe Elizabeth didn’t appreciate the home Nick had built for her—one that Harriet would have given anything to have for her own. The workmen had just finished most of the new mansion and the couple was in the process of moving in, leaving the smaller house available for their foreman and his family. Harriet wondered if anyone but her would appreciate the modest ranch house.
Mrs. Cobb sniffed. “Invited everyone to a party afterwards, too.”
Harriet looked up at that comment.
Mrs. Cobb noticed and apparently condescended to talk to her. “You, too, Miss Stanton. Mrs. Sanders came by yesterday, while you were gallivanting on the mountain with Mr. Gordon.”
Harriet didn’t even have the heart to argue with her.
The woman gave her a sly look. “The party will be after they haul all that furniture and get it in the new house; dishes, bedding, and other things as well. I have a mind to see it.” Her tone turned malicious. “Although I’ve heard that everything is not the latest style.”
But I’m sure it’s all in good taste.
Mr. Cobb cleared his throat. “No need for me to go. I’ll stay here and mind the store.”
Harriet heard what he wasn’t saying. Mr. Cobb had no desire to be put to work lugging furniture.
“Then Miss Stanton and I will drive out in the buggy.” Mrs. Cobb shot a spiteful glance at Harriet.
The food balled in Harriet’s stomach. She didn’t want to go to the party, and she certainly didn’t want to travel there with Mrs. Cobb. And something else bothered her about Mrs. Cobb’s intentions, although she couldn’t identify what it was. She was used to the woman’s critical nature, yet this felt like something more…. It’s obvious she’s still angry with me, so why does she want me to go with her?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ant left the parsonage, strode around the church and into the street. He’d spent more time with the Nortons then he’d intended. I hope David’s still asleep. Widow Murphy will skewer me if he’s anywhere near her.
A man riding a brown Appaloosa saw him, hesitated, and then reined in. With one finger he shoved his black Stetson back a bit so Ant could see his face. “Mr. Gordon?”
“Yes.” He studied the unfamiliar rider whom he didn’t recognize. A younger man with green eyes, a slightly crooked nose, and freckles under his tan.
“Nick Sanders. You’ve met my wife, Elizabeth.”
Ant recalled the beautiful blonde who’d helped him strategize where to look for David. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sanders. Rode out to your ranch the other day, but missed you. Met your wife, though.” As Ant spoke, he wondered what there was about this man to appeal to the beautiful Elizabeth.
“Not in the habit of stopping strangers, but the word’s out you’ve found your boy.”
“Yes.” Ant couldn’t help but grin. “Sure did.”
“We were mighty glad to hear the news.”
What is it with small towns? Word of mouth spreads faster than a newspaper.
“Thank you. I appreciate your wife’s help.”
“You might not have heard...being so busy with your search. We’re going to have a....”
A? Ant raised his eyebrow in inquiry.
“What feels like a circus is arriving tomorrow on the train.”
Circus?
“But really it’s the contents of my wife’s former home. Almost lock, stock, and barrel. Her sister-in-law made a clean sweep.” He grimaced. “My wife’s happy about it though, and that makes me happy.”
Ant laughed. “I’m sure it does.”
Color crept up Nick’s neck. “I’ve lined up a bunch of men with wagons to haul everything out. The wives want to get involved too.” He shrugged. “The ladies have come up with the idea of an unpacking party.”
And your point is?
“Afterward, food, music, dancing. You and your boy would be welcomed.”
Ah. Ant couldn’t resist a little teasing. “So you saw me and thought, there’s a fine, big fellow,” he drawled. “Bet he could carry a lot. Make short work of the job so we could all get to partyin’.”
Sanders flushed a little. “Yes. No,” he stuttered to a stop.
Ant took pity on him. “I’ll be glad to lend you my back.”
“Doesn’t sound neighborly, does it, to invite you to work before you even know us?”
“Sounds like the best part of neighborly, Sanders. I’ve seen enough of this town to know you already have plenty of people to help out. You don’t need me. But the invitation is just what I need since I’m thinking of parking us in Sweetwater Springs.”
The man smiled with shy charm. Ant could see how he might have won the fair Elizabeth.
“My wife will be pleased to hear you’re coming.”
“Sounds like your work party will be good for David.”
“Guess he can carry some light packages.”
Ant thought back to yesterday. Unless David had an overnight change, he wouldn’t be helping. He gave a slow shake of his head. “I’d best find someone to watch him.”
“I’m sure Miss Stanton will. If she’s not up to it, I’m sure Mrs. Rodriguez will. She has a boy about your David’s age, then went and adopted three more strays. Turned them into a good little family.
“I’ll have to ask her advice. David’s not comfortable with me yet. I wouldn’t put it past him to hightail away.”
Nick’s gaze sharpened. He studied Ant as if seeing him with new eyes. “I think that might have already happened. Saw a boy heading out as I rode in.” He pointed the direction. “Skinny. Looks a bit like you. Blue shirt. Didn’t think anything of it. But now I realize I didn’t know him and I know most of the children hereabouts.”
Ant bit off a curse. “My thanks.”
He spun around, heading for the livery. Fear and anger drove him to quickly saddle Shadow, mount the horse and ride after David. Hopefully, the boy was headed for the shack he knew as home. For if he wasn’t, Ant might have a hard time finding him again. And who knew what might befall a boy alone on the mountain?
* * *
David had long since abandoned his socks and boots on the side of the trail. They’d rubbed blisters before he’d gone very far. Now he trotted up the trail, comfortable in bare feet, unless he stepped on a sharp rock or stick. But he had plenty of experience in picking out the smoothest ground.
He neared the clearing with the cabin he and his father had lived in, then through long practice, veered in
to the forest along the side, trotting up a faint game trail that he’d used on his explorations, for the first time realizing he didn’t have to dread going “home.” He had plenty of other things worryin’ at him though, and he needed space to think—a place that didn’t have big men, old biddies, and pretty schoolteachers anywhere around.
He came to the edge of the cliff, and, with a sigh of relief, set himself down, dangling his legs over the side. He studied the rocks below carefully, looking for his pa’s body, half wanting to see him dead, half glad not to see any sign of him.
David allowed the sight of the water moving over rocks to calm him. As always, he came here to escape, even if he did have to eventually go back. He’d fantasized plenty about following that river and had come very close a time or two. He’d also come close to jumping, but something had always held him back. He didn’t know what.
Despair settled on his shoulders, as heavy as a coat of rocks. At least with Pa, he’d known what to expect. Could avoid him most of the time. His pa rarely searched for him. He had a feeling the stranger wouldn’t let him off so easy.
He needed to do something, and now was the time. For sure as shootin’, the big man would find him if he stayed here long.
* * *
Ant stood back through the trees just far enough away to see David but not spook the boy. His hand rested on the rough bark of a pine tree. He didn’t want a wrong move on his part to startle his nephew off the cliff. His heart pounded from the hurried climb from the shack to the top of the cliff and from the fear he felt just watching the skinny back of his nephew. One slip…
He made himself take some deep breaths to slow down his heart. David obviously was familiar with this spot, and he could move like a mountain goat. Charging after the boy might be the worst thing he could do. David had experienced enough anger and meanness from his father. From his uncle he’d need strength and patience.
Ant surveyed the pine needle strewn ground, searching for twigs that might snap under his feet. He had no illusions about getting into the open without David hearing him. Now would be a good time to be an Indian, wearing moccasins, able to move silently through the forest without leaving any sign of his presence. But he’d have to settle for giant feet in boots not meant for hiking.
Debra Holland Page 12