A flash of Giles Wilbur’s dirty, unshaven face flashed across her mind, sending shivers racing down her spine. The food warming her stomach threatened to come back up as she realized how close she’d come to becoming his wife. How could Curtis consider selling her—and to a horrible man like Giles Wilbur? A man older than himself. His drinking buddy, no less.
Rebekah wiped her nose on her sleeve and breathed a prayer of thanks for her escape. The rider she had thought was Curtis thankfully had turned out to be a stranger. Rebekah had turned Prince off the road the night of her escape and hidden in a cluster of trees while the rider approached and rode past. God had been with her that night and in the days that followed. He would be with her tonight as she made another escape.
It would have been nice to travel under the protection of a man and to enjoy the children’s company, but she couldn’t afford to dawdle. Even in his old age, Prince moved much faster than the heavy wagon with its cumbersome load. Who knew how close Curtis was behind her? She couldn’t give him time to catch up to her. She had to keep moving—and fast. No, this wagon would be much too slow. Her only chance was alone on horseback. God would give Prince the strength he needed to get her to Denver.
“Kid, you’re not goin’ anywhere tomorrow.” Mason’s words reverberated in Rebekah’s mind like the steady drip of rain on a tin roof.
How dare he think he can keep me here against my will! Come morning, we’ll just see about that
Rebekah flipped onto her side, listening to Katie’s steady breathing and the occasional sucking noise she made with her tongue against her thumb. A smile creased Rebekah’s mouth. She would miss Katie’s sweet smile. There was no guile in her, just innocent childishness. What would it be like to be Katie’s mother? To feel her chubby arms wrapped lovingly around her neck as Katie had wrapped them around Mason’s? For a moment, Rebekah envied him.
“Mama,” Katie called in her sleep.
“Shhh, sweetie, it’s okay,” she whispered. Reaching out in the darkness, she found Katie’s arm and patted it gently.
As if she’d been hit by lightning, Rebekah wondered if this young girl and she shared the same loss. A heaviness centered in her chest. Yes, she would miss Katie. Rebekah choked back a sob.
Katie rolled over in her sleep, and the warmth of her body pressed against Rebekah’s stomach. The trust she exuded in her sleep made Rebekah’s heart ache even more. If only things were different, she’d love to stay and get to know Katie and Jimmy better. She reached out and pulled Katie against her chest, then placed a gentle kiss on the girl’s silky hair.
Mason’s voice, soft and deep, filtered through her mind. He called Katie “sugar”—except it sounded more like “suguh.” A girl could fall in love with his slow Southern drawl. In fact, most of the words he uttered that ended in er sounded more like they ended in ah Nevah. Ovah A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. But in the next instant, his flashing obsidian eyes and clipped words branded her mind.
“Kid, you’re not goin’ anywhere.”
“And just who does he think he is?” she whispered to the canvas above her. “God?” Rebekah knew full well Mason wasn’t God, which cleared her to be angrier with him. No, she couldn’t be angry with God, but she certainly could be angry with the man who seemed bent on holding her against her will. She hugged Katie tighter, as if receiving strength from the little girl. The corner of Rebekah’s mouth tilted into a smile and her eyes narrowed.
“We’ll just see who’s not going anywhere tomorrow, Mr. High-and-Mighty.”
Mason flipped onto his side, trying to get comfortable on the hard ground. His head rested against RJ’s saddle. The scent of leather, a smell he’d always loved, reminded him of his boyhood home and the huge stables filled with saddles and all manner of horse paraphernalia. It was one of only a handful of pleasant memories he had of his childhood.
His father, Colonel Charles Danfield of the Confederate army, had always demanded strict discipline, especially of Mason, his only son. Mason never doubted the colonel loved him, but he had a unique way of showing it.
The soft sobbing above him shredded his heart. He hadn’t meant to be so gruff with RJ. The woman had a way of setting him off with her stubborn foolishness. Not to mention her deception. But there was no doubt in his mind that she hadn’t been lying when she cried out while unconscious. Mason knew he should have been gentler with her, considering how much she’d been through and how weak she was. He wanted to go find her father and knock some sense into the man. What had the man done to her?
RJ seemed like a wet kitten someone had left out in a cold rain. Mason wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her like he did Katie. But then, RJ didn’t know that he knew she was a woman and would most likely resist. Would she resist if she knew he was on to her little secret? Probably. The woman was too stubborn for her own good.
Mason chuckled softly at the blaze that had penetrated her blue eyes when he said she wasn’t leaving. He’d almost had to back away from the heat of them. RJ was most certainly one spirited filly.
RJ. What does that stand for? Ruthie Jane? Rita Jo?
Mason yawned as sleep beckoned. Ramona J …
From a distance, someone called his name. Mason fought the heaviness of sleep and forced his eyes open. The heat of the morning sun warmed his face. He raised his arms above his head, stretching the kinks from his long frame, and rammed his fist straight into the wagon wheel.
Mason winced and rubbed his knuckles as he stared up at Jimmy, who squatted beside him. “Did you hear me, Uncle Mason? I said, he’s gone!”
“He? Who?” Mason lifted his hand up to his mouth and licked the thin line of blood off his knuckles.
“RJ.”
four
Mason vaulted upward. A loud crack sent fingers of fire radiating pain from his forehead to the back of his head and down his neck. He bit back the urge to shout something neither Katie nor Jimmy’s tender ears needed to hear. Reaching up, he pressed the injured area with the fingertips of his bruised hand.
“You okay, Uncle Mason? Your head’s bleeding,” Jimmy said, concern marring his boyish features. Without waiting for an answer, the boy jumped up and raced to the back of the wagon.
Mason swiped the back of his hand across his forehead. Bright red blood, warm and sticky, painted it. “This is her fault,” he growled under his breath. He edged out from under the wagon and stood as Jimmy returned.
“Here.”
Mason looked down at the fairly clean rag his nephew held in his hand.
“Much obliged, pardner. You’re kind of handy to have around,” he said. He put one hand on the boy’s shoulder to steady himself and took the cloth. Jimmy’s bright smile warmed Mason’s heart. At the same time, a piercing pain gutted his insides. How could he ever say good-bye to these kids? He’d been the man in their young lives for the last several years. Jake hadn’t been home in more than two years, not since Katie was a baby. He would be a stranger to her.
No matter. Jake was their father, so Jake should have his children. It all seemed very logical, but Mason’s heart had a hard time agreeing. He squashed down the emotional pain and pressed the cloth to his forehead. He’d do what had to be done. The kids belonged with their father. Surely when Jake found out Danielle was dead, he’d settle down and accept the responsibility of raising his own children. At least, Mason hoped he would.
After that, he would be free. Free to do whatever he wanted. Free to go wherever he wanted. Free to be alone. Alone He’d never been truly alone. The thought didn’t bring the comforting reassurance it had when the idea first came to him. The closer he got to finding Jake, the more he dreaded being on his own.
Mason shook his head and was instantly sorry. He pulled the cloth away and stared at the bright red stain. At the moment, he had more pressing needs. He had to find a foolish young woman riding a horse with three hooves already in its grave. Mason needed his morning coffee but decided to forgo it so he could get started looking for RJ.
His knee, injured years ago in a farming accident, hinted at a weather change. This part of the country in April was generally beautiful, but looks could be deceiving when a cold northern blast shot through and cut the temperature in half. When that happened, they could wake up with frost on the ground. Crazy woman didn’t even have a cloak with her. He doubted she had any warm clothing.
“I checked on Katie. She’s still sleepin’. Ya want me to start a fire for breakfast?” Jimmy asked.
“No, pard, we’ll eat on the road. We’ve got a runaway to find.”
Rebekah sat in the grass alongside the trail. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Prince was near death, and it was all her fault. Her faithful steed had stumbled several times during the morning ride, but she’d continued to push him. Each time he’d fallen, she’d urged him on and he’d gone. Then without warning, he fell to his knees and lay down, refusing to stand again. His sides heaved unnaturally in his effort to breathe, and Rebekah knew if he didn’t get on his feet soon, he never would.
Only her quick thinking had kept her from being trapped beneath the dying horse. She hated to think what might have happened had she been wearing a dress instead of pants and not been able to jump clear. But thinking about what might have happened paled in comparison to what her faithful friend was going through right now, and she could do nothing for him. If only she had some water, maybe that would help, though Rebekah doubted anything really could. Prince had even refused the fresh prairie grass she tried to poke in the sides of his velvety mouth.
Rebekah now realized the foolishness of her hasty predawn escape. If only she’d stayed at camp, then Prince might not be fighting for his life.
Leaning forward with a hand to Prince’s neck and her lips to his ear, she whispered an apology. She laid her head against his and silently berated herself for her stupidity.
“Even Mason knew you needed rest,” she said softly to the horse.
Mason had slept with his head on her saddle. He must have thought that would keep her there, but it hadn’t. Bareback had always been her favorite way to ride, although it was much more difficult with a carpetbag in tow. If only she could have discovered where Mason had hidden her rifle. But searching for it surely would have caused him to awaken. She’d slept deeper and longer than expected, and the birds were already singing their predawn wake-up songs as Prince first limped away from their campsite.
Now here she was, alone somewhere on the border of Arkansas and the Indian Territory, with no horse, no gun, no food, and no water.
Pulling her knees to her chest, she gave in to the tears blurring her vision. “Why is this happening, Lord? All my life Mama read the Bible to me. Even as a young child, I believed and tried to obey Your Word. What did I do wrong?”
Rebekah hiccupped and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Aren’t You going to help me?”
“Go back.”
She looked around, sure she’d heard a voice. Rolling hills covered in thigh-high prairie grass dotted with clusters of trees arrayed in new green leaves were all that met her gaze.
“Go back.”
Go back where?
Back home? She wasn’t even sure she could find her way back to her home in southeastern Arkansas.
To Mason?
“No! I can’t!” she cried out loud. I won’t “He doesn’t want to be burdened with me.”
“Go back.”
Rebekah jumped to her feet. “I can’t!” she screamed to the sky. “He already has his hands full. He doesn’t need another mouth to feed, and I won’t beg charity.”
She knelt beside Prince and patted his hard jaw, her dripping tears darkening the short hairs on his neck. Huge, watery brown eyes turned her direction, and Prince blew out a weak snort. “Come on, boy. Get up. Please.”
Rebekah stood and took the long leather bridle reins in both hands, pulling with all her strength, willing the big horse to rise. Prince’s head slowly began to lift from the earth, but she couldn’t hold the weight of him, and the reins began to slip from her grasp. Locking her knees and bracing with all her strength, Rebekah fought to hold the reins; but Prince’s head fell back to the ground, and she plummeted onto her backside with an aching thud
“Don’t do this, Prince,” she scolded the horse as she rubbed her aching rear. Rising on her knees, she crawled to her horse. “Oh Prince, please, please … What am I going to do without you?”
“Go back.”
Rebekah raised her hands to her face in defeat. The smell of leather and horse sweat lingered on her damp palms. She clenched her jaw to kill the sob in her throat, fighting hard against the tears burning her eyes. Enough tears had been shed in the last twenty-four hours to fill a small river.
Looking up to the graying sky, Rebekah determined it to be shortly after noontime. She needed to find something to eat and drink. She didn’t want to abandon Prince to suffer alone, but without her rifle, she could do nothing for him. Mason would have to tend to Prince when he came along. Turning her head, she looked to the west. Her determination faltered.
“I can’t go back. Mason will be so angry. He won’t want me to come back. He doesn’t even like me. I’m a burden he doesn’t need.”
She rose to her feet. With resolve, Rebekah picked up her carpetbag and walked west into the chilly breeze, hoping and praying she’d find water over the next hill.
Several hills later, Rebekah began to wonder why she’d felt such an urge to get away from Mason. Sure, he’d snapped at her and been upset, but wasn’t it because of her stubborn insistence to do things herself when she was far too weak? Her steps slowed. The boots, an ancient pair of Curtis’s that were several sizes too large for her, rubbed painful blisters on the sides of her feet.
Rebekah limped over to a grove of trees just off the trail. She dropped her carpetbag and leaned against a tall oak, relishing the support it offered her weary body. A sudden blast of cold air from the northwest taunted the tree’s juvenile leaves, while streams of dark, ominous clouds drifted across the gray sky. Wrapping her arms around her chest, Rebekah slid down the trunk of the tree, huddling in a ball, her mind transporting her back to happier, warmer days.
As Rebekah nestled in a quilt with Davy on her lap, sitting in front of the fireplace, they’d listened to their mother read God’s Word. One of her mother’s favorite verses filtered through her cloud of confusion: “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.”
Rebekah sucked in a shaky breath. Surely this wasn’t the end for her. God’s expected end? Surely not. Why would He bring her out in the middle of nowhere just to die? When her mother had read the verse back home, it had always instilled hope in Rebekah. Hope for a home of her own with a husband who loved her and children to cuddle and nurture. As Rebekah reached her teen years, her mother had often said, “Sooner or later, some handsome man will come along and sweep you off your feet.”
“Sooner or later,” Rebekah murmured. Not if this was her expected end.
“Thoughts of peace, and not of evil …” That’s the key. Peace Warmth spread through Rebekah’s being as she realized the truth. Thoughts of this being her expected end did not bring her peace; thus they must not be from God. Dying on the prairie was not her expected end. She knew it all the way to her tiptoes.
“Go back.”
She heard the words in her mind once more. With sudden composure and deliberate resolve, she jumped to her feet. She picked up her bag, raised her chin, and turned back toward the east.
“All right, Mason Whoever-You-Are, here I come.”
The abrupt ping of a rifle shot halted the words in her mouth. Her head jerked up. She squinted her eyes, staring off into the distance. Another rapid blast rang out, echoing across the hills. Rebekah began to shake. Fearful images of merciless armed men filled her mind. Her newfound peace and confidence quickly evaporated as icy fear twisted around her heart.
“Oh, Lord, I’
m sorry. Sorry for my stubbornness. Sorry for my independence. Forgive me for not being grateful when you sent Mason to help me.”
The tears she had successfully held at bay the past half hour spilled forth in a torrent. The tight knot within her begged for release as she turned around again and raced behind the huge oak tree. Once again, she slid to the ground.
“Please, God, show me a way out of this awful mess.”
Mason rubbed his jaw, which was starting to ache from being clenched all morning. He needed a shave. His bristly beard had grown out the past few days since he’d been rationing their remaining water. As soon as it rained or they came upon a creek, he would shave it off. RJ must think I look like a hillbilly
RJ had headed west; he was sure of it. Shortly past their campsite, he’d happened upon a fresh pile of manure. Since he’d seen no other horses, Mason felt certain it belonged to Prince.
As far as he could tell, the crazy woman had taken nothing with her except a small carpetbag. She even had the gumption to ride off bareback since he’d used her saddle for a not-so-soft pillow. Not for the first time, Mason wished he had a faster horse. On a good horse, he could cover in a half hour the ground that it had taken the slower-moving draft horses all morning to cover. They were great for pulling the heavy Conestoga wagon, but he had to have patience, something he was running very low on at the moment. Besides, even if he had a quick horse, he couldn’t ride off and leave Katie and Jimmy alone. That was the whole reason he had sold his other horses before making the move west.
“Look!” Jimmy reached for Mason’s sleeve and grabbed a piece of his arm along with it. The sharp pain reminded him he should have been keeping his mind on the job at hand.
Sooner or Later Page 4