Betrayal

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  With a shake of his head, he strode to the chopping block, picked up the ax, and set to work.

  Despite questioning the wisdom of allowing Hugh Brennan to stay, Julia couldn’t help but be thankful for his help with the firewood. It was one of the few chores she truly detested. And she’d learned the hard way how important it was to chop as much firewood as possible while the weather was warm so there would be plenty to be had after winter set in.

  Watching him through the window, she noted how easy he made the task look. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing strong biceps. He worked in an easy rhythm — set the log on the stump, step back, swing the ax back and around and down, pick up the split wood, set the pieces on the stack, grab another log, do it all over again.

  He hadn’t asked for more than what she’d offered. Still, she wished she could pay him for his labor. Something more than food in his belly and a bunk in the barn. Unfortunately, she had no money to spare. Wouldn’t have any until she culled the herd later in the month, and even then the money she received from the sale would most likely be just enough to see her through the next year. That’s how it was for most ranchers. Only cattle barons — and there were few enough of them — had the luxury of plenty of cash in their pockets. Most of the rest lived hand-to-mouth.

  Turning her back to the window, Julia wondered if Angus had ever worried he might lose Sage-hen after a harsh winter or when the price of beef on the hoof wasn’t as high as expected. Not that her husband would have told her. He hadn’t thought the day-to-day operation of the ranch any of her business. And if he’d known he was going to die, he wouldn’t have left Sage-hen to his wife either.

  The knowledge stung her heart, but not as much as it once had.

  Hugh awakened with a start, heart hammering. Sometimes, the nightmares lingered, vivid and precise in every way. Other times all he remembered was being afraid but not knowing why. He could never decide if one kind was better than the other.

  He tossed the blanket aside and rose from the bed, pulling on his shirt before he’d straightened to his full height. The room held a cot, a small table, and two wooden chairs, and wasn’t much larger than one of the stalls in the barn — or a prison cell. Three strides took him to the door. Not many more carried him outside.

  Light from the full moon threw a blanket of white over the barnyard, chicken coop, corral, and house. Leaning a shoulder against the corner of the barn, he wondered again about the widow woman who’d given him shelter. She didn’t seem the type to live alone on a remote spread like this. There was a delicacy about her that seemed at odds with the rugged land where she lived. It made him want to know her story, which surprised him. Hugh rarely asked questions about others because it invited them to ask questions about him. Better to keep to himself.

  He turned his back to the wall of the barn, leaned against it, and closed his eyes. Then he waited. Waited for the last dregs of the nightmare to fade away. Waited to forget the man he used to be. Waited for the fragile peace he’d found in a Savior to sweep over him, even though he didn’t fully understand that Savior yet. Waited.

  He was good at waiting. It was a trait he’d learned in prison. If he hadn’t learned it, the cramped space he’d lived in for so many years would have driven him mad.

  The click of Bandit’s claws on the floor awakened Julia. The dog paced from the bedroom to the front door and back to the bedroom again.

  “Do you need out, boy?”

  Bandit whimpered his affirmation.

  “All right.” She pushed aside the blanket and got up. “I’m coming.” Her way was illuminated by moonlight coming through the windows.

  The instant the front door opened, Bandit shot through it, racing out to relieve himself. Julia started to close the door, but then she saw him — Hugh Brennan, his back against the barn, standing in the moonlight. Bandit saw him too, but the dog didn’t raise an alarm. He simply moved toward Hugh, alert but not concerned. Apparently the spaniel had accepted the newcomer. That was good to know. Julia had learned to put stock in Bandit’s opinion of people; he’d proven himself a good judge of character.

  Where had Hugh been headed, she wondered, before he stopped at Sage-hen to ask for a drink of water and a respite for his horse? Where had he come from? She supposed it showed an alarming lack of curiosity — if not some more serious flaw in her character — that she wanted to know little other than his name. But why should she want to know more? He wouldn’t be here long. A few days of rest, and then he would move on. Whatever his previous destination had been, that’s where he would go, and she would never see him again.

  Which was fine with her.

  She continued to watch him, wondering what held his gaze. Perhaps it was the moon. Or perhaps he watched the treetops as they swayed in the night breeze. Or perhaps his eyes had been closed this entire time.

  But then Hugh noticed Bandit. The man pushed away from the barn and spoke softly to the dog, at the same time appearing to look toward the house. Could he see her? She didn’t think so. But he must have known she was there all the same. Squatting, he held out his hand. Bandit went closer but stayed just out of reach; the dog might have accepted the man’s presence, but they weren’t friends yet. As Julia had told Hugh earlier, Bandit had plenty of reasons to distrust men.

  As did she.

  An unpleasant memory from a night much like this one — moonlight flooding the barnyard, the air crisp but not cold — suddenly overtook her. She heard her husband’s angry voice and Bandit’s painful yelp, felt the thudding of her heart, steeled herself against whatever might come next.

  “What a pitiful excuse for a woman you are.”

  The words, echoing from the past, left a hollow sensation in their wake. Tears slipped from her eyes to track her cheeks, but she swept them away with her fingertips. She wanted to be done with tears. It was time to be done with the pain.

  She left the door ajar for Bandit and returned to her bedroom where she crawled beneath the covers and lay staring at the ceiling. Sleep wouldn’t come again, but she would lie there anyway and wait out the night.

  Hugh had known she was there in the doorway, watching him, watching the dog. Her white nightgown had given her away, despite how she’d kept to the shadows of the house. Was she afraid of him? Maybe, but she hadn’t let that stop her from helping him. It took courage to act despite one’s fears, and he’d learned to appreciate courage, when a person did what was right, no matter the opposition. Instinct told Hugh that Julia Grace had faced more than her fair share of opposition.

  Julia Grace.

  The name seemed to fit her. Especially the last name. Grace. Simple elegance. Simple would describe the dark brown skirt and the light brown blouse she’d worn when he first saw her. Simple would describe the way she wore her honey-brown hair, captured neatly with a ribbon at the nape of her neck. And elegant would describe the arch of her brows above eyes of robin-egg blue and the delicacy of her pale, flawless skin.

  Julia Grace.

  It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to give much notice to a female. Most women, leastwise the type he’d care to know, didn’t want anything to do with a man like him. Maybe that’s what she’d thought as she stood in the doorway awhile ago. That she didn’t want anything to do with him. That she wished she hadn’t given him a place to sleep. That she hoped he would pack up and move on.

  Well, that’s what he wanted too. To be on his way just as soon as possible.

  Hugh returned to the sleeping quarters inside the barn. He struck a match and lit the oil lamp, throwing a golden glow over the room, and sat on one of the chairs. No point getting back into the bed. He wouldn’t sleep. Might as well read. So he reached into the saddlebag hanging over the spindle of the other chair and withdrew the Bible from inside.

  The book — the black leather cover worn, pages crinkled by time and use — had been given to Hugh by a preacher he’d met at Dr. Cray’s when he went there to learn information about his sisters.
At the time, he hadn’t thought it would mean much of anything to him. He wasn’t even sure why he’d kept it. But somewhere in Colorado, as he made his way west, that had changed. This Bible had become a lifeline, helping him discover who he was supposed to be, teaching him to look forward rather than back. Little by little, he’d learned there wasn’t much in life that was under his control, not even outside of prison walls. And so he’d tried — was still trying — to give control of his life to the One who’d saved him from himself.

  He opened the Bible to a now favorite chapter, Romans 12:

  And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.

  Prove what was the perfect will of God. He hadn’t learned how to do that yet. It almost sounded easy here, the way the verse was written, but it wasn’t easy.

  Was he supposed to try to find his sisters? And even if the answer was yes, what was he to do with his life afterward? Plenty of folks wouldn’t bother to give him work if they knew his past. Was he to keep it a secret, or was that the same as lying? How did he live out this new life with his renewed mind?

  His mum used to say, when he wasn’t sure what to do, to keep moving forward and eventually God would make things clear. He sure hoped she was right.

  THREE

  At this time of the year, sunrise arrived at Sage-hen Ranch shortly after 5:00 a.m. On this particular morning, Julia was up, dressed, and outside as a pewter dawn spread across the barnyard. But before she reached the chicken coop, Hugh Brennan appeared in the barn doorway. He stopped when he saw her. She did the same.

  “Morning, Mrs. Grace.”

  “Morning, Mr. Brennan. I hope you found the quarters comfortable.”

  “I did, ma’am.” He motioned toward her basket. “Would you like me to gather the eggs for you?”

  The offer surprised her. Angus would never have volunteered to go anywhere near the henhouse. Gathering eggs was woman’s work, and he’d never allowed her to forget what her work was.

  “Ma’am?”

  She gave her head a slight shake. “No. Thank you, Mr. Brennan. I’ll do it. I’ll call you when breakfast is ready. But you could feed the horses in the corral, if you don’t mind.”

  As Julia started forward, Bandit left her side and trotted over to Hugh. Unlike in the night, this time the dog didn’t stop out of reach. He seemed to have made up his mind about the man. She hoped Hugh was deserving of Bandit’s trust. And her own, guarded though it was.

  It didn’t take long to gather the eggs and return to the house. Breakfast was the same as the day before, only this time she scrambled the eggs and toasted the slices of buttered bread in the frying pan. When everything was ready, she went to the front porch and called for Hugh to join her before returning to the kitchen.

  A short while later, he arrived at the open door. “Are you sure, Mrs. Grace?”

  She didn’t have to ask what he meant. Yesterday, she’d served him two meals, both times taking a plate to him outside. “I’m sure.”

  He stepped inside, lowering his head so as not to hit it on the doorjamb on his way through. She wondered, considering his height, if his feet hung off the end of the bunk in the barn. She thought they must have — and she found the image that popped into her mind disturbing.

  “Smells good.” He settled onto a chair at the table.

  “There’s not much damage a person can do to eggs and bacon. That’s what my husband used to say.” The instant the words were out of her mouth, she was sorry she’d said them. She didn’t like to talk about Angus. Talking about him only served to bring up bad memories.

  She took her place opposite Hugh, bowed her head, and gave silent thanks for God’s provision. When she looked up again, she saw that Hugh had bowed his head as well. Was he waiting for her to speak a blessing over the food? Just in case, she said, “Amen.”

  “Amen.” He opened his eyes, tossed her a brief smile, and began to eat.

  He wasn’t much of a conversationalist. That was for certain. Normally, she wouldn’t mind. She was comfortable with silence and her own thoughts. But she’d gotten an idea early this morning when she couldn’t go back to sleep, and now she wanted to know more about the man seated across from her.

  She picked up her fork. “Where do you come from, Mr. Brennan?”

  “Illinois. My sisters and I were born in Chicago.”

  “Then you’re a long way from home.”

  “Yes’m. I’m a long way.”

  “And where are you headed?”

  “To Boise.”

  She waited, expecting him to elaborate, but he didn’t. She decided to change tack. “How is your horse’s leg this morning?”

  “He’s still favoring it. Can’t tell why. I haven’t found any sort of wound, and there’s nothing in his hoof that I can see. Afraid I don’t know much about doctoring animals.”

  “There’s liniment in the tack room. That might help.”

  He nodded.

  Julia set down her fork. She might as well get to the point. “Mr. Brennan, would it be a problem if you delayed your trip to Boise for a short while longer? A few weeks at most.”

  He cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.

  “I’m going to need help driving my cattle to market, and the men who used to work for my husband have been hired on by another rancher. Besides, I can’t offer much of a salary, and I couldn’t give you any money until after the cattle are sold. But if you’re interested, you’ll eat good and you’ll have a roof over your head at night. The way it is now. Would you be interested?”

  Hugh seemed to ponder the offer, and Julia couldn’t decide if she wanted him to accept or reject it. She still knew little about him and wasn’t sure why she’d felt compelled to ask him to work for her, other than because she needed the help and he seemed to like her cooking enough that he might not quibble over his pay.

  At long last, he replied, “All right, Mrs. Grace. I don’t suppose a few weeks more or less matters. Not where I’m going. I’ll admit I wouldn’t mind more of your good vittles. A man gets tired of beans day in and day out. But you should know, I’ve never done any ranch work. Green. Isn’t that what you call it?”

  Julia released the breath she hadn’t known she held. “When my husband was alive, I wasn’t involved with the everyday duties of running the ranch. I tended the home and Angus looked after the cattle. But since he died, I’ve been learning. If I can learn, so can you. Can you rope?”

  A smile slipped into the corners of his mouth. “No, ma’am. Not much call for roping in the city.”

  Was he laughing at her? She bristled, and her feelings must have shown on her face.

  He quickly sobered. “Why don’t you tell me a little more about the place and what you’re wanting me to do?”

  Her irritation cooled. She was too sensitive, and she knew it. “Sage-hen isn’t a large ranch. Less than two hundred acres. It’s all fenced and the soil is rich. Irrigation from the river that runs through it allows enough forage to keep a couple hundred cows, each with a calf. I don’t have that many. I had to sell more than I wanted last year after Angus passed on.” She took a sip of coffee.

  Hugh gave a brief nod, showing he listened.

  “In the next week or two, I need to brand this year’s calves. By the first of June, I’ll have to drive the cattle I’m selling down to a ranch on the plains. It’s not a long drive, and the two of us should be able to handle it without more help.” They’d better be able to handle it. She couldn’t afford to hire another hand, even an inexperienced one like Hugh Brennan. “Until then, you can make a few repairs around the place and help care for the livestock.”

  “I reckon I can at that.” He took a few quick bites, cleaning the last of the food from his plate.

  Normally, Julia was wary of men. Strangers in particular. But there was something about this man —

  “Where would you like me to start, ma’am?” />
  “Perhaps you could start by calling me Julia. I’m afraid all your ma’ams are making me … I don’t know … self-conscious.”

  His smile returned, and she noticed for the first time that it was slightly lopsided, lifting higher in the right corner of his mouth. Was it due to the pale scar on that cheek? Perhaps. But no matter the cause, the smile was appealing. Most women must find him attractive.

  The heat of embarrassment rose in her cheeks. Lowering her gaze to her plate, she said, “Go ahead and tend to your horse. I’ll be out to show you around after I’m done with the dishes.”

  Julia Grace was a strange one, Hugh thought as he worked the liniment into his gelding’s leg. She couldn’t seem to decide whether or not she should trust him. Or like him, for that matter. One moment she said to call her Julia because being called ma’am made her feel self-conscious; the next she dismissed him without a glance. Maybe that’s what came of living alone out in the middle of nowhere without another soul to talk to.

  People were meant to have relationships. That’s what he’d heard a preacher in Nebraska say. That’s what God intended. His people were meant to be in community, giving and sharing, praying and blessing. True enough, he supposed. But the risk of betrayal increased with close connections to others. A solitary existence could be lonely, but it was also safer. That’s how Hugh saw it.

  He looked toward the house, wondering again about the woman inside. Living here alone couldn’t be easy. Surely she could find another husband without much effort, as pretty as she was. But there was something else about her, something that made him think of a canary in a cage.

  There are many kinds of prisons. That thought was followed with words he’d read in the Bible that morning. Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.

  Hugh had a talent for memorizing, an aptitude he’d honed over the years. Too often he hadn’t had easy access to books so he’d learned to commit words to memory. That way, he always had a story to remember. That talent was proving a blessing as he sought to have a better understanding of his Savior.