Sure enough, the trees broke and Rafe took the path. He located a clearing up ahead. As he emerged through the tangle of limbs, he pulled the animal up in surprise. The barn, the biggest he’d seen in the area, greeted him like a castle on a hilltop. He grinned. Colvin had said it was worth twice the land and he had, for once, told the truth.
He swung his gaze to the cabin. The front porch sagged, nearly detached from the main house since the foundation had given way at the steps. He’d have to walk uphill to reach the door. Stumps, waist high, littered the yard. The place would require some industry, but he hadn’t come to sit on his thumbs.
His eyes caught a movement at the edge of the shack. What was it? A face?
“Hello?” he called.
Silence greeted him. His hands yanked the shotgun from the scabbard at his leg, and he urged Horse closer to the house. He dismounted quietly and motioned the animal to stay. Horse, well trained, stood steadfastly, watching him.
Rafe sidled up to the left corner of the cabin with his gun held across his chest. In one swift movement he stepped out, weapon raised, prepared for anything. But the yard stood empty. With quick movements, he pressed himself to the wall. He reached the back corner again and popped out in ready stance, shotgun cocked.
It was a girl. She stood with hands out next to the outhouse, about fifty feet away. Hunched over, she poised for flight. He took a deep breath and brought the gun down. As thin as she was, she presented no threat. Must be a neighbor girl.
“Hello?” he called again, and she back-pedaled a half a dozen steps. “Wait. This the Stallings’ Place?”
She stepped behind the outhouse and peeked at him.
“Hey there. Can you tell me if this is Colvin Stallings’ place?”
She never moved. Was she addled? He strode toward the outhouse. Time for some answers.
No sooner had he taken a step, when she took off running. He jogged to get a good glance at her, but by the time he reached the outhouse, she neared the edge of the trees beyond what had once been a cleared field. Now, scattered with young trees and weeds, it’d soon turn the open meadow into a woods. He gave a sigh. What did it matter? She was probably trespassing and wouldn’t return.
He turned and took a step toward the shack. The hand pump caught his attention. Ah, that would come in handy after a long day of tending crops. His eyes fell on another sight. A shovel was stuck in the soil, the handle straight up in the air, mid-row in a small patch of freshly turned dirt. He stopped short, wheeled around, and studied the edge of the woods. Why would a woman be digging in Colvin’s yard? This had to be the place. The barn matched the description.
He moved to the back door of the shack and pushed it open. What he saw made him want to choke his dead cousin. The floor appeared swept. In front of an ashless fireplace, a table stood, topped with a bowl of dandelion greens and wild onions. Herbs and strips of cloth hung from the ceiling. But, worst of all, was the worn quilt on a straw mattress on the floor, directly to the right of the door. The bed was carefully made.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets. Colvin had sworn no one lived on the place and now this. Rafe turned and looked toward the trees. Did that girl live here? Was she a squatter? Well, he could hardly set up house until he found out. With an aggravated grunt, he left the shack and mounted Horse. He’d have to find her.
* * *
Jubilee climbed higher. This had always been her lucky pine. Never once had Colvin located her when she’d shimmied up this tree. The problem was, the farther she scrambled, the thinner the trunk. And, although she’d slimmed down quite a bit, the five-inch trunk tilted dangerously and creaked louder at each sway.
She closed her eyes and hugged the bark to her face. The pine smell always soothed her, the sap did not. The rough bark made a plumb uncomfortable seat. In her weakened condition, she knew she couldn’t clutch this tree for the rest of the day and into the night. Already she shook from the effort of climbing and holding her position in the rocking tree.
Snap. She caught her breath and her eyes flew open. The stranger had found her. Twigs continued to crunch under the horse’s hooves as they neared.
“Hello? Can you hear me? I must talk to you.”
Jubilee shivered and her muscles trembled. Sensing him below the tree, she squeezed her eyes shut.
“I need to know who you are.” His voice grew fainter. “Colvin Stallings is dead, and I own the property now.”
Jubilee nearly lost her hold on the trunk. Had she heard right? Colvin was gone? Her breathing sped up. How? Surely she couldn’t be free of him. Her face puckered in distaste, disgusted she’d be thrilled at the possibility of a man’s death. She prayed the Lord understood.
But, if the first part were true, the last part must be true as well. A sob rose in her throat. She was free of Colvin, but now had no home. Nowhere to go. Stickiness clung to her hand and face as she wiped the moisture from her eyes and contemplated her situation.
She needed to think. Her throat constricted with tears. Her numb mind grappled for something practical to do. First, she’d stay hidden until he left the woods. She’d check her fishing lines. Then make her way back to the house. Maybe, by some miracle, this invader would’ve disappeared.
With a mind full of worries, she carried out her plan, begrudging the time she should have spent digging the garden, and landed a middling catfish at the creek. A blue cat was more appetizing than the yellow belly she held by the string, but she wouldn’t complain. She’d carefully cut out the mud vein, fry it up, and feast. Now, if only her visitor had vanished.
Near dark she crept toward the outhouse and paused long and hard, searching for signs of the man she’d seen earlier. Please let this all be a horrible dream. Cautiously, she stepped past the garden and approached the house. Her hunger drove her to be careless. She grabbed a couple of pieces of wood from the meager pile against the cabin to start a fire and reached for the door. Suddenly, he loomed before her. She gasped and dropped her load to flee for the woods.
But his hand, like a steel trap, clamped down on her arm and she screamed. He had her. Jubilee kicked and flailed for all she was worth until he released her. She collapsed in a writhing fit and clawed her way through the tall grass until she reached the hand pump. Her arms hugged the metal as if it were a lifeline.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Peggy Trotter is a small town Hoosier native who teaches 1st and 2nd grade at a Christian School and writes Christian Romance in her spare time. God blessed her with a wonderful husband who cooks and helps clean while supporting her crazy dreams. She has two incredible grown kids, one fabulous son-in-law, a gorgeous daughter-in-law, and two rays of sunshine, commonly called grandchildren.
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Reviving Jules Page 24