Colman wanted to sit down more than he’d wanted anything in his life. Webb was a hard man, but he’d never given Colman trouble. This evening, though, he felt like he was tiptoeing through a field of rattlesnakes.
“I guess everyone needs a chance to hear the gospel news.”
“Hunh.” Webb tugged his horse around and tilted his head toward the group of men with him—some Colman knew, while others were strangers. “I’ll ride on over the hill with these fellers. But we’re planning to be back before long. Hope you ain’t here.” He heeled his horse into a trot. “Unless you’re a mite clearer on where your loyalties lie.”
The group of men rode slowly away, trickling over the crest of a hill. When the last rider disappeared from sight, Colman sagged to the ground.
Ivy was there immediately, an arm around his shoulders. “Are you alright?”
Colman’s laugh shuddered out of him. “I don’t expect to die, but I guess I’ve had better days.”
Ivy kneaded his shoulder, silent for a moment. “And worse ones, too?”
With her help, he struggled back to standing again. “Yes, ma’am. That’s the God’s-honest truth right there.”
Charlie slipped into Serepta’s office, where she was working late, and stood waiting near the door until she acknowledged him.
“What is it, Charlie?”
“You’ve always let me speak the truth even when it wasn’t something you wanted to hear.”
Serepta stiffened. “That’s so.”
“I got a feeling you’re putting too much stock in Jake.”
Serepta rose from her chair and leaned with her fists on the desktop. “He’s my son.”
Charlie nodded. “Too much like his daddy in some ways.”
Serepta flinched at hearing Charlie speak what she had thought more than once. Charlie was with her now because Eli had let him do his thinking for him. Her husband had known he could steal a black man’s thoughts and ideas and no one would ever notice, much less question it. Eli’s callous treatment of Charlie was how she’d first come to realize how much she valued and respected this man who was so much more to her than an employee. “Do you have evidence to support your opinion?”
Charlie shifted from foot to foot. “There’s been talk—”
Slashing the air with her hand, Serepta cut him off. “You know how I feel about idle talk.”
This time, Charlie’s eyes turned sharp. “Seems like you’ve gotten some mighty useful information from idle talk in the past.”
“Not about my son.” She sat in her chair again and picked up a pencil, leaning over the ledgers spread out before her. She knew there was a pattern to the missing whiskey, if only she could discover it.
Charlie understood that their conversation was over.
Once he was gone, Serepta dropped her pencil and leaned back in the chair, watching dusk close over sprays of forsythia outside without really taking in the beauty. Had she hurt Charlie’s feelings? Should she let him speak? She certainly trusted him more than Jake. But hearing him out might be the end of any hope she had of seeing Jake surprise her by meeting expectations. It wasn’t as if she’d given him a job that was critical to her success. Finding more men to help transport liquor was helpful but not urgent. No, she decided, this was a risk she would take. And Charlie would tell her if the situation became truly dire, whether she wanted to hear it or not. That, she knew, was one thing she could count on.
chapter
twelve
Colman eased into the wooden tub of odorous water. There were plenty of ritzy resorts around—the Salt Sulphur Springs, Red Sulphur Springs, and of course White Sulphur Springs, but this shed was Ivy’s own invention. Hoyt had knocked together a simple structure around a wooden tub sunk into the ground with sulphurous spring water running into it. He figured this would have to help since it smelled so bad. Hoyt sat on a chair nearby, whittling away at what looked like a bear.
“You ever get in here?” Colman asked.
“I have. Helps my rheumatism.”
“Do you stink for a week afterwards?”
Hoyt laughed. “Only two or three days.”
Colman eased his head back against the rough edge of the tub and tried to focus on the feeling of weightlessness and peace brought on by being submerged in warm water. If he didn’t breathe through his nose, it was pleasant. The cramping tightness in his gut loosened and he fully relaxed—maybe for the first time since he got out of that godforsaken cave. And he felt clean. Hoyt had even brought a razor and some scissors, so Colman could get shut of his scraggle of a beard after he’d “taken the waters,” according to Ivy’s prescription.
He might have been dozing when sharp thumping on the rickety door jerked him upright. Hoyt was already on his feet, peering out the window. “Looks like we’ve got company.”
Colman started to rise. “Let me get my britches on.”
Hoyt waved him back down. “I’d sit tight if’n I was you. They’re coming in whether we ask ’em or not.”
The door flew open, slamming against the wall, and three men stalked into the tight space. Colman tried not to look as foolish and exposed as he felt. He recognized Mack McLean, and the other two looked enough like the first to be family—almost certainly they were all McLeans or close kin.
Mack carried a rifle, loosely cradled in his arms. The other two men were armed, as well.
“You fellers after some spring gobblers?” Hoyt asked. He’d settled back on his chair and resumed carving.
“Oh, we’re after a turkey alright,” Mack said.
Colman felt gooseflesh raise over every bit of exposed skin. Was he to be tested so soon? He hadn’t preached a word yet.
Mack stepped closer. “Are you Colman Harpe?”
“I am.”
“Are you here to hunt Jake for killing your cousin?”
“Nope.” Colman thought maybe he ought to say more, but no words came to him.
“Why didn’t you go on home with Webb then?”
Colman shifted and braced his arms on the sides of the tub. “I came here to preach the gospel. I won’t pretend I’m not upset about Caleb, but vengeance is the Lord’s, not mine.” He swallowed hard. Did he really believe that?
“Hunh. I’ve never trusted a Harpe before. Not sure why I should start now.”
Colman shrugged, the movement making the water slosh. “Can’t think of any way to persuade you.”
Mack laughed. “You puny as you look? I hear Ivy’s been doctoring you.”
Colman looked down at his chest and saw that his ribs were indeed more prominent than they’d once been. He guessed maybe he didn’t look like much right then. “That’s why I’m here now. Doctor’s orders.” He stood and wrapped toweling around himself—he couldn’t tolerate sitting there vulnerable another minute. “I appreciate your concern,” he added with a half smile.
“Oh, trust me, your health is very important to me.” Mack balanced the rifle across his shoulder. “But shooting a sick man in a barrel of water doesn’t seem sporting. You go on and preach or whatever it is you do, but know that we’re watching you closer than you realize.” The men behind him shifted their guns, too. “And if we think you’re spying or trying to harm a McLean or our family in any way . . .” He let the sentence trail off as he swung the rifle around, pausing briefly with it pointed at Colman’s chest. Then he nodded once and turned on his heel.
As the men disappeared out the door, Colman sagged against the side of the tub. Hoyt hurried to support him.
“I don’t guess that’s the kind of cure Ivy was hoping for when she sent you over here.”
Colman laughed and ran a shaky hand over his chin. He still needed to shave. “Even so, I think it might have worked. Leastways my gut’s bothering me a whole lot less now that I know my hide’s at risk.”
Hoyt chuckled. “A matter of perspective.”
Colman collapsed onto a bench beside Ivy’s fire. Spring was steady coming on, though he still felt chilled. He suppos
ed it took a man a little while to warm up after standing in front of a bunch of armed men in the altogether. He chuckled as Ivy walked in with Emmaline.
“What’s tickling you this afternoon?”
Colman flushed to the roots of his hair. “Oh, nothing worth sharing.”
“Hmmm.” Ivy eyed him up and down. “That almost certainly means it is, but I won’t press you. Would you keep an eye on Emmaline while I start supper?” She started toward the stove, then turned back. “You look nice without your beard.”
Colman ducked his head and rubbed his chin. “Be glad to watch the child. Between Hoyt and me, we oughta be able to keep up with a four-year-old.”
Hoyt laughed. “Don’t go talkin’ too big now. I’ve run acrost more than one young’un who could wear me down. Once they stand upright, peace is a long time coming again. And this one’s done got her sling off, which means she’ll be twice as ornery.”
Emmaline stood near Colman. The arm that had been broken looked pale and puny now that it was free from the sling. She seemed to be favoring the arm, so he tried to think of a way to distract her from it. He leaned closer to the girl. “You like songs?”
Her already-big eyes widened and she nodded.
“Well then, scoot on up here beside me and I’ll see can’t I remember one.”
She eased forward like she was afraid she might knock something over and slid up onto the bench, leaving a fair gap between them. Hoyt settled deeper into his own chair and laced his hands across his belly as though ready for a show.
Colman made a to-do about scratching his chin, then scratching his head. “Now, I know I have some songs stuck up here somewhere.” He tilted his head and thumped it with the heel of his hand until Emmaline giggled. “Boy howdy, I think I just knocked one loose.”
The little girl sidled closer.
Colman glanced at Hoyt. “You know ‘Leaning on the Everlasting Arms’?”
Hoyt grinned. “Yes sir, but you’re on your own with this one.”
Colman mock-frowned and cleared his throat more than he needed to. Once he saw Emmaline was leaning toward him with eyes wide and mouth open, he began.
“What a fellowship, what a joy divine,
Leaning on the everlasting arms.”
He took a breath and realized another voice had joined in with his.
“What a blessedness, what a peace is mine,
Leaning on the everlasting arms.”
It was Ivy, and her voice was like a burst of birdsong after the passing of a storm. It was all he could do to keep on singing when he wanted to just stop and listen to her alone.
“Leaning, leaning, safe and secure from all alarms,
Leaning, leaning, leaning on the everlasting arms.”
Ivy moved toward them, her pure soprano blending with his baritone like they’d sung together a hundred times. Emmaline clapped her hands, hopped off the bench, and began dancing.
“What have I to dread, what have I to fear,
Leaning on the everlasting arms;
I have blessed peace with my Lord so near,
Leaning on the everlasting arms.”
After another rousing chorus that even Hoyt joined with a tolerable bass, they all clapped and laughed together. In spite of his lingering illness, Colman couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this fine. For a moment, he had the notion that passing through the mountain and coming out on the other side might have been an odd sort of rebirth for him.
Emmaline spun until her little skirt flew around her and flung herself into his legs, wrapping her arms around his calves and looking up with luminous brown eyes, her curls going every whichaway. She didn’t speak, but her expression told him all he needed to know. And seeing the delight in this child’s eyes made everything he’d been through feel as if it had been worth it just to get here.
Then he looked up and saw Serepta McLean watching them like a hawk watches a mouse. His gut tightened, and the feeling of peace fled.
She’d arrived in time to see the child dancing while the adults sang that ridiculous song. She’d heard those words in the church her mother dragged her to. Safe and secure indeed. No one in that blasted church had kept her safe or secure. Least of all her own mother.
Colman Harpe looked up and met her eyes. She expected to see something like anger or maybe even fear, but in that moment he looked mostly pleased. Happy even. Like singing a silly song about everlasting arms with a child was all the satisfaction he needed.
But then his expression changed. What had been open and transparent grew shuttered and cold. The thought that his expression was like looking into a mirror flitted through her mind, but she chased it away.
“Emmaline. Time to go home,” she said.
The child danced toward her, curls bouncing. She grasped Serepta’s hand and tugged. “Sing!”
Serepta gaped at her. Of course she wouldn’t sing. Oh, but to be asked. Her mind jumped back to a time when she was first married and so glad to be free from her father that she had, indeed, sung. She’d been hanging Eli’s britches on the line after washing them with her own two hands. She couldn’t remember what she’d been singing—not a hymn surely—only that she’d felt freer than ever before in her life.
“My little warbler,” Eli said, suddenly appearing on the far side of the clothesline.
She’d startled and stopped singing, but the look in his eyes had been so gentle—admiring even. She wasn’t little and yet she thought maybe her voice was bird-sweet. Not a lilting soprano but rather a husky alto that must have lit a fire in her husband. He’d claimed her, and for once she simply let him.
“I don’t sing,” she said to the child, whose eyes quickly dimmed.
She bent low, pulled Emmaline’s dark hair back from her seashell ear, and whispered, “At least not for just anyone.”
Emmaline giggled and clapped her hands, and although she tried not to, Serepta smiled. She recovered quickly, however, and cast a baleful look at the adults in the room. She finally settled her gaze on Hoyt. “I hear Mack and his men came to see you.”
Hoyt looked back at her, expression blank.
“Or did I hear amiss?”
“Oh, I seen him,” Hoyt said. “But he didn’t have much of use to say.”
“Oh?” She raised her brows, inviting Hoyt to continue.
“You can ‘oh’ me all you want, missus, but if you’ve got a question, you’ll need to ask it outright.”
“Grandpa, Mrs. McLean is our guest.” Ivy’s voice was gentle but firm.
“I don’t have a question exactly. I just want to be clear where your loyalties lie if Emmaline is going to continue visiting here.”
“I thought Ivy was doing you the favor with that one,” Hoyt said.
Serepta snorted. She almost admired the old man. And in a way, it was refreshing to be sassed.
“There aren’t many who would leave a child with her.” She ignored the look of pain that flashed across Ivy’s face. It was no more than the truth, and they all knew it. “I see no reason not to speak plainly.”
Hoyt crossed his arms and looked thunder at her. Emmaline crowded closer, seeming to sense the tension.
“You have a Harpe staying under your roof.” She looked Colman in the eye while Ivy laid a hand on his shoulder. “If you plan to support his family in avenging themselves upon my son, I’ll have to take countermeasures.”
Hoyt slapped his hands on the arms of his chair and stood. “If you’ve come here to insult and threaten—”
“Grandpa.” Ivy’s voice rang loud and clear. “If you’ll allow me to speak?”
The old man nodded and slowly sank back into his chair. Colman looked like he was sinking lower in his own chair, his complexion gone gray and greasy. Maybe he was sicker than she realized.
“Serepta, if you fear my grandfather and I are planning to take sides in whatever disagreement is current between your kin and the Harpe family, I can tell you exactly whose side we’re on.” She paused. “Mercy.”
>
Serepta blinked and let her fingers tangle in Emmaline’s soft hair as she puzzled over what Ivy meant.
Ivy sighed and took a step closer, reaching out to brush Serepta’s sleeve—the gentlest whisper of a touch. “What I mean is we intend to care for anyone and everyone who needs our help. Whether that’s a man with the gripe”—she glanced at Colman—“a child in need of care and consolation”—she smiled at Emmaline—“or anyone else in need of understanding.”
Serepta felt as though the hot air building inside her chest had cooled and escaped. She felt empty and strangely alone, even here in the presence of others.
“Excellent,” she snapped. “I wanted to make sure we understood each other.” Then she took Emmaline’s hand and returned to her car, grateful she was driving since Ivy’s answer had left her feeling more out of control than she had in a long, long time.
chapter
thirteen
“That woman didn’t understand your meaning one bit,” Hoyt said. “And Colman here is about to fall out of his chair.”
Colman did think he might slide on down to the floor. It seemed like the world would be steadier and firmer there.
“Oh my stars!” exclaimed Ivy. “You’d best lie down.”
Colman nodded and let her help him to his pallet. He’d wanted to take Serepta McLean down a peg or two more than anything, but every time he’d thought to open his mouth, the notion that he’d lose his lunch if he did stopped him.
He closed his eyes and tried not to focus on the cramping pain in his gut. Ivy smoothed his hair back from his forehead, and he was thrust back in time to his mother’s cool hand on his fevered brow.
“Why haven’t I recovered?” he asked, almost afraid she might tell him.
Ivy’s hand left his head, and he felt bereft. But she returned quickly with a chipped teacup.
“I made this yesterday, in case you should need it.” She held his head, which helped him to swallow the liquid in the cup. Its bitterness was masked by the addition of sweet honey.
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