Debra Holland (21 page)

A big barn, a small corral with the twins’ goats—Daniel had told him all about their showdown a few weeks ago with old biddy Murphy—and the big corral with the little horses made a pleasant sight. The wagon drew closer, and he could see the tiny horses up close, some with foals frisking at their sides. In spite of all Daniel’s descriptions, astonishment rose in David. An exclamation of surprise had almost burst out of his throat, but stuck against the lump that had frozen his tongue long ago. But he couldn’t help the wiggle of excitement at the sight of the horses, echoed by Daniel’s bouncing around as he pointed out each one and named them.

As soon as the wagon rolled to a stop and Mr. Thompson helped out the womenfolk, the man walked over to let down the back of the wagon. The boys jumped out.

“Come on,” Daniel yelled, pelting toward the corral, then scrambling over the fence and dropping to the ground.

David followed him.

The horses crowded around Daniel. He patted their heads and repeated their names to David.

Anxious to meet them all, David touched heads and shoulders, brushed his hand over backs and withers. He couldn’t decide which Falabella he liked best.

“We haven’t named the foals, cuz Ma says we can’t keep them. She’s selling them. Carters bought one.” He ticked off the names on his fingers. “Doc Cameron. Christine’s pa, which is good cuz with him marrying my mama, we’ll still have her. Only one left.” He patted a tiny gray foal with a black mane. “This one. Ain’t he—” Daniel glanced around with a guilty expression. “Mama says I’m not allowed to say ain’t.
Isn’t
he a beauty? Well not beauty because he’s a
boy
. But…”

David stopped listening. He ran his hand over the tiny foal’s back. Then, disregarding his good clothes, he knelt in the dirt of the corral and put his arms around the Falabella. The little fella butted his head against David’s shoulder, and he tumbled into love. As the feeling swelled in his chest, tears welled in his eyes. He tucked his face into the foal’s neck so no one would see, inhaling the scent of horse.
 

You belong to me. Or maybe I belong to you.
David couldn’t find the words to express the connection, and even if he did, they wouldn’t come out of his mouth. But the little fella understood him; he just knew it.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The next morning, mounted on Brown Boy, Harriet turned to look down the trail, checking the train of women and girls riding single file behind her. First on their ponies came the eldest girls, Sara Carter and Christine Thompson, both nine. They called out to each other from time to time, pointing out a bird or a squirrel. Several times, Samantha Rodriguez, riding behind them, had to remind the two to stop talking, face forward, and pay attention to the trail.

Lizzy rode next, followed by Pamela Carter, who watched her youngest daughter with a sharper gaze than the Kestrel winging overhead. The little girl stayed characteristically silent. But she gazed at her surroundings with big expressive eyes.

Everyone wore divided riding skirts, even Lizzy, and rode astride. Blanket rolls behind the saddles contained the donated clothing, and everyone’s saddlebags overflowed with shoes and food.

Satisfied that everyone seemed well, Harriet shifted around, enjoying the beauty about her. Sunlight dappled through the pines. They skirted a small alpine meadow and startled a white-tailed doe and her fawn. The two deer bounded across the grass and disappeared into the trees on the other side.

The trail rounded past a forked stump that Harriet remembered from the previous visit. Not long now. Apprehension churned in her stomach. What if we offend the Swensens? What if they reject our overtures? What if they don’t allow the girls to go to school?

She forced herself to turn away from the pessimistic thoughts, but this time her mind jumped to last night’s unseen encounter with Nick and Elizabeth. At the time, she’d been overcome with shame and fear of being caught inadvertently spying on the couple and hadn’t really had a chance to ponder how she’d felt about what she’d seen.

Harriet visualized Nick and Elizabeth’s embrace...remembered the loving way they’d spoken to each other. She tensed, waiting for the familiar pang to pierce her stomach, the pain that would squeeze her heart. It took a couple of breaths before she realized her stomach didn’t hurt. Nor did her heart.

Her chest expanded. She felt so light, it almost made her dizzy. She wanted to shout, “I’m free!” But that would make her look crazy, so all she did was whisper the words to herself, over and over. Harriet wished she had someone to confide in—to share her feelings of relief. But no one knew her secret, so no one could know of her release.

But I do.

Happiness bubbled up within her. Now if only things work out with the Swensen’s… Finally they rode into the Swensen’s clearing. One of the middle-sized girls was in the yard, saw them and ran into the house, calling for her mother. Harriet noticed the shed had even more animal pelts hanging from the eves. With a qualm, she wondered if the sight would upset sensitive Lizzy.
Maybe she won’t notice.

The scene was almost a repeat of the first time, with the girls pouring out of the house followed by Mrs. Swensen, carrying the toddler. This time, however, Inga shouted, “Miss Stanton!” The girl leaped down the stairs and trotted over to Harriet. The other girls echoed their sister, jumping up and down and calling out Harriet’s name.

But when Christine and Sara pulled up next to her, Inga’s blue eyes grew big. She looked up at Harriet, then back at the girls, then past them to the women and Lizzy. “Oh, oh, oh!” She dance-stepped in place in excitement. “Who are you?” She looked back and forth at the two older girls.

Christine pushed her hat back off her face. “I’m Christine Thompson, and that’s Sara Carter.”

Sara took up the introductions, pointing to each person. “That’s my mama and Christine’s almost-mama and my sister Lizzy.”

By this time, Mrs. Swensen had followed Inga to them, and the other girls peeked behind her.

Harriet gave them a reassuring smile. “Mrs. Swensen, I’ve returned as promised. She gestured at Pamela, giving more a more formal introduction than the girls’. “I’d like you to meet Mrs. John Carter—”

“Pamela,” Mrs. Carter interjected.

“Pamela. I told you about her daughter Lizzy.” Harriet waved toward Samantha. “Mrs. Rodriguez, who I’m sure will want you to call her Samantha. Samantha is marrying Christine’s father.”

Christine urged her horse forward a step. “She’s going to be my mama. And I’m going to have
four
brothers.”

“Oh, my,” Mrs. Swensen said weakly. She rolled her hands in her apron. “I’m Anna.”

Pamela sent the woman a charming smile. “Please forgive us for dropping in on you this way. However, Miss Stanton told us about your daughters, and I was so eager to have Lizzy make a friend.” She gave her youngest daughter an anxious glance. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get Lizzy off her horse and into the shade. This is the farthest she’s ever ridden.”

The request galvanized Mrs. Swensen into action. “Of course, come onto the porch.” With her free hand, she flapped her apron at one of her daughters in a shooing motion. “Krista, fetch a bucket of cold water from the stream.”

“Yes, Mama.” The girl about Lizzy’s age ran to the house.

Harriet dismounted, grateful that her ankle barely gave her a twinge when she landed on it. She took off the rolled blanket, tied with a leather strap. The rest of them followed suit.

Mrs. Swensen handed the toddler to the second oldest daughter. “Elsabe hold the baby. Inga, help the girls with the horses.”

Inga nodded, and then took Harriet’s reins from her. Pamela handed hers over, and Samantha gave hers to Christine.

Samantha leaned close to Christine. “Bring all the saddlebags with you when you come to the house.”

“Yes, Mama.” She led the horses away.

For a moment, Samantha watched the child. The sun glinted off her red hair, and her face looked luminous. She glanced at Harriet and gave her a happy smile. “It’s been years since I dreamed of having a daughter.”

Harriet couldn’t help a feeling of envy—not that she begrudged Samantha her new life, but that she too wanted love...children.

As Samantha gestured toward Christine, the sapphire and diamonds in her ring sparkled. “She’s the reason for my joy. If she hadn’t fallen off her horse into the stream near my house...gotten sick, her father and I never would have...” her voice caught on the last word.

Harriet took Samantha’s hand, giving her a tug to head her toward the house. “Oh, it would have happened all right. Just taken longer, that’s all.”

Anna waved for the women to go to the porch.

Pamela, holding Lizzy’s hand, stepped onto the porch. She moved to one side so Samantha and Harriet could join her. The smell of cooking meat drifted through the open door.

Anna vanished into the house. She reappeared minus her apron. She glanced over her shoulder at the house, then back, looking uncomfortable. “I was cooking up a batch of squirrel and beans if you’d like some.” She bit her lip. Obviously, there wouldn’t be enough food for visitors.

Once again, Pamela eased the tension. “Squirrel and beans sounds lovely. We knew you wouldn’t be prepared for such a large party dropping in on you, so we brought food and drinks to share with you. If we could just wash up first….”

Anna indicated a chipped basin sitting on the bench near the rail. A rusted coffee can, a bar of soap, and a grubby towel were next to it. “There’s fresh water in the can. Let me get you a clean towel.”

The older girls walked up to the house, each carrying a saddlebag that they handed over to the women.

Pamela took two from Sara. “Wash up, girls.”

Once everyone was clean and dried, they went inside.

Harriet blinked, adjusting her eyes to the gloomy interior. On one end of the cabin, a big bed pushed against the wall, covered in a patchwork quilt. A neat pile of bedding that the girls must use as pallets was stacked nearby.

The kitchen consisted of a round three-burner stove and some crates nailed to the wall on either side of a window. Beans boiled in one pot, and long strips of squirrel meat sizzling in a frying pan gave out a delicious aroma that made Harriet’s stomach growl. She clenched her middle, hoping no one had heard.

A long table took up the center of the room, stretching almost all the way across, leaving a narrow space on either side. Tucked underneath both sides, plank benches looked as if they could hold the entire family plus a few. One carved and polished high-backed chair at the head of the table contrasted to the rough-hewn table and benches—a piece of furniture handed down from family or bought in more prosperous times.

Anna pulled out the chair and then looked back and forth at the women, obviously uncertain whom she should invite to sit in it.

Pamela tactfully solved the problem for her. “Miss Stanton, with your injured ankle, you should take the chair. She turned to Anna. “We’ve brought tea, if you would boil water.”

The woman’s worn face creased in a smile. “Tea will be a real treat.”

Harriet seated herself and made shooing motions at the girls to slide to the middle of the benches.

 
One child, who looked about three, lingered. With one arm, Harriet drew her close. “What’s your name, my dear?”

The child reached out to finger a tiny rose sprinkled in the pattern of Harriet’s green shirtwaist. Even though the fabric was old, it was in far better shape than the grayed-out dresses Mrs. Swensen and the girls wore.

“You like flowers, don’t you, sweetheart?” Harriet touched a gentle finger under the child’s chin and raising it so she could see the girl’s eyes. Like her sisters, this little one had big blue eyes in a thin face, long gold eyelashes and brows, her blond hair pulled back in tight braids, and skinny limbs.

“That’s Marta,” her mother said. “She doesn’t talk much. Understands everything, though.”

“Marta, nice to meet you. Next year when you come to school, I’ll be your teacher.” The child gave her a slight smile and ducked her head.

Krista ran into the cabin, lugging a bucket. She plopped it down on the table in front of Lizzy. “Here you are.”

The adults laughed.

Pamela said, “ Thank you, Krista.”

“Bring the glasses and cups, child,” Anna said, gathering up three china plates, one with a chip on the side, and setting each in front of the women. The visiting children had tin plates, and the Swensen family made do with wooden platters. Instead of silverware, crude wooden forks were the utensils. Anna placed one sharp knife in the center of the table, meant to be shared by all.

Pamela and Samantha started pulling food out of the saddlebags and unwrapping the napkin- and paper-wrapped parcels. They used the wrappings as serving platters.

Around the table, the eyes of the Swensen girls grew bigger, bodies shifting with suppressed eagerness. But, obviously well-mannered, they didn’t reach for anything.

Mrs. Swensen moved around the tables, carrying the pot and ladling a dab of beans on each plate. Then she returned with the squirrel, setting what must be a quarter of the animal on each plate.