Linda Ford (4 page)

“We best get some sleep.” He waited for her to cross to the child’s side, then followed.

Throughout the night he was aware of the child beside him, her little snufflings and sighings and her feet pressing into his side. He couldn’t decide whether or not he liked it, but he was certain it kept him half awake all night.

❧

He tensed at the humming sound close to his ear and dragged his eyes open. Betsy sat cross-legged almost at his head.

“I’m hungry,” she announced when she saw his eyes open.

He groaned. “You’re always hungry.”

She waited and, when he made no move, asked, “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Where’s Maggie?”

“She’s sleeping. I tried to make her wake up.”

He grunted. That left him to deal with this persistent scrap of humanity. “You got coffee ready?”

She giggled. “I can’t make coffee.”

“Time you learned.” He rolled to his feet and stretched. “First thing you do every morning is make coffee.”

She nodded and scampered to the ashes of last night’s fire. Grabbing the coffeepot, she turned with a questioning look.

“Take it to the river and wash it out and fill it with fresh water.”

She was gone in a flash, and he set about getting the fire going. The wood was dry and caught instantly.

As he waited for the child to return, he looked at Maggie’s sleeping form, again wondering what it took to waken her. She lay on her side, her hands curled together under her chin, her black hair fanned out around her face. In repose she looked even younger. He felt a swell of doubt; then he reminded himself she’d proven to be more than resourceful and strong. The way she had gone after that man back at Colhome—he grinned. She was like a bantam rooster.

Betsy nudged his leg. “I got your water.”

“Thanks.” He took the pot and dumped in a handful of grounds and set it over the fire. “Now we wait.”

He hunkered down. Betsy did the same.

For a moment she was content to watch. Then she looked at him. “Isn’t it time to start some food?”

He chuckled. “What would you like? Eggs, or”—he paused, smiling at the eager look on her face—“or eggs?”

“I like eggs.”

“I bet you do.” He’d gamble she’d never met a food she didn’t like. He glanced at Maggie, still breathing deeply. “Looks like you’re my number one helper.”

Betsy quivered with anticipation. “I can help.”

“Right.” He went to the packs and pulled out a spider. “You take this to the fire.”

“It looks funny. What is it?” she asked, holding up the cast-iron skillet.

“Spider. See the legs on the bottom. Works real well over a fire.” He grabbed the rest of the biscuits and carried the eggs himself. With Betsy sticking close as an August fly, he set the spider over the fire and checked on the coffee.

“You better get Maggie awake before I start the eggs.”

Her response was instantaneous. “Maggie, Maggie!” she yelled, racing over to pummel Maggie’s arm. “Get up so we can have breakfast.”

Maggie moaned. “I’m awake, Betsy. You can stop pounding me.”

“Your eyes aren’t open.” Betsy shook her.

One eye squinted open. “There. That suit you?”

“You got to get up. Crane says we can’t eat ’til you do.”

“He does, does he?” She squinted at him. “You sure it’s morning already?”

“Yes, it is. See—the sun is coming up.” Betsy pointed to the east.

Maggie closed her eyes and pulled the covers to her chin. “That settles it. It isn’t morning ’til the sun is up all the way.”

“Maggie, please.” Betsy pulled at the covers. “I’m hungry.”

“And I’m so tired.” Her voice was muffled.

Betsy gave Crane a look of desperation, and he said, “Maybe I should get a bucket of water from the river and dump it on her.”

Betsy sprang to her feet, silently urging him to do it, and Maggie jerked upright.

“You wouldn’t.” She glowered at him.

He chuckled. “Looks like I don’t need to.”

With a scowl darkening her features, she sat in the midst of her rumpled blankets.

“Guess I can start the eggs now,” he said to Betsy, who hurried to his side, watching his every move as he cracked shells and dropped eggs into the sizzling pan.

Behind them Maggie groaned and stood to her feet, shuffling to the river to splash cold water on her face.

When she returned, Crane offered her a cup. “Coffee’s hot and strong.”

For several minutes she nursed it without speaking. He observed her out of the corner of his eye, amazed as she slowly came to life. Like a flower opening to the sun!

“Get the dishes,” he told Betsy, and she ran to obey.

“She sleep the rest of the night?” Maggie spoke low.

“Yup. And woke up before the birds, complaining she was hungry.”

Maggie chuckled. “Did you see how she ate last night?”

Crane raised his eyebrows.

She nodded. “I know. I ate a lot too.” She ducked her head. “I was hungry.”

He grinned. “You hungry now?” Taking the plates Betsy had fetched, he dished up their breakfast.

She grimaced. “It’s too early to eat.”

Betsy cleaned her plate, ate three biscuits, and when she saw Maggie hadn’t eaten all her eggs, asked, “You finished, Maggie?”

Maggie handed her plate to Betsy.

The sun was completely over the horizon, and already Crane could feel its heat. “Let’s get moving.”

Betsy and Maggie cleaned the dishes, rolled up the bedrolls, and filled the canteens, while Crane caught and saddled the horses and fixed the packs. Then they were ready. But when Maggie reached for Betsy, the child ducked away to stand at Crane’s side.

“I want to ride with you.”

With studied calmness, Crane continued checking the cinches and determined no one would see how her request had surprised him. How could she have changed so suddenly from the child who wouldn’t even look at him yesterday? He didn’t understand it, but it made him feel warm inside. He kind of liked the feeling. But he didn’t know if he could trust it.

“Come on then.” He scooped her up, bringing a squeal as he tossed her to Rebel’s back before climbing up behind her. He flashed Maggie a look, watching to see if she’d been hurt by Betsy’s choice.

Maggie smiled. “It’s fine by me.”

“Let’s make tracks,” he called, heading down the trail with the sun warming their backs.

Betsy squirmed from side to side, trying to take in everything around her. “Crane, Crane, look—a rabbit!” she called as a brown jackrabbit sprang from the grass. And a few minutes later, “Crane, Crane, look. A whole bunch of yellow flowers.”

“Yup,” Crane answered. “You better sit still before you fall.”

“You’d catch me, wouldn’t you, Crane?”

“Depends.”
How do you catch thistledown?

For a few minutes she sat still, then looked at him over her shoulder. “Crane, does everybody have a papa?”

“Yup. Everybody’s got to.”

“Why do papas go?”

The question flashed down the pathway of his mind to a bewildered boy who asked himself a similar question.
Why did my papa leave?
There had never been an answer, and he had soon found life went on, leaving no time to dwell on it.

“Not all papas leave.”

She shook her head. “Mammas die. Papas leave.”

How could he convince her otherwise? He flung a desperate look at Maggie.

“She’s only going by what she knows. We’ve all lost our
mothers.” She paused. “I told her my pa didn’t want me around.”

Crane watched her through narrowed eyes. Did he see a flash of pain just then? Or had she, like he, learned to accept the reality of a father who didn’t care? Was two years long enough to grapple with the problem and learn to leave it be? Maggie looked directly at him. “I don’t recall for sure what you said about your father.”

He stared into her blue eyes, again struck by how little they knew of each other. “He left when I was eleven. It was a long time ago.” The future beckoned. Let the past be past.

Maggie nodded, her eyes intent for another heartbeat. Then she said, “Guess you can hardly blame her for how she thinks.” She dropped her gaze to Betsy, who strained to catch their every word. “Honey, Crane’s right. Not all papas leave.”

“They stay forever?” Her whispered awe tugged at an unfamiliar emotion in Crane.

“That’s right,” he agreed.

“Forever,” she whispered. “That sounds nice.”

They rode for several minutes before she asked, “There a house where we’re going?”

“Not yet. We’ll build one when we get there.”

“A real house with rooms?”

“Yup.”

“A kitchen?” she persisted.

“Yup.”

“A parlor?” She rolled the word around in her mouth. “And a room for me?”

“A house just right for us.”

“Us.” Her chest heaved, and she settled again.

They continued in comfortable silence until Betsy asked, “How long to get there?”

Up until now, Crane hadn’t given it a great deal of thought. He’d estimated it to be about eight hundred miles from Manitoba to the plains facing the mountains in the Territories. But now, as he explained the distance to Betsy and saw her look of disbelief, he realized how far it sounded to a child. “I hope we’ll find a place by the end of June.”

“Not tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Not the day after?” Her shoulders slumped.

Maggie came to his rescue. “We’ll see lots and lots of things. It’s like a picnic every day.”

Betsy nodded. Crane sensed her disappointment and longed to say something to dispel it, but he could think of nothing to make the trip seem shorter. Her head nodded. At first he thought she was still quietly thinking about the trip. Then, as she slumped to one side, he realized she had fallen asleep and, pulling her toward him, let her rest on his chest. Maggie smiled at the sleeping child, then at him, and Crane felt something unfamiliar, yet not altogether unwelcome, burgeon in a spot slightly below his throat.

He let Betsy sleep until it was time to stop. They had cold leftover partridge and the last of the bread. Not wanting to take time to build a fire, they settled for a drink of cool water.

As soon as she had eaten, Betsy ran along the riverbank, yelling tunelessly with her arms outflung. She ran until a pile of rocks stopped her progress. Then she turned and ran back, still yelling and waving her arms.

Maggie watched, grinning. “She’s glad to be feeling her legs under her.”

Crane turned from checking the cinches and stared after the child. He hadn’t given the long hours in the saddle a thought, finding riding more comfortable than walking. Again he realized how little he knew about traveling with a child and a woman. He turned to Maggie. “You getting pretty sore of riding too?” He’d noticed her awkward way of walking.

It was a moment before she faced him. “I’m not used to it.” Her blue gaze held steady, making it clear she wasn’t complaining.

He ducked behind Rebel. “I ’spect we could walk some.”

Crane led the way. With a narrow path along the river, they had no need to return to the trail.

Betsy ran ahead, then stopped suddenly, turning toward him, her face bright. “Listen to the birds,” she whispered. “They sound so happy.”

Crane halted. He’d never bothered to listen much unless the birds raised a fuss, then he would check to see why. But now he really listened.

The child stood with her face lifted, her eyes closed. It made his chest tighten just to watch her.

“It must be great to be so young and be able to forget your past as easily as she does.” Maggie tugged Liberty’s reins. “Let’s get moving.”

“Yup,” he drawled. “I’m looking forward to crossing into the Territories.” But it was nice walking, he decided. Betsy ran and skipped like a heifer released from the barn. Even the silence between him and Maggie was pleasant. And it was cooler next to the river. They walked until Betsy’s steps began to slow. Then they returned to the trail. Crane knew enough now to begin planning the evening camp early in the afternoon. So when he saw a farm close to the road, he turned in.

A thin, worried-looking woman came from the house.

“I’m looking to buy some food,” Crane called. “You got anything to spare?”

Before she could answer, an overalled man came from around a low building. “We got some pork and eggs.” He named a price that made Crane raise his eyebrows.

“You be fixing to skin us?” Crane asked.

“I’ve no mind to leave my own family short,” the man growled. “But you’re mor’n welcome, if you’ve a mind to pay.”

Crane stared hard at the man. If he’d been alone, he would have turned his back and ridden away, but with two hungry females to feed and them already wilting, he jerked his head in agreement.

“Run and get it, Missus,” the farmer ordered his wife, and she scurried inside, returning with a hunk of meat and a sack of eggs. Crane unwrapped the paper from the meat and sniffed. Satisfied it was unspoiled, he handed a fistful of change to the man and turned to leave, passing between several low outbuildings.

“Phew. It stinks.” Betsy wrinkled her nose as they neared a pigpen, knee-deep in muck.

“Hush,” he ordered, determined not to offend the man he sensed thrived on trouble.

“Look at that boy,” Betsy said. “He’s stuck in it.”

“No, he’s not,” he said, though it took a great deal of effort for the lad to carry two heavy buckets of feed through the slop without upsetting them.

With a muffled gasp, Maggie slid from her horse and rushed to the fence. “Ted!” she called as she struggled to unlatch the gate.

The boy looked at her with blank eyes.

“Ted, Ted.” She pulled on the heavy gate. “It’s me. Maggie.”

Four

The boy changed his grip on the handle of the bucket and continued toward the trough, pigs squealing at his heels.

“Ted, wait!” Maggie called, jerking at the gate and squeezing through the wedge opening.

“Maggie.” Even as he uttered the low warning, Crane figured she’d ignore it. “Here we go again,” he muttered, pushing his hat back.

“What’s she doing?” Betsy asked, her voice thin and shrill as Maggie lifted her skirts and plunged into the muck. “Oh, yuck, yuck!” Betsy pulled her face down into the neckline of the shirt she wore.

The smell stinging his eyes, Crane shifted so he could see Maggie and watch for the farmer.

Maggie reached the boy. “Ted, listen.” Her voice was taut. “It’s me, Maggie. I thought I’d never find you.”

When the boy acted as if she hadn’t spoken, she wrenched the bucket from his hands and flung it away. The pigs oinked after it, their noise drowning out her words as she grasped his shoulder.

The boy raised his head, but his eyes stared away as if sightless.

Crane, wondering if the boy was deaf, watched the farmer approach, a shotgun tucked under his arm. Crane eased his hand toward his rifle.

The man stood before the twisted gate. “Leave the boy be,” he growled. “He’s got work.”

“He’s my brother.” She grabbed the boy’s hand and tugged at him to follow. “I’ve looked for him for so long.”

“Your father sold him to me fair and square. Said he was mine to do with as I wanted.”

Crane’s jaw tightened. From the boy’s bony thinness, he guessed feeding him wasn’t one of the things the man did. In fact, he’d guess the boy was treated worse than the animals. “How much?” Crane growled.

The man jerked toward him. “How much what?”

“For the boy.” It stuck in his throat to say it.

A gleam brightened the other man’s eyes. “I paid twenty dollars for him.” He scratched his nose. “Figuring all I put into him, he should be worth twice that.”

“He’s my brother,” Maggie cried, approaching the gate. “He belongs with me.”

The farmer lifted his shotgun and pointed it at her. “Don’t see him agreeing.”

“Ted, tell them. Tell them you’re Edward Malone, my brother.”

The pigs squealed, the man snorted, but the boy made not a sound. Crane pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “This should do it.”

The man lowered the gun, snatched the money, and put it in his overalls. “He ain’t much use anyway,” he snarled. “The boy’s addled.”

“He ain’t!” Maggie cried. “He’s fine.”

“He can ride with you.” Crane led the mare to Maggie’s side, holding the reins as she pulled herself into the saddle. She reached down for the boy, but he neither looked at her nor lifted his hand.

Crane reined closer and lifted the boy up behind Maggie. “Ride downwind,” he ordered as they rode from the farmyard.

But even with two lengths between them, the smell was almost unbearable. Betsy clung to him, her nose buried in the neckline of her shirt. The distance between him and Maggie made conversation impossible. Crane was more than willing to wait.

He led them into the river, not turning until Liberty stood knee-deep in it. Then he reined back to shore. “Get rid of that smell.” He set Betsy down and dropped to the ground beside her.

“What they going to do?” Her voice was thin.

“Wash, I hope.” He removed the saddle, took the packs from the other horse, and led both animals to water. When they’d had their fill, he tethered them to graze.

Betsy’s wide eyes followed his every move.

“You gather up some branches for the fire. Mind you, don’t go too far.” He dug a curry brush from the pack.

“Then we’ll have supper?”

“Soon.” He trod back to the river to catch Liberty and set to scrubbing the manure from the stirrups. “No need to carry this smell west with us,” he muttered.

Satisfied the saddle was clean, he carried it to shore and hung it over a stump. Then he returned and scrubbed Liberty, sparing a glance at Maggie and her brother.

She faced him, hands on hips. “Ted, you got to take off those clothes. Let me help you.” She reached out. His arms tightened at his sides. “I’ll wash them, and you can have them back,” she pleaded. He remained stiff. “Maybe Crane can give you something to wear while they dry.” She shot a glance toward him.

He nodded and retraced his steps to the saddles, digging out a faded blue shirt and tossing it beside the towel on the bank. “It’s my last one,” he mumbled, turning his back, running his hands over the horse, watching without appearing to. “Your sister only wants to help, young man.” He bent and rinsed the brush. “And a bath wouldn’t do you no harm.”

He put his attention on washing Liberty’s flank but could see out of the side of his vision as Maggie grasped the boy’s shirt and pulled it over his head. The boy did not resist; neither did he help.

“Ted, you imagine how scared I was when I came home and found you was gone.” She urged him out of his trousers. “Pa was gone too. No one seemed to know where you was.” She turned him around and gasped, flicking a glance at Crane.

Crane saw what she had, the angry red welts across the boy’s back. As his pants lowered, he took in the gaunt ribs, the bruises across the buttocks. Crane’s insides twisted into a knot.

Maggie shuddered, then gently lathered soap over the thin body. She talked as she worked. “It took me three days to find Pa in a back alley. He didn’t much like it when I tried to make him tell me where you were.” She paused to splash clean water over the boy. “Well, you know what he was like after Ma died, and he took to the bottle.” She led him to the sandy bank. “He said he sold you, but he couldn’t remember the man’s name or where he lived.”

She picked up the towel, draping it over his shoulders. But when she would have hugged him, he shrugged away and stared past Maggie without so much as a blink. Maggie drew in a sharp breath.

Crane led Liberty to the other horses. The river murmured past. Betsy added more branches and twigs to the pile she’d made. Her voice carried on the gentle breeze, and Crane paused to listen. She was singing a song she had made up.

“Pie, pie, I like pie. I like flowers and the birds that fly. I like everything. But I like pie the best of all.” Her voice was clear and sweet.

Crane smiled as he tethered the horse. He cut off thick slabs of the hunk of pork and fried it in the hot spider. The rest he put into a large pot, covered it with water, and threw in a handful of salt and one bay leaf.

“Why’d you put in a leaf?” Betsy demanded.

He settled back on his heels, and Betsy squatted beside him. Across the fire Maggie nursed a cup of coffee, her expression troubled. The boy huddled on the ground in Crane’s shirt, his body turned away from the rest of them as if to shut them out. “It’s a trick Biscuit taught me.” He stirred the pot and put on a lid.

“Biscuit?”

“Yup. The best camp cook I ever knew.” He glanced around the circle again. No one seemed to have anything to offer, so he continued. “He was as mangy looking as an old dog. Not one you’d pick to cook your meals. But he made the best biscuits I ever had.” He bent his glance to Betsy’s. “That’s how he come to be called Biscuit.”

He paused to scratch his chin. “Never did know what his rightful name was.”

Betsy bounced on her heels. “He the one who told you to put a leaf in?”

“Yup. It’s a bay leaf. Adds a little flavor.” He lifted the lid to see if the water had boiled yet.

“For sure?”

“Yup.”

“Then I like leaves.” She skipped around the fire to Maggie. “You too, Maggie?” She leaned close, touching Maggie’s face.

Maggie smiled at her and nodded.

“You sad?” the child asked. “About him?” She nodded toward Ted, who gave no indication of hearing.

Again Maggie nodded.

Betsy straightened and walked to Ted’s side. She put her face close to him. “You don’t need to be afraid anymore. Maggie and Crane will take care of you.”

The boy jerked away, turning his back to her. His foot thrashed out, catching Betsy in the ankle and knocking her to the ground.

Whimpering, Betsy jumped up and backed away.

Maggie stood to her feet. “Ted. What are you doing? You mustn’t hurt Betsy.” But when she lifted a hand to touch him, he shrank back. Seeing his fear, Maggie turned to let her hand fall on Betsy instead. “Are you okay, Honey?”

Betsy nodded. Crane reached out and turned the frying meat before he walked around the fire to face Ted. “I think it’s time we introduced ourselves. I’m Byler Crane, but everyone calls me Crane. You can too.” He paused, waiting. “Me and your sister are married.”

The boy gave no sign he heard.

“We’s headed west to start a new life.”

Still nothing.

“We found Betsy in a town back there. She needed some
one. She’s coming with us.” He was beginning to wonder what he would have to do to get the boy’s attention. “You’re more than welcome to throw in with us.” He waited. “Unless you’ve a mind to go back to that pig farmer.”

The narrow shoulders hunched forward just enough for Crane to nod. At least he could be certain the boy understood what was said.

“I thought not. Then I guess you’re stuck with us.”

He turned back to the fire, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “On a long trail every hand has to do his share.” He downed the scalding cup of coffee, poured his cup full again, and shook the pot. “Almost empty,” he announced. “Guess we need some more water.”

Betsy sprang to her feet, but Crane said, “Ted, how ’bout you fill it at the river? Mind you, go upstream from where the horses are.” He held out the pot.

The boy stiffened.

Maggie half stood, but Crane shook his head, hoping she’d understand this was something he had to settle with Ted.

The boy jumped to his feet so quickly, Crane blinked. He snatched the pot and raced toward the river.

Crane could almost hear the boy’s thoughts.
You can make me do it, but you can’t make me like it.
He smiled. If beneath those glassy eyes was a fighter, so much the better.

He opened two cans of beans and set them to heat.

“Is it almost ready?” Betsy hovered at his side.

He studied her. She seemed none the worse for having been knocked down by Ted. “As soon as Ted’s back.”

She squatted beside him. “Ted’s mad?”

He met Maggie’s eyes. “I’m not sure,” he answered. Maggie stared after her brother.

Betsy spoke again. “I think that man hurt him.”

Crane stiffened, wondering if she had seen the marks on Ted’s back.

The child continued, “He’s a bad man. Like Bull.”

“He’ll never hurt him again,” Maggie muttered.

Ted returned, holding the coffeepot toward Crane without looking at him.

“Thanks, Boy.” Crane poured in the coffee, then dished up the food. He’d eat his own out of the spider.

He handed the plates around. Betsy dug into her food without hesitation, but Maggie waited, watching as he handed a plate to Ted. The boy jerked back as if expecting to be hit.

“Food,” Crane said. “Enjoy.”

Ted grabbed the plate, turning away his shoulders as if to shut them out again.

Maggie sat close to him. “You’re safe now, Ted,” she murmured. “We’ll take good care of you, Crane and I.”

Ted gobbled up his food without any indication he’d heard.

Betsy scampered down to the water to play, her laughter and singing whispering through the dusk. Ted disappeared into the trees, gathering more firewood. Crane filled Maggie’s cup, then hunched down to enjoy his own coffee. She edged closer.

“I couldn’t leave him.”

He watched her in the dancing light. A shower of sparks hissed, their light flashing through her hair. “Any more surprises?”

Her eyes grew round; her cheeks darkened. Then she smiled. “Don’t think so.”

He’d noticed before how a smile made her look so good he could hardly breathe.

“Ted used to be—” Her voice was tight. “He used to be—”

He nodded. “How old is he? How long since you saw him?”

Maggie sniffed. “He’s ten now. It’s been eight, no ten months, since I’ve seen him.” She shuddered. “Did you see his back?”

He nodded. “Met a few men who liked to hurt others. Just a few, but that was a few too many.”

“He was eight when Ma died, and Pa—well, Pa changed. We never saw much of him, and when we did, he was mean. I was glad when he left us alone.”

Maggie threw the rest of her coffee in the fire. Over the hissing protest, she growled, “I don’t care if I never see our pa again.”

Crane drained his cup. There wasn’t much he could say to that. Best to get on with life, he always figured. He was about to remind her about the new life in the West, freedom and all that, when she asked, “Why didn’t anyone help him?”

“Most people don’t want to start trouble.”

“Seems to me it was already started.”

He kept his gaze on the fire, but he could feel her stare knifing into him. He gnawed on his bottom lip, wondering how her mouth would feel to kiss. Here he was a married man for two days now, and he hadn’t even kissed his bride. Come to think of it, this was the first time they’d been alone since the wedding. And about high time he had his first kiss. He set his cup down at his feet and twisted toward her.

Her blue eyes caught the flare of light from a leaping flame and shot silver spears. Her lips were parted, but as he turned, she spoke. “Would you ignore a child in trouble? Would you have ridden past Ted?”

He pulled in a cooling breath and swallowed hard, dismissing the idea of a kiss. Later, he promised himself. “I don’t know.”
Of course I would and never give him a backward look.

“What if it was you?”

“Me?”

“Yes, what if you needed someone to help? What if you were that child?”

He twitched, feeling like a knife had been plunged into his solar plexus. The occasional word of Betsy’s song reached him. Behind him in the brush he could hear the crack of branches as Ted stepped on them. Flames licked the air. Sparks exploded, sizzling through the night.