Linda Ford (5 page)

“I was that child.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it couldn’t be lassoed back.

“What?”

“Things got tough after my pa left. Some days we didn’t have enough to eat.”
Never enough, and lots of times nothing at all.

“And no one helped you?”

“I don’t remember thinking they should.” And once he started to work, they always had food. He never looked back.

“I will never walk by a child in trouble and not stop to ask if I can do anything.” Crossing her arms, she glared at him.

“It’s a mighty good thing you told me this.” He narrowed his eyes.
Wonder what other little philosophies she has hidden up her sleeve.

For a moment more she glared at him. Then she giggled. “Guess you already figured it out.” She sobered. “I didn’t mean to cause you so much trouble.”

He shrugged, then refilled their cups. She moved over on the log, making room for him. They sat side by side, staring into the flames. Her shoulder whispered against his arm. She seemed so small beside him. He was certain he could wrap his arms around her with plenty of room to spare.

Her hair had a fresh summer-day scent, and he breathed deeply. He wanted to draw her close. But he sat as still as the log on which they perched, uncertain how she would react. A nerve twitched in his arm. Maybe she was wanting this as much as he.

“Do you believe in God?”

“What?” If she wasn’t the blamedest one for talking all the time.

“I said, do you believe in God? I guess you must, seeing as you wanted a God-fearing woman for a wife.”

He sighed. “ ’Course I do. My mother taught me it was so.”

Maggie nodded. “Mine too. What all did she tell you about Him?”

Crane tried to remember. “She said things like God made everything. She said He would take care of us. Other things.” It was so long ago.

Maggie grabbed his arm, sending warm waves along its length. “What did she say about Him taking care of us?”

Pa had been gone a few days, maybe a week—he couldn’t remember for sure—but long enough that Crane had grown suspicious.

“Where’s Pa?” he’d demanded yet again.

His mother turned away but not before Crane caught the flash of pain in her face. “He’s away.”

“Is he coming back?” Crane insisted. He had to get rid of the awful feeling in the pit of his stomach.

But she had turned slowly. “Come sit by me, Byler. I’ve something to tell you.”

Inside he had screamed, “No! I don’t want to hear it!” But he let his mother draw him to the big old armchair and pull him to her lap.

“I don’t know when your pa is coming back.”

The pain in his stomach erupted.

“But I know he will come back.” She smiled as she brushed his hair from his forehead. “Because I prayed about it. And God has said He’d take care of us, so I know He’ll send Tom back. I promise you.” She stroked his forehead, her words driving back the pain.

But Pa had not come back.

That was the last time his mother had held him. It was the last time he believed a promise.

Maggie tugged at his arm. “Tell me what she said, what she meant.”

Ignoring the stabbing in his belly, Crane said, “After Pa left, she prayed. She said she knew God would bring him back. She hoped and hoped, but when he didn’t come back, she began to die inside.”

At first, he had thought she was angry with him, that somehow it was his fault Pa had left. That was why she no longer laughed with him, or tickled him, or told him jokes. It was years before he figured out it was because of her own heartbreak. Not until now did he realize she simply couldn’t survive without hope.

In happier times she had read the Bible and talked about God. In his mind he was certain the two were connected.

“I got something you might like to see.” He pushed to his feet. Digging in the saddlebags, he found a paper-wrapped parcel and took it to her.

She turned it over in her hands. “What is it?”

“Open it and see.”

Maggie’s fingers danced at the knots, then she unfolded the crackling paper. “It’s a Bible,” she whispered, trailing her fingertips over the black leather.

“It was my mother’s.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “She wanted me to take it.” He’d been home on one of his visits. In the months since he’d last seen her, she had failed noticeably.

“One of these days you won’t be needing to come back here. You can follow those cows and that trail as far as you like,” she’d said. “Son, I wish you all the best. I wish life could have been better for you, but”—she sighed—“keep my Bible with you always. Read it. Maybe you’ll do better than me in learning God’s ways.”

After her death he had disposed of her meager belongings but, remembering his promise, had packed the Bible for the trip west.

Eyes wide and bright, Maggie stared at him a moment, then turned back to the Bible. “My ma always wanted a Bible. She said her folks back in the old country had one.” Slowly she opened the pages. “I can’t believe I’m actually holding one.” She turned page after page, letting her hand slide over each. “It’s so beautiful.”

The pages fell open at the center, and she tipped the book toward the flames so she could see better. Crane watched as she read the black spidery names in the family tree. “Thomas Crane was your father.”

“Yup.”

“Powell Crane?” She looked at him again.

“My brother. He was born four years before me. He only lived six months.”

She looked away. “How awful.” A shudder shook her. Then her finger trailed up the page. “Imagine being able to see all your family like this for all these years gone by.” She fixed a searching look on him. “It must make you feel good.”

Crane rocked back on his heels as he considered it. All his life he’d been a loner. He hadn’t given family a lot of thought, except occasionally to acknowledge to himself that his mother’s dependency tethered him to his home. But Maggie’s words hit a mark. “I guess it’s kind of nice.”

Satisfied, she nodded. The sound of crashing wood echoed across the clearing, and Crane turned to see Ted wipe bark and leaves from his arms, a pile of branches at his feet. In the dimming light the boy looked even bonier, his face all sharp angles. Crane glanced toward the trees. Darkness had fallen as they talked.

“Time to call the children in,” he murmured even as Maggie called, “Ted, stay here now. That’s enough wood, thanks.”

On the heels of her voice, Crane called out, “Betsy, come in now.”

“Coming.” The light voice carried through the dusk, then she could be heard singing, the words and voice growing more distinct as she skipped toward them.

“Look what I found.” She knelt at Maggie’s side and unwound her objects from the rolled-up shirttail. “A shiny rock and this one all full of holes.” She set them at her knees. “And look.” She held up a twisted piece of driftwood rubbed soft by the water. “It’s so pretty.” She lifted it toward Crane. “Isn’t it, Crane?”

He smiled. “It sure is.” Even so young, she was quick to let go of the past and rush wholeheartedly into the future.

Scooping up her treasures, Betsy sprang to her feet and scampered to the far side of the fire where Ted sat as still as a stone. “Look, Ted. See all the nice things I found.” She held them out for him to examine. “There’s lots of good things down there. You should come with me next time.”

Ted lifted his face and scowled at her. “It’s dumb junk,” he muttered.

Crane pulled himself taller. It was the first words he’d heard the boy speak.
I guess it’s a good sign.
Though he didn’t like the way the boy spoke to Betsy.

Betsy seemed unaffected as she skipped back to Maggie’s side and arranged her things in a neat row, humming as she played.

“It’s time to get ready for bed,” Maggie announced, springing to her feet.

Crane handed Betsy a bedroll. She waited as he flicked his into place, then spread hers beside him. He smiled as he ducked to put more wood on the fire. He carried his coffee to the bedding, where he stretched out, his back to a tree.

Betsy watched him, waiting until he was settled before she crawled under the covers at his side.

“Ted,” Maggie called. “Come over here.”

Ted’s shoulders tightened, and he shifted toward the darkness.

“It’s all the bedding we got,” she called again. “You’ll have to share with us.”

His shoulder drew closer to his ear.

Maggie turned toward Crane, her look begging him to do something. He shrugged.

“He’ll get cold,” Betsy whispered.

Crane nodded. “He’s got to make up his own mind.”

A heavy, waiting silence settled uneasily around them. Finally, with a sigh from as low as her shoes, Maggie shifted her attention back to the Bible, still lying on her knees. “Do you suppose I could read some?”

Crane nodded. “Go ahead. Read it out loud.”

She bent her head and carefully opened the pages to the front and began, “ ‘In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.’ ” Her voice was low and musical.

Crane eased back into a more comfortable position and, beneath his eyelashes, let his gaze skim over the others.

Betsy, her eyes wide and glimmering, a finger wrapped in a corner of the blanket, squirmed around so she could see Maggie.

Maggie’s hair fell around her face like a curtain, moving just enough for the golden light to catch in its strands.

As she read, Ted’s shoulders relaxed, and he stared at his toes, the light from the fire making sharp angles across his features.

Crane let his gaze return to Maggie. He got the same feeling in his chest he got when Rebel nuzzled his nose against his neck. He let the words take him back to the distant rooms of his memory to a time when they had been a happy family—before Pa left and Ma lost hope. Evenings had a special ritual of their own. Pa settled down before the fire with pipe and coffee. Crane sat on a stool, close enough to lean against Ma’s knees. And Ma read aloud from this same Bible.

He drank his cooling coffee. Strange how he had forgotten. Maybe it was why he had kept the Bible; the reason he had put God-fearing as a requirement for his future wife.

Maggie closed the book. “I reckon I better stop for tonight.” She sighed deeply. “It’s so beautiful. I wish I could read it all right away.”

“Me too.” Betsy flipped over on her back. “God made everything. Crane,” she said, fixing him with a demanding gaze, “Did He make me?”

Crane struggled to find the words to explain how a baby was made. “It took a mamma and papa to make you, Child.”

“Of course He did,” Maggie interrupted. “My ma always said God made every sparrow and every flower in the grass. He made every one of us. She said little children are the most special so He made an angel for each one to watch over them.” She turned to Ted. “You remember that, Ted? You remember our mamma saying that?”

Ted shrugged his back toward them, his narrow shoulders creeping toward his ears.

Maggie ducked her head. Carefully she rewrapped the Bible and returned it to the pack before she crawled in beside Betsy. “Ted, it’s getting colder by the minute. Come and lay beside me like we used to do.” But Ted didn’t respond.

Crane tossed out the last drop of coffee and pushed to his feet. He set the empty cup on a rock, then caught up his heavy gray blanket and wrapped it around Ted’s shoulders, ignoring the way the boy stiffened and leaned away. From his saddlebag he pulled out his long black slicker and lay down, huddling under the coat.

“Thank you,” Maggie whispered. “I hope you’ll be warm enough.”

“I’ll manage.” He’d survived worse.

“You’re a nice man,” she whispered.

Crane wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. He grunted and waited until Betsy dug her feet into his ribs before he squirmed into a more comfortable position and waited for his thoughts to quiet.

Out of the darkness a little voice spoke. “I guess his died.”

Five

He heard Maggie’s sharp intake of breath even as his thoughts flared like a hot burst of flame.

“Who died?” Maggie asked, the tension behind her low, calm words ringing in his head.

“Ted’s angel,” Betsy answered calmly.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, he was dead or sleeping when your pa sold Ted to that pig man. Otherwise he would have helped Ted.”

Smiling, Crane digested the idea, but it wasn’t her statement that made him smile; it was the quick way her mind worked, assessing information, evaluating it against her experience, trying to fit it into her world. And he couldn’t wait to hear what Maggie would say.

“Far as I know, angels don’t die,” she muttered. “I don’t know about sleeping. Doesn’t seem they should need to.”

“Then what was he doing?” Betsy demanded. “Maybe playing with someone?”

Crane chuckled deep in his chest. The little minx wasn’t going to let it go easily.

Out of the darkness Maggie’s voice challenged him. “You like to answer her?”

“No. You’re doing fine.”

“Thanks.” Maggie grunted. “Maybe angels play. Guess I really don’t know. But I don’t blame the angels or God for what happened to Ted.” She paused and drew a trembling breath. “Or me.” Another pause. “My ma told me God loved me no matter what. She said He loved me so much He sent His son, Jesus, to die so we could have our sins forgiven and be part of God’s family. And she said He would never leave me alone. All I had to do was decide whether I wanted it or not.”

Silence descended for a moment.

“If I blame anyone, I blame my pa. Him and his bottle.”

Crane stared into the darkness. People did what they did probably not even thinking how it might hurt another. It was useless to blame. It tied you to the past, controlled the present, and pinched the future.

“Best to forget it,” he murmured. “What’s done is done. We have the rest of our lives ahead of us.”

“I suppose you’re right. Not much any of us can do about what’s already happened. Except learn from it.” Her voice hardened. “I know I’ve learned a few things.”

Crane wondered what lessons Maggie had learned, but Betsy snuggled close to his side, her breathing slow and even, and he didn’t ask for fear of waking her.

Then out of the darkness Betsy’s soft voice asked, “You’ll never leave us, will you, Crane?”

It was as much statement as question and drove Crane’s breath from him in a gust. “Don’t see no reason to.” Awkwardly he shifted to one hip so he could drape his arm over Betsy’s wee body, letting her know she was safe. He stiffened as his hand touched Maggie’s warm fingers. She tensed momentarily, but her hand remained beneath his. Inch by inch he relaxed, letting his hand rest on hers. He liked the warm rush of blood through his veins and wondered what Maggie’s reaction would be if he pulled her close. How could he with the child curled between them?

“You never answered her question,” Maggie whispered.

“What question?”

“About leaving. Will you ever leave us, Byler Crane?” Her words whispered through the darkness.

“Like I said, I don’t see no reason to leave.”

“What would constitute a reason?”

He withdrew his hand and threw himself on his back. They were married. Wasn’t that promise enough? He said as much.

“Your pa was married, and he left.”

He didn’t need her pointing it out. His jaw tightened. “I can’t answer for my pa, but I recall back in Colhome I promised ‘’til death do us part.’ I ain’t changed my mind and don’t plan to.”

She sighed. “That’s something, I guess.”

“Yup.” What more did she want? Theirs wasn’t a romantic liaison; it was a business arrangement—one they both stood to benefit from. His parents had married out of love and passion, and look how that turned out. He decided he was more’n happy to do it his way.

“And we’ll take care of Ted and Betsy?”

“I ain’t about to leave them to fend for themselves.” He’d learned to take what life handed him without asking too many questions, but it seemed Maggie wasn’t so inclined. “No point in trying to figure out everything. It only boggles you down with worry.”

“I’m not trying to figure out everything.” She sounded annoyed. “Only where I stand and what I should expect.” A minute later she added, “I feel like I’ve been swept into a whirlwind.”

He chuckled. “Mostly of your own making.”

“I can’t seem to help it.”

“I suppose not.” Not if she meant to rescue everyone she thought was in trouble.

“I guess I act before I think.”

“Umm.”

He heard a tiny sigh. “But even if I sat and thought about it a week, I wouldn’t put either Betsy or Ted back where they was.” Her voice hardened. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“Nope.”

“It’s just—” She sounded uncertain. “I only—”

He waited, letting her sort her thoughts.

“You said you needed a God-fearing wife to begin a new life in the West. And now here you are with me and two young’uns. It’s not what you bargained for.” She took a gusty breath. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’d understand if you said you wanted out.”

He thought he’d made it clear he was going ahead as planned. What more did she want? He wriggled away from a lump under his back. He could not promise the future; he could only say, as he already had, he was prepared to continue their journey.

Again he shifted so he could drape his arm over Betsy’s sleeping form. Maggie’s arm was still there. He found her hand and rested his own on top of it. She curled her fingers away but made no attempt to pull her hand out.

“The past is best left behind, and there’s no point in trying to guess what the future might hold. So we make plans as best we can and take each day as it comes.”

Her fingers tightened into a ball. “Together?”

He squeezed her hand. “I meant what I said.”

The tension in her arm eased. Slowly her fingers uncurled to lay warm and relaxed in his grasp. The child between them snored softly. Maggie’s breathing deepened, but he couldn’t be certain she slept. Across the fire Ted shifted in his sleep and moaned, the sound choking off as if he’d tied a rope around it.

Crane lay with the child under his arm and Maggie’s hand in his.
No promises other than the one I made in front of the preacher. And no assurances.
It was enough to be like this—husband and wife united to face the future. As to the rest of it— His chest tightened so it hurt to breathe. The rest would come later.

The next morning, anxious to be on the trail, Crane silently urged everyone to hurry. Breakfast complete, he left Maggie to clean up as he went to get the horses ready. He was tightening the pack in place when a sound stopped him. He paused to listen. It was a high-pitched keening sound.

Silent as a shadow, he slid between the trees toward the sound. Through the leaves he glimpsed the gurgling water of the river, and as he lifted his gaze to the shoreline, the skin on the back of his neck crawled.

Betsy stood waist-deep in the slow, persistent current, her arms flung out as she struggled to keep her balance. The water caught the too-big shirt she wore, tugging her downstream. Her face was contorted with fear. The keening sound rose from her lips.

Ted stood on the shore facing Betsy, the expression on his face sending shudders across Crane’s shoulders. As Crane watched, Ted pitched a rock into the river, splashing water in Betsy’s face, forcing her to draw back.

Crane held his breath as she stumbled and righted herself. She took a step toward the shore. Ted threw another rock and forced her back again. The keening sound raced through Crane’s veins. Crane’s jaw ached from clenching his teeth together. He eased toward the pair, then pulled back as Maggie broke through the trees. She skidded to a stop behind Ted, her hands clenched, her mouth widening. Her gaze flicked from Ted to Betsy, and she took a deep breath.

“Ted, Betsy,” she called, as if trying to locate the children. “Where are you? It’s about time to leave.”

The handful of rocks slipped from Ted’s fists, and he plopped
down on a boulder, looking detached and disinterested.

Betsy struggled toward shore.

“There you are,” Maggie crooned, stepping into the river to help Betsy. “You best be careful around the river. It can be dangerous.” She held the child’s hand.

Ted studiously avoided looking in their direction.

“We wouldn’t want anything to happen.” Her voice carried a hard, warning note. “Would we, Ted?”

Slowly he turned toward her. Brother and sister stared at each other. Crane couldn’t see Ted’s expression, but he could see the set of Maggie’s shoulders and the challenge in her face.

Just when he thought Maggie would have to relent, Ted moved his head. It was barely a nod, but Crane sighed.

She smiled grimly. “Then let’s get ready to go.”

Betsy clung to her hand as they hurried back to the campsite. Ted waited a moment, then jerked to his feet and followed.

His fists clenched at his side, Crane watched until they were
out of sight. It was several minutes before he led the horses to
the campsite, where Maggie had built up the fire to dry Betsy’s clothes. Crane moved slowly and deliberately, his calm exterior giving no indication of his troubled thoughts. Out of the corner of his eye, he studied Ted, but the boy sat on his former perch, peeling a branch and looking as ordinary as an April shower.

As they rode west, Crane’s thoughts knotted, again and again replaying the scene at the river. He barely heard Betsy’s chatter or Maggie’s replies. He’d have to keep a more careful eye on Ted and wait to see what the boy was made of.

“I recollect the day you was born,” Maggie said to Ted. “After you was washed, the midwife wrapped you up and put you in my arms while Ma rested. I remember Pa said, ‘I reckon he’s going to be as much your baby as anybody’s.’ ” She paused, a faraway look in her eyes. “You were so sweet. You was smiling before you were more’n a few days old. Ma said it was just gas, but Pa watched you and said, ‘I declare. He does seem to know when it’s Maggie talking to him. There’s something special between the two of them.’ ”

Crane knew what Maggie was doing, trying to bring the boy out of himself and back to the child she remembered. But thinking of the way Ted had treated Betsy, Crane wanted to warn Maggie the brother she once knew might be forever gone.

“Ted,” she continued, “Do you remember the time Ma and Pa decided to take us on a picnic down to the river, and Pa made sure you could swim good—then he hung a rope from that big tree and taught us how to swing over the river, and jump in?”

Crane turned to look at Ted where he rode behind his sister. Expecting to see him with head ducked as usual, Crane was startled to see Ted’s face lifted to watch Maggie. Crane stared. Perhaps something was redeemable in this child after all.

“Your pa sounds like a right nice man,” Betsy said, her voice full of awe.

Maggie nodded. “He was until Ma died, and he took to the bottle. After that he changed.” Her voice hardened. “I guess you can never be certain someone won’t change from one day to another as they ride down the trail.”

Crane sat up straight. He didn’t have to look at Maggie to be certain she meant him. But how could he promise her tomorrow and tomorrow? Today was all they could be certain of. Today was all he could promise.

By midafternoon they rode into a town. “We’ll get more supplies here,” Crane announced, turning in at the general store. Maggie followed. “You all better come in and help get what we need.”

The four of them marched up the steps toward the door.

“We need clothes for Betsy. Maggie, you look after that,” he said. “I’ll see to Ted’s needs.” He pulled open the door and stepped in.

He selected several blankets and asked for a bag of flour and another of cornmeal before he led Ted to the men’s section. He chose three shirts and some overalls, then had Ted sit while they tried on boots. Ted did as he was told without any interest in the proceedings until Crane looked over the pile and said, “I suppose a young fella your age will be needing a pocketknife.”

Ted glanced up, giving Crane a chance to see his wide eyes before he ducked his head again. It was long enough for Crane to see a gleam of interest, and he smiled.

“Let’s see what they got.”

They returned to the counter and asked to see the knives. The storekeep pulled out a tray with eight knives on it and set it before them.

Crane lifted each knife, feeling the weight of it in his palm, then flicking open the blades before he handed it to Ted, who did the same. One by one, they examined each knife, then stared at them lined up on the counter.

“It’s your knife—you’ll have to decide which is best,” Crane said.

He felt Ted’s sharp intake of breath, then the boy reached out and picked up a plain black knife with two solid blades.

“Good choice,” Crane said, pleased the boy had chosen the sturdiest one rather than going for the flashy red one with all the doodads. “Add this to the tally,” he told the storekeep. Ted held it uncertainly in his palm. “It’s yours,” Crane said. “Carry it in your pocket, and use it wisely.”

Ted pushed the knife into the pocket of the new overalls he wore. “Thank you,” he murmured, flashing Crane a quick look.

“You’re welcome, Boy.”

Maggie and Betsy joined them, adding more articles to the pile.

“Look at my new shoes.” Betsy pranced before Crane.

“Nice,” he said, pleased at how much better she looked in a dress her size. “Looks like we’re all set then.” He paid the bill. “Now let’s go see what we can find for a horse for Ted.”

Again the boy flashed him a wide-eyed look. Crane felt compelled to explain himself. “We don’t want to overload our mounts and have them wear out before we get where we’re going.”

Under the watchful but guarded eye of Ted, he purchased a small Morgan gelding and a saddle. Crane was certain Ted sat taller in the saddle as they left town. His glance met Maggie’s, and she smiled and mouthed, “Thank you.”