Linda Ford (7 page)

Crane secured the pack on the spare horse before he answered. “Well, I reckon it must all be true. It’s in the Bible, isn’t it?”

“But what do you think about it?” He pinned Crane with his question. The boy deserved honesty.

“I guess it’s hard to separate out things. Things people do get mixed up with what God says. Seems like they should be closer together.”

“Yeah, know what you mean.”

“Don’t mean it’s not true. Don’t mean I don’t believe it. It’s just real hard to sort it out. I need to do some heavy thinking on it.”

But it seemed thinking wasn’t something Maggie was prepared to let him do. As soon as they hit the trail, she started talking. “It’s your mother’s Bible. She’d underlined lots of verses. She must have known this.”

“I reckon she did.”

“She tell you about it?”

“Yup. I reckon.”

“Well, my ma said it was a gift, but a gift don’t do you no good if you don’t take it.”

“I reckon that’s so.” He was beginning to wish they’d run into the Swedburgs again, if only because it would give them something else to talk about.

The cat lay curled in Ted’s lap. Cat had turned out to be a good traveler, content to spend hours on the saddle. And now, when Crane longed for a diversion, she slept as if life held nothing else.

“I know,” Maggie continued. “You’re afraid.”

Crane interrupted before she could finish. “Men have been shot for saying that,” he growled.

“Crane ain’t afraid,” Ted yelled. “He needs time to think.”

She waved little circles with her hands. “I don’t mean afraid of somebody or something. I mean afraid to let go and trust.”

“Maggie’s right,” Betsy insisted. “I did what she said. I prayed like she said. She’s right.”

Ted looked at Crane and said, “We need time to think about it. Don’t we, Crane?”

Crane shifted in his saddle and stared dead ahead. It was two against two, a divided camp—a situation that made his nerves crackle. He turned to Maggie. “You was the one who didn’t want nothing to change.”

Her smile faded, and her face tightened. “Nothing’s changed. We’re still headed west, ain’t we?”

Their gazes locked. Neither of them shifted away. Finally he grunted and kicked his horse into a trot.

After a few minutes he allowed them to settle into a steady walk.

“Crane?” Betsy’s voice was thin.

“Yup.”

“You mad at Maggie?”

“Mad?” Had she taken his silence for anger? “No, I was just thinking.” Though for the life of him, he couldn’t recall one thought.

“Good.” Her voice rose, and she began to chatter to Maggie about Cat and birds and asked what they would have for lunch.

Crane grinned at Maggie.

“I ’spect we’ll find something,” she muttered with an exasperated glance heavenward.

They made good progress that day. As they pulled up to make camp, Crane said, “We’re in the Territories now. Tomorrow we’ll leave off following the river and drop down to the new rail line.” He’d heard the travel was easy with settlements along the new tracks. And although he had no interest in the towns, he understood it was the fastest route to the new West.

With camp set up, Ted wandered down to the river. Crane watched him. All day he’d felt the boy’s withdrawal and knew he needed to be alone to sort things out. But the meal was ready, and Ted had not returned.

Maggie called him again, then hurried down to the water’s edge. “Ted,” she called and waited. But Ted did not answer. She hurried back to the fire, twisting her hands together. “He should have been back.”

Crane nodded. “Yup. I was thinking the same.” He pushed to his feet. “I’ll go get him.”

He followed the river, occasionally seeing Ted’s track in the soft ground. He walked for the better part of a half hour with no sign of the boy. The muscles in the back of his neck tensed. The boy couldn’t have disappeared into thin air. He searched the now rocky ground and found no tracks, but as he edged his way around some willow branches, he sucked in his breath. Ted floated in the river, bobbing with the current.

Crane’s thoughts crashed like a wave. A groan rose from deep inside him. Then Ted turned toward him, and Crane saw the muddied streaks down his cheeks and his quivering lips, and he leapt forward.

Ted saw him. “Crane, help.” His words rattled over his teeth. “I’m stuck.”

“I’m coming. Hang on!” He ran into the water, grabbing the boy under his arms. But he couldn’t lift him.

“It’s my foot.” Ted choked back a sob.

“It’ll be all right.” Crane swooped his hand down the boy’s leg and found it wedged between two boulders. A trickle of pink fled downstream from his foot.

Crane wrapped his arms around one rock and heaved. But it refused to budge. “I’ll get something to pry with.”

He plowed his way through the water and ran to the trees. The closer trees were willows with only thin whips for branches. He had to find a sturdy branch.

He pushed through to the heavier growth and grabbed the first sizable branch he saw, racing back to the river. Grunting, he pried the end under the boulder and heaved, bending the branch with his weight. He grunted and pushed again. The branch snapped, but the rock did not move.

“I’m gonna have to force your foot out.”

The boy nodded, gritting his teeth. “I can take it.”

Crane bent over, feeling underwater, locating the best angle to free the foot. If he twisted and pulled at the same time—it would hurt like fury, but he had run out of ideas.

“Hold on now.” He shut his mind to the pain he was about to inflict. “Take a deep breath and hold it.” He grasped the foot with both hands and pulled. It stuck. He continued to pull, and it came free with a sickening jerk. Ted’s scream tore through his brain.

He grabbed the boy, crushing him to his chest, and plunged out of the cold water. “Are you all right?” He held the boy a moment, then set him down and looked deep into his eyes.

Ted nodded, then Crane bent to check the foot. A nasty gash bled profusely, but the foot and ankle seemed otherwise sound.

Ted’s teeth chattered. “I was so scared,” he whispered.

At the look of misery on his face, Crane pulled the boy back into his arms and held him tight. He wanted to say something to comfort and soothe the boy, but no words came. He pressed the small head against his chest and held him, letting his own fears slip away.

“You’re freezing. Slip out of those wet things.”

But Ted’s fingers were clumsy from the cold, and it was Crane who undid the buttons and pulled the clothes off. With nothing dry to wrap him in, Crane stripped off his water-blotched shirt and wrapped it around Ted. He wrung as much water as he could from Ted’s wet clothes, then tied them in a bundle and hooked it to the back loop of his pants.

“Let’s get you back to camp.” And he swept the boy into his arms. Ted allowed himself to be carried, clinging to Crane as if he feared he was still drowning. They could see the fire ahead and Maggie peering into the darkness.

“I found him!” Crane called.

Maggie raced toward Ted. “He’s hurt!” she cried as she saw Ted in Crane’s arms. “Oh, Baby, say something.”

“It’s just my foot.” Ted’s voice quavered. “I slipped and caught it between two rocks.”

Maggie reached for Ted, but Crane shook his head. “Get some blankets ready. He’s cold.”

She sped to the bedrolls, yanking up the blankets and racing back.

At the fire Crane lowered Ted to the ground. Maggie had the blankets around him before Crane finished pulling away the damp shirt. She grabbed the shirt and saw the blood on it. “He’s hurt.” Her gaze settled on his foot, and she bent to examine it.

“It’s a nasty cut.”

“It’s clean.” Crane put on a fresh shirt. “Right now we need to get him warmed up.”

“I made some tea.” She hurried to get a cupful, ladling in several spoonfuls of sugar. “Here, sip this.” She held it to the boy’s mouth.

“Is he all right?” Betsy whispered.

Crane turned to the child. She stood apart from them, pinching the seams of her dress.

“He’ll be just fine. He’s cold now, and he has a cut on his foot.” He reached for her, and she sprang into his arms, burrowing against his chest.

“I didn’t want anything to happen to him.”

“I know,” he said softly. “None of us did.”

“I asked God to help you find him.” She snuggled closer, relaxing in his arms. “I guess He did.”

“Maybe He did at that.” Crane was grateful for whatever help God had offered.

Maggie brought some material from her pack and tore it into strips, bandaging Ted’s foot.

“Here, Cat,” Betsy called the animal to her. “You come keep Ted warm.” She parked Cat in Ted’s lap.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

Crane and Maggie smiled at each other. Crane wondered if she was thinking the same as he: These two have come a long way.

Betsy climbed back into Crane’s lap. Suddenly she cried out.

“What’s the matter?” Crane asked.

“Your hands.” She pointed, tears welling up in her eyes. “They’re hurt.”

Crane looked at his hands. Blood dripped from the backs of both of them. “I must have cut them pulling Ted’s foot out.” Strange, he never felt a thing. He was about to wipe his hands on his shirt when Maggie grabbed them.

“Here—let me clean them.”

His hand rested in her palm as she wiped the back with a damp cloth, then wrapped his hand in clean rags. Her touch was gentle as the warm summer rain, warming him all over. He shivered, not from cold but from some unfamiliar longing flooding through him.

She looked up from her task. “You’re cold,” she muttered. “You should take better care of yourself.” She turned to the child. “Betsy, get Crane a blanket.”

The girl ran to do as she was told, tenderly wrapping the blanket around Crane, patting his shoulders. He wasn’t cold; yet their touches calmed his insides better than a hot drink.

They finally got around to having their supper.

Crane kept a close eye on Ted, but he seemed none the worse for his accident. He sat close to the fire, laughing at Cat’s antics. In fact, Crane decided, Betsy seemed more affected by the incident than Ted. She hovered at his side, trying to anticipate his needs and satisfy them.

Maggie, having finished her chores, wandered down to the river. Crane watched her from his spot near the fire and, seeing the children were playing happily, sauntered down to join her. He knew she was aware of his presence, but she stared out across the water without speaking.

After awhile, she let out a shuddering breath. “Thank you. You saved his life. I can never thank you enough.”

“It was nothing,” he murmured.

“I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to Ted.”

He kept his gaze on the trees across the stream. There she was wanting assurances about the future again. He couldn’t promise her nothing would ever happen to Ted. He couldn’t promise that for himself. Not for anybody.

“Ted kept his head.”

“Poor boy.” She swallowed a little cry. “Oh, Crane. He must have been so scared. I was so scared.” And she flung herself against his chest, almost toppling him over.

Seven

Crane wrapped his arms around her, promising himself he would do his best to see nothing ever hurt her. He rubbed her back, feeling her leanness, her toughness, and her softness.

“Everything will be fine,” he murmured.

No sooner had he spoken the words than he wished for them back. He couldn’t be making promises he didn’t know if he could keep. The feel of her in his arms had turned his mind to mush.

He cupped a hand over her hair. It was so silky. Like nothing he could remember feeling before. He lowered his head, letting his lips caress her hair. He was drowning in the scent of her, the feel of her, the pound of his heart against her slight form.

“God took care of us today,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his chest.

Her breath was sweet and tempting, and he lowered his head a fraction more, willing her to lift her face and offer her lips.

Instead she pushed away.

Crane’s hands lingered on her waist until she dropped to her knees. He crossed his arms, striving to still the wild emotions raging inside him. She knelt beside him, her hands clasped before her. “Thank You, God, for taking care of Ted today. Thank You for sending Crane to help him.” She paused. “Thank You for sending Crane to help us all.”

He squirmed.
She must think I’m was something I’m not.
Yet it made him think of something his mother used to say when he did something she appreciated.

“Why, bless you, Byler,” she’d say. That was the feeling he got listening to Maggie thank God for him. A sense of being blessed.

Maggie got to her feet and stood close to him. A flash from the fire threw sharp angles across her face, then her features disappeared in the darkness.

He could feel her breath against his chin. She was watching him. But he didn’t know what she wanted. Then she grabbed his hand, sending a wave of warmth up his arm.

“Let’s go have coffee.” He could hear the smile in her voice.

Her hand felt small and soft, and he let her pull him toward the fire, a smug smile widening his mouth.

They stepped into the circle of light, and she dropped hold of his hand, rushing toward the coffeepot. His arms hung at his sides, and his stare followed her movements. Had their touching affected her the same way it did him?

After they’d settled the children in bed, Crane handed Maggie the Bible. Betsy leaned across his legs, her focus on Maggie, while Ted sat cross-legged at his other side.

Maggie began to read, but her voice faded before she finished the story. Crane watched over his lowered cup. Her thoughts seemed to be far away as she stared at the fire, then slowly closed the book.

“I can’t read tonight,” she murmured. “My thoughts are too full.” The golden light danced across her face. “Seems like a door in my mind has come open, and I can remember all kinds of stuff. Things Ma used to tell me.” She turned quickly, fixing her gaze on Ted. “Ted, I don’t know what you remember. Seems you weren’t very old when Ma started feeling poorly.”

Ted’s gaze fastened on his sister’s face. “I don’t remember much.”

She nodded. “Sometimes she could barely get out of bed. It was an effort just to talk, but she was always so kind and gentle. I don’t ever remember her bein’ cross even when Pa was angry with her.” Maggie paused to brush an insect from her arm. “I used to think he was angry at her for being sick, but I guess maybe he was angry at the sickness for what it was doing to her.” She looked deep into Ted’s eyes. “You remember that?”

He shook his head. “I only remember Pa bein’ mad.”

A flash of pain crossed her face. “You missed the best years.”

Maggie leaned back, a gentle smile on her lips. “Ma used to tell the best stories. Stories from the Bible, but lots of stories about her life too.”

Betsy shifted toward Maggie, her elbow digging into Crane’s leg, but he welcomed the feel of her against him.

“She told about going to church in the old country.”

Betsy’s head jerked up. “What’s church?”

Maggie laughed low in her throat. “It’s where you go to worship God and learn about Him.”

“How do you do that?” the child demanded.

“You sing songs about God, you read from the Bible and talk about what it means, and someone prays.”

Betsy eased back down. “Sounds good.”

“Ma told one story over and over about how she heard what she called ‘the truth about God.’ ” She leaned over her knees, a soft expression on her face. “There was a roving preacher who walked about the country with nothing but an old bag holding a change of clothes and his Bible. He’d sit in the center of town and begin to talk, and soon a crowd would be gathered.” Maggie chuckled. “Ma said he’d gather a crowd, then preach them into the kingdom.”

Crane lay back against the tree trunk maintaining a casual pose, but inside he was hanging on to every word as eagerly as the children.

“How’d he do that?” Betsy asked.

“Ma said he opened his Bible and read verse after verse, telling the people God had given them a gift of salvation. We didn’t need to work for it or pay for it. Then he offered a coin to anyone who would come and take it. Ma said only one little boy had the nerve to go up and take it. Then the preacher said, ‘That’s exactly how it is with God’s gift. You just have to take it.” Her voice drifted off, and Crane could see she was deep in thought.

Betsy sighed. “I wish I’d been there to get the coin.”

Maggie fixed her gaze on Betsy. “But don’t you see what he was trying to do?”

Betsy shook her head.

“After the little boy got the coin, a bunch crowded around him saying they wished they’d gone and taken it. But what God offers is so much more than a coin. And all we have to do is take it. ‘A gift beyond compare,’ Ma always said. It’s for everyone who decides to become a child of God.”

Betsy sat up. “Then I got the gift?”

Maggie laughed. “You do indeed.”

Betsy flopped down on her back. “Ain’t I happy?”

Later that night, the four of them stretched out side by side. Crane looked up at the stars, his thoughts going round and round on what Maggie had said. Words he was sure his mother would have agreed with. But he couldn’t just take a gift. Not from anyone and certainly not from God. He had learned a long time ago to stand strong and alone. Somehow, to take a gift made him beholden to the giver. But that didn’t make sense in God’s case. After all, didn’t he believe God had a hand in the events of people’s lives? Then he already was beholden in some fashion. Or was he protected and blessed?

It made his head ache trying to sort it out, so he turned his thoughts toward another matter: Maggie.

At that moment Maggie sat up. “Crane, you sleeping?”

“No,” he whispered.

“I want to thank you properly for rescuing Ted.”

“You already did.” Had she forgotten or—a little pulse thumped inside his head—did she have something more than words in mind?

She flopped down on her back. “I guess I did, but I want to be certain you know how grateful I am.”

“I do.”

She reached across Betsy’s sleeping form, found his hand, and squeezed it. Crane thought his heart would explode at her touch. It was all he could do to lie there when every inch of his body ached to pull her into his arms and cradle her close.

“I care about the boy too,” he muttered, his tongue feeling as if he’d been on a long trail ride without a canteen.

“I know you do. You take good care of us all.”

“Yup.” His mind refused to work.

She lay there, silently holding his hand; then, sighing, she pulled away. “I wanted you to know.”

❧

The sun poured down on them day after day. What energy the sun didn’t soak up, the wind blew away. The grass on the prairie was as high as the horses’ bellies, but it was a lone, echoing place with no appeal for him.

“The wind sucks at my soul,” Maggie shuddered. “I wouldn’t want to live out in the open like this.”

Crane nodded. They would continue west until they crossed the wide stretch of flatland. “West of Calgary we’ll find trees and foothills,” he said.

“I can hardly wait.” She rubbed a rag across the back of her neck. “This heat is about more’n I can bear.”

“Can’t we stop?” Betsy whined.

Ted answered before Crane could. “You see a place where it’s gonna be any cooler?”

“We’ll stop early tonight,” Crane promised.

The heat had taken its toll on everyone. Only Cat, curled up on the saddle in front of Ted, seemed unaffected.

“Maybe we’ll find someplace close to water so we can take a dip.” Not for the first time he regretted leaving the river.

They rode another hour without seeing anything big enough to squat beside, let alone provide shelter from the sun. Finally, shading his eyes against the glare, he saw a structure against the sky. “There’s a water tower ahead.”

Water had taken a role the size of the wide sky as they crossed this barren land. The heat waves shimmered along the horizon. Dust wrapped around the wooden tower. A train came toward them, belching and snorting as it slowed.

“Take it easy,” he ordered Rebel as he reined in and dismounted.

The others watched Crane with languid interest as he reached toward the spout. He was about to release the water when the engineer blew the whistle. It shuddered down Crane’s spine.

Rebel took off as if he’d been shot, Betsy clinging to his back.

“You jughead!” Crane shouted. “Get back here!”

He had his hands full holding the packhorse. Maggie struggled to keep Liberty under control. Cat yowled and scampered up the side of the water tower.

The little Morgan Ted rode seemed to be the only horse with any sense in his head. He sidestepped twice. His nostrils flared, but he didn’t bolt. Before Crane could react, Ted kicked his horse into a run and took off after Betsy.

Crane stared after Ted. “He ain’t got a chance. No way that old horse is gonna catch Rebel.”

Maggie dropped from her mount and grabbed the reins of the packhorse. “Take Liberty!” she cried. “Catch them before someone gets hurt.”

Crane leapt into the saddle, reining the horse after the pair, though he was doubtful he could catch them. Betsy bounced madly on Rebel’s back, her hair flying out like a spray of yellow straw.

“Hang on!” Crane called, knowing she couldn’t hear him.

Ted bent low over the saddle, going for all he was worth, but he wasn’t gaining on them. Behind him the train screeched to a stop, and steam whistled out. Liberty jumped sideways.

“Settle down, you knothead,” Crane growled. “We got things to do.” He struggled with the horse a few minutes, muttering under his breath.

But he could see Rebel was slowing down. Rebel didn’t often act so silly and was probably beginning to feel a bit foolish about now.

Ted drew abreast of the bigger horse and caught the reins. Both horses stopped, their sides heaving. By the time Crane caught up, Betsy had crawled off Rebel’s back and into Ted’s arms, sobbing against his chest. Ted had his arms around the girl, an expression of mingled shock and awe on his face.

Crane grabbed Rebel’s reins. “Betsy, are you okay?”

“Yes,” she sobbed. “Ted saved me.”

“Come on—I’ll give you a ride back.”

She shook her head, clinging to Ted.

“It’s okay,” Ted murmured.

They plodded back to the water tower where the train crew had joined Maggie. One man stepped toward Crane. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you a problem.”

“No harm done.”

Maggie rushed to the children. “Are you all right?” Betsy fell into Maggie’s arms, sobbing. “Shh. Shh.” She reached out and patted Ted’s knee. “I’m real proud of you, Ted.”

Crane waited until the boy got down to put his hand on his shoulder and say in a low tone, “You did a right fine job, Son.”

If they hadn’t been so desperate for water, they would have left the place; but surrounded by curious, apologetic men, they led the horses to the trough. Maggie insisted the children strip to their undergarments and allow her to splash them with the tepid water. Then they filled the canteens and prepared to leave.

“You folks looking for a place to camp?” the engineer asked.

“Yup.” Crane secured the last canteen.

“Ride north.” He pointed across the flat prairie. “There’s a nice grove of trees. Good camping spot.”

“Thanks.” Crane reached for Betsy, but she stepped away.

“I want to ride with Ted.”

Crane raised his eyebrows, but Ted nodded. Betsy grinned widely as she sat in the saddle, Ted’s arms around her as he took the reins.

They found the spot the man had told them about. The poplars were thin but tall enough to shade them from the lowering sun.

The children got their bedrolls shortly after supper and spread them out, Betsy’s next to Crane’s as always. But when Ted started to spread his on the other side of Maggie’s, Betsy said, “No. You sleep here,” pointing to a spot between Maggie and her.

Crane watched the pair, waiting to see how Ted would respond.

The boy hesitated, looking at the spot he’d chosen, then at the place Betsy indicated. The bedroll draped from his arm. He didn’t move.

“Please, Ted. I want you to.” Betsy sounded as if she would cry any moment, and the boy flipped his blankets open where she pointed. A deep sigh shook her small frame, and smiling her satisfaction, she sat down on her blankets, petting Cat. “You can read now, Maggie.”

Crane laughed. The little minx had a way of binding people close to her, then basking in their closeness. She’d succeeded in drawing Ted into her circle.

Maggie grinned at him. He held her gaze until her cheeks darkened, and she lowered her eyes. He kept hoping they would find a way of getting closer. Instead, the children succeeded in pushing them farther apart. He supposed he should be grateful she hadn’t found half a dozen waifs to rescue.

He rubbed his chin. Someday he and Maggie were simply gonna have to talk.

❧

It was ten o’clock before the sun dipped behind the horizon, but the heat refused to abate. The children had fallen into a restless sleep, but Crane found it too hot and his mind too active as he tried to sort out his feelings.