by Kit Morgan
“Oh my,” Mrs. White said.
“It’s all right. I can’t move him, nor expect him to sleep in the barn with how cold it’s getting. It may be unseemly and less than respectable having him here, but what can I do?”
Mrs. White smiled. “We understand. We’ll come check on you every day.”
“Oh no, you don’t have to do th–”
“Mrs. Bright, people will talk if we don’t.”
“Yes, you’re right. But what can I do?”
Mrs. White sighed. “I’m not sure, but we’ll think of something.”
* * *
“Something” turned out to be Wylie and Katie spending the day with Merry, looking after her patient. (Mercifully, their parents took the pig with them when they left.) The plan was that Merry would escort them home, leaving Mr. Hunter to fend for himself for the night. Unfortunately, the poor man could hardly sit up, let alone look after himself. So Wylie and Katie spent the night with the Widow Bright, and the Whites agreed to take it one day at a time.
The two boisterous children were well known in the area and the Joneses and Whites would make it just as well known that a stranger was recuperating at Widow Bright’s and they were checking in on them several times a day. Her property bordered theirs, so it was easy enough, and with four couples living on the ranch, there were plenty of them to do it. All in all, that should keep the rumors at bay.
“When are you going to get a Christmas tree, Widow Bright?” Katie asked as she sat at the small table, a cup of water in her hand.
“A tree?” Merry asked. “I hadn’t thought about it.” She looked around her sparse cabin. “I’ve never had one in here.”
“Never?” Katie said, aghast.
Merry shrugged. She’d wanted one, but couldn’t persuade George to cut one and bring it in …
“She’s right,” Mr. Hunter said, eyes closed. “Should have a tree.”
Merry stepped around Wylie, who was playing marbles on the floor near the bed, to examine the man. He sounded terrible. “Mr. Hunter, how are you feeling?” she asked with concern.
“Been shot in the leg. Hit a tree with my head. I’m not at my best.”
She forced a frown and exchanged a quick glance with Wylie, who was doing his best not to laugh. “Yes, I’m aware. Do you think you’re up for some broth?”
He opened one eye to look at her. “Might be. Help me sit up?”
“Wylie, some help please,” she said. Between the two of them, they got him into a sitting position.
Katie ran over and did her best to fluff his pillows before they leaned him against them. “There, that’s better! Would you like to meet my friend?”
“Not now, Katie. Let Mr. Hunter get his bearings first.” Merry glanced at the doll the child was holding. She didn’t mind her entertaining the man, just not yet. Besides, she wasn’t sure Mr. Hunter was the type to play dolls. And there was the possibility Katie meant a different friend, an eight-legged one …
Katie pouted and sat on the floor next to her brother. “All right.”
“I’ll get you that broth,” Merry told him.
He reached out and touched her hip before she could go. “What … day’s it?”
She thought a moment. “Friday.”
“The date.”
“December 4, I believe. Why?”
He gave her the barest shake of his head. He must still be fighting the dizziness. “Just wondering. Mentioned a tree and all.”
“Christmas is a good three weeks away,” she said. “There’s plenty of time to worry about a tree later.”
“Yeah.” He looked at the children. “Yeah, there is.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
Merry wasn’t sure if he was able to eat or not, but she headed for the stove, poured a mugful of broth she’d made from the Whites’ vegetables and brought it back to him. “Here. Sip it, it’s hot.”
“Much obliged, ma’am,” he said.
“Her name is Merry,” Katie corrected. “M-E-R-R-Y.”
“I’ve already informed him, Katie, but thank you,” Merry said.
“You did?” Mr. Hunter said in confusion.
“Yesterday – don’t you remember?” Merry remembered rambling at him like a madwoman. Maybe it was better he didn’t.
“No. I remember a …” His cheeks flushed red. “Never mind.”
Merry crossed her arms and gave him a stern look, one that had already worked on Wylie and Katie. She had no idea if it would work on him but decided to give it a try.
He caught it and smiled sheepishly. “Card game.” He took a sip of broth.
“You were gambling?” Her eyes gravitated to his leg. “Is that …?” She glanced at the children, then pointed at his leg.
He slowly nodded.
Merry clasped her hands over her mouth to hold her tongue. For one, the children were playing at her feet. Two, who was she to criticize him? He wasn’t family or a friend. If the man cheated at cards and got himself shot, it wasn’t her business. But … she was taking care of him, so he certainly was her business. Did she have a right to know the details? “You can tell me later,” she finally replied.
He swallowed another sip of broth. “Fair ‘nough.”
She nodded and returned to the stove. Might as well add some more vegetables to the broth and let it simmer. Now that she had some food in the house (with more promised, thanks to the Whites’ guilt over their sow’s depredations), she could feed herself and her patient. But as soon as he was well enough, her job was done. She couldn’t have him around. What would people think, even with the Joneses and Whites underfoot?
Unless … she turned just enough to peek at Mr. Hunter. He was big, obviously strong as an ox when he was fit. Why couldn’t he do some work around the place before he left? She knew of other widows like her who hired men to do heavy work on their small farms or fix things that needed fixing. She should have some compensation for nursing him back to health, feeding him (okay, cooking for him) and giving up her bed to sleep on a pallet on the floor with the children. She should make a list of needed repairs …
Mr. Hunter lifted his cup. “Mighty fine, ma’am. Hope I hang onto it.”
She crossed the room to the bed and took the cup. “Do you feel queasy now?”
“I’m not myself. Nor’s my belly. We’ll see.”
Wylie and Katie looked up. “Ewwww,” Wylie commented, then went back to his game of marbles with his sister.
Merry reached under the bed and slid the chamber pot out just in case, then went back to cutting up vegetables and making her mental list of repairs for Mr. Hunter. Now all she had to do was talk him into doing them. When he was up to it, of course.
Six
Day by day Mr. Hunter got better. His belly took a while to settle, but at least he wasn’t so dizzy he could hardly see straight. And he slept a lot, which, Doc Rawlings assured, was the best thing for him at this point. Merry just had to make sure the man made it through the first week, which the doctor told her was the roughest. After that she should get him up and moving, help him get his strength back, but not let him do anything strenuous.
It was this second week she’d been waiting for. Now she could broach the subject of him staying on and working for her in exchange for her care.
Wylie and Katie, meanwhile, were having more fun the stronger Mr. Hunter became. He was attentive to their babblings, and she began to wonder where he’d learned that skill. “They’re something, aren’t they?” she said after asking the children to fetch her a bucket of water.
“Yes, they are. They remind me of my niece and nephew.”
Sure enough. “Do you have any children of your own?”
He looked at her and there was a flash of something in his eyes, then it was gone. “No.”
“Oh. Well, I admire your patience with them – they do talk nonstop. Do you have just the two?”
“Yes,” he said, a faraway look in his eyes. “My sister’s children.”
Merry b
rought the rocking chair a little closer to the bed, sat down and picked up her mending. “Oh? Where do they live?”
“Chicago.”
Her eyebrows rose at that. “Really? I’m from there.”
That got his attention. “You are?”
She began to rock. “Yes. I lived there most of my life.” Her eyes downcast, she blinked a few times to brush her memories away. She’d met George there, married him there. He had such grand dreams of going west, making something of himself. Why he picked Morgan’s Crossing to settle in, she had no idea, but dutiful wife that she was, she didn’t argue. Besides, if she did, he might have hit her, though she didn’t know that at the time …
“How long have you been here?” he asked.
“A little over two years,” she said, eyes on her mending.
He glanced around the cabin. “When did your husband pass?”
She stopped rocking and swallowed hard. “January.”
“Almost a year? You’ve been by yourself for …” He shut up.
Merry took a deep breath, let it out. “I’m not afraid to be alone.”
“I didn’t say you were. It’s just …” He looked her up and down. “… a woman like yourself …”
“What about a woman like myself?”
“I didn’t mean to offend, ma’am. But … you are a little thing.”
She swallowed again and prayed she didn’t cry. She was a little thing, and she knew it. She didn’t have the strength for a lot of the work that needed to be done around the place just to survive. Yes, the Whites and Joneses had given her enough food to last while the stranger was in her care, but then what? Milk the rest of the winter?
“I’m sorry if I implied you were less than capable,” he said, but the look on his face said he knew she probably was.
No time like the present, then. “Mr. Hunter, I have a proposition for you. As I’ve had to disrupt my routine in order to take care of you, I feel it only fair that you … um, return the favor.” She licked her lips. “I admit I do need a little help now and then, and have a few things you could take care of once you’re mended. It’s the least you could do, considering …”
“Your hospitality?”
“Exactly.” She wiped one hand against her apron. Good heavens, were her palms sweating? Too many years of refusing to ask for help had left her out of practice.
“I see,” he said. “A reasonable bargain. What sort of work do you require?”
Merry stopped breathing, shocked that he’d agreed so quickly. “Oh, um … let me see. The fence needs mending, the barn roof has a leak – no, make that several …” Good grief, what if he fell off the roof and died like George did?
“Ma’am?”
“Oh yes, sorry,” she said, collecting herself. “The barn roof leaks.”
“You said that,” he reminded her with a wry smile. He must be feeling better.
“The wagon …” Her eyes locked on his. He had nice eyes, not as wary as before. And why not – she’d done nothing but take care of him the past week. “It’s a wreck, and … oh, you needn’t bother with the wagon, come to think of it. I had to sell the horse.” She could feel her cheeks flush.
“No horse?” he asked in shock.
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I just have Mrs. Robbins. The cow.” She hated the sound of shame in her voice. But he might as well know her situation, if he was going to be working for her.
“And a pig.”
She blinked a few times. “Pig? Oh no – Esmeralda’s not mine. She belongs to the Whites.”
He rubbed his face with one hand. “Just a cow, no other livestock?”
She sighed. “No. Not anymore.”
He stared at her a moment. “Chickens?”
“Fox,” she explained. “So you don’t have to worry about repairing the coop.”
He ran a hand through his hair and glanced around the cabin again. “Good God, woman, how do you live?!”
She surprised herself by laughing. Well, it beat crying. “By the skin of my teeth, it seems …” Part of her worried he’d think she’d gone mad. Another part of her worried that she had.
He stared at the ceiling, rubbing his chin again, before finally saying, “You have a deal, Mrs. Bright.”
She blinked at him a few times. “But … we haven’t worked out the details yet.”
“Ma’am, I’ve heard all I need to hear.” He shook his head in wonder. “It’s amazing you’ve survived this long. I aim to see you make it a little longer.”
* * *
For all her beauty and resilience, Merry Bright made Colson’s gut ache. Every time she added something to her pitiful list of repairs, he felt himself sink a little deeper. Into what, he wasn’t sure, but he suspected he was already up to his waist at this point – and that was just from listening to her. He had yet to actually see the ramshackle little farm. At least he assumed it was a farm and not a ranch, what with only the one cow.
He studied her further. She wasn’t the prettiest woman he’d ever seen, but she was close – creamy skin over high cheekbones, a pretty pink mouth and long dark lashes that set off her dark blonde hair. More to the point, she was tiny, fine-boned and delicate. She looked more like Eastern high society than a farmer’s wife. What had her husband been thinking, bringing a gal like her to a place like this? Small as she was, and city-born and bred, she wasn’t frontier material. Heck, she didn’t even look like gardening material!
“Make me a list,” he finally said. “I’ll need to see what I can handle first. With any luck, I’ll have everything done by Christmas.”
She nodded gratefully, set her mending aside and got up. “I can make it now, if you like.”
“Fine.”
She turned to him. “Are you hungry?”
“A mite, but I think you ought to see what the children are up to. It’s taking them a long time to fetch a bucket of water.”
She paled as her head snapped toward the door. “Oh dear.” She hurried outside, calling the children’s names.
Colson leaned against his pillows and shook his head again in amazement. Maybe he should stick around and help the poor thing out until the New Year. From what he’d seen and heard so far, she could use all the help she could get.
He looked around the one-room cabin. It was decently built from what he could tell – no drafts through the walls, real glass in the windows. There was a cookstove, a counter with a dry sink, a small hutch full of dishes, pots and pans. A small table with two chairs sat beneath one of the two windows on either side of the door. Two rocking chairs, the bed and … he straightened, craning his neck to see … yes, a trunk at the foot of it, and a washstand against the wall on the other side of the bed.
All in all, the little space was quite homey – but it might be all Widow Bright owned. Or did a bank own the house and land, and she was here on borrowed time? Either way, what was her fallback plan? Did she still have family in Chicago that would take her in?
Before he could ponder the possibilities, Merry re-entered, the children in tow. Merry – an unusual name for someone in such straits. Unable to help himself, he smiled tenderly.
She looked at him, at the children, and groaned. “Oh for heaven’s sake, I forgot the bucket.”
Wylie and Katie giggled. “I’ll get it,” Wylie said.
“Oh no, you don’t – I will,” Katie replied, and giggled again.
Colson had to know. “So what were they doing out there?”
Merry rolled her eyes. “Making mud pies by the pump.”
For the first time in a long time, Colson laughed. And he had to admit, it did him some good. After all, his straits weren’t much better than hers.
“Laugh if you will,” she said. “You weren’t the one who had to clean them up.” But her shoulders shook with her own silent laughter, and Wylie and Katie started giggling again.
“I don’t know,” Colson managed between chuckles. “Just struck me as funny …” He could tell she was tryi
ng to keep things serious, but he couldn’t. After this long a time, it felt so good to laugh it out. Finally she joined him, and now the kids were falling on the floor guffawing. It didn’t matter what they were laughing at, or if they were laughing at anything.
Colson only started calming himself when he realized his laughing fit was giving him a headache. Not a good sign – he must be weaker than he’d thought. Yet even if the exertion did drain his strength and make him want to sleep all afternoon, he suspected it was probably worth it. And maybe not just for him.
Seven
Merry realized she was laughing at nothing, but it was all right – it was healthy to laugh after so many sad months. What stopped her was when she looked at Mr. Hunter and saw he wasn’t laughing anymore. His face had gone pale and sweaty, and he looked as if he might vomit. “Oh dear! Here, lie back down.” She hurried over and put a hand on his shoulder.
He gasped for air. “I’m all right.”
Was he in worse shape than he let on? “No, you’re not – just look at you!”
“No mirror … don’t see how.” But he let her ease him down under the quilt.
“There,” she said, tucking it in. “That’s better. Maybe you’ll think twice about overexerting yourself so gleefully.”
He closed his eyes and smiled. “Perhaps. Worth it, though.”
“Rest, you silly man.”
“Mr. Hunter’s not silly,” Katie said in his defense.
“He most certainly is,” Merry said. “Now, how would you two like to help me bake cookies?”
“Yes!” Wylie ran to the stove. “What do we do first?”
She looked at Mr. Hunter to make sure he was okay. His face had gone slack, his eyes closed – he really had exhausted himself, the poor man. “I’ll show you. First, we get our ingredients.”
“Let me help!” Katie ran to join her brother.
“Of course you can help,” said Merry. “But keep your voice down so Mr. Hunter can sleep.”
