Mandy and the Missouri Man

by Linda Ford

“I couldn’t have said it better.” But the anger and despair fled. He glanced at the spot she’d indicated beside her and shrugged as if to say he didn’t have much choice because he expected she wouldn’t leave him any peace until he sat. With a great show of reluctance he joined her. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to suggest you forget you’ve seen her.”

  “Why would I want to forget it?”

  “She doesn’t want people to know.”

  She understood he meant know about her disfiguring scars, but she wouldn’t accept it. “I am not repulsed by her face, if that’s what you expect.”

  He didn’t say anything, which she found oddly touching. But when she turned to study him, his face was a mask of disbelief.

  “Her face is scarred horribly.”

  “Only part of one cheek, not her whole face. And it’s only a tiny fraction of her physical body and nothing to do with who she is.”

  “Huh.”

  “I’ve seen people who are whole and even beautiful, but their spirits are scarred terribly by greed or bitterness or cruelty. I’ve seen people who are ugly and deformed but have such an inner beauty you never think about how they look.” The words she’d been trying to sort out tumbled forth in a tangled rush. “Where we once lived there was a bent little man who had a hump in his back and one side of his face twisted all out of sorts, but Old Terry was the sweetest person I’ve ever known.” Her voice tightened, revealing how fond she had been of the old man. “He understood how three girls forced to live with an unwelcome family could feel abandoned and unloved. So every day as we walked to school, Old Terry would meet us. He’d walk a little ways with us. We had to slow down for him to keep up, and he only went a short distance before he was out of breath. But every day he gave us something. Maybe only a pretty rock to put in our pockets.”

  She sniffed, hoping he wouldn’t notice as unshed tears clogged her nose. It had been a long time since she’d thought of Old Terry, and she wondered how she could have forgotten him and the lessons he’d taught them—like finding happiness and joy in little things, accepting the bad without letting it destroy them. If only she could make Trace and Cora see life like Old Terry had. “Sometimes he found a wildflower, or a bit of pretty glass. Many times it was only a kind word, a reminder of better things.”

  She’d been lounging over her knees but suddenly sat up straight and blinked back her threatening tears. “I just remembered. One thing Old Terry would bring us was Bible verses written on a scrap of paper. I used to keep them in a little cigar box.” She turned to look at Trace. “I can’t believe I forgot that.” A sudden rush of memories washed over her. “He said we should always trust God no matter what happened, believe God had nothing but good planned for us.”

  Trace watched her closely, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. But she saw something more and recognized it as the same mixture of despair and hope Old Terry had noticed in her and her sisters.

  “I remember the verse he gave us one day and made us promise to memorize. For days afterward he would make us repeat it until we could say it easily.”

  “What verse was that?” Trace’s voice sounded as thick as hers had felt a few seconds ago. “Do you still remember it?”

  “As if I could forget. Jeremiah twenty-nine, verse eleven. ‘For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.’ He said it meant God had nothing but good for us in His thoughts.”

  Trace’s gaze held her firm. Searching, hoping, delving into her heart as if seeking some balm there.

  She let him look his full, prayed God would comfort and encourage him with the verse as it had her when Old Terry gave it to her.

  He blinked and shook his head. “Hard to believe God has anything good in mind in what happened to Cora.”

  “Let me meet her. Really meet her.”

  “I can’t do that. I promised to protect her.”

  “By hiding her?”

  He closed his eyes as if to shut out her demands.

  “She shouldn’t hide from people. What a lonely life. I would think it might be a worse fate than being burned.”

  “Mandy.” He groaned. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, I do. For instance, if Old Terry had hidden just because some people were unkind. . . Some threw rocks at him and called him a devil. But if he’d let them turn him into a recluse, who would have helped and encouraged three lonely girls?” She touched Trace’s arm in an appeal to give her words consideration. “Let me meet her.”

  He covered her hand with his, a warm sense of connection flowing through her arm to her heart. She wanted to help him, ease his pain, help Cora.

  “You almost persuade me, but it’s not my decision.”

  “You know, I can steal in silently and meet her if you don’t warn her of my approach.”

  “And be a traitor to my own sister?” He shook her hand off and scrambled to his feet. “If she can’t trust her own brother, who can she trust?”

  “She can trust me. You can, too.”

  He bent close. “Can I trust you to respect Cora’s desire to be left alone?”

  She rose to her feet to face him squarely. “I will not agree to something I am so opposed to.”

  “Then don’t ask me to trust you.” He stomped into the woods and disappeared.

  She stood still for a moment then nodded, having come to a firm decision.

  She would not take no for an answer.

  ❧

  He heard her following him. Obviously, she meant him to or she wouldn’t have made so much noise. He returned to where he’d left the horse, but he wouldn’t go back to the camp with Mandy trailing after him like a lost dog. He faced her. “Why are you following me?” The stubborn set of her jaw made him want to grind his teeth. With two steps he closed the distance between them and grabbed her shoulders to shake her. “Mandy, leave us alone.”

  Awareness hit him on several levels. Her shoulders were firm. Muscles twitched beneath his palms. She was a strong woman, and he meant both physically and morally. He stopped shaking her but did not pull his hands away.

  She pressed her hands to his shoulders in a manner imitating the way he’d captured her, and he wondered if she felt aggravation as well or something else. Her expression hinted at patience and understanding.

  “Trace, if I came across an injured animal in the woods, I would not walk away until I’d done all I could to help it.” Her smile flashed with unspoken promises. “Why would I do any less for a hurting person?”

  He forced words from his thick brain. “Because people have the ability to say whether or not they want help.”

  She nodded, holding his gaze in an unrelenting grasp.

  He couldn’t break away even if he tried. But he discovered he didn’t want to. Something in her look offered him hope, healing, or. . . He couldn’t say what. He didn’t try to make sense of his mixed-up thoughts.

  She patted one shoulder. “You know I won’t let this go, so you might as well accept it.”

  He shifted his gaze, freeing himself from her power. “It isn’t just about you and me. It’s Cora and her wishes.”

  “You know it’s wrong to keep her like this.” She tilted her head toward the camp.

  He’d thought it himself a time or two. But. . . “You haven’t seen the way people react to her.”

  She shrugged her shoulders, sending a thousand sparks into his palms.

  He dropped his hands and spun away. What was he to do? Not that she was giving him any choice. She would follow him, dog him, harass him, spout forth insults until she got her way. Might as well get it over with.

  Ignoring her, neither giving her permission to follow him or ordering her not to, he led the horse back to camp.

  Of course, she followed as he knew she would.

  They broke into the clearing. Cora glanced up. Her gaze went past Trace, and she bolted to her feet.

  “I couldn’t get
rid of her,” Trace said, regret and sadness making a twisted rope of his insides.

  Cora clutched at her neck, looking for her bonnet, but it had fallen to the ground. Gasping, pressing her hand to her cheek, she started toward the tent and ground to a halt when she saw Mandy blocking her path.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Mandy soothed.

  Cora whimpered. “Go away.” She ducked, giving Mandy a view of the top of her head.

  “I don’t aim to hurt you.”

  Trace watched. Part of him wanted to bodily remove Mandy from the face of the earth—or at least return her to Bonners Ferry and nail her to the floor of the stopping house. Another part wanted to see how this played out. Could she persuade Cora not to hide?

  Mandy caught Cora’s chin and tipped her face up. She stroked one cheek and then the other. “You are much too young and beautiful to hide.”

  Cora’s blue eyes widened. She looked hopeful, as if she wanted to believe Mandy.

  Trace could not get in a satisfying breath. His little sister had been born with a halo of golden-white hair. It had darkened slightly as she grew. In the fire she’d lost much of her hair on one side but no one would know it to look at her now. It had grown back enough for Cora to braid it into tidy submission.

  But despite her beautiful eyes and hair, Cora would never be the same. He recalled something Mandy had said. Cora was scarred both inside and out.

  Trace admitted he was equally scarred inside. Nothing could change that.

  With a muffled sound—half groan, half cry—Cora broke free of Mandy and scrambled to find her bonnet and tie it tight. She glanced at the tent, stole a fleeting look at Mandy, then turned her back to them and walked to the half-built log house. She slipped around the corner and sank to the ground, holding the edge of her bonnet to her cheek.

  Mandy shifted her attention to Trace, her eyes brimming with sorrow and sympathy. She smiled. Did he detect a quiver in her lips?

  “It’s a start,” she murmured.

  Why did her words fill him with hope such as he’d forgotten existed? It pushed at the bottom of his heart, sought to escape into his thoughts, his feelings, his life. He tried to shake himself free of her gaze and failed.

  He dare not allow himself such a measure of hope.

  He could not, would not let himself trust her. “Time to get to work,” he muttered. He dragged the log to the house, unhitched the horse, and set it free to graze. All the while Mandy remained, watching. And no doubt scheming something.

  He could hardly wait to see what it was. Mocking, silent laughter caught halfway up his throat. So far her schemes had brought him nothing but trouble.

  So why then did he grin?

  SIX

  Mandy tried to make sense of what happened up the hill. Why had he touched her? Why had she grabbed his shoulders in a similar gesture? The way her insides bucked at his touch should have warned her. But did she listen to the signals? No. She was far too intent on convincing him it was wrong to let Cora hide. But when she’d felt his warm flesh under her palms, recognized the strength there, acknowledged the twitch of his muscles, and experienced a helpless tangle of thoughts and emotions, she realized she had stepped into something she was at a loss to control.

  Even now, after focusing her attention on Cora, her insides contained a whirlwind of confusion. Cora. She pushed her thoughts, her attention back to the girl who again wore her bonnet like a helmet of steel. At least she hadn’t retreated to the heat of the tent.

  Mandy nodded decisively. She knew what to do next. Hang about for a time to prove to Cora she posed no harm.

  Trace sat astride the log, about two feet from where Cora hunkered against the wall. Neither spoke, though the air was heavy with silent words.

  Mandy grabbed her ax and plunked down on the other end of the log, imitating Trace’s movements as he stripped bark from the tree.

  He stopped work.

  She felt his demanding look. “What? You’ve never seen a woman debark a tree?”

  “I never thought to see Mandy Hamilton assisting Trace Owens.”

  She shrugged and returned to her task. “Consider yourself fortunate indeed, because you won’t see it very long.”

  “Why am I seeing it at all?”

  “You looked like you needed help.” She slid him a teasing glance. “No need to let a little competition stop us from being neighborly.”

  Trace choked like the idea strangled him.

  She pretended great concern. “Do you need me to pat your back?”

  He waved her away and shook his head, starting another bout of coughing.

  “Aw. I just want to help.”

  “I don’t think I need the kind of help you’re apt to dish out,” he managed to say.

  She chuckled and was rewarded by an echoing giggle from Cora. Mandy turned her attention to the girl. “He sure gets all cautious at times. You think he’s afraid I might hurt him?”

  Cora met Mandy’s eyes full-on for a moment, long enough for Mandy to see the brimming humor and take hope the girl still knew how to enjoy life. Then Cora ducked away, hiding behind the flaps of her bonnet.

  “Not afraid,” Trace protested. “Only realistic. After all, you have an ax in your hand. My motto is ‘Never take chances with a woman wielding an ax.’ ”

  That brought another giggle from Cora, and Mandy grinned widely at Trace. See, she said silently. Isn’t life better when you stop hiding? Only she meant when Cora stopped hiding.

  Trace quirked an eyebrow. Not necessarily in agreement though.

  They both bent to their work until they met in the middle. Their foreheads touched. Mandy dared not continue to use her ax. Not for the reasons Trace insinuated but because her hands weren’t steady. She edged back, pushed to her feet, and glanced at the sky. “Oh my. I didn’t realize it’s so late. I gotta go before Joanna sends someone looking for me.” She jogged to the path, paused to look back and wave. “See you both tomorrow.” And then she sped toward town and her worried sisters.

  A few minutes later, Mandy raced by the men con-gregating outside the stopping house. Several of them looked startled. She didn’t care if they were surprised at her haste or the fact she wore trousers. The Hamilton girls did things their way.

  “Where have you been?” Joanna demanded as Mandy skidded into the dining room. “I was so worried I haven’t served the meal yet.”

  Glory came from the kitchen to watch. “I was about to ride up the hill and drag you home.”

  “I’m sorry. But you’ll understand when I tell you what happened.” She pushed past and grinned at Glory. “Don’t say a word,” she whispered, then grabbed up a big bowl of potatoes and headed back to the dining room. “Let’s get this bunch fed.”

  “I can hardly wait to hear what kind of a story you concoct,” Glory whispered as they passed again. “But it better be good.”

  Mandy shook her head.

  She didn’t get a chance to say anything further until the meal was over and the men departed outside to wait for the dining room to be cleaned up and the table pushed against the wall, creating an area in which they could spread their bedrolls. The girls used the intervening time to wash the stack of dishes.

  “I’m waiting for your excuse,” Joanna said as she scraped the leftovers into a bucket. Someone usually begged for scraps to feed their dog.

  “I saw Cora today.” She told the whole story. “I don’t think her burn is that disfiguring, but she is very conscious of it.”

  “The poor girl,” Joanna said.

  Glory hooted. “I was thinking that poor man. Mandy has not given him a moment’s peace since she discovered him.”

  Joanna and Glory looked at each other and grinned like they shared a secret.

  “What?” Mandy demanded.

  “We never said anything.”

  “I saw the way you looked.” She planted her hands on her hips and gave them each her most insistent look. “You were thinking something.”

  Glory nodded. �
��But you don’t want to know what it was.” She bounced away, holding up her hands, ready to defend herself. She tipped her head with a come-on-I’m-ready gesture.

  Mandy ignored the taunt. “I do, too.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Joanna watched the pair sparring with a look of patient endurance.

  “Of course I am.”

  “Very well. But remember you asked for it.”

  Mandy grunted. What could they possibly think she’d get upset about?

  “It sounds very much like you can’t stay away from this Trace Owens.” Glory began edging toward the door. “I think you’ve found a man you’re interested in. Love is in the air.” She ducked out the door, calling over her shoulder. “Mandy and Trace. Mandy and Trace.” She raced across the yard and headed for the road, thinking she could escape.

  Mandy threw the towel on the table and took off in hot pursuit. “You take that back.”

  She didn’t catch up until they reached the little shop where Glory shoed horses. By then both were out of breath and collapsed to the step.

  Finally Glory was able to speak. “Don’t you think it’s about time we met Trace and his sister?”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll see if I can persuade them to come. But I wonder if Cora will be ready to let others see her.”

  “Are you really beginning to care for this man?”

  Mandy considered Glory’s question. “He is annoying and bullheaded, but I do admire how gentle he is with his sister.” She gave Glory a little shove. “People who treat younger sisters kindly can’t be all bad.” She shoved her harder. “Too bad you didn’t realize that.”

  Laughing, Glory pushed back. Soon they were both giggling.

  Glory glanced up. “Here comes Levi.” She sprang to her feet and waited for him to reach her side.

  Levi stepped close and stole a kiss in the shadow of the doorway.

  Mandy groaned. “Such inappropriate behavior especially for a preacher and his fiancée. You’re fortunate no one saw you.”

  They both looked unrepentant.

  Glory chuckled. “I’ll never be appropriate. Look at what I wear.” She indicated her tight dungarees. “Levi loves me anyway.”