From Mourning to Joy

by Marlene Bierworth

  The boy chose his words carefully, speaking with precise reverence.

  “Thank you for hearing my prayers and for stretching the food to provide another meal to keep us from begging at your doorstep, Lord. Thank you that Ma is tucked in her bed, safe and warm and that you’re holding her in your healing arms. And lastly, thanks for the stranger you sent. Mr. B made us a fine meal. I’m thinking it might need a powerful blessing since he seemed a little lost in the kitchen. Amen!”

  Bernie couldn’t hold back the grin. “You have an interesting way of talking to the Almighty.”

  “Ma says He don’t want fancy words just honest and straight to the point. No use wasting His time with balderdash.”

  “I sure am looking forward to meeting your Ma, Davey. Sounds like my kind of woman.”

  It was then he heard the shuffle at the bedroom door and looked sideways. A rifle pointed straight at him and although it shook with weakness, he could see the mother-bear ready to protect her young.

  “I’m not anyone’s kind of woman, mister.”

  Davey squealed and raced toward the figure leaning against the door casing, fighting to remain on her feet. She yelled. “Stop right there, Davey. Who’s this you brought into our home?”

  “He’s God’s-man. Made us a tasty supper and got the fire going. Ma, he come just in time – surely the death angel was hanging around outside waiting to come in to collect us for the ride to heaven.”

  “The boy is a bit dramatic,” said Bernie. “Henry and Olivia sent me from Belle’s General Store. But you are looking shaky and I’d hate for that gun to go off by mistake. You have nothing to fear from me, lady, and I’d be mighty happy to see you tucked back under the covers. I made some broth to help build up your strength.”

  Through feverish eyes she looked at her son. “Are you all right, Davey?”

  “Sure Ma. Mr. B’s been right obliging. Helped me get you off the floor and back into bed.”

  Slowly she lowered the gun and leaned on the butt, scrutinizing the man seated at her table. “Suppose I am feeling light-headed.”

  Davey scooted under her arm on one side, transferring some of her weight, and together they turned to go back inside the bedroom. Bernie knew his help would not be appreciated so he remained seated, determining to move only if she collapsed on the floor.

  He blurted out a thought that had been bothering him. “Ma’am, if you have the strength, the dress you’re wearing has been drenched for two days in fever-sweat. Help your recovery if you took it off and found a clean nightie.”

  Her head turned back, and in those few brief seconds, he witnessed relief replace the underlying fear. He hadn’t seen that panic in a woman’s eyes for years, but now it brought him back to the childhood he’d escaped. Today, as he watched fear disappear from this stranger’s face, he wished that just once he’d have seen the stronghold flee his own mother. Perhaps God was providing this opportunity to heal his guilty conscience of failing his ma years ago. Janelle Rimes was in a vulnerable position, and he hoped more than ever, that she’d let him stay and help her through the winter.

  The bedroom door closed behind them. Bernie finished off his bowl of supper and filled it to the top again, listening for any loud crashes in the adjoining room. Davey soon reappeared at the table and began spooning mouthfuls into his eager mouth. Between bites, he filled Bernie in.

  “I found Ma’s best nightie, spread it out, and undid her buttons at the back. Gave her a clean cloth so she could wash her hands and face. She sits down a lot to catch her breath but I see the light coming back in her eye, Mr. B. I think she’s going to get better now.”

  “A mother would think twice about departing this world and leave a son like you to fend for himself. Probably would think it selfish to enjoy her mansion in glory while you struggled to run the farm alone,” said Bernie.

  Davey glanced up from his bowl. “More likely, she feared leaving me with you.” He bit his lip. “No disrespect meant sir, but these past months alone without Pappy, Ma’s been approached by men that had no interest in raising a son. Even a little boy can see evil in a man’s eyes.”

  “You’ve done well to keep your Ma safe. Your Pappy is looking down, bragging to everyone

  how proud he is of his son.”

  “I try my best, but Ma, she’s the strong one. Had most of those fellas running for their saddles within the hour.”

  In the brief encounter with the conscious woman, Bernie could well picture that exodus. “When she’s tucked back under, let me know and I’ll bring in some broth and introduce myself proper-like.”

  Twenty minutes later, when Bernie was extended the invitation to enter her room, he brought a bowl, tea towel, and a glass of cool water as a peace offering. She offered him a polite smile and nodded to the rocker positioned beside her bed.

  “Please, come in. My son tells me we owe you our lives.”

  “He’s a brave boy, but a might too obedient to keep you both alive too much longer.”

  “How so?”

  “Says he’s not allowed to start a fire, and with no food on the shelves to pick at without being cooked first, that left you on the brink of starvation and near froze to death when I arrived on the scene.” He chuckled. “Other than his birthday cake, which left him sick from pigging the lot.”

  Janelle concentrated on the steam billowing from the bowl he carried in his hand and licked her dry lips. “I am hungry and thirsty. Thank you for your kindness.”

  Bernie walked over and put the wooden tray on the end table. “If you prop yourself against the pillows, we’ll see if you can keep a bit of this broth down.”

  “Oh, poor Davey. Last I recall, I belched in his supper.”

  “The boy washed it off the floor but couldn’t bear to eat the little bit left in the pot.”

  “I feel so bad.”

  “Not your fault ma’am that you got sick.” He bowed his head ever so slightly and smiled. “My name is Bernie Drysdale – just drifting around the countryside. Visited the friendly town of Belle yesterday and the storekeepers told me you might need a handyman. I am willing to trade my work for a roof over my head and one square meal a day, but by the looks of your cupboards, I’d say even that’d be a stretch for you.”

  “The icebox is near empty and I’m terrible at shooting game. But I’d have tried again, after we ate the last of the rabbit.”

  He passed her a towel to lay under her chin. “Well, ma’am, the offer still holds. I can shoot and there is a heap of fixing to be done on the place. When you’re all better, I’ll set up a spot for sleeping in the barn and we can get through this winter together.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Drysdale. I will consider it. Davey seems quite taken with you.”

  “Don’t have experience with young’uns but yours is one of the best I’ve met so far. You and your man did a fine job raising the lad.”

  “Jacob was a good father and husband,” said Janelle. “More than willing to put his hand to the plow to make my frontier dream come true. But he wasn’t a farmer, and only agreed to indulge my heart’s desire for one year. He figured I’d be disillusioned by then while I feared the limited time would not satisfy his definition of success. But we never had the chance to prove either. He only lived for five weeks.”

  “Sorry for your loss, ma’am.”

  He pushed the spoon in her direction and Janelle opened her mouth to receive the warm broth.

  “Very good, Mr. Drysdale. I see you’re handy in the kitchen. That skill puts you in a favorable light.”

  “My mother did teach me cooking basics so I wouldn’t starve, but I prefer the land; farming, ranching, anything done under the open sky.”

  “I’d gladly trade jobs and work outside in the fresh air.”

  “Little too fresh, these days, ma’am. You’d do better inside, staying close to the fire. A good wind would send you flying clear to Glenda.”

  Janelle grinned. “I’ve been told that. Don’t let my size throw you. I’m str
ong and capable.”

  “Pleased to hear that. You’ll need it.”

  “Do you enjoy drifting, Mr. Drysdale?”

  “Suppose,” Bernie said cautiously noticing the sudden bite to her tongue. “Truth is, I never had a good reason to stop yet.”

  “Well, don’t think of stopping on our account. Me and Davey will manage fine.”

  “Yeah, I saw that plan in action earlier.”

  She appeared annoyed. “I’m tired, Mr. Drysdale.”

  “The fever is hanging on but you’re on the mend. Like I said, I’ll keep the fires going and food in Davey’s tummy ‘til you’re feeling better. Then we can strike a deal or you can send me on my way. Does that sound good to you?”

  “Thank you. I’m in no condition to argue.”

  “Then it’s settled. Can you down one more spoonful before you go back to sleep?”

  Janelle opened her mouth and he filled it. She held his gaze with all the courage she could muster, and then caved in. Her shoulders slumped and she relaxed her head against the pillow. “I’m done.”

  Bernie took the dishes while she slid down and covered her shoulders with the quilts. “Goodnight, Mr. Drysdale. Take good care of my son.”

  Davey and Bernie stood on the front porch and watched an eerie stillness settle on the land. The threat of a storm had bypassed the farm but dark clouds still hung heavy in the air. “How about we go see if we can get us a deer?”

  “I ain’t never been hunting.”

  “Well, it’s about time then. A man needs to know how to feed his family out here in the wild. Dress warm and I’ll get my rifle.”

  In the barn he found the tools he needed and spotted a low platform with runners under it. “Look, it’s a sleigh, Davey. You slide down the hills on it?”

  “No sir. Ma pulled me around the barnyard for fun once but it made her so tired I never asked again.”

  The child surprised Bernie all the time. He had no idea there was a youngster who cared more for others than himself.”

  “You’re a good lad, Davey. Hop on the back and hold this bag for me. Let’s see if you like to hunt.”

  The pair moved beyond the pastureland and entered a sparsely wooded area. Every so often, Bernie stopped to listen and examine the ground on occasion. Not too far from the cabin, he stopped pulling the sled. “I think this might be a good place to wait for tomorrow’s dinner to stroll by.”

  Davey scaled a perfect climbing tree with the ease of a monkey, with Bernie following close on his heels. They settled into separate arms of huge limbs then Bernie placed one finger to his lips. The boy, two feet above him, sat motionless and kept his eyes peeled to the thinly wooded area on one side and the open field on the other. Just when Bernie feared he’d miscalculated the passing lane for the herd of deer he knew loitered close by, he and Davey spotted the buck.

  The boy remained immobilized on his branch-ledge, staring wide-eyed as Bernie raised his gun ever so noiselessly to eye level. In the blink of an eye the buck’s ears perked and the firearm discharged. Davey gaped at the animal’s surprised expression before he staggered and dropped to the ground.

  “And that’s the way it’s done, boy,” Bernie said as he offered the lad a hand to help him down. Davey sauntered cautiously toward the beast. It stretched motionless on the ground. Bernie touched the animal’s eye with the barrel of his gun and when it never flinched, determined he’d made a clean shot to his heart. The brute was dead and safe to work with.

  “Are you squeamish, boy?” asked Bernie.

  “No sir. Ma says I got an iron gut.” Bernie smiled at the boy’s description.

  Bernie grabbed a rope from the sack he’d packed. He tied the animal’s leg to a high branch nearby and let him hang. With the throat and belly fully exposed he grabbed his knife and looked at Davey.

  “Last chance to back off.” The boy nodded, but a bit more sheepish this time. “If you feel sick, go and sit off to the side.”

  Skilled hands went to work on the kill. Time was not on his side. Gutting an animal at this early evening hour was not the ideal, but he didn’t want to bring the mess to the barn. Innards were better left in the wild for other critters to eat. Carefully he removed all the organs, wiping them free of blood and placing them in a jute bag. Bernie turned to the body cavity and wiped it as clean as possible. When satisfied, he untied the leg and laid the animal on the sleigh. Throwing his bag over his shoulder and the organ bag next to the animal, he noticed Davey close by and grabbed the lead rope.

  “Ready to head back?” he asked. The boy came running closer and grabbed the rope too.

  “I’ll help you pull him home.”

  In the barn, Bernie took a clean cloth dipped in salt water and wiped the cavity again and dried it thoroughly. Swinging a rope around a rafter he hung the deer.

  Glancing sideways, Bernie noticed Davey curled up on a bed of straw fighting to keep his eyelids open. Looking around, he found what he assumed to be a washbasin, filled it with water and used the bar of soap to scrub the stains and smell of meat from his hands. When done, Bernie fed and watered Blaze, as well as the milk cow and two pigs – one huge and sagging low enough to be in the family way. It concerned Bernie that the farm had no chickens or hens. He’d miss eggs on his breakfast plate and was definitely partial to the occasional roasted or fried bird.

  Bernie stopped for a minute to gaze at the boy. He was handsome, his pug nose and pink cheeks set against ivory skin. His bedraggled dark blonde hair flopped across one eye and his lips curled, no doubt harboring a sleepy secret. Bernie gave thanks to God for coming along in time to save his life. Bending low, he picked up Davey’s tiny body and carried him to the house. Once inside, he scanned the room. A door stood open on the far side and when he stepped across the threshold, he noticed the small cot. With one hand, he threw back the thin cover and laid the boy flat. In the main room he headed straight for the pile of blankets that the boy had drug from everywhere to keep he and his mother warm on the floor. Grabbing a couple, he returned and covered Davey. The child moaned, and drew the blanket up under his chin. Bernie chuckled to see the smile on his thin lips, evidence that his dreams had transported him into a boy’s make-believe world.

  Bernie left the door open so he’d gain the benefits of the heat from the stove. At the fireplace he stirred then fed the blaze, and in the cookstove filled the reservoir with water from the pail. Before he took off his boots, he made two trips to the woodpile and stacked more fuel in the corner. Should he run for more water tonight? The bucket was nearly empty. He lit the kerosene lamp and peeked in at the woman – whom he just realized never introduced herself – and noted she hadn’t moved an inch. He rested a hand on her forehead, relieved that the heat level had lessened over the past few hours. With the lantern in one hand and a pail in the other, he headed for the well. He lowered the wooden well bucket into the depths and when he pulled it up, dumped the cold liquid into the house pail. He felt fingers of icy frost touch his cheeks and glanced toward the sky. A breeze swept through the air, pushing the dark clouds into motion. The distant storm was moving east and tomorrow promised to be a brighter day.

  Chapter 4

  Warmth from the blazing fire welcomed him when he returned to the cabin and not a sound came from either of the bedrooms. Bernie bathed Janelle’s face with cool water and for a moment sat on the rocker to watch her. The covers lifted and fell in response to her even breathing. Her features were fine and delicate like the detailed petals on a rose about to bloom. A mass of disheveled hair, the color of golden wheat ready for harvest, draped across her pillow. No wonder the woman liked farming. In his mind, he couldn’t think of her as Mrs. Rimes. She was far too young and childlike in appearance, and that in itself was disturbing. He’d guess her to be in her early twenties, only because she had a five-year-old son.

  Yet, laced within the innocence that highlighted deep slumber, he saw lines of heartache and grief. The Stewart’s had said her husband died in the fall, an untime
ly season with being new in the neighborhood and winter just around the corner. Most likely not enough time for a woman’s heart to mend and give into the affections of another man either. But, living in the West required many women to place needs before feelings. This pint-sized female had held out strong against suitors for many months and from what he’d seen and heard, it didn’t sound like she was interested in a new husband yet.

  Bernie chuckled at the picture Davey had painted of her running fellas off with her rifle. Something about those fiery eyes made a man know she meant business. He’d witnessed that cold and hostile stance first hand, and if she aimed it at him again, he’d be tempted to run. He had nothing invested here, yet his mind and heart lingered on a bizarre hope that he’d never experienced. More than anything, that emotional weakness would send him running for the hills.

  Suddenly, she became unsettled, tossing in her sleep. He grabbed the last two blankets from the pile and brought them inside the room. Bernie parked himself on the rocker and covered up to his waist. When his eyes finally shut, the world stopped and he slept. At some point he felt a presence. Jumping to his feet, his hand went automatically for the gun in his holster. He scanned the room and when his gaze fell on the bed, he noticed the woman staring at him with the hint of a smile on her face.

  “Relax, cowboy. I don’t have my gun.”

  Holstering his weapon, Bernie dropped back onto the rocker and ran his fingers through his hair. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better.”

  “Maybe a bit more soup before you go back to sleep?”

  “Thank you, that sounds good. You appear to have included miracle working ingredients.”

  “Just some of your rabbit to flavor the broth along with a few spices.”

  “Ah, yes the rabbit,” she groaned.

  “You will be pleased to know Davey and I went hunting this evening and shot a buck.”

  “You took Davey hunting?” The expression on her face made him wonder if he’d done something wrong.