“I don’t mean to frighten you, Miss Wenghold. In time, I think you’ll love it here. This land has a rhythm and beauty all its own. It will talk to you, but you need to listen. See the trees in the distance? They’re telling you something now.”
Robin patted a handkerchief across forehead. “Like perhaps it’s cooler down in the valley?”
“That—and more. Remember how Emma said she learned tolookat a person’s face tohearwhat they were indeed saying? This land is the same way. Sometimes it’s what you don’t hear that’s telling you something. Take a good look at her, then tell me what she’s saying.”
“You keep referring to Kansas as a female. My introduction to this land was anything but ladylike.”
“She threw a tantrum last night.” Ty gave her a crooked smile. “See how repentant she is today? Kansas is very much a lady. See how her long prairie tresses blow in the wind. She births new grass every spring and cradles the hills like a mother with a newborn babe.”
Robin avoided his gaze. Mama’s idea of proper conversation between a man and an unmarried woman didn’t include mention of a woman’s tresses or giving birth to anything. But she’d admit he did have a way with words. He might even make a good preacher, though no preacher she’d ever known made her heart do such funny things.
“Shield your eyes a bit so the sun isn’t directly in them, then let the lady have her say.”
Robin stepped away and positioned both hands above her eyes. She cocked her head then giggled when a gleam of light sparkled through the trees. “Water. She’s telling me there’s water down there.” She glanced at him. “Did Ihear correctly?”
A slow grin spread over his face. “You did, indeed, Miss Wenghold. That’s Pigeon Creek. In fact, that branch of water is how your uncle’s ranch got its name.”
“Then why do they call his ranch the Feather? Is it a joke? Mr. Rempel found my name funny enough.”
Ty tugged a clump of grass from the ground then smoothed the dirt with the toe of his boot. “From what we can tell, if we were flying like a bird—and I’m not teasing about your name, Miss Wenghold—but if we could fly, Pigeon Creek would look something like this from the air.” He drew a long curving line in the dirt. “That’s the main creek, but then there are these other branches that jut out from it.” He drew several lines away from the original one. “This big one here, protrudes onto your uncle’s land and becomes his water supply. Guess somebody thought it resembled a feather the way it was shaped.”
“Do you get your water from the same source?” She studied the way his shirt strained across his shoulders. If he caught her staring and could read faces like Emma, she’d be in a heap of trouble.
“My land follows the entire course of the creek. As far as anyone knows, the Pigeon has never gone dry so there’s always been plenty of water.” He dusted his hands on the back of his britches.
Robin bent and traced the drawing. “It’s kind of funny when you think of it—Pigeon Creek. The Feather. Robin. You want to hear something even funnier?” She might as well get it over with. He’d find out in time.
“And what would that be?” Ty lifted his hat and wiped his forehead on his sleeve.
“I have two sisters named Wren and Lark.” She dared him to laugh.
He smiled and plucked a long stem of grass. “Want to hear something even funnier? My ranch is called the Hawk.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Nope, every word is the truth.” He laughed and stuck the stem in the corner of his mouth.
The grass cushioned their footsteps as they walked back to the wagon. In the stillness, Robin feared Mr. Morgan could hear her heart beat like a drum. She wanted to smile, but her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth. It would be her luck for her lips to stick to her gums and she’d grin like Emma’s old mule. At least she should say something. Silence was golden, but it was also awkward. “Do we have to go down in that gully to get to Uncle John’s ranch?” The image of the snake coiled in the sunshine played in her mind, and she kept her eyes focused on the ground on the way back to the wagon.
He helped her onto the seat. “No, we’ll stay on the trail you can see. That’s another lesson. Until you learn your way around, don’t venture off this road. This will take you from town to your uncle’s place. I’ll show you where it veers off to my ranch. That’s all you need to know for now.” He gathered the reins in his hands. “Ready? You might want to hang on this—wait.” He stood and cupped his hand around his ear. “Listen. Do you hear voices?”
“Is this another quiz?” Robin tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. If only she could think of something witty.
“Shh. Listen.” He looped the reins around the brake handle, jumped to the ground, and stepped further into the knee-high grasses. “Can you hear anything?”
Robin untied her bonnet and strained to hear above the wind. “Is there a ranch close by? It sounds like someone yelling. Or crying.” She put one foot on the wheel.
“Stay put, Miss Wenghold. I’m going to take a look.”
He disappeared over the crest of the hill, and she lowered herself to the ground. A trickle of perspiration escaped from her forehead. The distance from wagon bed to ground took much more energy when she maneuvered it herself. She propped her back against the wheel and wiped her face with the hem of her skirt. The vast terrain swallowed both time and distance, and she scanned the horizon for Ty’s return. Only the steady rush of wind and an occasional thud as one of the horses stamped its foot to protest the flies that swarmed on its legs broke the silence. Had it been their imagination? The wind did sound like someone crying.
If only she could find something to poke through the grass so she could venture away from the wagon. To stand in one position soon tired her, but she didn’t care to consider the option of sitting among things that buzzed or slithered, and to climb back into the wagon would take more energy than she cared to attempt.
What would her sisters think of this land? Life itself presented a new challenge each day for Wren, and she flitted and fussed to control every minute. But poor Lark hated change so much she preferred her dresses cut from the same pattern, and insisted they all be the same brown muslin. Robin laughed out loud, glad no one could hear her. Lark’s red hair prompted Papa’s teasing—You’re more a little house finch than a lark my dear, but what Papa in his right mind would call his daughter Finch? Lark failed to see the humor of Papa’s fun-making, but then Lark chose to ignore humor altogether.
“Miss Wenghold!” Ty’s frantic yell interrupted Robin’s musings.
He strode toward her. “Hurry! I need your help.”
Had he forgotten she couldn’t hurry? She limped her way to him, and he dropped to his knees, his arms wrapped around a dirt-covered little boy who wrestled against the confines.
“Let me go, mister. Let me go.” The tyke kicked and hollered and pummeled Ty’s chest. “Turn me loose. My mama will be mad when she wakes up. You wait and see.” He stretched his arms toward Robin. “Please, lady, don’t let him take me away.”
Robin reached for the child then plopped to a sitting position under the boy’s weight. “Here, little man.” She cupped his face with her hands. Two big eyes peeked through a mud-splattered face and stared, unblinking, into hers. She smiled, and his shoulders shook with tearless sobs as skinny arms encircled her neck.
“I . . . I need to go back.” Ty swiped beads of perspiration from his brow. “Will you be okay here for a bit?”
“His family?” She mouthed.
Ty shook his head, then strode to the wagon and returned with a blanket and shovel. His gaze met hers for an instant before he trudged away, shoulders slumped.
Her chest tightened. His lack of words answered her question.
She buried her face in the child’s hair and wept the tears his dry eyes held.
###
Ty patted the fresh mound of dirt with the back of the shovel then stepped back and surveyed the area one last time. Had he overl
ooked anything—or anyone? He’d found the woman under the overturned wagon, and the child about fifty yards beyond. Though men’s clothing lay scattered about, there was no sign of a man, alive or dead. Various tools—those a man used—mixed with cooking utensils and women’s garments. An iron bed lay mangled among the wreckage, its mattress soaked beyond use. There was no sign of the team that pulled the wagon, but it was obvious they had broken loose. Hard telling where they might be, but at least they would have water and grass. He could only hope they weren’t injured. The child seemed the only survivor.
He removed his hat and bowed his head. As the preacher of the only church in Cedar Bluff, this was not the first time he’d stood over the grave of a young mother. But it was different when he was acquainted with the deceased and those left behind. Today there was no grieving husband present. No heartsick ma or pa. No neighbors to mourn the loss of one so young. Only one small boy, who’d somehow managed to survive the fury of a Kansas twister and was now left to face the storms of life motherless.
“Lord, I don’t know where this woman was headed or what happened to her husband. All I know for sure is she didn’t make it, and there’s a little boy who no longer has a ma. If I should be looking for her man, then, Lord, don’t let me rest until I find him. And God, please take the sting from that little boy’s heart.”
He took one last look around, slung the shovel over his shoulder, and headed back up the hill. It didn’t make sense to turn around. He’d go on to the Feather and deliver John’s niece. Maybe by then he’d have an idea what to do with the boy.
He took a deep breath as he approached his wagon. Robin sat, nearly hidden in the tall grass, with the child cradled in her arms while she rocked from side to side. Why did women always move when they had a child in their arms? The ladies in his congregation often swayed in rhythm as they visited after Sunday service, sleepy babes clutched to their hearts. The scene before him seemed so peaceful—so natural. Who would suspect the artist to be the cruel hand of fate?
You know better, Ty Morgan. You’re the man in the pulpit Sunday after Sunday declaring there are no words such asluckorfate in God’s vocabulary. He’s sovereign. Remember? With Him there are no mistakes. He knows your days. He will supply. Perhaps you should start believing what you preach.
He fastened the shovel to the side of the wagon then squatted beside Robin. “We’ll go on to your uncle’s ranch and take the boy with us for now.”
“I ain’t leavin’ my mama,” the boy mumbled against Robin’s chest.
Ty cupped his hands around the boy’s shoulder. “Sure would like to know your name, son. My name’s Ty, and this lady is Miss Wenghold.”
The boy shrugged away from his touch. “Jacob.”
“A fine name, Jacob, and you’re a very brave boy. It must’ve been real scary to be out here all alone in the storm.” Ty patted the child’s head.
“I wasn’t alone. Mama stayed with me.” He pushed Ty’s hand away.
“Can you tell me if your pa was with you? If he’s hurt somewhere, we need to find him.”
“Don’t have a pa.” He drew his knees tighter to his chest.
Ty rubbed his forehead. Why did the boy allow her to hold him without protest, yet resisted any contact with him? He stood and attempted to take the child, but Jacob clung tight to Robin.
She motioned for him to back away. “I’m not going to leave you, Jacob. But I need to get off the ground. Mr. Morgan will take you long enough to help me to my feet and into the wagon, then I promise you can come right back to me. I’m not going anywhere without you.”
Jacob loosened his grip around Robin’s neck and allowed Ty to take him, but he kept his eyes scrunched tight.
Ty reached with his free hand and pulled Robin to her feet. She staggered against him, then righted herself and limped to the wagon. He groaned. He’d forgotten about her limp.
She climbed into the wagon then straightened her skirts and turned to reach for the boy. “Maybe you should give me lessons in wheel climbing, Mr. Morgan.” She smiled and gathered Jacob close to her.
“You did fine, Miss Wenghold. Real fine.” He hoisted himself in beside her.
The wagon lurched forward, and Jacob lunged from Robin’s arms. “I can’t leave Mama.”
Robin dropped to the floor of the wagon, wrestling with the child.
Ty braced his feet against the front of the wagon and reined the horses to a stop. Why hadn’t he considered the boy’s grief? He’d been a grown man when his own mama died, and it still hurt. How could they expect this child to understand?
“Please, don’t leave Mama all alone.” Jacob kicked the side of the wagon. “Let me go.”
Ty grabbed the boy’s legs. “Jacob, listen to me. Your mama would want you to come with us.”
“No! I promised I would stay put, and that means I can’t go away.”
“Your mama would want you to be safe. We can’t leave you here all alone.”
“No! No, let me go. I didn’t tell her good-bye. She won’t know where I am.” He pounded at Robin with both fists. “Please, don’t make me leave my mama.”
Robin’s face glistened with tears. “Mr. Morgan, I think we should take him back. We need to help him say good-bye. Uncle John can wait.”
Ty nodded and turned the team in a wide circle.
Robin held the boy’s fists. “Jacob, listen to me. We’ll go back so you can say good-bye to your mama. But you will still need to go home with Mr. Morgan and me. Can you understand that?”
Jacob backed against Robin and pointed at Ty. “I don’t want him to go with us.” He hiccupped. “Can’t you take me by yourself? Mama likes ladies.”
Robin leaned her back against the sideboards and arranged her skirt like a nest. “Mr. Morgan needs to drive the wagon, Jacob. He’s a nice man. He won’t hurt you, and he won’t let anything else hurt you.” She settled the boy on her lap. “Agreed?”
Jacob frowned, but he nodded.
She wrapped her arms around the boy. “There, now.” She held his head against her chest. Ty stole a glance at Robin. Her hair, no longer wet or muddy, tumbled from the confines of her blue and white bonnet. Slim fingers made minute circles on the boy’s shoulders while she hummed a nameless tune. He swallowed a lump of memory. His own mama used to sing to him when he was afraid. If only she were here now, to tell him what to do next. The wagon bumped through a mud hole, a remnant of last night’s storm, and Robin opened her eyes. Their gaze held for an instant, then the dimple accompanied her weary smile.
He tightened his hands on the reins. Only one other woman had ever made him desire a family. What irony that Robin Wenghold should storm into his life one year to the day after that one stormed out.
FOUR
John Wenghold crammed his hands into his pockets and waited for Ty’s wagon to stop in front of his gate.Well, old man. You’ve done did it now, ain’t ya?The only woman to ever lay her head at the Feather was his ma, and now he’d invited a female he’d never set eyes on to live here. If only he’d accepted his brother’s yearly invitations to visit Chicago. At least then he’d have an idea what the little gal looked like.
He pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his britches and cleaned his glasses.Jumpin’ bullfrogs. There ain’t no spot on these spectacles, and that gal ain’t so little. Besides that—she’s got a kid on her lap.
“Is that my niece, Ty Morgan?” Why, with her head cocked to one side she sure ‘nuff resembled a robin. John stepped sideways to the large rock that served as his front step. “She never said nothin’ about havin’ a little one, you know.”
Ty scowled and held a finger to his lips.
Now what’d I do? Ask a simple question and get frowned on and shushed all in one swoop. This ain’t startin’ out so good.
Ty met him before he could get to the wagon. “It’s your niece, John, but it isn’t her child.”
“Then what’s she doin’ with it? Don’t tell me she brung a kid along for company.”
> “Did it storm out this way last night?”
“Something fierce. I was a hopin’ you weren’t caught in it between here and Cedar Bluff.” John pointed to the barn. “Lost me some shingles is all, but the worst of it passed to the south. And—doggone it—you done changed the subject on me.”
“I thought maybe it would miss you by the way the clouds were building.” Ty lowered his voice. “We found this little guy on the way here. It appears his folks got caught right out in the open. Can’t find hide nor hair of any man, and the boy says he doesn’t have a pa. His ma was dead, no sign of the team, and most everything they had was in shambles. I don’t know what kept the little one alive, except he was tucked up under an overhang pretty good.”
“Who you reckon put him there? If it was his ma, why didn’t she stay with him?”
“There was only room for one very small person. I’d say she was willing to take the risk out in the open, but wanted to spare her child. I can’t imagine how hard it was to make a decision like that.”
“Doubt she even thought about it. Your ma would have done the same thing for you. Is he hurt?” John shuffled past Ty. “Well, don’t just sit there, girl. Get the kid in here so’s we can have a look-see.
“Wait, John.”
“What now?” He waited for Ty to catch up with him. “You got another surprise in that wagon, do ya?”
“Don’t go rushing up to the boy. For reasons we don’t understand, he doesn’t take much to me, seeing I’m a man.”
John laughed. “So you’re a thinkin’ if the kid don’t take to you, he surely wouldn’t want my wrinkled old face a lookin’ at him. Is that it?”
“I don’t even like your old wrinkled face looking at me, John.” Ty punched him on the shoulder. “Let me and your niece get him settled before you start growling.”
Ty took the boy from the Robin’s lap, and the tyke pummeled his shoulders. John chuckled. “You’re a doin’ a good job of gettin’ him settled, Mr. Morgan.”
Robin Page 3
