Aiming for Love

by Mary Connealy

  “I think a stranger confused her a little.”

  “Why? All the cowhands are strangers. She’s seen so many new faces in the last few days it’s a wonder she noticed one more.”

  It was a wonder.

  “I’ll go talk to her. She probably wants to check Quill’s wound and doesn’t want to go into that little cabin with it so crowded.”

  “Tell her there’s plenty for dinner.”

  Jo ran over to Ilsa, who was scampering down the tree trunk. She looked between Jo and the little cabin.

  “Someone new. But not one of the cattle drivers.” Ilsa liked to understand things first and then act. Standing back to watch, like Jo. And Ursula was the worst of the three. Honestly, it was a wonder any of them ever talked.

  “Dave has a brother who was off living in a big city. He’s home now, and they’ve been making a bigger fuss over him than we used to when Grandpa would get home from one of his long journeys.” Jo remembered the cabin and told Ilsa about it.

  Ilsa blinked her shining blue eyes. “I know the trail you’re talking about, but I’ve never been up there.”

  Jo told Ilsa all about Grandpa’s cabin and how it must be the place where he lived when Grandma insisted he stay away from them.

  “I only remember just the fewest things about Grandma. I was three when she died. But I remember Grandpa being gone, and I remember treats. Why didn’t we ever go into that valley?” Ilsa asked. “We both have explored almost everywhere, and we knew about that trail.”

  Jo was silent. Something niggled in her memory. “I don’t know. But for some reason I always knew I wasn’t to go in there. I can’t remember Grandpa forbidding me to, not exactly, but he must have said something. I wonder if Ursula remembers anything about it.”

  With a shake of her head, Jo said, “Nothing we can remember will change the past. Come and meet Mitch and see what all Ma has made for supper. Apple pie and bread made with a real special kind of flour.”

  Ilsa’s little nose wrinkled as she sniffed the air, then pleasure flashed in her eyes. “Pie. I’ve heard you talk of such, but I’ve never had any.”

  As they neared the cabin, Jo whispered, “Dave wants me to take his parents to our cabin and let them live there.”

  Ilsa gasped. “Ursula will never allow it.”

  “It’s our house, too, so Ursula can’t allow and not allow.”

  “But she won’t . . . endure it. She’ll leave.”

  “Where can she go? She can’t live through the winter away from the cabin.”

  “She might try.”

  Jo looked at Ilsa. Jo was so used to thinking of her as little, but Ilsa was a woman fully grown, and, in her own way, very wise. Yet Jo never looked to her little sister for advice. It was time to admit her little sister had grown up.

  “Do you really think so?” Jo waited. Wondered.

  Ilsa now took a turn being quiet while they both considered it.

  Finally, into the silence, Jo said, “We can’t leave Quill out here in this cold. The little cabin was shelter for a night, but it’s got no fireplace, and to warm it with the campfire you have to leave the door open. A fine solution on a cool night, but ridiculous when the bitter winds and blowing snow get here.”

  They both looked up at the snow that’d been coming down, light but steady, all day.

  Ilsa said softly, “It’s here already.”

  They walked closer to the tiny cabin. Ma had gone back inside, and they heard talk and laughter from within.

  “What will we say to Ursula?” Jo eased the bow around her neck and under her arm so it didn’t rub, then she did the same to the quiver. It was a motion she did many times a day to make sure the two weren’t hung up somehow, in case she needed them fast. “How can we convince her?”

  Ilsa shook her head. “I doubt we can. I think it’s best if we just bring the Wardens home with us. Tonight, we’ll just load Quill up and off we’ll go. One of us will get there ahead so she won’t be able to latch the door.”

  Jo grinned. “I think that should be you.”

  Ilsa rolled her eyes. “Ursula might well run if she can’t keep them out.”

  “Ursula thinks she’s the mother and we’re the kids.”

  “There might’ve been some reason for that when Grandpa was alive and I was so young. A lot of the raising fell to her.”

  “I helped raise you, too.” Jo gave her a good-natured shove.

  The smile faded from Ilsa’s face. Her bright blue eyes shone with what might be tears. Then her little sister threw her arms around Jo. Muffled against her neck, Ilsa said, “Yes, you did. And I thank you for that.”

  Jo decided the Nordegrens could be a hugging family like the Wardens, so she squeezed Ilsa tightly. “We all made it through by being full-grown when we were still youngsters. You needed a lot of help at first, but you have been doing your share and more for years. And I thank you for that.”

  “We’re a team, and Ursula is a big part of that team. We’ve got to help her accept these folks. Showing up at the door and just charging in with them is going to be so hard for her.”

  “Can you think of what to say that will make it easier?”

  Ilsa stood away from Jo and looked at the Warden family. Jo could almost hear Ilsa’s brain working. Finally, she said, “Nope, I think charging in is about our only choice. We’ll hope she gets over her fear and stays with us. And if not, she’ll get over it and come home when the weather gets too cold.”

  16

  Jo didn’t tell the Wardens to be quiet. Besides Dave, she didn’t want them to know they were slipping up on Ursula.

  But she didn’t linger outside talking. She headed briskly for the door.

  She swung it inward, relieved it wasn’t latched. Dave rode right up to the cabin, pulling his father behind his horse.

  Jo didn’t even look in. She wasn’t going to start shouting at Ursula, and if Ursula wanted a fight, well, she thought . . . hoped . . . prayed . . . her big sister would have trouble behaving so badly in front of outsiders.

  Dave and Mitch got on either side of Quill while Ma held Dave’s horse. Jo admired how well they worked together.

  “Jo, what is—” Ursula squealed and backed away as Dave and Mitch eased sideways to get through the door with their pa.

  Ursula hit the wall right beside their fireplace and only then stumbled to a stop. There was no way out unless she jumped through their single, small window with the tight shutter.

  Jo wouldn’t be surprised.

  Ma came in following after Quill. She watched Quill anxiously, so she never noticed Ursula. But Jo saw Dave looking around, at the cabin, at Ursula, taking in every detail all while never being careless with his father.

  He must’ve never told his parents what a big problem coming here was.

  “Bring him into my room.” Ilsa emerged from her bedroom and swung the door wide. She’d clearly been hiding so she wouldn’t give herself away to Ursula. “I’ve got my things all moved aside.”

  “Ilsa, you too?”

  Jo closed the door to the outside to keep the cold out and her sister in. She took one long look at the gentleness the two rugged men showed to their father. Then she turned, determined to be gentle with Ursula.

  Jo’s heart twisted when she saw her sister pressed against the far wall, her hands clamped together at her waist so tightly all her knuckles were white. Ursula’s eyes were wide and locked on the crowd of people. Yes, four extra people in the house was a huge crowd by the Nordegren sisters’ standards.

  Ursula’s breathing sped up. Her eyes were full circles locked on the Wardens. Jo saw the color drain from Ursula’s face. Pale as milk.

  Jo hurried to her side, afraid she was going to either collapse or start screaming and running.

  “Ursula, Quill was shot.” Jo talked fast, hoping to get it all said before Ursula bolted.

  “There’s always danger when other people are around,” Ursula whispered as if she were reciting a commandment, “terri
ble, deadly danger.”

  “They were running from danger, it’s true, there were men attacking Quill’s ranch at the bottom of the mountain. They were forced to come up here where Dave had moved. Now Quill is wounded, and they have no cabin with heat. He won’t survive outside. What else could I do but offer them shelter?”

  “What else?” Ursula quit staring and turned like a trapped wildcat. She was no longer pale; instead, her face flushed with anger, ready to attack.

  “This is from the Bible, Ursula.” Jo jumped in to say more. “I—that is, we are the Good Samaritans.”

  Jo reached up, moving slowly so she didn’t startle her agitated sister. She rested one hand on Ursula’s face, remembering Ilsa’s hug and the Wardens and their hugging. Touch, how often did any of them touch? It was so wonderful. Like water after a long spell of thirst. Maybe Ursula would sense some of that wonder.

  “I know you don’t want the outside world to harm us, but we are called by God to take Quill in and care for him. And if you fear that, you have to face that fear.”

  Ursula was much taller than Jo, built bigger all around, though still slender, like Grandma. And Ursula had been the boss, the parent of this family, but right now Jo was teaching her.

  “If taking Quill in means danger, we will face that danger together. We are strong women, Ursula. In everything else, except the outside world, you are the strongest, bravest woman I know. You can do this. You can obey God’s call to love your neighbor as yourself.”

  “God also tells us to beware of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. We do not know these people.”

  “The Bible doesn’t say that.”

  Jo whirled around to face Dave. Ursula grabbed Jo’s shoulders. Ursula might have ducked, but she was several inches taller than Jo and that left her with little shelter.

  “Of course it does.” Jo shook her head. What poor knowledge he had of the Scriptures. And now was no time to bring it up anyway. Ursula knew her Bible very well, and she wouldn’t take someone criticizing—

  “Sinner!” Ursula jabbed her finger straight at Dave’s chest as true as an arrow in flight. It came right out alongside Jo’s cheek. “How dare you come into my house and tell me my beliefs are wrong? How dare you go against one of the Good Books?”

  Dave looked from Ursula to that finger she was using almost like a weapon to Jo. Without turning his back on them, Dave called out, “Ma, get in here.”

  Since his mother was probably in there fighting for Quill’s life . . . well, maybe not quite that, but still the trip had been hard on him . . . Jo doubted she’d respond.

  “What is it?” Ma came out looking alarmed.

  Jo had to admit there’d been a tone in Dave’s voice that would put wings on a mother’s feet.

  Dave said, “This is Ursula, Jo and Ilsa’s big sister.”

  Ursula still stood, pointing, accusing. Though she had quit talking for a second.

  Jo doubted that would last.

  “She thinks the story of ‘The Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing’ is from the Bible.”

  “Oh.” Ma frowned at Dave. “It is. It’s from Matthew. Um . . . I can’t remember the chapter and verse but it says, ‘Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.’”

  “That story is there,” Ursula said, “but there is also the one from the smaller of the two Bibles. A certain wolf could not get enough to eat because of the watchfulness of the shepherds. But one night he found a sheepskin that had been cast aside and forgotten. The next day, dressed in the skin, the wolf—”

  “No, that’s not the Bible verse.” Ma glanced back at the room, a furrow of worry creasing her forehead. Mitch and Ilsa were with Pa, and Ma trusted them both, but it was clear she wanted to be in there helping. “The story you’re telling is based on the Bible verse. But what you’re quoting is not biblical.”

  “Heretic.” Ursula’s finger shifted.

  Dave muttered, “They think the story of ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf’ is in the Bible, too.”

  Jo pitied him. Ursula seethed.

  Ma’s brow arched. “Where did you find it in the Bible, can you show me?”

  Jo was impressed with the reasonable tone. Being called a heretic couldn’t be any fun.

  “I’ll get it.” Jo rushed to the little table in the front-right corner of the room and picked up the Good Books and brought them to Ma.

  Ma took them both, set the smaller of the two black books aside, and held out the big one, then glanced at Jo. “Where is it?”

  Ursula marched over to the smaller book and hugged it to her chest. “It’s in here.”

  This time Ma arched both brows. She could honestly say quite a lot with her eyebrows. “That’s not the Bible, this is.” She held up the big book.

  “We have both Bibles,” Ursula said with tight anger, as if on the verge of driving Ma out of the temple for selling doves. Then Ursula’s chin came up. “If you don’t know both of them, that is your own failing. I’m sure not everyone can afford two books. But we were blessed with both of them, and we know every word.”

  Very quietly, as if afraid she’d startle a madwoman, Ma said, “Can I see it?”

  Ursula froze.

  Jo said quietly, “It’s right they should know the Bible, all of it. Both books. It would be a sin to keep God’s Word from them.”

  Ursula, with motions made jerky by her unwillingness, slowly extended the little volume. Ma just as cautiously reached out. She took it.

  Ursula didn’t let go.

  Ma waited.

  She waited some more.

  Then, with a yank, Ma got the book away from Ursula and looked down at it.

  Dave leaned in to look at the printing on the cover. He shook his head with tiny, violent motions. “What is this?”

  Ma thumbed it open, turned a page, turned another, finally after much study, she said, “This isn’t written in English.”

  Dave leaned close. “I don’t recognize a single word.” He looked up at Jo. “Can you read this? Do you speak this language?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “What language is it?”

  “It’s . . . it’s . . . what do you mean?” Jo reached for the book and thumbed through the pages. “Here is ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf.’”

  She began, “‘A shepherd boy tended his master’s sheep near a dark forest, not far from—’”

  “Wait a minute.” Dave came to stand by her side. He jabbed a finger at a single word in the middle of the page. “What’s that word right there say?”

  Swallowing hard, Jo squinted at the book, then shook her head and thrust the book at her much older and wiser big sister. “You tell him.”

  Ursula took the book with a disgusted sniff. Since Jo had handed her the open book, Ursula took it and started on the same story. “‘A shepherd boy tended his master’s sheep near—’”

  “Stop.” Dave pointed at a different word, lower on the page. “Tell me what that one word is. I sure can’t read it.”

  Ursula hesitated, then snapped the book closed. Dave barely got his finger out in time.

  Hugging the book to her chest, Ursula said, “You mock the Holy Scripture.”

  “Ma.” Dave sounded so annoyed, Jo almost smiled. He was glaring at Ursula, standing right in front of both of them. Ma came up to his side and looked between Jo and her sister for a while.

  Finally, Ma came up with the other Good Book in hand and opened it to the very beginning. “Read this.”

  Jo knew it exactly. “In the beginning—”

  “No.” Dave interrupted her reading and pointed to a single word. “What’s that word say right there?”

  Jo moved through the Scripture in her head until she was to the word he pointed to. “Evening.”

  “I saw you talking your way up to it.” Dave sounded about as aggravated as a man could be. What was wrong with him?

  “Hush, son.” Ma came up beside him and caught his arm. Dave gave her a sharp glance
, and Jo noticed Ma’s fingers were really dug in. Might even be painful. Whatever it felt like, it hushed him up.

  “We need to think about this.” Ma was deeply silent as she looked at the book, frowning.

  Then she said at last, “Ursula, you don’t want us here, that much is clear. We’re sorry to invade your home this way. I’ve already set our cowhands to building a suitable cabin immediately, and they’ll work fast, but I think my husband’s life might depend on having warmth and shelter for the next few days. Will you allow us to stay?”

  Jo was sorry Ma had put it like that, because it wasn’t wise to give Ursula a choice.

  Ma went on. “I have good supplies, we brought up almost all our food stores from the ranch house we abandoned in the lowlands. We have enough for the whole winter. We’re bringing you more work, but I can help. We can use my flour, my potatoes. I’ve got apples, and we can make pie.”

  Ma’s voice took on a strange tone, almost like she was . . . tempting them. And who was it that was the Great Tempter? And yet Jo couldn’t quite picture Ma with horns and a pitchfork.

  “I know you feed yourself without such supplies. It’s clear you’ve survived well for years. Maybe you could teach me about the food you find up here and how you prepare it.”

  “I had her apple pie last night, Ursula. It’s a wonder.” Jo would’ve let Ma have the house for more apple pie. So maybe there was some temptation going on. Satan and apple pie didn’t seem to go together. Although Satan and fruit did. Jo shook away the confusing notion.

  “And I’ll leave enough flour, lard, apples, and sugar with you when we go, so you can make plenty of it.”

  Jo leaned close to Ursula, who stood rigid with fear. It showed itself as anger, but Jo knew it for what it was. Ursula, still hugging the smaller of the Good Books, watched Ma.

  Jo thought she saw just a hint of longing under the anger and fear . . . and that took some imagination to see, but Jo had plenty of that. And it wasn’t longing for apple pie, it was longing for an older woman to talk to. It’d been so long since Grandma died. So much longer since they’d lost Ma. Jo thought maybe Ursula had missed their own ma just as Jo did.