Marnie:

by Shanna Hatfield

  Marnie let out a sigh and sat down at the table. “You know my friend, Ilsa, the one with the dress shop?”

  “Yes’m. She got dem purty dresses in her window looks like spring bustin’ into bloom.”

  “That’s right,” Marnie said, returning Gertie’s grin. “That man is her brother. He didn’t know Ilsa or Aundy lived here in Pendleton. He arrived in town not long ago. You should have seen him, Gertie. He has a big white horse and rode down the street at sunset. It was just like something from one of those books I like to read.”

  Gertie chuckled low in her throat and waggled her finger at Marnie. “Ya’ll know I can’t read a lick, but I believe ya.” The girl had no more business working for Miss Clementine than the preacher’s wife. She had too good a heart and too many dreams to spend the best days of her life as a tainted woman, only Gertie didn’t know what to do to convince Marnie of that.

  “Well, he stopped right beneath my window so I tossed a few peanuts down at him.”

  “Bet he liked to jump clean out of his skin. He don’t look like no bawdy house kinda feller.”

  “No, he isn’t, Gertie. But he was so handsome, I wanted to see his face, so I tossed down the peanuts and sure enough, he looked right up at me with his bright blue eyes.”

  “They’s hard not to notice, girlie. He put me in mind of the deputy, being such a brawny, good-lookin’ boy. You don’t see too many who look like that in a lifetime.”

  “I think he’s quite similar to Deputy Rawlings in many aspects,” Marnie said, growing silent as she thought about Lars bringing her flowers and paying Miss Clementine the exorbitant amount of five dollars just to be able to speak to her.

  “Honey, why ya not jes go work for Miss Ilsa, like she done ask ya? Don’t ya want a good man to love ya and babies of yer own?”

  “Of course I do, Gertie.” Tears pricked Marnie’s eyes, like they did every time she and Gertie had this conversation. “But no man worth having would have me now, knowing what I’ve done and I won’t bring my shame to anyone else’s door.”

  “Sweet pea, when de right man come along, he won’t make no never mind about whatcha’ been. He’ll love ya no matter what.”

  “I won’t find him here.”

  “Dat is a fact. But ya might find him if ya quit livin’ dis life and go work for Miss Ilsa.” Gertie took a sip of her coffee while the girl appeared to consider her words.

  Marnie stood and gave Gertie a hug around her wide shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Gertie.”

  “For what?”

  “Being you.”

  Gertie laughed. “De good Lord done made me Gertie and dat who I’ll be ‘til He call me home.”

  “I, for one, hope that is a long, long time from now.” Marnie hurried out of the kitchen and back toward her room. Stepping inside the door, she breathed deeply of Lars’ masculine scent still lingering in the air and plopped down in her chair, daydreaming of his blue eyes and teasing smile.

  Chapter Six

  Riding past a run-down cabin for the third time in a week, Lars stopped Viking and sat beneath a copse of trees across the road, watching.

  Something about the place didn’t feel right. Lars learned to trust his gut during the first few months he spent as a lawman.

  With Kade’s help, he’d come up with a list of potential members of the Bowman Gang and one of them reportedly lived in this area. If the man had a family, he’d eventually come home and Lars planned to catch him when he did.

  He’d narrowed down the places to this one or an abandoned homestead a few miles farther back in the hills. Located several miles northeast of Pendleton, the gently rolling hills covered in wheat and cattle, along with sagebrush, provided a sight Lars would never tire of seeing.

  Breathing deeply of the fresh air, he thought if he could choose a place to settle down, the Pendleton area would be his first choice. In addition to the draw of being near his sisters, he liked the friendly feel of the town and the wide-open blue sky overhead.

  Kade assured him when the summer sun beat down relentlessly or the winter winds blew so cold a cup of coffee tossed in the air could freeze before it hit the ground, he wouldn’t think of the place with such fondness. At that moment, though, Umatilla County suited him just fine.

  Settling in, Lars waited for any sign of movement. The last two times he rode by, he caught sight of a couple of kids who ran inside and slammed the door as soon as he made his presence known.

  Today, he decided to come out early and watch as long as it took to decide who, exactly, lived at the place. He could march up to the door and ask, but if Webster was slinking around, trying to stay out of sight, he figured his best approach was to wait patiently to see how the day played out.

  He’d been waiting about an hour when a little girl walked outside, carrying a basket. She went into a henhouse and he could hear the chickens clucking as she tossed out their feed. Although he couldn’t see into the coop, he could picture her gathering the eggs and carefully placing them in her basket.

  She stepped out and latched the door behind her, setting her basket on a stump before continuing on to the barn. She’d already disappeared inside when a scream tore through the peaceful morning air. A little boy ran to the door of the cabin, yelling for all he was worth while he held one hand with the other.

  Lars spurred Viking out of the trees and up to the cabin before the little girl could run all the way out of the barn.

  “What’s wrong, son?” Lars jumped off the horse and knelt by the boy. Blood puddled around the child’s bare feet and his face was fast losing color.

  “I… I cut my hand,” he said, between sobs.

  “That’s okay. I’m pretty good at doctoring. Do you think I can take a look at it?” Lars asked, holding out his hand toward the boy.

  “Not if you want to keep breathing, mister.”

  Lars swiveled his head around and looked into the barrel of a rifle held by a child who couldn’t have been more than ten at most. Despite her youth, she held the gun like an expert, not flinching as she leveled it at him.

  “I don’t mean any harm, miss.” He raised his hands in the air, although he continued to kneel by the boy.

  “Don’t care what you mean,” she said, pulling back the hammer with difficulty, but getting the job done. “Unless you want me to blow a hole clean through you, just get back on your horse and keep riding.”

  “Please, Sadie, let him look at my hand,” the little boy whimpered, casting a pleading look at the girl.

  “Sadie, is it?” Lars asked, starting to lower his hands, but she held the gun steady and continued to glare at him. “Look, miss, I just want to help your brother. I promise. You don’t want him to bleed to death, do you?”

  That seemed to take a little starch out of her spine. She lowered the gun and let the barrel dip.

  “No, mister, I don’t. But I’ll shoot you sure as I’m standing here if you make a wrong move.” She gave him a steely glare that many adult men wouldn’t have been able to pull off.

  “Yes, miss. I’m going to reach out and look at your brother’s hand. Okay?”

  She nodded her head and Lars gently took the boy’s bleeding hand in his. He could see a deep gash with a jagged shard of glass embedded in his palm.

  “Do you have some clean rags, warm water, and a little soap?”

  “Sure, mister. Go on in the house,” Sadie said, tipping her head toward the open door.

  Lars picked up the boy and carried him inside, setting him on the counter next to a sink with a pump. The girl pointed to the stove.

  “There’s warm water in the kettle,” she said, trying to decide if she should help the stranger with her brother or keep a gun on him. The rifle was too heavy for her to hold much longer, so she set it on the table and hurried to find some clean rags. Setting them on the counter, she hefted the kettle and poured some of the water into a deep bowl. “You hurt him and you’re dead, mister.”

  “I surmised that much, Miss Sa
die.” Lars gave her a solemn look, admiring her spunk, before turning his attention back to the little boy. “What’s your name, son?”

  “Noah,” the boy sniffled, watching as Lars pumped cool water over his hand and carefully pulled out the piece of glass.

  “Well, Noah, how did you come to have this glass in your hand?” Lars flushed the wound with more cool water then poured some of the warm water over it.

  “I was trying to get a drink and dropped the glass. I wanted to clean it up so Sadie wouldn’t be mad, and I got a piece in my hand.” Noah glanced cautiously at his sister through tear-dampened lashes. “I’m real sorry, Sadie. I didn’t mean to break it.”

  “It’s okay, Noah.” Sadie dragged a chair over to a tall cupboard and climbed on it. Standing on her tiptoes, she stretched to reach something at the back of the far shelf and couldn’t quite get it.

  “May I help you with something, Miss Sadie?”

  “Pa keeps a bottle of whiskey back there. Aren’t you s’posed to pour it over a wound?” she asked, propping her hands on her hips as she stared at Lars, daring him to argue with her.

  “That’s right. If you don’t mind, I’d be happy to fetch it down.” Lars set Noah’s hand in the bowl of warm water.

  “Fine. But don’t plan on drinking any of it. Pa’ll be six kinds of mad that we touched it as it is.” Sadie hopped down from the chair and pushed it out of the way.

  Lars retrieved the bottle and moved Noah’s hand over the sink then poured whiskey over the wound until he was satisfied it was thoroughly disinfected. The little boy whimpered, but he didn’t cry again.

  “You’re very brave, Noah. I know that stings like everything.” Lars took one of the rags and made a compress then held it over the boy’s hand. He applied a little pressure, waiting for the bleeding to stop. The cut was deep, but he doubted the girl had anything to stitch it with and he wasn’t sure the little boy would sit still for it anyway. He hoped, with a good job of bandaging, Noah would be fine.

  “Have you poured it on one of your cuts?” Noah asked, gazing up at Lars.

  “Lots of times. And it hurts every single time,” he said, grinning at the boy as he removed the compress and replaced it with a fresh one. The bleeding stopped so he tore one rag into strips and wound them around the boy’s hand.

  “You both need to be careful about keeping this clean.” Lars set Noah on his feet and watched as Sadie stepped closer to her brother, putting a protective arm around him. “Sadie, you need to change the bandage every day and make sure Noah doesn’t get dirt in that wound. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, sir.” She eyed him for a long moment. If he planned to do something sneaky, she decided he would have done it by now.

  Giving Sadie a cautious glance, Lars slowly picked up the rifle and let down the hammer, then set it back on the table.

  He picked the pieces of broken glass out of the sink, cleaned up from doctoring Noah, and returned the whiskey to the cupboard.

  “Did you eat your breakfast yet?” The two distinctly different answers he received made him fight a grin.

  Sadie glared at Noah who stood shaking his head, looking like she wanted to throttle her brother. “What Noah meant to say is that we don’t usually eat breakfast.”

  “Not eat breakfast? That’s the most important meal of the day,” Lars said, looking around and not seeing much in the way of supplies for the children. He knew Sadie had a basket of eggs outside and he could hear a cow mooing in the barn, probably anxious for her morning milking. “Do you need to finish milking that cow, Sadie?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know that I should leave you here with Noah and I ain’t taking him to the barn with me. It’s full of dirt and germs.” Sadie picked the rifle up off the table, considering her options.

  Lars held his hands up in front of him and squatted down by Noah, although he kept his gaze fixed on the girl holding the gun. “How about I rustle up some breakfast while you take care of the cow? Noah can keep an eye on me.”

  Sadie weighed her decision before nodding her head. “Okay. But you ‘member, any wrong move and I’ll still shoot you. And before I do anything else, I guess you better just tell me your name.” She set the rifle down on a lumpy settee and turned to face Lars.

  “My name is Mr. Thorsen, but you can call me Lars,” he said, walking toward the door with the two children following along behind.

  “Where you going, Mr. Thorsen?” Sadie asked, as he stepped outside and started digging in his saddlebag.

  “I got a few things to add to breakfast. Do you have some eggs I can fry?” Lars removed a paper-wrapped parcel from his saddlebag before fastening it closed.

  “Yep. Right there.” Sadie pointed to the basket she’d left sitting on a stump. “It’ll just take me a minute to finish milking Lulu, so don’t you get any sneaky ideas.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Lars picked up the basket of eggs and put a hand on Noah’s shoulder, guiding him back inside the house.

  Leaving the door open, Lars put more wood in the stove then noticed the tiny little pile by the door. He’d need to chop wood for the kids before he left or he’d worry about them freezing before their father returned.

  Setting a skillet on top of the stove to heat, he found some butter and put a glob in the pan, listening to the sizzle and pop as it melted.

  “Where’s your ma, Noah?”

  “In heaven, or at least that’s what Sadie says. I don’t ‘member her ‘cause she died when I was only two trying to have another baby.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Noah. Maybe she knows my mother. She’s in heaven, too.”

  “She is?” Noah asked, tipping his head curiously at the stranger who looked like he could handle just about anything. The boy couldn’t remember ever seeing someone who resembled a giant. He bet the man would make almost two of his pa.

  “Yep. She died eight years ago,” Lars said, cracking eggs into the skillet.

  “If I’m six, how many years ago did my ma die?” Noah pulled a chair close to the stove and climbed up on it so he could watch Lars.

  “Four years ago.” Lars unwrapped the lunch Caterina packed for him. He removed the thinly sliced meat from the sandwiches she’d made and chopped it into the eggs, stirring it around. Setting aside the slices of cheese, he toasted the bread on top of the stove. When the eggs were cooked, he crumbled the cheese over the top and set the pan on the table.

  Finding plates and forks, he set the table and motioned for Noah to scoot his chair over so he could eat.

  “Are you a real man?” Noah asked as he watched Lars butter the bread and put the slices on a plate.

  Lars turned and looked at the boy, wondering what thoughts ran through his youthful head. “What makes you ask that?”

  “I’ve never seen a man as tall or big as you. Sadie tells stories about a pretend man who’s as tall as the trees and goes around helping kids. If you’re here, you can’t be pretend, but I think you must be the man in her stories.” Noah jiggled his feet as they hung over the edge of the chair.

  “I’m as real as a man can get.” Lars ruffled the boy’s shaggy brown hair.

  Noah had a fun-loving puckish look about him, from his bright molasses-colored eyes and dark, mussed hair to the thick layer of freckles across his nose. If Lars were a betting man, he would have been willing to wager that playful trouble dogged little Noah’s every step.

  Glancing up as Sadie came in lugging a pail of milk, Lars decided she must be the opposite of her brother. She had the same colored eyes, but instead of snapping with life, they looked haunted and aged. Unlike Noah’s happy grin, her face was serious, almost sad, and she already had a worry line forming across her little forehead in place of freckles on her nose. She wore her light brown hair pulled back in a tight braid, fastened with a frayed ribbon.

  Although both youngsters looked shabby, they were clean. Their cabin appeared neat, if not sparse. Someone had taught them to care for what they had and to take pride in themse
lves and their belongings.

  “Let me help you.” Lars took the pail from Sadie and helped her strain it, then poured each of the children a tall glass of milk.

  Sadie frowned at him as he set the glasses on the table, but didn’t say anything. She covered the bucket with a clean cloth

  “Did you make the butter, Sadie?” Lars asked, pulling out a chair for her.

  She glared at him, again, before plopping down on the seat. “It sure weren’t the chickens who done it.”

  “It looks like good butter.” Lars ignored her sarcastic comment. She was quite flippant for such a young girl. Maybe she was older than he thought.

  “Sadie makes the best butter, but she’s not too good at baking bread or biscuits,” Noah said, earning a glare from his sister across the table.

  Lars divided the eggs with meat and cheese between the plates he’d set out for the children then split the bread between them.

  Sadie started to stab her fork into the eggs, but Lars cleared his throat and she looked at him. Sighing, she set down her fork and placed her hands in her lap, then bowed her head.

  He offered a brief prayer then smiled at Noah as the boy took a greedy bite of the bread.

  “Where’s your food, Lars?” Noah asked, looking across the table to see Lars didn’t have a plate.

  “I ate breakfast before I left home this morning. You two go on.” Lars smiled encouragingly at the boy.

  “I ain’t eating your food unless you eat some, too,” Sadie said, getting up and slamming a plate down in front of Lars. She scooped part of her eggs onto his plate and gave him a piece of her bread. “Now eat!”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Lars hid his smile as he took a bite of the eggs. They tasted good, if he did say so himself. Maybe he could give Ilsa a few pointers about cooking. From what he heard, she burned most food beyond recognition, and didn’t really seem too concerned about it. Tony did some of the cooking and the rest of the time, they ate at Caterina’s.