Marnie:

by Shanna Hatfield

  Carrying the basin into the bedroom, he set it on a rickety stand next to the bed.

  “You got a nightgown around here?” Lars asked, starting to open a drawer.

  “Yes, sir, I do, but it ain’t none of your never mind where it is, so you best stop snooping in our things.”

  “It’s right here,” Noah said, lifting a threadbare gown from a peg behind the door.

  Lars tried not to stare at the sad little scrap of fabric as he took it to Sadie. She snatched it out of his hands and wadded it up at her side.

  “I done told you already…”

  “I know what you told me, but you’re putting it on and getting some rest.” Lars picked up her foot and removed one shoe then the other before Sadie could say another word. “Now, either you can put on that nightgown by yourself or I’ll put it on for you, but you’re changing into it. Understood?”

  “Dad-blast bossy know-it-all men,” Sadie groused, but sat up and unbuttoned the sleeves of her dress.

  Ignoring Sadie’s comments, he put a hand on Noah’s shoulder and turned him toward the door. “Come on, son. Let’s give your sister a little privacy. Make sure you sponge yourself off, Sadie, before you put on your nightgown. It will make you feel better.”

  “I doubt that,” she grumbled as Lars shut the door behind him.

  “Did you bring any treats today?” Noah asked, anxious to discover what Lars brought. He hadn’t yet made a trip without bringing at least a lemon drop or a piece of licorice. A few times he brought all kinds of good things to eat and Sadie tried to make them last, like the ham she’d cooked for lunch.

  “I might have something out in my saddle bags,” Lars said, ruffling Noah’s hair as they walked outside to where Viking stood patiently at the hitching rail.

  Swinging Noah up to the saddle, Lars took the reins in his hands and walked the horse to the barn. He led Viking into an empty stall, set down Noah then removed the saddle, blanket and bridle. Slipping a halter on the horse, Lars tossed some hay into the stall and made sure Viking had a bucket of water. Lars picked up his rifle and saddlebags, handed Noah his jacket and closed the stall door.

  “You planning to stay awhile?” Noah asked as they walked back inside the house.

  “I can’t leave you and Sadie here alone with her sick. I’ll spend the night, if you think that would be okay.” Lars winked at Noah as he set the rifle on the table along with his saddlebags.

  “Oh, boy! I’m glad you’re staying. Sadie says if it wasn’t for you helping us, we’d a starved to death. Our pa, he’s been gone an awful long time, but Sadie don’t want to talk about it,” Noah said, talking excitedly. At Lars’ sympathetic look and encouraging nod, the boy continued speaking freely. “Me and Sadie, we’re s’posed to stay here ‘til Pa comes back, but I ain’t so sure he’s gonna come home. Sadie said he promised to be home before the snow melted off the hills, but it’s been gone a while.

  Lars began to wonder if Chad Webster was still alive. Surely, if he promised his kids he’d be back weeks ago, he would have made some effort to get home in the last month if he was able. Then again, the man ran with a notorious bunch of outlaws so it wasn’t like he had any honor.

  Opening one of his saddlebags, Lars took out a package and opened it then held it out to Noah. The boy picked up a small square of baked dough and studied it.

  “Have you ever had a Fig Newton?”

  Noah shook his head. Lars picked up a cookie and took a bite and the boy followed suit. His eyes lit up and he hurriedly stuffed the rest in his mouth and took another.

  “Now, don’t eat them all at once. You need to save some for when Sadie feels better. You can have two more.” Lars set the package on the table and walked back to the bedroom. Tapping on the door, he pushed it open.

  Sadie shivered under the covers of a thin blanket on her little bed.

  “When I said to sponge off, I didn’t mean give yourself the chills.” Lars strode across the room, scooped her up and placed her in the big bed. “That’s enough of this nonsense.”

  “But my pa, he’ll be madder than a nest of hornets in a hail storm.” Sadie curled on her side as she sank into the soft mattress, letting out a tired sigh. “We ain’t s’posed to touch this bed, except for me to make sure the sheets is clean when he’s here.”

  “I’ll deal with your pa if he comes home before morning.” Lars wouldn’t tell the child exactly how he’d deal with her father. He had no idea what he’d do when he did catch Webster. It was going to be a hard thing to break it to the kids that their father would most likely spend the rest of his life rotting in jail.

  Pendleton didn’t have an orphanage and he had no idea what would become of the two little kids who were working their way into his heart. Between them and Marnie, he might as well just turn in his badge and join a sewing circle since they had him so addlebrained.

  With Sadie’s sassy mouth and independent spirit, it would be a miracle to find a family willing to take her in, although he didn’t think Noah would have a problem finding a home.

  Separating the two would be unthinkable, though.

  Pulling the sheet and a thick quilt over the child’s shoulders, Lars tucked her in and placed a gentle hand on her head. “You just get some rest, honey. Noah and I’ll take care of everything.”

  “Okay,” Sadie whispered and closed her eyes. It was the first time Lars could remember her being agreeable. Setting the still empty bucket close to the edge of the bed, he placed the glass of water within her reach and left the room.

  “Well, Noah, how about we take care of some chores outside while Sadie rests? You think we should maybe chop some wood and stack it?”

  “Yep. I’m a good stacker.”

  “Let’s get to it then.”

  Lars removed his shirt and left it on the chair with his vest and hat, knowing he’d sweat through it before long.

  Noah whipped his off and puffed out his skinny chest as they stepped outside in the warm sunshine. Staring up at Lars, the boy gaped open-mouthed at Lars’ muscled, scarred chest.

  “What happened to you?”

  “Huh?” Lars glanced down as Noah raised a finger and pointed to a round, red scar on his side, near the waistband of his pants. He couldn’t tell the boy he took a bullet protecting a judge in October and that’s why it was still red.

  Unless he was looking in a mirror, Lars often forgot about the scars on his body. He had two more bullet holes, one in his shoulder and one in his back, as well as two jagged scars from knife attacks on his sides. It was all part of his work and he didn’t give them much thought, but he supposed they might appear scary to a little boy.

  Hunkering down so he was closer to eye level with Noah, Lars smiled at him. “You can touch it if you want. It doesn’t hurt.”

  “It doesn’t?” Noah reached out and touched the spot with a tentative finger. Watching Lars’ face for any sign of pain, he didn’t see any so he pushed on it with a little more force. “Did you get in trouble?”

  “Nah. I was helping keep someone else out of trouble.”

  “What about this one?” Noah indicated a particularly nasty scar from a knife.

  Lars let the boy touch it and grinned. “Nope. I just happened to be standing in the way of something a bad man wanted.” Noah didn’t need to know it was from a prisoner who somehow procured a knife and tried to slash his way to freedom.

  “Did he get in trouble?”

  “He sure did. He’s in jail right now.” Lars remained relaxed and open as the boy explored his scars with curious eyes and fingers.

  “You sure they don’t hurt? Looks to me like they’d hurt.” Noah studied the scar from the bullet Lars had taken in his shoulder.

  “They hurt a lot when I got them, but not anymore.” At least not most of the time. The one on his back ached from time to time, but the rest of them didn’t bother him.

  “You gots lots of hair on your chest, but it’s light, like on your head.”

  “Yep.” Lars wonder
ed what direction the conversation would take, but decided to let Noah conduct it as he willed.

  “My pa ain’t got much hair on his chest but it’s dark, like his hair.” Noah rubbed the furry mat on Lars’ chest then rubbed his own. “Will I have hair on my chest?”

  “Only if you drink your milk and eat your vegetables.” Lars held back a snicker when the boy’s eyes widened in disbelief.

  “You must’ve drunk lots and lots of milk and eated lots of vegetables. I don’t care if I get hair if I have to drink rotten milk. I don’t want to be all pukey like Sadie.”

  Unable to stop his laughter, Lars chuckled. “No, I don’t want you to be pukey like Sadie, either. You should only drink milk that smells good.”

  “Is that what made those?” Noah asked, pointing to the sculpted pectoral muscles on Lars’ chest.

  Lars glanced down and nodded his head. “Lots of milk, vegetables, and hard work.”

  Noah glanced down at his own scrawny little chest and puffed it out again. “I’m gonna work hard and drink good milk and eat up all my vegetables if I get to look like you.”

  Lars stood and ruffled the boy’s hair. Placing a warm hand on the small back, they walked over to the woodpile. Pulling out the ax from the stump where he’d left it the last time he chopped wood, he tested it for sharpness. It needed a sharper edge, so Noah followed him toward the barn.

  With the boy in a talkative mood, Lars decided to take advantage of his willingness to share information.

  “Your pa has dark hair on his chest and his head?”

  “Yep.”

  “Does he look like you or Sadie?”

  Noah tipped his head and put a finger to his chin, intently considering his response. “I s’pose I look most like Pa. He says Sadie looks just like our ma, except I don’t ‘member what she looked like.”

  “Does he have brown eyes like you?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Is he tall like me?”

  “Nope. I bet you’d make almost two of my pa. He’d probably only come to here on you.” Noah stood on his tiptoes and poked a spot on Lars’ chest.

  Other than a few sketches from rattled witnesses, no one had a photograph or clear description of the members of the Bowman Gang. The most common statement from their victims was that they all dressed similarly and covered their faces with bandanas. Luce and his cronies hadn’t been helpful providing details about their fellow gang members, either.

  Lars was sure some of the men used aliases. Webster was one they’d been able to track down to this cabin, even though they didn’t have a strong description of what he looked like. Noah was unwittingly providing all the details Lars needed.

  “Does your pa have any scars?”

  “Nope. But he gots a thing in his chin.”

  Lars raised his eyebrow quizzically and the boy drew a line up and down on his chin with his finger.

  “I can’t member what to call it,” Noah said, scuffing the dirt with his toe.

  “A cleft? He has a cleft in his chin?”

  “Yep, that’s it. Sadie says it looks like Pa rammed his chin into the edge of the door and dented it.” Noah giggled and slapped his leg, then straightened up and looked at Lars. “But don’t tell anyone I done told you that. It would get me and Sadie in a heap of trouble with Pa.”

  “I won’t tell a soul.” Thanks to the boy’s description, Lars thought he could easily recognize Webster when he found him. He’d look for a grown up version of Noah with a deep cleft in his chin.

  “Oh good.” Noah let out a relieved sigh.

  Watching as Lars finished sharpening the ax on a grindstone, he hopped around, anxious to have something to do. He liked helping Lars. Although the man was almost frighteningly big, he wasn’t ever scary and always made him feel important. Pa got impatient with him when he was around so Noah didn’t mind him being gone so long, other than Sadie seemed to fret a lot about him coming back.

  “Shall we get to chopping that wood?” Lars asked, satisfied with the edge on the ax.

  “Yep!” Noah grabbed his free hand and swung on it as they made their way to the woodpile.

  An hour later, Lars had streams of sweat pouring down his chest and back. Burying the ax in the stump, he swiped his forehead on his shoulder before perspiration dripped into his eyes. Glancing over at his little helper, Noah scurried to stack the chopped wood next to the door.

  Filling his arms with pieces of wood, Lars helped the boy finish stacking then led the way to the barn.

  They mucked out the stalls and then cleaned the chicken coop.

  When they were finished, Lars peeked in on Sadie to make sure she was still sleeping and snagged a sliver of soap and a couple of towels on his way back outside.

  Although it was late March, the sun was hot overhead and Lars could feel heat radiating off his back and shoulders. His heritage gave him skin that burned before it tanned, and he had no doubt his back would be as red as one of Marnie’s working dresses before long.

  “Let’s go clean up, son.” Lars motioned to the boy to walk with him to the creek that ran through the property across the road.

  “Nope. It ain’t Saturday and I ain’t gonna take no bath.” Noah started to run away but Lars caught him around the waist and easily held him with one arm.

  “You don’t want to stink and besides, we aren’t taking a bath. We’re gonna go swim in the creek.”

  “We are?” Noah gave him a wary glance, but remained quiet as Lars carried him across the road and down to the creek that ran behind a thick grouping of trees. It was the very copse of trees where Lars liked to station himself to keep an eye on the Webster place.

  Removing his gun belt, he stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the water. He walked out to a spot deep enough to rise partway up his chest when he sat down. It didn’t take long for Noah to join him and Lars handed the boy the soap. “Might as well scrub up while we’re out here.”

  “I knew you’d make me take a bath.” Noah shook his head, but continued soaping himself.

  When he finished, Lars took the soap from him and started lathering his own chest.

  “Scrub those soap suds away,” Lars instructed, running the soap over his head and along his arms. When he’d finished, he took the soap to the bank and left it sitting next to the towels then rinsed off. He let Noah splash and play in the water for a while, teaching him how to find a reed and use it to breathe through underwater.

  Deciding it was time to get back to the cabin, he picked Noah up and tossed him into the water, eliciting a happy laugh that made him smile.

  “We better get back and check on your sister.” Lars walked to the bank and picked up a towel, briskly drying himself. When Noah joined him, he handed him a towel and tried not to grin as the boy mimicked his every move.

  Pulling on his drawers and socks, he glanced down when Noah seemed fixated on his left leg.

  “How’d you get that?” Noah pointed to a scar on his thigh.

  He’d been with the U.S. Marshals just a few weeks when he went to help disband a group of rowdy men. Things got out of hand and an explosion went off, blowing a hole in the side of a building, sending wood and metal debris flying every direction.

  Fortunately, only three people sustained serious injury and Lars just happened to be one of them. A piece of metal impaled his thigh. It took two doctors and twenty-nine stitches to repair the damage.

  Lars always felt blessed his injury wasn’t worse, because it certainly could have been.

  “A piece of metal went into my leg.”

  Noah’s eyes grew as wide as a teacup saucer and he stepped closer since the scar was close to his line of sight. “I bet that hurt.”

  “It sure did.” Lars recalled the weeks of exercises he endured to regain full use of his leg. The experience wasn’t one he cared to repeat. Yanking on his denims and tugging on his boots, he watched as Noah finished pulling on his britches. Buckling on his gun belt, he gathered up the towels and soap in one hand then
scooped up Noah with his other.

  The boy giggled and threw his arms around Lars’ neck, giving him a squeeze. Lars jogged across the road and back to the house where he set down the boy and cautioned him to be quiet.

  Picking up the shirt he discarded earlier, he slipped his arms in the sleeves and buttoned it before going to the bedroom and quietly opening the door.

  Sadie appeared to be resting peacefully. No longer curled on her side, she had one arm crooked above her head and the other tucked beneath the covers.

  Stepping quietly across the floor, Lars stared down at the child.

  When she was awake, she seemed so much older than her eight tender years. She carried the burden of trying to be both a mother and father to Noah while keeping up with the daily chores an adult should tend to around the house.

  Lost in slumber, she looked sweet and innocent. The ever-present worry line across her forehead disappeared and instead of a sad frown, her lips rested in a near-smile.

  Lightly brushing the hair away from her face, Lars felt an ache in the region of his heart and knew he’d already allowed himself to care for the two Webster children far more than was wise.

  Quietly backing out of the room, he made supper for himself and Noah then spooned a cup of broth down Sadie from some bouillon tablets he’d found in the cupboard. Once he had the two children settled in for the night, Lars sat at the table nursing a cup of tea. There wasn’t a speck of coffee to be found in the house and the tea might have been left from when Mrs. Webster was alive for as bad as it tasted, but Lars needed something to do until he was sure the kids were fast asleep.

  Lighting a lantern, he took out a journal he kept in his saddlebag and added notes about Chad Webster’s description, the date, and what he’d found at the Webster place. Storing it back in his saddlebag, he munched on a few of the Fig Newtons and waited.

  When he was sure Noah and Sadie were sleeping soundly, he began quietly combing through every inch of the cabin, looking for something that would help him bring down the Bowman Gang.

  He discovered a wedding photo at the bottom of a trunk. Holding it up to the light, the man in the photo bore a strong resemblance to Noah while the woman appeared to be a grown up version of Sadie, except the woman in the photo was full of smiles.