My Heart Remembers

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  The boy shook his head.

  “If you had the chance to live someplace else, would you take it?”

  Petey blinked several times. “Dave says I owe ’im.”

  Matt’s chest constricted. “I reckon Dave’s got his due from you.” He straightened. “I’m headin’ on to a place called Rocky Crest Ranch. I can’t take you there, but I know of a home in Springfield where you could stay. You want to, I’ll take you to a train station an’ send you there.”

  Petey glanced over his shoulder. “An’ I wouldn’t have to work for Dave no more?”

  “No more.”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Petey nodded, his shaggy blond hair bobbing with the movement. “I’ll go.”

  Matt gently turned Petey toward the lean-to. “Wait for me in there. I’ll get my supplies, and then we’ll head out.” He waited until Petey trotted to the lean-to before heading around the building and through the front door. As promised, Dave had a bundle waiting.

  “I put in salt pork, beans, coffee, cornmeal . . .” The man recited the list and named the cost.

  Matt removed his money purse and plopped the coins into Dave’s waiting hand. Hefting the bag, he clumped to the door, but halfway there he stopped and turned back. “You got coats for boys?” His heart pounded. Would Dave figure out what he was up to?

  “What size?”

  Matt didn’t have any idea. “Need it for a boy about six or seven years old.” He hoped he’d guessed correctly.

  Dave pulled a brown wool coat off of a wooden hanger and held it out. “This do?”

  Matt looked it over. He suspected the coat would be too big for Petey’s slight frame, but bigger would last longer. He nodded. “That’ll do. How much?”

  “Three dollars.”

  Three dollars was about half of what Matt had left in his purse. He slipped the purse out and unsnapped it. “I’ll take it.”

  Minutes later, astride Russ, Matt doubled back through the alley and reined in beside the lean-to. “Petey?”

  The boy’s blond head poked out. Matt threw him the coat. Eagerly, Petey pulled the coat over his shirt and buttoned it to the collar. He peered up at Matt with wide, trusting eyes.

  Matt leaned down, offering his hand. “Okay, partner, grab on.” With a slight tug, he swung Petey behind him. The boy weighed next to nothing. “Now hold tight,” he advised, and he felt Petey’s arms grip his waist. “C’mon, Russ, let’s go.”

  Riding over the hard-packed road leading away from St. Louis, Matt was very aware of the small boy snuggled against his back. The child had to be cold and—as the afternoon wore on—tired, but he never complained. He didn’t ask questions, either—just slipped his hands into Matt’s pockets, pressed his cheek to Matt’s back, and clung in silence.

  Matt asked himself plenty of questions as he guided Russ across the bleak countryside. What did he think he was doing, sneaking off with a child who didn’t belong with him? Would Dave send the law for him—accuse him of stealing his property, as Jenks had done all those years ago? Would he have enough money to buy a ticket for Petey to get to Springfield when he reached a train station? It’d been a long time since he’d been to Springfield—what if that orphanage he’d told Petey about wasn’t even there anymore?

  Lord, I acted so quick, I didn’t think things through, Matt prayed, breathing in the crisp winter air. But I couldn’t leave him there to be treated bad by Dave. I did the right thing . . . didn’t I? As a young boy, suffering under Jenks’s hand, he’d wished for someone to come along and rescue him. Surely rescuing Petey couldn’t be wrong. Still, he worried about the legalities of his choice. I hope I don’t end up regrettin’ this. . . .

  Behind him, Petey suddenly loosened his grip and slipped sideways.

  “Whoa!” Matt drew up on Russ’s reins with one hand and caught the boy with the other. Craning his neck around, he asked, “You okay?”

  Petey nodded, grinning sheepishly. “Must’ve fallen asleep. Sorry.”

  “No need for apologizin’.” Matt paused, surveying the landscape. A few scrubby trees about a quarter mile off the road would provide shelter for the night. “Sun’s gettin’ heavy. Time for us to be finding us a sleepin’ spot, anyway. You ready for rest?”

  A yawn provided Petey’s answer.

  “All right, then. We’ll stop.” Matt tugged Russ’s reins. “C’mon, big boy.”

  Later, their bellies filled with salt pork, beans, and corn pone, Matt and Petey lay back-to-back beneath Matt’s saddle blanket. Petey faced the campfire. Matt figured the scrawny child needed the warmth more than he did. He blinked into the inky darkness, breathing in the cold air and releasing it in clouds of condensation. Overhead, stars winked blue and white. Russ snorted contentedly from his spot beside the scrub trees, providing a familiar lullaby.

  Petey shifted, his elbow banging Matt between the shoulder blades. Matt scooted forward an inch or two to give the boy more room, but then a small finger tapped his back.

  “Yeah?”

  “Just wanted to say . . .” The child’s voice seemed smaller in the surrounding blackness. “Nobody’s ever been as nice to me as you. Thank you, mister.”

  Matt reached back awkwardly to give the boy’s leg a pat. “You’re welcome, partner. Now sleep, huh? Long way to go tomorrow.”

  Another shuffling and a few bumps let Matt know Petey had rolled over. Silence reigned once more. But the boy’s simple words lifted Matt’s heart. Yeah, I did the right thing.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Shay’s Ford, Missouri

  January, 1903

  Hey, Petey, end of the trail.” Matt urged Russ forward while Petey held tight to Matt’s shoulders and leaned sideways to peer at the town. According to Mr. Harders’ telegram, Shay’s Ford was the closest town of size to Rocky Crest Ranch. Laid out along the Mississippi River, it looked to be well established. Trolley tracks cut down the center of the cobblestone streets, and several buildings were constructed of brick with mortar medallions. The businesses built of clapboard all sported whitewashed fronts with fancy trims in bold, eye-catching colors. Matt liked the look of this town.

  But one thing seemed lacking. A train station. After riding up and down the business district twice, Matt reined in and called to a man on the wooden walkway. “Excuse me, sir?”

  The man’s determined stride halted. “Yes?”

  Matt shifted his hat to the back of his head. “I’m lookin’ for the train—need to buy a ticket to Springfield.”

  The man stepped to the edge of the boardwalk. “Well, you’re looking in the wrong town if you need a train. We send out goods from the docks, so the railroad hasn’t come to Shay’s Ford. The closest train station is at Paynesville, about fifteen miles southwest of here.”

  Matt stifled a groan. Southwest was opposite the direction he needed to go to reach Rocky Crest. And he hoped to be at the ranch before nightfall.

  The man slipped his hands into his jacket pockets and raised his shoulders. “There is a stagecoach that runs once a week, on Friday mornings, to several towns, including Paynesville. You could make use of that.”

  Friday? Matt couldn’t hang around that long. And he couldn’t leave the boy in town without supervision. Plus, he was pretty sure he didn’t have enough funds to cover a stagecoach plus a train ride. He mumbled a thank-you, which the man acknowledged with a tip of his hat before heading into a tall brick building with a square brass plate embedded in the brick bearing the words Logan and Tyler Law Offices.

  Petey tugged at his sleeve. “Mister, I gotta use the outhouse.”

  Matt caught Petey’s arm and lowered him to the ground. He pointed to a white-painted facility at the edge of a park area across the street. “Go ahead. I’ll get directions to the ranch. Reckon I’ll just hafta keep you with me for—” He let the sentence die as Petey zigzagged between passing carriages to the outhouse, heedless of Matt’s worries.

  He slipped out of the saddle and stretched. It felt good to stand after the lon
g days of riding. But his destination was near. A nervous excitement filled his belly as he thought about the ranch ahead: a new start, a new opportunity to settle in. For good this time? In his ride up and down the streets, he’d spotted at least three churches but no saloons. And with no railroad, it was unlikely Jenks would have any need to come to Shay’s Ford.

  Yes, it appeared Matt’s choice to pack up and leave Texas for Missouri would work out after all. Now if he could just figure out how to get Petey to that orphanage in Springfield, his problems would be solved.

  He scowled. Where was that boy? He’d been gone long enough to take care of business. After looping Russ’s reins over the rail in front of the law office, he crossed the street and jogged to the outhouse. He tapped on the door. “Petey?” No response. He tapped a little harder. “You okay in there?”

  When he still got no reply, he peeked in. The outhouse was empty. Frowning, Matt headed back into the park area. Surely the boy hadn’t gotten confused and gone the wrong way when he came out. Cupping his hands beside his mouth, he hollered, “Petey!” He looked right and left, but no tousle-haired boy in a new jacket came running.

  Matt searched for nearly an hour, one eye looking for Petey, the other watching the sun slowly dip closer to the bare tree-tops. Dusk would fall soon, and he needed to reach the ranch while he could still see to travel. With a heavy heart, Matt returned to Russ. Climbing back in the saddle, he looked up and down the street for a sheriff ’s office where he could report a missing child. But then it occurred to him that it would take some fancy footwork to explain how he’d brought Petey to Shay’s Ford in the first place.

  “Lord, where did that child go?”

  Russ pawed the ground, snorting, as if he were concerned, too.

  Matt patted the animal’s neck, contemplating spending the night in a livery and searching again for the boy in the morning.

  At that moment, the same man who had suggested taking a stagecoach to St. Louis stepped out of the lawyers’ building. His gaze landed on Matt, and he strode to the edge of the boardwalk. “Did you decide to remain in town and wait for the stagecoach?” Matt shook his head, sliding down from the saddle once more.

  “No. I don’t have the time to wait. But I got a bigger problem than that now.”

  “Oh?” The man seemed genuinely interested.

  “Yeah.” Matt scratched his whiskery chin. “That little boy I had with me? He was kicked out by his folks, and I wanted to send him to an orphanage in Springfield—that’s why I was asking about the train. But he went to the outhouse over an hour ago and must’ve got lost. I can’t find him now, and I’m needin’ to leave town. Got a job waitin’, but I can’t leave him behind.”

  The man curled his hands over the hitching rail. “Would you say he is accustomed to fending for himself?”

  “I’d say so.” Matt understood Petey. He, too, had been self-sufficient by necessity far too young.

  The man pulled his lips to the side, twitching his mustache. “It grieves me to say it, but Shay’s Ford has its share of street waifs. They come in on the barges and spend their days picking pockets, working on the docks, or selling newspapers or rags to survive.” The man shook his head. “My guess is he’s met up with a pack of our boys and joined their ranks.”

  Matt frowned. He hated to think Petey would just take off without saying good-bye after the help he’d given him. “You really think so?”

  “That’s my best guess.” The man gave the railing a slap. “If you’d like to tell me your name and where you’re staying, I’d be glad to send you a telegram if I spot him. I’m acquainted with a local couple who look out for the street boys. If your little friend has joined the gang, they’ll meet him eventually.”

  “Much obliged.” Matt pulled his purse from his pocket. “Let me pay you for your trouble.”

  The man waved his hand in dismissal. “That isn’t necessary. I’m interested in helping out these street children in whatever way I can.” Removing a small leather book and pencil from his jacket pocket, he said, “Tell me your name and where you’re staying so I can reach you.”

  With a nod, Matt put his purse away. “Name’s Matthew Tucker, an’ I’m headin’ to take a position at the Rocky Crest Ranch.”

  The man’s head shot up. “Rocky Crest? With Gerald Harders?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, I’ll be . . .” The man stepped around the railing and held out his hand. “I’m Jackson Harders. Gerald is my father, so I imagine our paths will cross again whether I locate this boy of yours or not.”

  Matt blew out his breath. “Nice to meet you. An’ thank you again for keepin’ a look out for Petey. I’d hate to see him come to harm.”

  Jackson Harders released a deep sigh. “Unfortunately, harm can come.” He gave Matt’s shoulder a hearty pat. “But I’ll say a prayer for your young friend. God knows where he is right now—even if we don’t.”

  Matt experienced a rush of comfort with Jackson’s words. He was still fairly new at learning to put things into God’s hands, but Jackson reminded him of his need to trust and let go, the way Mr. Smallwood had taught him.

  “I’d best be on my way. I’m expected.” He pulled himself into his saddle. As much as it pained him to leave the boy behind, he felt better knowing Jackson Harders would be watching for him.

  Rocky Crest Ranch

  Matt whacked his hat against his leg and turned from the sign. Although the sun had nearly disappeared, there was enough light to make out the letters formed from molded lengths of iron. But he still wondered if it was some kind of joke. He’d traveled almost one thousand miles to find sheep? He might be better off running with that pack of street urchins in Shay’s Ford!

  Astride Russ’s back, he looked across the graying landscape dotted with woolly critters. Disappointment hit hard. Lord, what’m I doin’ here? How he’d dreamed of that ranch up ahead where he’d have a bunk to sleep in, the company of other humans, the chance to settle in and be home. But he hadn’t counted on sheep. According to Jenks, sheepmen were lower than a snake’s belly. Even gentle Mr. Smallwood had indicated the country would be better off without those woolly baaers.

  At the end of the lane, a big rock house waited. Lights glowed in every window, beckoning to Matt. Yet he sat in the saddle, debating with himself. He’d told Mr. Harders he was reliable, but what he was considering was far from reliable. He wanted to turn tail and head back down that trail all the way to Texas.

  With less’n three dollars in your pocket? He’d also, of course, told Jackson Harders he could send information about Petey to the ranch. Matt groaned. Like it or not, he was stuck.

  “On a sheep ranch,” he blasted, giving his leg another mighty whap with his hat before plopping it on his head. He sighed, watching his breath hang on the evening air. “Come on, Russ.” Russ trotted obediently across the dusty ground, stopping in front of the rambling rock house.

  As Matt swung down from the saddle, one of the wide double doors opened to reveal a big-boned man wearing brown britches and striped suspenders over a tan shirt. The man’s face widened into a welcoming smile. “Good evening. Are you Matthew Tucker?”

  Matt twisted Russ’s reins around the wooden hitching post in front of the porch and gave a nod. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ve been expecting you. I’m Gerald Harders. Welcome to Rocky Crest.”

  Matt clomped across the porch to shake the man’s hand. He forced his lips into a smile he didn’t feel.

  “Come on in here.” Gerald directed Matt to enter the house with a sweep of his broad hand.

  Shrugging out of his jacket, Matt stepped over the threshold.

  The owner closed the door and gave Matt another smile.

  “Follow me.”

  Matt trailed him down a long, paneled hallway that was lit by gas lamps mounted high on the walls on either side. They entered a wood-paneled den, and Matt couldn’t stop the whistle of approval that came from his lips. The rustic exterior of the hous
e offered few clues to the fine interior. He stood for a moment, taking in everything from the huge desk and bookshelves that dominated one corner, to the massive stone fireplace on the opposite wall. An oil painting hung above the carved mantel, a landscape with sheep grazing and a stone house in the background. This house, Matt realized. The family must have been on this land for many years.

  He felt a stab of loneliness as he contemplated the difference between the Harders’ history and his own background. Turning from the fireplace, he spotted Mr. Harders seated in a black leather chair.

  Mr. Harders pointed to the matching sofa that faced his chair. “Have a seat.”

  Matt rounded the sofa and, aware of his dusty clothes, perched on the edge of the thick cushioned seat. He draped his jacket across one knee and held his hat between his widespread knees, meeting the man’s friendly gaze.

  “I’m sorry you had to arrive at night, Mr. Tucker. It’s hard to see the layout of the ranch without the sunshine. But there will be time for that tomorrow.”

  Matt cleared his throat. “Um, Mr. Harders, I have to admit somethin’ here. . . .” He scratched his chin, wishing he’d had a chance to shave and clean up before meeting his new boss. “I was under the impression this was a cattle ranch, but ridin’ in . . .” He let out a short, rueful chuckle. “Well, sir, to be truthful, I’ve never worked sheep before.”

  Mr. Harders leaned back and rested one ankle on the opposite knee. “Now, I don’t want you to worry about those woollies out there. Sheep are pretty easy to care for—a lot easier than cattle, I can tell you! The dogs do most of the work.”

  Matt’s lips twitched. “Then what do you need me for?” He was only half joking.

  Mr. Harders released a guffaw, although Matt sensed it was forced. “Well, I suppose I gave the dogs too much credit. You’ll have a few responsibilities the dogs can’t meet. Shearing happens once a year, lambing never more than twice. Those are busy times, but nothing you can’t learn.” He leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee. “I’ve got three other hands. The best one is Clancy Parks. He’s been with me for twenty-seven years.”