Laurel held up her hand. “The only thing I want is for Ada to be able to run around and play without limping.” She glanced again at the girl who was smiling and giggling while the children lavished attention on the mule.
“What you gonna do with him?” Ezekial asked, motioning to Seb.
“I hope to find a home for him,” Laurel replied.
Ezekial and Sarie exchanged a look.
“He ought to be with those like him,” Sarie said.
Laurel understood the meaning behind her words. “I agree but we haven’t found anyone willing.”
“One more ain’t gonna be noticed,” Ezekial said.
“You’d be taking on another mouth to feed,” Creede cut in.
“I knows how to trap rabbits and squirrels. We ain’t gone hungry yet.”
Laurel hadn’t imagined a family this large would want another child. Still, it was the perfect solution for Seb. So why was she reluctant to agree to it? “It’s not our decision to make,” she said. “It’s Seb’s.”
After a moment of startled hesitation, Ezekial and Sarie nodded in agreement.
“Seb,” Laurel called. “Come over here, please.”
The boy relinquished his dominion over Dickens and came to stand by Laurel’s side.
“This is Ezekial and Sarie Wollings,” Laurel said. “They were slaves just like you and they’d like to ask you something.”
Seb nodded shyly.
Sarie knelt down in front of him and took his small hands in hers. “Do you have a ma or pa?”
Seb shook his head.
“Ezekial and me was wonderin’ iffen you’d like us to be your folks. And them other children would be your brothers and sisters.”
Seb shot a yearning glance at the youngsters, but long-honed survival instincts made him cautious. “Why you want me?”
Ezekial hunkered down by Sarie. “Because family takes care of each other and we’d like to take care of you.”
Still the boy wasn’t convinced. “But you don’t need me. You already got them.”
“Love ain’t somethin’ that can be made smaller or taken away. It only gets bigger and bigger.”
Seb tilted his head back to look at Laurel. “That true, Miz Laurel?”
Her throat tightened, but she managed to speak. “That’s right, Seb. Ezekial and Sarie want you to be part of their family.”
His gaze flitted back to the other children and this time there was no mistaking the longing in his eyes. “It’d be nice to have brothers and sisters.”
“They’d like that, too,” Sarie said with a smile. She stood. “What do you say, Seb?”
After a moment, he nodded.
“Children, come and meet your new brother,” Sarie called.
Laurel and Creede were forced back as the four youngsters gathered around Seb. Dickens brayed, diverting Laurel’s attention. An idea blossomed.
“Ezekial, would you like a mule?” she asked.
The big former slave blinked in confusion. “We can’t afford no mule. Hardly nobody got them no more. Most of Mr. Wollings’ was used for eatin’.”
“Would you like that one?”
Laurel couldn’t tell who was more surprised by her offer, Creede or Ezekial.
The ex-slave shook his head firmly. “We ain’t gonna take no charity.”
The color of a man’s skin didn’t matter when it came to pride.
“You’d be doing me a favor,” Laurel said. “I really don’t have any need for him, but I don’t want to sell him to someone just so they can use him for meat. You’d have to promise me you’ll treat him well and not butcher him. That’s my price. Do we have a deal?”
The man’s gaze darted between her and Dickens. “It don’t seem right.”
“It’s my mule and I can name my own price. Besides, it’d be good for Ada to ride until her foot heals. Do you want him or not?” Laurel pressed, afraid she’d change her mind if she didn’t get him to agree quickly.
Ezekial glanced at Sarie, who gave a slight nod. He turned back to Laurel and squared his shoulders. “We’d be right proud to take him, Miz Laurel, and we’ll take good care of him, too.”
Laurel swallowed the lump in her throat. She and Dickens had been through a lot together, but she’d never planned on keeping him. It’s just that she hadn’t expected to feel so miserable when she got rid of him. She forced a smile. “Let me get my things, then he’s all yours.”
Creede went with her to remove her bags from the mule’s packframe. The cat was nowhere in sight. Laurel figured he wasn’t as fond of children as the mule.
“You don’t have to do this,” Creede said in a voice that wouldn’t be overheard.
“Do you want Dickens?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Hell, no.”
His immediate and vehement reply made Laurel chuckle, easing some of her misery.
“But I thought you wanted him,” he said.
If things were different, Laurel probably would’ve kept him. But once she delivered the rest of the messages, she’d have no reason to keep him, and she had no home for the stubborn mule. To divert her melancholy, she asked Creede, “Did I ever tell you how Dickens got his name?”
He shook his head.
“Whenever Dickens was hitched to the ambulance wagon, he was an angel. But the rest of the time, he acted like the devil. The men used to ask him what in dickens got into him. One day somebody just started calling him Dickens and it stuck.” She shrugged. “If I hadn’t taken him after the War, he would’ve been butchered for meat. After he had served so well, I couldn’t let that happen to his ornery hide.”
Shaking his head, Creede set the two bags from Dickens’s back on the ground. “You sure about this?”
No she wasn’t. But she was relieved to give him to someone who would care for him. And Seb would be happy to keep his newfound friend. All in all, it was the best solution, especially since she had no intention of becoming attached to anyone or anything again.
“I wanted to find the right home for him, and I did that.” She dug out her journal and tore out an empty page from the back of the book. With a blunt pencil, she wrote on the paper.
Creede rested his arms on the mule’s back and said in a low tone to Laurel, “They get hungry enough and they might eat Dickens steaks.”
Laurel kept her attention on the paper. “No. Ezekial will keep his word.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Laurel paused and gazed at the former slave, trying to imagine what his life had been like. But just as with Seb, she couldn’t fathom belonging to someone or having everything she did dictated to her. “He’s a free man now and that means more to him than you and I can ever understand. And as a free man, he gave us his word. He’ll keep it.”
Although Creede didn’t appear convinced, Laurel was certain she’d made the right decision. She finished writing then stood in front of the ugly, temperamental mule. She gently clasped his big ears and leaned close.
“You saved a lot of soldiers during the war and now it’s time for you to take it easy.” She rested her forehead against the mule’s. “These folks will treat you well, so you behave for them, you hear me? And watch out for Seb.”
With a quiet sniff, she straightened and led Dickens over to Seb, who stood in the midst of Ezekial and his family. She held out the rope to him, then handed the older man the paper. “He’s yours. And here’s the bill of sale proving you own him.”
Ezekial stood there, looking stunned for a long moment. “Thank you,” he finally said. “We ain’t never gonna be able to repay you.”
“Just take care of Seb and the rest of your family.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He adjusted his makeshift haversack across his wide chest. “None of us is blood-related, leastways, not that we know. But when all of us was set free by Mr. Wollings, we made us our own family.” He gazed at Seb. “And Seb’s just as much kin as the rest of us.”
Laurel was struck by his simple but sincere decla
ration. The defeat of the South had freed them, but their victory was a double-edged sword. There was no work and no food, but now they had the freedom to choose whom to love.
“Godspeed,” the former slave said.
“Godspeed,” Creede echoed.
Laurel hugged Seb but wasn’t surprised he didn’t reciprocate. She hoped he’d get more comfortable with his new family. “Take care of yourself and Dickens,” she whispered to the boy, tears thickening her voice.
“I will, Miz Laurel,” he assured her in a grown-up voice.
Laurel released the boy and stepped back to stand beside Creede, who put an arm around her shoulders. Grateful for his support, she leaned against his side.
Ezekial lifted Ada with her sore foot onto Dickens’s back and let Seb lead the mule up the road.
“They won’t have an easy time of it,” Creede said.
“No, but at least they have each other.”
Creede smiled. “And Dickens.”
As if hearing his name, the mule turned to look back at them one last time. He brayed once, then he, Seb, and their new family disappeared around the bend.
SEVENTEEN
Four days later found Laurel, Creede, and the cat across the Mississippi River traveling through Arkansas. Setting up camp the night before they reached Pine Hill, Laurel fell into their usual routine. Creede took care of the horses while she gathered wood for a fire and started their meal.
Living in such close proximity to Creede continued to play havoc with her emotions. On one hand, she found his company comforting and his concern for her heartwarming. However, those same traits combined with his masculine appeal kept her body pining for his touch.
She thought of the few kisses they’d shared and her face flamed hotter than the cookfire. The nights, which had been difficult because of her nightmares, were doubly so with the attraction that sizzled between them. She’d seen his hungry looks and recognized them for what they were—he wanted her as she wanted him.
“Smells good,” Creede commented.
She glanced up, following his long, lean legs to his trim hips and waist, and higher to a well-proportioned chest hidden by a tan shirt. Although she knew he was at least thirty-five, he appeared younger and more fit than men ten years his junior. The only evidence of the tragedies he’d endured lay in his eyes and the creases in his brow. However, instead of detracting from his appearance, the etched lines only increased her attraction to him.
Flustered, she returned her attention to dishing up their supper, which was a rabbit Creede had shot earlier that afternoon. She gave the cat a small chunk of meat.
“I’m surprised you haven’t named him,” Creede said, motioning to the cat.
Laurel had been on the verge of giving him a name more than once, but each time she’d bitten back the inclination. If she gave the cat a name, it implied she planned on keeping him as a pet and she had no intention of doing so.
Don’t let anyone get close or you won’t survive.
It wasn’t long after Robert’s death that she’d learned that important lesson. Caring meant pain, and caring too much meant too much pain, so she’d buried her feelings so deep that most of the time all she’d felt was numb. Now, with the War over, that numbness was wearing away, leaving an aching pain in her soul.
“Why should I name him? He’ll disappear one day, just like he appeared, and we’ll never see him again.”
Creede eyed her for a minute then shrugged. “He’s your cat.”
She opened her mouth to deny it, but realized she was petting the animal and his purr was soothing her in a way she hadn’t even consciously recognized. Drawing her hand away, she concentrated on her meal and tried to ignore the cat as he butted his head against her arm.
However, when she lay down on her bedroll some time later, she wrapped an arm around the animal and held him close. His purring lulled her to sleep, and although she slept restlessly, his small comforting presence kept her from crying out during her nightmares.
Creede glanced over at Laurel, who rode stirrup to stirrup with him, as had become their habit over the past weeks. Her back was straight and she held the reins in her gloved hands with familiar ease. Her aloof gaze kept him at a distance as effectively as a stone wall between them.
What was going on behind her cool exterior? Even as long as they’d been traveling together, he had yet to figure out her silences. She’d allowed him glimpses of her soul, yet never more than brief insights. Although he respected her privacy, he grew frustrated with trying to determine what motivated Laurel Monteille Covey. Compassion? Honor? Guilt? All of the above … ?
He frowned to himself, knowing he’d never learn what drove Laurel unless she told him. And the chance of that happening was pretty damned small.
Focusing on their peaceful surroundings, Creede listened to the clopping of their horses’ hooves and the occasional swish of a tail. The buzzing insects created a steady background drone and birdsong would occasionally arise from the trees. His head drooped in the sun’s warmth.
A rifle shot broke the tranquility. Creede’s drowsiness snapped under the harsh hammering of his heart. He yanked his reins, drawing Red to an abrupt stop, and listened for a second blast.
Laurel halted, too. Her eyes were wide as she searched the area around them. “That was close. Do you think it was a hunter?”
Creede considered her guess. “Since there was only the one shot, probably.” He sent another probing look around them but didn’t see anything. “Let’s keep moving.”
His senses attuned to every little nuance in the woods, Creede led the way down the narrow road. Even if it was a hunter, that didn’t mean they were out of danger. Laurel’s dun-colored horse could easily be mistaken for a deer. His blood ran cold at the thought of Laurel being hurt.
A quarter of a mile later the sound of something crashing through the brush brought Creede to another stop. Instinct made him draw his revolver.
A person burst out onto the road. It took a moment for Creede to realize it was a boy about fourteen years old. His clothing and hands were covered with blood.
“Help me,” the boy said frantically. “Please, you gotta help.”
“What happened?” Laurel asked.
“My grandda. I-I shot him.” Tears trailed down his cheeks. “I d-didn’t mean to.”
Creede holstered his gun and dismounted. He took hold of the kid’s shaking shoulders. “Tell us what happened.”
He gulped visibly and drew a bloody hand across his face, leaving a red mark behind. “We were huntin’. We ain’t g-got hardly no meat left. I-I saw something and lifted my rifle.” Fresh tears coursed down. “It went off. I k-killed my grandfather.”
“Are you certain he’s dead?” Creede asked, keeping his voice firm to offset the kid’s hysteria.
He blinked and shook his head. “I d-don’t know.”
“Take us to him,” Laurel ordered.
The boy nodded and took off back into the trees and Laurel followed. Swearing under his breath at her impulsiveness, Creede climbed back onto his horse and hurried after them. Branches snatched at him and scratched his arms and face, but he barely noticed them. He caught up to Laurel and stayed close, so close he almost collided with her mare when Jeanie stopped abruptly.
Laurel was off her horse before Creede could settle his own mare. One look at the prone body on the ground told him the boy hadn’t made up the story. Creede jumped down and joined Laurel, who had already opened her saddlebag. She pressed a cloth against the older man’s oozing shoulder wound then took Creede’s hand and placed it on the makeshift bandage.
“Keep pressure on it to stop the bleeding,” she ordered.
He did it without question. Laurel carefully rolled the older man onto his side so she could check his front. She swore softly, using words Creede was surprised she knew.
“The bullet is still inside,” she said.
“Is he goin’ to die?” the boy asked fearfully.
Laurel’s de
termined expression softened. “Not if I can help it. How far away do you live?”
He pointed to the west. “ ’Bout two miles that way.”
“Do you have a wagon?”
He nodded. “But we had to sell our mule.”
Laurel was afraid the wounded man would lose too much blood in the time it took to get him back to their home. “All right.” She forced a smile. “What’s your name?”
“Todd.”
“Okay, Todd, I’m going to have to get the bullet out so I’ll need you to build a fire. Can you do that?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Go on then,” she urged.
With one more look at his grandfather, Todd began to gather twigs and branches.
“He can ride double with me to his place and I can hitch my horse to their wagon,” Creede suggested. “We can get a doctor to get the bullet out.”
“We don’t have enough time.”
The wounded man’s face was pale, almost waxen.
“Can you remove the bullet?” Creede asked.
She kept her gaze averted. “I don’t have a choice. If I don’t get it out he’s going to die. Even if I do, I’m not sure he’ll survive.”
Disturbed for some reason he couldn’t pin down, Creede watched Laurel work. He realized he was getting an idea of what she’d been like working as a nurse. Her sole concentration was on the injured man as she cut away his shirt, while Creede continued to press down on the bandage to stop the bleeding. She spread two blankets on the ground and he helped maneuver the injured man onto them.
Once Todd had a fire going, Laurel had him heat water until it was steaming. She washed her hands and immersed a razor-sharp knife and some cloths in the hot water.
“Todd, I’m going to need you to talk to your grandfather. Even though he’s unconscious, I believe he can still hear you. You need to keep him calm and tell him we’re helping him,” Laurel said.
His young face grave, Todd nodded. He started speaking in a quiet voice to his grandfather, first apologizing for what he’d done then reassuring him he was being taken care of.
“Creede, I’ll need your assistance while I’m looking for the bullet. Just do as I say.” Confidence exuded from her voice and echoed in her actions.
A Reason To Live (The Forrester Brothers) Page 20
