“You don’t seem very eager to go.” Abigail’s brow furrowed. “But someone has to.”
Jacob nodded. “I’ll do it.” He spoke with more assurance than he felt. He had to find a way to get on a horse and be the man she thought he was.
“Then what’s the matter?” She cocked her head, as if trying to understand him.
“Not a thing. I’ll let Frank know I’m going.” He turned to leave the kitchen.
“Wait.” Abigail put dirty dishes into the pan of soapy water. “Don’t disturb him. I’ll tell him when he comes out of the room, and if he doesn’t come out soon, I’ll go in.”
“Okay. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.” Jacob walked outside toward the barn, praying. “Gracious Father, Thou knowest my weaknesses. Please help me.”
Weakness. He should have overcome it already, but work on the ranch hadn’t required him to ride. Open range meant no fencing, so no need to ride out on that account. During the twice-yearly roundup, Frank hired more help, and Jacob always volunteered to man the home front. When he went hunting, he used the excuse that a horse scared away the wildlife. He took the buckboard when he went to town, as there were always supplies to bring back. No one on the ranch knew about his fear. He’d intended it to stay that way, but now…. He kicked a dirt clod.
Blaze stomped as if eager to leave his stall. He was a fast mustang, guaranteed to gallop the ten miles to the next station faster than the others—if Jacob could stay on him. From there he could get a fresh horse and make it the next five miles to town. Just like an Express rider.
Or he could take Abigail’s favorite horse, Flash. No horse was faster than him. A bit spirited, though. How did Frank describe him? High strung?
Across the aisle in another stall, Big Red chawed on hay. Jacob could hitch him to the buckboard. It would be slower going, but at least they’d get there. He wouldn’t have to change horses, wouldn’t have to mount and dismount at all. Big Red was accustomed to pulling the wagon to town and back.
“I need some wisdom here, heavenly Father. Do I take the buckboard or try to ride Blaze?” Jacob bowed his head. “I don’t want this to be about my pride. I gotta do what’s best for Sammy.”
“What’s wrong with Sammy?” Rocky came out of the shadows, a cigarette balanced between his lips.
Jacob gazed upward, through the barn roof, into the evening sky. Really, Father? I ask for wisdom and You send him? He sniffed, then looked at Rocky. “Paiutes attacked this morning and Sammy got shot with an arrow. I patched him up, but he’s still unconscious. We think he needs a doctor.”
Rocky dropped the cigarette and ground it into the dirt with his heel. “Why didn’t you say so sooner? I’ll go. I can be back before my next relay.”
Rocky unlocked Blaze’s stall, bridled him, and mounted up. In a matter of seconds, hoofbeats sounded down the trail.
Jacob leaned against the empty stall. The good news was Rocky would bring back the doctor faster than he ever could. The bad news was Rocky, not himself, would bring back the doctor.
He’d lost a chance to be a hero again to Abigail.
Not that it mattered.
Chapter Five
At the sound of pounding horse hooves, Abigail glanced out the window. Why was Rocky racing away? Her lips pursed into a little pout. She’d looked forward to talking more with him, and now that wouldn’t happen. After a moment’s reflection she realized Jacob had probably sent him because Rocky would be faster. “You are a selfish girl,” she rebuked herself. “Sending the speedier rider is best for Sammy.”
She watched Jacob as he filled the water trough. What would they have done without him? She turned back to washing the dishes and setting the kitchen right. Jacob was a good man. How had she not seen him before? Not even to sketch. He didn’t shout his presence. Not like Rocky. No one could ignore him. She smiled. As she finished sweeping, Uncle Frank entered the room. “How is he?” she asked.
The answer was in her uncle’s eyes, in his slumped shoulders. “Can you sit with him a bit?” He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “I got a few things to do.”
“Of course.” She touched his arm. “Sammy’s going to be fine, but Jacob thinks a doctor should see him, so Rocky is on his way to town.” She paused. “Really, Uncle Frank, he’s going to be fine. You’ll see.” They weren’t idle words. Abigail truly believed them, and she wanted her uncle to believe them, too.
His gaze remained downcast. “You don’t know for sure, Abby. Bad things happen all the time, and you of all people should know that.” He headed toward the door. “Pretending the world isn’t cruel doesn’t make it better.”
Uncle Frank’s words cut into Abigail. She held on to the wooden counter to steady herself. What had he meant, she “of all people”? Because she was an orphan? Because of her limp? Because she was a burden to him? His life had been hard—losing his wife in childbirth, leaving him to care for a newborn with all the other responsibilities he had, working to keep the ranch afloat through drought, Indian raids, diseased cattle.
And he’d been saddled with her for eleven years. She should change that. She wasn’t a child any longer, and now, as an adult, she shouldn’t take advantage of her uncle’s generosity. She had to find a way to get back east where she belonged. She had to quit dreaming about it and just do it.
Abigail put away the broom and went to sit with Sammy. He was barely two years old when she first came to the ranch. From the start she had looked after him, despite her being only six. He hated it now when she laid claim to changing his diapers and bathing him.
Why was it she could remember details about him and not about her parents?
“Sammy, I wish I could see them one more time.” He couldn’t hear her, but her thoughts had turned melancholy and she wanted to talk. “If I had paid more attention maybe I’d remember what my mother looked like. Uncle Frank says he and my father resembled each other, so I can imagine that.”
She gazed at the boy resting on the bed and ran her fingers through his hair, smoothing it down. “I don’t remember the sound of their voices. Uncle Frank talks a little about my father, but he says he met Mother the same day she died. He can’t answer any questions.”
Abigail drew in a deep breath. “Sammy, you’ve got to wake up. You just have to.” Her pulse quickened at the thought he might not. “Come on, Sammy, open your eyes.”
She returned to the bedside chair and picked up her mother’s sketchbook. It was her only connection to her. One day she’d find a way back east and return to the cabin. Her mother’s relatives might be there. They could help her remember.
She began to sketch Sammy, his shape prone on the bed, his hands, his bandaged shoulder. His open eyes. “Sammy!” She jumped up, dropping her book and pencil. “Sammy, you’re awake.” She brushed away a tear.
He tried to sit up, groaned, and closed his eyes.
Abigail swiped another tear, her heart doing cartwheels all the while. “Stay there! Don’t move! I’ll get your father.”
Hampered by her too-short leg, she strode as quickly as she could. “Uncle Frank! Jacob!”
Both men ran toward her. “What’s wrong, Abby?” Her uncle’s voice broke.
“He’s awake! He’s awake!” Her smile stretched her cheeks.
The men raced past her into the house. Overwhelmed, she stood for a moment. “Thank You, God, thank You, thank You, thank You.” She knew all along Sammy would be all right, so why did she feel overcome with relief now?
Abigail made it into the house and stood in the doorway of the bedroom. She had expected joyful chatter, but the room was as somber as a funeral service. Every muscle tensed. “What’s wrong?” she managed to whisper.
Jacob hesitated to respond to Abigail’s question. She’d been happy moments before. He didn’t want her to hear the news from him. Didn’t want the sound of his voice to be what she remembered about this moment.
She pushed past him, sat on the edge of the bed, took Sammy’s hand, and smiled. “You don�
�t know how glad I am that you’re awake. You had us plenty worried.” She paused. Her brow puckered. “Sammy, what’s wrong? Are you in a lot of pain?”
He nodded.
“I can mix up a pain reliever. I’ve got plenty of chili peppers in the garden.” She stood. “What else? There’s something else.”
“I—I can’t see.” Sammy sounded scared, and Jacob sent yet another prayer heavenward.
“What do you mean you can’t see?” Abigail looked from Frank to Jacob and back to Sammy. “Do you need more light? We can light the lamp or open the curtains.”
Jacob put his hand on her shoulder. “It isn’t about the light.”
Frank slumped in the bedside chair and dropped his head into his hands. Abigail sank back onto the bed. She looked at Jacob, her eyes pleading. “We can do something, right? Tell me what to do.”
Jacob wanted to be the hero, but he knew nothing about blindness, not what caused it nor what to do. Finally he said, “We can make him as comfortable as possible.” He drew in a deep breath and blew it out. “But we’ll have to wait for the doctor for anything else.”
The disappointment in her eyes pierced his heart. He left the room, rebuking himself for his emotions. Since when did it matter so much that he be some sort of champion to her? It didn’t matter. He just wanted Sammy to be okay. He went to the garden and picked the chili peppers Abigail would need for the pain-relief salve. He brought them into the kitchen, muttered “welcome” when she thanked him, then headed back outside. He wandered into the barn, then to the corral, then to the bunkhouse. Plenty of work assaulted his eyes, but nothing felt important at the moment. He might as well see if he could add fresh game to the food stores. The animals were more apt to be active now, as the sun set, than in the heat of the day. Besides, maybe away from the ranch he could clear his head.
He despised his selfishness that was concerned about the effect Sammy’s blindness could have on his plans. Would he be trapped at the ranch indefinitely, unable to leave, because Frank needed his help more than ever? That couldn’t be God’s plan. Jacob had dreamed for as long as he could remember of changing the world in the one way that mattered most: preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ. He was willing to give up anything to fulfill that dream—riches, fame, family, a wife. It would be the ultimate hypocrisy to preach love, forgiveness, and mercy and then turn his back on Frank. As soon as God made His plan clear, Jacob needed to be ready to act. If Sammy was able bodied, the ranch could get along without Jacob until Frank hired another hand. There were plenty of drifters that would work a couple months before moving on. But all that changed if Sammy didn’t recover. Then Frank would need someone steady and dependable. Out in the desert, so far from town, men like that were few and far between.
Jacob walked silently, deep in thought, but alert to his surroundings. Paiutes, mountain lions, rattlesnakes, scorpions—all reasons to keep wary. He spotted the gray hare before it smelled him, and chose to kill it with his slingshot rather than announce his presence with gunfire. After dispatching five more rabbits, he hung them on a leather stringer and carried them over his shoulder.
He’d been gone over three hours. Dark descended, but he wasn’t ready to return to the ranch. He opened his Bible, but it wasn’t light enough to read. He sat quietly in God’s presence and prayed. Time stopped, and all that mattered was being with his Creator. The stars scintillated; the moon dazzled; the air smelled cleaner. A passage from Isaiah entered his mind. As he said the words aloud, they transported him beyond himself and coated him with such joy and peace he could not sit still. He raised his arms to the sky. “‘To whom then will ye liken me, or shall I be equal? saith the Holy One. Lift up your eyes on high, and behold who hath created these things, that bringeth out their host by number: he calleth them all by names by the greatness of his might, for that he is strong in power; not one faileth.’”
Jacob didn’t want to return to the ranch, but he couldn’t live in the desert night forever. As he neared the quiet house, he repeated a promise from Romans. “‘And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.’” The assurance that all was well, that the Lord was in control, swept through him. Contentment settled inside like a prairie dog in its burrow.
Chapter Six
After he examined Sammy, Doctor Bickel assured Abigail and Frank that the blindness was temporary, the result of a concussion. The boy must rest, but all would be fine within a few days. He had nothing but praise for how the arrow wound had been treated.
Relief swept through Abigail like a flash flood down a coulee. She grabbed the doctor’s hand. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re very welcome.”
As the doctor gathered his instruments into his bag, Abigail noticed dark circles around his eyes and the slump of his shoulders. “Stay with us tonight, or at least rest before you tackle the long trek back to town.”
When he started to protest, she interrupted. “There’s plenty of room in the bunkhouse. I won’t take no for an answer. Are you hungry?”
“No, a short nap is all I need.”
“Very well.” She turned to her uncle. “You go to bed, too, Uncle Frank. The sun will be up in a few hours.” She took his elbow and ushered him out of the room. He’d been by Sammy’s side almost nonstop. His bloodshot eyes and sagging shoulders betrayed his exhaustion.
Uncle Frank stopped just outside the door. “What if he needs something? He can’t even get a drink of water by himself.”
“I’ll stay with him. And if he wakes up, I’ll be there.” She paused. “Uncle Frank, I love him, too.”
“I know. Okay. But only for a few hours.”
It was the most she’d get from him. She went into the kitchen for a cup of tea, but before it finished brewing, Rocky entered. “Heard you are going to be up a while. Can I keep you company?”
Abigail hesitated. She wanted to talk with him more, but not right now, mostly because she was tired, but also because it wasn’t proper for them to be alone unsupervised. She wanted to say no, but how could she refuse gracefully? “It’s late.”
“Not tired.”
“Um, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“I do.” Rocky flashed her a smile, his eyes lit up. “Be right back.”
After he left, Abigail limped into the bedroom. She hoped he wouldn’t return. It wasn’t proper for him to be in her bedroom, although at the moment it was Sammy’s. Would the sleeping boy qualify as a chaperone?
And what if she had to leave the room? Rocky would see her limp.
Abigail trimmed the lamp then settled herself on the floor facing it and Sammy, her back to the door. After moments passed with no sign of Rocky, she took her sketchbook from her skirt pocket and worked at finishing the drawing she had started before Sammy opened his eyes.
“What’s that?”
“Oh! Goodness! You startled me.”
As Rocky lowered himself to sit beside her, she moved a few inches to keep space between them.
“Who drew this stuff?”
“I did.” She’d never shown her artwork to anyone except Sammy. Not because she was too shy to share, but because she didn’t believe anyone else was interested.
But Rocky was. He wanted to see every picture. She giggled when he took the book from her to more closely examine the sketches.
“Why so many men?”
Her face flushed at his question, but he was right. There were drawings of cowboys, Express riders, and stagecoach passengers, but few women.
To change the subject, she picked up her mother’s book. “These are my mother’s drawings.” She opened the worn leather cover that protected the oft-examined pages. “She liked drawing animals and outdoor scenes.”
Rocky scrutinized the pages as Abigail turned them. She should offer him some sarsaparilla and cookies, but that meant walking into the kitchen. Everything would change once he saw her weakness.
She turned to the
sketch of the log cabin. “This is where I was born—I think. I’m going back someday.”
“Where is it?”
“East somewhere.” Abigail touched the picture. “I know it’s where I belong.” She glanced at him. “I don’t remember it, but when I get there, no one will mind my—er, well, what I mean is, I won’t be a burden.”
“Who says you’re a burden? They’re crazy.”
Should she show him? Get up and walk to the kitchen? No. Not yet. She was enjoying this too much.
He peered intently at the drawing. “I’ve seen this place. Stood on the front porch, in fact.”
The nearer Jacob came to the house, the more eager he grew for news, whatever that news entailed. Surely Rocky had returned by now. He put his rifle in his room and hung the pouch with the rabbits on a hook. He’d tend to them after he checked on Sammy. There was a strange horse in Blaze’s stall. Good. Probably the doctor’s. But he hesitated before entering the house. He didn’t want to disturb anyone at this late hour. Light glowed from Abigail’s bedroom window, where Sammy lay. Perhaps Abigail was up—or the doctor was still there.
Jacob quietly opened the bedroom door a crack. Sammy appeared asleep. Abigail and a man—Rocky—sat side by side, cross-legged on the floor, looking at her book.
Wow. He didn’t expect that. But it was good, wasn’t it, that Abigail had this friend? He closed the door. Did Abigail know what she was doing? A Pony Express rider wouldn’t make much of a husband, being away so much and all. He stopped his train of thought. He wasn’t going to be negative. He wasn’t going to sacrifice his contentment. All things work together for good. Rocky had admirable qualities, too.
The Pony Express Romance Collection Page 3
