Year of Jubilee

by Peggy Trotter

She struggled to a sitting position. Dare she open the door? Her stomach clenched in reply. Is this a trick? She glanced to the table. With the greens and onions, she could make do. But the thought of a raccoon getting her fish repelled her more than she could bear. Yet that man. What if he…? She refused to contemplate.

  She chewed her lip. Finally, her stomach won. She knelt, hoping to snatch the plate—if it were really there. Certainly worth the chance. With the stealth of a Kickapoo, she removed the bar and the door yawned open.

  A platter came into view, and the smell of food filtered to Jubilee’s nostrils. An onslaught of saliva flooded her mouth. Throwing caution to the wind, she pushed the door wide to search for him. Her gaze caught him quick and, like his words, he sat next to the campfire, his eyes on her.

  She swallowed. Why would he give her this food? Enough pondering, grab the fish. After seizing the plate and plopping the platter to the floor, she snatched the leather handle and yanked. Shouldering the wooden bar, she secured the door. She froze and panted. What was he doing? She pressed her ear against the wood, trying to calm her breathing.

  Nary a sound. She looked at her plate. Some of the precious fish had scattered across the dirty floor. Scooping it up, she noticed several strips of bacon and two rolls also graced the tin platter.

  She didn’t take time to ruminate, but hurried to the table to rinse the dirty pieces of fish in the water bucket on the table and jammed them into her mouth. Grabbing an onion to season the fish, she hoped to finish it. Oh, the bacon. When had she last tasted its salty goodness? She ate in a frenzy for a few moments before slowing her pace. Her stomach could only take a few bites at a time. Her plate was still plenty full when she stopped. She was stuffed.

  She dunked the dipper in the bucket and took a long drink of water. Her satisfied stomach caused her to pause and think. Why had this stranger shared his food with her? She glanced toward the door and shrugged one thin shoulder. Right now, she’d exhausted herself. She’d mull the thought later.

  Jubilee picked up the plate and the bucket of water and plodded to the straw mattress in the corner. It only stood two feet from the back door, but Jubilee’s energy was depleted. She set her load next to the bed and lay down. If she woke in the night, she’d try to eat more. She’d need her strength tomorrow. Snuggling under a threadbare quilt, she fell asleep in moments.

  * * *

  Rafe drank his coffee and listened to the coyotes howl in the distance. This farm appeared a lonely place for a man used to family at every step. His gaze shifted to the doorway of the cabin. Did this woman live here, day after day, by herself? How frequently had Colvin come back to actually occupy the house? Considering the state of the farm and the condition of his wife, if that’s who she was, not often.

  He thought over his position. Where he’d bunk was the easiest to plan. The barn, the best building in the area. Who this woman could be, and what to do with her, completely perplexed him. He threw the leftover coffee on the fire. This problem wouldn’t be solved tonight. He’d just as well find a comfortable spot in the barn and hope daylight would answer some of his questions.

  * * *

  Jubilee’s gritty eyes cracked open. Weak morning light washed across the floorboards from the lone window on the far side of the cabin. Her breath formed clouds in front of her face. With reluctance, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up. Last night’s events cut through the fog of her brain. She leaned back against the wall and reached for the plate, which still contained a few bites of fish, bacon and roll.

  For the first time in months, she’d awakened with a feeling of real strength. Shortly after downing the water from the dipper, she realized another need. The outhouse. She glanced around, wishing the chamber pot hadn’t been left outside the back door. Her only option was to leave the sanctuary of the cabin.

  The chill air raised goose bumps across her arms and she rubbed them, her teeth chattering. That man no doubt lingered, but he’d been kind enough to clean and cook the fish. He’d given her some of his food. But he’d grabbed her, just like Colvin. The fingers of her right hand worked a nervous circle in the thin fabric of her skirt. What choice did she have? An incredible need to know if Colvin was really dead rose in her. But, if this information were true, she had nowhere to go. The farm would belong to a stranger.

  She glanced up to the old, rusted shotgun over the fireplace. The thing was useless. The weapon had greeted them when she and Colvin had arrived. It’d never been fired, and she had no bullets. However, this stranger didn’t know that. She hoisted herself from the mattress, pulled one of the table’s benches to the fireplace, and reached for the firearm. The rusted metal was cold to her touch. Even without ammunition, the gun made her appear a little more in control.

  She unbarred and opened the door without a sound. With trepidation, she stuck her head out, glanced around, then crept down the steps one at a time. The frosty air nipped at her skin, and Jubilee shivered. She tried to hold the gun across herself, as if she could raise the barrel at any moment and blow off a varmint’s head. Unfortunately, the heavy thing weighed down her arms. Nonetheless, she arrived at the outhouse without incident.

  On her return journey, her eyes searched for movements. Then, she heard it. A whistle. She gasped and glanced toward the cabin. It was a good ways from safety when he popped around the corner of the house, carrying a rake and a rifle. He spotted her and froze. Jubilee swallowed and raised the gun a bit.

  “Mornin’.” He nodded and continued to saunter to the garden on her left. He began whistling again.

  Jubilee’s arms quivered under the weight of the gun, and a shudder, which had nothing to do with the temperature, snaked down her spine. He propped the rake and the rifle against a tall stump while she sucked in small breaths to calm her pounding heart. He took up the shovel from the very spot where she’d buried it yesterday and began to dig. She narrowed her eyes. His strong, thick arms finished the row without much effort.

  “Help yourself to some bacon left in the pan.” He motioned with the tip of his shovel towards last night’s fire.

  A cast iron skillet sat on another stump nearby. She licked her dry lips. The leftover fish proved more breakfast than she’d become used to, but fresh bacon beckoned. Unfortunately, that salted pork rested fifteen feet from where he stood. He shrugged and walked toward her. She lifted the shotgun. He stopped as he came to the end of the row and began digging. The muzzle drifted down.

  “You live here?” he asked as he dug.

  She juggled her thoughts. Time to find out. Enough of this sneaking around. She needed to know. “Yes.”

  He paused a moment to glance at her. “You know Colvin Stallings?”

  Jubilee watched him dig. “He’s my husband.”

  The digging stopped, and he stood. He was tall, much taller than Colvin. The shoulders on this man were next to frightening. She knew Colvin’s power firsthand, and this man’s larger build put her on edge.

  They evaluated one another for a second or two, and the point of Jubilee’s shotgun inched up. He took a deep breath, pulled the hat from his head, and raked a hand through his blond hair.

  “Ma’am, I don’t know how to tell you this, but Colvin Stallings is dead.”

  “Did you see his body?” The wavering point of the barrel went center on his chest.

  “Ma’am?” His brow lowered and he pressed his hat to his thigh.

  “Did you see him dead?” she persisted and, despite the cool temperature, sweat beaded across her brow.

  His eyes narrowed before he plopped the hat back on his head. “Yes, Ma’am, I did. I stood outside the saloon where he was shot.”

  “Did you see him laid in his box?”

  He shook his head. “No, ma’am, but I attended his funeral.”

  Likely story. She tightened her lips and pressed her cheek to the cold barrel of the gun, focusing him in her sights. “How’d he die?”

  * * *

  Rafe paused and wondered at the coolness
of her questions. It was difficult enough to tell someone their husband had keeled over dead, but should he reveal the truth? He glanced down and kicked at a clod of dirt hanging on the shovel.

  “Ma’am, I have no reason to hide facts. He cheated at cards and Mose Brown shot him clean through.” He paused to gauge her reaction. When she gave none, he continued. “Mose is in jail now, waiting judgment.”

  She stood with that pitiful gun. More than likely the weapon was more hazardous to her than him. Her lack of reaction set him to digging, and he was on his way back to start a new row when she finally spoke.

  “You own this land now?”

  He stopped again and nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  She let out a shuddering breath.

  “I apologize about all this being sprung on you, but Colvin never mentioned a spouse. As a matter of fact, he assured me the place had been empty for six months.”

  Rafe dug the sharp edge of the shovel into the sod with new effort. A wife. Or worse yet, a widow. A very neglected one. Anger roiled inside him. He wished Colvin were alive so he could thump the side of his head with this shovel. Here he’d purchased this land in the middle of nowhere, intending to build a successful farm, recover from humiliation, and avoid female entanglements. Now, he’d inherited a widow.

  With teeth gritted, he tore into the soil. After turning over another three rows, he paused. She still stood there. Fine. He’d tell her the way it had to be.

  “Listen, I’ll be glad to pay your fare anywhere. You just let me know, and I’ll go to town and buy you a stage or a steamer ticket. Shoot, I’ll even buy you a horse if that’s how you wanna go. Colvin had no business doing this to you and, as his cousin, distant though we were, the least I can do is get you home.”

  Rafe had never seen hope slide off of a person’s face quite like it did from hers. Her skin paled and her mouth parted. The small woman’s intense eyes, dark as night, pleaded. For what? For kindness? For understanding? For help? Rafe wasn’t sure. Despite the mixed messages, he recognized the despair in the sag of her body. Uneasiness teemed in his gut.

  She shook her head, her voice a mere whisper. “There’s nowhere.”

  “Surely you’ve got somewhere you can go. Your folks’ house maybe? An aunt or uncle or even a cousin?”

  She glanced away and the shotgun lowered until the barrel stabbed the ground. “I’m an orphan.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Agh, of course. The way his luck ran, what else would she be? Rafe took his frustration out on the ground once more, deftly covering three extra rows before he stopped. An orphan. An orphan. He straightened and stared at her. What must it be like to have no one?

  Rafe shook his head. He had no clue. He’d grown up in a large family with many brothers and sisters, surrounded by aunts, uncles and cousins. For a moment, he put himself in her shoes. Being an orphan would be horrible. He glanced back up. No, not horrible, because she wouldn’t know the difference. How sad. He sighed. What a mess.

  She spun, threw the shotgun to the ground, and took off like a deer toward the woods. He stepped away from the garden and watched her run, barefooted no less, across the field. Good gravy. What now? He tossed the shovel down and strode to the pan of bacon. Another one of her disappearing acts. He was getting nowhere fast. Well, at least food would be waiting when she returned.

  He marched to the back door of the shack and entered. Again, the absence of material things struck him. To his left was a trunk, to his right, the mattress. An old trestle table with two bench seats sat in front of a cold fireplace. Other than the herbs hanging from the ceiling that totaled out the entire cabin’s furniture. No shelves, dry sink, chairs, rockers, cabinets—nothing.

  He bent to retrieve the bucket and tin plate. Outside, he washed them and refilled the container with cool water. He returned to the table where he loaded the platter with bacon.

  For the rest of the day, he threw himself into work. He finished digging the garden and raked the soil out. Next, he repaired the fence, noting the supplies he’d need. Horse, tethered inside the would-be corral, nipped at the fresh grass, eyeing his owner’s busyness. Rafe bent his back in the task of cleaning a stall for the animal before dumping the vile water from the trough and filling it with clean from the hand pump. Every once in a while, he paused and perused the woods.

  The stumps came next, and he turned most of them into firewood, stacked almost past his head, several layers deep against the cabin. After a quick lunch, he assessed the damage of the cabin’s roof and front porch. He added more lumber to his growing list of needed items. On toward dark, back aching, Rafe cleaned the barn. Was the woman gone for good? He grunted as he tossed straw into a pile.

  Well, if she never showed herself again, that would solve his problem. Or would it? He stuck the pitchfork into the ground with a little too much force, strode to the door, and looked out. He sighed and crossed his arms. No. Now, worry for her needled him.

  * * *

  Jubilee arrived at the creek in record time. Her breathing slowed as she stood, hands resting on her hips. She had to think…why couldn’t she think? At last she bent and gathered the fishing line she’d hidden under a log. She tried not to concentrate on being homeless, but moisture rushed to her eyes and her heart ached.

  Finding a bare spot in the soil, she raked with a sharp stick. Soon, she was rewarded with several plump worms. Tears fell to the ground as she snatched them up and wound them around the hooks. She sniffed as she collected the rock with the hook tied at the end of the long piece of an old sweater’s yarn. With all her might, she slung it into the water and repeated the process with the other two.

  Finally, she settled on her favorite log and stared across the creek. Now what? Where to go? To return to the Orphan Society in Philadelphia was out of the question. Her eighteenth birthday had come and gone. And Mrs. Galston had no further affection for her than any other bound-out stray. Besides, the rich widow would be furious at her unexpected departure. She swallowed. No reason to re-live that horrible night.

  Maybe she could return to Philadelphia and throw herself at the mercy of the Society’s board and beg for help. Yet she knew it wouldn’t, in all probability, put her in a better situation. Pastor Sheffield talked about God taking care of folks. Perhaps his preaching had been some big lie. Was it really true? Had she been carried away by his gentle smile and green eyes?

  Yes, she confessed. She’d had a horrible crush on the man, even while his dear wife sat with their three kids on the front pew. She’d adored him and hung on his every word. With a shiver, she took a deep breath. But she’d learned about the Lord, too, and she’d given her heart to Him.

  She sighed. No sense sitting all day and gathering wool. None of these ideas would solve her trouble. Her stomach reminded her lunch approached. She rose and searched for greens and onions, stopping to check her pitiful rabbit trap as she walked. As if any animal were stupid enough to run inside and kick out the stick. Tears moistened her eyes and she rubbed them away. Face it. I can’t even take care of myself.

  Jubilee passed the time with her meager lunch and paced the property, delaying the obvious outcome. Her hopes for a home of her own were shattered. This stranger owned this land, and she had to go.

  * * *

  The dimness in the barn made Rafe call it quits for the night. He wiped his brow with his sleeve, walked to the door, and surveyed the farm. Already the yard looked better. And by the end of the summer, it’d be a different place.

  His eyes darted towards the woods, wondering about Colvin’s widow. His thoughts stopped short. Why, he didn’t even know the woman’s name. His gaze raked the tree line once more. Where was she? She needed to eat. Had she found something? He shook his head in frustration. Here he was taking her on to raise. What a dolt.

  There had to be a solution to fix this situation. It would be cruel to send her away, a woman with no means to support herself. She’d already been abandoned and practically starved to death. He could hire h
er for sundry household duties, but… A hoot owl’s haunting echoes reverberated outside and he paused, clenching the pitchfork handle in his hand. Somehow he had to formulate an agreeable arrangement.

  He exhaled a rush of air and laid aside the pitchfork. A large portion of the barn was finished, so he picked up his rifle. The bacon in his saddlebag would make one more meal. He glanced at the sky. Just enough light left to hunt. And, as much as he hated feeling responsible for the woman, he knew they both had to eat. He saddled Horse and set out to find some game.

  * * *

  Jubilee glanced at the sky as the light turned orange. Hiding wasn’t the answer. Besides, she trembled with hunger. After she checked the fishing lines, she knew there’d be no fish tonight. The air she inhaled chilled her lungs, and she closed her eyes in acceptance. She had no choice but to return to the cabin. Shivers ran down her spine, either from the thought of returning or from the chilly wind that had picked up, or both. Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she set off back across the field.

  As she approached the outhouse, she slowed and became wary. No fire burned near the garden like yesterday. Her eyes scanned the area and spotted a new campfire about thirty paces from the barn. Her skin was numbed by now from the cool air, and her feet raw and frozen. Maybe getting close to the fire wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Could she outrun this big man? Doubtful. Outrunning an inebriated Colvin had been a different matter.

  Reluctantly, she approached the ring of flames. She squinted at his kneeling form lit by the campfire, and he grabbed the rifle and cocked it, aiming in her general direction.

  “Who’s there?” he demanded.

  His tone made her want to flee back to the woods. But she stood her ground and called out, “It’s me.”

  The rifle instantly lowered, and she stepped into the circle of light. He had a tripod set up and a pot, full of something bubbling, caught her eye and her nose. Her stomach growled.

  “Have a seat.” He indicated a bench across from him.

  Jubilee wondered where such a bench had come from, but pushed the thought away as she tentatively sat down. Her eyes shot around the dark landscape, reminding herself that she knew the lay of the land better than he. Surely a dozen hiding spots existed just around the barn.