Vestige of Hope

by Sara Blackard

  Hunter walked over to River, who leaned against the corral rail. Hunter scanned the area, searching for anything that seemed out of place. Everything appeared as it should, and he didn’t have the Holy Spirit giving him that sense he always got when things weren’t right.

  “You and I need to have a chat,” Hunter said, leaning up against the fence next to River.

  “About what?” he replied without looking up from where he whittled a twig.

  “You’re lying,” Hunter accused. “You’re lying about their dad, and you’re going to tell me why.”

  River nodded his head and sighed in resignation. “I knew you had the look of someone knowing. Was sure I couldn’t get much by you.” He tossed the twig in the grass and sheathed his knife. He turned so he faced the corral, facing away from the house. “A bear ate Joseph up a fair bit.” River shook his head. “Gruesome seeing him like that. I sure was sorry that Orlando had to be the one to find him. On the other hand, it’s a blessing he was the one who did. Orlando, being trained as good as any doctor east of the Mississippi, better considering he’ll also use the Indian medicines, noticed marks on Joseph’s body that didn’t match up with the bear attack.”

  “Marks? What kind of marks?” Hunter asked, his mind not wanting to know, but needing to understand.

  “Marks like he’d been beat up and tortured,” River answered, shaking his head in disbelief. “From what we could tell, Joseph had knife marks all over his body, but only in places it would’ve hurt, but not killed. That is, except the one in the abdomen that probably killed him.”

  “You noticed this, even after the bear got to him?” Hunter asked in suspicion.

  “I probably wouldn’t have caught it,” River said with regret. “But that Orlando is a mighty smart man. He also happened to come up on the bear and chase him off before the bear or some other animal dragged the body away.”

  Hunter shuddered. Seeing someone blown apart by landmines or RPGs had been bad enough, had given him nightmares for months. He didn’t want to imagine what being some animal’s lunch would look like and hoped he never did. Though, if he was to live here in this time and embrace the life Viola lived in the mountains, he probably would end up finding out.

  “Does Orlando have any ideas who might’ve done it?” Hunter asked, forcing his mind to move from the grim images.

  “He had his suspicions.” River nodded while answering. “And after what you all told me happened here, I have to say I’m inclined to agree with him.”

  “So you think the Sweeneys are behind this?”

  “There’s a good possibility, though in all honesty, I’d put my bet on Linc more than the other two. They probably just went along with him if they were even there.”

  “Yeah, but allowing an innocent man to be tortured and die brutally is as bad as doing the act yourself.” Hunter seethed in anger.

  River nodded his agreement and gazed into the corral at the horses that milled there. His brow furrowed in concern, and he breathed out so long and loud Hunter worried the man might double over in sadness.

  “The Thomases are like family to me. I’ve known them my whole life … they are very special to me,” River said, looking pointedly at Hunter. Hunter knew while the entire family was important to River, Viola held a special distinction to him. “You need to keep a sharp eye out while I go scout around. I’ll be back no longer than two weeks.”

  “Don’t worry,” Hunter said. “I trained for this sort of thing for the past ten years. I won’t let anything happen to them.”

  “I’ll be praying for you,” River promised. “And I’ll be praying for the Sweeneys. God still has time to soften their hearts to Him. Let’s pray they embrace it before it’s too late.”

  “Pray that I can keep Beatrice from doing anything rash while you’re at it. I have a feeling she might not like my plan to hunker down and wait for reinforcements.”

  Both men chuckled a sorrowful laugh. Hunter knew River agreeing to help had everything to do with Viola. Hunter understood their temporary collaboration would end the instant Viola was safe. He planned to take every opportunity he could while River was gone to convince Viola that Hunter was the man for her. He figured it was probably an unfair advantage, but Hunter needed every advantage he could get if he wanted to compete with the lifelong history River and Viola had.

  Chapter 16

  Viola sat back on her heels and ran her arm across the sweat racing down her face. Summers in the high country of the Rockies were short, but they sometimes got scorching. Today was a scorcher. There was no wind to rustle the meadow hay that was quickly stretching to the sky. No clouds to block the punishing sun, simply the clear, light blue sky that reminded her of robin eggs.

  She thought about her conversation with River earlier that morning before he left to find the Sweeneys. He’d kissed the back of her hand softly, causing a faint fluttering, like a lonely butterfly flew around her stomach. He told her he’d be back to pick up their conversation of last fall. He’d said he knew the timing was horrible, but that he’d spent the winter thinking about her and the beautiful life they could build together. She knew life with River would be filled with friendship and a familiar comfort when her world suddenly seemed so foreign.

  She watched as Hunter carried another two pails of water from the lake to water the thriving plants. His muscles flexed as he poured the water over the row of potatoes. The tiny flutter that had appeared in her stomach at River’s touch seemed paltry compared to the flock of hummingbirds that raced in her gut every time she looked at Hunter.

  She fanned herself and huffed at her wayward thoughts. How was she to pick? Was the comfort of a lifelong friendship the more reasonable choice, or the excitement of a man she hardly knew? He glanced up and caught her staring. The scoundrel grinned knowingly and winked as a clod of dirt hit her in the arm.

  “Would you quit lollygagging and get to work?” Beatrice said in mock disgust.

  “Sorry Bea,” Viola shrugged as she got back to work.

  “I will give you that he looks mighty nice when those arms of his are working.” Beatrice sighed, fluttering her eyelashes in exaggeration as she watched Hunter pour the next set of buckets.

  Viola gasped and threw a clod of dirt Beatrice’s way.

  Beatrice snickered. “But the longer you waste time looking at him, the more weeding I have to do, and the longer it takes to get the horrid chore done.”

  Viola focused on the weeds popping up in the carrots and yanked with a vengeance. She didn’t blame Beatrice for being cranky. She was used to running out on her own, doing what she wanted, when she wanted. Shoot, Viola was sick of having to constantly look over her shoulder. But until Orlando got back from Denver, and they chased the Sweeneys off, she, Beatrice, and Hunter remained stuck together like peas encased in their pod.

  “We’re almost done with this row. It might be a good idea to stop anyway, with the sun getting so high. It’s not smart to be out in the heat of the day doing this,” Viola answered.

  As she moved down the row, she wondered if they’d ever be back to normal. Could they chase the Sweeneys off or bring them to justice for the death of their father, if they had anything to do with it? It would be next to impossible to prove without witnesses. And who would they take them to? It wasn’t like there was a marshal who wandered around, picking up outlaws. She guessed they could always take the Sweeneys over to Fort Steele and have the army take care of them. That was the closest thing to the law out here in the wilderness.

  But what if the Sweeneys didn’t leave? Would her family remain stuck in this tension of defense forever? Would she ever be able to go to the outhouse without taking a loaded weapon with her? Viola rolled her eyes at her ridiculous thoughts. They lived in the wilderness in the middle of the Rockies, for Pete’s sake. Danger always lurked behind every boulder and mountainside. They would forever have to be vigilant, or they would be dead. Period. And if the mess with the Sweeneys escalated that wariness, she guessed it ma
de for good practice.

  Done chastising herself, she weeded the rest of the row of carrots in record time, the bittersweet scent of new growth and dirt filling the air as she threw the weeds into a basket she’d dump away from the garden. When she got to the end of the row, she pushed her bonnet off the top of her head and lifted her face to the sun. As hot and sweaty as the day made her, she relished the dry warmth that symbolized the coming of new bounty and life.

  Hunter pulled the Colt Navy from his holster in a quick, smooth sweep. Two shots so quick they almost sounded as one rang throughout the valley and across the lake. He slid the revolver back into the holster as he walked to the target on the knoll. He scanned the meadow and the forest, the shadows like old friends of his. The ladies were busy with the garden while he was the sentry, his job of hauling water finished.

  His smile broadened as he stepped up to the target. Two holes, slightly overlapping each other and dead center, marred the surface. Good, he thought, I’m almost good enough.

  Hunter walked back to his shooting point, scanning the area as he went. His gaze skipped over rocks and under trees, skidding past a clump of sagebrush and sliding back to it unconsciously. He stopped and stared at that brush. Something wasn’t right about it. He studied the area around it, always keeping the brush in his peripheral before going back to it. Was the shadow darker under it? Was there a movement that shouldn’t be there? His heart told him something was off, so he stared.

  No movement was evident. No branches quivered. No shadow moved. After several minutes, Hunter took a calming breath and sent up a prayer for protection from what his mind said was out there, despite what his eyes saw. He turned, drew quick and shot three bullets in rapid succession. When he checked the target, it had three holes slightly away from the bullseye. He huffed in frustration.

  A loud animalistic bawl coming from the barn had Hunter spinning, his gun in his hand before he even thought to go for it. Viola and Beatrice both stood from where they were weeding and took off for the barn.

  “It’s Maybelle,” Viola shouted. “She’s calving. Sounds like trouble.”

  Hunter took off in a sprint toward the barn after the girls, wondering if there would ever be a day that didn’t have some kind of problem. Why he ever thought this time period would be less stressful was beyond him. His ankle didn’t even hurt him anymore and his ribs only twinged with discomfort now and then. He pushed himself faster, reaching the barn right after the ladies. He skidded to a halt as a horrendous noise bellowed from the stall.

  Beatrice walked into the stall, circling the cow while murmuring. Viola moved to the back of the barn and pulled items from a cabinet. She set large chains and clamps on the workbench along with rags and a rather wicked-looking knife.

  “Hunter.” Viola snapped him to order. “I need you to sharpen this knife with the whetstone. It needs to be razor sharp.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Hunter responded, barely suppressing the urge to salute.

  “The calf may be coming out the wrong way.” Beatrice called over just loud enough for them to hear. “She’ll need help to get it out.”

  “Hurry, Hunter,” Viola said as she passed him to get to the cow. “We’ll need your strength.”

  As he put an edge on the knife, Viola and Beatrice led Maybelle into the center of the barn where they could get around her more easily. The cow's eyes rolled in pain, and she bellowed every time her body contracted.

  “What can I do to help?” Hunter asked as he came around to the business end of things.

  Beatrice had her hands deep into the cow—checking progreses, Hunter assumed, though on what he hadn’t a clue. Just another thing he was unprepared for. Useless. He wondered for the thousandth time why God sent him to a place he was so out of his element in.

  “The calf’s head is caught, turned backwards against its body,” Beatrice said, the last getting cut off as the cow’s body contracted around her arms. She grimaced and panted under the cow’s horrendous bellows. When it finished, she pulled her arms out, wiping them on the fresh hay Viola had forked onto the floor before moving the cow.

  “I can’t get enough leverage to push the calf back and straighten its head,” Beatrice explained as she looked at Hunter.

  “So.” Hunter gulped, trying not to have his sudden nervousness show. “I’m going in?”

  “Yep,” Beatrice replied curtly. “You’re going in.”

  Viola placed her palm on his shoulder. Hunter wasn’t sure if it was in encouragement or comfort, which proved he hadn’t hidden his uselessness well enough. He glanced at her and nodded confidently.

  “Tell me what to do,” he said.

  “Roll up your sleeves, and come on over here.” Beatrice waved with her still bloody arms.

  He did as she asked, then walked over to where Beatrice stood and took a deep breath. He’d trained in every situation possible, except this one. However, that little tidbit of insight would not keep him from action. His training was the reason he’d succeed and adapt at anything, even helping a hurting cow birth its calf.

  “Get your arm in there and push the baby back up the birth canal,” Beatrice explained as sweat burst forth from his forehead. “Hopefully, the calf’s head will straighten on its own, otherwise we will have to straighten it. After the next contraction, I want you to get your hand in there. You must push as even as possible and may need to use both hands. You won’t be able to push during contractions, but we need to prevent the calf from descending any further if we can.”

  Hunter nodded, knowing anything he said wouldn’t help the situation, and honestly, he wasn’t sure his voice wouldn’t crack, which made keeping his trap shut an imperative. He watched as the cow’s entire body contracted. He placed his hand on its rump to get the cow used to him. When the contraction was over, he took a quick, fortifying breath and plunged in. Hunter reached up the calf’s feet and found the neck. He cringed when he touched the calf’s head as it twisted back. He placed his hand on the shoulder and pushed the calf back with a slow, steady pressure.

  Just as he’d gotten the calf on a slow and steady move, his arm became squeezed in a vice. The pressure pushed his arm up against the calf’s body, so intense he didn’t know how Beatrice hadn’t cried out. He hoped he didn’t. Sweat streamed into his eyes, his entire body tensing in response to the pain. He wiped his forehead onto his shoulder as the contraction let up.

  He began pushing again. Inch by inch, the calf moved the opposite way of its freedom. After two more intense contractions, Beatrice reached her hand in with his. Her hand slid up his arm and circled over the calf’s head.

  “I think there’s enough room that I can attempt to turn the head. I don’t think it will do it on its own, and if we wait much longer, we’ll lose them both.”

  Beatrice looked up at him, the green of her eyes deeper with her concern. There was a hesitance in her look, but her confidence overpowered it. A contraction wrapped its strength around their arms, squishing and smashing them together. Beatrice gritted her teeth against the pain, which forced Hunter to stifle the moan threatening to escape his lips.

  “Okay,” Beatrice said. “When this is done, I’m going to turn the head. Keep the body pushed back and be ready. I may need you to help me.”

  When the contraction let up pressure, Beatrice began turning the head. As she worked within the cow, her other hand slid up to grip the calf’s head. She pulled hard, her entire body shaking with strain up against his.

  “You got this, Beatrice,” Hunter whispered.

  The poor cow screamed in an even more terrifying sound that sent shivers up and down his body. He felt intense sorrow for all females everywhere, no matter the species. He glanced at Viola, where she was busy at the cow’s head, whispering calming words and keeping her from laying down. Hunter shuddered at the idea of Viola giving birth in this wilderness, far from a hospital. Far from any help at all. He shivered again in fear.

  A sudden excess of space and Beatrices sigh of relief had
Hunter’s attention back on the business at hand.

  “Bring your hand out,” Beatrice said. “I’ll hold on to the hooves and pull it out on the next contraction.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to do that?” Hunter asked as he moved his hand out with a sickening slurp of fluid.

  “Nah,” Beatrice replied. “Both my hands are already in here. It shouldn’t be difficult now.”

  As Hunter wiped his arm on the hay, Beatrice braced herself and pulled. With a sudden gush, the calf slid out, landing right on Beatrice’s lap. Maybelle sagged to her knees in relief, lying down in the hay.

  Viola rushed over with rags and rubbed the calf’s face, whispering, “Come on, sweetheart. Breathe.”

  Beatrice vigorously rubbed its body, while Viola rubbed its face. Hunter kneeled down into the hay beside Viola. Lord, please help this little one.

  Hunter felt slightly ridiculous praying for a calf, but he realized this was his life now. It was more grounded in the world around him than he ever imagined life could be. His muscles ached from pushing the calf, like they did every night when he fell into bed, exhausted from surviving another day in this wilderness, but he slept with more satisfaction that he ever had. He didn’t miss the conveniences of the future all that much, though he would figure out a way to bring indoor plumbing into the cabin. The outhouse in the middle of winter was not something he was looking forward to.

  The calf bawled loudly, and everyone chuckled in response. Hunter peered down at his filthy clothes and grimaced.

  “It’s a good thing you made me a spare set of clothes, Viola,” Hunter said. “Otherwise I’d be wandering around in my skivvies until these got washed.”

  Beatrice snorted as she wiped her hands on the hay. “That’d be an intimidating scene, you with your holster strapped over your underthings. Might just scare the Sweeneys away for good.”