Ruth

by Lori Copeland

  Perhaps if they had met under different circumstances …

  But they had met under different circumstances—on the wagon train—and Ruth well recalled the marshall’s arrogance, the endless teasing when she came into his sights. Yet tonight Dylan McCall was nothing like that man. He was soft-spoken, respectful and, yes, humble. She didn’t know how to react to this new man. She was more comfortable with the ornery side of Marshall McCall.

  At any rate, she no longer felt animosity toward him, just empathy—for his wounds, for the fact that he had been saddled with a woman and baby so he couldn’t carry out his duties. But his trials would be over in a few days, God willing, and hers would have just begun.

  “Penny for your thoughts?”

  She glanced up. Could her feelings possibly show on her face? “Oh, they wouldn’t be worth a penny.”

  “They might. Are you worried?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not worried about me, only about you and the baby.”

  “I told you I’d help you find a home for the baby when we reach Sulphur Springs.”

  “I know. It’s just that I feel so overwhelmed by the task. I want the child to have a good home, to be raised by Christian parents. What if we make a mistake and give her to the wrong family?” She glanced at the baby, who dozed beside Dylan. The child needed care and love—most of all love.

  Tonight’s feeding had been an ordeal. Without the goat’s milk, Ruth had been forced to chew the baby’s food for her. The primitive food chain was unpleasant and sickened Ruth, but the child accepted the fare without protest.

  “Tomorrow we’ll find another cow or goat,” Dylan promised. Was he a mind reader? No, he wouldn’t still be with her if he could read her mind.

  “It isn’t that.” She set the roll of bandages and herbs aside and helped him struggle back into his shirt. “I know the baby and I are keeping you from your work.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll wire my boss when we reach Sulphur Springs and explain what happened. There won’t be a problem.”

  “You need to see a doctor before you do anything else.”

  He grinned, buttoning the shirt. “Yes, Mama. And I’d suggest that you send a wire to your cousin Milford so he will be expecting you.”

  She dropped her gaze and grinned. He could be as charming as an old-maid aunt when he wanted. “I might very well do that, smarty.”

  And she would, if she had any inkling of how to contact Milford. Regardless, she had made up her mind that she was no longer going to be a burden to the marshall. When Dylan left Sulphur Springs without her, it would be with her blessing and prayers.

  They turned in for the night. Her bedroll was on the opposite side of the fire, but when she lay down, she met Dylan’s gaze. They looked at each other for a long time. Love stirred inside Ruth; she pushed it down. It was only natural under these circumstances to feel gratitude and yes, even a smidgen of affection for her protector. Dylan had not wanted the job, certainly never asked for it, but he was fulfilling the role admirably. If she was foolishly falling in love with him, it wasn’t his fault.

  The fire burned low. Overhead a cloudy sky stripped the night of any light. Dylan’s eyes closed with fatigue, and he cradled the baby to his chest protectively. Ruth smiled. How she envied that child …

  Rolling to her back, she closed her eyes. Don’t think that way, Ruth. You’re getting soft. She opened her eyes when she heard Dylan singing now—a soft lullaby—Irish, wasn’t it? Ruth had heard the song before but didn’t know where. Perhaps from her father’s lips.

  “Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

  “From glen to glen, and down the mountain side …”

  Melancholy stole over her as she listened to the rich baritone softening the darkness. Her thoughts turned to the only family she knew now: Patience, Mary, Lily, Harper. What were they doing tonight? Was Mary’s asthma worse? Would Mary ever find a man to love her—to adore her the way Jackson cherished Glory? Would any of the women be that blessed?

  The other girls must be worried sick about Ruth, fearing the worst. She’d been gone almost a month and hadn’t written.

  She flipped back to her side, stuffing her fist into her mouth to mute her crying. If she hadn’t been so willful, so stubborn, she would be with them tonight, in a warm bed or sitting at Pastor Siddons’s table, or at Oscar Fleming’s. Should she have married the old prospector? The thought still rendered her numb, but maybe God had intended her to marry Oscar. Oscar would be well past the years of wanting children… . Perhaps Oscar had been God’s way of providing for Ruth, given her barrenness. She didn’t want to cheat any man by marrying him and not being able to give him children. God had set her path, but in her self-centeredness she had failed to be obedient to his will, instead running off to Wyoming to build her life. Now she was paying the consequences of her folly.

  She would never love another man like she loved the marshall. Hard as she tried to put dreams of a family away, sometimes the hope sprang up to strangle her.

  Closing her eyes, she prayed silently. I will do whatever you want, Lord; only you must show me the way. I am truly blind and cannot see which direction to take at this point. I don’t know why I’m here with Marshall McCall and a motherless baby, but I will do my best to find a home for this child and make Marshall McCall’s life a little easier—with your grace.

  For some reason God had appointed her—what?—surrogate mother and marshall caretaker? Seemed an unusual responsibility to be given to her, but she didn’t question the Father’s will. She would function wherever he put her.

  She drifted off to the sound of Dylan’s singing.

  The first ray of light drew Ruth awake and she lay, listening and waiting, reluctant to face what a new day would bring. She could hear the baby cooing as Dylan talked to her. How was it he could relate so well to an infant but triggered her temper so easily? She couldn’t understand that. They could walk together for hours, each seeming to know when the other was tired and needed to rest, always anticipating what the other was thinking. Then Dylan would tease her about marrying Oscar, about her ridiculous decision to follow him, or about her temper, and she would boil over. There was just something about him—

  “Do you intend to lie there all day?”

  Like now.

  “No. But I didn’t fancy rising before sunup.”

  “It’s dawn and we’re burning daylight.”

  She sat up and looked at him, holding the baby. “She needs milk.”

  “And I’m fresh out,” Dylan returned, his blue eyes mocking her.

  “Grump.”

  “Let’s get moving.”

  Sometimes he acted like he was running from her as hard as she was running from Oscar.

  They rode slowly this morning, sparing the mare since it was carrying double. Ruth sat behind Dylan, who held the baby against his good shoulder. She was careful to avoid touching the marshall’s back, to allow the herbs to do their work. Besides, she didn’t want to touch him any more than necessary because … well, just because.

  The baby’s serious dark eyes peered at her over his shoulder, and Ruth wished Dylan would change the baby’s position. Guilt still nagged her over the decision to bring the child. But as soon as she thought of Ulele and Nehemiah, she praised God that she’d had the nerve to fight. Surely when they reached Sulphur Springs, there would be a family eager to take her.

  “Well, well,” Dylan said, startling Ruth out of her reverie. “God does provide.”

  Ruth peered around his shoulder. In the middle of the trail was a cow standing there as if waiting for them to happen along. Ruth could hardly believe her eyes. “Do you think it’s … tame?”

  Dylan’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Tame?”

  “Yes,” she said, stung. “I don’t fancy getting kicked from here to kingdom come.” She’d been lucky; the other cow had been gentle.

  “Guess one of us will have to find out. Should we flip a coin?”

  H
e was teasing her again, laughing at her when she was entirely serious. Well, it was up to him to figure out how to catch this one.

  Ruth slid off the horse. Dylan dismounted, too, and handed her the baby. Then he took the rope from the saddle and uncoiled it, keeping the horse between him and the cow. The object in question continued to stare at them, chewing contentedly. Ruth was astounded. Was it just going to stand there while Dylan roped and milked it? Somehow she didn’t think so. Finally Dylan stepped back into the saddle.

  “What are you doing?” Ruth asked, wondering if he’d changed his mind and decided to ride on. He probably wasn’t eager to reopen the wounds a fourth time—or was it the fifth time by now?

  “I’m going to rope a cow,” he said.

  He urged the horse forward, moving parallel to the cow. He began to gently twirl the rope above his head. Ruth watched curiously. He did seem to know what he was doing. When he was within three or so yards of the cow, Dylan sent the rope flying with a flick of his wrist. The cow stood quietly as the noose settled around its withers and the horse planted its hooves in the sod. For about three seconds the cow and the horse looked at one another, and then the cow decided she’d had enough of the game.

  With a toss of her head, she attempted to rid herself of the rope. She failed. The mare had, at some point, been a good cow pony, because she stood her ground, keeping the rope taut between her and the cow.

  “Good job,” Dylan said, patting the animal’s neck.

  “Now what?” Ruth asked.

  “Now we’re going to see if that cow has some milk for our baby.”

  Our baby. His words hit her like a sandstorm. No. She wouldn’t even entertain the thought. Dylan’s words signified a slip of the tongue—nothing more.

  Dylan got off the horse and cautiously followed the rope toward the cow. He spoke gently. Ruth couldn’t hear the words, but the cow watched him warily. In a few minutes he was able to rub the beast’s nose and apparently convince her that he was harmless. He ran a hand down her side, then knelt gingerly beside her. He tested the udder, then gently squeezed a teat.

  “We have milk,” he announced softly. “Bring me a canteen.”

  Taking a cue from him, Ruth moved slowly and quietly, hoping the baby wouldn’t choose the next few minutes for a screaming fit. Grace was with them. She handed Dylan two canteens and backed away.

  Before long the marshall had filled both containers with milk. When he removed the rope from the cow’s neck, he patted her and thanked her for cooperating.

  “Well, that wasn’t too difficult,” he announced, returning to Ruth. “Let’s have breakfast.”

  The baby drank from the canteen greedily. Dylan offered Ruth the first drink from the second canteen. She’d never drunk milk fresh from the cow before, and the warm taste was different. Not distasteful, but different.

  “You’ve milked a few cows in your life.”

  “Raised on a farm,” he said.

  She wondered where he’d been raised, and how, but it didn’t seem a subject he wanted to open so she left it. There was a lot about Dylan McCall she didn’t know, and it seemed, a lot more he wasn’t willing to share. At least not with her.

  Dylan stood up and stretched. “We’d best move on. I don’t want to take a chance on Nehemiah catching up. He’s crazy enough to try and snatch the baby and shoot us in the process.”

  “You think he’d come after us?” Ruth’s eyes searched the road they traveled.

  “I don’t know what that old man might do,” Dylan replied, a remnant of his former anger still evident in his tone. “And I don’t want to know.”

  At noon they fed the baby from the canteen again. She cooperated and soon dropped off to sleep in Dylan’s arms.

  At midafternoon, when Ruth was about to close her eyes from need of sleep, Dylan’s soft voice woke her. “Well, well, look at this.”

  Ruth peered around his shoulder. A wagon drawn by a team of bays was coming toward them. She could see a heavyset woman at the reins. Dylan halted the mare just off the trail, and the woman stopped the wagon beside them. Four children, ranging in age, Ruth guessed, from around ten to four years, peered up at her. Their faces were smudged, as if they’d eaten candy before their ride, their eyes wide with question as they looked up at Dylan.

  “Afternoon,” Dylan greeted.

  “Mama,” the youngest whined.

  “You hush,” the mother admonished.

  “But, Mama—”

  The woman reached around the three others and thumped the boy on the head. His eyes immediately smarted with tears. Ruth’s heart went out to the child as she wondered what the little boy had wanted.

  “Mama, Davy needs to—”

  “Didn’t I tell you all to shut yore piehole?”

  The youngest child sniffed and swiped his sleeve across his runny nose. The woman turned back to focus on Ruth and Dylan. “What are you two doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  The woman wore a much-washed blue dress with a round collar. A wool cape hung on her shoulders, and she wore a broad-brimmed bonnet. Her face was rosy from the cold air. The children’s clothes looked worn and wrinkled, as if they’d traveled some distance since the morning, and none of them wore a coat that fit properly. Thin arms stuck out of threadbare sleeves, and not one had a coat buttoned up.

  Dylan addressed the woman. “We’re going to Sulphur Springs. I understand it’s not too many more miles.”

  “Just three or four. Just came from there. Heading to my folks’ place,” the woman said. “Marge Donaldson’s my name.”

  “Dylan McCall. This is Ruth.”

  Mrs. Donaldson nodded. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Mama, Davy—”

  The woman elbowed the oldest child back into his seat.

  “Where’d you come from?” another child queried.

  “Joshua, you just sit back there and shut up—”

  Ruth studied the woman’s strong face. She saw a woman worn down from hard work and too many mouths to feed, but she took a chance. “We have a baby who needs a home.” The words slipped out before Ruth could stop them. Surprise crossed the woman’s face.

  “Let’s see him.”

  Dylan glanced at Ruth over his shoulder and then held the sleeping baby up for the woman’s perusal. “It’s a her.”

  Marge frowned. “That’s an Indian baby. Where’d you come by it?”

  “Her—she’s a her, and I rescued her from a burning wagon after an Indian attack,” Ruth explained.

  The woman’s frown turned into a scowl. “The red heathens didn’t take the kid with them?”

  “I don’t believe they knew the child was there,” Ruth said shortly.

  “Well, well. Ain’t that somethin’.” Mrs. Donaldson’s eyes ran over God’s perfect creation like she was inspecting rancid meat. And with just about the same emotion.

  “Mama—”

  “Sharon, I told you to sit down and be quiet!” She smacked the little girl hard and shoved her back into her seat in the corner of the wagon, where one of her brothers quickly moved to shield her.

  Ruth wondered if the children ever wished they could disappear. She’d been raised without parents, along with the other children at the orphanage, except for the time she’d lived with the Norrises. She’d been spared this kind of treatment.

  “So yore lookin’ for a home for the baby?”

  Ruth glanced at Dylan.

  “Well, I’d surely be willin’ to take her. My husband took off a while back and I’m alone, ’cept for th’ kids. Got a homestead not too far from here, cattle to take care of, garden in the summer. Need all th’ help I can get. Not too many people out here, ya know, so I got to raise my own help. ’Course, it’ll be some time before that one can be anything but a burden, but—”

  “Mama, there ain’t—”

  “You sit down, Jacob, and keep yore mouth shut!”

  Taking the baby from Dylan, Ruth drew her protectively to her chest. “Ride on,” s
he whispered to Dylan under her breath.

  “Don’t you have any hands on your place?” Dylan asked.

  “Got one. Once in a while some man hidin’ from th’ law will come through, work for food and a place to sleep. I give him a bunk, and he does a few chores until he up and leaves.” She shrugged. “Generally, they don’t stay long.”

  “Go,” Ruth murmured, giving Dylan a stern look. “Now. She isn’t the one.”

  Clearing his throat, Dylan said kindly, “Well, I think we’ll ride on into Sulphur Springs.”

  The woman seemed unfazed by his dismissal.

  “Suit yourself—”

  “Mama—”

  “Jacob, if I have to tell you young’uns to hush one more time,” the woman threatened, turning to catch the ear of the offending youngster and twisting it until the child yowled.

  Ruth winced.

  Marge looked back. “Say, bet you two could use some grub.”

  “No,” Ruth said, glancing up at Dylan. He wagged an eyebrow.

  Marge Donaldson turned on the wagon seat and yelled at one of the middle kids. “Boy! You hand me up four ta five of those turnips back there. Where’s yore manners?”

  Jacob, his ear fiery red, his eyes brimming with tears an eight-year-old would hate, Ruth guessed, turned and handed the vegetables to his mother.

  “Here. Ain’t much, but it’s somethin’ to fill yore belly.”

  “Thank you,” Dylan said, leaning down to take the vegetables, which he handed to Ruth.

  “You take care now,” Marge advised, then slapped the reins over the rumps of the team.

  “Mama!”

  “You hush!”

  As the wagon rattled down the road, Ruth could still hear the children complaining and Marge Donaldson still advising each to “shut up.”

  “Oh, my,” Ruth breathed, hugging the baby tightly.

  “Wonder why her husband left?” Dylan said, turning to grin at Ruth.

  Ruth stifled a giggle. She felt sorry for the children and wished she could do something to make their lot in life better, but she knew that was impossible. At least she and Dylan hadn’t given her the baby to raise and abuse.