With a sigh, Ant apologized, making sure he gentled his voice. He picked up a comb and positioned the boy to stand with his back to Ant. In spite of his frustration, he worked the comb gently from the ends up, careful not to yank on the snarls.
David stood acquiescent under his ministrations. Only the rigid set of his shoulders betrayed his discomfort.
Should have found time to get him a haircut. Should have gotten one myself.
Ant dipped the comb in the pitcher of water on the washbasin, and then used it to comb the strands back from David’s face, tucking them behind his ears. Then he picked up a long-handled hand mirror, crouched down to David’s level and showed him what he looked like. “You tidy up well.”
David placed his hand over Ant’s, angling the mirror away from him toward his uncle.
Ant could see his own face in the mirror. “Darned if we don’t look alike, Davy boy.” Especially with their hair styled the same way. Goosebumps broke out over his arms, and he rose to his full height, resisting the temptation to brush his hand over David’s head in affection. Wouldn’t want to mess up his handiwork. “Ready as we’ll ever get, huh?” he said in a drawn-out drawl. “How ’bout some food?”
Ant ushered David into the kitchen. Thankfully there wasn’t any sign of Mrs. Murphy, but she’d left out a plate of rolls on the table and scrambled eggs in the cast iron frying pan. They tucked into the food with a good appetite, then washed their hands and headed out the door.
In spite of David’s dawdling, they arrived at the church before most of the congregation. A few people smiled and said hello to both him and David. Ant returned the greetings.
David, of course, said nothing, walking stiffly, pokerfaced.
A few yards away, Widow Murphy stood talking to Mrs. Cobb. He debated walking over to say a polite good morning. Then they put their heads together, ugly bonnets almost touching, and wearing mirror disapproving expressions. Ant decided he didn’t much care to do the polite thing today. When they glanced at him, Ant had to shake off an uneasy feeling. He was an intrepid foreign correspondent. What could those women say that would have any effect on him?
The Carters waved. They approached, but another woman stopped Pamela. The girls waited with her. Ant stood listening to Carter talk about cattle and the price of feed, while their smallest girl, who leaned against her mother’s leg, studied David with solemn blue eyes. Just watching the two children, equally reserved, made Ant suppress a grin.
Mrs. Carter beckoned to her husband. “Time to go inside, my dear.”
They turned as a group and headed into the church.
Inside, plain glass windows let in plenty of light that reflected off the white wood walls. A table in front, covered in a snowy cloth, held candlesticks. Pink roses in a vase stood next to a cross.
Ant placed his hand on David’s shoulder to guide him up the side aisle. The pews had started to fill with people dressed in their church-going best. Ahead, Harriet sat next to the Cobbs, near the center. He’d have known her anywhere, even though she hadn’t turned her head to look at him. She wore a gray dress and the straw hat he’d given her.
David also spotted Harriet and swerved into the pew, then slid next to her.
Harriet’s smile at David lit up her pretty face, causing a tickly feeling in the vicinity of Ant’s heart. Half pleased that David had acted on his own, half-dismayed that he’d chosen the schoolmarm to sit next to, Ant followed his nephew into the pew. He nodded a greeting to the Cobbs and Harriet and took his seat.
Harriet patted David’s knee. “It’s good to see you here, David.” She looked over at him. “You, too, Ant.” She reached up to finger the ribbons of her hat, tied in a bow under her chin.
Ant’s insides warmed, knowing that his gift had brought her pleasure. He didn’t know what to say to her, so he settled on a smile.
Music began to play, a piano and violin duet. Ant recognized the hymn as “Amazing Grace.” It was Elizabeth Sanders playing the piano. Her husband stood next to her, violin tucked under his chin, sharing her music.
The lilting notes filled the plain little church with the presence of God until the interior seemed more majestic than all the cathedrals in Europe. Ant closed his eyes for a minute and allowed the beauty of the music to wash over him, settling peace on his skin that seemed to seep into his body and expand his heart. He followed the familiar words in his head, but realized the “sweet sound” the hymn described meant more to him now than at any other time in his life. He and David had both been lost. Until this moment, Ant hadn’t realized how much. Now that he’d found his nephew, maybe somehow he’d find his way back, too.
To what?
To love. The answer seemed to whisper on the sound of music.
In the hush of appreciation that followed the close of the song, Ant opened his eyes and glanced over at Harriet, hoping to see a similar connection on her countenance. But she was focused on Nick Sanders, and the sight of her expression slapped away his good feelings. Hopefulness tumbled into a pit of despair, and he had to hold in a groan.
What the hell is wrong with me? It’s unlike me to have such flights of fancy—high or low.
He’d spent the years since Isabella’s death suppressing all his emotion. Then, Emily’s murder had ripped him apart, and he’d painstakingly pieced himself back together, more determined than ever to keep his emotions in hand.
But a small schoolmarm with a sweet smile and kind eyes had found a way underneath his armor.
* * *
David sat next to Daniel Rodriguez in the back of a wagon piled with children dressed in their Sunday best, bouncing along the faint dirt road on the way to Daniel’s mother’s ranch. Hay filled the plank bed, cushioning the jolts. Laughter and conversation flowed around him; the bond between the children was obvious to a stranger like him. Although everyone was kind, he couldn’t help feeling awkward—like the outsider he was.
After church, Daniel’s mother had asked Uncle Ant if he could come home with Daniel for a visit. David hadn’t been sure whether to stay with his uncle or go with his new friends. His uncle had decided for him. Still, David planned to hang back and not be any bother, a hard-learned habit.
The older boys—he’d worked out their names—Little Feather, Tim, and Jack, swapped stories of their adventures last night at the dance. He kept staring at the twins, liking the merriment he saw on their thin, freckled faces. He’d never seen two people look so similar, and he couldn’t tell them apart, although Daniel seemed to have no trouble. Nor did pretty Christine Thompson, whom he avoided looking at because being close to a girl made him uncomfortable. Daniel had no trouble with her either. Maybe because she was soon going to be his sister. He wondered what it would be like to have a sister.
Little Feather sat the closest to David on his other side. The Indian boy wore his hair in a long tail. To David’s disappointment he wasn’t wearing beaded leather, but a blue striped shirt, neatly tucked into his pants. The Indian didn’t say much, just watched with solemn black eyes, and mostly let the others do the talking. But, David noticed that when he did say something, everyone else listened.
The only good Indian is a dead Indian. His pa’s words, spoken in his angry voice, crashed into his mind. David had heard them often enough. Good thing his pa wasn’t here. He’d have had a fit about David associating with an Indian. Would have beaten him black and blue and bloody, too. Then shot Little Feather. Probably would have missed though. When he drank, his pa was a bad shot, and since he drank all the time, that meant a lot of wasted bullets and an empty larder.
The thought of food made his stomach growl.
Daniel grinned at him. “Almost home. Before we left, Maria was making a big batch of stew and rolls. And Mrs. Toffels brought pies.” He twisted around, half-kneeling. “Mrs. Toffels,” he hollered to the plump woman sitting beside Daniel’s mother, who sat next Christine’s pa, who was driving. “What kind of pies did you make?”
Daniel’s ma turned around. “Danie
l!” she said in a reproving tone. “There’s no need to yell or talk to Mrs. Toffels’ back. Ask her when we arrive at the ranch.”
Not at all abashed, Daniel turned and dropped back onto the straw. “Bet it’s dried apple and cinnamon.”
David’s stomach growled again.
Daniel elbowed him, not hard, but friendly like. “I’m going to take you to see the Falabellas before we eat. I want you to meet Chico.”
David had heard all about the miniature horses the night of the dance, when the two had sat on a straw bale and talked. Or rather, Daniel had talked out loud, and David had talked in his mind. Seemed to work just fine. Daniel could sure pack a lot of words into a conversation.
His new friend chattered all the way. He rattled off the names and descriptions of each horse, and, by the time the wagon had arrived at the ranch, David was sure he’d be able to pick out each Falabella from David’s description.
Daniel pointed to a twisted rock formation. “Hey, we’re here.” He rose to his knees and scooted around to face forward.
David followed suit, hanging on to the back of the bench seat for balance. Daniel’s white frame house with a porch across the front wasn’t big and grand like the house they’d been to last night. But it was...he searched for the word...homey.
A big barn, a small corral with the twins’ goats—Daniel had told him all about their showdown a few weeks ago with old biddy Murphy—and the big corral with the little horses made a pleasant sight. The wagon drew closer, and he could see the tiny horses up close, some with foals frisking at their sides. In spite of all Daniel’s descriptions, astonishment rose in David. An exclamation of surprise had almost burst out of his throat, but stuck against the lump that had frozen his tongue long ago. But he couldn’t help the wiggle of excitement at the sight of the horses, echoed by Daniel’s bouncing around as he pointed out each one and named them.
As soon as the wagon rolled to a stop and Mr. Thompson helped out the womenfolk, the man walked over to let down the back of the wagon. The boys jumped out.
“Come on,” Daniel yelled, pelting toward the corral, then scrambling over the fence and dropping to the ground.
David followed him.
The horses crowded around Daniel. He patted their heads and repeated their names to David.
Anxious to meet them all, David touched heads and shoulders, brushed his hand over backs and withers. He couldn’t decide which Falabella he liked best.
“We haven’t named the foals, cuz Ma says we can’t keep them. She’s selling them. Carters bought one.” He ticked off the names on his fingers. “Doc Cameron. Christine’s pa, which is good cuz with him marrying my mama, we’ll still have her. Only one left.” He patted a tiny gray foal with a black mane. “This one. Ain’t he—” Daniel glanced around with a guilty expression. “Mama says I’m not allowed to say ain’t. Isn’t he a beauty? Well not beauty because he’s a boy. But…”
David stopped listening. He ran his hand over the tiny foal’s back. Then, disregarding his good clothes, he knelt in the dirt of the corral and put his arms around the Falabella. The little fella butted his head against David’s shoulder, and he tumbled into love. As the feeling swelled in his chest, tears welled in his eyes. He tucked his face into the foal’s neck so no one would see, inhaling the scent of horse.
You belong to me. Or maybe I belong to you. David couldn’t find the words to express the connection, and even if he did, they wouldn’t come out of his mouth. But the little fella understood him; he just knew it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The next morning, mounted on Brown Boy, Harriet turned to look down the trail, checking the train of women and girls riding single file behind her. First on their ponies came the eldest girls, Sara Carter and Christine Thompson, both nine. They called out to each other from time to time, pointing out a bird or a squirrel. Several times, Samantha Rodriguez, riding behind them, had to remind the two to stop talking, face forward, and pay attention to the trail.
Lizzy rode next, followed by Pamela Carter, who watched her youngest daughter with a sharper gaze than the Kestrel winging overhead. The little girl stayed characteristically silent. But she gazed at her surroundings with big expressive eyes.
Everyone wore divided riding skirts, even Lizzy, and rode astride. Blanket rolls behind the saddles contained the donated clothing, and everyone’s saddlebags overflowed with shoes and food.
Satisfied that everyone seemed well, Harriet shifted around, enjoying the beauty about her. Sunlight dappled through the pines. They skirted a small alpine meadow and startled a white-tailed doe and her fawn. The two deer bounded across the grass and disappeared into the trees on the other side.
The trail rounded past a forked stump that Harriet remembered from the previous visit. Not long now. Apprehension churned in her stomach. What if we offend the Swensens? What if they reject our overtures? What if they don’t allow the girls to go to school?
She forced herself to turn away from the pessimistic thoughts, but this time her mind jumped to last night’s unseen encounter with Nick and Elizabeth. At the time, she’d been overcome with shame and fear of being caught inadvertently spying on the couple and hadn’t really had a chance to ponder how she’d felt about what she’d seen.
Harriet visualized Nick and Elizabeth’s embrace...remembered the loving way they’d spoken to each other. She tensed, waiting for the familiar pang to pierce her stomach, the pain that would squeeze her heart. It took a couple of breaths before she realized her stomach didn’t hurt. Nor did her heart.
Her chest expanded. She felt so light, it almost made her dizzy. She wanted to shout, “I’m free!” But that would make her look crazy, so all she did was whisper the words to herself, over and over. Harriet wished she had someone to confide in—to share her feelings of relief. But no one knew her secret, so no one could know of her release.
But I do.
Happiness bubbled up within her. Now if only things work out with the Swensen’s… Finally they rode into the Swensen’s clearing. One of the middle-sized girls was in the yard, saw them and ran into the house, calling for her mother. Harriet noticed the shed had even more animal pelts hanging from the eves. With a qualm, she wondered if the sight would upset sensitive Lizzy. Maybe she won’t notice.
The scene was almost a repeat of the first time, with the girls pouring out of the house followed by Mrs. Swensen, carrying the toddler. This time, however, Inga shouted, “Miss Stanton!” The girl leaped down the stairs and trotted over to Harriet. The other girls echoed their sister, jumping up and down and calling out Harriet’s name.
But when Christine and Sara pulled up next to her, Inga’s blue eyes grew big. She looked up at Harriet, then back at the girls, then past them to the women and Lizzy. “Oh, oh, oh!” She dance-stepped in place in excitement. “Who are you?” She looked back and forth at the two older girls.
Christine pushed her hat back off her face. “I’m Christine Thompson, and that’s Sara Carter.”
Sara took up the introductions, pointing to each person. “That’s my mama and Christine’s almost-mama and my sister Lizzy.”
By this time, Mrs. Swensen had followed Inga to them, and the other girls peeked behind her.
Harriet gave them a reassuring smile. “Mrs. Swensen, I’ve returned as promised. She gestured at Pamela, giving more a more formal introduction than the girls’. “I’d like you to meet Mrs. John Carter—”
“Pamela,” Mrs. Carter interjected.
“Pamela. I told you about her daughter Lizzy.” Harriet waved toward Samantha. “Mrs. Rodriguez, who I’m sure will want you to call her Samantha. Samantha is marrying Christine’s father.”
Christine urged her horse forward a step. “She’s going to be my mama. And I’m going to have four brothers.”
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Swensen said weakly. She rolled her hands in her apron. “I’m Anna.”
Pamela sent the woman a charming smile. “Please forgive us for dropping in on you this way. However
, Miss Stanton told us about your daughters, and I was so eager to have Lizzy make a friend.” She gave her youngest daughter an anxious glance. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get Lizzy off her horse and into the shade. This is the farthest she’s ever ridden.”
The request galvanized Mrs. Swensen into action. “Of course, come onto the porch.” With her free hand, she flapped her apron at one of her daughters in a shooing motion. “Krista, fetch a bucket of cold water from the stream.”
“Yes, Mama.” The girl about Lizzy’s age ran to the house.
Harriet dismounted, grateful that her ankle barely gave her a twinge when she landed on it. She took off the rolled blanket, tied with a leather strap. The rest of them followed suit.
Mrs. Swensen handed the toddler to the second oldest daughter. “Elsabe hold the baby. Inga, help the girls with the horses.”
Inga nodded, and then took Harriet’s reins from her. Pamela handed hers over, and Samantha gave hers to Christine.
Samantha leaned close to Christine. “Bring all the saddlebags with you when you come to the house.”
“Yes, Mama.” She led the horses away.
For a moment, Samantha watched the child. The sun glinted off her red hair, and her face looked luminous. She glanced at Harriet and gave her a happy smile. “It’s been years since I dreamed of having a daughter.”
Harriet couldn’t help a feeling of envy—not that she begrudged Samantha her new life, but that she too wanted love...children.
As Samantha gestured toward Christine, the sapphire and diamonds in her ring sparkled. “She’s the reason for my joy. If she hadn’t fallen off her horse into the stream near my house...gotten sick, her father and I never would have...” her voice caught on the last word.
Harriet took Samantha’s hand, giving her a tug to head her toward the house. “Oh, it would have happened all right. Just taken longer, that’s all.”
Debra Holland Page 15
