by Linda Ford
She shuddered then faced him. “I can’t thank you enough.”
Did he hear her wrong?
“For what?” He could think of nothing.
“For stopping in time.”
“Don’t thank me. I didn’t see her. Thank the horse.”
She went to Pat, hesitated a good eighteen inches from the animal and wrung her hands.
Tanner’s thoughts stuttered. She was afraid of the horse. How had she hoped to ever get the crop seeded on her own?
She remained an arm’s length from Pat and patted his neck gingerly. “Thank you. You’re a good old horse.”
Tanner grinned. “I’m not sure he knows what all the fuss is about.”
“Sure he does.” She studied Tanner.
Now she’d scold him for hugging the little girl. The little white girl.
“I don’t know how to say this,” she began.
He stiffened, preparing for the words that he shouldn’t care about anymore, but even after all these years they would sting. They always did.
“Janie adores you. She was heartbroken when you left last night. I don’t care to see her hurt.”
Those were the words she found difficult to speak? They were like honey to him. “I don’t care to see her hurt, either. I promised her I would say hello and goodbye from now on. If it’s okay with you?”
“I think she would like that.”
In the awkward silence that ensued, their eyes darted to the half-worked field. Then to the mountains to the west and the clouds scuttling across the sky.
When he finally brought his gaze to hers, his heart gave a peculiar leap at what he saw...or rather, what he thought he saw. Or perhaps wished he saw. She looked at him as if he was a man and she a woman. Nothing less. Nothing more.
He wiped his handkerchief across his face and pulled his thoughts back into order.
“I thank you for being so gentle and understanding with Janie.” Susanne smiled and it went clear to the far, cold corners of his heart and warmed them.
This had to end. He could not let his thoughts run wild, like unbroken horses. If he hoped to be able to control those untamed animals, he must first learn to control his thoughts. She was smiling only because she was grateful Janie was unhurt. There was nothing more to it.
“I would never intentionally hurt her,” he said. “Or any of the children.” Or you.
“I hope not. Now I’ll leave you to finish my field. I know you’re anxious to get it done so you can work with your horses.”
She walked back across the field and into the house. He grabbed the reins and returned to plowing—a job that left him far too much time to think.
Susanne had said nothing about Tanner touching Janie. Quite the opposite. She seemed grateful for his kindness to the child.
He looked at the back of his hand. Looked at the skin on his arms where the sleeves were rolled up. He didn’t have a mirror but he didn’t need one. He was dark skinned with black hair and black eyes. Ma had always called him a handsome little man. Maisie had often patted his back and told him he was handsome. But apart from those two—and they were supposed to think he was a decent fellow—the only comments he ever got were quite different.
How would Susanne respond if he told her the things he’d been called, the things he’d overheard? He wasn’t about to say anything, so he’d never know. Besides, he had no intention of inviting frank comments from her. Yes, she’d said it was his actions that mattered, not his skin color. Did she really mean it? Had sparing Janie been action enough?
He scoffed. If anyone deserved credit for that, it was Pat.
He rolled his shoulders back and forth and forced his thoughts to dwell on the horses in the corrals. He’d get the crop planted as quickly as possible, then he’d devote his time to working with the animals. He measured how much he had accomplished against how much remained. It would take him most of a week to finish plowing and most of another to plant the crop. Whoever had suggested that farming was for weaklings? It was downright hard work.
It would be some time before he could get at the horses, though giving them a spell to settle down wasn’t a bad idea.
Judging the time by the position of the sun in the clear blue sky, he stopped at noon and took Pat in for water and a rest. Tanner ducked his head under the stream of cold water from the pump and shook his head. He straightened, opened his eyes and stared into a pair of blue eyes.
Susanne stood before him.
“Hot and dusty,” he said, as if she couldn’t figure that out for herself.
“It’s dinner time. I made you a meal.” She handed him a plate with biscuits and a bowl of soup. The smell brought a flood of saliva to his mouth. Maisie had sent him with a package of food but he was hungry enough to eat both, and a third if someone offered it.
“Thanks.” He backed into the shade of the barn.
She didn’t move.
He tried to think if he’d forgotten something. But nothing came to mind. He wished she’d either speak her mind or leave, because he was about hungry enough to eat his own arm.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Shook her head. “Enjoy your meal.” She fled to the house.
He downed three biscuits with butter and jam as he watched her go. He ate every crumb and spoonful of what she’d brought and all four sandwiches Maisie had sent, then leaned his head back against the barn wall.
What had she wanted to say and didn’t? Perhaps he didn’t want to know and should be grateful she hadn’t spoken.
Except he wasn’t. Some demanding part of him wanted to know what she really thought of him even though he knew it might tear his heart to shreds.
What did Maisie say on occasion? Better to know the truth than believe a lie.
The only lie he had ever believed was to think Jenny saw past his mixed blood. He drank another dipper full of cold water and stared toward the field.
Seems he knew the truth but didn’t quite accept it. In the deepest pit of his stomach there lay a faint hope that someone outside his family would see him for who he was.
Who was he? He tried to shake off the question. Who he was in his thoughts and who other people judged him to be were separated by a bottomless gully.
It would be as easy to stop the earth from turning as to cross that chasm.
* * *
“Auntie Susanne, are you done?” Liz’s words jerked Susanne from her thoughts.
“Just about.” She washed the last pot and handed it to Liz to dry, but she couldn’t stop the question that echoed in her mind. Why had she taken a meal out to Tanner? Certainly it was the hospitable thing to do, but hadn’t she intended to ignore him as he worked on the farm?
When he’d rescued Janie, she’d been so overcome with gratitude she almost hugged him. Now, wouldn’t that have given him the wrong idea of what to expect in the way of gratitude? Taking him biscuits and soup seemed far safer.
But seeing him lift his head from the water trough, droplets shimmering on his black hair, muddy streaks brushing the sides of his face, had unsettled her. What was there about him that affected her so?
She silently scoffed. She was only feeling gratitude at his rescue of Janie and at the promise of getting the crop in.
Shaking off thoughts of Tanner, she focused on her chores. With instructions to stay away from the horse pen, she sent the children to play. Then she turned her attention to the flower beds along the front of the house. Last year they had been a riot of color and she hoped for the same this year, but it wouldn’t happen if the weeds choked out the flowers.
The afternoon passed, the heat intensified. She finished weeding and went to the well to wash and get a cold drink. Her gaze sought Tanner in the field. He must be parched by now.
“Come on, children. We’re going to take Tanner some
water.” They needed no second invitation and left the fence, heading immediately for the field. “Wait for me,” she said, filling a bucket with water and taking along a dipper.
They went to the field and waited for him to reach the end.
He dropped the reins and joined them. “Water. I’ve been dreaming of a cold drink for half an hour.”
“You could always stop and get one.” Or she could take him water. That seemed an even better idea. It would get the crop in more quickly. She’d bake cookies and tomorrow bring him a snack as well as a drink. It was the least she could do.
“I’ll stop soon. Pat’s put in a long day. He needs to rest.”
“The day’s been just as long for you.” She wanted to say so much more. The children played a ways off so she felt she could talk freely. “I appreciate your help but I don’t want you to do more than is fair. This seems like a lot of work in return for using the corrals.” She sought words to explain herself better. “I don’t want to take advantage of your offer.”
He drank another dipper of water and lifted his hat to pour water over his hair. He shook his head, sending a shower over them both.
She wiped a drop from her eye, her gaze following the droplets of water on his cheeks even though she warned herself to look elsewhere.
He adjusted his hat on his head, the feather in the hatband a cocky flag.
“Susanne, I suggested this arrangement and I am happy with it if you are.” He crossed his arms and waited for her reply.
She fluttered her hands as she tried to find a way to explain her reservations. Why not tell him the real reason?
“Eight years ago, after my parents died, I went to live with my aunt Ada. She never let me forget that I was under obligation to her, and because of that I had to jump to her every order. I felt I meant nothing to her but someone to work. And she worked me hard. I promised myself I would never again be in that position. I’d never be obligated to someone and thus give them the right to own me as though I was some horse they’d purchased.” She waved a nervous hand at Pat. “Truth is, most people treat their horses better. It was only my faith in God and His goodness that saw me through those days.”
“I’m sorry you had that experience. I understand how unfair life can be at times.” He clamped his lips shut as if he regretted his words, then hurried on before she could respond. “But I’m not putting you under any obligation. I’m benefiting from this agreement as much as you are.”
She nodded. She liked what he said, but no words had the power to erase her fears. Nor her caution. There seemed nothing more to say except one thing. “I’m sorry to unburden myself to you.”
“I’m glad you told me.” He touched the brim of his hat and returned to work.
She called to the children to join her as she turned her steps toward the house. They scampered after her except for Janie, who stood looking after Tanner.
Susanne went back, took her hand and led her gently away.
“He promised he’d say goodbye,” Janie said.
“I know.” She hoped he wouldn’t forget.
The afternoon passed and Susanne went to get the milk cow. The rope no longer secured her to the tree but had caught under the water trough, so she hadn’t wandered. She had yet to figure out how to tie her in such a way she wouldn’t get free.
She brought in the milk cow, milked her and then left her in the stall with some oats. She strained the milk. Thank You, God, that there’s milk for the children.
She started to prepare a meal for the children. Again, only potatoes and eggs, but it filled their stomachs. Thank You, God, for the eggs and potatoes. And for the promise of more garden produce.
Throughout dinner, another silent prayer hovered in the background. She didn’t want to give it words but God knew her thoughts. Thank You for Tanner’s help. And help me to keep the books between us balanced.
“Here he comes,” Janie called as they cleaned up after the meal.
“Stay here.” Susanne caught the girl before she could run out the door. “He has to take care of Pat.”
She stopped Frank and Robbie from leaving, too.
“I could help,” Frank protested.
“Maybe you can.” Because it would be good for him to watch or just enjoy the company of a man, she allowed him to go.
Janie dragged a chair to the window so she could see. Robbie climbed up and shared the chair.
Susanne had no need to look out the window to know Tanner’s every move, because Janie kept her informed.
“Pat is drinking lots. Tanner is taking that thing off his neck.” Janie leaned her elbows on the window ledge. “He went into the barn. Frank did, too.”
Robbie jumped down and began rolling a marble back and forth across the table.
“I can’t see them now.” Janie’s voice wobbled. “What are they doing?”
“They’ll be brushing Pat and feeding him,” Susanne explained.
“How long it’s gonna take?”
“Sweetie, I don’t know.” She imagined Tanner brushing Pat, perhaps giving Frank a brush and the two of them working together. Maybe they’d talk. Frank would talk about his pa. They’d give Pat oats and put away the harness.
Then what? Seems that should be done by now, but they didn’t come out.
“Are they still there?” Janie fretted. “Maybe they left.”
“You would have seen them.”
“Can I go look?”
“You can wait a bit longer.”
A soft keening sound came from the child and Susanne clenched her muscles. It was the same sound the child had made after her mama died. She’d barely stopped making it when Jim died and it started again. Susanne well remembered the lost feeling causing her niece’s distress.
How often had she asked how her parents could die and leave her, and why Jim didn’t take her with him? But he was married with two children at the time and looking for a place where he could start farming.
Susanne went to Janie and wrapped her arms about the child. “I’ll stay here and help you watch. I’ll make sure he says goodbye like he promised.”
Janie pressed her head to Susanne’s shoulder, but her eyes never left the window. Liz and Robbie joined them at the window, both seeming as anxious and tense as Janie. Susanne wanted to warn them that Tanner was not going to become a permanent part of their lives. She was about to reassure them of God’s continuing presence when Frank stepped out of the barn.
Janie jerked away from Susanne and pressed to the window glass.
Tanner came out, leading his saddled horse.
“He’s gonna leave,” Janie wailed.
“He’s only leading his horse.” Please, please, please don’t forget one uncertain little girl.
Tanner and Frank crossed the yard. Tanner handed Frank the reins and continued alone toward the house.
Janie was off the chair and running out to meet him while he was still five feet away.
He squatted to the child’s level. “I’ve come to say goodbye.”
She flung herself at him, almost unbalancing him. “I thought you’d forget.”
His eyes found Susanne’s over the little girl’s head. She knew she wasn’t mistaken in seeing a world of sorrow in them and recalled his words about life being unfair. His own ma had died, so he understood the loss of a parent. But his loss was in the distant past while Janie’s was recent and raw. Please remember how insecure she is right now.
He held Janie. She held him. After a bit he said, “I thought this was goodbye.”
“You coming back tomorrow?” Janie asked.
“Got to. Got horses to tend to. Got a crop to plant and got a little girl to say hi to.”
Janie released him. “Me?”
“You’re the only little girl around here.” H
e patted her head. “I’ll be back.”
The child almost glowed with pleasure at his promise.
He pushed upright, adjusted his askew hat. “Goodbye to you all.” His gaze touched Robbie, then Liz, and both said goodbye.
Then his gaze hit her.
She suddenly felt like Janie and wanted to prevent him from leaving. What a foolish thought. But to a lesser degree she shared Janie’s knowledge and fear of people departing from her life.
“Goodbye,” he said.
“Goodbye.” She forced the word from her mouth.
He touched the brim of his hat, stepped outside and took the reins from Frank. “Goodbye,” he said to the boy. Then he swung into his saddle and rode away.
Silence descended. Lonely, empty silence.
The children stared after him until he disappeared from view. Still they stood staring at the place where they’d last seen him.
Not just the children remained rooted to the moment. Susanne did, as well.
“Will he really come back?” Robbie asked. All the children turned to Susanne for reassurance.
“His horses are here, so I expect he’ll return.”
Their little heads nodded. It wasn’t the answer they needed. They wanted to know he’d come back because of them.
She ached inside. How was she to make them understand that people you cared for could be snatched away in an instant? But they already knew that and yet clung to the hope that this time it would be different. Had she made a huge mistake in agreeing to this arrangement with Tanner?
Her nerves twitched. The children were going to be seriously heartbroken when he left them. What could she do to prevent it?
Chapter Six
Tanner did not slow down or turn around until he was well out of sight of the ranch. Then he pulled up and stared in the direction he’d just come from.
Poor little Janie. Wanting to keep everyone close. He understood the feeling.
His thoughts shifted to Susanne and what she’d told him about life with her aunt Ada. He shook his head. One thing he would never understand in this life was how people could treat others with such disregard. No wonder Susanne didn’t want to accept any charity, or even neighborly help. To her it meant providing the giver a reason to demand repayment.
