Luke looked Case square in the eye. “You think you can hold him?” he asked in a tone that suggested a hint of doubt. “Esau’s a pretty big fella.”
Case’s eyes widened. “I can do it, Luke,” he answered gravely. “I can hold him.”
Luke paused, as if considering the idea for a moment, then made a show of handing Case the lead. “He’s all yours.”
Case accepted the leather strap with a solemn nod and gripped it tightly with both hands. Esau, unconcerned about the change in command, continued his course at the same lumbering, deliberate pace.
Once they’d reached the spot Luke had marked off for the kitchen garden, he stepped into Esau’s path and the ox stopped.
“I did it!” Case cried. “I rode by myself. Did you see, Luke? Esau stopped, just like I wanted him to.”
Luke bit back a smile. “Fine handling of the animal. If we can get Deborah to come around to the idea, I’ll teach you to ride my horse.”
Case’s eyes looked ready to pop from his head. “Do you mean it? You’d let me ride Horse?”
Luke nodded as he untied the strap from Case’s waist and leaned forward to pick him up. Case wrapped his skinny white arms around Luke’s neck and squeezed hard as Luke lifted him off Esau’s back.
“You’re the greatest, Luke,” Case whispered into his ear. “I’ll bet there’s nothing you can’t do.”
Seems like Luke’d get accustomed to the boy’s hugs, seeing as how he was getting them regularly, but Luke doubted he ever would. There was something so sweet in the spontaneous embraces. They were quick, no more than a second or two, but for those brief moments, Luke felt a part of something he’d been standing outside of his whole life.
Luke lowered Case to the ground, pausing a second for him to stabilize before releasing him. Never still for a minute, Case fluttered around Luke while he attached the old iron plow to Esau’s harness, jabbering about every little thing that flitted into his imaginative mind.
Did Luke hear that rustling under that cluster of weeds? Did Luke think it was a critter or a snake? Did Luke know that Debs hated snakes above everything? Didn’t Luke think that weed had the prettiest leaves?
By the time Luke was ready to plow, Case was drooping. The combination of the excitement from the ride and all the chattering had worn the kid out. Luke had seen the signs before, Case’s already pale little face grew paler still, and his limp was more pronounced.
“Tell you what. Why don’t you sit down over there?” Luke said, pointing to a spot well out of his way, some fifteen feet from where he’d be plowing. “Soon as Esau and I get this ground plowed up, you and I can practice some whittling.”
“Whittling? With a knife?”
Something about the kid’s obvious delight in the smallest things touched Luke’s heart. “Yes, with a knife. But you’ve got to promise to sit still till then—otherwise the deal’s off.”
Case limped as quickly as he could carry his exhausted body and dropped obediently onto the spot Luke indicated. “I’ll be still. I won’t even say a word.”
Luke coughed to cover his laugh. The way he figured it, if the kid didn’t talk, he’d probably explode.
The ground was hard and packed from too little rain. Standing behind the ox and plow, his gloved hands gripping the iron handles, Luke pierced the rock-hard soil with the blade of the plow, and he and Esau began the slow, difficult work of plowing. It was a small plot of land, not more than a tenth of an acre, but it was several hours of arduous labor before he pulled Esau to a halt and looked over the freshly turned earth with satisfaction. True to his word, Case remained silent the entire time. Luke thought he’d fallen asleep he was so still, but a glance over his shoulder indicated the child watched his slow progress with eagle-eyed attention. Luke knew he shouldn’t be surprised. The kid was interested in everything.
Luke pulled his hat off and mopped the sweat from his face with his sleeve. “You ready for some whittling?” he asked as he approached Case.
Case’s head bobbed. “You bet I am.”
Luke was relieved to see the return of some color to Case’s freckled face. He pulled his knife from its sheath on his thigh and sat down beside the boy.
Case’s eyes gleamed as bright as the shining blade. “Are you gonna let me hold it?”
Luke nodded. Case immediately reached for the knife, but Luke held it away.
“Before you use a tool, any tool, you need to understand it. A knife can be a mighty dangerous thing, and a man needs to respect it.”
Case’s eyes were glued to Luke’s face as he absorbed every word.
Luke shifted to pull a flint from his pocket. “First thing we need to do is sharpen the blade.” While he spoke Luke drew the long blade across the flint in slow, measured sweeps. “A sharp blade works best. And it’s safer.”
He carefully placed the knife in Case’s hand and showed him how to hold it. The knife handle was large for Case’s small fingers, but he was so determined, he stretched his fingers around it and satisfied Luke that his grip was steady. After they talked a few more minutes about safety, Luke pulled a short, fat stick from his back pocket, and they set to work.
Deborah balanced the basket of wet laundry on her hip so she could open the back door and step outside. Laundry was not one of her favorite tasks, but at this moment, with the washing behind her, she could reflect on her morning’s work with pleasure. She had only to hang the clothes on the line Luke had strung up for her between several posts and let the sun do the drying.
She heaved a wistful sigh. If only the sun would do the ironing.
From beneath the covered back porch, she could see the rectangle of earth Luke had been plowing up for her kitchen garden. The slight breeze carried on it the pungent scent of freshly turned soil.
The dirt looked fertile, not the dark black earth of Louisiana, but the rich reddish brown she’d come to associate with Texas. She’d brought seeds from home in anticipation of having her own garden. She couldn’t wait to begin harvesting the fresh vegetables. Combined with the few staples she’d need from the general store, she and Case would be pretty much self-sufficient.
She knew getting in a garden would be her number-one priority after she got herself and her brother settled in. However, she’d never dreamed it wouldn’t be her hard labor that brought the garden into being. What a blessing to have Luke to do the backbreaking digging.
Luke a blessing? Deborah could almost laugh at the thought. When she’d first seen him several weeks ago, she’d thought the grim-faced Indian was a demon from hell. And, for a time, her opinion of him went steadily downhill from there.
Slowly, her opinion had begun to change. She wouldn’t go so far as to say she liked Luke, but she had come to respect him. He was clean, hardworking, and reliable. He seemed to know his way around a ranch and had been invaluable in helping her set the place to rights.
He was even good with Case. In spite of his size, he was patient and gentle with her little brother. Not that she appreciated any of his impertinent suggestions on how she should be raising him, but Luke did seem to have a great deal of insight into boys.
And Case adored him. Deborah put down her basket and stepped to the end of the porch to look out toward the place where Case and Luke now sat with their backs to the house. She couldn’t imagine a more unlikely pair than the two of them, a small, frail boy who chattered incessantly and a tall, proud Indian who rarely spoke.
Yet, she marveled, somehow they’d bonded. Since that unfortunate scene in the barnyard when they’d had words over her brother, Luke and Case had become inseparable. Not that Luke had any choice in the matter. Case spent every spare moment at the Indian’s side, dogging his steps like a persistent gnat.
The thought should bother her, but somehow it didn’t. After all, Luke understood clearly her objective to give her brother a normal life and supported her in it.
There had been no more talk of guns or weapons. Luke had obviously seen the error of his ways. Deborah ne
ed not fear that Luke would somehow foist his violent ways onto her brother.
Case’s clear laughter rang out in the quiet of the late morning and brought a grin to her face. Never a morose child, Case had seemed to blossom with his association with Luke. She might as well admit it, Luke was a blessing.
She heard Case laugh and an answering chuckle from Luke. Drawn by the merriment, Deborah left her basket on the porch to join them.
While she’d never master Luke’s skill of silent motion, she congratulated herself that she did come up on them undetected, though if she were honest she’d admit it was probably because her brother’s chatter masked any noise she’d made.
“What are you two doing?” she asked brightly.
Case swiveled around, a long-bladed knife clasped in his hand. “Oh, hi, Debs. I didn’t hear you come up.” He pointed the knife, as an extension of his arm, toward the garden plot. “Luke finished your garden.”
“W—w—what is that?” she squeaked. She wasn’t sure how she was able to speak, as she was certain her heart had ceased to beat.
Case pointed the knife toward her, the vicious-looking blade glinting in the sunlight. “It’s Luke’s knife. Isn’t it great?”
She couldn’t answer. No air would come from her lungs. She couldn’t breathe. She simply stared.
Her brother, rightly interpreting her silence, said, “Don’t worry, Debs. It’s real sharp.”
Dark spots suddenly blurred her vision. She blinked twice to clear them, but they multiplied. Her limbs went from lead to water, and she started to fall.
“Deborah? Debs, are you okay?”
Deborah blinked, trying to focus her strangely blurred vision. Two deeply concerned faces loomed over hers. “What’s going on? Where am I?”
“You fainted, Debs,” Case crowed in awed appreciation as only a young boy could. “You woulda hit the ground, too, if Luke hadn’t caught you. Boy, did he move fast. Scooped you up in mid-fall like you were a feather or something. He carried you into the house and laid you on the bed so you could rest.” Case frowned. “Are you tired, Debs?”
Fainted? For years her mother despaired over the fact Deborah couldn’t fall into a swoon as all gently bred young women did. Now, all of a sudden, she fainted?
Images flooded back to her. Case and Luke laughing. Case wielding a huge, sharp knife. Luke’s huge, sharp knife.
She sat up abruptly, causing the room to spin. She locked her elbows, ignoring the dizziness as she said, “Case, dearest, would you go get started on your lessons? Luke and I have something to discuss.”
Case shrugged. “Okay, if you want me to. Seems like you two always have something to discuss.”
She waited until he’d disappeared around the corner before unloading on Luke. “What were you thinking?” she hissed in a venomous whisper, mindful that her brother was nearby.
Luke looked bewildered.
She was too angry to elaborate, so she repeated, “Just what were you thinking?”
After a long silent moment, Luke’s frown eased, the confusion on his face clearing. “Oh, I get it. It’s about that touching thing, isn’t it? You’re mad because I carried you into the house.”
The only sound she could make sounded amazingly like that of a teapot reaching a boiling point.
Luke apparently took the hissing squeal as affirmation. “I didn’t want to leave you lying in the dirt.” An unexpected grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Besides, I didn’t think I’d be setting too good of an example for the boy by dragging you by the hair.”
He thought this was funny? He instructed her precious brother in the ways of violence, nearly killed her with fright, and then laughed about it?
“Get out,” she growled. When he opened his mouth to protest, she pointed to the door and screamed, “Get out!”
CHAPTER 8
Bible time was Luke’s favorite part of the day. After dinner, when the dishes were cleaned and everyone was washed up, they’d gather in the warmth of the kitchen. Deborah would light the lamp against the growing darkness, then go to the trunk and get out the big black leather-bound book.
Once settled in her chair, her full skirts arranged just so, she’d open the book, flipping the thick yellow-white pages until she found her place, then she’d begin to read. With her fine, strong voice, Deborah had made the stories come alive.
Sometimes she would read of people and places Luke had never heard of, like the Israelites and the Promised Land. Sometimes she would read poetry that made his heart ache, but always she read of a mighty, all-powerful God who loved and protected His people.
For the fleeting minutes of Bible time, the great yawning hole within Luke—the grinding hunger of his spirit—would quiet. Bible time gave him a taste of real peace. He figured that peace would be the thing he missed the most when he left.
Tonight would be his last time to share in Bible time. Deborah had announced over dinner that Luke was to be gone in the morning. Little Case had cried and pleaded till Luke figured there couldn’t be a drop of water left in the boy, but to no avail. Deborah would not be moved.
Luke had to go.
Luke tried to explain what they’d been doing with the knife, tried to tell her a boy needed to learn how to handle a knife to lead a normal life, but she wasn’t having any part of his explanation.
Deborah equated knives with guns and guns with violence and she would tolerate no violence. Seemed she lost her brothers to the violence of war and she was still grieving for them. She figured if guns and knives were prohibited, there’d be no more war. No more senseless killing.
So Luke, with his gun and knife, would be gone in the morning.
He wouldn’t go far. He owed it to Cyrus to look after his kin, and he vowed to do it, even if it meant living up in the hilltop shack and riding patrol. Deborah would never be the wiser.
Luke put the last of the dishes in the tub of soapy water. “Your turn to dry tonight, kid.”
Case limped over, more slowly than usual, to stand beside Luke. “I’m gonna miss you when you’re gone, Luke.”
Luke dried his hand on his pants then mussed the boy’s hair. “I’m sure you are. Who’ll help you wash the dishes?”
The attempt at levity fell flat. Case lifted a mournful face to Luke’s and shook his head. “Oh no. It’s not just the dishes,” he said earnestly. “It’s you I’ll miss. You’re my best friend. I l-like you.”
Luke crouched low to meet Case at eye level. “I like you, too.”
Something wakened Deborah early in the morning. She lay still in the pitch-black room, waiting to hear a repeat of whatever it was that woke her. Nothing. The house was silent.
She relaxed into her pillow, now too wide awake to drop off to sleep. Fact was, she’d slept only fitfully all night.
The whole evening, actually, the whole day had been a disaster, she reflected. One minute she was standing on the back porch, counting Luke as one of her blessings, next minute she was flat on her back, convinced he was a demon from the pit. Now, when she was feeling more rational, she admitted that Luke probably fell somewhere in between the two extremes.
After she’d had some time to cool off, to regroup her scattered thoughts after her scare, she could see that perhaps she’d overreacted. She had observed Luke enough to know he would never do anything to hurt her brother.
Sure, handing a knife with an eight-inch blade to a seven-year-old was sheer idiocy, but from what Case told her when she’d calmed down enough to listen, Luke had exercised extreme caution throughout the entire “lesson.” Furthermore, the intent of learning about knives, according to Case, was not to use it as a weapon, but rather as a tool with which to whittle. He’d wanted to whittle Deborah a present.
Deborah frowned up at the darkened ceiling as her conscience bombarded her with guilt. She felt guilty for making Case cry. She felt guilty for overreacting. She felt guilty for sending Luke away.
She even felt guilty for depriving Luke of their company. Though sh
e’d always considered him a loner, she sensed he relished their companionship. It was especially evident during family Bible time. She doubted he’d ever admit it, but she could clearly see the pleasure in his face as she opened the Scriptures and began to read.
Her mother had often said Deborah possessed a very soothing voice, pleasant to listen to, but there was more to what she witnessed on Luke’s face than a reaction to her oratory skills. He was enthralled with the stories. He hung on every word. Unlike herself or Case who had heard the Old Testament stories time and again, it was obvious they were completely new to Luke.
Lately, she’d begun to read a bit farther each night, though her brother began to fidget, just because she knew Luke enjoyed it. The truth was, his appreciation of the Bible stories enhanced her appreciation of them. It was as if she was seeing them with new eyes.
But not anymore. She’d sent him away.
She rolled onto her side, facing the door. Still, she tried to reassure herself, she’d done the right thing. Luke was a menace. He had no concept of the protection a young boy needed. They would be better off without him.
She flopped onto her back and sighed. Her mind might think getting rid of Luke was a good idea, but her heart didn’t agree.
Case had been so crushed over her pronouncement, she wondered if he’d ever forgive her. It nearly broke her heart to hear him quietly sobbing until he fell asleep.
At least now he was finally resting peacefully. She rolled over to check on him. He wasn’t there. She felt the sheets where he’d been lying. They were cool to the touch.
Deborah sat bolt upright in the bed, her mind racing in a dozen different directions. In the whirlwind of frightening thoughts, one thing was clear. Her brother was gone.
Fueled by blinding fear, she sprang off the mattress and raced into the hall. “Case?” she called. “Case?”
Nothing. The house was silent. She was alone.
As she hurried down the pitch-black hall, she noticed a thin, silvery shaft of light filtering in from the back. The door was ajar, and light from the full moon seeped in through the crack.
The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier Page 60
