by Ginny Aiken
He approached Sawyer’s body. “Fella really is dead, ain’t he?” He shook his head, pale around the flared nostrils. “I dinnent kill him, but I cain’t say I’m surprised he got himself killed. Ain’t many what liked Sawyer much, you know.”
Emma’s head felt leaden with so many different thoughts to sift through. She rubbed her forehead, where her headache had worsened with each passing moment. “Please explain this to me,” she said. “If I didn’t kill Sawyer, and Peter didn’t kill him, and neither Wade nor Ned—”
“Then who kilt Sawyer?” Ned asked, bewildered.
No one answered. No one had to.
Emma’s heart began to pound. Was there really a killer among them? Or had someone materialized in the woods and committed the crime?
She could see similar thoughts ran through the others’ minds, but she wasn’t sure who she could trust. She wanted to trust Peter, and she doubted there was any true malice in Ned, but she didn’t know Wade, and… and—well, really. What did she know about any of these men?
In the growing silence, she squared her shoulders. “It would seem to me, gentlemen, we have a decision to make. We can’t all stay out here, but we can’t all leave, either. Who will stay with Sawyer, and who will see to the undertaking duties?”
At first, all three men kept their peace, then, as her patience began to wane, they erupted into vigorous discussion.
“I—”
“Yes—”
“No—”
At any other time, Emma might have forced herself to come up with the necessary patience to sort out what the men had to say. As it was, she just wanted to return to the cabin. Shelter, food, and Robby’s and Colley’s welcome faces struck her as the most wonderful of treats right then. Since it looked as though none of her motley companions were ready to quit their arguments, Emma stood, rolled her eyes, and marched off in the direction that seemed the most likely to lead to the cabin.
She had only taken a few steps when Peter called out. “Hey! Where are you going?”
She glared back over a shoulder. “I’m tired, sore from fighting Sawyer. He has made my clothes nothing more than rags, and I am in desperate need of a bath. If any of you is interested, I’d love an escort, especially since I easily could get lost again.”
Both Wade and Ned rushed to her side.
“I’ll help you—”
“Don’t rightly know the way—”
“Enough!” Peter yelled. “Yes, Emma, it is a good idea for you to return to the cabin. I need to get back to have Colley see to my leg, too, but we can’t just leave Sawyer’s body out here like this. We need to bury him. It’s the Christian thing to do.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw Ned blanch and Wade turn to a side. Peter looked no happier than the others about the prospect, but he also looked resolute. He went on.
“Take her with you, Wade. Go to the cabin for the shovels while I wait here.”
The two younger men let out loud objections.
He cut them off. “Stop! It’s decided. I’ll wait here for you both to come back with a couple of shovels. We have to give this man a decent burial. We’ll figure out what happened once that’s taken care of. And believe me, we will figure it out.”
A wave of profound relief washed over Emma. She was glad to leave the scene of the attack, the scene where Sawyer had breathed his last. True, she felt a twinge of regret, since she wouldn’t be there when Peter and the two others buried him, strange though it seemed, but what could she say about a man who’d made such dreadful, sinful choices? She could, of course, and did indeed, hope Sawyer had repented, even at that last moment. She prayed he’d taken advantage of God’s offer of mercy.
After they took a pair of wrong turns on their return, Wade led them into the meadow. While upon arrival, Emma had despaired of her fate at landing in such a rustic place, when they at last burst through the woods into the clear sunshine and safety, she knew the greatest sense of peace she ever remembered experiencing.
“Well, look at you!” Colley exclaimed when Emma walked into the cabin, cloak clutched tight to her heart to maintain some kind of modesty. “That single big button at your throat ain’t near enough, now is it?”
She shook her head. “My blouse… Sawyer—it… it’s torn.”
Colley narrowed her eyes, clamped her lips tight, then turned back to the hearth.
That’s when the scent of bacon mingled with that of fresh-baked biscuits penetrated Emma’s senses. The by-now-familiar richness of the simple food made her realize how hungry she was. The thought of the grand dinners she’d eaten in some of the world’s greatest cities paled in comparison to the plain meal. Satisfaction now moved to a place of greater importance in her thoughts than elegance and delicacy and beauty for the sake of those things alone.
“It’s nice to be back,” she said, her words full of the wonder and appreciation she’d won the hard way.
Colley chuckled. “Ain’t much, but a body don’t really need much, ya know?”
Emma shrugged. “I’m learning.”
“Good!” She met Colley’s gaze, serious and direct. “Pete…?”
She understood the unasked question, but then noticed Robby stir in his bed. “He still has… something to see to, about Sawyer. After the other two help him, they’ll all be back.”
The older woman didn’t bother to hide her worry. “Is the boss well—”
“Lady Emma!” Robby cried from the depths of his bunk. He launched himself at her, arms outstretched, a beaming grin on his sweet face. “I missed you this morning when you wasn’t—”
“Weren’t,” she said, automatically correcting him.
His grin widened. “Weren’t! Yes. I missed you this morning when you weren’t here. I was afraid you’d disappeared, you’d left me like—” The child stopped and turned away.
A pang of sadness struck Emma’s heart, well aware that she would one day leave, and he would again experience loss. Certainly, it wouldn’t be the same as the loss of his mother, but she knew they’d built a close attachment between them. She would grieve their parting, herself.
“Oh, I am still here,” she said in a breezy tone. “You can’t rid yourself of me that easily.”
He looked around, alarm dawning. “Where’s Papa?”
Oh, dear. She couldn’t quite tell the child all that had happened. “He’s still out in the woods, waiting for the men to bring some… um… things he needs out to him. He’ll be back once they’re done, but he’s hurt his leg.”
Colley turned again. Worry had drawn parallel lines on her forehead. “How bad?”
Emma met her gaze. “He feels it’s broken, and he’ll need your help to set it as soon as he gets back.”
The ranch manager’s concern eased only a touch. “Done it before. Ain’t much to settin’ a bone, long’s it’s a clean break.”
“I wouldn’t know what a clean break would look like,” Emma said, “but I’d like to learn what you do to fix one.”
In Colley’s company, the tension had begun to dissipate from her shoulders. Only then did Emma feel again the uncomfortable, scratchy sense of being… well, unclean. She imagined she could smell Sawyer’s sour odor clinging to her and all she could think of was washing it away. The memory would take longer… Besides, this was the first time the men hadn’t been near the house, and the opportunity for privacy, as unfortunate as the cause was, was too rare to pass up. “I know I spoke to Peter—er… Mr. Lowery about it before,” she said, “but other matters interfered. It’s time for a bath. I can’t put it off a moment longer.”
Colley scoffed. “Afraid you’ll have to, missy. There’s things to be seen to, an’ I’m the lonesome one to do it all.”
The older woman turned back to the hearth, stirred something in the spider, and then gestured with the hand that held a wooden spoon. “Hand me three plates. I’ll dish up for us so’s I can git back out to them sheep. I’ll pack up some biscuits and cold bacon for the men.”
&nb
sp; Emma noticed the grime on her skin as she reached for the dishes. “About my bath, when…?”
“We’ll worry about such oncet the men are all back home. Safe an’ sound, missy.”
That put an end to that request. Emma did understand, even though her discomfort and her difficulty with the ruined blouse made her miserable. She grudgingly was learning she had to take some things in stride. She’d just have to do her best with the pitcher, soap, and basin. “I understand. And, please, do go on back to your work outside. I promise you, I can get the food ready for the men to take on their way back to Peter. Why don’t you just see to yourself, so you can get to the sheep sooner?”
“Well, missy!” Surprise brightened Colley’s expression. “I reckon y’ain’t half bad, after all! You might could do, with a little learning of your own. You really might.”
The comment struck Emma as high praise, especially when she realized Colley was putting together a biscuit and some bacon on her way out. Moments later, the ranch manager was gone.
Emma washed her hands and face in the basin then bustled around the kitchen, taking comfort in the work that kept her thoughts too busy to stray. She soon had a reasonable meal packed for Peter and the other two. She kept an eye on the bacon over the coals, while with a fraction of her attention she kept up her end of a conversation with Robby. When Wade returned, she handed him the biscuits and bacon she’d wrapped with the clean towel and an empty molasses jug she’d filled with fresh water.
She waved off the ranch hand’s gratitude. “Hurry back to Peter,” she said. “And please be careful. It’s dangerous out there.”
Wade nodded, and then left with Ned, who sent a longing last look toward the cozy hearth. Even a day earlier she wouldn’t have caught its meaning, but she’d learned a lot overnight. She understood.
Emma kept up with Robby’s chatter, listened to him read to her, first from the Bible and then from the Malory, and took care to prepare an evening meal. While he’d worked on a list of sums, she’d pored over Mrs. Beeton’s recipes. Nowhere, however, did she find directions for anything with dried beef, of which the lean-to contained vast quantities. Tough as leather, the stuff didn’t look as though a human tooth could tackle it. On the other hand, dried meant just that. Someone somewhere had dried it. Logic suggested she rewet it. Nothing would be lost if she failed in her effort; she could always serve eggs, bacon, biscuits, and leftover beans to the men. On the other hand, if the dried beef became edible, she could try one of the stewed beef dishes from the cookery book.
With Robby peering over her shoulder, Emma poured boiling water on the dark, hard strips. After a few minutes, she jabbed one with a fork, and saw where the tines made an impression.
“Patience,” she murmured.
“ ’S’that what we’re making for supper?” Robby asked. “Patience?”
Emma laughed. “I think that’s the menu for a long while to come, my valiant knight!”
By the time the men returned, Emma had a creditable meal ready. While her biscuits weren’t anywhere near the fluffy, mouth-melting treats Colley could whip up in minutes, they also weren’t rock-hard. The meat had softened, as she’d hoped, and she’d cooked it with some sad-looking carrots, some onions, and a handful of potatoes. She’d poured a jar of gravy she’d found in the lean-to over everything, and had tasted the concoction over and over as it stewed, if only to make sure it would be tolerable in the end.
She’d refused to fail again.
“Supper smells right close to ready,” Colley said when she walked in.
Emma nodded, but said nothing more in view of the men behind the older woman.
Wade and Ned stood just on the other side of the cabin door, one on either side of Peter. Together, they bore the taller man’s weight with a long arm wrapped around their shoulders. The injured sheep rancher held up his left leg at an awkward angle, bent at the knee.
Colley took over. “Git me a straight piece of wood,” she told Wade. “Flat as you can find it, too. Need to keep this leg as still as possible for it to git back to where it works right again.”
Ned seemed to have become Wade’s shadow, and the two left in a hurry to fetch the wood for Colley. When the cabin door closed behind them, the ranch manager turned to Emma. “I keep a stack of clean flour sacks out to the barn. We’re needin’ some of ’em in here now so you can start tearin’ up strips to tie the splint to his leg.”
Eager to help, Emma hurried back with the rough but clean cotton fabric. As much as they’d differed when she first arrived, Peter had come to her rescue. He’d saved her from a foul fate at Sawyer’s hands. As stern as he could be, he had also proved himself a decent man.
She’d known from the start how hard he worked, too. Perhaps there was much more to admire about the man than she had thought at first. She studied him through lowered lashes. Although he had a broken leg, he’d taken time and explained to Robby how his injury would heal before he’d let Colley start on the splint. He had to be in considerable pain, but he’d chosen to first set his son’s mind at ease.
In spite of his dislike of Robby’s much-loved British legends, he was a loving father. Yes, it did appear there was much more to appreciate about the man who’d rescued her than she’d first thought. She’d do whatever she could to help.
A sense of shared purpose settled over them. Emma tore fabric. Colley cut Peter’s denim pants leg up near his knee to reveal a swollen, purple mess in the midshin area. As Colley prodded and pressed, Peter lost all color on his face. He clamped his mouth shut tight, and it was clear how much even the gentle examination hurt.
“Should be fine once we git it nice and straight again, and tie it up good and tight here,” Colley murmured as she reached for the stack of strips.
“Fine, huh?” Peter ground out. “I wouldn’t call it fine. It’s clear you’re not the one with the broken leg.”
Colley tsk-tsked and tapped his shoulder. “Had my own share of broken bones an’ things over the years on our own spread.” With gentle hands, she adjusted his sore-looking leg a fraction. “A body don’t raise sheep for fifteen years without gettin’ a scrape or two.”
She adjusted the flat, narrow board Wade had brought inside.
Peter grunted.
Emma winced.
“You know,” he said through gritted teeth, “this is a far sight worse’n a scrape or two.”
“You hush, now.” Colley knotted a strip of cotton and handed it to him. “Here. Like midwives do for women in labor. Go on an’ bite down on this, if ya cain’t stand the pain. I know it’s gonna hurt, an’ I’m real sorry, but it cain’t be helped, Pete. Gotta set it, so’s to save that leg for ya.”
Grim-faced, he ignored the rag. “Do what you have to do, just get it done.”
Emma turned to Colley. “Please tell me how I can help. It’s the least I can do—”
“I’ll let you know,” the ranch manager said. Under the older woman’s direction, Emma helped support the injured leg until Colley was satisfied with its position on the splint. As Colley tied the strips around the leg and the board, sweat beaded Peter’s forehead and his upper lip. Sympathy filled Emma, and her respect for the man grew.
As did her guilt. If not for her, this wouldn’t have happened to him.
At the height of Peter’s misery, Emma realized he’d spent the whole time in silent prayer. He let out a rough breath, squared his shoulders, and whispered, “Oh Father…”
Mercifully, Colley finished doctoring soon, and Peter, pale and tired, had been eased back onto the pillows Colley had piled on the bunk. Wade and Ned had been happy to help.
A short while later, Emma served the long-awaited evening meal. Anxious, she waited for a verdict on this latest attempt on her part.
Peter stared at the plate of food on his lap. “Looks and smells like a fair improvement on your earlier efforts.” He met her gaze, eyes narrowed. “Or are you passing off Colley’s cooking as your own?”
She gasped. “How dare you
! That, sir, would be lying, and I’m not about to start doing that. Besides, I have a witness. Your son can tell you how the meal came about.”
A fair attempt at a smile on his lips, he turned to Robby. “Well, son, how did the meal happen?”
Robby launched into an earnest discussion of water, the lean-to, gravy, lard, flour, and various spills. “And that, Papa, is how she came to give you that big plate of patience.”
Peter’s gaze flew to Emma, who blushed to her hairline, remembering what she’d said.
He chuckled.
This time, however, Emma felt no condemnation, even when the others joined in.
By the time they were done eating, not a morsel was left. While nothing about it had been elegant, the food had been plentiful and substantial, and it had tasted quite good, even to her discriminating palate. The others wasted no time in praising her efforts, especially Peter.
“Have to hand it to you.” He smiled. “You did learn to make at least one meal. Let’s see what else you do, seeing as you said you could learn.”
Emma wasn’t about to let him dent her sense of accomplishment. She crossed her arms. “I can and will learn, as I promised, but there is one thing I already knew before I came.” She gestured toward the grimy cloak that protected her modesty after the lacy blouse’s unfortunate end. “A person needs to be clean, and I am anything but clean. We spoke of baths before, and I insist on one tonight.”
He frowned. “But—”
“No, sir! I waited patiently until a better time,” she said. “And there is no more waiting. That better time has arrived.” She turned to Wade and Ned. “You will bring in the tub Mr. Lowery mentioned. Don’t forget the bucket in the lean-to. I’ll need your help to fill up the tub, and the bucket will make it quicker. I’ll take care of the hot water.”
The two young men swapped looks, as though to say she’d lost her mind, but they didn’t argue. Peter didn’t either, but he looked doubtful. She suspected he was ready for her to fail again.
Emma returned to the hearth to fill every available container with water. She meant to have her bath, and she meant to have hot water for it.
