A Reason to Believe

by Maureen McKade

  Collie drew back his shoulders. “I’ll do anything you ask.”

  Dulcie cupped his chin in her palm and smiled. “Thank you.” She rose. “If you two could milk Flossie and take care of the chickens, I’ll get breakfast on.”

  The sleep had done Dulcie a world of good. She seemed more composed, more like herself.

  Rye guided Collie out the door and to the well to wash up.

  Collie splashed water on his face, wetting his shaggy hair. “Miz McDaniel isn’t like folks say.”

  Rye paused, his hands in the dented water pan. “What do folks say?”

  Collie shrugged. “That she’s mean and don’t like people. Some say she’s like her pa.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “Not really. She’s never hit me or yelled at me, but—” He clamped his mouth shut.

  “But what, Collie?”

  He scrubbed his face with his palms and reached for the towel. “I promised I wouldn’t say nothin’.”

  “Who did you promise?”

  “Miz McDaniel.”

  Rye frowned. “Did she do something bad?”

  The lad squirmed. “I dunno.”

  Although Rye hated to make the boy break a promise, he had to know Dulcie’s secret. “If I promise not to tell anyone, will you tell me?”

  Collie’s internal battle was clear in his distressed features.

  “I’m sorry, Collie,” Rye said guiltily. “I shouldn’t ask you to break a promise.”

  The boy lifted his gaze. “Even if it’s something bad?”

  Rye’s heartbeat skittered, but he hoped he kept the apprehension from his face. “That depends, Collie. There are some bad things that are really bad, and some that aren’t as bad as a person might think.”

  Collie’s face squinched up. “It might not be so bad.” His brow furrowed. “Or maybe it is.”

  Frustration knotted Rye’s gut. He wanted to know, but didn’t feel right pushing the kid. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “I think it’ll be okay.” He took a deep breath. “Miz McDaniel had me buy her a bottle of whiskey. She gave me a whole nickel for getting it for her.”

  Disappointment rang through Rye, not for the boy’s confession, but for Dulcie and the problem she refused to acknowledge. Had that been the only bottle? Or had there been others?

  “Did I do wrong telling you?”

  Rye glanced down to see worry fringing the boy’s eyes. He forced a smile. “No, pard, you did good. And I promise I won’t tell Mrs. McDaniel you told me.”

  Collie’s apprehension faded. “I’ll feed the chickens and gather the eggs.”

  “Thanks, Collie.”

  The boy headed to the old lean-to where the eggs would be found.

  Rye rubbed his grizzled jaw and stared at the cabin. “Once Madeline is better, you and I are going to have a talk, Dulcie McDaniel.”

  WITH the brutal sun high in the sky, Rye stopped swinging the scythe and dropped his arms. Sweat rolled down the side of his face in a maddening tickle but he didn’t have the strength to wipe it away. Finally, his breathing slowed, and he turned to Collie, who raked the cut grain in neat straight rows behind him. The boy had worked diligently since their late start that morning, and guilt assailed Rye.

  “Sit down for a few minutes,” Rye said to the boy.

  Collie stopped raking to angle him a look. “You going to rest a spell?”

  “I’m not tired,” Rye lied.

  “Me neither.” The lad continued raking.

  Rye set his scythe on the ground and grabbed hold of the rake handle.

  “What did you do that for?” the boy demanded.

  “You’re going to fall down if you don’t rest.”

  “I ain’t neither.” He jerked on the rake, but Rye held it in a tight grasp. Collie tried again and lost his balance. Rye shot out a hand and caught him before he fell.

  “Just sit down for a few minutes, Collie,” he said in exasperation.

  The boy narrowed his eyes. “Only if you do.”

  Rye sighed and dropped the rake on a pile of wheat. He guided Collie out of the field to a cluster of trees, where the boy grabbed the dipper out of the pail and guzzled the lukewarmwater. Collie filled it again, but handed it to Rye, who accepted it with a nod of thanks. As Rye drank the blessed water, Collie sat down and leaned against the rough trunk of an oak tree. His thirst sated, Rye pulled on his shirt that he’d hung from a low-hanging branch earlier, then joined Collie.

  “It’s hard work,” Rye commented, removing his hat and placing it on his drawn-up knee.

  “It ain’t so bad.”

  Rye resisted a smile at the boy’s youthful pride. “Maybe not for you, but I’m about tuckered out.”

  “That’s ’cause you’re old.”

  Rye opened his mouth to argue, but abruptly closed it. Hell, he was thirty years old. And what did he have to show for living over half a lifetime?

  A horse, a saddle, and the clothes on his back. Nothing that meant anything.

  “Did you get that mark from an Indian?” Collie asked.

  Startled, Rye glanced down into the boy’s sparkling eyes. It took a moment to realize Collie had seen the scar on his shoulder. “No,” he simply replied, hoping the kid would let the subject drop.

  “A bad man?”

  Rye recalled the man who’d held the red-hot iron against his shoulder. He’d known the sergeant for years, from before he had married and lost his family, from when Rye had been a damned good soldier. The sergeant had kept his face expressionless, but Rye saw the compassion and apology in his eyes as he’d lifted the glowing iron from the fire.

  He shook himself free of the bitter memory and answered honestly, “No, he wasn’t a bad man.”

  Disappointment clouded Collie’s face. He’d obviously hoped Rye had an exciting adventure to tell him.

  They sat in companionable silence listening to the buzzing insects and the slight breeze rustling the leaves. Rye’s thoughts veered to Madeline. While he worked, he’d been able to keep his mind off her and Dulcie. But now he couldn’t help but wonder how the young girl was faring.

  Collie’s stomach growled loudly, drawing Rye’s attention. They’d eaten a late breakfast, but that had been over six hours ago. Disgusted by his thoughtlessness, Rye forced a smile. “What do you say we head to the cabin and get something to eat?”

  Collie scrambled to his feet, and the eager look in his face made Rye feel even more lowdown. Collie extended a small hand to Rye. “What’re you waiting for?”

  Chuckling, Rye let the boy help him up. Collie hissed slightly, and Rye, concerned, held onto the kid’s hand, turning it over in his larger one. Broken blisters between his thumb and forefinger oozed blood.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” Rye asked.

  Collie shrugged. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not.” Another notch on his conscience. “We’ll take care of it at the house.”

  Rye, angry at himself, brooded all the way back to the cabin. He was no different than those people who adopted children simply for another hired hand to work their farms. What he ought to do was take Collie back to the Gearsons. At least there he wasn’t worked from dawn to dusk.

  Rye made Collie stop at the well, and he cleaned the boy’s open sores with cold water. Although Collie flinched when the water touched the broken blisters, he remained stoic. Rye retrieved some salve from his saddlebag in the barn and slathered it on the boy’s hand then wrapped one of his old cavalry scarves around it.

  “There, that should protect it,” Rye said.

  Collie flexed and unflexed his hand. “Feels better.”

  Rye smiled and ruffled his thick hair. “Good. What do you think of going back to the Gearsons’ today? You’ve already been here three days.”

  Something akin to betrayal cut through Collie’s expression. He stared at Rye, who forced himself to smile encouragingly.

  “Don’t wanna,” Collie mumbled.

  “
It’s not so bad there. Three meals a day, plus a real bed and a roof over your head.”

  Collie scuffed his toe in the dirt and shrugged. “I s’pose.”

  Rye had to do what was best for the boy, even though he hated taking him back to a family who merely tolerated him. He steered Collie toward the cabin. “Let’s see how Madeline is getting on then rustle up something to eat.”

  Without his earlier enthusiasm, Collie shuffled into the house. Their long shadows moved ahead of them as they crossed the yard. Inside the house, the acrid scent of sweat and sickness struck Rye and he quickly moved to the bedroom. The smell was stronger there.

  Dulcie’s frightened gaze met his. “I think her fever’s up.”

  Rye moved to the bedside and placed a palm on the girl’s brow. It was definitely hotter. “I’ll get the doctor.”

  Dulcie nodded tersely.

  Rye turned and nearly bowled over Collie. Impatient and scared for Madeline’s life, Rye grabbed the boy’s shoulders and lifted him out of the way, setting him in a corner. “Stay there, and don’t get in Mrs. McDaniel’s way,” he commanded.

  His eyes wide, Collie nodded and seemed to shrink in the corner. Satisfied the boy wouldn’t be a nuisance, Rye hurried out to saddle Smoke.

  Apprehension driving him, Rye rode hard for Dr. Wickberg’s office. The doctor’s wife answered the door.

  “He’s not home. He had to go out to the Cook place early this morning. Karl got stomped by a horse,” the woman said, not without sympathy.

  “Where do they live?” Rye demanded.

  “About twenty miles west of here.”

  Rye managed to stifle the cuss that rose to his lips. Torn between going after the doctor and returning to help Dulcie, he considered where he could do the most good. “When the doctor gets back, tell him Madeline McDaniel is burning up with fever.”

  The doctor’s wife laid a hand on his arm. “I’ve helped my husband with some fevers. If wiping her down with a cool cloth doesn’t help, bathe her in cold water.”

  “Thank you.” Rye remembered to tip his hat before he spun around and remounted Smoke.

  A short time later, Rye hurried into Dulcie’s cabin, sweat coating his face and dampening his shirt. Collie was still in the corner where Rye had left him. The boy looked small and scared, and his vulnerability pierced Rye’s concern for Madeline.

  “Where’s the doctor?” Dulcie asked, grabbing his attention.

  “Twenty miles away.” He tried to remember the family’s name. “At the Cooks’.”

  Dulcie’s face, already wan, paled even further. “When will he—”

  “Mrs. Wickberg didn’t know. I can ride out to get him, but it’ll take time.”

  “Time we don’t have.” Dulcie gazed down at Madeline’s fever-flushed face.

  “The doc’s wife said that if a cool cloth doesn’t bring the fever down, bathe her in cold water.”

  Dulcie nodded, resoluteness replacing her apprehension. “All right. Let’s do it now. Get the tub from out back and fill it with water from the well.”

  As Rye turned to carry out the task, he noticed Collie once more. “C’mon, Collie. You can help as long as you’re careful with that hand.”

  The boy nodded shortly and followed Rye. After Rye carried the tub inside, Collie worked the pump handle and filled kettles with the chilly well water. Rye carried the kettles to the tub and dumped the water in it.

  Finally the tub was full, and Rye hurried back to the bedroom. “It’s ready,” he said.

  Dulcie nodded and picked up Madeline, cradling her in her arms. Madeline’s head lolled against her chest and the girl murmured feverishly. Dulcie didn’t waste any time placing her daughter, still wearing her nightgown, in the tub.

  Madeline jerked awake and wrapped her arms around her small torso. “Too c-cold.”

  “I know, honey, but we have to do this to bring down your fever.”

  “C-cold. Out.” Madeline struggled to climb out, splashing water onto the floor and Dulcie.

  Rye knelt down to help hold Madeline in the tub. Goose bumps arose on the young girl’s arms and legs, but fever heat continued to radiate from her. Madeline coughed and ceased fighting them, but her lethargy was almost worse.

  Dulcie used a washcloth to sluice water over Madeline’s thin shoulders and arms while Rye held the girl so she didn’t slip under the water’s surface. Only when Madeline’s lips took on a faint bluish hue did they stop.

  Rye lifted Madeline out of the tub and Dulcie wrapped a blanket around her, then took her daughter from Rye and hugged her close. Dulcie’s red-rimmed eyes met Rye’s. “She doesn’t feel as hot.”

  Rye laid his palm on the girl’s brow. “Feels like it’s come down.”

  Dulcie didn’t look reassured. “But will it stay down?”

  Rye wished to God he could tell her what she wanted to hear. “I don’t know.”

  Dulcie carried Madeline back into the bedroom.

  Rye glanced at Collie, who’d hovered on the fringes while they’d taken care of Madeline. The boy’s face was pale and he had the look of a caged wild animal. “You ought to have something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Collie’s gaze settled on the bedroom door where Dulcie had taken her daughter. He looked like he wanted to ask a question and Rye waited, but the boy remained silent.

  Rye steered Collie to the table and set him down on a chair. He glanced at the bedroom door across the room but knew he could do nothing more for Madeline or Dulcie.

  “You gonna take me back to the Gearsons now?” Collie asked, his voice dull.

  Although it’d been his idea to take the boy back, Rye wasn’t so certain about his decision. “Do you want to go back?”

  Collie looked away. “No, but I’m just in the way ’round here.”

  Rye tried to see past the boy’s apathy. Was Collie jealous of the attention Madeline was getting? “Who told you that?”

  “You.” His indifference was replaced by accusation.

  Startled, Rye tried to remember what he might have done or said that gave Collie that impression. “I don’t want you working in the field until those blisters heal, but I don’t remember saying anything about you being in the way.”

  “Then why’d you put me in a corner before you rode off to get the doctor?” Collie asked resentfully.

  So you wouldn’t be in the way.

  Guilt-ridden, Rye ran a hand through his hair. “I was worried about Madeline. I’m sorry.”

  Collie merely grunted.

  Unable to think of anything else to say, Rye put a skillet on the stove. Five minutes later, he placed a couple of fried eggs between two slices of bread and gave it to Collie. Although he ignored the sandwich for nearly a minute, Collie finally gave in to his hunger and ate it, washing it down with a glass of milk. Rye managed to eat a slice of bread and two eggs, as well as drink a cup of bitter black coffee.

  “Would you like to stay here for another day or two?” Rye asked after they had eaten.

  Hope flared in the boy’s face, but it was extinguished almost immediately. “You don’t want me here.”

  Rye squatted down in front of the seated boy and grasped his arms. “You’re wrong, Collie. I like having you here. So do Mrs. McDaniel and Madeline.”

  “Then why do I have to go back?”

  Because the Gearsons were responsible for him, Collie would have to return at some point. So was it better to let him stay longer, or leave now before the lad became too attached to them? Or maybe Rye was afraid of becoming too attached to the boy.

  “Let me stay, Rye. I promise I won’t get in the way.”

  “I wouldn’t be taking you back to the Gearsons’ because I want to. I’d be taking you back because I don’t want you to work so hard.”

  “But I like working with you.”

  The boy’s plaintive plea caused Rye to look away for a moment to regain his composure. “I’m glad, but I didn’t bring you out here to make you work all day. You’ll be ab
le to rest at the Gearsons’ and let that hand heal.”

  Collie picked at the bandanna wrapped around his hand. “It don’t hurt much.” He turned earnest eyes to Rye. “And if I promise not to work for a little while, will you let me stay? Please?”

  Rye dropped his head in resignation. He couldn’t deny those pleading eyes. He lifted his head and met the boy’s gaze. “All right. You can stay, but no field work.”

  Collie’s face lit up. “I promise I won’t do no work until you tell me it’s all right.”

  Rye couldn’t help but grin. “I thought boys were always trying to get out of work.”

  “It ain’t that I like it, but I don’t mind if it’s with you and Miz McDaniel and Madeline.”

  Rye tousled the boy’s hair. “Right now, you can help me take care of the tub and clean the kitchen.”

  Collie held up his wrapped hand, his eyes glittering with mischief. “Can’t. Gotta let my hand heal.”

  Rye burst into laughter but didn’t argue.

  Once the chores were done, Rye went into the bedroom. Dulcie’s face was turned away from him, and he feared the worst. “How is she?” he asked softly.

  She turned slowly to meet his gaze. “She finally stopped shivering, and the fever hasn’t come back. She might even be breathing a little easier.”

  Rye sagged in relief. “Thank God.”

  “I doubt He had much say in it.” Dulcie’s tone was bone-dry.

  The woman’s uncertainty and fear had vanished, replaced with her familiar cynicism, which boded well for Madeline’s recovery.

  “Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

  Her expression gentled. “Get some rest. You didn’t sleep much last night.”

  Rye shrugged. “I’ve survived on less. I’d go back out to the field but it’ll be dark in an hour.” He paused. “It’s a good time to do some hunting. Maybe I can get some fresh meat.”

  Dulcie nodded. “I’d appreciate it, Rye.” Her face reddened. “I’m down to a few pounds of salt pork.”