by Linda Ford
She uttered a sound full of disbelief.
He wasn’t surprised. All his life he’d encountered the same reaction. As if a man like him could have a father like his, a home like his, a faith like he’d once had. For most people it defied explanation.
He hunkered down over his knees, preparing to ignore the woman. No doubt she likewise wished to ignore him. Besides, there was no reason to strike up a conversation. He’d be gone as soon as the storm ended. They’d never see each other again in this life or the one to come. That idea gave him pause. “You a believer?” he asked, even though he’d just told himself conversation was unnecessary.
“In God?”
He grunted affirmation.
“Most certainly I am. I have been since I was a child at my mother’s knee. In fact, He has been my strength and help all my life. He will continue to take care of me.”
Kody wondered at the way she said the words. As if she expected him to argue. “Got no cause to disagree.” God did seem to favor the likes of her, but Kody figured God regretted making the likes of him.
“My name is Charlotte Porter.”
He thought of shaking her hand but refrained. He didn’t want to put her in the position of having to choose whether or not to accept his offer nor did he want to shift his position and allow any more dirt to invade. Dust covered every bit of exposed skin, filling his pores until he envied the fish of the sea. He might head west to the ocean and sit in the water until he shriveled up like an old man just for the pleasure of having clean skin if he hadn’t already decided to ride north into Canada and keep riding until he got to uninhabited land.
He settled for acknowledging her introduction with the proper words, though she perhaps expected nothing more than a grunt. “Pleased to meet you.”
“You from round here?”
He guessed she felt the need of conversation more than he did. At least he wanted to believe so. Again he told himself a man should get used to being alone and sharing his thoughts with a faithful horse. “Not so’s you’d notice.” There was nothing about his past he wanted to share with this woman or anyone else on the face of the earth, and nothing about his future that held significance for anyone but himself.
“Where are you headed?”
“Just following my nose.”
“Mr. Douglas, are you being purposely evasive?”
He chuckled. “Maybe I am. You might say it’s a habit of mine.” Seemed no need to refuse the woman the information she sought. “I’m from Favor, South Dakota.”
“I never heard of an Indian preacher man.” Her voice was muffled.
“I ain’t no preacher man.” He jerked his eyes open, felt the sting of dust and closed them again.
“I mean your father.”
He kept his handkerchief to his mouth, guessed she kept her eyes closed, too, so she couldn’t see his smile. “My father is a white man.”
She twitched. “But—”
“My mother is white, too. Kind of defies explanation, doesn’t it?” He squinted at her, saw her regarding him through narrowed eyes.
“That’s impossible.”
He laughed, liking the way her eyes momentarily widened, then as quickly narrowed against the dust.
“Not if I’m adopted. Besides, my real mother is white. My father…” He paused. “One look at me is all it takes to know he was Indian.”
“Adopted? Well, that explains it, doesn’t it?”
Her voice said so much more than her words. As if it mattered about as much as fly sweat. As if he was already gone and forgotten. He settled back into his own thoughts, not sure he liked the way she silently dismissed him. Didn’t she have any particular opinion about his heritage, the unnaturalness of being raised white while looking native? Everyone else seemed to.
He wrenched his thoughts to more practical matters.
Had the light increased? Surely the wind roared with less vehemence. “It’s letting up.”
“Thank God. If this is the last duster I ever see, I would be eternally grateful.”
“You and thousands of others.”
Neither of them moved—gray dust particles in the air would fill their eyes and nose and lungs. No, they had to wait a bit longer. Kody glanced around the room, taking in more details. The only thing in the room was a bundled-up mattress in the corner.
“Why did your brother leave you here alone?”
“Who says I’m alone?”
He laughed. “I mean apart from me and my horse.”
“I didn’t mean you.”
Again he laughed. This woman amazed him. Did she truly think he’d look around, see a virtually abandoned home and think she had a passel of brothers or sons or a husband to protect her? “What kind of brother leaves his sister alone?”
She studied him with narrow-eyed concentration. Weak light poked around the quilt at the window, but it didn’t take morning sun on her face for him to know she resented his questions. But he couldn’t dismiss his concern. Why would her brother leave her here alone? It didn’t seem natural. For sure it wasn’t safe. He wasn’t the only man wandering about the countryside. Hundreds of them rode the rails every day looking for work or avoiding the realities of the Depression. Work was scarce. Pay even scarcer. He’d been trying for months to earn enough money to buy himself an outfit to start new in the North. He’d managed to save a few dollars. A few more and he’d be on his way.
“He’s coming for me.” She kept her face buried in her hands, the rag muffling her words. “Real soon.”
“Until then you’re here alone.”
“I am not alone. God is with me. He has promised to be with me always.”
Her words sifted through his thoughts, trickled down his nerves and pooled in his heart like something warm and alive. “I used to believe that.”
“It’s still true whether or not you believe it.”
He laughed softly into his hands at the solid assurance in her voice. Could she really be so convinced? He stole a look at her. She regarded him. He wished he could see her mouth. Would it be all pruned up sourlike, or flat with determination?
She lowered her hand to speak and his eyes widened in surprise at the faint smile curving her lips. “One thing I know about God is He is unchanging. He doesn’t have moods or regret or uncertainty as we often do.” She turned enough to see the window and seemed to look right through the quilt and see something special beyond the fabric and glass. “‘Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine. When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle thee.’”
His heart burned within him. Had he not heard the words from his parents’ lips time and again? I have called thee by name. Thou art mine. Yet somehow they sounded more convincing coming from this woman. He almost believed them.
Chapter Two
The man scrambled to his feet. Charlotte stood, as well, feeling as if every pore held a spoonful of irritating sandy dirt. Oh, for a good bath. Oh, for a quenching drink of water. For three days she’d metered out the last drops of her supply. Apart from a few swallows this morning, she’d had only the warm drink from the man’s canteen.
She swiped at her hair, scrubbed the dirty rag over her face, shook her skirts and coughed.
The man slapped his hat against his leg and filled the air with a swirl of dust. She coughed again.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I should have waited until I was outside.”
Charlotte threw open the door and choked on the thick air. The floor lay buried in several inches of dirt. The outside door must have ripped from its hinges. She closed the solid wood, blocking her only escape route. “Person can’t breathe out there yet.”
She kept her face toward the knob, thought of ushering the man out to his destiny. But his remark about the charity of a Christian woman still echoed in her head. She’d give him a f
ew more minutes, then she’d rush him on his way. Presuming he’d allow her to rush him. If he didn’t…No point in threatening him with the rifle. Anger scalded her throat. If Harry had had the decency to leave her a bullet or two, she’d have had no trouble getting rid of the man in the first place.
Maybe she could appeal to his decency. After all, his parents were white folk and religious, so surely the man had been raised to know right from wrong. Of course the same could be said about a lot of men who nevertheless chose wrong. The thought erased every vestige of calmness.
She heard him move about the room and stiffened as he approached her bedroll. Harry and Nellie had left her bedding and enough food for a week. How very kind of them.
“Where are you headed from here, Mr. Douglas?” She hoped he’d hear the urgent suggestion in her words.
“Kody, if you please. I’m going wherever I can find work.”
She ignored his suggestion she call him Kody. Father or son, made never mind to her. He’d soon be riding the tail of the wind out of her house and out of her life. Couldn’t be too soon to suit her. “I expect you’ll have to ride some to find work. It’s mighty scarce around here. Lots of folks pulling up stakes and moving on.”
“My sentiments exactly. It’s an unfriendly country in my opinion.”
At the harshness of his voice, she turned to study him. The typical angular high cheekbones, lips pulled into a hard, unyielding line that spoke of determination. “I take it you’ve been as disappointed in life as many of the folks around here.” Harry and Nellie among them.
He faced her full on, his black eyes steady as if measuring her.
She met his gaze, knew they both had secrets bringing them to this place, this time and this house. She believed God cared for her, controlled every aspect of her life. Didn’t the Scripture say all the days of her life were written before one of them came to be? But right now she struggled to believe it. How could God have planned for the country to blow from county to county? For Harry to abandon her? For a half-breed to be in her house? But she was being overly dramatic. Harry would send for her as he’d promised. He’d taken care of her since she was ten and their mother grew too ill to manage on her own. He’d provided her with a safe home since Mother died, as he’d sworn he would—apart from that time Nellie had demanded she be sent away. Charlotte shuddered. She would never forget her subsequent ordeal at the Appleby home.
Anxious to escape the past as much as the present, she opened the door again, breathing shallowly as she picked her way over the dirt on the floor.
Mr. Douglas followed close on her heels, whistling when he saw the damage in the front room. “Looks like your brother could plant a garden in here.”
She ignored his comment. Her brother wouldn’t be planting a garden anywhere near this house. And God willing, she’d shake off the dust of the place this very afternoon and be on her way to join him. Out of habit and desperation, she went to the window to see if Mr. Henderson rode her way with the promised letter from Harry. But she saw only the changed landscape—mounds of dirt in new places, fields scraped clean in others. A desolate, angry scene.
“Lady, could you point me to your well? I’d like to wash this storm off my face and refill my canteen.”
She turned away from the hopeless view. His face looked as if he’d scrubbed in garden soil. She touched her cheeks, guessing she looked no better. “Well’s out there.” She pointed to the little shack Harry had built to store tools in.
Kody tromped into the kitchen.
Charlotte followed and screamed as she came face-to-face with a paint horse.
“This is Sam,” Kody said. “He won’t hurt you.”
“You brought your horse into my house?” She sniffed. “Phew. He’s stunk up the place like a barn.”
Kody shook his head. “Sam, I told you not to do that in here.”
The horse whinnied.
Charlotte thought the sound as unbelieving as her thoughts. “A horse answers the call of nature without regard to his surroundings.”
“I’ll clean it up.”
“You certainly will.” And she’d scoop out the dirt with the only tools Harry had left her—a tin can and a big spoon.
Kody grabbed the empty bucket from the old worktable left behind because it was nailed to the wall. He headed for the well. He had the decency to lead his horse outside with him and kick out the pile of manure as he left.
Charlotte stood at the door, praying for a miracle. God had brought water from a rock for His children in the desert. Didn’t seem like water from the well ought to be any different. And while He was providing miracles, maybe He could see fit to send a message from Harry and something to send Mr. Douglas hightailing it out of here.
Kody walked with a combination of roll and stride. He grabbed the handle and pumped up and down. The squealing protest caused Sam to sidle away and whinny. After several unproductive pumps, Kody called, “Well appears to be dry.”
Charlotte sighed. Hoping against hope proved futile yet again. She couldn’t imagine what lesson God meant for her to learn. “I know.”
He sauntered over. “Been dry long?”
She shrugged. He didn’t need to know the particulars, but they’d been going to Lother’s for water for several months.
Kody shook the bone-dry pail. “Where was your brother getting water?”
Charlotte stared across the pasture indicating a well-worn path. In the distance she could make out the chimney, the roof of the barn and the lifesaving windmill. “Lother Gross has been kind enough to let us use his well.”
Kody touched his cheek with a brown finger. “I’d like to wash and refill my canteen.” He waited, perhaps expecting her to lead the way.
Why couldn’t the man take a hint? Desperately she sought for a way to persuade him to leave. The gun was out unless she used it as a club, and she didn’t much fancy the idea of attacking him, knew she didn’t stand a chance against his size and strength. She looked about the kitchen, hoping for some solution, finding nothing but emptiness and disappointment. Feeling his patient waiting, she sighed and turned back to face him.
“You could go across to the neighbor’s and get water.” She nodded toward Lother’s place. “I’ll stay here and tidy up a bit.” If he got so much as halfway across the pasture, she’d figure out some way to bar the broken door.
Kody’s eyes narrowed.
She crossed her arms over her chest as if she hoped to protect her thoughts from his piercing gaze.
The man looked at the empty bucket, gave a long, considering study of the useless pump, then stared across the pasture. “How long you been out of water?” he asked, his voice soft but knowing.
Again she shrugged. Her problems were no concern of his.
He nodded toward the path. “Why don’t you go get some?”
Her stomach lurched toward her heart, making her swallow hard to control the way her fear mixed with nausea. She didn’t want Lother to know she was alone and had waited until dark two nights ago to slip over. She reasoned she could fill a pail and hurry away without detection. But his dog set up a din fit to wake the dead. Charlotte had tried to calm him. “It’s me. You know me.” She’d kept her voice low, but the dog wouldn’t let up. Coming around after dark was a strange occurrence, not acceptable to the dog’s sense of guard duty.
Charlotte had been forced to retreat without water in order to avoid being confronted by Lother.
“How long you been here alone?”
She pressed her lips together and jutted out her chin.
Kody adjusted his black cowboy hat and leaned back on worn cowboy boots. His gray shirt, laced at the neck, had seen better days. His pants were equally shabby. “Why ain’t you walked out of this place?” He shook his head. “I don’t get it. You’ve got the guts to face me with an empty gun, yet you hide in this derelict house without water.”
How dare he? “What gives you the right—”
“Lady, despite the color of my skin�
�”
Which, Charlotte thought, had nothing to do with this whole conversation.
He continued in the same vein. “And the uncertainty of my heritage—”
One certainty he’d overlooked: this was none of his business. “I don’t recall asking for your help,” she said.
“I’ve been raised to care about the welfare of others.”
That stumped her. How could she argue with something she also believed?
He continued. “You’re out of water. And you’re alone. It just plain ain’t safe for a woman to be alone with so many drifters around.”
“My brother is sending for me to join him.”
“So you’re going to sit here and wait?”
Why did he goad her? His words edged past her patience, her faith that Harry would indeed send for her, and dug cruel, angry fingers into her spine. “No, I’m not waiting.” Why had she sat here for a whole week expecting the Hendersons to deliver a message? She spun on her heel and marched back to the dusty bedroom, threw her few things into the old carpetbag Nellie had left in the closet and rolled up the little bit of bedding. She stomped from the room, paused and grabbed the rifle. Not much good to her, but she’d return it to Harry, and when she did, she’d let him feel the sharp edge of her tongue for leaving her in such a position. Of course, she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t risk making him regret opening his home to her.
Ignoring the crunch of dirt under her shoes, she hurried out the door, gave one goodbye glance over her shoulder at the interior of the house and headed down the road. There was nothing for her here and no reason to stay. Besides, surely the Hendersons had a message by now and simply hadn’t had time to deliver it.
Kody trailed after her.
She paused to glower at him. “Why are you following me?”
“Just wondering where you’re going.”
“To the neighbor. They might have a message from my brother, though I fail to see how it’s any of your concern.”
