by Stacy Henrie
Jennie cringed at the memory of standing in the noisy, suffocating saloon, searching the crowd of leering men for someone to help her. “Is that why you agreed to work with me?” she said in a teasing tone even as she took a deliberate step back, putting needed space between them.
“Maybe, maybe not.” He grabbed her hand and placed it against his chest. Jennie squirmed, but Nathan wouldn’t let go. Even in the dark, she could sense his ogling gaze. “Why not give up tryin’ to save your ranch and come make some real money with me? With your beauty and the way you handle a gun, we could take on banks or trains. We’d live like royalty.”
Pulling her hand free, Jennie stared past him at the barn and house. The moonlight shone down on the peeling paint of both buildings and the corral fence with holes large enough for a calf to squeeze through. There were other problems she couldn’t see, but they were as apparent and real as the tattered ranch around her—the looming deadline from the bank and the two or three sets of bandits she’d still need to take from in order to meet it.
But I would never stoop to become a bandit myself.
“No, Nathan,” she said, shaking her head. She wouldn’t quit. She needed this land, and it needed her. “I’m going to make this place what it used to be.”
He shrugged, but his disappointment hung in the air between them. “So long, love.”
Jennie watched him swagger away before picking up her saddlebag. She slipped into the bunkhouse and knelt in the corner opposite the door. Pulling up the loose board, she placed her two hundred dollars inside the small space. She’d keep it hidden here until she could travel to Fillmore and give some of it to the horrid Mr. Dixon.
After replacing the board, Jennie stood and brushed off her skirt. A thin layer of dust typically covered the unused bunkhouse. It served as another reminder of the failing condition of the ranch. Even before her father had died, they’d been forced to let go of their three ranch hands. With so few cows, she and Will had managed to keep up, but the new group of calves meant more work now.
Thankfully the money she’d relieved Bart of would pay for Caleb’s help and hopefully keep the ranch going a little longer. Maybe Bart and his thugs would even see the futility of robbing innocent people. At least she only took money from crooks and used it for far better purposes than drinking or gambling or immoral company. Once my debt is paid in full, I’ll be done with all of this.
Leaving the bunkhouse, she walked quickly to the barn. She wanted to see her family, introduce them to Caleb and climb beneath clean sheets.
The barn doors were shut, though Jennie was certain she’d left them open when she went to meet Nathan. Shrugging off her forgetfulness, she entered the barn. The building stood dark. Jennie hurried back outside and scanned the yard. Where had Caleb gone? She glanced at the house. A light in the kitchen threw shadows against the curtains—three shadows.
“The nerve of that man!” she muttered as she marched toward the porch. Why had he gone to the house without her? What would he tell her family about fighting Bart and his thugs? She quickened her steps as anger rose inside her. Hiring Mr. Johnson might prove to be a bigger disaster than she’d imagined.
* * *
“Did you get enough to eat?” Jennie’s grandmother, Grandma Jones as she’d introduced herself, asked from across the table.
Caleb finished up his last bite of rabbit stew and patted his stomach. “Yes, ma’am. Best meal I’ve had in months. Better than any boardinghouse, for sure.”
He hadn’t meant to come inside without Jennie, but the moment his boots had hit the porch steps, her brother and grandmother had come to the door. He’d hurried to explain his presence, choosing to voice just the basic facts, as Jennie had requested. He and Jennie had met outside of town, and she’d hired him when he had mentioned needing a job. Jennie’s grandmother had welcomed him with a warm smile and invited him right in for supper.
“You could learn a thing or two about manners from Mr. Johnson, Will,” she said to the boy seated on Caleb’s right.
Will rolled his eyes as Grandma Jones took Caleb’s plate to the sideboard. The boy and his grandmother looked alike with the same green eyes and brown hair, though hers was streaked with gray.
The front door slammed shut, and a moment later, Jennie appeared in the kitchen doorway, a frantic look in her eye and a smear of dust across one cheek.
“There you are, Jennie.” Grandma Jones walked over and wiped away the dust on Jennie’s face with her apron. “I stalled supper as long as I could, but you know Will—always hungry.”
Her brother paused long enough over his second helping of stew to smile at his sister.
“Would you like supper?” Grandma Jones asked Jennie.
“Yes, please.” Jennie scowled at Caleb as her grandmother crossed to the stove to fix up a plate. “I thought we were coming in together, so I could properly introduce you.”
Caleb didn’t miss the tense quality to her voice. She thinks I told them about the ruffians chasing after her. He gave a quick shake of his head, trying to communicate that he hadn’t broken his word, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“No need for such formality.” Grandma Jones smiled at Caleb over her shoulder. “We heard somebody outside and found this handsome, half-starved young man standing there.” She set Jennie’s supper on the table and sat down. “Did you have a good trip into town?”
Jennie nodded before frowning at Caleb. “I’ve hired Mr. Johnson to help us around the ranch.”
“I told them why I was here,” Caleb said, matching her level look with one of his own.
“You did?” Jennie sank into an empty chair, glancing at each of them in turn. The delicate muscles in her jaw tightened.
“What a blessing you two ran into each other,” her grandmother said. “It’ll be nice to have an extra pair of hands around here, what with all the new calves.”
The tight lines in Jennie’s face relaxed and she shot Caleb a grateful smile. “It will, won’t it?”
“You a cowboy?” Will asked him.
“No. But I’m a fast learner.”
Grandma Jones stood and lifted Will’s empty plate. “Take the lamp from the parlor, Will, and show Mr. Johnson to your father’s old room.”
“I couldn’t intrude like that,” Caleb said. “I don’t mind sleeping in the barn or the bunkhouse—”
“Nonsense.” Grandma Jones waved away his protests. “As long as you’re working here, you’re welcome to the room. It’s a bit dusty, but it’s a far cry better than the bunkhouse or barn. And if there’s anything else you need, Mr. Johnson, just holler. Breakfast is at dawn.”
“Thank you. And please, call me Caleb.” Smiling at her, he rose from his chair and gathered up his things from where he’d set them in the corner. “Good night to you both.”
“Thank you,” Jennie mouthed to him when Grandma Jones moved to the sink. Caleb doffed his hat to her, glad she knew he’d kept his word.
He met Will in the hallway and followed him up the stairs. At the first landing, Will opened a door on their left and stepped inside.
“This is Pa’s old room.” He set the lamp on the dresser near the door.
Caleb surveyed the small but tidy room. After sleeping in barns, out in the open, or in crowded boardinghouses for almost three years, the thought of having his own water basin and a real bed all to himself made him feel like a king. Perhaps the accommodations and the family’s kindness would outweigh the low pay.
“Looks comfortable,” Caleb said, dropping his pack onto the bed’s faded patchwork quilt. “How long’s it been since you had hired help?”
Will leaned his long body against the door frame. “Before our pa died. The only man that’s come around recently just talks to Jennie.”
“She hire him to help, too?”
The boy shook his head. “I thought that’s what she was doing, but she’s never introduced him or invited him up to the house. He seems a bit rough, though, you know?” He lifted one shoul
der. “I haven’t asked. I’m just glad you look a bit more...respectable.”
“I appreciate that.” Caleb placed his few belongings in the dresser.
Sounded to him like Jennie had a beau. Seemed like everyone his age did, though Caleb didn’t mind so much. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever care that deeply about a person again. Maybe his only chance for love and marriage had died when Liza did.
“I’m glad you took the job, even if you are a tenderfoot.” Will grinned. “Jennie’s been running things pretty much by herself since Pa passed. I try and help, but we need more than the two of us to make this place good again.”
“Mind my asking what happened to your father?”
“No.” Will put his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor. “Some Indians were rustling our cattle and Pa went after them. He was shot in the stomach with an arrow. He died before the doctor could get here.”
“I’m sorry.” Caleb hated how trite the expression sounded, conveying so little of the sympathy he felt at the family’s loss.
Will lifted his head and offered another shrug. “It’s all right. I just don’t think Pa meant for Jennie to do so much by herself. That’s why I’m glad you’ll be helpin’ us, Mr. Johnson. I mean, Caleb. Good night.”
“Night, Will.”
The boy left the room, shutting the door behind him. Caleb wandered over to the window and pulled back the thin curtains. Shadowed hills merged into mountains in the distance. He let the curtains drop back into place and removed his money pouch from his shirt. He set it on the dresser as he prepared for bed.
Before climbing beneath the covers, Caleb knelt on the hardwood floor. He thanked God for the new job, even with the low wages. Clearly he was needed here. “Help me be an instrument for good with this family,” he prayed. “And grant me patience as I work toward my plans.” He ended his prayer and slipped his pouch under the mattress before he got into bed.
Every dollar he earned put him one step closer to starting his freight business. One step closer to that new life he’d planned for, free from all reminders of his past. Compared to that, a few months being a cowhand was a small price to pay.
Chapter Four
Jennie scooped up a bite of stew, suddenly starved. She savored the taste of the rabbit meat and potatoes and smiled.
“He seems like a real gentleman.” Grandma Jones sat down beside her. “Not to mention a face that could melt a girl’s heart.”
Jennie choked on the piece of potato in her mouth and hurried to wash it down with some water. “Grandma!”
Her grandmother chuckled, bringing her wrinkled hands to rest beneath her chin. “I still know a handsome man when I see one. Reminds me a bit of your grandfather. Quick to smile, a bit forthright. Your father didn’t inherit his personality. He was more serious—a thinker, like you.” She released a soft sigh, and Jennie wondered if she was thinking of all the people she’d lost in sixty-five years of life—her parents and sisters, a husband, two sons and a daughter-in-law. “Did you get the supplies we needed?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject.
Jennie pointed her spoon at her saddlebag by the door. She’d made sure to purchase the nails, leather straps and thread they needed in Beaver before encountering the bandits.
Her grandmother murmured approval. “I’ve got one other question and I don’t want you gettin’ all angry. How are you going to pay Mr. Johnson?”
“I have enough,” Jennie said, trying to keep the defensiveness she felt out of her voice. “I only promised to pay him twenty dollars a month.”
“And we have twenty dollars after buying all our supplies?” Grandma Jones raised her eyebrows.
“I sold some things.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Jennie had sold a number of the family’s belongings last year to buy them a little more time on the ranch.
“Your mother’s things, you mean?”
Jennie pushed her remaining stew around her plate. “Why does it matter? She isn’t coming back for them.”
Her grandmother’s hand closed over hers, and the familiar warmth brought the sting of tears to Jennie’s eyes. “You may not remember those first few years after we moved south to Parowan. Your mama and papa worked so hard to make a living there. Then she lost the baby.” Grandma Jones increased the pressure on her hand until Jennie looked up. “I think her will just gave out after we moved to the ranch. Maybe she didn’t feel like she could start all over. Maybe she was scared. I don’t know. What I do know is she didn’t love you and Will any less when she left.”
Jennie gently removed her hand and set it in her lap. “Does that make it right then?” She hated how her voice wobbled with emotion. “To leave us to fend for ourselves?”
“Perhaps she thought we were more capable of adapting than she ever was.” Grandma Jones stood and came around the side of the table to kiss the top of Jennie’s head. “I think if she were here now, she’d tell you how well you’ve done under the circumstances, Jennie girl. I’m real proud of the way you and Will have turned out. But I’m even more proud of you for asking Mr. Johnson to help. Asking others for help was something your mother never quite learned to do.”
A wave of shame ran through her as Jennie thought of the money hidden in the bunkhouse. She might have swallowed her pride enough to hire Caleb, but she hadn’t bothered to include anyone else in solving the ranch’s financial troubles.
Her grandmother and Will knew the ranch might go under, but Jennie had kept the seriousness of the situation and the bank deadline a secret. What else could she do? Telling them the truth would only worry them. And besides, she had the situation under control. She’d spent too many days working under the hot sun and too many nights dreaming of what the ranch could be to give up now.
“I’ll see to the lamp,” she said.
Grandma Jones patted her shoulder. “Good night, Jennie girl.”
Jennie listened to her grandmother’s footsteps shuffle down the hall. She remained in her chair, thinking back over the events of the day. She wasn’t sure how long she’d sat there before she took the lamp and went upstairs to her bedroom, but the house echoed with silence.
She changed into her nightclothes, but instead of climbing into bed, she knelt beside the large trunk against the windowsill. She lifted the lid, breathing in the smell of cedar. It evoked happy memories of bringing out the thick quilts for winter and wrapping up in them to listen to her mother read.
Reaching inside Jennie lifted out two envelopes. The first had never been opened, addressed to her from her mother, Olivia Wilson Jones. From the second, she removed the telegram that had come two years before her father’s death. She stared at the black, unemotional type, her chest constricting at the recollection. She could still picture the way her father’s face had crumpled into tears when he’d read the few words.
OLIVIA DEAD STOP CONSUMPTION CITED AS CAUSE STOP
No other details from her mother’s sister. No condolences for a grieving husband and children. Nothing.
Jennie felt moisture on her face and realized she’d started to cry. Rubbing away the tears with the back of one hand, she returned both envelopes to the trunk.
Twice she’d survived the heartache and pain of her mother leaving: first from the ranch and then in death. I made it through then, and I can do it again. I won’t give up like she did.
After closing the trunk, Jennie extinguished the lamp and slipped into bed. Grandma Jones’s words from earlier repeated in her mind: I’m even more proud of you for asking Mr. Johnson to help. Asking others for help was something your mother never quite learned to do.
“But I don’t really need to ask others for help,” she whispered into the dark. “Not really. Not when I can handle things myself.”
Most of the time, she refused assistance, especially from those she loved. In that, perhaps she and her mother weren’t so different after all. But her mother hadn’t been able to handle things here. Jennie could. And would. With that resolution in mind, Jennie turned onto her side
and tried to sleep.
* * *
Leaving the stuffiness of the barn, Caleb shut the double doors and breathed in the cool evening air. His first day on the ranch had mirrored those of his youth on his father’s farm. He’d repaired the roofs on the house and barn and mended a hole in the loft. Jennie had told him at supper they would go round up the calves from off their range in two days. The delay before dealing with the herd suited Caleb just fine. Though he hadn’t taken to farming, even with his own parcel of land, he preferred those familiar tasks over wrangling cattle.
A series of gunshots to his left made him spin around and reach for his holster out of habit before remembering he’d stowed his guns in his room. Then he saw Will, shooting at cans along the fence line.
Taking off his hat, Caleb wiped at the sweat on his forehead with his shirtsleeve and strode toward the boy. Four cans sat in a row on the top rail of the fence. The scene provoked memories of countless evenings spent shooting targets with his uncle.
“How many did you hit?” Caleb asked.
Will frowned. “None.”
“Let’s see.”
The boy reloaded his revolver and aimed. He fired all six rounds at the cans, but every shot missed its mark.
“I can’t even shoot one.” Will growled in disgust and started for the house.
“Hold up, Will.” Caleb motioned him back. “Try it again, but this time remember to relax. If you’re too stiff, you’re going to jerk and that throws your aim off.”
With a sigh, Will stalked over to him. He reloaded his gun and lifted his arm.
“You relaxed?”
“I guess so.”
Caleb studied the boy’s stance. “Let your shoulders drop a little more.” Will obeyed. “Now make sure you bury your first sight in the second one when you aim.”
Will stared down the barrel of the gun and adjusted the height of his arm.
