by Linda Ford
The crazy man posed danger to himself and those back at the cabin. Every day as Mercy rode back and forth, the risk of who he was and what he wanted haunted her ride. Anger raced up Abel’s spine and pooled behind his eyes. “Who are you? What do you want?” He roared the words. “Come out and identify yourself.”
Only silence, as heavy as a January snowstorm, answered him. His horse whinnied and shook his head. Sam, too, sensed the strangeness of someone watching them.
“Show yourself,” Abel called again. He listened and waited, hearing nothing but his own heartbeat. The man must have left.
Abel returned to his work, his nerves twitching with every real or imagined sound. An hour earlier than normal, he packed it in and headed back to the cabin.
Not until he stepped into the warm interior and counted three happy, surprised occupants did he finally relax.
Sooner or later he was going to track down the man in the woods and confront him. Not until then would he be at ease.
Mercy came to his side. “You’re back early. Is something wrong?”
He lowered his voice so the twins wouldn’t hear him. “I heard that man in the woods again. I won’t feel safe until I find out who he is and what he’s doing.”
She nodded, though her eyes remained skeptical. “I’ll head for home then. Linette will be up to her ears in plans. I can help her. I’ve left you a pot roast and vegetables cooking. It will be ready whenever you are.”
He followed her outside. “I know you don’t need the warning—nevertheless, I have to say it. Be careful. There’s danger out there.”
She grinned at him. “So you are fond of saying. But like I’ve said time and again, I am always careful. I am not going to live my life in fear.” Imitating his action, she brushed her fist across his chin. “Life is too short to waste it worrying about what might happen.”
“My experience has given me reasons to worry that people won’t get home safely.”
“I’m not Ruby.”
“I know you’re not.” There were differences between the two women, significant ones. Mercy loved spending time with the children. She made the cabin smell like home. She had always come when she said she would. But there were similarities, too. That wild streak. Not wanting to settle down and be ordinary.
She began to saddle Nugget. “Tomorrow then?”
“If you can come. I need to get my work done before the snow comes.”
She swung into the saddle and rode away.
What he hadn’t said was he wanted her to return even if he didn’t have logs to get. But soon winter would be here and there’d be no need of it.
The thought shivered through his mind like a cold winter wind.
Chapter Ten
Abel repeatedly told himself he must not care about Mercy, but every time he had himself convinced of this fact she would do something that made him forget his decision.
Like the next day when she had the children draw pictures and post them all over the cabin.
“You remember this, Papa?” Ladd asked, leading him to the picture beside the table.
Abel leaned closer to examine the drawing. It looked like a little house with a brown door and a body of water behind it. “What’s this?”
“’Member the house we lived in by the lake?”
He nodded. “I do. You and Allie were five years old. I had to warn you to stay away from the water.”
“We learned to swim.”
Abel straightened to study his son, then shifted his gaze to Allie. “You did?”
“Mama said we could play in the water when you weren’t home.”
Abel lifted his gaze to Mercy. He knew his eyes were filled with so many things…regrets, mostly. But also a touch of anger that Ruby had ignored his wishes. Not that he should have been surprised.
Mercy smiled gently. “Learning to swim is a good thing.”
“I guess so.” That wasn’t the point, but he didn’t expect her to understand.
Allie tugged at his hand. “I drew this one. It’s Mama in her prettiest dress.”
A stick woman wore a bright red dress, her yellow hair tied with a matching bow. He wished he could forget that outfit. It had a revealing neckline and whenever Ruby put it on she got a faraway look in her eyes. He knew it meant she would soon be taking one of her trips. “What else do you have?”
Allie pointed to the next picture.
“A ball?” A blue one with white stripes.
“You gave me and Ladd balls for Christmas when we were little.”
“So I did.” He hugged the pair to his side. “You played with them for days. What happened to them?”
Ladd sighed heavily. “We lost them.”
Allie shook her head. “No, we forgot them when we moved. They were in the backyard.”
Ladd nodded. “I wonder if someone else found them.”
Abel shifted to the next picture. Mercy stood nearby and as he held her gaze, he felt a jolt of sympathy from her. He vowed he would not let his emotions show in his face. She didn’t need to know the depth of his hurt at Ruby’s failure to be a parent or a wife.
Ladd directed his attention to the picture.
“A plate of cookies?” he guessed.
“Gramma Lee used to live next door and she would bring us cookies for special occasions.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You weren’t home. And Mama was gone a lot.”
Silent accusations filled his heart, draining it of everything but regret. He knew Ruby didn’t stay home all day every day, but only recently had he realized how frequently she’d been absent.
The twins drew him to the next picture. A stick girl in a bed with a brown cover.
“It’s Allie,” Ladd said. “When she was sick. I was so scared. Mama was gone. I wished Gramma Lee still lived next door, but we’d moved.”
The three of them stared at the picture. If Abel was a child or a woman he might have cried. Instead, he sucked back sorrow as sharp against his throat as steel filings and clamped his teeth together. The air about them seemed fragile. He could hear the twins breathing, and his own breath cut through his lungs.
He couldn’t take the memories, the pain and the regrets any longer. He spun around and hurried out the door, closing it quietly behind him.
His emotions drove his legs like pistons as he strode to the edge of the clearing and stared into the trees.
The click of the cabin door informed him someone had come out. Mercy was then at his side, and she brushed his arm.
“I didn’t mean for the pictures to upset you. I suggested the children draw things to decorate the cabin. It was meant to be a surprise for you. They wanted to know what to draw. I said draw some of their favorite things or things they remembered…” Her voice trailed off.
“I’m not blaming you. I’m blaming myself. I knew Ruby wasn’t taking care of them as she should but I kept hoping things would improve.”
She pressed her hand to his arm. “I’m sure you did what you thought best.”
He no longer believed it or excused himself. “We moved a lot,” he said. “I told myself it was necessary so I could find work, but mostly it was to satisfy Ruby’s restlessness.” He closed his eyes against the pain of his past. “It was all so futile.”
Her hand tightened against his forearm. “There’s no value in blaming yourself for the past. Nor in letting regrets cripple you. I’m certain you did what you thought best at the time.”
The warmth of her hand slipped up his arm and sent calming blood to his heart. “I suppose I did.” It was small comfort considering how everything had turned out, but even small comfort was welcome.
He faced her. “I will never put the children at risk again. Not for anything.”
She drew back and dropped her hand from his arm, leaving him cold and alone. “Why do I get the feeling you’re saying that as a warning to me?”
“No more to you than myself. I found it far too easy in the past to think my decisions
wouldn’t affect others. I was so wrong.”
“Perhaps you were.” She took a step away, then stopped. “But there is a risk of swinging too far in the other direction, don’t you think?”
They studied each other. At times like this, Abel realized how far apart their philosophies were. He wished it could be otherwise but unless she changed…
Because he would not.
After she left, he went to the woodpile and lifted his ax. Wood needed to be split for the winter. Chop. Chop. Chop. Bits of yellow, pine-fragrant wood scattered at his feet. He pressed his boot to the length of log and chopped until the log disappeared into a mangled pile of wood chips. He tried to remember how careful he must be but her laughter weakened his defenses, making it difficult to think of her as merely a friend.
Finally spent, he wiped his brow and returned to the cabin and care of the children but the wood chopping had not helped clear his thoughts.
He looked forward to her return tomorrow for more than just the children’s sake.
*
The day of the party arrived. Abel was grateful Mercy wasn’t coming to watch the children. The past two days had been a strain for him as he fought an internal battle. Her absence made it possible for him to get his thoughts under control.
Or so he hoped. But the twins couldn’t seem to hold a conversation without bringing her name into it.
“Can we go now?” Ladd asked.
“Not yet. Do you want to draw another picture?”
“No. I want to see Mercy.” The children spoke the same words at the same time. They got their coats and put them on a chair as if it would make the time go faster.
He couldn’t stand to confront their silent demands any more than he could ignore his own impatience to see Mercy. “I’m going to chop wood. You two stay inside. I’ll be back soon.”
“And then we can go?” Allie asked, rocking back and forth on her feet.
“You’re flushed.” He pressed a palm to her forehead. “Are you okay?”
“I just want to go.”
“Then you better lie down until it’s time to leave. We aren’t going anywhere if you’re sick.”
“I’m fine.” Her bottom lip came out and she crossed her arms.
“Nevertheless…” He pointed toward the bed.
She looked ready to defy him, then marched over and flung herself on the bed.
“I’ll watch her,” Ladd offered.
Abel hesitated. He didn’t want to disappoint them. He’d been looking forward to the afternoon of fun as much as they, but if Allie—
“Papa, I’m okay.” Her voice interrupted his thoughts, ringing with unfamiliar firmness. “Ladd’s cheeks get red too when he’s excited and you never say anything to him.”
Abel studied his son. His cheeks were indeed flushed. Why had he never noticed it before? What kind of parent was he? He knew the answer. He was a father who had made mistakes in the past and seemed destined to continue making them. But, he promised himself, he would not make the same mistakes twice.
“Ladd’s never been sick,” he explained to Allie. Needing to sort himself out, he left the pair and went outside to chop and stack firewood.
Two hours later, Ladd appeared before him.
Abel slammed the ax into the chopping block. “Is Allie sick?”
“No, Papa. She’s hungry. Can we eat now?”
Abel glanced toward the sky. It wasn’t noon yet but— “Why not?”
He returned to the cabin. Allie perched on the bed, her innocent expression and flushed cheeks did not convince him she had been resting since he left. He made sandwiches and poured them glasses of water. He hadn’t found a milk cow yet.
Another of his many failings.
The children ate their sandwiches so fast he wondered they didn’t choke. They cleaned the table before he could drink his coffee.
“We’re ready,” Ladd said, his coat on. Allie waited impatiently at his side, her coat buttoned to her chin.
“I give up.” He hurried out to saddle Sam and was barely finished before the twins were at his side. He insisted on wrapping a blanket around Allie’s shoulders and tucked two more in the saddlebags in case it turned cold.
As they rode toward the ranch the twins tried to get him to gallop the horse, requests that he steadfastly refused. “We’ll get there soon enough.”
Still, their excitement was contagious. At least that’s how he explained his growing impatience. When before had six miles seemed so long?
*
Even though it was too early for them to appear, Mercy’s gaze went often toward the trail that would bring Abel and the children. Already people from around the area had arrived. Hands from the OK Ranch and the owner, Sam Stone, his foreman, Ollie Oake, and Ollie’s sister, Amanda, were there.
Some of the townspeople from Edendale had ridden in a few minutes ago.
It had been such a strange week. Mercy felt as if she rode a bucking horse every time she and Abel were in the same room. One minute he was warm and welcoming, making her insides fill with sweetness. Then he grew fierce and disapproving. Seeing his reaction to the twins’ drawings had made her ache for him. He blamed himself for things he shouldn’t feel responsible for. As far as she could tell from what he’d said to her, he’d done his best for his children and even for Ruby. His wife’s decisions and choices were beyond his control.
She’d told herself again and again that it didn’t matter what Abel thought. The children had drawn the pictures they wanted to draw. So what if they reminded Abel of his wife? Or if they made his jaw muscles tighten visibly? Or if he suddenly grew fierce as if remembering he lived by rules, and squinted at her to remind her she did not?
Yet despite the bucking ride he sent her on, she continued to check the trail.
Ward, Grace and Belle rode into the yard. Billy and Grady raced over to greet their friend Belle.
Linette hugged Grace. “I’m so glad you’re here. And isn’t it wonderful that the weather turned warm so we can be outdoors for the entertainment and picnic?”
Long tables had been set up, laden with food that Linette and Cookie had been busy cooking for two days, along with Mercy’s help. Sybil and Jayne would contribute food, as well as Grace, who had brought a covered dish.
Mercy hugged Grace and Belle after Linette stepped back.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked Linette.
“I think we’re ready. Run along.”
Mercy glanced toward the trail again.
“Go on and meet them,” Linette said.
Jayne and Seth’s door opened and in an attempt to persuade Linette she wasn’t anxious for Abel to appear Mercy ran toward them.
Jayne took Mercy’s arm. Mercy spared a brief glance toward the opening in the trees. Still no one.
“They’ll be here,” Jayne said.
“Who?”
Jayne laughed. “I won’t even answer that.”
A horse bearing a man and two children broke into sight.
“Mercy, Mercy,” the twins called. Allie shrugged from the blanket covering her. Her golden hair shone from beneath a knit hat. Her blue eyes glistened. Her cheeks glowed with healthy pink excitement.
Ladd leaned around his father, waving. Handsome little lad.
Abel’s smile caught her heart and held it captive. The man certainly looked glad to see her. She tried to control the eager leap of her heart and failed.
“Oh my,” Jayne whispered. “I don’t know which of you has it worse.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She looked away from the welcome she imagined in Abel’s smile.
“What don’t you know?” Sybil walked over and joined arms with Mercy, as well.
Jayne chuckled. “Look at them. What do you think?”
Sybil gave Mercy her full attention, then studied Abel. She chuckled. “I think I see another wedding coming up.”
Mercy shook off their hands. “You are both crazy. The children like me. He does not.
”
Her friends laughed.
Abel and the children were now close enough to hear them and she gave both her friends a quelling look.
Laughing, they left arm in arm. She faced Abel alone.
He lifted the children down. “Can you watch them while I take care of the horse?”
“Surely.” She held her hands out to the twins and led them toward the growing crowd, without—she congratulated herself—glancing back at Abel.
She found a spot on the slope overlooking the open area that had been set up for the program. She made sure to squeeze in between Jayne and Sybil. But if she thought that would save her from sitting beside Abel, she was wrong. As soon as he crossed toward them both Sybil and Jayne moved and waved him over.
He jogged to her side. Ladd shifted to make room for Abel between them. Great. So much for proving to her friends that Abel didn’t care for her.
So much for proving to herself she didn’t care about him.
Eddie stepped to the center of the stage area. “Welcome, friends. My wife wanted everyone to be able to celebrate the end of the roundup.”
“And having you back home,” Linette added, bringing laughter from those assembled.
Eddie held out a hand, inviting Linette to join him, pressing her to his side when she did. “We won’t have many more opportunities to gather like this before winter sets in, so let’s enjoy ourselves.”
Linette signaled to Jayne, who stepped forward and recited a poem. One by one, others followed. Buster, the youngest cowboy on the ranch, juggled five balls and earned a roar of approval. There were solos and duets. Bertie recited Psalm 147 with such conviction Mercy’s heart was stirred.
“‘He telleth the number of the stars; he calleth them all by their names.’”
She’d never thought of that before. God cared enough about stars to name them. Did that mean He cared for her the same way? Or did He only want her unquestioning obedience?
Two gray-headed cowboys from the OK Ranch limped to the center. One pulled out a mouth organ and started a fast tune. The other danced a jig, so lively and quick Mercy guessed she wasn’t the only one who was surprised at the man’s grace. Soon everyone clapped along.
