Linda Ford (3 page)

“I’ll open a can of peaches.” He ambled to the packhorse and found what he wanted. When he returned, Betsy’s eyes widened at what he held. He opened the can with his knife and poured almost half in her now-clean tin can and divided the rest between Maggie and him, keeping barely a taste for himself.

While he relaxed with his coffee, Maggie plucked the wisps of clothing from the nearby branches and took the child behind a curtain of trees to help her dress. When they emerged, Crane smiled. Betsy had all but disappeared in his shirt. The sleeves, rolled into a lump, hid her hands. Her bare toes flashed from under the garment. The neck hung over one shoulder. He glanced at Maggie, and seeing the amusement in her eyes, his smile widened.

Maggie washed the dishes and packed them away as Crane doused the fire. A few minutes later, they were back on the trail.

“I guess no one’s after us,” Maggie said, studying the back trail.

“ ’Pears that way.” But he knew he wouldn’t relax for several days.

They headed west, Crane slouched in his saddle in the loose way that made the miles easy on the body. Used to long days in the saddle, he prepared to settle down into his own thoughts.

They had gone a mile or so when Betsy asked Maggie, “You got a mamma and papa?”

Crane strained to hear the conversation without indicating he listened, sensing neither Maggie nor Betsy would converse freely if they thought he could hear them.

Maggie didn’t answer for a few minutes. “I had a mamma and papa.”

“They was nice?” Her little voice quavered.

Crane eased back on the reins, dropping back half a gait.

Maggie lifted a hand and tugged at a strand of hair at her neck. “My mamma was real nice.”

“What happened to her?”

Maggie shivered like a cold wind had torn across her neck and whispered, “She died two years ago.”

“My mamma died too.” Betsy twisted round and round the cuff of Crane’s shirt she wore.

They rode on, the silence broken only by the thudding hooves of three horses and the cawing of a pair of crows disturbed by their presence.

“What happened to your papa?” Betsy asked.

Maggie’s shoulders lifted and fell as she sighed. “He weren’t the same after Mamma died.”

“He beat you?” As much statement as question, the words made Crane clench his teeth.

“Sometimes.” Maggie hesitated. “But I didn’t mind that so much.”

Betsy leaned around so she could look into Maggie’s face. “What else he do?”

Maggie shook her head and refused to answer.

Crane’s jaw started to ache.

“Guess he just didn’t want us anymore,” Maggie said after they had ridden several minutes.

“He was a bad man,” Betsy said. “Like Bull.”

“Bull?”

Betsy nodded.

“That the man who—?” Maggie began.

Betsy nodded, and again they rode in silence.

Finally Maggie spoke. “Well, Bull ain’t never going to hurt you again. Ain’t that right, Crane?”

Crane jerked to attention, meeting Maggie’s challenging look. Betsy’s glance slid away as soon as she saw him looking at her. “Yup. That’s right.”

Maggie stared at him a second longer, then nodded.

Satisfied he had given them the assurance they sought, Crane settled back. But something rattled at the back of his mind, something he’d missed, but he couldn’t find it.

Betsy’s thin voice broke the silence. “I never had a papa.” She pulled Maggie’s face close to whisper, barely loud enough for Crane to hear. “He have a mamma and papa?”

Maggie cast him a quick glance. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

But the child hunched down. The horses walked on. When Crane determined neither female was going to ask the question of him, he gave his answer. “My parents are gone.”

“Dead?” the child whispered.

He kept his eyes on the trail. “My mother died this winter past.” He couldn’t remember when she’d quit living.

“Your papa too?”

It seemed the child had a hankering to know about parents. He supposed he couldn’t blame her, but it was something he no longer thought about. Finally he answered, “I don’t know.”

She nodded. “We’s all orphans.”

No one said anything different, and they rode on into the afternoon, passing scattered farmyards, houses, and barns set back from the road. Used to the quiet of the trail, Crane thought nothing of the silence until, turning to look toward one of the farms, he saw the child drooped over, her head wagging against Maggie.

She’s sleeping. She’s hardly bigger than a minute.

Maggie’s head lulled from side to side. They were both asleep.

His first instinct was to rein in right now. But it wasn’t a place to make camp.

Ahead he saw a farmhouse close to the trail and, hoping to get some supplies, turned toward the house.

When Maggie would have kept going straight ahead, he called her. She jerked up, saw his intent, and reined in to follow. Betsy lifted her head. Her face wrinkled as if she were going to cry, then she took a deep breath and pressed her quivering lips tight.

The woman of the house came to greet them, and a few minutes later they purchased eggs, potatoes, fresh bread, and a pie. As Crane secured the items in the packs, Betsy’s round eyes followed him. Finally she could contain herself no longer.

“That all for us?”

He grinned. “You think we can handle it?”

Her stare greedily consumed the pie. “I only ever had pie once before.”

“Didn’t like it, huh?”

“Oh, yes. I did. It was so good.” Her look said volumes more than her words did.

Until now Maggie had been silent. Now she grinned at Crane as she said to Betsy, “Don’t suppose bread interests you?”

Betsy sighed in ecstasy. “I love bread.”

“And eggs and potatoes?” Maggie prodded.

“And eggs and potatoes.” The child swallowed hungrily.

“And just about anything you can put in your mouth,” Maggie added, shaking her head.

Betsy gave Crane a desperate look. “I’m awful hungry.”

Maggie’s bubbling laughter caught Crane by surprise, sending tickling fingers up and down his spine. He ducked his head, mumbling, “We’ll stop as soon as we find the right spot.” He flicked the reins.

Behind him he heard Betsy. “We’ll eat then, right?”

Crane grunted. It didn’t take long before he saw what he wanted. “Over here.” He pointed toward a bunch of trees.

He found a grassy spot close to the river and dropped from his horse. It was easy to see Maggie was about all done in, and he reached up to take Betsy, his hands completely encircling her tiny waist. As he lifted her, he made the alarming discovery she weighed even less than he’d estimated and swung her in a high, wide arc. His heart did a quick dogtrot. He felt her sharply indrawn breath.

I’ve scared the wee mite half to death! And just when we was starting to be friendly.

Her ribs quivered beneath his fingertips, and her voice quaked in a soft sound.

Now you done it. You made her cry.

He set her down, holding her until she gained her feet, but she hung limp in his arms, the same sound and the same quivering under his fingertips. He didn’t know what to do and shot Maggie a look.

She stared at the child.

“I didn’t think she’d be so light.” He hoped Maggie would understand and forgive his stupidity.

She dragged her gaze to his.

But Betsy straightened, commanding his attention. She twisted in his grasp to look up at him, her tiny fingers clutching at his hands. “That was fun. Do it more.” Her eyes shone, and she beamed up at him.

The thin sound and the shaking had been laughter. She wasn’t scared; she had enjoyed it and begged for more.

“Again. Again.” She bounced in his hands.

He didn’t know what else to do, so he swung her up again, feeling the thistledown weight of her and hearing her thin laughter. When he finally released her, she spun around to face him. “I like that.”

Crane rubbed his hands on the sides of his pants. He wondered if he should say something, but nothing came to mind. “Huh,” he grunted finally, reaching up to help Maggie as she eased herself from the saddle. She didn’t weigh a whole lot more than the child, but he felt something reassuring about her hands on his arms as she let him lower her to the ground. She tightened her grasp and bit her lip as she straightened.

“Didn’t realize how hard I pushed us today,” he murmured, knowing her discomfort was his fault.

“I’ll be fine.” And to prove her point, she dropped her hold on him.

They faced each other, a hum of thoughts knotting in the back of Crane’s mind. “Guess I don’t know nothing about traveling with a woman and child.”

“You ever done it before?”

He pushed his hat back, trying to remember. “Can’t say I recollect another time.”

“Then, don’t guess you’d know.”

He nodded. It was all new to him. And not at all what he’d had in mind.

“Mind you,” she continued, “I’ve never ridden west before.” She paused. “And I’ve never had a husband before. So I guess we’ll all have to learn as we go along.”

“Right.” He liked the sound of it. Kind of like easing into the whole thing.

Three

He left them building a fire while he went to find meat, relishing the quiet of the open country. It gave him time to think. He was treading unfamiliar water. There was no guessing where the current would carry him next.

A brace of partridges shattered the air. He managed to bag two of them and carried them back to camp to prepare them.

Betsy ran to the water’s edge to watch. “That for supper?”

“Yup.”

“How long it gonna take to cook it?”

He glanced up and saw the pinched look around her mouth. “You hungry?”

She nodded, her eyes big.

“Think you can wait ’til it’s cooked?”

“Maybe.” She paused. “If it ain’t too long.”

He finished washing the carcasses, carried the birds to the fire, fixed them on a spit, and crouched down to tend them. Maggie dug a hole near the fire and put in three good-sized spuds, covering them with sand, then a layer of hot coals.

Betsy watched their every move, her hand twisting the bunched-up material at her wrists. “We have to wait now?”

Maggie answered. “It won’t be long, Sweetie.”

Still the child jittered inside Crane’s too-large shirt. “We wouldn’t have to wait for the pie to cook.”

Crane stared at her, then looked at Maggie for direction, but Maggie only shrugged as if to say it was up to Crane.

“Why not?” he said.

The child’s hands relaxed. Her smile was blinding.

Poor thing,
he thought.
She must be starving.

In an instant, he was a child again, older than her by a few
years but still looking to his parents to provide food when nec
essary. He had climbed down the rough ladder to the basement and searched the bins for any overlooked vegetables, but he found nothing except a rotted carrot. The cupboards upstairs were as bare. His stomach hurt, though he couldn’t be certain if it was from fear or hunger, and he huddled at the bottom of the ladder, hating to climb up and tell his mother nothing was left. No food and no money to buy it with.

He shook his thoughts aside. That was too long ago to think about. With the child’s eager brown gaze on him, he retrieved the pie and cut it into six pieces. Betsy hung close, watching his every move.

“It’s red,” she said, leaning over as juice oozed out of the cut lines.

“Pieplant,” he explained. “First fruit of the spring.” His own taste buds were springing to life at the tangy smell of the pie.

“I like pieplant.”

“You ever tasted it before?” he asked, lifting a piece to a tin plate.

“No, but I like it.” Her eyes never left the wedge of pie.

Crane waited as she bit into it. At first taste, her mouth puckered, and her eyes grew round. Then the sweetness came, and she chewed greedily. He smiled. “You still like it?”

She raised her brown eyes to him and nodded, her mouth too full to speak.

Grinning, he served a wedge for Maggie and another for himself. “And a piece each for later,” he said, setting aside the rest of the pie.

Crane thought Betsy would devour the delicacy in a gulp. Instead she lingered over every bite. He could almost feel her delight in the flavor and texture. When done, she licked her lips and handed the tin plate to Maggie. “That was good,” she announced, then scampered to the river to cast stones in the water.

Maggie’s clear laugh rang out. “My mother used to say, ‘A child with a full tummy is a happy child.’ ”

Crane nodded. Hunger had a way of making everything else unimportant.

Maggie’s smile faded. “I’m sure she meant children in a normal, happy family.”

Again Crane nodded.

“Doesn’t matter how full you are if you’re scared to death.” Her blue gaze drilled into him. “She’ll never be afraid again,” Maggie vowed.

“Not as far as it depends on us,” Crane likewise vowed, meeting her piercing look with matching firmness.

Betsy played as Maggie and Crane turned their attention back to supper preparations. The partridges were soon spitting on the fire, the aroma bringing a flood of saliva to Crane’s mouth and Betsy back to the fire.

“They almost ready?” she asked.

He looked up from turning the spit and, seeing the longing look on her face, laughed. “I thought you had enough pie in you to last awhile.”

“It was good.” She squirmed inside the too-big shirt. “But it’s gone.”

He knew she meant the feel of it in her stomach and nodded. “Guess you don’t like nothing better than eating.”

Her gaze lingering on the golden carcasses, she absently replied, “That’s ’cause I’m hungry.”

Struck by the simple wisdom of her words, he smiled. “You ever not hungry?”

With a look of fear making her brown eyes even browner, she faced him and solemnly shook her head.

He wanted to assure her everything would be all right now; yet sensing her fear of him, he settled for asking, “You ever had spit-roasted meat?”

She shook her head.

“Or roasted potatoes?”

Her eyes grew rounder, and she shook her head again.

He figured he could list a hundred things, and she’d continue to shake her head. “Well, get your plate. It’s ready.”

She dove for the plate.

“Slow down, Honey,” Maggie crooned. “It’s not going to disappear.”

Crane cut a hunk of meat for Betsy. Maggie dropped a hot potato beside it. They ate in silence, both Maggie and Betsy eating as if there were no tomorrow. They finished and waited expectantly for him to pass the rest of the pie. Food took on an importance that hadn’t existed for him since he got his first job. He wasn’t paid much for sweeping the floor, carrying in wood and coal, and taking out ashes at the general store back home, but Mr. Brown had been only too happy to give him part of his wages in groceries. And after he moved on to bigger things, he always made certain his mother had a full pantry. Now all of a sudden he was faced with a child who was constantly hungry and a woman who ate like a workingman.

He ate his pie and straightened. Thank goodness they were passing through a country with plenty of game. He promised himself he would never let them go hungry.

Maggie and Betsy took the dishes to the river to wash, and Crane piled more wood close to the fire.

Dusk tiptoed in. It was time to get ready for the night. He untied the bedrolls from the pack, looking uncertainly at the bundles. He’d brought enough for two—man and wife—but what about the child? He could feel Betsy’s stare boring into his back. The tension-filled air crackled.

“Betsy and I will sleep together, right, Betsy?” Maggie murmured. He could sense the child’s relief as he handed Maggie a roll of blankets.

“Here you go, Honey.” And giving her the bedroll, Maggie said, “You decide where we’ll sleep.” Crane chose a place close enough to the fire so he could throw on more wood if he got cold and against a fallen tree so he wasn’t completely exposed. With a flick of his wrists, he spread the roll on the ground.

When he returned from checking the horses, Betsy still stood clutching the blankets. Her glance darted away when he looked at her. He poured himself another cup of coffee and took it to his pallet. He removed his boots, setting them carefully against the tree trunk, put his hat on top, and stood the rifle close before he settled down on the pad to enjoy the coffee.

“You pick a spot?” Maggie urged the child.

She nodded.

“Well, then?”

Still Betsy stood rooted there, her big eyes watching Crane. He made a point of ignoring her, letting her feel her space and decide what she wanted. He heard a little sigh before she silently eased in his direction. She halted so close he could tell she was breathing through her mouth. Then she knelt down and set the blankets next to his, struggling to unroll them.

Maggie knelt beside her to help. “You sure this is where you want to sleep?”

It was the same question Crane wanted to ask.

Betsy nodded without looking up.

“There’s lots of other places,” Maggie insisted.

“I know,” the child whispered. “This is the best.”

Maggie stared at her.

Crane watched them both from beneath his eyelashes.

“This is a fine spot all right,” Maggie agreed, “But can you tell me why you picked it?”

Betsy glanced sideways at Maggie and whispered, “So we can be close to him.” She flung a quick glance at Crane. “He takes care of us.”

The child’s words slammed into him. He steadied his cup, keeping his eyes lowered.

Maggie jerked to her feet. “You need anything before you go to bed?” she asked the child.

“Can I have a drink?”

Maggie handed her a cup. “Run get some water from the river. Mind you, don’t get your clothes wet.”

The child scampered away.

Crane lifted his head to face Maggie. Her fists thudded against her hips, and she glowered at him.

“What?” he asked, having no notion what had made her angry.

“It seems you’ve earned the trust of the child.”

She made it sound as if he’d done something wrong. “So?”

“So?” she repeated. “The trust of a child is a precious thing.”

He nodded.

“Some people act like it’s nothing. They don’t take it into consideration.” She was breathing hard.

Again he nodded, having no idea what she was trying to say but figuring it wasn’t a good time to point it out.

“You have a child. You got to always be there.”

It was a sucker punch, but he knew what she meant. “I ain’t going no place.”

Betsy sang as she returned.

Maggie’s eyes narrowed as she drove her words home. “You earned the trust of that child. See you live up to it.” And as Betsy stepped into the light, she turned to her. “You ready for bed now?”

He crawled under the covers, turning his back to give the other two privacy, aware when Betsy crawled in next to him, the cold from her bare feet reaching out to the small of his back. Maggie settled in next to the child.

“Go to sleep,” she murmured, hands brushing along Crane’s spine as she pulled the covers around the child.

Crane let his body settle into the shape of the ground and waited for sleep to envelop him, but tonight sleep did not come instantly. Instead his thoughts hovered on the day. He’d been so confident of what he was doing when he rode into town. Now he couldn’t say exactly what he’d expected; only it wasn’t anything like this.

He guessed he thought he would marry, and somehow, come nighttime, they would crawl under the covers together, and the rest would come natural. But instead they lay under separate covers, a child between them. Perhaps it was as it should be. After all, what did he know about being married? He couldn’t even look at his parents for an example. His father had left when he was eleven. He could only remember what it was like afterward. And his adult life had taken him on the trail with other drifters and cows. He hadn’t had a lot of women in his life.

The feeling he had was not unlike grabbing on to the tail of a stampede.

He was awakened by an unfamiliar sound and something touching him. He jerked up, reaching for his rifle before he realized it was a pair of bare feet kicking at him. And the sound was the child sobbing. He waited for Maggie to do something, but by the gentle snores from her direction, he knew she hadn’t been disturbed by the noise.

How much did it take to wake her? he wondered.

The sobs bordered on hysteria. Betsy must be having a nightmare.

“Betsy.” He touched her shoulder. She jerked away, choking on a scream.

“Betsy.” He shook her. “Wake up.”

Still sobbing, she reached for him, pulling herself to his lap, huddling against his chest.

He stiffened, afraid to touch her. She was so small. But her sobs shuddered through him, and not knowing what else to do, he wrapped his arms around her, cradling her. “Shh. You’re safe now. Stop crying. Stop crying.”

Maggie grunted and sat up, rubbing her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“The child was having a bad dream.”

Maggie reached out to rub Betsy’s back. “It’s only a dream, Honey.”

Together they comforted the child, and her sobs quieted. Crane held her as her breathing deepened.

“She’s asleep again,” he whispered.

Maggie pulled the covers back so he could lower Betsy to her bed. Their hands brushed as they smoothed the blanket over the sleeping girl.

“She’ll be fine now,” Maggie whispered.

Crane went to the fire and shoved wood into the embers. Sparks flared, and he saw Maggie standing close, her arms wrapped around her middle, her eyes watchful. He shook the coffeepot. It rattled with dry grounds.

“I’ll make more,” Maggie offered.

“No need.” He settled on a stump, staring at the flames.

Maggie pulled a piece of log close and sat beside him. “Are you having regrets?” she asked, her voice low.

“About what?”

“About everything. Getting married.” She hesitated. “To me.” Another pause. “About the child.”

He laughed. “More like confused. Not in my wildest dreams was this what I expected. I’m wondering what’s going to happen next.”

“Bet you thought your first night as a married man would be a little different, huh?”

He could feel warmth creep up his neck and thanked the darkness she couldn’t see it. “I really hadn’t given it a lot of thought.”

The soft night noises settled around them.

Finally Maggie said, “I guess it’s my fault.”

He shrugged. “You didn’t force me to do anything.” Then he added, “Tonight is only the first night of the rest of our lives. We got lots of time.”

He felt her sigh and looked across the fire to the sleeping child, barely a ripple under the blankets. “You think she’ll be all right?” he asked.

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I know nothing about little ones, but she seems eager to find good things and enjoy them. I think she’ll do fine.”

“I think you’re right. Besides, she’s young. The younger you are, the easier it is to forget.”

He thought about that. For certain he didn’t remember much about his younger years. In fact, he’d thought about his youth more today than he had in a long time. Maybe, he admitted, he’d done his best to forget those early years. Meeting this child had driven his thoughts to those forgotten places.