Ruth (17 page)

Sighing, she scratched her head furiously. She didn’t care what Ulele thought; in the morning, after the men left, she was taking a bath.

The next day Ruth washed under Ulele’s watchful eye. The old woman eyed the tub suspiciously when Ruth dragged the wooden bathing apparatus in and set it by the stove, while heavy pots of water bubbled on top. Ruth imagined the device was foreign to Ulele.

Ruth felt like a new person once she’d scrubbed away weeks of grime. Afterward, she bathed the baby, laughing when the infant cooed and splashed water in her face. She glanced up to see the Indian’s face turn as dark as a July storm cloud. She knew the woman wondered what Ruth and Dylan were doing with an Indian child, but Ruth made no effort to explain their situation. It would only sound worse if the Fords knew that she and Dylan were traveling alone, unmarried. Dylan had been the perfect gentleman, but the Fords couldn’t know that.

After the baths, Ruth stood by the fire and dried her and the infant’s hair. The baby cuddled affectionately against her bosom, and Ruth felt a rush of maternal pride that rattled her to the very core. She couldn’t do this—she couldn’t lay claim to the child—or to Dylan. Both were only temporary passersby in her life—ones she hadn’t asked for and couldn’t allow herself to love. Their paths would part in Sulphur Springs. She would have to find a home for the baby and then her life would be . . . what?

Empty. Empty and unfulfilled. Ruth wondered why the thought bothered her now. She’d never had anyone, and she thought she’d accepted the future she felt God gave her.

But deep down, she knew the reason: she was starting to depend on the arrogant marshall—to look to him for security. The baby was . . . well, who could resist a baby?

That afternoon she wrote in her journal:

Dear God,

I am so confused. Sometimes I get so angry at Dylan and his refusal to listen to me—then at other times . . .

She stared at the terse paragraph and wondered what she had been about to confide. Whatever it was, the desire now escaped her. Closing the book, she went to start supper.

When Dylan came in that night, he threw her a look that had her on edge during supper. Was he finally ready to call it quits, to leave these terrible people? She fervently prayed that what she’d glimpsed in his eyes was an end to his patience, silently hoping that he had decided that all the money in the world wasn’t worth what they were going through.

After supper, Dylan sat by the fire and played with the baby. Ruth smiled when she heard him singing her a lullaby in a soft, resonant baritone. He was very good with children; he would make some lucky child a fine papa some day. He could be tender when the situation warranted, compassionate yet firm when needed.

Ruth wondered why she couldn’t openly react to the child as easily. She felt guilty if she laughed when the baby laughed, embarrassed if she spent too much time with her. Once Ulele had sternly scolded her—at least Ruth assumed it was scolding—when the old woman caught Ruth carrying the infant under her arm like a sack of potatoes. She had quickly confiscated the child and demonstrated the proper way to hold a baby: gently, cradled against Ulele’s huge chest.

For the rest of that day, Ruth had carefully toted the baby around like a piece of glass until her back hurt something dreadful. Being a mother was hard work; she supposed that’s why the Lord had decided she wasn’t up to the job.

The next morning Ruth hauled a basketful of dirty clothes to the stream. A thin sun warmed the frozen ground, so she’d convinced Ulele that the baby needed fresh air.

Before Ruth washed and rinsed heavy shirts and pants, she fastened the baby’s papoose board to a low-hanging branch where Ruth could watch her. Kneeling beside the rushing water, she stared at the happy child, resisting the urge to grin back. The infant was incredibly charming with her shiny black hair and smiling eyes. As Ruth busily scrubbed a shirt against a rock, she found herself humming the same lullaby Dylan had sung the night before. She sang the song, repeating verses when she heard the baby’s soft, cooing response. So the child had an ear for music—that wasn’t uncommon.

Ruth remembered when Mrs. Galeen had sung to her sometimes at the orphanage, fanciful songs of butterflies, stardust, and angels. Tears filled her eyes and she swiped them away, blaming the moisture on the cold wind. Where were the baby’s mother and father? Somewhere not so far away? Or were they dead? Ruth had no way to identify or return the baby to her people. Dylan hadn’t known that a child even existed until she had told him. So many questions would never be answered now, with the death of the old man in the wagon. Was he a kind grandfather—a distant relative, perhaps—or just a plain thief?

Ruth dried the last dish later that night and then carried the supper scraps to the dogs huddled beside the back step. Dylan got up from the fire and followed her outside on the pretext of gathering wood.

Ruth bent against the sharp wind as she edged closer to meet him. “What was that look about last night?”

He leaned down, picking up a couple of sticks of dry oak. “You’re right. We have to leave. The sooner the better.”

She shut her eyes with relief, silently thanking God that Dylan had come to his senses. “When?”

He glanced toward the back door. “I’ll talk to Nehemiah in the morning. We’ll be short some of the pay I’d hoped for, but I can find work when we get to Sulphur Springs.”

Ruth nodded, eager to be on their way. She could stretch a penny into a gold coin if she had to. Anything to escape the Fords’ house and Ulele’s suffocating authority. “Ulele isn’t going to be happy about us leaving. She’s gotten very attached to the baby.”

A muscle worked tightly in Dylan’s jaw. “I suppose if we were taking the baby’s needs into account, we’d leave her here. Ulele would raise the little girl, and the baby would be reared in her own heritage.”

“Never!” Ruth said hotly. “I would
never
leave a child in this stifling household.” She wrapped her arms tightly around her middle. Nehemiah was a cold and heartless brute. He’d rarely if ever given the child a second glance. Ulele would raise the child, but not with the tenderness and consideration the little girl deserved. True, Ulele seemed fond of the child. But Ruth shuddered to think about Nehemiah’s influence. If he treated the little girl anything like he treated his wife . . . No, Ruth would die before she’d leave without the infant. Once they were in Sulphur Springs, she would search for a respectable couple who would raise her with love and reverence for the Lord. If she wasn’t mistaken, that was relief she saw on Dylan’s face. He didn’t want to abandon the child any more than she did.

“You know I’m right,” she whispered. “The Fords are miserable people. You’ve built fences, trimmed and notched the logs for a chicken house. You’ve done more work for Nehemiah than he’s done himself this year, and you know it. He’s taking advantage of you; they’re taking advantage of us. We can’t leave the baby with people like them.”

“But we need money and supplies to get to Wyoming, Ruth.”

“I understand and I admire you for thinking of the baby’s and my welfare, but we have to leave now, before you collapse.”

The rationale seemed to reach him. He nodded briefly again. “All right, tomorrow we leave as soon as I’ve collected my pay from Ford.”

They stood in silence, contemplating the next move.

She glanced at him. “Do we know how to get to Sulphur Springs from here?”

“We follow the road. One, two days, depending on how fast we travel. We’ll take it easy. Your feet are beginning to heal. Maybe Ulele will let you have another pair of socks—”

“And maybe Nehemiah will let you have another shirt.”

“Maybe.”

Their eyes met in the cold moonlight.
Then again, maybe not,
their gazes acknowledged.

Ruth impulsively stood on her tiptoes and gave him a brief kiss on the mouth before she turned and hurried back into the house. She didn’t want to arouse the Fords’ suspicions, but she was excited about the plan, even though a few days ago they had been in grave danger of freezing to death. In her heart, she knew leaving was the right choice. They would make it; they had made it farther on less and managed. The three were hearty survivors.

Later, she cleaned and dressed Dylan’s wounds by the firelight. Ulele’s poultices were doing the job; the angry swelling looked less aggressive tonight.

“I’ll take the herbs with me,” she whispered. “You’ll still need to see a doctor once we reach Sulphur Springs.”

Dylan caught her hand. Gazing at her with amusement, he teased, “What was that all about?”

“What?” she asked. She could feel heat creep up her neck when she realized what she’d done earlier. Had she lost her mind? Kissing Marshall McCall, of all things!

Why, she had barely noticed the simple gesture of appreciation, and that’s all the kiss had meant. Had he taken that
peck
for a real kiss? Apparently he had.

“That wasn’t a kiss,” she denied. “I was merely expressing a moment of simple gratitude.” She summoned the courage to meet his smiling eyes. “
Stop
that, Marshall McCall. You know it was a harmless peck—nothing more.”

His grin widened.

“
Stop
that,” she demanded again. She got up and carried the pan of water outside. Her whole body felt aflame from his personal scrutiny!

Early the next morning, Ruth quietly ate breakfast as Dylan and Nehemiah discussed the day’s work. Dylan was expected to dig a trench alongside the house where the hogs could wallow this spring—as if anyone would want hogs next to their house—even if the marshall could stick a shovel in frozen ground. Yet Ulele didn’t dispute her husband. She fed the baby breakfast, seeming to ignore the conversation. The men left the house soon after, and Ulele went to milk the cow, taking the baby with her.

The moment the back door closed, Ruth started to gather their meager belongings. She packed herbs and clean bandages, a fresh loaf of bread and cold meat left from breakfast. She took two warm blankets from the closet, figuring Nehemiah could deduct the cost from Dylan’s wages.

Then she sat down in the silent kitchen, listening to the ticking mantel clock. By now Dylan would have told Nehemiah that they were leaving and the old man was settling up.

While Ulele’s poultices had drawn the infection out of the arrow wounds, the physical labor he was doing from dawn to dusk prevented the wounds from healing. Nearly every day they had reopened and were bleeding when he returned to the cabin. Yet every evening when they sat down to dinner, Dylan had asked Ruth how her day had gone, how her feet were healing. Ruth tried not to complain, especially when the marshall was working so hard, but his sympathetic glances told her he knew how worn out she was every night. If Nehemiah was a slave driver, Ulele was not far behind.

Ruth got up to peer out of the kitchen window. Dylan had been gone a long time—long enough to tell Nehemiah and be back.

She returned to the table and sat down. Ulele would be upset when she heard that they were taking the baby, and Ruth wasn’t sure how Nehemiah or Ulele would react. Well, she decided, she and Dylan would have to take a firm stance. They’d brought the child here; they would take her when they left.

Ruth wasn’t exactly sure how to handle the situation, but she felt that kindness would go further than being brutal about the situation. She would have to find the right words. Though she could hardly stand to be around Ulele, she couldn’t be mean about taking the baby. Ulele had no children of her own, and Ruth could understand how she’d fallen in love with the little girl. After all, she’d had to fight the same feeling herself. She might loathe Ulele, but she couldn’t deliberately be cruel. The old Indian had a terrible life with Nehemiah. Not only was she isolated from human community, but from the way Nehemiah spoke to his wife, Ruth suspected he wasn’t strong in sentimentality. Ulele kept a close eye on her husband when he was in the cabin; Ruth had a hunch that he might have been physically abusive as well. Those suspicions only strengthened Ruth’s resolve to be kind.