скачать книгу бесплатно
“It’s been eight years, Hattie.”
“Joe will never agree.”
“Why not ask him?”
Her own emotional concerns aside, she knew how deep Joe’s bitterness ran. He not only blamed himself for not being there when she’d needed him most, but he’d lost his faith in himself and, worse yet, in God.
Hattie clung to her faith now more than ever. Faith filled the hollow places, banished the darkness that might have otherwise taken her down. Faith gave her the strength to forgive, the will to get up and face each new day knowing the Lord was always with her.
But now, Jesse was asking her to do more. He was asking her to take action, to prove forgiveness was not just a word or a thought, but a deed.
She struggled for a way out.
“I’m sure there must be someone else, some other family willing to care for her, Jesse.”
She surveyed the land that had once held so much promise, remembered how thrilled her husband, Orson, had been the day they’d staked their claim. So long ago. So many memories were buried here. Memories and pieces of her tattered heart.
She studied Jesse, amazed he’d ridden all the way out from Glory on a fool’s errand.
“She’ll only be here until we locate her family, Hattie.”
Hattie reached up, smoothed back a strand of hair that had escaped the back of her bonnet and trailed down her neck. She let her imagination run loose, tried to picture a young woman sleeping in the empty room upstairs, the room that hadn’t been used since Melody died.
She had no doubt this was God’s hand working through Jesse. In the beginning she’d struggled to forgive the harm done to her, the injuries inflicted upon her, the taking of her loved ones. Eventually, she’d succeeded, or so she thought. Setting aside the past was the Christian thing to do.
Nine years ago she would not have hesitated to say yes if asked to help, nor would Orson. They would have opened their door and arms to anyone in need. But Orson was gone and so was little Melody, and now Hattie didn’t know if she had the courage to say yes. She was scarred inside and out. She wasn’t the woman she’d been then.
Besides, even if she agreed, Joe would never stand for it.
Oh, how she wished Orson was here. But then, if Orson was still alive, things would be different. Joe might be different.
But he’d been a rebellious youth before Orson and Mellie were killed and now he was a bitter young man.
“Is she…dangerous?” Hattie met Jesse’s gaze, hoping to measure the truth of his answer.
“She hasn’t shown any violence. Hasn’t tried to escape. She may not even be right in the head anymore, but she looks to be sane. Only God knows what those savages did to her.”
“How old is she?”
“Hard to tell. Maybe eighteen. Maybe younger. Maybe a year or two older. No way to know how long she’s been a captive, either. She doesn’t speak English anymore. That’s how long.”
“I just don’t know what to tell you, Jesse.”
Her Melody would have been sixteen in August; Mellie with her cherub’s curls and bright green eyes. Mellie was the light of all their lives before the Lord saw fit to take her. Both Melody and Orson at once.
Only by her faith in the goodness and workings of the Lord had Hattie made it through her darkest days, her bleakest hours. She slowly convinced herself that her work here was not finished or He’d surely have taken her, too, and spared her the pain.
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.
Was this opportunity His way of giving her back something she’d lost? Was this challenge another test of her faith?
Even if she agreed to take the girl in, Joe would still have to consent. But she doubted he’d ever shelter a former Comanche captive, someone who’d been with the Indians for so long she no longer spoke English, someone who had taken on their savage ways.
Try as she might, Hattie could not stop thinking of the damaged young woman in need of a place to recover from unspeakable hardships. A young woman who needed her —
Only another survivor could understand.
Hattie noticed her hands were shaking as she lifted the China chocolate pot covered in dainty yellow roses. It seemed a century ago that she’d carefully wrapped it in yards of calico along with the rest of her mother’s dishes before moving them across the country.
“More coffee, Jesse?” In his eyes she saw glimpses of the same bleakness that was ever present in Joe’s nowadays. Both men had witnessed too much bloodshed and far more violence than they deserved. But Jesse Dye was a good ten years older than Joe. And Jesse had chosen his lot in life. He’d been a soldier since the first Confederate regiment was formed in Texas.
It wasn’t right that Joe, at twenty-five, was already burdened with guilt over a past he couldn’t change.
Unlike her, Joe had lost his faith in everything good and true and right. He’d completely given up on God the night his father and sister had been murdered by Comanche raiders, the night he found her, his mother, ravaged and left for dead.
Since then, his guilt and the hardships of life on the Texas plains had beaten the joy out of him, made him too soon a man.
Jesse declined her offer of more chocolate and, a moment later, Hattie nearly jumped out of her skin when she suddenly heard Joe’s footsteps behind her.
She turned as her son came walking across the porch, rolling down his shirtsleeves as his long-legged stride brought him to the table. The collar of the brown-and-white-striped shirt she’d made him was damp. So, too, was his dark curly hair. It was his habit to wash up in the barn before coming into the house.
Their brown hound, Worthless, trailed along in Joe’s wake. The dog sniffed at Jesse’s boots and then stretched out on the ground near her feet.
Joe’s glance shot between her and Jesse. His mouth hardened into a taut line. Visitors were a rarity, even former old friends.
“Hey, Jesse,” he said. His expression remained guarded as he turned to Hattie. “What’s going on? Why are you here?”
“Jesse’s an old friend, Joe. He has every right to drop by.”
“We haven’t seen you in what? Eight months? A year maybe?”
Hattie was grateful that Jesse ignored the insult.
“Yesterday we had a skirmish with a renegade band of Comanche. We rescued a handful of white captives. There’s a young woman among them who looks to be in better shape than the rest, but like most of them, she’s still unidentified. I’ve come to ask if you folks will take her in—just until her family’s located.”
Hattie watched her son’s expression darken. Without comment, he reached for the chocolate pot and filled an empty cup before he sat down at the end of the table opposite her.
“You actually expect us to take her in?” Joe’s anger was barely controlled. “Are you out of your mind?”
Jesse ignored Joe’s intent stare. “You’ve certainly got the room. Your ma could use some help around the house, I reckon.”
“Help?” Joe didn’t try to hide his disgust. “You think somebody who’s gone Comanch’ is really gonna be of help to my mother? Are you forgetting what she’s been through on account of the Comanche? You forget what she’s suffered?” Joe paused, stared at Jesse as he added, “We haven’t.”
“Please, Joe,” Hattie whispered. His undisguised bitterness and anger worried her more than the thought of inviting the Comanche captive into her home.
Joe leaned forward, rested his forearm on the table. “How long has she been a captive?”
Jesse shrugged. “No idea.”
“Did she come in of her own accord? Did she ask to be rescued?”
“I wasn’t the one who found her,” the seasoned soldier admitted. “She’s made no attempt to run.”
Joe stared down into his cup. Hattie watched the muscle in his jaw tighten before he slowly looked up again.
“Maybe you’d like us to take her in because you’re thinking of keeping all the outcasts in one place? Is that it?”
“Joe!” Hattie flushed with embarrassment.
Jesse’s expression soured. Pushed too far, he didn’t bother to hide his anger.
“You know I’m not thinking anything of the sort. Your father was one of my pa’s closest friends. I have the greatest respect for your mother.”
Hattie’s thoughts strayed to the young woman in need. A white girl who had lived among the Comanche. A girl who had been ripped from her family, taken captive and had managed to survive. Some other mother’s daughter.
Her heart again began to pound with the old fear that still terrorized her in the middle of a moonless night. She took a deep breath and refused to feed that fear, forced herself to think of the possibilities instead.
Theirs was a small spread, one that barely broke even most years. Except for spring and summer when Joe hired on extra hands, there were just the two of them. There was never time to catch up.
If nothing else, she could surely use another pair of hands. But a Comanche captive?
The Lord giveth…
“With kindness and nurturing, she’ll come around.” Hattie didn’t realize she’d voiced her thoughts aloud, but figured Joe and Jesse weren’t paying her any mind anyway.
She was a born nurturer, with nothing but cattle and crops to tend for the last eight years.
She looked up and found them both staring at her.
“I can teach her,” she decided. “And I could use a hand around the house.” She bit her lip and took a deep breath before she appealed directly to Joe.
“Jesse says no one else will take her in, son.”
“Of course they won’t. What else would you expect?” He was watching her closely, undisguised disbelief in his eyes. “Very few folks ever did anything to help you, Ma. Or have you forgotten how the good people of Glory turned their backs on you, as if daring to survive was your great sin.”
“Joe—”
“Maybe no one else has taken her in because they’re afraid she’ll murder them in their sleep.” As if a thought had just struck him, Joe looked to Jesse again. “Is she dangerous?”
“She hasn’t shown any signs.”
“Can she speak English?” Joe asked.
“She hasn’t said anything yet,” Jesse admitted.
Joe’s lip curled in disgust. “Even if she did, you don’t know what she’s thinking.”
“It’s just ’til they find her folks,” Hattie reminded him.
“Do you even know her name?” Joe pressed.
Jesse cleared his throat and shoved his empty cup aside. “The governor’s office is going through records of Indian raids and letters from folks searching for missing and abducted relations. We’ve got boxes of army files dating back to the first Texas settlers. It’s just a matter of time until we find out who she is.”
Hattie watched her son stare across the open range and studied his strong, handsome profile. Now that he was older, he reminded her so much of a young Orson that at times she almost called him by his father’s name. His black curly hair and midnight eyes came from the Ellenberg side of the family, but he’d inherited his stubborn determination from her.
Since they’d lost Orson and Mellie, Joe’s heart had hardened, even as her own had opened to forgiveness.
Now a young woman needed a home and someone to guide her out of the darkness, someone to lead her back to the light. Perhaps if the girl and Joe took the journey together, one or, hopefully, both would succeed. Would it ever be possible for Joe to forgive and move on? Would it ever be possible for him to believe again?
Hattie welcomed the chance to have another female in the house, even one that presented a great challenge. She hardly remembered what it was like to have a woman friend to confide in, to laugh with.
The laughter had gone out of their lives one bleak winter night long ago.
Jesse was waiting for an answer. She met his gaze and began to understand why he’d turned to her.
Who better to help the girl than me? Who else can even begin to understand all she’s been through?
Hattie said a small, silent prayer and looked at her son.
“I’ll abide by whatever you say, Joe, but I’d like to do this.”
Then she rose and began to busy herself with the cups and saucers. She collected the empty plate she’d filled with half a dozen almond macaroons. Jesse had eaten them all.
She had made her position clear to Joe. Now she put her trust in the Lord.
Jesse’s wooden chair squeaked under his weight and then silence settled over them all. She knew Joe was devoted to her. If he wasn’t, he’d have ridden off and left her and this place behind long ago. Spurred by sorrow, emptiness and guilt, he’d have surely chosen to follow a crooked path.
But he loved her enough to devote his life to the Rocking e. She was convinced that deep down inside, he was still a good man. He’d lost his way, that was all. She wasn’t about to lose hope of his finding it again.
She looked up and caught him watching her intently, almost as if he were trying to see into her heart. As he studied her face, she was tempted to reach up and tug on the brim of her bonnet, to try and cover the white, puckered scar that ran parallel to her forehead—the result of an attempted scalping.
Instead, she gathered her hope and courage and smiled back.
“Is this what you really want, Ma? Are you sure you can do this?” He spoke so softly she barely heard him.
Hattie was never more certain. “The Lord never gives us a burden we can’t carry, Joe.”
“Yeah? Well, He’s given you more than your fair share of hurt, Ma. You don’t have to do this.”
Oh, son, she thought. Perhaps I don’t have to, but I think you do.
When she didn’t respond, he fell into thoughtful silence. A few seconds later she saw his shoulders slowly rise and fall and heard his deep sigh of resignation. She nearly bowed her head in thanksgiving.
“If you want, I guess it won’t hurt for me to go have a look at her,” Joe said.
She knew what this was costing him. Joe avoided the town of Glory like the plague, only going in when they were in dire need of supplies. She never went at all. Not anymore.
But today she insisted, “I’m going with you, son.”
