Hannah Grace (22 page)

"Hey, watch it, y' dumb brute," he sneered, coughing up a wad of tobacco juice and spitting it at the horse's hoof.

He took a gander at his boys, still hunkered over the fire and grousing about having to get up on such a cold, windy morning. He pulled his watch from his pocket. Already going on seven. From their vantage point up in the hills, surrounded by thick woods, they had no view of the Big Lake, but they sure heard its pounding surf; today, it resonated like a thousand hungry lions.

"You lazy fools," he muttered under his breath. His horse flicked its tail and bent back its ears. "I ain't talkin' to you, for a change," he said to the horse.

"I'm goin' into town on business. You boys clean up this camp. We'll be movin' on soon."

"Movin' on?" asked Roy, coming to life. "How come y' ain't told me nothin"bout it?"

Rufus's patience had worn thin over the past few weeks with that rotten little kid still on the loose, and he'd taken his vexation out on his boys, even backhanding Reuben last week when he had the nerve to question his decision to stay in Holland a few more days. If there was one thing he always made clear to his boys, it was that he ran this outfit; if they didn't like it, well, they could just move on, knowing that if they did, they wouldn't get far. He would make sure of it himself. He liked being the one in control, but sometimes, maintaining that position meant instilling a little old-fashioned fear.

He finished saddling his horse and prepared to mount.

"Pa!" Roy said, leaping to his feet. "What are y' plannin' on doin'?"

Irritation cut deep. He climbed in the saddle, wincing with the pain of old bones gone arthritic, and tugged on his beard. "You don't go worryin' over my every move, y' hear? You ain't in charge-leastways not yet. I tol' y' I got business in town. That of biddy who owns that restaurant in the center of town tol' me yesterday she saw some little straggler a few months back. Diggin' through garbage, he was. Said I ought t' come back this mornin' and talk t' some guy name of Vanderslute who comes in there pert near ev'ry mornin. Said he might know somethin'. So there. I'm goin' to talk to him. That make y' feel any better?"

"I thought you tol' us we was to lay low, not talk to folks, just keep ar eyes and ears peeled for clues," Roy said, blatant challenge in his eyes.

"You got any clues yet, turkey brain?" It wasn't often he allowed himself to rant at Roy, his number one supporter, but every now and again, Roy needed it bad as the other two.

Roy hung his head and poked his boot around in the dirt. Good. "Now, listen up. I want this camp lookin' just as it did before we got here, wild and rustic. Put that fire out, throw dirt over it, haul some logs over top, hide any trace of us, y' hear? Chances are, no one's seen hide ner hair of us anyway, but we ain't takin' no chances."

No one appeared to be in any big hurry.

"Move!" he yelled. This got their attention. "When I get back, I want you boys ready to ride." He kicked his horse in the side, and the gelding jolted. `And start lookin' alive!" he ordered.

Six forty-five. Gabe had lain awake for the past hour, not wanting to disturb Jesse, who had slept soundly through the night, for a change. Something seemed different with him lately-it was like he'd turned a big corner. His words were coming out better these days, as the precarious trust he'd placed in both Hannah and Gabe grew in tiny increments. And then, there was that boy he met, Billy B-someone Hannah knew and said would be a good friend for Jesse. Gabe prayed that was so. He'd grown very protective of the lad, sometimes wondering how he would give him up if they ever found his parents, even if they proved to be good people.

"Lord, I pray You'll give me direction as to the next steps for this boy," he whispered, lying on his back and staring at a spot on the ceiling. The ceiling that needed a new paint job. No light shone through the windows yet, but a low-burning kerosene lamp provided enough light to pinpoint its flaws.

He had lived here for three weeks, and though he enjoyed having a place of his own, it wasn't till after he'd moved in that he'd noticed the imperfections-cracks in the walls, ruts in the wood floors, peeling wallpaper, and rusty pipes. And, as if that wasn't enough, an outhouse needing a new hole! He supposed that's what he got for giving the place no more than a perfunctory look before purchasing it.

He drew in a deep breath and pulled a bare leg out from under the blankets. `All in good time, Lord," he muttered. "I thank You for the blessings You've given me, and this house is one of them."

Outside, he heard a beckoning neigh and an answering bray, and he grinned to himself. At the same time every morning, Slate and of Zeke the Streak let him know they expected their breakfast of oats. It appeared they'd had a bit of pampering over at the livery, but that was okay by him. He'd rested easier knowing they were in good care. They'd had some adjusting to do in their new environs-a meager shed with three stalls that was tighter and cozier by far than what they'd had in Ohio on the Devlin ranch, and then over at Enoch Sprock's roomy livery. But they'll survive the cold just fine, he told himself, figuring they'd probably be more comfortable in their smaller confines, what with all the straw he would provide.

Jesse rolled over and whimpered like a pup, not yet awake but fighting his way to the surface of consciousness. He had his own room, but so far, Gabe hadn't convinced him to take ownership of it, even though a thin wall was all that separated his room from Jesse's. "Look, I can give you a little knock to let you know I'm here, and you can knock back. It'd be like our own special little code," he'd said shortly after moving into the house.

Jesse had looked partially impressed by the idea, and he'd started out that night in his own bed, knocking on the wall every few minutes and Gabe knocking back. But when Gabe had drifted off to sleep and stopped reciprocating Jesse's knocks, the boy had padded into Gabe's room and crawled under the covers. It wasn't until the next morning that Gabe had discovered the mite of a boy snoring into his back. Since then, he'd given up, even though he wasn't wild about sharing his bed with a wiggly worm.

Time. That's what he needs. But a niggling thought told him it was much more than that.

Gingerly, Gabe pulled back the comforter, snagged his pants off the bedpost, and stepped into them. Coffee. He needed coffee. He'd drink a couple of cups while reading his Bible, then tend to the animals, wash up, and put on his uniform before hauling the youngster out of bed.

A kind of restless, nameless energy coursed through his body as he went about his morning chores, but it wasn't until he put a razor to his face, leaned into the mirror, and looked square into his own eyes that he discovered the reason behind it.

Hannah Grace Kane.

He was getting downright accustomed to seeing her every morning, if not anxious to do so.

Just before seven, the windup alarm clock pealed off its annoying clang.

"Up and at'em, dear sisters," came Abbie's equally annoying announcement. ON how did she do it? How did she manage to rise before the entire household and appear ready for anything? Hannah wondered, rolling over on her side and taking her pillow with her, pressing it over her head to block the torturously bright lightbulb hanging directly over her bed.

"Abbie, please pull the switch on that light."

"I can't. You'll go back to sleep."

"Which I am allowed to do," she muttered with a groggy morning voice.

"You know how angry you get with yourself when you oversleep." Abbie pounced on her bed like a cat eager for play, which made Hannah groan.

Across the room in the other bed, Maggie rolled over and groused, "How can you be so chipper in the morning, Abigail Ann? It's simply not fair," Her tone, ill-humored and whiny, put a smile on Hannah's face, cueing her to cover her mouth with the corner of her blanket. She let her eyes adjust to the light while Maggie droned on about the negative aspects of morning. "It seems I just close my eyes, and minutes later ,the sun's up. Why, oh, why, can't I set aside one morning for sleeping in?"

"Oh, pooh, listen to you!" Abbie chided. "You slept in Saturday morning."

"Till eight o'clock," Maggie said. "That's not sleeping in."

"It is, in Grandmother's eyes."

`Aargh! Six o'clock is sleeping in to Helena Kane," Maggie grumped, pulling the blankets back over her face in one dramatic move.

Abbie made a production of bounding off Hannah's bed, sprinting across the room, and thrusting herself across Maggie's covered body. Maggie made a distant, muffled squeal beneath the weight of her younger sister. When the tickling began, it was all-out war, interspersed with fits of wild laughter and even more bellowing, the old bed springs squeaking in loud protest. At one point, all Hannah saw was Abbie upended in a whoosh of pink and white petticoats. She giggled at the sight.

As Hannah watched the two go at it, memories flooded of days gone by-days they'd played with dolls and other toys, danced to silly tunes, frolicked in the backyard, skipped rope, walked to school, and even squabbled for no good reason. She tried to picture life apart from her sisters and couldn't quite do it.

How things would change if she married Ralston. If. What a big word for only two letters. She knew Ralston's impatience for an answer grew daily, but she still sat on the fence, wondering what to tell him, trying to determine her exact feelings for the dear man. And he was dear. Lately, he'd been more attentive-asking her about her needs, inquiring about her day, complimenting her appearance, even holding her hand more frequently. There were no recent kissing attempts, but that didn't bother her in the least. His occasional pecks on the cheek or forehead satisfied her plenty.

He even spoke to her father about the proposal, and, although Ralston hadn't divulged the details about their conversation, her father had told Hannah that he would give them his blessing, providing they both prayed about it and determined the marriage to be in line with God's perfect will.

God's perfect will? How did one ever ascertain such a thing? Hannah read her Bible dutifully, a chapter from the Old and New Testaments and two Psalms daily. Moreover, on her morning walks to the Whatnot, she thanked God for all His blessings and prayed for her family and friends, particularly Jesse. Most of her prayers were for others, though, as it seemed rather selfish and presumptuous to mention her own needs, much less express the many questions she had about determining His will. It all seemed so complicated and unattainable. She imagined a huge Being sitting upon His throne, issuing out instructions on matters of war and poverty, certainly not matters pertaining to simple little Hannah Grace Kane.

Maggie and Abbie saw things differently, believing God cared about the everyday things of life. If ever anyone walked passionately and intimately with Him, it was Hannah's sisters. Quiet, sweet, resolute, and dedicated Maggie served the Lord with tireless determination, always looking for one cause or another to sink her teeth into; boisterous, outspoken Abbie was ever fervent in her faith.

While her sisters continued romping and wrestling on the bed, Hannah did some mental wrestling of her own. Did Ralston Van Huff strive to bring out the best in her, build her confidence, and encourage her on matters of faith and prayer? Her stomach clenched uneasily. Could she even be certain Ralston possessed a wholehearted faith?

Quite unexpectedly, the image of Gabriel Devlin's face popped into her mind. Now, there was a man not afraid to show his faith-why, he spoke out, unabashed, about how he prayed for Jesse.

She shook herself back to reality. Tonight, Ralston would take her to Culver House for dinner. Perhaps this evening would prove the defining moment in their relationship, particularly when she asked him where he stood with God.

"Stop it! Stop it this instant, Abigail Kane, or I will cut your hair off the next time I catch you sleeping."

"Ha! If you do, I'll paint your face black while you're sleeping."

Hannah narrowed her eyes on her scuffling sisters, hearing enough. In one fast maneuver, she tossed back her blankets, leaped from her bed, and ran across the room, throwing herself atop the pair and creating an even bigger fracas.