Hope (12 page)

Pulling himself upright, Dan leaned close to Harriet’s ear. “Who are those people?”

“It’s just Lyndon,” the old woman shouted. “Nothin’ to concern your head about!”

Hope struggled to sit up, but Dan kept pushing her down. “Who are they? Robbers?” That’s all she needed—to be taken hostage a second time. John Jacobs would never buy that story!

“It’s Lyndon,” Dan told Hope.

“Oh.” She lay back, trying to hang on.
It’s Lyndon. . . .
She frowned.
Who is Lyndon?

The wagon wheeled around a corner and up a narrow lane. Hope’s teeth chattered as the wagon bed bounced over the uneven terrain. Low-hanging branches slapped the wagon, keeping Hope off-balance. The riders were closing in, close enough for Hope to get a good look at Lyndon—whichever one he might be.

“Run for th’ house,” Luther yelled as they shot through the open barn doorway. Sawing on the reins, he stopped the team. Harriet sprang from the wagon seat, motioning to Hope. “Come on!”

Dan lifted Hope from the wagon, and they dashed toward a building that Hope thought faintly resembled a cabin. The boards were nailed haphazardly together, and the roof was fashioned from various pieces of colored tin. Red, blue, yellow—there seemed to be no pattern.

Chickens flapped and darted for cover as Hope’s feet hit the porch. Luther followed close on her heels. She could hear him cackling as he shot looks over his shoulder at the pursuers. Hope flew through the front door ahead of Dan and Harriet. Luther waited until the pig cleared the doorframe, then slammed the door shut. Leaning against the thick wood, he swiped his brow. “That was close.”

Oinking, the pig calmly meandered to a corner and collapsed, obviously fatigued after her spirited trip across the yard.

A bullet chunked into the side of the cabin, sending splinters of wood flying. Luther grabbed a rifle and ducked behind the front window.

“That crazy Lyndon,” he muttered. “The old fool’s gonna git hisself shot.”

Hope and Dan stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking at each other as Harriet hustled into the bedroom and came back toting a double-barreled shotgun. Kneeling on the opposite side of the window, she hefted the weapon to her shoulder.

A volley of bullets drilled into the front door. Dan and Hope dove for the floor. Crawling beneath the rough-hewn kitchen table, they stayed there.

“Luther?” Dan shouted. “Who is that out there?”

“Oh, it’s jest my brother,” Luther said, sighting through his rifle. “The thief.”

“Thief?”

“Yeah. He stole half our chickens yesterday, the low-down, rotten—”

“Luther,” Harriet cautioned, “we got guests.”

“If he stole your chickens, why is he shooting at you?” Dan called.

Luther stood up, fired, then ducked down. “’Cause we got his pig.”

“Yep,” Harriet crowed. “We got his finest porker this mornin’.”

Hope looked at Dan. “A family feud—we’re in the middle of a family feud.”

“How rotten can our luck get?” he muttered.

Luther poked the rifle out of the open window and fired. A return volley peeled bark off the front of the cabin. The staccato salvos shattered the front windowpane, throwing glass into the room.

“Whooeee, that was close!” Luther chortled, reloading. “That ol’ coot! Thinks he’s a good shot. Couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.”

“Dan,” Hope whispered, scooting closer to him. His arm came around her protectively. “Shouldn’t we make a run for it?”

“No—it’s too dangerous—” Dan ducked as another round of bullets showered the room. “Let’s wait it out.”

On her hands and knees Harriet crawled across the floor to the back window. “Jest hold on, young’uns. I’ll put that pot of coffee on in a few minutes.”

“Harriet?” Dan called.

The old woman glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“How long has this been going on?”

The little woman paused, pondering the question. “Well, now—I reckon for forty years or so. That Lyndon’s jest a real pain in the get-a-long. Always has caused trouble. He’s had it in for Luther and me since the day he got it in that stubborn head of his that Luther took one of his calves. Wasn’t Luther, ’course, but from that moment on, Lyndon jest plain went off his rocker. Started takin’ things. So we jest been takin’ ’em back.”

Shots rang out, and Harriet sprang to her feet and fired. Ducking, she grinned at Dan. “Me and Luther bested him this week. Yesterday Lyndon and his boys stole six of our ol’ scrawny hens ready for the stewpot. This mornin’ Luther and me got up real early and stole his best hog—the one he’s plannin’ to butcher this fall.” She poked her head up and fired off another round. “Watch it, Luther. Mary Jane’s out to the side. Sneakin’ through the blackberry patch.”

“Fire a shot over her head, Harriet. Let ’er know we see ’er.”

Harriet fired a shot out the window, and the woman running along the back of the lot picked up her skirt tail and ran faster.

Harriet sank to the floor and shoved another round into the chamber. “Me and Luther’s lived here nigh on to forty years—since the day we got hitched. I was fifteen and Luther here was eighteen. Lyndon and Mary Jane tied the knot the next year. They live ’bout three miles down the road. To the south. Real good neighbors till Lyndon gets riled.”

Hope sent Dan a perplexed glance. If this wasn’t a fine kettle of fish! How much time was this delay going to cost them?

Harriet sprang up and squeezed off another round. “Lyndon had an eye for me, you know. He’s a couple years older than Luther and thought he might have first claim. Our place was just over the holler, and he’d come by every week or so. He was sweet on me, real sweet, but I didn’t cotton to him.” Harriet shrugged. “Only had eyes for my Luther.”

Hope’s gaze traveled to the old man crouched at the window. Love was an odd thing.

“And this feud has been going on ever since?” Dan called from beneath the table.

“Yep. It’s jest a cryin’ shame.” Harriet popped up and blasted another round.

“I’ll say,” Hope murmured. “I feel like crying myself.”

The impasse kept up all morning. Exhausted from traveling the night before and with nothing else to do anyway, Dan and Hope sprawled on the floor and rested while the old couple kept vigil. They awoke by late afternoon. Hope’s legs were numb, and he was fit to be tied.

“We’ve got to do something,” Dan muttered. He tried to get up and straighten his long legs. Just then a shot zinged against the house again. Dan dived under the table. Hope grinned, though she found the situation anything but humorous.

“What can we do?” She tried to rub feeling back into her legs. “This could go on all night.”

Harriet turned from the window as if she’d just remembered she had guests. “Land sakes, Luther. These young’uns must be half-starved. We never did git around to feedin’ ’em breakfast.”

“Could eat the south end outta a northbound critter myself, Harriet. It’s gittin’ dark. Lyndon and his bunch’ll be headin’ home directly.” Luther straightened, his eyes narrowing. “Uh-oh.”

“What?” Harriet asked from her stance at the back window.

“Mary Jane’s got the horse.”

“The young’un’s horse?”

“Yep—she must think it’s ours. She left the saddle though—right thoughtful of her.”

“My horse?” Dan whacked his head against the top of the table, wincing. He crawled out, and Hope followed him.

“No need to fret, son. We’ll get ’im back,” Luther promised. “Boy, my lumbago’s killin’ me, Harriet. We got any of that salve?”

Harriet came over to stand beside Dan. “We’ll get yore horse back—might take a day or two, but we’ll get ’im back for you. Don’t you worry none ’bout that.”

“I’m worried about the saddle. It’s a personal keepsake.”

“But we can’t stay here,” Hope protested. John Jacobs was this minute probably worried sick about her whereabouts. Two days’ delay here—then another two to three days’ ride. They couldn’t stay; Dan had to make that clear to Luther. They’d just wanted a cup of coffee and a fresh biscuit!

“Don’t you fret yore pretty little head one minute, young’un.” Harriet hung the rifle over a peg and stepped to the stove. Pitching in a stick of kindling, she slid the lid over the burner. “Got plenty of room—you ain’t puttin’ us out a’tall. Glad to have the company. You and your brother kin stay right here till we git yore animal back.”

Hope’s heart sank. “No . . . really, we can’t.”

“Why, shore you can.” Harriet waved off the courtesy. “Just took fresh sheets off the line yesterday. Luther and yore brother can bunk down in here. Me and you can take th’ bedroom.”

Hope was about to protest again when Harriet called over her shoulder. “No arguin’. We insist. You don’t look none too strong. No way yore gonna make it all the way to Medford feelin’ sickly like you do. You jest rest up here a spell afore you move on. Lyndon don’t usually keep us pinned down more’n a few days.”

“A few days?” Hope mouthed. What happened to one or two?

Dan stepped away from the window. “Ma’am, we wouldn’t think of putting Luther out of his bed. We’ll stay the night and leave first light in the morning. Hope can sleep on a pallet near the fire, and I’ll bunk down in the barn.”

“Now that sounds fair, Harriet,” Luther said. “These old bones can’t hardly take this old floor anymore.”

Harriet dragged a heavy skillet out of the oven of the woodstove. “Whatever you say, but I wouldn’t be countin’ on leavin’ in the mornin’.” She turned, grinning. “Now, how does ham and redeye gravy sound to everyone?”

The old cabin filled with the smell of supper. Hope cut biscuits while Harriet fried thick slices of ham. Hope kept an eye on the sow, praying the meat wasn’t one of its relatives.

“Uh-oh,” Luther said when he lifted the curtain aside to look out. Darkness had fallen, and a full moon was rising.

Hope had come to dread the phrase “Uh-oh.” It invariably meant trouble.

The old woman glanced up. “What’s the matter?”

“Lyndon’s boys are still here.”

“Well, ma’s boots—they’re gonna make us miss supper.” Harriet leaned to peer over her husband’s shoulder. “Yes sir, there’s little Jim, and John over by the barn. There’s Teddie to the right and Eddie straight out. I’d say the others are farther back in the trees, probably sneakin’ around to the back.”

Hope glanced up from setting plates on the table. “How many boys does Lyndon have?”

“Oh, eight or so. Then there’s four or five of them girls.” She tsked. “Real homely, those girls are—though jest as nice as they can be. Real mannerly. He finally got that one, Ethylene, married off last year, but he won’t be so lucky with those others. Do you think, Luther?”

“Not likely, though little Merline won’t be so bad once she gets a little meat on them bones.”

“Luther!” a voice shouted from outside.

“Who is it?” Luther yelled back.

“Teddie.”

“What do you want?”

“Our pig.”

“What pig?”

“Th’ pig you stole from Ma and Pa!”

“Don’t know nothin’ ’bout yore pig.” Luther sat down at the table, his face a mask of determination.

Silence stretched. Luther looked at Harriet and winked.

“Do too.”

“Do not! You know anything about them chickens Lyndon stole from me?”

Silence.

“No.”

“Do too.”

The war of words waged on. Hope poured four mugs of boiled coffee, then wiped her hands on the muslin cloth she’d tied about her waist. Big Joe was after them, and now Lyndon’s boys were lying in wait outside. Seemed to her things had gotten worse.

There was a real pig making herself at home in the corner, and those were real bullets imbedded in the cabin wall, and she was so hungry she could eat the walls down. She didn’t know about the others, but she was eating.

“Supper’s ready!”

Harriet turned from the window. “Why, child, it smells lappin’ good. Luther, that young’un’s done got supper on the table. Ain’t that somethin’?”

“Shore is—real hospitable of you, young’un.”

The men washed up while Hope took a pan of biscuits out of the oven.

“Land sakes,” Harriet fussed, “I wish you’d let me do that. You not feeling real good and all.”

“I’m better, Harriet. Thank you.” Hope put two fat biscuits on Dan’s plate. He smiled his gratitude, and she longed to give him a hug and tell him it would be over soon. One way or another.

“Why have Luther and his brother fought so long over something so insignificant?” Hope asked as she took her seat.

“Ah, the Bennetts are a hardheaded lot,” Harriet explained. “Pride runs real deep.”

“But Lyndon is Luther’s brother. How can he bear to be at such odds with him? I have two sisters, and we’ve never had an argument that lasted more than a day. Nothing ever seemed so important that we ceased to be family.”

“Well, it ain’t a real pleasant situation,” Harriet agreed. Luther, Hope noticed, just hung his head at the subject.

Breaking two biscuits apart, Hope ladled gravy over them. “The Lord says don’t be mean to your family, and try your best to love one another—”

Dan broke in quietly. “What Hope means to say is that the Lord instructs families to look past mistakes, forgive misunderstandings, and be slow to take offense and never hold grudges.”