Linda Ford (12 page)

The others followed without speaking. The temperature dropped a degree or two as they entered the protection of the trees. The clearing in the center was filled with knee-deep grass. He let his breath out in a whoosh when the horses’ hooves sucked at the ground. A step farther and water splashed through the blades of grass.

“Last one in’s a rotten egg!” he called.

The children barreled off Ted’s horse, whooping.

“Take off your clothes,” Maggie ordered.

“Aww,” Betsy whined, but Ted had already stripped down to his undershorts and was pushing his way through the grass.

Betsy forgot her annoyance and pulled her dress over her head, tossing it to Maggie.

The children stomped in the water, screeching when it splashed up in their faces. Ted lay down. The water left a circle of flesh on his stomach dry, and he cupped his hands to wet his entire body.

Maggie watched Crane through narrowed eyes, then dropped from her horse. “There’s no way I’m passing this up,” she muttered and, turning her back to him, pulled her dress off and stood before him in that same skimpy, lace-trimmed garment he’d seen before.

His throat had been parched for some time, waiting for a drink, but the dryness he’d been nursing was nothing compared to the way his tongue felt now.

She jerked off her boots and marched toward the children, her head high.

“Come on, Crane,” Betsy called.

“Not now.” He turned to set up camp.

Crane watched them as he worked. Maggie spread her arms wide and belly flopped into the water, sending a wide spray across the children, causing Betsy to shriek and Ted to laugh.

Crane swung the saddles off each horse and led the animals to water, leaving them to graze. He trampled down grass and dug a hole for a fire. He didn’t care how hot it was; he was going to have coffee tonight.

He tried to ignore sounds of splashing as he gathered wood. Sweat dripped from his chin and soaked his shirt.

Suddenly his nerves zinged. Then three shrieking, wet bodies grabbed him from behind. He staggered and flung them off. Maggie snagged a cup and tore back to the water, where she scooped it full. Crane knew what she intended, but before he could escape, Maggie tossed the water across his chest, soaking his shirt.

“You need to cool off too!” she yelled, grinning widely. “No point in sitting there hot and miserable when you could be having fun.”

The children dropped hold of his hands and raced to scoop up water, flicking it in his face.

“I’ll show you fun.” He lunged for Maggie, but she darted away, laughing.

Shrieking, the children raced after her to stand in the ankle-deep water.

“Think that will save ya?” He tromped after them. The water didn’t even come over his boots.

Betsy sat down with a plop. He grabbed her head and pushed her into the puddle, at the same time snagging Ted and flipping him off his feet.

Growling, he headed for Maggie.

She backed away.

He scooped her up in his arms, ignoring how his nerves hummed, and raised her high. “Say uncle,” he ordered.

“Never,” she sputtered.

“Then you pay.” He threatened to drop her. “Uncle?”

She clutched at his arms. “Never.”

He uncurled her fingers. “Last chance.”

“We’ll save you,” Ted called.

Two bodies slammed into Crane’s legs. He staggered but couldn’t regain his balance. He pulled Maggie to his chest, fearing he would fall on her, and landed heavily on his knees, water splashing up.

Maggie scuttled away, turning to face him, her eyes wide. She swallowed hard, then a grin spread across her face. “You’re still too dry.” She sprayed water on him.

The children tackled him again.

“What’s the use?” he muttered and flopped down in the water, rolling over and over until he lay looking up at the bright sky.

The children piled on his chest.

Maggie sat close, her wet garments clinging to her. “Now doesn’t that feel better?” she asked. “I bet you’re a whole lot cooler.”

He swallowed hard. There was no way he was going to tell her a fire was burning in his heart. He stood up, shaking the water from him, wiping his hands across his hair. “Come on—let’s make supper.” He emptied the water from his boots before he lit the fire.

Betsy kept up her usual chatter as she knelt beside him, but Crane heard little of what she said. His nerves crackled as Maggie sat nearby, combing the tangles from her hair.

She gasped as the comb caught. “Crane, what’s in my hair?” she grumbled.

With his legs feeling as if he’d run a mile, he moved to her side. “Looks like you was rolling in some weeds,” he muttered, barely able to speak.

“Can you get it out?”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out except a strangled croak. He rubbed his palms against his wet trouser legs. His movements stiff and jerky, he plucked at the leaves and grass tangled in her hair. His heart thundered in his ears.

“Got it,” he murmured, stepping back so he could breathe.

He cast a desperate look at the puddle of water. He steadied himself and returned to tending the meat.

“We were sure lucky to get so many good things at that town, weren’t we, Crane?”

Betsy’s thin voice pulled him back to reality. He knew she meant the food and mumbled agreement, suddenly remembering the gift he’d bought for Maggie. In the confusion of parting with the Strongs, he’d forgotten it. He wondered how to present it to Maggie and what she’d think of it.

That evening Maggie read about Jacob’s sons and the birth of Joseph. As she explained that it meant Rachel had a baby boy, Betsy started to sob.

“Whatever is the matter?” Maggie asked.

“I miss Baby Sarah,” the child sobbed, flinging herself in Maggie’s arms. “Don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I ’spect we all miss the family.”

Betsy put her face close to Maggie’s. “Maggie, can we have a baby?”

Maggie gasped.

“Can we, huh?”

Crane tried to choke back his laugh.

“Yeah, maybe, sometime.” She threw him a desperate, half-angry look.

Still chuckling deep in his chest, Crane reached out for another cup of coffee. He was about to say something about the fun they could have at that when he saw the tightness around her eyes and bit back the words. He’d almost done what he promised himself he’d never do—say or do something to rush Maggie.

Crane stared into the fire. He’d always considered himself a calm, methodical man who didn’t let anything upset his reasoning or set him charging after some fanciful idea. But Maggie had him spinning like a top. It was a lot like getting bucked off a bronc.

Maggie shifted position, and he pulled himself back into control. He went to his saddlebag and pulled out the parcel for Maggie. “Got you somethin’.” He handed it to her.

“Me? What would you get me?”

“Guess you’ll have to open it and see.”

She nodded, but her gaze never left his face.

“Go ahead,” he urged.

She ducked her head and untied the strings, then folded back the crackling brown paper.

Crane stood back watching as the paper, pen, and ink lay open on her lap. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t raise her head. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Crane, thank you.” Her voice was low and thick. “Now I can write Pa.” She swallowed hard. “And Sally Jane.”

Crane caught the glisten of tears on her cheeks.

He straightened up and took a step toward her.

“No, no,” she murmured. “I’m all right. It’s so thoughtful of you to get me this.” Her eyes shone. “You are such a kind man.”

He dropped his arms to his side. Kind? He? Byler Crane? Had anyone ever said that about him before? He opened his mouth to protest, but he couldn’t make his lips work. Probably no one would agree with her, but suddenly it didn’t matter. Maggie had said he was kind, and that made him feel like something.

He wrapped the feeling around him.

Twelve

The feeling lasted all the next day.

Crane found ways of watching Maggie without her being aware of it. It surprised him that she seemed unchanged.

“Will it always be this hot?” Betsy whined.

Crane pulled his thoughts away from Maggie. “Sure hope not.”

The day had dawned hot as an oven and had unrelentingly baked them as they plodded down the dusty trail. He’d thought of waiting it out at the campsite, but as Maggie pointed out, “No telling how long this will last. We’re just as well off to ride it out. Maybe there’ll be relief soon.”

But despite the heat his heart was light.

And the countryside had changed. They saw more trees now, and the land rolled along like folds in a length of cloth.

“I’m going to ride over there and have a look around.” He rode to the top of a hill and looked west. For a moment he stared, then yelled, “Come up here and see!”

When the others joined him, he pointed west. “See the mountains! The Rockies.” They looked like a jagged saw’s edge topped with clouds. His heart swelled at the sight. He was finally seeing them.

“They aren’t very big,” Betsy said.

Crane laughed. “We’re miles away yet. Wait until we get to Calgary. I hear they’re big as giants.”

He stared and stared, unable to get his fill. “Let’s have dinner here,” he said, never taking his eyes off the horizon.

T
hey didn’t stop long before they returned to the trail. In the middle of the afternoon the sky to the east darkened and lightning zigzagged across the sky. Cat, who had been riding in front of Ted, stood, arching her back, her tail like a bottlebrush.

Betsy laughed. “Cat’s scared. A scaredy cat.”

Maggie frowned, her eyes on the sky. “It looks like a thunderstorm.”

“It’s a long ways off,” Crane said. “Can’t hardly hear the thunder.”

“Could move this direction.”

He grinned at her. “Guess you’re right. We best find a place to stop.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not out here. Not in the open.” She nodded toward the hills. “Let’s find shelter up there.”

By the time they climbed the hills, the storm was close enough to make Maggie shudder at every thunderclap.

“These trees will do,” Crane called, reining in at the closest bunch.

“Trees aren’t safe in lightning.” Maggie refused to follow him. “I’m sure we can find something better.”

At the look on her face, he decided not to argue. “Let me know when you find what you’re looking for.” And he let Maggie take the lead.

“There.” She pointed. It was a ledge high up the hill.

He nodded. The storm was catching them faster than
he’d guessed.

He handed the lead rope of the packhorse to Maggie. “Here—you go on ahead while I get some firewood.”

He had his arms full of wood when a flash of lightning almost blinded him. Thunder roared down the side of the hill. With it came a flood of rain, soaking him in a matter of seconds. He heard the frightened whinny of a horse.

Wrapping a piece of canvas around the wood, he secured it to the saddle, then headed for shelter. Water poured down the side of the hill. Rebel struggled to keep his feet under him. Again he heard a horse whinny.

“Come on, Boy. You can do it,” Crane urged Rebel upward.

“Maggie!” Ted’s yell sent shudders racing down Crane’s spine, and he pushed the horse harder. The rain sheeted down so he could hardly see Ted holding Liberty and his own mount. Betsy stood back a few feet, her hair clinging to her head, clutching Cat in her arms.

“Maggie’s down there!” Ted yelled, pointing downhill.

Crane’s heart leapt to his mouth. “What happened?”

“The packhorse spooked. She tried to hold it. They went down there.”

Crane followed the tracks over the edge of the hill. He scrubbed the rain from his eyes and squinted into the murky distance. He could make out the horse, shuddering on the slope.

“Keep back from the edge.” He handed Rebel’s reins to Ted, then slid down the slope, digging his heels in to slow himself.
A flash of lightning allowed him to see through the shroud. Maggie lay face down in the mud. “Maggie!” he yelled, his heart clenching like a fist. “Maggie, answer me.”

Water poured down the slope, parting around her body, then cascading past. When she wiggled in the mud, the rain and misery disappeared.

“Give me your hand,” he barked.

“No. Take the horse.” Her voice was muffled against the ground.

“Forget the horse. Give me your hand.”

“The horse,” she insisted, turning her head toward him.

They were wasting time arguing. He grabbed the reins, but it was impossible to force the animal up the slippery slope. He skidded down to the trees and tied the animal securely.

“Maggie, I’m coming.” But he slid back a foot for every step he made. Digging his hands into the mud, he clawed his way to her side, grabbed her around the waist, and lifted her. His feet slipped. He threw himself sideways, landing on his backside, Maggie in his arms, her icy fingers clutching his shirtfront.

They slid downward. Lightning filled the sky. Moaning, Maggie buried her face against his chest as the thunder echoed and reechoed across the hill. They ground to a halt a few feet from the horse.

Maggie was muddy from head to toe, drenched like a little rat. He didn’t want to leave her, but he had to go back for Ted and Betsy. He gently removed her from his lap and set her on the ground. “Wait here while I get the children.”

She huddled there, spitting mud from her mouth.

Ignoring the pain under his rib cage, he jerked to his feet and found a grassy spot that gave him better traction. He crawled back to the spot where he’d left the children. Betsy threw herself at him, clinging to his muddy knees. “I fot we was lost.”

“We have to go to Maggie,” Crane said. “I’ll take the horses. Ted, you and Betsy stay close.”

Ted nodded, swallowing hard.

“Put Cat down,” he told Betsy. “She’ll have to follow on her own.”

Betsy did as he said. Cat pranced from paw to paw but stayed at their side.

“Now hang on tight,” he said, knotting the reins in his fist and taking a child in each hand. Betsy shrieked as her feet went out from under her, then they skidded down to the trees.

Water running down her neck, Maggie sat huddled in a heap just as he had left her. Betsy flung herself at her, but Maggie only shuddered.

Ted stood over the pair. “Maggie?”

But Maggie only tightened her arms around her knees.

Crane looked at the miserable trio. The rain fell in buckets. He shook his head, wiping water from his eyes. A fire was impossible, and there wasn’t a dry inch where they could find shelter. He pulled a piece of canvas from the pack, keeping it folded against his body as he returned to the others. He edged his legs between Ted and Maggie and pulled Betsy to his lap, then flipped the canvas open covering Maggie, Ted, and Betsy. The rain ran off the canvas washing down his back.
Lightning blinded him, accompanied by a roar of thunder. The smell of gunpowder filled the air. Maggie shuddered and moaned while Betsy clawed at his chest and Ted pressed into his side.

“We’re safe,” he murmured.

Cat pushed her nose under a corner and crawled into Ted’s lap.

At that moment Maggie moaned, pushed aside the canvas, and dashed away.

“Maggie?” Crane called, but she didn’t answer. He strained to hear and thought he caught the sound of someone being sick.

She returned and crawled back under the protection.

“You all right?” he asked.

She shuddered. “Think I swallowed some mud. My stomach doesn’t like it.”

He pulled her under his arm, wrapping the canvas as tightly as possible around her shivering shoulders, but again Maggie pushed away and fled for the trees. He lost count of the number of times she made the trip. He didn’t know how long they sat huddled in the rain. It seemed like hours. Finally the rain slowed to a drizzle, then quit. It was so dark he couldn’t make out the horses tied a few feet away.

“I’m going to see if I can get a fire going.” He found Rebel and untied the bundle of wood he’d gathered earlier. He spaded the wet sod away to form a circle of bare ground and carefully arranged the wood. It took several tries before he got the fire started.

Steam rose from the wet ground. Warmth curled toward the others, and slowly the canvas lowered.

Crane couldn’t remember when he’d seen a sorrier-looking bunch—Ted pale, his hair plastered to his head; Betsy’s eyes round as saucers, her hair hanging in dark tangles, mud clinging to her face and hands.

Crane’s chest tightened. Maggie looked the worst, her face streaked, her clothing covered with mud, grass, and leaves. But it was the pinched look around her eyes and the tightness of her lips that made Crane clench his teeth. She lurched to her feet and dashed into the stand of trees.

Crane stared after her before he turned his attention to Betsy, stripping her down to her undergarments, rubbing her down with a towel, removing mud and water in one operation, then finding her dry garments.

Maggie returned as he finished, and he said to the child, “Stand here and stay warm while I take care of Ted.”

When both children were cleaned and dried as best he could, he spread the canvas on the ground and, finding a dry blanket in the pack, had them lie down. Before he was finished, Maggie had disappeared into the trees again, clutching her belly. He set water to boil and waited for her to return.

The children fell asleep. Cat sat by the fire cleaning her fur. Crane stared into the trees. Maggie had been gone a mighty long time. He wanted to go to her but was afraid he’d embarrass her. He washed the worst of the mud off himself and put on a dry shirt, then hooked the wet blankets and clothing over branches near the fire.

Still Maggie hadn’t returned. He called her name. Only the crack of the logs in the fire and the drip of water from the leaves answered him. He grabbed a piece of wood from the fire, a flickering circle of light landing ahead of him.

“Maggie,” he called, following her tracks. “Maggie, where are you?”

The trees rained on him, soaking his shirt again, but he merely shook his head and pushed on. “Maggie.”
What could have happened to her?

He saw her curled up on the wet ground and sprang to her side.

“Maggie.” But she didn’t answer. He touched a trembling hand to her shoulder.

She moaned but didn’t open her eyes. He scooped her into his arms and hurried back to the fire. His heart thudding thickly, he snagged one of the damp blankets, throwing it on the ground. Gently he laid her on it. She curled into a ball.

She wouldn’t thank him for moving her about, but he couldn’t leave her in her wet clothing. His fingers clumsy, he unbuttoned her dress and pulled it off. It was soiled with mud and sickness. Her undergarment was soiled as well, and he struggled to remove it. Tenderly he sponged her face, her hands, her trembling body.

She moaned and drew her knees to her belly. He wrapped a towel around her, holding her in his arms, trying to warm her with his body, trying to calm the shudders shaking her small frame.Warmth slowly seeped into her. Still he held her.

It had been some time since her body had erupted. He decided the worst of the stomach upset was over. His arms cramped. His back ached. Pins and needles raced up and down his legs, but he did not lay her down.

Although he sat as still as a rock, his mind raced. “Maggie mine, do you have any idea how much I love you?” he murmured. “I can’t stand to see you suffer like this. I wish it was me instead.”

He would do anything for her. The knowledge of his love seared through his body. He’d loved her since she faced Bull. He loved the way she said what she thought, the way she tended the children so gently, the way she teased. He loved everything about her. If only he could make her see that.

He remembered when she had asked about the future. He knew she’d been seeking assurances from him, and he had refused to give them. He stared at the fire without blinking.

Sure, he excused himself. He didn’t believe in making promises he couldn’t be sure of keeping, but it wouldn’t have hurt him to give her something to hang on to.

He vowed he would find a way of telling her how much she had come to mean to him.

Not until he felt her body relax, not until her legs no longer pulled up to her midsection, did he carefully lower her next to the children.

He couldn’t bring himself to dig through her clothes, so he pulled one of his shirts from the saddlebags and eased her arms into the sleeves. A pulse thudded in his temple as he fastened the buttons down the front.

Her head lolled in exhaustion. He covered her warmly, then leaned against the nearest tree, watching her sleep.

To the east the sky was already turning gray. He turned his face upward.
God, it’s been a long time, but here I am. I guess I never quit believing in You. But it’s like Maggie says—I got lost somewhere.

More of Maggie’s words filled his brain—like how God sent His Son, Jesus, so he, Byler Crane, could have his sins forgiven. And how it was as easy as accepting a gift. Just like that little boy who took the coin from the preacher man.

So here I am, God. Ready to accept that gift. Ready to trust You.
He’d never been good at trusting, but this time it was easy. He remembered when home had meant feeling good. That same feeling settled into the edges of his heart. He filled his lungs slowly before he continued.

Maggie’s always saying how You’re ready to help us anytime, so I could sure use some help right about now. Not for myself, you understand. But for Maggie.

❧

Crane woke with a beam of sun in his face and jerked upright. Everyone else still slept. Maggie, dark shadows under her eyes, moaned.

He tried to decide what was best to do. Only one canteen of water was left. Either he would have to go and find water, or they would have to move camp closer to water. But Maggie and the children were still exhausted. Maggie wouldn’t be strong enough to ride today.