Robin (11 page)

              “If you don’t mind, Albert. Thank you.”

              Albert leaned across the counter and handed her two envelopes. “Miss Robin, I want to . . . I want to say I’m sorry about yesterday. My mother can be quite determined at times, if you know what I mean?” He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and proceeded to clean his glasses. Clear, kind eyes met Robin’s. “Your little boy is a handsome lad.”

              “Albert, I’m sorry if—”

              “Oh, you needn’t apologize.”

              “Thank you. Jacob is a handsome lad, but he’s also quite a busy child. I’m sorry if his presence caused you any discomfort.”

              “Not me, Miss Robin. You may not believe this, but I was once a rather busy child myself. At least that’s what my mother tells me.” He took three short sucks of air, but this time Robin didn’t feel like laughing. Away from Henrietta’s influence, Albert Harvey was a very pleasant gentleman.

              “Uh . . . Miss Wenghold, might we talk?” Albert stepped from behind the counter and motioned for Robin to sit in the only chair in the room “I . . . well, I think you should know I’m not looking for a wife. At least not one like . . .”

              “One like me, Albert?” She bit her lower lip.

              “Oh, no, no. That’s not what I meant at all. You’re a very lovely lady.”

              “Let me assure you that I am not in the market for a husband, either. I came to Kansas for the sole purpose of helping my uncle on his ranch. I’m afraid the role of mama to young Jacob is rather by chance, not choice, though he has captured my heart.”

              Albert mopped his handkerchief across his brow. The poor man seemed so relieved it angered her that Henrietta Harvey would put her son through such turmoil.

              “Miss Robin, do you play the piano, or perhaps sing?”

              She shook her head. “Oh, Albert. I do neither. I’ve always envied anyone who could carry any resemblance of a tune. My sister, Lark, is quite accomplished in both piano and voice. In fact, she stayed in Chicago to continue with her music pupils until the end of the term, and then she will join me here with Uncle John. I take it you have an interest in music.”             

Albert gave a furtive glance behind him then bent to whisper. “My desire is to one day play and sing for the church. But Mother would not approve of my confession in this regard. She’s quite adamant that I not make a spectacle of myself.”

              Robin’s heart went out to him. How well she knew that admonition. “Albert, I hope to one day hear you do that very thing. I’ve often wondered why more men don’t participate in the worship service in this manner. I must admit, as a younger girl I would giggle behind my hand at what the pastor announced as th
e
special
.
Some of it was not very special at all.”

              Albert leaned against the counter and laughed. “I haven’t been this encouraged in years. Mother has managed to frighten away most single ladies—I’m sure with the threat of marriage to her son—and I’ve never cultivated many men acquaintances. Do you think we might perhaps be friends, Miss Wenghold? Just . . . friends?”

              Robin stood and reached for his hand. “I would be pleased to call you my friend, Albert.”

              “I hope you’ll come back to church, Miss Wenghold.” Albert blushed and wiped his hand on the front of his vest before extending it to her.

              “I live at the Feather, Albert. I’m sure we’ll be back.” The strength of his grip when she took his hand surprised her. “Thank you again for the kind words.”

              She stopped on the porch and turned her attention to the letters Albert had handed her. One addressed in her youngest sister’s flowery script sent shivers of excitement down Robin’s spine. The other bore William Benson’s return address. Her heart lurched. Surely her sisters were seeing to Papa’s business. Why would William be writing, unless the bank intended to demand full payment? Her heart sank. She’d wait to open the letters at home. The last thing she needed was for Henrietta Harvey to observe her reaction to bad news while standing in front of the post office. Oh, but she did so wish to read the latest happenings from her sisters. She would savor every word, every wiggly curlicue Wren penned. She climbed into the buggy and gave the reins a flick. She’d find a place to pull over so she could read the letter away from prying eyes.

              When she reached the meadow of flowers again, she reined the horse to a stop. Though the letter was burning a hole in her pocket, she picked a bouquet to place on the grave of Jacob’s mama. Fluffy white clouds played hide-and-seek with the sun as she laid the purple and yellow arrangement on the small mound of prairie that marked the grave. Who was this woman, thi
s
Mam
a
who’d never again see her fine looking, busy little lad? Robin knelt beside the grave and straightened the cross that stood askew from some unknown force. A smattering of paw prints were visible after the overnight rain, and she smoothed them away, angry that animals would invade the privacy of this woman’s final resting place.

              “I wish I knew your name, dear one. But Jacob only wanted us to pu
t
Mam
a
, and that was good enough for us. Where were you headed? Were you following a dream? Where is Jacob’s pa? Was he with you? I have so many questions.” She swallowed.

              “Me and Ty Morgan found him the day after the storm. He’s fine. At first he didn’t like Ty, but they’re friends now. We’re going to do everything we can to find the answers. And we’ll take good care of your boy. You’ll be so proud of him.”

              She wiped her tears and lowered herself amidst the carpet of wildflowers and long grass. The rain-dampened ground seeped through her skirt, but she didn’t mind. She couldn’t wait another minute. She would succumb to the temptation of her sister’s correspondence.

            
 
Dear Sister Robin:

              Lark has another one of her bad headaches and put herself to bed, but she said I must write to you this afternoon. I miss you something fierce. Lark is her usual bossy self, and I can’t seem to do anything right. I burned only a very small hole in the kitchen tablecloth and you would think I committed a crime. I sat the spoon holder over it, and it doesn’t even show, but sister says I am to never light the candles again. I only lit them because my chicken got a little too brown and I thought it would look better in the dim light. But you know sister. She said I needn’t try to impress anyone with my fancy ways, especially since she could taste what was burned without having to see it.

            
 
Robin sighed. Maybe she should have insisted Wren come with her to Kansas, but that would have left Lark alone. No, it was a decision they’d made together—Robin had no other obligations in Chicago so it only made sense for her to come first.

            
 
I went to the bank yesterday to make a payment on Papa’s note and William Benson inquired about you. Lark said we shouldn’t tell anyone why you are gone. She said it would bring shame on Papa’s name if people knew he left so much debt. So I told him you’d accepted an invitation to go West. Oh my, Robin. He was dressed in his black banker suit and his white shirt was so stiff it crackled. And he had a big gold ring with a red stone on his finger. He looked absolutely delicious.

              Robin laid the letter in her lap and laughed aloud
.
Delicious
?
Only Wren would use a word like that to describe a man. Papa used to say Wren eyed every eligible male as though he were the fattest worm in the apple. And as for not telling about Papa’s debt, William’s father was the banker. He surely was more than aware of their predicament.

            
 
I almost forgot what Lark said I should tell you. It was the strangest thing. One day a wagon pulled up in front of the house and this man carried a trunk to the porch. And it was yours, sister. He said it was left at the station and they were tired of working around it. It’s a good thing you had your name on it. But Lark thinks we should keep it here until you tell us what to do. You know Lark. She doesn’t trust anyone.

              Robin sighed. She’d intended to stop at the station to purchase tickets, but forgot all about it in the joy of receiving the letter from home. She must write and tell them to send her belongings. It would be so nice to have her own things again.

What is Uncle John like? I told Lark we probably wouldn’t hear from you until you had your nest feathered. She wasn’t amused. Do write to us soon. I miss having fun talking and laughing with you. I send hugs to you.

              Sister Wren

              P. S. Please don’t be angry, but we gave Mr. Benson Uncle John’s address. He acted like it was very important.

Robin rested her head against the buggy wheel, thinking of home. Wren got home sooner than Lark most nights so would be bustling about attempting to fix the supper meal. Poor thing. She could only imagine the frustration Lark’s critical spirit caused her little sister.

              A movement among the grass caught Robin’s attention and her heart skipped. Had she been foolish to venture out alone? She turned her head ever so slightly and searched her surroundings. A short distance beyond the grave lay a dog, its muzzle poised on outstretched legs. Big brown eyes followed her movement as she stood, yet the animal stayed motionless.

              “Where did you come from?” Her gaze swept the area, but she observed nothing to indicate the dog’s owner was near. She knelt and held out her hand. “Come. You’re friendly, aren’t you?”

              The dog’s tail rustled the grass and his ears perked.

              Robin stood and took a step. “Have you been here long, fella?”

              Its ears perked again, and the animal stood, then with a whimper turned and disappeared into the cover of the prairie.

Robin’s skin prickled. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she sensed someone watching her. She crammed Wren’s letter into her pocket and clambered into the buggy
.
Take a deep breath, Robin. It was a dog, that’s all
.
She gripped the reins with both hands, gave a flick of her wrist, and willed herself not to look back. She’d not mention this incident to Uncle John. Not yet.

ELEVEN

              Ty’s mind whirled with unanswered questions on the ride back to his ranch with his new acquaintance. Ty knew the new fella had trailed behind when they left John’s this morning, and he’d observed Sam watching as the older man and Jacob headed for the house. Until Rusty had a chance to meet this man, Ty would hold his peace. Was this the same person who’d sought shelter the night of the tornado?

              If not—then who was he? Why the curiosity about the gravesite, and why the interest in Jacob? Caution tightened Ty’s chest, and he determined not to let the sun set with unanswered questions. Sam was friendly, willing to work, and unarmed. But why did he hope the man’s curiosity was simply that? Was it because if Jacob’s pa showed up, he might lose the connection with both the boy and Robin? He patted his pocket to make sure the paper was still there. Little scamp. Probably used Robin’s writing tablet without her knowing. He couldn’t imagine she would have given the boy paper if he’d told her his plans.

              “Mornin’, Boss.” Rusty strode toward the men as they dismounted and tied their horses. “I was about to send a couple of hands out to find you, then figgered you must’ve holed up somewhere out of the storm last—why, look what the wind blew in.” Rusty closed the gap between him and the stranger in two wide steps. “Sam Mason. You’re a mighty good sight for sore eyes. What in the world brung you all the way to Kansas?”

              Ty propped one foot on the bottom rail of the fence as the two men greeted one another with slaps on the back and awkward embraces.

              Ty eyed his foreman. “You know this man, Rusty? I found him making camp in the timber along the Pigeon. The two of us waited out the storm at John’s.”

              Rusty laughed and threw a punch at Sam’s shoulder. “Should have left him there, Boss. Hard-headed ole’ cuss like this deserves to be lightnin’ struck.” Rusty slung one arm around Sam’s neck. “We worked together on the Queen ranch, down Texas way. Neither one of us dry behind the ears, but we thought the world was real lucky to have us.”

              “He’s looking for work. You have something he could do?”

              “Got a barn what needs muckin’.” The foreman laughed. “Course, we’d have a hard time decidin’ which pile was what at the end of the day.”

              Sam grinned. “Rusty, you old cow dog. If I’d a knowed you was anywhere near I would’ve turned around and hightailed it outta here. But honestly—it’s mighty good to see ya again.”

              “One thing ya gotta know about this sidewinder, Boss. He’s worser than an ole’ mama bear if he ain’t got food in his belly. You et anything at John’s this mornin’?”

              Ty shook his head. “Not this morning, nor last night. Think we better feed him before he trees us?” Ty laughed and followed them to the house as they punched and shoved like a couple of puppies.

###

Ty squirmed to scratch his back against the porch railing. A full moon hung like a lantern in the eastern sky above the hills, and in the distance a coyote howled. He used to sit with his ma, on evenings like this, and listen to the night sounds. Ma had made a game of most everything, and darkness never frightened him. If only he could ask her about the ways of a woman. She’d known Anna since birth, but what would she have thought of Robin Wenghold? She’d love little Jacob, but she’d for sure send the men scouring the countryside to find the child’s pa.

              “Got a minute, Boss?” Rusty stepped from the shadows and came up on the porch to sit beside Ty. “Figgered you’d have some questions about Sam.”

              Ty nodded. He did have questions but wasn’t sure this was the time to ask all of them. “Is he gonna work out for you? Seems like a nice enough fella.”

              Rusty laid his hat on the porch. “Couldn’t ask for a better hand. Still can’t believe you found him like ya did. Lost track of him about five years ago, around the time I left the Queen and headed north.”

              “Then this isn’t the fella who came looking for work the night of the storm?”

              “Nope. Sam Mason would never leave a woman and child to fend for themselves, even in bright sunlight.” Sam hitched one knee up and wrapped his arms around it.

              “Do you know anything about his family? Where’d he come from when you knew him on the Queen?” Ty turned to face his foreman. “He asked about the grave of the boy’s mama.”

              “Cowpokes don’t usually ask a lot of questions. You know that, sir. Only find out things about family and such by listenin’, but I don’t recall Sam ever talked much about his. I remember him writin’ a couple of letters once––I helped him spell some words––but don’t know that he ever got mail of any kind. Don’t think he finished school. Leastways we was both awful young down on the Queen.”

              Ty sighed. “Wish we could have found a Bible or papers or anything that would give us a clue about those travelers––the boy’s folks, I mean. Lots of other stuff blown all around, but nothing with any names.”

              “You thinking Sam might know something since he asked about the grave? I suppose I’d do the same thing if I happened on it sudden-like. Maybe he was only makin’ conversation.”

              “Maybe. But when we left John’s this morning he rode back and watched John and Jacob go to the house. The youngster ran out of the house as we left and wanted to give me a picture he drew, so Sam got a good look at him. I got the impression he recognized the boy.”

              “You want me to ask him?” Rusty stood and put his shoulder against the porch post. “He’s a mighty good ranch hand, Boss, and I’m glad to see him again. Probably the closest one I ever had to call a brother. If you think there’s something we need to know, then I’ll flat-out ask.”

              Ty shook his head. “No, don’t do that. But keep your ears open, Rusty. If Jacob has a pa running around the country somewhere, then we need to know. And if Sam knows something, then sooner or later he’ll spill it. You do trust him, don’t you?”

              “With my life. He put himself between me and a feisty range bull one day. Big ole’ spotted critter gouged my horse and knocked me off. I was on the ground scootin’ for all I was worth to get my feet under me so I could get mounted again. That long-horned devil had his head down, slobber flyin’ every direction, and before he could charge again that spunky Sam—wasn’t more’n about sixteen at the time, skinny as a broom straw—roped him around the horns and dragged him to a mesquite bush. He circled that fella around the bush a couple of times, got him so tangled up he was usin’ all his fury to get loose. Gave me time to get on my horse. Me and Sam both lit out like we was runnin’ from fire. Never did get his rope back, neither.”

              “Thanks for coming by, Rusty.” He stood and shook his foreman’s hand. “I’ll sleep better tonight with this much information. Keep your eyes and ears open, though. I know Sam’s a friend, but if he’s hiding something, we need to know it.”

              Rusty stuck his hands in his back pockets. “If Sam’s hidin’ anything, I’ll find it sooner or later. You can count on that.”

              He disappeared into the shadows, and Ty settled on the bottom step. Rusty’s confidence in Sam relieved one concern. But there was still Anna. And Robin. And Jacob. He reached to pluck a piece of grass and the crinkle in his pocket reminded him of the picture he promised Jacob he’d look at when he got home.

              Ty stepped back into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. Moving the lamp closer to the edge of the table, he turned sideways and propped his feet on a chair. He unfolded the paper and adjusted it so he could see
.
NOTICE: looking for . . .

              His heart lurched as he finished reading the advertisement. His boots hit the floor and he stood and paced, paper in hand. Was this some kind of joke? John had mentioned him marrying Robin. Was this his around-the-barn way of getting him to answer? Did Robin know what the old man planned? At least the paper was i
n
hi
s
hands. John evidently hadn’t had time to post it yet. But now what? Would he get Jacob in trouble if he said anything? He wadded the paper and threw it on the table.

              Ty slammed the door behind him and marched toward the barn. He’d ride to the Feather and get to the bottom of this. Surely John wouldn’t use the boy in such a scheme—would he? But he stopped before he reached his destination. So he would go riding in like a madman. Then what? Humiliate Robin more?

              He shuffled back into the house and sat at the table again. He smoothed the crumpled paper and turned it over. He hadn’t even bothered to look at the other side. The boy’s picture consisted of two big round circles, and a smaller one between them—all with wiggly stick legs and arms that connected. And in one corner a twisty scribble hung from a long pencil-line sky.

              Ty propped his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands
.
Did this little man draw a picture of his family and the storm—or do the three figures represent him, Robin, and me? And what about the advertisement? Would Robin allow such a thing to happen? What was John thinking? What should I do? Lord—what shall I do?

              Much later, the clock on the mantel in the living room struck three times. Though sleep failed him, he did have an answer, and his heart quieted.

              “Trust in the
Lord
with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.”