The Brides of Chance Collection (86 page)

Today she’d moved the few critters left—the milk cow and old mule—over to the farthest stalls so they wouldn’t be scared by the men moving around above. Now there was nothing to do but to ready the loft itself. Hattie had never been fond of climbing, and the way the boards for the ladder’s rungs were nailed down all cockeyed didn’t much help the matter.

She took in a deep breath and chided herself.
How’re ya ever gonna make it to the heights of heaven iff ’n yore afeared of a plain ole loft, Hattie Thales?

With that, she twitched her skirts, steadied the ladder, and started up. Eleven rungs later, she planted her feet on the wooden floor and looked around. It was clear not a soul had been up here in years. Dirt caked the walls and the sloping roof. Moldy hay littered the floor in knee-high clumps decorated with bits of old twine.

Cleaning the barn first had been a mistake. Once she pushed this mess over the ledge, she’d have to redo most of what she thought she’d already finished. After grabbing a dusty pitchfork leaning against the far wall, she started hefting the hay. Finally about done, she heard the pitchfork thunk on something solid. Hattie cleared the rest of the gunk from around the object—a still-sturdy bench with a fair-sized trunk stuck beneath it.

Hattie glanced down before dropping the pitchfork off the loft and had to close her eyes for a moment before turning back to the matter at hand. She wrestled the trunk away from the wall and apart from the bench. It was heavier than she’d thought it would be, and she hesitated before opening it. Should she ask Miz Willow before she stuck her nose in?

She could, but that would mean an extra trip up and down the ladder. Besides, Miz Willow had already told her just to throw away anything she found up there unless it could be put to good use. Reassured, she pried open the cracked leather straps and lifted the lid. Two old blankets took up most of the room, and she pulled them out. They were clean, and once she aired them out, they’d be good to make up pallets. Beneath them she found a ball of twine and a small folding knife. She pulled out a bag and a carved wooden box, deciding not to open these without Miz Willow.

She laid the blankets on the bench, put the knife and twine in her pocket, looped the string of the bag over her wrist, and clasped the box under one arm before slowly stepping down the ladder. With her feet firmly on solid ground, she put everything down. She tossed a straw broom up into the loft, wound some of the twine around her waist to tuck in a few cleaning rags, and made her way back up the ladder.

She got to sweeping and scrubbing everything in sight, then grabbed the blankets and descended from the loft for the last time that day.

The sun was setting by the time she’d cleaned up the mess left on the barn floor and aired out the blankets. She dusted most of the dirt off her hem before going to the house. As she walked through the door, the warmth of simmering stew made her stomach growl.

“Smells good in here, Miz Willow.” Hattie placed the burlap bag and wooden box she’d found on the table. This was part of the reason she loved living with the old woman—they cared for each other and shared the cooking and cleaning. Not to mention that having a healer’s knowledge of yarbs made ordinary dishes full of flavor.

“Thankee kindly. Since you missed yore dinner workin’ in that ole barn, I figured you could use sommat to stick to yore ribs. Got biscuits waitin’ in the kettle oven, too.” The widow began ladling dinner into two wooden bowls while Hattie dusted ash off the Dutch oven, lifted the lid, and took out the biscuits.

“Shore right ’bout that.” She nudged Miz Willow’s chair closer to the table before taking her own seat. “Would you like to pray?” Hattie bowed her head at Miz Willow’s nod.

“Good Lord up above, we come to thank You for the bounty on this table and in our hearts. Thankee for my Hattie who done brought this ole woman so much joy. She and Lovejoy is like the daughters I niver had. We ask for safe travelin’ for our visitors from Californy an’ hope all goes accordin’ to Yore will. Amen.”

A comfortable silence filled the room as they ate their fill of the hearty stew and honey-drizzled biscuits. Hattie leaned back and patted her full stomach.

“That was a meal fit for a queen, Miz Willow.”

“I allays was partial to possum, myself, but this were a mighty tasty squirrel in our pot tonight.” The widow picked her teeth with a sharpened twig, then used it to gesture to the far end of the table. “What’ve you got there?”

“I don’t know. They was in the trunk I found in the loft. I didn’t feel right openin’ ’em without yore blessing.” Hattie brought over the bag and box and set them before the older woman.

“Right thoughtful of you, Hattie.” She stared at the objects for a long moment before adding, “But they ain’t none of mine. This was Lovejoy’s house with her first husband. She invited me into her home after that husband of hers passed on.” The widow’s mouth puckered as it always did when she thought of Lovejoy’s first husband.

Hattie didn’t know much about Vern Spencer. He’d left the holler an awful lot, always coming back with things to trade—usually sugar for Lovejoy’s father’s still. He trapped a lot, most often coming in from the woods with a few poor critters strung up, but he must not have sold their pelts for much, because he and Lovejoy hadn’t lived high on the hog. No one ever talked about it, but folks knew he’d done his wife wrong and fathered a string of babes with other women.

“Should we jist send this stuff on down to Reliable without openin’ ’em?” Hattie pushed aside her curiosity.

“Seems a risky thing to do—iff ’n you don’t know what yore a-sendin’, you’ll niver know iff ’n it arrived.” Miz Willow leaned forward. “We could write Lovejoy an’ ask her what she wants done.”

“But iff ’n she don’ know what’s in ’em, neither?” Hattie prompted, running her fingers over the carved wood.

“Reckon that might be a bother. Let’s us open ’em an’ then decide whether whatever it is be worth the trouble.” Miz Willow reached over and undid the drawstring on the small sack. A handful of braided leather ties spilled out onto the table.

“Those’ll come in right useful here’bouts.” Hattie gestured toward the storeroom.

“Right you are, Hattie. Ain’t nothin’ important to write Lovejoy about.” Her lively blue eyes fixed on the box. “That’s a purty piece for shore. Cain’t imagine she’d leave it behind.”

“She didn’t know she wasn’t comin’ back when she left,” Hattie offered, tracing the swirling design with one forefinger. It looked to be the work of a master craftsman.

“True, but iff ’n it were close to her heart, I figgur she woulda asked for it to be sent. Go on ahead an’ open it, dearie.” She craned her neck as Hattie flipped the latch to lift the lid.

“Mercy,” Hattie breathed as a pile of golden coins came into view. She pushed the treasure trove toward the widow.

“Well, I’ll be,” Miz Willow declared. “Cain’t think Lovejoy even knew ’bout it. She wasn’t one to set on sommat as could holp others so much. You’d best fetch me pencil and paper, Hattie. This is worth more’n any letter I cain write.”

Logan inched toward the door, hoping that no one would notice. His hand closed around the handle, the sliver of sunlight he exposed welcoming him outside.

“Logan!” He winced at Lovejoy’s voice. “Where’d you put that sack of slippery elm I handed you?”

Wistfully he shut the door. Obviously he wasn’t going anywhere, certainly not today. He cast a glance around the unusually cluttered main cabin and reassessed. If the women couldn’t get everything together, he and Bryce wouldn’t be leaving for Salt Lick Holler tomorrow, either.

“The brown bag about so big.” Lovejoy motioned with her hands before rushing past him. “Here it is!” She snatched one of a pile of bags and waved it triumphantly.

Logan quelled the urge to groan aloud. He and Bryce were packed and ready to go with one saddlebag apiece to hold two pairs of britches and three fresh shirts. They’d be wearing everything else they’d need, and the horses would go on a stock car. It should have been light traveling, but Lovejoy and his other softhearted sisters-in-law had other plans.

He, Bryce, Gideon, and Mike had ridden down to White’s Mercantile with all the MacPherson and Chance women yesterday—and walked out with near half of it. Material, bandages, sacks, needles, knives, a teakettle, candy, leather, buckles, Frenchmilled soap, cotton batting, wool blankets, a magnifying glass, razors and strops, fishing hooks, bandannas, brushes, hairpins, two shawls, chalk, ribbons, stockings, and pocketknives. Every bit of it was supposed to go with him and Bryce to the holler, along with the quilts and hooded cloaks the girls had all been stitching furiously since the decision had been made.

So tallied up with the wool the MacPhersons bundled up and the dried flowers and such Lovejoy measured out, two packhorses were added on to carry the gifts. The Chance men unanimously decided that the two horses wouldn’t be returning, either. One would stay with Hattie and Widow Hendrick, and the other would be given to whomever Logan and Bryce deemed needed it most. The only exception was Lovejoy’s father. She said, “Though I love my pa greatly, I won’t be holpin’ him carry his moonshine to other poor folks, and you cain bet that’s jist what he’d do with the animal.”

Logan pulled out his train ticket and stared, willing the date to change. No such luck. He was stuck here for another day while everybody rushed around packing. It was almost enough to make him and Bryce regret how they’d balked at the women’s initial plan to just send along a list of what went to whom. Now they scurried around trundling items into packages with Delilah’s fancy script designating some lucky citizen of Salt Lick Holler.

He could scarcely believe it when he thought of how he and Bryce would be hauling around more than twice as much baggage as Eunice, Lois, Tempy, and Lovejoy combined brought when they first came to Reliable. Two packhorses. He shook his head.

“Put this in that great big burlap sack for Silk Trevor’s family.” Miriam thrust a bundle into his arms and pointed across a veritable obstacle course.

Logan bit back a groan and trudged across the room. Tomorrow couldn’t come quickly enough.

Chapter 5

L
ogan woke up with a smile on his face. Today his journey would begin. He jumped out of bed, shaved his whiskers, and flung on his clothes in record time before realizing Bryce hadn’t joined him.

“Come on. Get up!” He thwacked his brother on the shoulder with his hat. “You’re the morning person, remember?”

“Nope. No recollection of that.” Bryce pulled the covers over his head. “Breakfast bell ain’t even rung.”

“Now let me think back to what you told me when I said the very same thing the morning you decided Salt Lick Holler was the place to go. Oh, that’s right. I know!” Logan yanked off the blankets and hunkered down to grin at Bryce.

“If I’d only known then how that whole thing would turn out…” Bryce’s grumble died off as he yawned.

“That’s just it,” Logan retorted. “Neither of us knows how this whole thing will turn out!”

Three hours, two loaded-up packhorses, one train, and thirty-one hugs later, they were on their way. Bryce snoozed in the aisle seat while Logan kept his nose against the glass window, determined to remember every bit of Reliable so not even a twinge of homesickness would come between him and all the adventure that lay ahead.

Sure, he’d miss Gideon, Titus, Paul, Daniel, Miriam, Alisa, Delilah, Lovejoy, Obie, Hezzy, Mike, Eunice, Lois, Tempy, all the kids, and even Britches, but it would only be for a few months. Who knew what he’d see and do and who he’d meet in between. God had something for him, Logan was sure of it. And no man could regret following the road the Lord laid before him.

He took his Bible out of the pocket inside his coat, and it fell open to the story of Jacob. He read, feeling the presence of the Lord in the words, until a couple of verses stopped him cold: “So the Lord alone did lead him, and there was no strange god with him. He made him ride on the high places of the earth….”

He brushed the fragile paper with his fingertips and mouthed the words. This had been Mama’s Bible. His brothers had decided to use Pa’s as the household Scripture and gave Ma’s smaller version to Logan. They thought it was only fair, since Logan hadn’t had as much time with her. Ma’s faith had been a big part of her, and Logan could feel her love right along with God’s whenever he opened this Bible.

He had everything he needed, and now he was heading toward whatever the Lord planned to show him.