The Shepherd's Voice (33 page)

“The guy said something ’bout work.”

Hudson caught a whiff of cheap alcohol. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Yes.”

“Here at the mill?”

“Not exactly.”

“What, then?” He hiccuped.

Hudson hoped Danny wasn’t about to vomit on the Persian rug. “It’s a personal matter,” he answered.

“Like what?” Danny wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, then licked his lips. “You wouldn’t have somethin’ to drink ’round here, would you?”

“No, Mr. Peck,” he lied. “I wouldn’t.” He leaned forward, placing his forearms on his desk. “I understand there’s bad blood between you and my … son.”

“Hey, listen. It wasn’t my fault what happened. He tried to choke me. Should’ve been arrested, but —”

“Relax, Mr. Peck. I happen to agree with you.”

Danny’s eyes widened in surprise. “You do?”

“Yes, I do. And that’s why I asked you here. I want your help in sending him back to prison where he belongs. The sheriff isn’t going to do it, so it’s up to law-abiding citizens like yourself to see it gets done.”

“What could I do?”

Hudson rose from his chair. “I’m not sure. Yet. Nothing difficult. I’ll simply let you know when I need some help. Things like keeping an eye on Gabe when he comes to town, trying to provoke him into another fight if possible. And, if I ask … well, to stretch the truth a bit. Would you be willing to do that?”

“I reckon I could.” He wiped his mouth again. “If’n the pay was right.”

“I assure you, the pay will be right. We’ll start you at ten dollars per week.”

“Ten?”

“Dollars. Per week.”

“Just to pick a fight with your son and lie when you tell me to?”

“Yes.” He narrowed his eyes. “Let me make something clear, Peck. If you tell anyone about our little agreement, you
will
regret it.” He opened his wallet. “So do we have an agreement?”

Danny stood, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “I reckon we do.”

Looney Lindy and her children lived on a small clearing of land hewn from the side of Bobcat Mountain. Theirs was a hardscrabble existence, judging by the shack that served as a house, the small barn that looked near collapse, and the variety of junk that littered the surrounding area—cars, trucks, wagons, wheelbarrows, a tall stack of bricks, a rusty potbelly stove, a porcelain bathtub with one claw foot missing.

Brodie reined in his horse, and Gabe did likewise.

Cupping his mouth with one hand, the Scotsman shouted, “Hello in the house.”

They had a lengthy wait before the door creaked open. A moment more, and a girl of about seven or eight years of age stepped onto the rickety front porch. She was wearing a shapeless dress made from a flour sack. Stringy, unwashed hair hung to her shoulders. Her legs and feet were bare.

“Is yer mother about, lassie?”

“She cain’t come out right now. Whatcha want?”

Gabe nudged his mount forward. “I’m interested in buying one of these automobiles.”

“Cain’t none of ’em run.”

“That’s all right. I’d at least like to talk to her.”

Without a word, the girl slipped back into the house and closed the door.

Gabe looked over his shoulder at Brodie, then dismounted.

After a minute or two—although it seemed longer with the icy wind buffeting him—the door opened and the child reappeared.

“Ma says you kin look if’n you want, but she’s not sayin’ she’ll sell you nothin’.”

“Fair enough.”

Once again the girl disappeared inside.

“I guess it’s okay to look them all over,” Gabe said to Brodie. He tethered his horse to a wagon that was missing both of its right wheels, then headed for the nearest Model T Ford.

“You’re a blessing,” Nora said as Akira stoked the fire in the stove.

“I should have come sooner to check on you. That wind seems to be blowing right through those windowpanes.”

“Heavens, girl. I’m not your responsibility.”

Akira crossed to the bed. “You are as long as your husband and son are working for me.” She tugged at the thick quilt, then tucked it snugly beneath Nora’s feet.

Nora sighed. “I’m such a bother.”

“Nonsense.”

“I was hoping …” She let the words trail into silence.

Akira took hold of her hand. “I know.”

“It’s been hard on Charlie, having a sickly wife. He’s been so good to me. Not a word of complaint. Not ever.”

“I’ll tell you what would make Mr. Wickham happy if he were here right now—he’d be pleased if you’d eat something.”

Nora released a weak laugh. “You don’t give up.”

“Not easily. No.”

“Then I’ll eat some of your stew. If you promise to sit and keep me company while I do.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Akira grabbed some pillows and placed them behind Nora’s back. Going into the kitchen, she dished stew into a large bowl, then sliced the loaf of warm bread she’d brought with her and buttered it. Finally, she filled a glass with milk and carried the tray back to the bedroom.

“Here you go,” she said, arriving at the bedside.

The expression on Nora’s face clearly said she couldn’t eat everything on the tray, but she dutifully lifted the spoon and tested the stew. “It’s delicious,” she proclaimed.

“Thanks.” Akira sat on a nearby straight-backed chair.

“Where’s your husband off to? I saw him and Mr. Lachlan ride out awhile ago.”

“He hopes to buy an automobile from Mrs. Jones. The widow woman up on Bobcat Mountain.”

Nora set down her spoon. “The one they call Looney Lindy?”

“Yes.” Akira leaned forward, took the spoon, and placed it in Nora’s hand, closing her fingers around the stem, at the same time giving her a stern look. “Eat.”

The older woman obediently dipped the spoon into the bowl and brought another bite to her mouth.

“I don’t know why they call her such a name,” Akira continued. “She’s a recluse, but there’s plenty of folks who like to keep to themselves. If not for taking part in church services, I’d rarely go into Ransom myself.”

“Have you ever met Mrs. Jones?”

“No, have you?”

Nora shook her head. “Never laid eyes on her. Not once in all these years. Her husband, Ned, died at least five years back. I believe he was a fur trapper by trade. Her oldest boy’s been known
to come into town now and again for supplies. Guess that’s the only way any of us know she and her children are still living up on the mountain.”

“Well, I hope Gabe finds what he wants up there. He’s determined we won’t be without a car.”

“It’s because he loves you.”

Happiness flowed through Akira at her words. “I know.”

“Gracious. Look at you blush.”

Akira touched her cheeks with her fingertips.

Nora chuckled. “I’d nearly forgotten what it’s like to be young and giddy with love.”

“I didn’t know it would be like this,” Akira confessed, feeling her skin growing warmer still.

“It isn’t like this for every woman. God has blessed you, my dear. He’s showered you with blessings of happiness.” Nora shook her head. “I must confess, I had my doubts about the union. I feared you were rushing into it, and … well … with Gabe’s history …” Her sentence trailed off, unfinished.

Akira patted the back of Nora’s hand, communicating with her touch that she understood. “God has His purpose for bringing Gabe and me together. So we have nothing to fear. Not from the past or from the future.”

“I’ve been a Christian for as long as I can remember,” Nora said after a lengthy silence, “and I don’t think I’ve ever known a believer who trusted the Lord the way you do. You’re blessed with that childlike faith we’re all supposed to have but so few of us do.”

Although she could have told the older woman of the many times she’d lacked faith, she decided it was better to let the moment pass. Akira could see Nora was growing tired.

She rose from the chair and took the tray. “You’d better rest. I’ll look in on you again at suppertime.”

“Thank you, my dear. I am suddenly done in.”

“God keep you,” Akira whispered as she slipped from the bedroom.

“Mrs. Jones?” Gabe rapped on the door with his bare knuckles.

It opened a few inches, and the same little girl peered out at him.

“I’d like to speak with your mother, please.”

“She don’t see nobody.”

“I’d like to make her an offer on one of the automobiles.”

The girl looked over her shoulder. “Ma?”

“Who is he?” came a gravelly voice from inside.

“My name’s Gabe Talmadge,” he answered without waiting for the child to repeat the question. “My wife owns Dundreggan Ranch. It’s about halfway between here and Ransom.”

“And who’s the fella with ya?”

“That’s Brodie Lachlan. My friend. He works with us.”

His reply was followed by a lengthy silence. He glanced down at the girl standing just inside the door. She was shivering from the cold draft. He considered telling her to close the door until her mother decided what to do, but before he could act on it, the woman spoke again.

“Ask him in, Fern.”

The girl opened the door wider. “Ma says you can come in.”

“Thanks.”

Gabe removed his hat as he stepped into the dim interior of the shack. He noticed several things: the floor was hard-packed earth, the air was thick with smoke from the wood stove, and something in the room smelled putrid.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust before he was able to locate Lindy Jones. She was seated in a wooden chair near the stove,
her right leg—wrapped in a bandage—propped on a barrel. A rifle rested across her lap. Handy if she decided to shoot him, he thought. Her hair was as wild and unwashed as her daughter’s. Perhaps it was only the poor lighting, but she seemed to have a wraithlike appearance. Gabe shivered involuntarily.