The Shepherd's Voice (7 page)

He carried the bucket of dirty scrub water outside and emptied it into the grass behind the outhouse. Then he went to the pump where he stripped off his shirt, gave the handle a few quick jerks, and stuck his head beneath the running water. It was icy cold, causing his breath to catch. When he straightened, he shoved his wet hair away from his face. It needed to be trimmed. He’d have to ask Akira for a pair of scissors.

Tossing his sweat-stained shirt over his shoulder, he picked up the bucket, refilled it with fresh water, and returned to his cabin.

He had one more clean shirt, thanks to the generosity of his new employer. He would wash up and put it on before joining her and the others for supper. Once he was out with the sheep, he didn’t suppose it would matter if he had a clean change of clothing. But today it mattered.

There’d been a time when Gabe had a wardrobe full of clothes, drawers full of white shirts that had been washed and starched and pressed by servants.

He hesitated before glancing at his reflection in the small mirror on the wall. A haggard-looking man stared back at him. A man who appeared much older than his thirty-two years. Was there any sign of the kid he’d been? Of the spoiled youth, lashing out at the world, longing for something he couldn’t have?

No, there wasn’t. That boy was as dead as both of his brothers.

The clanging of the dinner bell pulled him away from the mirror—and his thoughts. It was just as well. He’d been on the verge of recalling things best left hidden in the darkest corners of his memory.

With a quick rake of fingers through shaggy, damp hair, he strode out of the cabin and toward the main house. He kept his head and eyes raised. In prison, he’d learned to walk with his gaze lowered. A man was less apt to get into trouble that way. But there was a desire in his heart to appear confident now.

And he would need confidence tonight, judging by the look of Brodie Lachlan. The Scotsman stood inside the open doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his scowl as dark as a moonless night in the forest.

“There you are,” Akira said, drawing Gabe’s gaze to the opposite side of the room. Her smile was welcoming; Brodie’s frown was not. “Come and meet the Wickhams.” She motioned toward a chair at the table.

He moved past the Scotsman, half expecting a blow to the back of his head.

“Mr. Wickham,” Akira continued, “you remember Gabe Talmadge.”

Gabe noticed there was no flicker of surprise in Charlie’s expression, and he knew the man had been forewarned.

“I do.” Charlie held out a hand. “Good to see you again. Sorry I didn’t recognize you earlier today.”

Gabe had little choice but to shake the proffered hand.

Charlie glanced to his right. “This is my wife, Nora.” Then he looked to his left. “And this is my son, Mark.”

“Pleasure,” Gabe mumbled with nods toward both.

Akira interrupted the awkward silence that followed by pulling out a chair from the table and saying, “Sit down, everyone, before supper gets cold.”

Akira wasn’t much good at the art of polite conversation. Even when she’d lived in San Francisco with her mother and stepfather, who had entertained frequently, she hadn’t excelled at it. But tonight she was thankful for what little she’d learned from her mother’s tutelage.

“Mrs. Wickham, I couldn’t help but notice the beautiful needlepoint you were working on earlier this afternoon. Did you design the pattern yourself?”

“Yes, I did. Thank you.”

“Perhaps you could show it to me later.”

“If you’d like.”

“I would. Of course, I’m all thumbs with a needle, but I do take pleasure in pretty things. My mother had high hopes for me. I failed her miserably.” She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “She never understood my love for Dundreggan.”

“I didn’t know your mother,” Nora said, “but I understand she lived here for a time.”

“Yes. After my father died, Mother and I came to live with Grandfather. When she married my stepfather four years later, we moved to California. But I was never happy there.” Akira looked across the table at Brodie. “You remember the day Mother and I first arrived at Dundreggan. I was so afraid. My whole world had been turned upside down.”

“Ach!
I remember it, lass. A wee thing ye were. Six years old and pretty as a mountain bluebird. Eyes as big as saucers.”

“That’s because I’d never seen anyone with hair the color of yours.”

Brodie glanced around the table before saying, “Afraid or not, she was filled with mischief, this one, and headstrong, to boot. Fergus doted on her, and ’tis me who’s had to pay for it, now that he’s gone to his reward.”

“I learned all my most stubborn traits from you, Brodie,” she retorted with a saucy toss of her head.

He grinned. “Aye, that ye did.”

Somehow Akira was able to keep the conversation going in a similar lighthearted vein throughout the remainder of the meal. It wasn’t until dessert had been served that she brought up the subject they’d all had in the back of their minds.

She looked first at Charlie. “It’s time we talked about work.”

“Yes.” He pushed his plate away from him with one hand. “I’ve been wondering about it.”

“I’ve given this much thought.” She avoided Brodie’s gaze. “I’ve decided to send you and Mark with Mr. Lachlan and the band of sheep. He can’t get around the mountainsides on his bad leg, but he can ride in the sheepherder’s wagon and will be nearby when you need advice or instruction. There’s no one who knows more about sheep than he does.”

Despite her better judgment, she glanced at her longtime friend. Brodie was frowning, as she’d known he would be. She raised her chin, hoping he wouldn’t argue in front of the others. She couldn’t avoid the confrontation forever, but she’d just as soon delay it awhile.

“And what about Mr. Talmadge?” Brodie asked, a thin edge in his voice.

“He’ll stay and help me run the farm.”

Brodie shifted his gaze toward Gabe. “Have ye done much farming, Mr. Talmadge?”

“Not much.” His voice was totally without inflection.

Although she didn’t attempt to explain, Akira had several sound reasons for her decision. First, the Wickhams were more apt to remain in the valley beyond this summer. Nora wasn’t a strong woman and travel would be difficult for her. Their roots were in Ransom. Training Charlie and Mark to be Dundreggan shepherds made good sense.

She glanced toward Gabe, reminded of another reason for her decision. He needed rest and nourishment to build his strength. She doubted he would last a week in the mountains with Brodie. The big Scotsman would drive him too hard. She knew Brodie didn’t like or trust Gabe.

But I do. For some reason
,
I do.

Gabe looked up, caught her watching him. A spark of something—rebellion? frustration? gratitude?—flashed in his eyes. Then the look was gone; the carefully composed mask dropped back into place.

She wanted to help him. More than anything she’d wanted in a long time, she wanted to help this man. And God wanted her to help him. She was certain of it. It was no accident she’d chanced upon him yesterday, and whatever the Lord’s purpose, she meant to see it through.

Akira turned her gaze upon Brodie. “It’s decided, then. You three will leave with the sheep by the end of the week.”

“Aye,” the Scotsman answered gruffly. “It’ll be as ye wish.”

FIVE

The next days passed in a flurry of activity. The wagon was stocked with supplies. The sheep were driven from the low-lying grazing lands to fenced pastures closer to the ranch house. Brodie worked with Charlie and Mark, teaching them the different voice and hand commands they would use with the dogs.

Gabe felt useless. All his offers to help were rebuffed, both by Brodie and Akira.

“You must give yourself time to regain your strength,” she told him. “You need rest and plenty of good food if you’re to be of use to me.”

She was right, but it grated on his nerves nonetheless.

On Friday, he awakened before dawn. Try as he might, he couldn’t go back to sleep. He got out of bed, slipped on his shirt and trousers, then made a trip to the outhouse. On his way back to the cabin, he heard something that caused him to pause.

It was Akira, speaking softly to her collie. Although the morning sky was the color of slate, the sunrise nothing more than a dim promise on the horizon, he was able to see her clearly enough as she made her way toward the lower pasture.

He followed her.

A crazy thing to do.

It was Cam who gave away his presence. The dog stopped suddenly, turned on the path, and growled a warning.

“Who’s there?” Akira demanded.

“It’s me.”

“Gabe?”

He saw her place her hand on the dog’s head, heard her whisper, “All right, Cam. Stand down.”

Taking that as his cue, Gabe moved forward. “Sorry if I frightened you.”

“You didn’t.”

“If you’d rather, I can go back.”

“No. You’re welcome to join us.” She turned and continued along the trail. “I find it peaceful out here in the mornings. A good place to pray and meditate.” She stopped again. “Did you hear that? A meadowlark. I love their sweet song. It’s so joyful.”

He hadn’t heard it. Maybe because he’d stopped listening for joyful sounds.

She looked up, her face clearer to him now as the sky lightened. “We’ve a busy day ahead of us.”

“The drive begins.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what it’s like,” he said, wanting to keep her talking. He didn’t care what she said. He simply enjoyed the sound of her voice.

“What what’s like?”

He had to think a moment. “The life of a sheep rancher,” he answered at last.

“It’s a hard and simple one.” She smiled. “Is that a contradiction?” She didn’t wait for him to answer her question. “In the winter, we keep the sheep nearby where we can feed them hay. The first lambs usually drop in mid-February, depending when the bucks were put with the ewes. In the spring, usually by the middle of
March in these parts, we turn the band out to forage on the new growth, moving them to higher elevations as grasses and shrubs mature. The sheep shearers are usually at Dundreggan by May. They shear on the range, wherever the sheep are at the time, before the band moves to summer grazing in the high meadows.” She pointed to the northeast. “Up there.”

“And the Wickhams and Lachlan will stay in the mountains until they’re brought back down? Living in that cramped sheepherder’s wagon the whole time?”

She nodded. “Shepherds have to always be with the sheep, looking out for coyotes and bobcats and bear. So they take their home with them. The wagon sleeps two comfortably, three in a pinch, and unless the weather’s bad, they can sleep under the wagon if they want. They’ve got their Dutch oven for cooking, and wool blankets and wood stove to keep them warm on cool nights. There’s plenty of mutton on the hoof and plenty of fresh water to drink and a heaven full of stars to watch over them at night. It isn’t as bad as it looks.”

He couldn’t help grinning at her. “I’ll bet you make it sound better than it is.”

Akira laughed softly, then gestured toward the ewes and lambs dotting the pastureland. “My grandfather was participating in the development of this new breed. The Targhees are a cross of Rambouillet, Lincoln, and Corriedale bloodlines. They’re named for the national forest over near the Dubois Sheep Experiment Station. Grandfather believed in them so much. He held the popular view that the ideal breed is three-quarters fine wool and one-quarter long wool.”

Gabe hadn’t a clue what she was talking about.

“The Targhees you see here are third generation. I wish Grandfather could have seen them.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“He died in ’30. Sometimes it seems only yesterday.” Her voice lowered. “And sometimes it seems like forever.” She released a wistful sigh. “He understood me. We were so alike, he and I. Much to my mother’s dismay.”