The Journey Home. Linda Ford

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СКАЧАТЬ met his gaze, knew they both had secrets bringing them to this place, this time and this house. She believed God cared for her, controlled every aspect of her life. Didn’t the Scripture say all the days of her life were written before one of them came to be? But right now she struggled to believe it. How could God have planned for the country to blow from county to county? For Harry to abandon her? For a half-breed to be in her house? But she was being overly dramatic. Harry would send for her as he’d promised. He’d taken care of her since she was ten and their mother grew too ill to manage on her own. He’d provided her with a safe home since Mother died, as he’d sworn he would—apart from that time Nellie had demanded she be sent away. Charlotte shuddered. She would never forget her subsequent ordeal at the Appleby home.

      Anxious to escape the past as much as the present, she opened the door again, breathing shallowly as she picked her way over the dirt on the floor.

      Mr. Douglas followed close on her heels, whistling when he saw the damage in the front room. “Looks like your brother could plant a garden in here.”

      She ignored his comment. Her brother wouldn’t be planting a garden anywhere near this house. And God willing, she’d shake off the dust of the place this very afternoon and be on her way to join him. Out of habit and desperation, she went to the window to see if Mr. Henderson rode her way with the promised letter from Harry. But she saw only the changed landscape—mounds of dirt in new places, fields scraped clean in others. A desolate, angry scene.

      “Lady, could you point me to your well? I’d like to wash this storm off my face and refill my canteen.”

      She turned away from the hopeless view. His face looked as if he’d scrubbed in garden soil. She touched her cheeks, guessing she looked no better. “Well’s out there.” She pointed to the little shack Harry had built to store tools in.

      Kody tromped into the kitchen.

      Charlotte followed and screamed as she came face-to-face with a paint horse.

      “This is Sam,” Kody said. “He won’t hurt you.”

      “You brought your horse into my house?” She sniffed. “Phew. He’s stunk up the place like a barn.”

      Kody shook his head. “Sam, I told you not to do that in here.”

      The horse whinnied.

      Charlotte thought the sound as unbelieving as her thoughts. “A horse answers the call of nature without regard to his surroundings.”

      “I’ll clean it up.”

      “You certainly will.” And she’d scoop out the dirt with the only tools Harry had left her—a tin can and a big spoon.

      Kody grabbed the empty bucket from the old worktable left behind because it was nailed to the wall. He headed for the well. He had the decency to lead his horse outside with him and kick out the pile of manure as he left.

      Charlotte stood at the door, praying for a miracle. God had brought water from a rock for His children in the desert. Didn’t seem like water from the well ought to be any different. And while He was providing miracles, maybe He could see fit to send a message from Harry and something to send Mr. Douglas hightailing it out of here.

      Kody walked with a combination of roll and stride. He grabbed the handle and pumped up and down. The squealing protest caused Sam to sidle away and whinny. After several unproductive pumps, Kody called, “Well appears to be dry.”

      Charlotte sighed. Hoping against hope proved futile yet again. She couldn’t imagine what lesson God meant for her to learn. “I know.”

      He sauntered over. “Been dry long?”

      She shrugged. He didn’t need to know the particulars, but they’d been going to Lother’s for water for several months.

      Kody shook the bone-dry pail. “Where was your brother getting water?”

      Charlotte stared across the pasture indicating a well-worn path. In the distance she could make out the chimney, the roof of the barn and the lifesaving windmill. “Lother Gross has been kind enough to let us use his well.”

      Kody touched his cheek with a brown finger. “I’d like to wash and refill my canteen.” He waited, perhaps expecting her to lead the way.

      Why couldn’t the man take a hint? Desperately she sought for a way to persuade him to leave. The gun was out unless she used it as a club, and she didn’t much fancy the idea of attacking him, knew she didn’t stand a chance against his size and strength. She looked about the kitchen, hoping for some solution, finding nothing but emptiness and disappointment. Feeling his patient waiting, she sighed and turned back to face him.

      “You could go across to the neighbor’s and get water.” She nodded toward Lother’s place. “I’ll stay here and tidy up a bit.” If he got so much as halfway across the pasture, she’d figure out some way to bar the broken door.

      Kody’s eyes narrowed.

      She crossed her arms over her chest as if she hoped to protect her thoughts from his piercing gaze.

      The man looked at the empty bucket, gave a long, considering study of the useless pump, then stared across the pasture. “How long you been out of water?” he asked, his voice soft but knowing.

      Again she shrugged. Her problems were no concern of his.

      He nodded toward the path. “Why don’t you go get some?”

      Her stomach lurched toward her heart, making her swallow hard to control the way her fear mixed with nausea. She didn’t want Lother to know she was alone and had waited until dark two nights ago to slip over. She reasoned she could fill a pail and hurry away without detection. But his dog set up a din fit to wake the dead. Charlotte had tried to calm him. “It’s me. You know me.” She’d kept her voice low, but the dog wouldn’t let up. Coming around after dark was a strange occurrence, not acceptable to the dog’s sense of guard duty.

      Charlotte had been forced to retreat without water in order to avoid being confronted by Lother.

      “How long you been here alone?”

      She pressed her lips together and jutted out her chin.

      Kody adjusted his black cowboy hat and leaned back on worn cowboy boots. His gray shirt, laced at the neck, had seen better days. His pants were equally shabby. “Why ain’t you walked out of this place?” He shook his head. “I don’t get it. You’ve got the guts to face me with an empty gun, yet you hide in this derelict house without water.”

      How dare he? “What gives you the right—”

      “Lady, despite the color of my skin—”

      Which, Charlotte thought, had nothing to do with this whole conversation.

      He continued in the same vein. “And the uncertainty of my heritage—”

      One certainty he’d overlooked: this was none of his business. “I don’t recall asking for your help,” she said.

      “I’ve been raised to care about the welfare of others.”

      That СКАЧАТЬ