The Renegade's Redemption. Stacy Henrie

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      “Will you at least finish plowing the field you were working on?” she urged.

      Mr. Grady didn’t answer. Instead he increased his agitated retreat to the barn. But Ravena wasn’t giving up.

      Before she reached the barn doors, the man came barreling out on his horse. Which meant he’d made up his mind and had the mount already saddled before he’d come into the kitchen to tell her that he’d quit and wanted his wages.

      “I’ll be takin’ what I earned this week,” he said, jerking his horse to a stop beside her.

      Straightening her shoulders, Ravena leveled him with her firmest look. She might be a lone woman running the place now, but she wouldn’t be cowed or swindled. “I’ll pay you for five days of work, not six.” She let the declaration hang in the air a moment before adding with a more entreating tone, “Unless you’re willing to work the rest of the day. Then I’ll pay you for six days.”

      He glared down at her. “I already done told you, I ain’t staying.”

      She clenched her teeth, frustrated by his decision and his barnyard vernacular. “Very well.” After fishing the required cash and coin from her apron pocket, she dropped them into his outstretched hand. “Good day, Mr. Grady.”

      He sniffed with disapproval as he pocketed the money, then dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. Head held high, Ravena stepped back to avoid the kick of dirt from the animal’s hooves. But her bravado ran out before the pair disappeared down the road.

      Now that she’d lost another hired hand, the contents of the letter in her other pocket weighed heavier than a steer on her mind and heart. She moved to the porch and sat on the step. Pulling out the letter, she smoothed the wrinkles from it. If only she could smooth the troubled ripples in her life as easily.

      Dear Miss Reid,

      First let me offer my condolences at the loss of your grandfather. I never met a more gentle man and I’m grateful for my association with him these past few years.

      Regarding the four brothers he planned to bring to your farm this summer, I’m afraid I do not have the most comforting of news. After I received your letter sharing the sad tidings of your grandfather’s passing and your limitation in providing any additional orphans with necessary housing, I felt it best to conduct a search for a permanent placement for the boys here in Boise but to no avail.

      Here at the orphanage, we are quite at capacity at present. And unfortunately these boys, along with several of our older orphans, who have not found permanent homes either, will be joining the Orphan Train when it comes through on the first of July. As you are no doubt aware, the likelihood of the boys staying together once they leave here is quite low.

      If you wish to follow through with your grandfather’s wishes to provide a home for these four brothers, I would urge you to make the necessary plans posthaste. I will not be able to detain their departure. I eagerly await your response.

      Sincerely,

      Miss Gretchen Morley

      Tears succeeded in blurring her vision this time as Ravena repocketed the letter. Those poor boys. Of course she wanted to honor her grandfather’s wishes to bring them to the farm. As much for them as for herself. If she could fulfill Grandfather’s wishes in these last plans he’d made before his death, then perhaps she could finally feel she had done enough to atone for nearly turning her back on him and the farm all those years ago.

      Wiping the back of her hand at the useless moisture in her eyes, she shifted her gaze beyond the barn to the unfinished structure that sat there. Her grandfather, a skilled craftsman as well as farmer, had framed the outer walls of the ground floor. But his death had robbed the incomplete edifice of its talented creator, leaving the posts to look like leafless trees eyeing the distant sky.

      How was she to provide a home for four more children without a bigger house? How could she feed and clothe the children she already had if a large portion of her money went to hiring workers? And that was if she could find someone to hire who’d be willing to stay until the plowing and planting were done. Otherwise, she wasn’t sure what she’d do.

      Even with the help of thirteen-year-old Jacob, the oldest of the orphans currently living at the farm, the two of them couldn’t finish the plowing and planting on time. She needed an able-bodied man willing to work for little wages. One skilled in house building as well as farming would be even better. It was a rather tall order.

      Movement by the barn drew her attention. Nine-year-old Mark and his seven-year-old brother, Luke, peered around the corner. No doubt they were the owners of the offending snake Mr. Grady had been complaining about. “Mark, Luke, come here, please.”

      The towheaded boys walked toward her, their chins dipped low to their chests. Sure enough, Mark carried a snake in his hand.

      Though two years separated their ages, they looked as if they could be twins with their matching blond hair and brown eyes. They reminded her of a set of twins she’d known growing up—Tex and Tate Beckett. Even just the memory of the Beckett brothers caused a physical ache to lodge in her chest, especially any thought connected to Tex. He was the man she’d loved fully and agreed to elope with eight years earlier. Only Tex never came for her.

      Which was good, she reminded herself. He’d saved her from making the two biggest mistakes of her life—leaving her grandfather behind and trusting Tex with her heart.

      Pushing aside the painful recollections, she waited for the boys to shuffle to a stop in front of her. A shiver passed through her at seeing their reptile up close. She feared snakes every bit as much as the horses did. “Do you remember what I’ve told you, boys, about bringing snakes around the horses?”

      Mark shot her a sad look. “We ain’t supposed to do that.”

      “Aren’t supposed to do that,” she gently corrected. It was her duty to raise these children up right, and she would do it. A visit to their teacher might be in order to stress the importance of grammar and proper speech now that school was in session again.

      “But it’s a real beaut, Miss Ravena.” Mark grinned, his sorrow forgotten, as he held the snake aloft.

      Ravena scooted back against the porch column, eager to put distance between herself and the slithering creature. “Be that as it may, the rule still stands. As does the consequence. You, boys, will need to take over mucking the stalls for Jacob this week.”

      Mark and Luke exchanged pained glances.

      “And,” Ravena added, “if Mr. Grady were still here, you would need to apologize to him.”

      “Mr. Grady left?” Luke asked, his tone a mixture of regret and curiosity.

      “Yes, he’s left. Now please take that thing and release it somewhere beyond the fields.”

      Mark frowned and eyed the snake dangling from his fingers. “Do we have to?”

      Standing, Ravena fought an audible groan. “Yes,” she intoned firmly.

      They started to walk away, their heads low with dejection once СКАЧАТЬ