He shook his head. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything. She worked for him, and that was that. But something deep inside Woody protested that thought most adamantly.
“Mr. Colton!” Sam, his crew boss, bolted through the trees. “There’s a problem by the brining barn.”
“What’s happened?”
“One of the horses stepped in a hole and went down. I think he’s all right, but I’m gonna watch that leg for signs of swelling. But the fact is, that hole wasn’t there before today. We got to looking around and there were quite a few holes, and they’re not made by animals. At least no animal I know of.”
“How can you be sure?”
“’Cause someone’s been digging big holes and covering them back up. At least most of them were filled back in. Animal ain’t gonna do that.”
“Not a four-legged one.” Woody met the other man’s worried face. “But what about a two-legged varmint?”
Woody went with Sam and together they searched for holes and filled them back in as they went. There were at least a dozen. It was a wonder none of the horses had broken legs. But there was no rhyme or reason for it. Why would someone be digging holes on his property? And then filling them back in. Why go to all the trouble?
A brief memory crossed his mind. There had been unexplained digging on his property another time. When was that? It seemed quite a long time ago—maybe right before or after they built the new house. But hadn’t that turned out to be raccoons or badgers? He shook his head, wishing he could remember.
“Mr. Colton!”
Great. What now? He and Sam both looked up to find Miguel, another of the workers.
“What is it?”
The man looked at Sam and then back at Woody. “I’m sorry, sir. I looked around like Sam told me—to make sure nothing else was out of place, but . . .” His man looked down at the ground. “Two barrels of olive oil were destroyed.”
“
What?!
” That was one hundred gallons. And a big chunk of income. He shook his head as he and Sam followed Miguel to the mess. Absolutely nothing could be done. Someone had taken an axe to the barrels. But why only these two, he had no idea. He noted the marks from the tops of the barrels. They were identical, so that meant they were from the same row—row
H
—but nothing else jumped out at him. He stood with his hands on his hips for several minutes. What a waste.
“We’ll clean it up, Mr. Colton,” Miguel assured. “But I wanted you to see that there are footprints, and they don’t match any of us.”
Woody knelt down where the tracks were clearly visible. “No, this fella has really big feet.” He frowned. Hadn’t Lillian said that Harry fella was a big guy?
“So someone is sneaking around with the intention of causing damage to the place—and possibly to the people living here.” Woody rose and shook his head. “I had hoped we were done with things like this, but it looks like I was wrong.”
“You want one of us to ride for the sheriff?”
Woody gave a bitter laugh. “Hobart won’t care. He’ll just think I did it.”
Sam was clearly upset. “Well, don’t worry. Me and the boys will take turns keepin’ an eye out.”
“I appreciate that, but you all need your sleep, too. We have way too much work to do to see that big order filled for the folks in Fresno.”
“We can figure it out—take shifts.” Sam’s expression was one of determination. “I’m sure sorry, Mr. Colton.”
Woody nodded. He looked at the sky. He’d already missed suppertime. What a day.
As he trekked back to the house, his frustration and worry set in again with a vengeance. Exhaustion washed over him, slowing his step. He needed food and a good night’s rest. Tomorrow would be another day, and things were bound to make more sense after he got some sleep.
Lillian sat at the dinner table with Jimmy on her lap. She was reading to him from the book of Genesis. About Noah. For a moment, his heart nearly stopped. For a moment he saw Rebecca. She had often held Jimmy and read to him. Not just the Bible, either, but all sorts of wonderful stories. He let go a heavy breath. Was it wrong of him to have these memories, but also think with great fondness toward Lillian? Lillian was filling the empty place left by Jimmy’s mother. He needed that. Woody needed it, too.
“And so you see, when God tells us to do something, Jimmy,” Lillian explained, “we need to obey and get the job done. Otherwise we might find ourselves in a flood of other problems.” She closed the Bible and hugged him close.
Woody’s heart warmed for a moment, then guilt and a little anger surged through him. His life should be so different from the way it was, but instead he had to worry about someone watching them and damaging his goods for whatever reason. He had to isolate himself out here on his property to avoid the townspeople, who were certain he was a killer. Nothing
was going the way he’d planned it to. And added to this, he’d missed time with his son tonight. All because of this mess. His relationship with Jimmy was a mess, his olive grove was a mess. He was a mess.
Mrs. Goodman entered. “Woody! Well, I’m so glad you made it in. I’ve got a plate warmin’ on the stove for you. Let me get it.” She went back toward the swinging door.
“Don’t bother. I’ll take care of it myself,” he grumbled. Not meaning for his words to sound so harsh, he softened his tone. “I need to wash up anyway, so I’ll grab it while I’m in there.”
His housekeeper raised her eyebrows but didn’t say a word as she headed to a chair next to Lillian.
All eyes were on him as he went to the kitchen, no doubt wondering what had gotten into him. He took his time washing up and said a little prayer to help him not be such a disagreeable grouch. There was something going on inside him that Woody needed to figure out. He knew he needed to spend more time with Jimmy. Again the regret and guilt threatened to eat him alive. It was true enough that he had work to do and that such work took time away from his son. It had taken time away from him and Rebecca as well. Reality hit him hard. Rebecca had been killed because he was away, busy with the olives.
But a silent reminder rebuked him. Rebecca died because a madman beat her and threw her down the stairs. It had nothing to do with the trees or Woody’s busy schedule. So then, why did he feel so guilty? So angry? And furthermore, how did it all relate to his listening for God’s voice?
When he made it back to the dining room with his food, he was resolved to put such thoughts behind him. He could always ponder these things later—when he was alone. He sat down at the table and found the ladies in a lively discussion. He forced a
smile, silently prayed, and then dug into the food. He felt half starved after this day.
“But don’t you think it’s time to go back?” Lillian still held his son. The boy looked asleep on her shoulder as she rubbed his back.
Mrs. Goodman flashed a look at him. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, dearie.”
“What’s not a good idea?” Woody took another bite.
His nanny shifted her weight and turned toward him. “We’ve had such a wonderful time studying the Bible together, I was wondering why we couldn’t go to church.”
“Miss Porter . . .” The frustration rose in a huge wave—so much for not being a grouch. “I’ve already told you that we will not be returning to church. The answer is no. Those people—”
“Woody, I know they’ve hurt you. I know you haven’t been in a while. But the Good Book tells us not to forsake the gathering together and fellowship with other believers.” She offered him a smile. “I just thought—”
“I said the answer is no.” He felt the heat rise in his neck.
She fell silent, and for a moment Woody thought that would be the end of it.
“Well, I am asking you to reconsider and discuss this with me.”
She looked at him with such hope that Woody felt all the more guilty. But instead of trying to explain, he just put up his defenses. “You are quite pushy, aren’t you?” Those words definitely came out harsher than he intended, but she deserved it. She had no idea what he’d been through today. “There will be no discussion.”
Her face registered a bit of hurt and then shock. She straightened her back and narrowed her eyes. “No wonder people in this town are so suspicious of you.” She stood with Jimmy
in her arms. “Maybe I shouldn’t have . . .” She snapped her mouth closed.
“Shouldn’t have
what
?” Woody stood, his anger in full force now. “Go ahead. Finish what you were about to say.”
Mrs. Goodman picked up his plate, no doubt trying to get his attention off the discussion at hand. “I’m going to go wash this up. Would you like anything else?”
“Please excuse us, Mrs. Goodman.”
The older woman nodded but gave him a pointed stare.
He saw the warning but didn’t take heed. He wasn’t going to be reprimanded like a child. Not in his own house. Not in front of his son.
Lillian shook her head as tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think before I spoke.”
“You’re right. You didn’t. You have no idea, Miss Porter, what this family has endured from the people of Angels Camp. No idea. And just because you had one opportunity, one afternoon, to listen to their gossip and lies doesn’t make you an expert on what it feels like to be ostracized. What it feels like to lose everything.”
She stood her ground. “But you
didn’t
lose everything, Woody. You are still here. Your precious son is still here. Your farm is still here. God’s got this under control.”
“Like He did the day Rebecca died?” His anger only increased. “Do not presume to tell me how I should feel or choose my words for me.” He stalked around the table. “We are in a drought. We had one disaster after another today, and I’ve had just about enough.”
She stepped back, her hand on Jimmy’s head. “I was just asking about going to church, Woody. We don’t even go into town. I don’t know anyone.” She was so calm.
Which only angered him more. And why, he didn’t know. “The answer is no.”
“You know what?” A new spark lit in her eyes. “I think you’re afraid. And you know what else? I think I will go to church by myself. And I will go to town by myself. Why? Because I’m tired of people telling me what I can and cannot do and keeping me locked up like a prisoner.”
“You feel like a prisoner?” he roared. “Fine. Then why don’t you just pack your bags. You are free to go, Miss Porter.” He yanked his sleeping son out of her arms, which roused the boy.
Her mouth dropped open. Tears streaked down her cheeks. Her hands fisted at her sides. “You want me to leave. Fine, I’ll leave. If you aren’t too caught up in your rancorous attitude, you might remember that you haven’t ever paid me my wages. I’ll need that money to buy a stage ticket.” She turned, but then whipped right back around and pointed her finger. “You’re going to turn out just like my grandfather. Bitter, angry, and all alone.” She whirled back around and left him standing there.
Jimmy wiggled out of his arms. When his feet reached the floor, he gave Woody a sad, teary-eyed look. And then ran out of the room and up the stairs.
Mrs. Goodman returned and crossed her arms.
“Don’t say it.”
“Don’t say what? I wasn’t going to say anything.” She started to leave and threw over her shoulder, “But I
will
go check on Jimmy, if you have no objections.” She shook her head. “No, I don’t even care if you have objections.”
Woody was left standing in his dining room assessing the damage. What had he just done?
C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN
J
immy ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Why would Papa be so mean to Miss Lillian? He yelled at her just like that bad man had yelled at Mama. Jimmy burst into his room. Fear built up inside him. He looked frantically around the room. He didn’t want to see his papa act that way. He loved Papa. But now, he was also afraid of him.
He grabbed his pillow and yanked off the pillowcase. Miss Lillian was a good person. Jimmy liked her. A lot. But Papa told her to go pack her bags. That meant she was leaving.
It didn’t make sense.
Papa liked Miss Lillian. Said she did a good job. When he tucked Jimmy in at night, he often talked about how she was good for them.
Jimmy shook his head. He couldn’t understand why they had to fight. He didn’t want to see them fight ever again, and he didn’t want Miss Lillian to go. Tears threatened to spill as he grabbed his slingshot, some toy soldiers, and his comb. Mama had always told him to comb his hair first thing every morning. Last of all, he grabbed Mr. Whiskers. Jimmy didn’t
have time to secure the sling around his neck, so he tucked Mr. Whiskers inside his shirt.
He was certain if he ran away, Miss Lillian would stay. She’d be worried about him. Jimmy was sure of it. She’d be worried, and she’d come to find him. Jimmy slipped down the back stairs, stopping to listen in case Mrs. Goodman was in the kitchen. She wasn’t. He hurried out the back door and only then realized it was dark. He hated the dark. Clutching the pillowcase to his chest, Jimmy wondered if maybe this was a bad idea. What if that bad man was out there somewhere? He hesitated, wondering what he should do. And then it came to him. He’d go to the pond. Miss Lillian knew he loved it there, and there was a big tree where he could climb up and sleep if they didn’t find him until morning.
Maybe Harry would come to the pond tomorrow, and then they could all fish together and go back to how things were before Papa got mad.
Jimmy hurried past the barn and along the path to the garden. The glow of the house light faded more and more the farther he went. Past the garden it got more difficult to see. He tripped and fell over a tree root. It had gotten really dark. He worried that he might have hurt Mr. Whiskers and made a quick assessment. The rabbit seemed fine, so Jimmy tucked him back inside the shirt.
A noise to his right made him stop. Was it a wild animal? Was it the bad man?
Fear spurred his little legs into action. He ran blindly through the trees, hoping that he’d soon reach the pond. Hoping that if the bad man was out there, he wouldn’t know where to find him.
The killer’s voice sounded in his head.
“You better not say
a word about me to anyone, you hear me? I’ll kill your pa and your little housekeeper, and I’ll kill everyone in town if you say one word.”