Robin (5 page)

              “I will. Thank you.” She peered around the boy. “Where’s Uncle John?”

              Jacob shrugged and plunked down in a chair at the table. “Can I watch you fry ‘em?”

              “You may. But we’d better wait for Mr. Wenghold. Why didn’t he come in with you?”

              Jacob scratched his head. “He said he had some business to tend to. That’s all I know.”

              “Well, I imagine he’ll be in before long. You go wash your hands, please, then you can set the plates on the table for me.” Robin measured the ingredients for the biscuits.

              Jacob followed instructions, then sat at the table and rested his head on his arms.

              “You’re tired, aren’t you? As soon as Uncle John comes in I’ll pop these in the oven.” The heat from the big cookstove was stifling. She’d need to remember to do her baking in the morning instead of so late in the day. That is, if Uncle John let her stay. Surely he wouldn’t turn the boy out, would he? “Jacob, was my uncle with you when you came from the chicken coop?”

              He propped his elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand. “No, ma’am. He already left to do something different.”

              “Did you remember to latch the door?” As a child she’d failed to shut the gate to the chicken coop and, consequently, chased chickens all through their neighborhood, much to the dismay of their uppity neighbors.

              “I don’t remember. Should I check?”

              “That would be good. You should always remember to latch doors behind you so wild animals won’t get into the buildings.”

              A few minutes later, Jacob returned, puffing. “I runned real fast and did what you said. I latched every single door I found.” He settled back in his chair and swung his legs. “Can we eat yet?”

             
“
Ma
y
we eat?”

              Jacob cocked his head, a frown deep between his big green eyes. “I just asked you that.”

              “I know. I was correcting you
.
Ma
y
is the correct way to ask that question. No
t
ca
n
. Did you see Mr. Wenghold when you went outdoors?”

              “Did I see him?” He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I didn’t see him.”

              Robin busied herself looking through cupboards. It would take some time to learn what supplies Uncle John had on hand and what she would need to purchase on the next trip to Cedar Bluff. When the sun slipped below the trees that shaded the west side of the house, she lit a lamp and tried to still her imagination. If only she had checked on her uncle sooner
.
What if he’s hurt? How would I get help?

              Jacob was sound asleep at the table with his head on his arms. She moved the braided rug from in front of the sink, then gathered him in her arms and laid him atop of it so he wouldn’t fall. He tucked one hand under his cheek and drew his knees closer to his chest, but didn’t awaken. She patted his shoulder, then straightened and let herself out the back door. Uncle John had to be found.

              If only she knew where to start searching. She gathered a handful of skirt and headed down a well-worn path through the grass. Intent on the lookout for snakes, she jumped when a loud voice broke her concentration.

              “Hey! You let me out of here, you scamp.”

              She stopped, lifted her head, and her gaze rested on the weathered outhouse beneath the trees. She shook her head. Surely not. “Uncle John?” How in the world did he manage to lock himself inside the outhouse?

              “That you, Robin? Get me out of here, and you best be tellin’ that scalawag to head for the timber.”

              Robin hesitated. It didn’t seem proper for her to hold a conversation with a man outside a place like this. “He said he didn’t know where you were. Have you been here long?”

              “Let me out. I ain’t gonna keep shoutin’ through this door.”

              Robin unlatched the door and stepped back as her uncle roared out of the small building. “How . . .”

              “What do you mean—how?” Uncle John stabbed the air with his glasses. “That devil-child did it, that’s how.”

              “When he came back with the eggs he said you told him you had some––”

              “Did you think I was gonna spell it out for him? A man’s got a right to some privacy, you know.”

              “Of course, I know. But how did you get locked in?”

              Uncle John dug a red bandana from his pocket and cleaned his glasses with a vengeance. “He came a hollerin’ for me, and I answered him. Then the kid latched the door, that’s how. Said you told him to make sure all the doors was hooked so no wild animal could get in.”

              “Yes, I did tell him that, but I . . .”

              “Did you think to tell him that if someone was in them buildings he was to leave the doors alone?”

              “No, I thought . . .”

              “Ya didn’t think at all, girl.” He hooked his glasses behind his ears and jutted his chin. “I yelled at him to get away, but he said he was followin’ orders. You send that kid back out here, and you go on about puttin’ some grub on the table.”

              “I asked him if he saw you, Uncle John, and he told me he had not.” She tried to hide the smile that wanted to come. “I’m sure he didn’t understand.”

              “Well, I’ll give him that much. He didn’t see me because the door was shut. Send him out.”

              “He’s sleeping, and you’re angry. I won’t have you hurting the boy.”

              “Him and me have some talkin’ to do out behind the barn. That’s all.”

              Their conversation was interrupted when a lone horse and rider thundered from the shadows beyond the timber. Ty. He reined to a halt, and the horse slid in the still muddy ground. “Where’s Jacob?”

              “What you doing back already, Ty? Got a lot of damage, do ya?” John patted the horse’s neck. “Got this creature plumb lathered, son.”

              Ty dismounted. “Sorry to sound abrupt, John.” He turned to Robin. “Where’s the boy?”

              “He’s asleep in the kitchen.”

              Ty handed the reins to John. “Mind if I put my horse in your barn, John? I’ll take care of him after I’ve had a chance to visit with the two of you.”

              “I’ll take care of the horse. You see that Robin gets back to the house without stumblin’ in the dark. I’ll tell you one thing for sure, the Feather has never been ruffled like this before. What I wouldn’t give for a little peace and quiet again.”

              A knot gathered in Robin’s stomach as Ty joined her. He hadn’t planned to come until morning. Was there news of Jacob’s pa?

              Ty took her arm. “John seems a bit irritated. Is there trouble?”

              “Jacob locked him in the necessary. He’s quite angry. Before you rode in, he threatened to take the boy behind the barn to have
a
tal
k
.”

              Ty chuckled. “Any other time I’d side with your uncle. But I think we might have a bigger problem.” He helped her onto the porch and patted the space beside him as he sat in the swing.

              “Was it bad at your place?” She reached for the rope to let herself down easy.

              “About like here. Shingles from the barn scattered across the prairie, and one building lost part of its roof, but no one hurt. The fellas checked the line shacks this morning, and all were accounted for—men and animals alike. But there was one bit of disturbing news.”

              “And it concerns Jacob?” Robin’s stomach fluttered, and she used her good foot to still the sway of the swing.

              “I don’t know. It might. Rusty, my foreman, said a stranger rode in a little ahead of the storm. He asked how far it was to town and if they knew of anyone needing a hand.”

              “Did he say anything about a wife or child?

              Ty put his arm across the back of the swing and shook his head. “He said the man never let on like there was anyone but him, but he seemed real agitated. Rusty told him how to get to Cedar Bluff and warned him about the storm. He offered to give him shelter in the root cellar and told him he could wait until I got home to see about working, but he mumbled something about not being a snake or a beggar and rode off to the north.”

              “Do you think there’s some connection? What if Jacob is lying about not having a pa? Did the man look mean? Maybe that’s why Jacob seems to be afraid of you.” Robin turned to face him. “What shall we do?”

              “That’s a lot of questions to answer, Miss Wenghold. I don’t think we should do anything until we pray.”

              Robin shook her head. “You go ahead.” She fiddled with a loose thread on her cuff. When she raised her head she met his gaze. “You’re staring, Mr. Morgan. I get most uncomfortable when someone stares at me.”

              “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. By staring. Or by suggesting we pray."

              He sat so close his breath tickled her ear.             

              “Just so you know . . . I believe ther
e
i
s
a God, Mr. Morgan. But I think He’s tired of me asking Him the same questions over and over again. I’m not sure He even hears me when I pray. He never answers.”

              “Oh, Robin . . .” Ty leaned closer. “God never tires of His children talking to Him, and He always listens. But sometimes, for our own good, He doesn’t grant us the answer we want.”

              Robin bristled. “Oh really, Mr. Morgan? It wouldn’t have been for my good to be born with two good legs? And what about that little boy? Don’t you believe his poor mama prayed when that storm bore down on them?”

              Ty moved to the wicker chair and reached for her hands, stilling the swing. “I can’t give you an answer why God chose to allow you to be born with a bad leg. And for the life of me, I’ll never have the answer why He would allow a little child to lose his mama right before his eyes. But I will say the storm keeping us in Cedar Bluff for the night probably saved Jacob’s life. Who would have heard his cry if we hadn’t stopped for that short time?” He ran a hand over his face. “You might not think God is listening, or that He cares, but He does.”

              Robin pulled her hands from his. “Then you pray, Mr. Morgan. And when God answers, you let me know.” She stood and allowed the door to slam behind her. He sounded more and more like a preacher, and she’d learned at ten that preachers couldn’t be trusted.

              Come, little children. Come meet Jesus. He will forgive your sins and heal all your infirmities
.
The visiting evangelist seemed so confident—so promising. She ignored the frown on her mother’s face and the tittering of other children as she limped down the aisle that night. They could laugh all they wanted. Jesus was going to heal her. They’d see.

              Only He didn’t. The preacher was wrong.

And it took fifteen bumpy steps to return to her parents.

FIVE             

            
 
Ty stepped off the porch and took a deep breath of summer air. Could there be a sweeter scent than dew-drenched, sun-warmed prairie? With luck, he’d be able to leave before anyone could question him. But a clatter of feed buckets, followed by his foreman’s long-legged stride toward him, signaled he’d waited too long.

            
 
“You headed for the Feather again today, boss?” Rusty raised one eyebrow.

              Ty scowled. “What do you mean, again?” He loved this guy like a brother, but the hitch in his eyebrow was more than a question—it was an insinuation. And he didn’t like it.

              Rusty shrugged. “Every day last week, third day this week, and it bein’ Wednesday. Can’t say I blame ya none. Right cute little boy. Probably more than John can handle by hisself. But that fishin’ pole ya got in your hand should help.”

              Ty grinned in spite of himself. “All little boys deserve to know the thrill of pulling a three-pound catfish out of a creek. Didn’t your pa ever take you fishing?”

              “Ever chance we got to sneak away from Ma and my sisters. But sure don’t remember Pa ever smelling so sweet or wearing his white shirt on a weekday. You got special orders today?”

              Ty removed his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “None we’ve not already talked over—keep an eye out for anything or anyone strange. Still can’t believe a man would up and leave his wife and child alone with a storm approaching. Would’ve thought the woman was traveling alone if I hadn’t found men’s clothing among the debris.”

              “The boy still won’t talk about it?” Rusty set his buckets on the ground and propped one foot on the bottom rung of the corral fence.

              “I haven’t questioned him. Robin . . . er, Miss Wenghold thinks we should let him take his time about what he wants us to know. He doesn’t trust men, that’s for sure, except for John.”

              “Not even you?”

              “He’s slowly coming around. That’s why I’ve been going so often. Miss Wenghold says if he can see that she trusts me, it might help. And you can wipe that smile off your whiskery face.”

              Rusty smoothed his long mustache. “Oh, trust is important, boss. Almost as important as woman-cooked meals, walks down the lane, and poundin’ posts in the ground to string wire across so’s there’d be a place to hang a man’s britches.”

              “You been spying on me, have you? How much longer do you want to work on this ranch?”

              Rusty moved away from the fence. “Look, Ty. I ain’t been spyin’. You know me better than that. I met John on the road yesterday. He seemed quite pleased with the whole affair.”

              “There’s n
o
affai
r
. Can’t a fella show a little bit of kindness without a big fuss?”

              “Ain’t nobody fussing. I can tell you for sure, every man on this place is happy you might be filling your mind with somebody new. You ain’t gone around smiling like this since that . . .”

              “Leave it be, Rusty. You go on about your business, and I’ll take care of mine.” He shouldered past his foreman.

              “I already saddled Tag for ya. Thought it would save some time.” Rusty matched his stride. “I’m serious, Ty. I know you’re my boss, but you’re also my friend. No need to fight what might be comin’. No need to deny it, neither.” He nudged Ty’s shoulder.

              “I’m not going down that road again, pal. Some places don’t need to be revisited.” Tag gave a little hop when he mounted
.
You’re as eager to run as I am to get away from this conversation, aren’t you, old boy
?
He nodded at Rusty. “Take care of things. I’ll be back early, unless the fish are biting.”

              He spurred his horse and settled into the saddle for the ride across familiar prairie to the Feather
.
Don’t fight it, he says
.
He wasn’t fighting, was he? What was there to fight? Jacob was the common denominator between him and Robin. One man, one woman, and a boy didn’t add up to anything to make a fuss over. He was helping. That’s all.

              Jacob waved when Ty approached. Why did that make his pulse quicken
?
Helping, that’s all? Careful, Ty.

              “Hey, buddy. You ready to go fishing?” He wrapped Tag’s reins around the hitching post in front of the house and retrieved the fishing pole from behind the saddle.

              Robin laughed. “He’s been ready since sunup. He must have asked a hundred times when you would get here. Would you remember to bring a fishing pole for him? Would you bring one for me? The questions didn’t stop until he saw you riding in.”

              Ty handed the pole he carried to Jacob. “I brought one for him, but I’m afraid I don’t have one for you.”

              “Oh, that’s fine. I thought maybe only the two of you would enjoy a day together. I have things to do here.”

              Jacob’s face clouded. “I . . . I have things to do, too.” He handed the pole back to Ty and scooted behind Robin’s skirts.

              Ty scowled but was determined not to let this day end before it had a good start. “Well, then—how about I help you do what needs to be done then we can al
l
go fishing together. Would you agree to that, Miss Wenghold?”

              “My plan was to surprise you, but I like your idea better—that is, if you don’t mind spending the morning in the kitchen.” She crossed her arms. “Do you know anything about baking cookies, Mr. Morgan, or frying chicken?”

              Ty leaned against the porch pillar across from her. This was a side of Robin he’d not witnessed. She was bantering with him. And she seemed right pleased with herself. “For a fact, Miss Wenghold, I’m quite a good cook. Don’t know much about sweet stuff baking, but can fry a real mean chicken.”

              Jacob emerged, arms crossed in replica of Robin.
“
Ou
r
chickens aren’t mean.”

              Robin giggled. “Mr. Morgan is bragging about what a good cook he is, Jacob. He didn’t mean the chickens were mean. What do you think? Could he make better fried chicken than me?”

              Jacob shook his head. “Mens don’t cook gooder than ladies, do they, Robin?”

              Ty knelt so he would be eye level with the boy. “What say we let her cook and bring us lunch, then we’ll catch fish for supper. Think we can do that?”

              Jacob turned to Robin. “Will you come for promise?”

              “I promise, Jacob. Ty and I will always keep our promises to you.”

              Ty’s chest tightened. She’d never called him anything other than Mr. Morgan. Did his face reveal his surprise? His pleasure? Why did it please him? It wasn’t like he’d never had a woman use his first name.

              Jacob slung the pole across his shoulder and reached for Ty’s hand. “I’m ready now.”

              Ty squeezed the boy’s fingers. “Can you whistle, Jacob? A fella needs to whistle when he’s going fishing.”

              Jacob puckered his lips and blew. Lots of air escaped, but no noise.

              “That’s okay, buddy. You keep practicing. You’ll be whistling by the time we reach the creek.” Ty glanced over his shoulder as they stepped from the porch. Jacob’s hand was warm against his, and the smile on Robin’s face warmed his heart. He’d told Rusty he wasn’t going down this road again.

              But this was a different journey. Wasn’t it?

###

Jacob squished an ant that crawled across the tattered quilt Robin had spread on the ground for their picnic. “Thank you for the lunch, Robin. It was good, and I’m sorry I got pickle juice on your dress. May I be excused, please?” Jacob swiped his hand across his mouth. “Can you come fishing now?”

              Robin brushed cookie crumbs off Jacob’s cheek. “Thank you for using your manners, Jacob. Yes, you may be excused, but I’m going to sit for a bit before I go fishing.”

              “Aww. Why do big peoples always have to sit still after they eat?”

              Ty ruffled the boy’s hair. “When I was a boy my mama made me take a nap after lunch. Doesn’t that sound like a good idea?”

              “Not very.” Jacob’s lower lip jutted.

              “Come here, buddy.” Ty pulled his watch from the pocket of his britches. “Here, you take this and lie down here beside Miss Robin and when that big hand—see the big hand?—when it gets to this number with a one and a two, then we’ll go fishing.”

              Jacob sat on the blanket and crossed his legs. “But that will take a long time.”

              “No, it won’t. Lie here on your tummy and put my watch by your head so you can count the ticks. It won’t take long at all.”

              Jacob flipped to his stomach and put the watch to his ear. He rubbed the blanket between his thumb and forefinger then closed his eyes.

              Ty stretched out beside Jacob, propped on one elbow, and rubbed the child’s back. “Works every time.” He grinned at Robin. “Quiets kitties and puppies, too, when they’ve been taken from their mothers.”

              “Or their mothers taken from them,” she whispered.

              “That, too. But he seems to be adjusting, don’t you think? At least he lets me touch him now.” Ty brushed at a fly that swarmed around Jacob’s face

            
 
“He likes you, Ty. He told me so last night, and again this morning—several times. He said, ‘Ty can do everything. He can even spit, cuz I saw him.’ Thank you for that demonstration, by the way. I’m sure he’ll need to try it for himself.” She moved the picnic basket to provide shade for Jacob’s face.

              He grinned. “Well, since we’re telling tales on Jacob, you want to know what he said about you while we were fishing?”

              “Only if it’s worth repeating.

              “He said you cook even gooder than his ma, and you can sing, and you sweep floors, and you make real funny faces right before you sneeze.”

              Robin laughed. “He brought me a bouquet of some kind of little yellow flower. I don’t know what they call it, but it did make me sneeze.”

              “I must say, your list of accomplishments impresses me.” He stood and stretched. “Would you care to walk along the creek? We’ll stay where we can see Jacob. But if I don’t move around I’ll be the next one asleep, even without the watch ticking in my ear.”

              Robin swallowed. Why didn’t she think before this picnic idea? The walk to the creek with the basket and blanket was almost more than she could manage, but Ty and Jacob had been busy fishing and hadn’t observed her near fall. Oh, she wanted to walk with this man. Yet, the years of taunts and ridicule had taken their toll on her confidence. She and Ty had been together nearly every day since her arrival. But this was the first time he’d suggested time alone. He’d invited her to accompany him to church last Sunday, but she’d managed to change the subject when Jacob interrupted their conversation. She certainly didn’t want to divert his attention now. But how could she explain that she’d need help to even rise from the ground.

              Ty knelt in front of her. “Robin? Was I being too forward? I thought maybe . . .”

              She shook her head and made herself look at him—a lesson learned at her papa’s insistence
—
face your fear Robin, and often it will become your friend
.
“I . . . Mr. Morgan, we’ve been sitting for a long time, and it will be difficult for me to stand. Only two men in my life have ever helped me in such a manner.”

              “Have you forgotten that day on Morgan’s hill, when we found this little tornado?” Before she could object Ty bent and placed his hands under her arms and lifted her easily to her feet. He steadied her against his chest with one arm against her back. “Promise me you will never hesitate to ask me fo
r
anythin
g
.”

The rumble of his voice against her ear vibrated through her senses. William Benson had tugged her to her feet more than once, but she’d never had her heart tugged—until now.

As a young girl she’d imagined being swept into the arms of a handsome prince. As a young lady of coming-out age, while she sat on the sidelines and watched her girlfriends glide across the dance floor in the arms of a beau, she would tap her foot and hope Mama wouldn’t see her. And she would tell herself that her prince would still come someday. And later, at the girls-only party that followed the soiree, her heart thrilled while her friends tittered and blushed their way through whispered accounts of stolen kisses and promises made in darkened hallways. Then—one by one, as her friends married—her prince became only an idle hope. And Mama no longer gazed with disapproval while she sat on the sidelines with widows and maiden ladies many years her senior. Nor could she remember the last time she’d tapped her foot in anticipation.