Gabriel's Atonement Page 3

Lara sighed. That sure was the truth.

  The sun glistened off the top of Joline’s head as her sister ducked down and stepped through the low doorway of the soddy. Jo looked up, and her blue eyes sparked when she saw Lara.

  “Where were you?” Jo glared at her.

  “Out pickin’ greens.”

  “Well, it’s about time you got back. Grandpa’s had another of his swamp fever attacks.”

  Lara closed her eyes and allowed the news to wash over her. “How bad is it?”

  “Better than some, worse than others.” Jo stooped down to hug Michael and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Eww! You’re all sticky.”

  He giggled and tried to touch her with his dirty hands.

  Jo jumped up and stepped back. “Oh, no you don’t.”

  Michael laughed out loud and chased her around the yard, Jo playfully shrieking as if a bear were after her. Lara smiled, glad her worries hadn’t affected her son. He needed to play and laugh.

  She set down the bucket of greens, blowing out a sigh as Jo walked toward her.

  “How much of Grandpa’s medicine is left?” Lara asked, even though she knew exactly how few pills were still in the bottle. She had desperately hoped she could finish this month’s mending and collect payment before Grandpa ran out of his quinine tablets.

  “Six. He’s been trying to not take them.”

  Lara wanted to sit down and cry but knew it wouldn’t accomplish anything and would only upset her son. She glanced up at the sky and silently beseeched her heavenly Father for help.

  “Does he have a fever yet?”

  Jo shook her head. “No, but he’s tired and achy, and his head hurts. I hope for his sake this is a short episode.”

  “Me, too. Did you finish weeding the garden?” Lara held her hand over her eyes to block the sun and studied her sister, hoping she had done her chores. Jo usually seemed willing to help until it came time to do the actual work. She’d rather be dreaming of fancy clothes, a house with wood floors and pretty furniture, or a handsome beau.

  Joline waved a hand in the air, dramatic as ever. “I’ve been taking care of Grandpa. When would I have time to work in the garden?”

  Michael ran up beside Lara, his face and hands dripping wet. “I can pull weeds.”

  His childish exuberance warmed her heart, but if she let him hoe alone, he’d cut down the vegetables along with the weeds. Lara stooped down and gave him a hug. “Thank you, sweetie. Maybe we’ll go do it together and let Aunt Jo watch over Grandpa, since he’s not feeling well.”

  Michael glanced at Joline and smiled then tugged Lara toward the small vegetable plot.

  The southern breeze cooled her damp back but blew her hair into her face. For early April, the weather had been quite warm, and she hoped it wasn’t a sign of an extra-hot summer. A clump of hair tickled her cheeks and clung to her lips. The rebellious curls refused to stay in the confines of her braid, so she pulled a triangle of fabric from her pocket and tied back the wayward tresses. She’d often envied women with straight, manageable hair. Hers would be a mess to brush out later.

  “I’ll get the shubbel.”

  Lara shook her head. “No, son. We don’t need the shovel to pull weeds. We’ll use our hands or a hoe.”

  “I’ll get it.” He ran to the lean-to attached to the grass house they lived in and disappeared inside. Just as quickly, he came back out, dragging the hoe with both hands.

  “Lara?” Jo closed the distance between them.

  At sixteen, Joline turned many heads with her curly blond hair and dark blue eyes. She had been fortunate to get their mother’s beautiful eye color and not the unremarkable pale green of some unknown ancestor like Lara had gotten. In spite of her faded dress, Jo was a beauty. Lara couldn’t help wondering how long it would be before some handsome young man stole her sister’s heart and took her away.

  “Have you thought any more about the land run?” Jo fidgeted, toeing circles in the dirt.

  Lara peeked at Michael and saw him reach for the green stems of a carrot. “Son, why don’t you take the bucket and get some water for the plants?” Since they were only about fifty feet from the creek, she could keep an eye on him, and distracting him with fetching the water would keep him from pulling any of the precious vegetables.

  He smiled and nodded his head, his ringlets bouncing up and down. She really needed to give him another haircut but hated to clip away his adorable curls.

  “I’ll get water,” he sang as he skipped over to an empty bucket sitting near the soddy and dragged it toward the creek.

  Jo shoved her hands to her hips. “So, have you thought about it? Everyone’s talking about the free land. And it’s good land that’ll grow wonderful crops, and there’s fresh game running all over the place. Grandpa told me, and Samuel Carter has seen it. He said parts of the Unassigned Lands look a lot like the area around here, although other parts are much drier. That’s why it’s so important to get a good spot and be in front when the race starts.” Jo’s eyes danced with excitement. “I wish I was old enough to ride.”

  Lara huffed out a disgusted breath. She was sick of hearing about Harrison’s Hoss Race, as the land rush into the Oklahoma Territory was being called. President Benjamin Harrison sure did open a can of worms when he signed legislation opening the Indians’ lands to settlement. Joline yearned for adventure like a parched man craved water, and with everyone talking about the last chance to get free land in the United States, hope and excitement were as plentiful as grass on the prairie. Reality was something else. Dreams didn’t put food on the table or clothes on a body. Lara shook her head, tired of fighting her sister on this subject.

  “How could we compete?” Lara held out her callused hands, watching Michael dip the bucket in the two-inch deep water at the edge of the creek. “We have no horse, only a tired, old mule and a rickety wagon. Grandpa’s sick. How could he possibly race and have any hope of getting property when he has to compete with young men on fast mounts?”

  Jo’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “You could run on foot. Other women are racing. I’m willing, but I’m too young. You have to be twenty-one to race.”

  Lara closed her eyes, pushing away her frustration. Why couldn’t she have a quiet, helpful sister who liked cooking and cleaning? “Think about that. Me on foot, fighting my skirts, trying to beat out men on horseback and in wagons to get one of the few sections of good land?” Lara pursed her lips and shook her head. “Be realistic, Joline.”

  Her sister crossed her arms and scowled. “You’re becoming a boring old fuddy-duddy.” She leaned in closer. “It’s a chance for us to get land of our own—for Grandpa to have his own property again. Losing his ranch to the creditors was almost the end for him.” Jo tossed her braid over her shoulder. “Just think. No more waiting for Tom to get lucky or for Providence to rain down gold coins from heaven.”

  Lara straightened. “Joline Marie Jensen, do not blaspheme God.”

  Jo had the sense to look chagrined. “I’m so sick of eating squirrel, mush, and turnips. If we had more land, we could grow all kinds of things.”

  Behind her sister, Lara watched her son slowly lug the bucket toward the garden. If she could just keep Jo distracted until after the land run, then she wouldn’t have to listen to this particular harebrained idea anymore. Of course, Jo would just come up with something else to occupy her imagination.

  “The Lord blessed us with a rabbit today. Please remove it from the snare, then you can skin it while you sit with Grandpa—but do sit outside while you tend to that task.”

  “I’m not stupid, you know.” Jo sighed, the fight gone out of her for the moment. She dragged her feet in the dirt as she trudged up the hill toward the rabbit trap. “Why do I get all the nasty jobs?”

  “Jo, wait.” Lara had a sudden urge to see her grandfather. With his quiet faith in God and his gentle demeanor, he had a way of helping her keep things in perspective. “Watch Michael for a minute and let me check on Grandpa.”

&
nbsp; “Skin the rabbit. Milk the goats. Watch Michael.” Jo flung her arms up. “Make up your mind, will you?”

  Lara stifled an ugly response and ducked into the sod house. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness, then she saw the lump on the floor pallet where they all slept. She tiptoed over, hoping not to awaken her grandpa. Gently, she reached out and touched his forehead with the back of her hand, wincing at his ashy coloring and the heat emanating from his brow. So, the fever had set in.

  She bowed her head and prayed under her breath. “Lord, please let this be a quick and easy episode. I ask that You help Grandpa through this time. Heal his body, and help him not to feel useless and a burden to me.”

  He must have heard her movements, because he opened his eyes. “H’lo, punkin.”

  “How are you feeling?” She smiled.

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Aw…you know how it goes. Aches. Fever. Chills. I’m sorry to add to your worries.”

  “Shh…none of that now.” Lara patted his thin chest then reached out and tugged her quilt over to add to the one covering him. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

  “A drink of water would be nice.”

  “I’ll let Michael get it. He just fetched water from the creek for the garden. The last time he got water for me, the bucket only had an inch of liquid in it. At that rate, the beans will be ripe before the whole plot is watered.”

  Grandpa grinned. “He’s a good boy and tries hard to please you.”

  “I know. I wish you had seen how proud he was of that tiny bit of water.” Lara nodded as her chest warmed with love for her son. Michael was the only good thing Tom had ever given her. She wanted to tell Grandpa her shocking news, but it would have to wait until he was over his bout of swamp fever. Otherwise he’d lie here and stew about everything, when he needed to concentrate on getting better. Sharing the news would take some of the burden off her shoulders. Tom’s death had also removed any futile hopes that he might somehow strike it rich and come home with enough money to buy land and build a real house so they could quit renting the acre from Herman Hancock.

  The reality of it all suddenly struck her. There would be no money from Tom. No hope of any money, either. She couldn’t understand why that portly stranger had tried to persuade her otherwise, especially since she knew in her heart that traveling to Kansas City would be a waste of time.

  “I’ve been th–thinking.”

  Her grandpa’s teeth rattled so loudly, it pulled Lara from her thoughts. She grabbed Jo’s worn patchwork quilt, shook it open, and laid it over him. Dust she’d stirred in the air from the earthen walls danced in the sunlight shining through the open doorway. “Just rest now, and don’t worry about things.”

  Lara pushed upward to stand, but he grabbed her wrist, tugging her back.

  He cleared his throat. “Lara, c–consider the land rush. I know Jo has some crazy ideas, b–but this one just might be the Lord’s will.”

  Masking her surprise, she patted his hand, like she would Michael’s. It was the fever talking. Her levelheaded grandfather would never consider such a risky endeavor. “Just rest. We can talk later.”

  “There’s not time! L–less than three weeks. Gotta get r–registered. Get a h–horse.” His brows dipped and his eyes narrowed.

  Lara’s heart stumbled. Rarely had she seen her mild-mannered grandpa so serious and determined. “All right, I’ll look into it.”

  As if he’d spent all his energy in that one plea, he immediately relaxed and dropped his hand. Lara took the bottle of quinine pills from her apron pocket, removed one, and handed it to him, and he swallowed it.

  She lifted the layer of bed covers and slid his arm underneath, feeling the heat of the fever. His swamp fever attacks, a remnant of his soldiering in the War Between the States, occurred almost as frequently as the new moon, but thankfully, with the help of the quinine, he could get over them fairly quickly.

  She stepped outside. Jo’s and Michael’s giggles shattered the quiet of nature as her eyes adjusted to the sun’s brightness. Michael snagged a dirt clod and lobbed it over the young cabbage plants, narrowly missing Jo. She squealed and tossed a clump of dried weeds at the boy.

  Lara wanted to join in their lighthearted fun, but her heart was too heavy with the burden of keeping things running and making sure they had food.

  “Jo!”

  Her sister jumped and turned, hiding her dirty hands behind her skirt. “What? Is something wrong with Grandpa?” Jo’s dingy apron, grayed from use and so many washings, had a clump of mud sticking to it. The girl needed a mother, not a nagging big sister with so many worries.

  “Grandpa needs a drink. I told him Michael could fetch the water.”

  “I’ll get it!” Michael dumped out the last of the garden water and dragged the wooden bucket outside the fence, leaving a trail in the dirt behind him.

  “If you’ll show him how to wash off and then get fresh water upstream, I’ll take over in the garden.”

  Jo nodded then jogged to catch up with him. The rickety gate squeaked as Lara tugged it open. They’d erected the fence made of branches to keep their goats and other animals out of the small garden. She walked over to where Michael had been playing with Jo and noted a foot of carrot tops lay half smashed. She sighed then molded dirt around the base of the plants to help support the stems.

  Glancing up at the beautiful sky, she watched a fat cloud drift by. A red-tailed hawk screeched then dove down, rising again with a squirming critter in its talons. The wind had shifted, coming from the northwest, and would most likely bring a cooler breeze.

  “Lord, please watch over our garden. Keep the critters out, and send a refreshing rain. Be with Grandpa, and let this malaria attack be a short one. And please help me to know what to do about this land run. We can’t compete without a horse, so I guess if You want us to ride in the race, You’re going to have to provide a mount.”

  “Mama!”

  Heart pounding at Michael’s scream, Lara jumped up and searched for her son, hoping—praying—he wasn’t injured.

  “Bad Billy got loose.” The boy ran her direction but pointed past her.

  Lara pivoted and gasped. Their ornery billy goat charged straight for the open garden gate.

  Chapter 3

  The train shuddered to a stop at the Caldwell Depot with a squeal of brakes and a loud hiss. Gabe looked out at the cluster of buildings that made up Caldwell. Several rows of one- and two-story brick and wooden structures rose up from the prairie. Not much of a town compared to Kansas City. He knew Caldwell was a big cow town years earlier, but with more and more fences going up and crops being planted, the big cattle drives had all but ceased, and from the looks of it, the town had suffered.

  Gabe grabbed his satchel and hurried down the aisle, anxious to see how his horse had fared on the train. He’d won the black gelding in a poker game a few months ago and had quickly become attached to the fine creature. Animals made good friends. They never argued with you, although Tempest could be temperamental when riled. They wouldn’t desert you in favor of someone better looking or with a deeper pocket, and they generally vied for your attention. If only people were the same.

  Gabe handed his claim ticket to the freight conductor and waited on the ramp for the man to bring out Tempest. He recognized the gelding’s loud whinny and figured the conductor had his hands full with the feisty animal. The clunk of hooves sounded as his horse kicked the side wall of the train. A loud curse echoed in the freight car, and Tempest bolted past Gabe, almost knocking him off the ramp. Gabe’s heart ricocheted in his chest as he made a flailing grab onto the handle of the boxcar door and regained his balance.

  He searched for the ornery beast and saw him corralled by a circle of men. A woman with curly hair slipping from her loose bun eased up to the frightened creature, her hands held apart. Gabe jogged toward the group, concerned for the woman’s safety and determined not to lose his horse.

  As he drew near, he could hear the
woman’s soft muttering. Tempest’s ears flicked in her direction, but his eyes no longer held that wild, frightened look. He snorted and thrust his big head toward the woman, and she quickly grabbed the loose lead rope then patted Tempest on the neck.

  “What a good boy you are. And pretty, too.”

  As Gabe stepped behind her, he realized how small she was—probably no more than five-three, and the top of her head reached no higher than his chin, yet she’d bravely faced down his spooked horse. He opened his mouth to thank her, but then she turned, taking away his breath. The pale green of her eyes made his heart jolt. Could this possibly be Tom Talbot’s widow? How many women in Caldwell could have eyes with that unusual color?

  He struggled to match the face in the faded photo he’d memorized with the real-life woman in front of him. Homer had said she was pretty, and that was true in a tomboyish way. A faint sprinkle of freckles not visible in the photo dotted the bridge of her nose and splattered onto her cheeks. Her skin held the sun’s gentle kiss, and except for being on the skinny side and wearing worn clothing, she was easy on the eyes.

  When she noticed him staring, she stepped toward him. “Is this your horse, mister?”

  He nodded, accepting the lead rope from her. Tempest nickered, and Gabe scratched the rascal between the ears.

  “He’s a fine animal.”

  Gabe pressed his lips together. He didn’t like surprises. Didn’t like losing control and hated that his mind swirled with haphazard thoughts. But those eyes…

  “Guess he doesn’t like the train all that much. It can be rather loud and jarring.” The woman’s lips tilted up in a shy smile. “Better keep a close eye on him, what with horses being in such high demand right now.” She stepped around him, squeezed past two men, and disappeared into the crowd.

  Tempest nudged his arm, wanting attention. Gabe watched the woman go, a hundred questions racing through his mind. He’d never seen a woman with eyes the color of—what? They didn’t resemble anything he could think of. Maybe the light green satin of one of the saloon gals’ dresses back in Kansas City, but this woman, clothed in a dowdy, faded dress, was much lovelier than a saloon dancer in her finest. Something about her tugged at his heart.