Linda Ford (11 page)

He stared unseeingly into the distance. An idea—not new to him—plagued his mind. Perhaps he should forget his ranch and go back and see if he could find his ma and family. They might be in the same town, though he no longer thought so. His letters had been returned marked
No Longer Living Here. No Forwarding Address.

However, returning was not an option at the moment. Not with Red and Belle to care for.

But would he ever see his family again?

Chapter Seven

R
ed watched Ward struggle with his memories and emotions. It was bad enough to lose one’s family because of death, but to not know where they were or if they were okay... Well, she couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if Belle disappeared.

She owed him something even if most of the time his attention was an annoyance. Perhaps she could repay him by helping him now. But how? She couldn’t assure him that his family was safe. Nor could she minimize his sense of loss. To do so would be insulting.

Seemed he liked talking about his mother. Perhaps if she talked about hers, he would feel better. Though she shrank back from letting herself remember those sweet, innocent times. But Belle ought to be allowed to remember how precious and loved she was.

So she began a story. “Ma taught me to knit when I was four. I remember so clearly the moment that I finally realized the loop on one needle had to go through the loop on the other. Once I did, I was unstoppable. I knitted a long scraggly-looking scarf that Pa wore everywhere. Said it was his favorite. It finally fell apart when I was about ten.” She laughed. “I don’t know who was more relieved to see it gone—Mama, Papa or me.” She let the memory glide over her regrets and guilt and give her a moment of sweet love. “From scarves, I graduated to doll sweaters and hats. I don’t remember using any sort of pattern. I expect Mama told me how to make the sleeves and shape the item. I thought my work was beautiful. It wasn’t until after Belle was born and I pulled out my doll stuff to give her that I realized just how crude it looked. So I spent many a happy evening knitting new sweaters and bonnets and leggings for Belle’s dolls.”

“Red, what happened to my dolls? And all Mama and Papa’s things?”

“An uncle inherited everything.” The pleasantness of her memory was dashed away at the cruelty of an uncle she’d never met, didn’t know existed. Apparently Papa had borrowed heavily from him and part of the agreement required Papa naming this uncle as beneficiary in his will. But the man had no regard for the needs of two girls. And everything that was near and dear to them was junk in his eyes. “He disposed of all the earthly goods as he saw fit.” Most of it went to a man who owned a store that handled a variety of goods. Red would never forget the way he’d gloated over some of their treasures.
People love this kind of stuff.
He’d measured the family Bible with dollar signs in his eyes. He did the same for the wall hangings Mama had made and all Belle’s pretty little dresses and her cradle.

Slowly, in measured tones, she continued the story, as much to remind herself of how far she’d fallen as for any other reason. To his credit, the uncle secured them a place in the home of a fine family. In return for Belle’s keep, Red did housework. She didn’t mind. They had their own room and were together. But it proved temporary and they moved. Then moved again.

At that point she stopped talking. She could not bear to recall how Thorton had “taken them on,” as he so generously said, promising to take them to his sister where they would “do well.”

If only she had known the truth. But by the time she did, she had no option. Thorton kept Belle under lock and key in order to obtain Red’s cooperation. He beat Red if she proved the least bit rebellious.

“Then what happened?” Belle’s eyes were wide.

Red fought a storm of conflicting emotions—regret at the way she’d failed in her duty toward Belle, guilt at the life she’d been forced to live warred with the joyful, peaceful memories of family life as she’d known it. She tried to control the raging conflagration inside. Struggled to find an answer for Belle.

“We went from one place to another.” She tried to keep the bitter note out of her voice.

Belle’s expression was wreathed with fear. She shifted back until she rested against the far log bench. She ducked her head and pulled her playthings close.

Red swallowed back regret. She should have stopped talking before she stirred up Belle’s memories of the past few months. She turned to Ward, her eyes burning with a warning not to ask for more details.

He smiled narrowly and resumed carving the doll.

She fought to retain her resentment. Instead she found a yearning she would never admit. What sort of man carved a doll for a little girl who wasn’t his? Wasn’t even related to him? Or carved little animals for a waif of a boy? Or rescued people who weren’t sure they wanted to be rescued? She examined the last question. All that mattered was Belle was safe. But what did her future hold?

Ward looked up from his carving.

She turned away from him but not before he had caught her watching him. She couldn’t face him, suspecting her confusion revealed itself in her expression, and she put aside the little dress she was sewing and sprang to her feet, not caring that he might wonder what drove her so urgently.

She stepped away from the logs and the cozy little scene that had drawn her into sweet memories of the past and fears of the future. Two steps in one direction and she stopped. Where was she going? Where could she go to escape both the memories and the uncertainties? Shifting direction, she made several more steps and stopped. If she didn’t express some purpose, Ward would think she wandered aimlessly. Or like the daffodil poem Belle recalled... “I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high o’er vales and hills.” Oh, if only she could float above everything as free as a cloud.

And as lonely.

Despair threatened to choke her. She must not think such thoughts. Her life was worth living for Belle’s sake. Curbing her emotions, she stretched her arms overhead. “Got a little cramped sitting for so long,” she murmured, hoping she sounded convincing. She picked her way back to the log bench and gathered up her sewing, aware that Ward watched her the whole while.

Even after she resumed stitching together the dress, his gaze remained on her. She could feel it. Even as she felt his nosy concern. Determinedly she kept her head bent over her task. Let him think what he wanted. Wonder at her strange behavior. He would never understand. Nor would she attempt to explain how precarious was her position in life. She would not fit in any respectable society and had no intention of returning to the other side.

He shifted closer.

She glanced out the corner of her eye, wondering if he would take the hint to keep his distance. Yet, even though there was a yard of log to her right, she did not move. For the life of her, she could not make herself even when his elbow brushed her. She caught her breath, waiting, wondering, then with a heart-wrenching jolt, recalled invasive, cruel touches. She forced herself not to reveal any of what she felt. But her arm stiffened as his brushed hers.

He didn’t jerk away, only let their elbows touch. Nothing more. Her heart ticked beneath her ribs, slowly resuming a steady beat. Warmth spread from her elbow to her lungs, freeing her to take a deep breath and filling her with a sweet reminder of being touched out of love. She closed her eyes and forced her lungs to inhale and exhale in a slow rhythm. But trying as hard as she could, she was unable to pretend she didn’t feel something that frightened her while at the same time, promised to fill her yearning emptiness.

He leaned closer to whisper, “You will never again have to worry about Thorton or men like him. Not while I’m here to take care of you.”

She jerked about to meet his gaze, his face barely six inches from her own. So close she felt as if she might drown in the blueness of his eyes. And the sincerity of his promise.

What about when he wasn’t there? What would people say about her past? It wouldn’t be nice; she could guarantee that. And men who would recognize her and think—? She shuddered. Her soul was dirty.

He nudged her elbow. “You’re fine. Remember?”

Only she wasn’t and she couldn’t fake it at the moment, knew her eyes likely revealed her failure to do so.

“Red, you’re safe here.”

He’d misinterpreted her worry. His dullness edged every thought with annoyance. “I might be safe but I’ll never be free of my past.” She knew the moment he understood her meaning.

His eyes went from sky-blue to stormy navy. He shook his head. “No one need know about your past.”

“There will be those who recognize me.” She resisted an urge to cover herself with her hands and protect herself. She tugged at her braid to remind him that her hair was unmistakable. “And even if they don’t, I know who I am and I will never forget.” Her words came in a hot rush.

She was not surprised when he jerked away to face straight ahead. His elbow lost contact with hers. She knew enough to expect that sort of reaction from decent people. Slowly, every movement a pain, she folded away the fabric, returned all the supplies to the sack and rose to her feet. “Belle, I think it’s time to do something else.”

Belle scrambled up. “What?”

Red had no idea what they needed to do and grabbed the first idea that surfaced. “I’ll show you how to make biscuits.”

She felt Ward’s surprise at her sudden decision. She hesitated a heartbeat, wanting somehow to explain. But what could she say? That there was no place in her life for hopes and dreams?

Belle couldn’t seem to make up her mind whether she should follow Red or stay with Ward. “Will you come with us so I can see my dolly growing?”

Red kept her groan silent. She didn’t want him to follow. “Maybe he has to get back to work.” Keeping her back to him ensured she wouldn’t know his reaction. But she waited, wondering what he would say.

“Red? Are you trying to get rid of me?” His quiet question opened up a chasm of regret and longing. If only things could be different.

They couldn’t, and there was no point in wishing otherwise.

“Red?” He said her name with gentle prodding.

Belle tugged Red’s hand. “Can he taste my biscuits when they’re done?”

Red stared straight ahead and considered her options. Did she really want him to leave? No. But neither did she want him to stay.

Belle shook her hand as if to remind her of the unanswered question.

Slowly she turned. “Would you like to join us for tea when the biscuits are done?”

He held her gaze in silence as if assessing how much welcome her invitation carried. It carried little. Still he nodded. “It would be my pleasure.”

Red nodded and turned her steps toward the cabin. Belle jerked her back. “You gonna leave him there?”

When had her little sister grown so demanding? And so social?

Thankfully Ward answered before Red could dredge an excuse to her brain. “I’ll sit out here and work on your doll for a little while longer.”

She finally got Belle inside. But the change of scenery did not end Belle’s demands.

“How come you don’t like him? He’s making me a doll.”

“That’s very nice of him.”

Belle crossed her arms, knowing she had not convinced Red of anything. “And he wants to help us.”

Red would do anything to take her little sister back to happy, safer times, but with Mama and Papa gone and the two of them at the mercy of those who tried to help, it was time to remind Belle that not all offers of help were sincere. She squatted down to eye level with Belle. If the situation wasn’t so serious she might smile at the stubbornness in Belle’s blue eyes. Belle was innocently beautiful—subdued, not as eye-catching as Red. Red hoped Belle would never lose her innocence but that didn’t mean she could be allowed to be too trusting. “Belle, do you remember the gifts Thorton brought us? The pretty dresses?”

Belle nodded, the stubbornness still evident.

“Do you remember how he promised to take care of us?”

A shadow of doubt surfaced.

“Perhaps you never heard all he said. So I’m telling you now just to make sure you understand what happened. Thorton told Mrs. Stanley, the lady we were working for, that he had a sister back in Baltimore who wanted a young woman for companionship. He assured us all that a younger sister would be an asset and we would be generously provided for. Do you remember that?”

“Some.” Belle’s expression grew troubled.

“Remember how he carried a Bible under his arm and pretended he was a preacher? You know what happened next.”

Belle’s bottom lip quivered. “He made me stay in that little room and made you work for him.”

“That’s right.” She tenderly wiped a tear from the corner of Belle’s eyes. “I regret reminding you of all this, but you must never forget that not all promises are to be trusted.” Her voice hardened until she could barely push the words past her teeth. “Never take anyone at their word.”

Belle nodded, her eyes awash with misery. “Does that—” She swallowed hard. “Does it mean I can’t have the dolly?”

Red pulled Belle into a tight embrace. “I think it’s okay to have a doll. Just don’t let it make you forget to be careful.”

Belle clung to Red. “I won’t.”

“Now who wants to learn how to make biscuits?”

Belle pulled away and raised her hand. “Me. Me. I want to.”

“Then let’s do it.” Red promised herself she would live her life for her little sister. Nothing else mattered.

Certainly not the loneliness edging her heart.

Nor the thought of Ward sitting patiently outside, generously carving the figure of a doll for Belle.

Yet awareness of his gentleness to her little sister allowed a tiny bit of regret to sneak past her defenses.

* * *

Ward stopped carving to listen shamelessly to the conversation drifting from the cabin. Red had left the door and windows open to let in fresh air but would no doubt shut them if she thought he could hear them.

He’d wondered how they’d fallen into Thorton’s clutches. Hearing the trickery of the man made him jab his knife into the log seat beside him. He hoped Thorton suffered greatly in jail.

Of course Red was right to teach Belle to be cautious. And she had every reason to be mistrustful of promises. She had no way of knowing how sincere Ward was.

It was up to him to show her he could be trusted. But how? Every kindness triggered suspicion from her.

The conversation inside the cabin had shifted to “Measure the flour. That’s the way.”

“Chop until it’s all mealy. Good job.”