A Hopeful Heart (24 page)

Gage’s assumptions had carried him too far. She must bring things to a halt! Tressa leaped to her feet. “Gage, I—”

The front door opened, and Aunt Hattie and Mr. Hammond stepped onto the porch. Aunt Hattie held Mr. Hammond’s elbow with both hands, and from the smile on her face, Tressa surmised the older woman had found more pleasure in Mr. Hammond’s company than she’d found in Gage’s.

Mr. Hammond approached his son; Aunt Hattie glided along beside him as easily as if she floated on air. “Harriet an’ me’ve decided to spend some time together, get to know each other better. She’s asked us to Sunday dinner.”

Gage shot Tressa a grin. “That’ll be fine, Pa. Give me a chance to see Tressa, too.” He clomped to Tressa’s side and slung his arm around her waist. She sucked in a lungful of air and held it while he announced, “Come Monday, me an’ Tressa are ridin’ into Dodge an’ pickin’ out some jewelry.”

Aunt Hattie searched Tressa’s face. “Tressa-darlin’, are you an’ Gage . . . ?”

Finally Tressa’s tongue unloosed. Pushing away from Gage, words poured from her lips in a torrent. “I appreciate your kind offer, Gage, but I am not yet ready to make such a significant and life-changing commitment. I have prayed diligently this week, and I shall continue to seek God’s guidance concerning whom I should allow to court me.

It would be unfair of me to accept your attentions when I am still so ambivalent, so I must humbly decline your offer of a . . . a ring or other piece of jewelry that would signify our courtship.”

The first roll of thunder reached their ears, ominous in its delivery, but Tressa believed nature’s storm would be much milder than the one brewing in Gage Hammond’s eyes.

24

Abel jogged toward the bunkhouse, dodging raindrops. He gave the door three sharp raps before opening it. A crash of thunder chased him over the threshold.

Ethan stood near one of the small windows, looking out. “Listen to that thunder, boss. Gonna be a real gully washer.”

Abel ran his hand over his head, removing the water droplets from his hair. “So far it’s more noise than wet, although I suspect that’ll change here shortly. Clouds are dark as night. But the wet doesn’t worry me nearly as much as the noise. Cattle might get spooked by the lightnin’ an’ thunder. I’m thinkin’ we should throw on our ponchos an’ go out—keep the critters company.”

Vince rose from his bunk and sauntered to the door. He swung it wide and looked from east to west. His face crunched into a look of concentration. Snapping the door closed again, he raised one shoulder in a shrug. “Wind’s movin’ fast. Storm could blow through in less’n an hour. A couple of men oughtta be able to keep the cattle calm for that amount of time.”

Another loud crash shook the bunkhouse, and the clouds seemed to open up. Heavy drops of rain pelted the earth and bounced off the bunkhouse roof. Abel shot a nervous glance toward the door. “You really think two men’ll be enough, Vince?” Abel owned the ranch, but Vince had more experience. He respected the man’s opinion.

“Oh, sure. One on each side of the herd. Keep ’em from stampedin’ an’ tearin’ down the fence. That barbed wire could do a heap of damage to ’em if they tried to run through it.” Vince’s unruffled reply smoothed the edges of Abel’s fear.

Cole plucked a slicker from a peg on the wall and tossed it over his head. “I’ll go. A little rain don’t bother me.”

“I’ll go, too.” Vince donned a slicker and plopped his hat on his head. “I’ll take my harmonica an’ sing the dogies a little tune. That oughtta keep ’em calm.”

Cole swung on Vince. “I can handle ’em myself.”

Abel shook his head. “Vince advises two men out there, Cole, an’ he makes good sense. If the herd stampedes, it’ll take two of you to get ’em turned from the fence. ’Sides that, always good to have a buddy close by in case somethin’ should happen—like a lightnin’ strike or a horse buckin’ you off.”

Cole snorted. “I never been bucked off in my life.”

“Well, you’ve had a short life,” Abel retorted, “an’ we want it to be longer. Better to be safe.”

“Want me out there, too, Abel?” Ethan headed for the remaining slicker.

“Naw, you stay here,” Vince answered before Abel could. “Cole an’ me’ll get it covered. No sense in you gettin’ drenched if you don’t hafta.”

Ethan paused with his hand on the slicker, looking over his shoulder at his father. “I can go ’stead of you, Pa.”

Vince chuckled. “How you gonna keep the herd quiet? You can’t hardly get air through a harmonica, let alone play a decent tune.”

“I could maybe sing.”

“That’s even scarier’n thunder.”

Ethan laughed. “You got me there.”

Abel said, “Then it’s settled—Cole and Vince, head on out. Soon as the storm passes, come back in, but stay with the herd until the lightnin’ settles down. An’ stay low. No sense in makin’ yourself look like a lightnin’ rod by sittin’ high in your saddle.”

“Sure thing, Abel. C’mon, Cole.” Vince clumped out the door with Cole on his heels.

Lightning flashed outside the windows, followed by an enormous clap of thunder. Ethan’s expression turn fretful. “You s’pose Pa an’ Cole’ll be okay out there? Haven’t had a storm like this in ages.”

Unease twisted Abel’s insides, too. Should he have gone instead of sending his men? If something happened to either of them, it would be on his shoulders. But he tried to reassure his young ranch hand. “You heard what your pa said—wind’ll carry that storm right on through. Won’t be long an’ they’ll be back, wetter’n a duck in a puddle, but otherwise fine.”

“S’pose you’re right.”

“While we’re waitin’, wanna play a game of dominoes?” Abel had planned to spend the evening going over his books, but he figured Ethan could use the distraction. Besides, no matter how he tried to juggle the numbers, they always came out . . . depressing.

“Sure!” Ethan retrieved the box of dominoes from beneath his bunk, and the two spent an hour lost in the game, ignoring the raging storm outside the bunkhouse walls as best they could. Ethan was setting up for the fourth round when the bunkhouse door flew open and Vince stumbled through. Water dripped from his hat and slicker, leaving a puddle on the floor. He dropped the rain-dark items next to the door and shook his head, causing water droplets to fly in every direction. Ethan jumped up and scuttled for a length of toweling.

Vince ran the towel over his hair and face. “Land o’ mercy, that was some rain! Creek’s up a good six inches, Abel . . . but it’ll probably settle back in its banks by mornin’.”

“Herd handle it all right?”

Vince walked straddle-legged to his bunk and began stripping off his wet clothes. “Oh, they fidgeted some—sure didn’t like them lightnin’ flashes. But the music seemed to keep ’em calm. No troubles at my end. An’ since Cole never fired his shot, he must’ve done all right, too.”

Abel heaved a sigh of relief. “Well, glad you’re back. Thanks for checkin’ on the herd.”

“No problem, Abel. That’s what I get paid to do, now, ain’t it?”

Vince’s tone had a grumpy edge, but Abel chose to ignore it. Anybody who’d gotten as soaked as Vince had deserved to complain a bit. “Reckon I might stick around here until Cole gets back—make sure he didn’t have any problems.” He gestured to the table, which was scattered with dominoes. “Wanna join the game?”

“No, thanks. Think I’ll shimmy under these covers an’ warm up.”

Vince was soon snoring from his bunk, and Ethan and Abel played another three rounds before Ethan began yawning. He stretched his fists over his head. “What time is it?”

Abel retrieved his pa’s pocket watch and peeked at the round face. He jolted in surprise. “Almost midnight.”

“No wonder I’m tired.” Ethan’s face stretched into another yawn, then he gave a start. “Midnight? Where’n thunder is Cole?”

Tressa stirred, pulled from a deep, dreamless sleep. Slumber had not claimed her until late into the night. The unpleasant end to the evening, with Gage stubbornly refusing to accept no as an answer to his request to court her, had prevented her from sleeping. So she’d read her Bible, seeking words of comfort while a storm raged outside the window.

Now she lay still, staring into the dark room with her brow furrowed, trying to determine what had roused her. Silence reigned. No thunder grumbled or raindrops beat upon the roof. The storm had passed. But the fresh scent of moist earth filled the room, carried in on a cool breeze through the open window.

With a little shiver, she tossed aside the covers and dashed to the window, where the damp curtain flapped lightly. Her feet encountered a puddle. She released a little grunt of frustration. Why had Sallie opened the window in the middle of a rainstorm? The wet wood squeaked as she pushed the window frame down until it met the sill. Hugging herself, she peered out at the black night.

Sheets of gray clouds hid the stars from view, but the moon’s light created an eerie glow behind the clouds. Another shiver shook her frame, and she felt her way back to her bed. She crawled in, moving slowly to avoid disturbing Sallie. And then she suddenly realized why the room was so quiet. No snoring came from Sallie’s side of the bed. The girl was gone!

Tressa jolted upright. Hands outstretched, she groped her way through the dark room to the door and stumbled into the hallway. Her pounding pulse roared in her ears, hindering rational thought.

Standing in the middle of the silent hallway, she forced herself to calm. Might Sallie have gone to the outhouse? No. Ever since Luella began sneaking out, Aunt Hattie had locked the outside doors and kept the key in her room at night. The girls used chamber pots in their rooms. Perhaps she’d gone downstairs for a drink of milk.

Tressa lit a lantern, then crept downstairs and peeked in every room. No Sallie anywhere. Her heart pounding, she checked the front and back doors, but both remained locked. Tressa stood at the base of the stairs, confusion holding her captive. If Sallie was no longer in the house, she had to be outside. But with the doors locked, she couldn’t have gotten outside.

Except through the window
. “Oh, Sallie!” Tressa forced her feet to move. “I must alert Aunt Hattie.”

Tressa stumbled up the stairs. She stubbed her toe in her hurry, but she ignored the pain and darted into her room to quickly don a dress before pounding on Aunt Hattie’s bedroom door. Seconds later the door swung wide.

Aunt Hattie shielded her eyes from the harsh light of the lantern. “W-what’s goin’ on, girl?”

Tears flooded Tressa’s eyes. “Aunt Hattie, Sallie is gone!”

Aunt Hattie shook her head, as if trying to clear it. “You must be dreamin’, Tressa. I been lockin’ this house tight as a drum. She can’t have got out.”

Nearly dancing in nervous excitement, Tressa said, “I think she went out the window.”

The older woman gasped. Bedroom doors opened at the far end of the hallway, and the other girls peered out with bleary eyes. Paralee asked, “What’s all the noise about?”

“Nothin’ that need concern you.” Aunt Hattie waved her hands at the girls. “All o’ you, go back to bed. I’ll take care o’ this.” After a moment’s pause, they closed themselves back in their rooms.

Tressa clattered down the stairs and into the kitchen on Aunt Hattie’s heels. “What are you going to do? Oh, Aunt Hattie, she’s been crying in her pillow every night, but I never dreamed she would—” She clamped her hand over her mouth, holding back a sob.

Aunt Hattie cupped Tressa’s face between her palms. “Don’t you start blamin’ yourself. The blame rests on my shoulders, an’ that’s a fact. I knew she was moonin’ over Cole Jacobs, but I sure never thought she’d . . .” She heaved a sigh. “Young’uns do foolish things when their hearts are achin’. . . .”

Abruptly, she snatched the lantern from Tressa’s hand and charged to the back door. After retrieving a key from her robe pocket, she unlocked the door and stepped outside. The dinner bell’s
clang-clang-clang!
pierced the night. She stomped back into the house and slapped the key onto its hook.

“Men’ll be in soon as they can pull on their britches. I’m goin’ up to get dressed—reckon my sleepin’ is done for tonight. Get a pot o’ coffee brewin’. The men’ll want somethin’ to fortify ’em before I send ’em out.”

Tressa scurried to obey, her movements clumsy as fear clawed at her heart. How had Sallie managed to climb down from the window? How frightened she must have been, running through the rain with the thunder booming and lightning flashing! Where had she gone? Would the men be able to track her across the muddy ground?

After setting the coffee to brew, she tossed several strips of bacon into a frying pan and then began mixing biscuit dough. The men would certainly appreciate some food in their bellies, and her hands needed something to do. A plaintive meow interrupted as she rolled the dough on a floured board. She dashed across the floor and freed Isabella from the pantry.

With sticky fingers, she swept the cat into her arms. “Oh, Izzy-B, Sallie is gone! She sneaked away in the night!” Tears stung her nose, but she sniffed hard. Crying wouldn’t bring Sallie back. “I’m so frightened. . . .”

A snippet from last night’s Bible reading in Psalms crept into Tressa’s mind, and she whispered the words to the cat. “ ‘What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee. . . .’ ” Closing her eyes, she buried her face in the cat’s warm fur. A prayer for Sallie’s safety and the men’s success in locating her winged from her heart. Peace flooded her frame as she released Sallie into God’s hands. Revived, she set Isabella on a kitchen chair, washed her hands in the wash bucket, and quickly cut biscuits.

Just as she placed the pan of fat biscuits in the oven, a rustle of activity at the back door indicated the arrival of the ranch hands. They clustered in the kitchen, rubbing their eyes and yawning, but they eagerly accepted the cups of hot coffee. Aunt Hattie bustled in shortly after they arrived, fully dressed, her gray hair combed into a neat bun.

“We got a problem, fellas.” She quickly informed them of Sallie’s disappearance.

“So that explains the ladder leanin’ against the side of the house,” one of them said.

Tressa paused in removing the crisp bacon from the pan.

“Ladder?”

“Under the window. We seen it when we came in,” the man confirmed.

Slapping her hand to her cheek, Aunt Hattie groaned. “Sallie couldn’t’ve put that there herself. That means somebody helped her.” She shot a grim look in Tressa’s direction. “An’ I think I know who.”

Tressa nodded as she realized Sallie and Cole must have planned this escape.

“I reckon I oughtta—” Aunt Hattie’s words were interrupted by a fierce pounding on the front door.

Tressa jumped. “Could that be Sallie?” Her heart lifting with hope, she raced for the door with Aunt Hattie and the ranch hands thumping behind her. The other girls clustered on the stairs, holding to the rail and peering down with wide, curious eyes.