Bandit's Hope (16 page)

Mariah spun with a little gasp. "Do you suppose Otis could be right, Tiller? Did we entertain the very devils who beat and robbed him?" Her pretty brow creased. "By the grace of God we didn’t wind up sharing his fate." Realizing what she’d said, her hand rushed to her mouth. "Oh, Otis …"

All the starch seemed to drain from his wasted body. His shoulders slumped against the headboard, his watery gaze fixed on the ceiling while he stared down the awful news. "They got my money?" He flinched. "My horse and wagon, too?"

Her fingers pressed to her lips, Mariah nodded. "You had nothing when they brought you here. I’m so sorry."

Staring overhead, he gnawed the inside of his cheek. "Well, sure they took it. I’m a fool to think otherwise." He touched his head. "That’s why they gave me this knot." He cut his eyes to Mariah. "Don’t feel bad, little missy. I’d have figured it out for myself once my head cleared."

Regret twisted his features. "It took me the better part of my days to save that stash. All gone in a wink."

Shame torched Tiller’s gut. Swallowing an apology along with rising bile, he decided on the spot to pay Otis back every dollar, however long it took.

Mariah scooted closer and caught Mr. Gooch’s trembling hand. "I don’t want you worrying about all this right now. Rest assured that you have a place here as long as you need one. If you decide to go home when you’re able, we’ll make sure you get there."

Otis shook his head. "I’ve been a traveling merchant for years. That rig was my home."

Tears spilled onto his gaunt cheeks. "I’ll never understand how greed and pure raw meanness can drive one man to hurt another for gain." His swimming gaze sought Tiller’s. "Then I run across a kindhearted saint like you, and my hope is restored." He smiled through his tears. "Young fella’, I know you washed me, dressed me, sat by my sickbed, and I want to thank you."

Tiller’s hand shot up. "You don’t need to thank me." He quickly checked the bitterness in his voice and tried again. "Anybody would’ve done the same."

Mr. Gooch wagged his head. "Not with the care I sensed in your hands." He lifted his chin. "You’re truly sorry about what happened to me, aren’t you? I felt it in your touch."

Startled by the need to bawl, Tiller blinked and shoved his fists in his pockets.

"That’s all right, boy," Mr. Gooch said. "I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Just mighty grateful is all."

He pulled free of Mariah’s grip and patted her hand. "I’d like to be alone for a spell if you youngsters don’t mind. I need to ask God for strength to forgive before a root of bitterness springs up to defile my soul." He paused. "Fair warning from the book of Hebrews if anyone cares to look it up."

Mariah stood. "We’ll leave you now. I’ll come back soon with your lunch."

Tiller couldn’t wait to get out the door. He didn’t have the guts to look at Mariah, but he felt her watching him. Head down, he stepped aside at the threshold so she could go first.

"By the way," Mr. Gooch called in a frantic voice. "Did I ever thank you nice folks for helping me?"

Stopping so fast she skidded, Mariah cast a worried glance at Tiller. "Oh my," she whispered hoarsely then turned to Mr. Gooch with a weak smile. "Y–yes, sir. You sure did."

Otis released his breath on a ragged sigh and lay back in the bed. "Good. That’s real good to hear."

Mariah’s shoulders drooped as low as Tiller’s as he followed her from the room.

SIXTEEN

T
iller drove a nail into the final board of the new porch and stood up to survey his work. For a man more suited to working the soil than plying a hammer, he had to admit the even rows of cedar planks looked smart. Lifting his hat to wipe his brow, he glanced at his helper. "What do you think, Rainy?"

"Yes, suh." The boy grinned and bobbed his head. "Ain’t nothin’ wrong with this porch. We make a fine team, don’t we, Mista’ Tilla’?"

"You certainly do," a voice said from inside the back door. Mariah stepped out with a tray in her hand and tiptoed across the porch like a cat on coals.

Tiller chuckled. "It’s all right to walk on it, Mariah."

She beamed. "I can’t help it. It’s too pretty."

Shrugging, Tiller laid aside the hammer. "I never thought of a porch as pretty, but I suppose this one will do. It’ll look a lot nicer once we add the steps and get the rails up."

Mariah handed the tray to Rainy. "I can hardly wait to see it finished. What a wonderful surprise to find all this beautiful lumber behind the barn. Why, it’s practically brand new."

Tiller glanced at the boy.

He smiled and ducked his head.

"I’ve brought you two your lunch," Mariah said. "You deserve a special treat after all your hard work."

Tiller reached for a mug of cold lemonade and held it up. "I don’t know if I deserve it, but I sure am grateful." He took a long swig then held out his hand to help Mariah down, brushing away sawdust to clear a place for her to sit. "Those sandwiches look mighty nice, too."

Rainy nodded. "Mista’ Tilla’ took the words right out of my mouth."

Tiller lifted one corner of the thinly sliced bread. "Corned beef?"

"Spread with fresh dressing I made myself." Mariah handed one to each of them and took one for herself.

Tiller took a hearty bite then winked at her. "Good."

She ducked her head and smiled. "Thank you."

They settled along the edge of the porch, eating together in silence. Tiller stole glances at Mariah, wondering how it was possible he’d known her for such a short while. It took him years to build a fortress around his heart. She’d scaled the walls in six short days.

He’d tried to fight his tender feelings, but the time for turning back was past. He was utterly besotted with her.

"Missy Bell, my sunflower patch be coming up nice," Rainy said. "They poppin’ out now, so they’ll have nice-sized heads before long."

"Budding already?"

"Yes’m." He gave her a timid smile. "I thank you for letting me plant ’em this year."

"I thought it was a fine idea." She wiped the corner of her mouth on a napkin. "I’d love to see them."

Rainy shoved the last quarter of his sandwich inside his bulging cheek and hopped to his feet, swiping crumbs from his baggy trousers. "I can show you right now."

Tiller laughed. "Rein it in, son. The lady’s not done eating." He understood the boy’s eagerness. He remembered the joy he once felt from growing a nice head of lettuce or a pretty rose.

Wrapping her sandwich in a napkin, Mariah stood. "I can finish while we walk." She motioned to Tiller. "Come go with us."

They crossed the backyard and took the little stone path to the garden gate. Rainy led them inside, past the tomato stakes and raised beds to the neat row of sunflower plants in the corner. A dozen flowers, each with new buds, stretched proudly toward the sky.

Mariah sighed. "They’re going to be beautiful, Rainy."

He seemed to grow taller. "Much obliged, ma’am. Only I don’t mind what they look like. I’m in it for the seeds."

Squeezing his shoulder, she laughed. "I sort of look forward to those myself." She gently stroked one of the small green and yellow knots. "Isn’t it wonderful how they all face the same direction?"

Tiller took a second look. "How about that? I never once noticed."

"It’s a mystery," Mariah said. "From the time the flowers form, they follow the sun across the sky, all in step like tiny dancers."

Evidently as ignorant of the facts as Tiller, Rainy leaned closer to stare. "Well, I’ll be switched. They sho’ is."

"Each morning they wake up facing east," Mariah said. "By evening, they’re watching while the sun sets in the west. Then overnight their little heads swivel around again to greet the sunrise."

Rainy looked duly impressed. "Do tell?"

She nodded. "Once the flowers reach full bloom, they bow to the eastern sky until they die. My father told me they’re watching for Christ’s return." Sadness darkened her eyes. "He said the sunflower is our example to follow Jesus throughout our lives then go to our graves awaiting his return."

Silence stole over the garden.

Rainy glanced at the distant, haunted stare on Mariah’s face and promptly squatted to pull weeds.

Tiller fought the urge to reach for her. Confused by her sudden gloominess, he cleared his throat. "Your father sounds like a fine man. I hope I’ll get to meet him someday."

Her baffling sadness turned to great, swimming tears. Brushing them off her cheeks, she spun away.

"Mariah?" He touched her shoulder. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No." She sniffed and shook her head. "It’s just a lovely memory, that’s all. I suppose I’m missing him."

Shading his eyes, Rainy peered up from the ground. "I didn’t go to make you sad, ma’am."

She held out her arms. "Oh Rainy, come here." He came, flushed and shuffling his feet, and she wrapped him in a tight hug. "You didn’t do one thing wrong. In fact, it’s a compliment to your skill." She held him at arm’s length. "Your flowers are pretty enough to make a lady cry."

He flashed a pleased grinned. "Yes’m, Missy Bell. Thank you kindly, ma’am."

She released him and started back up the row. "You’ve outdone yourself with the rest of the garden, too. It’s simply wonderful this year."

"That’s on account of it ain’t just me," Rainy said, falling in behind her. "Mista’ Tilla’ been out here, too. Most every day."

Mariah stopped short and turned. "You’ve been helping in the garden?"

Tiller released a shaky laugh. "Yes, but I take no credit. All the praise goes to Rainy."

"Ain’t so, ma’am. Mista’ Tilla’ got sap for blood. This old patch rise up and clap when it see him coming."

Beginning to squirm under her bold stare, Tiller’s cheeks warmed.

"I don’t understand," Mariah said. "With all you’ve accomplished lately, how have you found the time?"

"It only takes a minute here and there."

Concern tightened her mouth. "You really don’t have to take on the gardening, as well. It’s too much."

He shrugged. "I do it because I like it. Of course, if you mind …"

"Mind?" A happy smile lit her face. "Of course not. As long as you two are happy with the arrangement."

"Don’t bother me none," Rainy said, winking at Tiller. "We make a fine team."

The back door slammed, turning all their heads at once. Dicey walked to the edge of the porch, the back of one hand resting on her hip and the other shading her eyes. She scanned the yard in a slow arc, stopping when she faced the garden. "There you is, Rainy Boswell," she bellowed.

"She lookin’ for me?" Rainy asked in a shrill voice. "Curse my no-account luck. I cain’t get away from that burdensome woman."

Tiller chuckled. "What have you done now?"

"It ain’t what I done. It’s what she want. I wish I’d never struck no bargain to walk her home. She a heap more than a penny’s worth of trouble."

Dicey sailed to the earth and bore down on them, her calico dress and white apron flapping in the breeze. She blew past the gate and chugged toward them in a rolling gait. "My daddy gon’ be fit to bust, waitin’ all day for his lunch. Where you been hidin’?"

"You know where I been … helping Mista’ Tilla’ with the porch."

She ground to a stop and cocked her hip. "I don’t see no porch out here. If you growing one, I want me a peek at it." She snatched his sleeve. "Now come on." At the gate, she paused. "You done a fine job building that new porch, Mista’ Tilla’. A mighty-fine job."

Tiller ducked to hide his smile. "Thank you, Dicey."

"You welcome."

Their bickering voices echoed across the yard until they slipped past the tree line and disappeared.

Mariah’s lilting laugh eased Tiller’s heart. "If Rainy was a bit older, they’d make a nice couple."

He laughed with her. "What are you saying? Those two would kill each other before the ‘I do’s’ were said."

"Oh, I don’t know." She grew thoughtful. "My mother was spirited, too. Not in the same way as Dicey, but at times she led my father a merry chase."

Tiller followed Mariah outside the gate to a wrought iron bench under a tall maple.

She sat and motioned for him to join her. "My parents were happy though." Her mouth softened and the corners quirked. "They loved each other very much, but I suppose they had to with all they fought to be together."

Tiller slid closer. "What do you mean?"

"Their union was frowned upon by both her tribesmen and my father’s people. In fact, his grandparents in England got wind of the marriage and disinherited him."

"That hardly seems fair."

She shook her head. "It wasn’t. These days, people are slightly more accepting. Back then, it was very hard."

Tiller couldn’t stop watching Mariah worry the folds of her dress nestled in her lap. He itched to reach for her fingers, to cradle her hand and see if it felt as soft and warm as he imagined. "I’m glad folks are more agreeable now," he murmured.

"You are?"

Pulling his gaze from her hands, he squirmed on the seat. "Well, sure. Like I said, it’s not fair to treat people so harshly. A person can’t help who they love."

She straightened proudly. "It doesn’t bother you that my mother was Choctaw?"

"Not a whit."

Tucking her chin, she tilted her head closer and lowered her voice to just above a whisper. "I’m pleased you feel that way, Tiller. I’m glad you’re fair-minded and kind and not prejudiced against other cultures."

He swayed to meet her. She smelled of sawdust and tea leaves, green garden shoots, and the wind in her hair. "Mariah …" His hand inched toward hers. "Would you mind if I—"

A series of whistles split the air, like the call of a nearby bird.

Mariah leaped to her feet as if she’d been fired on, whirling to stare at the woods behind them.

Laughing, Tiller stood and steadied her shoulders. "Relax. It’s just a silly mockingbird."

Still watching the verge, she shook her head.

Two men strode from the woods, one as tall as an oak, the other sturdy and broad.

Mariah stiffened beneath his hands.

Tiller took a second look and saw they were the sons of the Indian healer.