Guardian Bride (21 page)
177
Guardian Bride
by Lauri Robinson
Long days filled with hard work and nights made short
from pure exhaustion where he thought of little more than
dropping on the bed made the weeks fly by. Snake now
walked with barely a limp since it had been close to a month
since the shooting. He set the last bundle of shingles on the
ground and waved to the driver. "Thanks, Able."
The man slapped the reins across the horses. Turning the
wagon in a wide circle, Able Turner shouted over his shoulder,
"I'll see you tomorrow."
September, no longer madder than a wet hornet, ambled
over. Snake patted her shoulder and chucked little Winifred,
who was propped on the girl's hip, under the chin.
"Looks good, doesn't it?" he asked, noticing September's
blue eyes scanning the new wood framing in the large,
modern home rising from the foundation of Ma's old one.
Progress was happening five times faster than expected for
there were now five Quinter brothers working on the home.
Skeeter and Lila, along with their children, Kendra and
Charles, and Hog and Randi had arrived a couple of weeks
ago. They helped with the building every day but spent the
nights over at Kid and Jessie's.
"Yes, it does, but..." September let her words flutter off.
"But what?" he asked. There had been a change in
September, but still he sensed something deep down inside
her wasn't quite right.
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She shrugged. "It just seems like an awful lot of charity to
me."
"Charity?"
"Yes, the way everyone's bringing us clothes and food."
"That's not charity, September, that's being neighborly.
You treat others as you want to be treated. These folks know
we'd do the same for them if they needed it."
Her little eyes scanned the people mingling about. "In
Dodge they call it charity, and people aren't nice about it."
The sadness of her tone stabbed him. "My leg's hurting a
bit. Want to sit down with me for a minute?"
She shrugged but followed as he made his way to the
shade of a weeping willow. The grass beneath was as soft as
a rug, and he encouraged, "Why don't you let Winifred crawl
around a bit?"
September giggled. "She's not old enough to crawl yet."
"Oh?" He accepted his ignorance. "I didn't know that."
"She might like to sit on the grass though." The girl
lowered the baby to the ground, setting her on her plump
bottom and tickling Winifred's tummy when she flayed her
chubby little arms and legs.
"I think she likes that," he said.
"Yeah, she does."
"She likes you, too."
"I hope so, I sure like her."
Snake knew Summer loved her siblings, but the kids most
likely hadn't received love from anyone else in their rough
lives. He ached for their sadness and hoped someday it would
be a thing of the past they never found the need to recall.
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"You know what I think about charity? I think true charity
comes from the heart. It's when you have something you
know someone else needs and you give it to them. You don't
hem and haw, or even wonder if they'll like it, you just give it
and don't ask for anything in return."
September kept tickling Winifred's tummy, but her slow
movements said she was listening and thinking.
He continued, "If folks are mean about giving something
away, then they'd be better off not to give it. The good book
says we shouldn't boast about our charitable deeds, so in my
mind, those people in Dodge who were mean about charity,
they're gonna have a lot to answer for when their day
comes."
"You think so?"
"Yes, I do."
"Molly Henderson says people who accept charity are like
stray dogs who scrounge the streets for food."
He balled a hand until his knuckles burned. "Between you
and me, even though I don't know Molly Henderson, I think
she needs her mouth washed out with soap. Her mother
does, too, for letting her say such things."
A shadow of a smile touched September's lips. "Mrs.
Henderson oversees the church donation program."
"Really?"
"Yup."
"Well, then, she needs to listen better when the preacher
talks."
"You don't go to church on Sundays. How do you know
what the preacher says?"
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Snake chuckled. "You know my mother. Do you really
think I'd need to sit in church every Sunday to know what the
good book says?"
She giggled aloud. "She's even got August reading out of
it."
"I hope he sticks it out. I'll be sure to let him know it eases
up when you turn sixteen."
"Why sixteen?"
"Don't know. That's just one more of Ma's rules." He
reached over and let Winifred wrap her little fingers around
one of his. "You okay with that? With Ma's rules?"
September nodded.
"You okay with living here with Summer and me, and
August and Ma?"
"Yeah." Her little eyes grew serious. "I'll work, too, for
everything you give us, I'll work for it."
Hadn't she been listening? He looked deep into her faded
blue eyes. "September, I'm not asking you to work for
anything."
"I know, but I want you to know that I will. I'll do my
chores, and—"
"Honey," he interrupted and placed a finger beneath her
chin, holding her gaze. "Chores are things you do because
you're part of the family. Everyone has to work to make a
household run smoothly. That's not charity. That's love."
Her face scrunched with confusion.
He glanced down to Winifred, happily entertained by her
own feet. "Are you watching Winifred right now because
Jessie asked you to?"
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"No, I asked if I could. Why do you need me to do
something?"
"No, I don't. Watching Winifred is doing something. By
watching her you give Jessie time to help Summer or Ma or
Kid or let her do something else she needs to. In a way, it's
charity that you give to Jessie."
"Charity? I've never given to charity."
"Yes, you do. Every day. Charity comes in many shapes
and forms. Not just clothes and food. There's many ways to
be charitable." He wiggled his finger and Winifred giggled. "Is
watching Winifred a chore to you?"
September shook her head. "No, I like watching her."
"Even so, it is a chore. Someone has to do it. Just like
feeding the chickens or taking in the laundry. Someone has to
do all those things, too." Snake tugged his finger from the
baby and ran his hand through his hair. He was making a
jumbled mess out of his explanation. "I'm sorry, September,
I've probably confused you more than helped. I just want to
see you happy and thought if I explained charity, you might
not feel so bad about things that happened back in Dodge."
Her gaze went to the house, where men and women
looked like a colony of ants the way they rushed about. "I
think I do understand what you said," she offered softly.
"You do? Then tell me, because I confused myself."
She giggled. "Everyone helping us out...they're doing it
because they're nice people and when people are nice, others
are nice to them."
He nodded. "That's right."
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"And those people back in Dodge, they talked bad about
people because they're just mean."
"That's right, too." He thought for a moment. "Has anyone
been mean to you since you arrived here?"
"No." She shook her head and then glanced to him. "Dora
even asked if I would like to spend the night at her house
sometime."
"Really?" That did surprise him, but then again, Dora was a
good kid, she just wanted to grow up too fast. "You should. It
probably would be fun. Her family is good people."
"I said I'd think about it, but that I was needed here right
now."
He touched the tip of her nose. "You'll always be needed
here."
Her expression grew serious. "I'll do my chores, including
watching Winifred, not because I expect something in return,
but because it's what I should do to be part of the family."
She tickled the baby's tummy. "And because I want to."
He let out a sigh of relief. "Maybe that's how I should have
said it in the beginning. No more worries about charity?"
She giggled and shook her head, but then grew serious
again. "I haven't been very charitable to you."
Emotions flooded his heart. "Yes, you have. More than you
know."
"What do you mean?"
"Remember the night of the fire, when you and I were in
the tub?"
She nodded.
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"When it started to rain, you smiled and hugged me. That
hug was one of the most charitable things you could have
ever done."
"It was?"
"I thought you hated me. Your hug that night gave me
hope that someday we'd be friends."
Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked. He blinked as
well—for the same reason.
"You are my friend, Snake. And I'm sorry for the way I
acted. I was so afraid you'd hate Summer because of all the
things we needed. The food and clothes. I guess I thought if I
was mean first, you'd hate me instead of her." Little tears
trickled down her cheeks. "No one should hate her. All she's
ever done is love me and August. She can't help she has
Indian blood, and it wasn't her fault Pa gambled and drank
away the money she earned."
He pulled her close, patting her blonde curls as she laid
her head against his chest. "Shh," he comforted. His heart
bled for all the confusion the child had lived with over the
years.
"I told her I'd go with Wainwright. I said she could sell me
instead of coming out here and marrying you."
Snake set her away so he could stare into her eyes.
Summer had never told him this. "September, don't you ever,
I repeat, ever, think that again. Nothing in this world is worth
selling yourself to someone. Especially someone as downright
nasty and dirty as Wainwright. Do you understand that?"
She nodded. "But, in a way, Summer sold herself to you
for the same reasons."
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He couldn't respond right away, it took a moment for the
shaking in his insides to ease. "It might have seemed that
way at first. But I can honestly say it's not. I didn't marry
Summer to turn a profit. I love her. Just as I love you and
August. Do you understand the difference?"
The look on her face held shock and disbelief. "You love
us? All of us?"
The admission had fluttered out before he had time to
contemplate it. But it had taken root, and grew to encompass
his chest faster than bind weed takes over a freshly plowed
field.
"Yes, I do. All of you."
"I didn't think anyone would ever love us." She nibbled on
her bottom lip. He had to wonder if it was because she tried
to keep a smile at bay.
"Well, I do." He kissed her forehead before he stood up.
"And don't you ever forget it."
His eyes scanned the homestead. Now he had to find
Summer and tell her the same thing. Surely, she didn't think
marrying him and selling September to Wainwright were in
the same category. She'd been acting weird lately—kind of
unreachable. He'd put it off to all the commotion—and
perhaps his behavior, but now he wondered.
A trim form with long black hair entered the barn. He
winked at September. "I gotta get back to work. Thanks for
the visit."
"You're welcome, anytime," she said, more confident than
he'd ever heard her sound.
Chuckling he strolled toward the barn.
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Summer made her way to the hayloft ladder and hitching
her skirt, began to climb. She was out of sorts again today.
Had been since the fire. No matter what she did, she couldn't
shake the invisible, but dismal weight dragging her down. It
wasn't like her, and over all, very exhausting. She propped
her elbows on the loft floor and gazed through the dust motes
floating in the stream of light shining through the open end
doors.
Four large trunks sat in one far corner. She let out a heavy
sigh, climbed the remaining rungs, and rose to walk across
the thin layer of hay covering the floor. Ma needed another
thimble. Even though the house hadn't been built yet, the
woman had already sewn curtains, quilts, pillows, and of
course, clothes for everyone. Lila was helping with the
sewing, and Ma thought there might be another thimble in
one of these trunks. Summer—relishing a moment of solitude,
had offered to retrieve it. Her sisters-in-law were wonderful
