High Desert Haven (The Shepherd's Heart) (21 page)

John tumbled out of the barn behind her, and she shoved two buckets into his hands, pushing him toward the orange reflection of the watering trough. She ran after John with her own buckets, all the while praying that Rolf would make it out of the house with May and Bobby alive.

A lifetime seemed to pass as Brenda and John filled up their buckets and raced toward the blazing house. The flames were now starting to lick at the front of the dwelling, and a sob caught in Brenda’s throat. There would be no saving the house. But the house was the least of her worries.

Bobby stumbled out the door, and Brenda cried out in relief. Dropping her buckets she ran and clutched him to her chest in a fierce hug. “Be ye okay, son?”

He nodded, his breaths coming in ragged gulps. “I tried to get her, Ma. She fell asleep while I was readin’ to her, and I couldn’t lift her.” Tears marked white trails through the grime covering his face.

“Hush, now. Papa’s gonna get her. He’ll be out any second now.” Her eyes remained fixed on the door, as she prayed her words would not be a lie. “Dear God, Dear God, Dear God...”

John threw his water on the roof and headed back for more. Still the door remained empty. The house was fully engulfed in flames. What mattered now was to see Rolf and May coming out the door. But it had been too long. She lifted her face to the heavens. “Oh God!” The cry was a guttural scream.

Rolf stumbled out of the house with May clutched to his chest. May’s arms flopped limply behind her, and something in Rolf’s expression chilled Brenda to the core. He staggered a few more steps, then sank down onto his knees. “Forget the house!” His voice was hoarse. “Help me with her.”

Brenda knelt down at May’s head, feeling more than seeing that the boys were huddled over them. Her heart hammered in her throat. Her hands fluttered helplessly around the still form of her child. What should she do? “Jesus! Jesus!” She couldn’t decide where to settle her hands.

“May, honey! MAY!” Rolf’s voice was terror-edged. There was no response from the little, pale, limp form. He pressed his cheek close to her mouth. “She’s not breathin’!”

“May,” Brenda pleaded, pressing down panicked sobs, “wake up, honey. We need you to wake up!” Her hands fluttered helplessly to a stop, cupped around the little blond head. What should she do? “John, there be a blanket. The saddle roll.” She gestured toward the barn. “Get it. Quick!”

“May! May, honey. It’s Papa. Can ya hear me, darlin’?” Rolf shook May’s unresponsive shoulder. Her head flopped over to one side, and even in the macabre glow of the shimmering flames, Brenda could see her face was ashen gray.

She gasped and sat back onto the cold ground. “Oh God, dear God. No! Not my May. Please, Lord don’t take her from me now. Jesus! Jesus!” Brenda clutched her head and rocked back and forth, silent sobs shaking her body.

The flames crackled hungrily, devouring the remaining walls of the little shanty in a final spray of orange sparks.

“Dear Jesus! What have I done?” Rolf lifted his face to the sky. His shoulders heaved, but he made no sound. Hands clasped behind his neck, he rocked forward and let his head fall gently on May’s little chest. But quickly he lifted his head, again patting her face and shaking her unresponsive shoulder.

Helpless anguish flooded Brenda’s soul as she watched, one hand pressed over her mouth.

John returned with the blanket and, through the haze of slow motion around her, Brenda noticed things she would never forget as long as she took breath.

Rolf finally giving up his useless attempts to revive her baby. The way John’s chin shook as though with palsy as he meticulously laid out the blanket and gently lifted May’s lifeless little body onto it. The way Bobby sat, forearms resting on his knees, staring blankly at the engulfing flames, silent tears coursing down cheeks that reflected the flickering, golden-orange horror. Rolf on his knees, face buried in his lap, his shoulders heaving with wracking sobs, but making no sound whatsoever. And May. Her sunshine in winter, blue eyes closed forever, face ashen gray, lying unmoving on the brightly colored quilt, the breeze gently lifting her white-blond hair as the raging flames danced eerily on the snow all around them.

Brenda turned and retched onto the snow. She would never forget that, either. The terrible, gut-wrenching pain that engulfed her. Pulling, tearing, and ripping at her heart.

12

The scent of smoke alerted him first. Jason raised his nose, testing the air, and frowned. This was not just the smoke from a cookfire. It was too acrid, and there was too much of it. He turned to face the wind and began to follow his nose, leading his prisoner’s horse behind. It wasn’t long until he could see an orange glow tinting the night sky and he stopped, quickly lashing his prisoner to a tree far enough back from the fire that if the brush caught flame, he would be able to make it around and rescue him. After securing the man’s horse, he mounted back up and hurried forward.

Something crashed through the brush in the darkness to his right and his horse shied, snorting and pawing. Jason pulled up for a moment, listening, but heard nothing but the angry cursing of his captive. Attributing the sound to a rattled buck racing to escape the fearful scent of the fire, he turned and moved on toward the glow.

Coming out of a small stand of evergreens, Jason took in the scene at a glance and urged his mount into a gallop. A hundred yards ahead of him flames engulfed a cabin and as far as he could see, there was no one fighting it. They might all be trapped inside!

He wracked his brain, trying to remember from his conversations with Ron who might live here.

He pulled his horse to a skidding halt in the yard, but even as he started to slide to the ground, he could see the reason no one was fighting the fire. A family clustered around the still form of a child.
Dear Jesus, give them comfort
. The prayer came to mind even as he launched into action, picking up the buckets scattered in the yard and running for the trough he could see by the barn.

He had made two trips from the trough to the cabin before any of the family seemed to notice him. The older boy joined him at the trough, filling up two buckets of his own and heading for the house. His movements were stilted, and Jason knew from experience that he was acting mechanically. His mind was somewhere else, but he felt the need to be doing something.

They were fighting a losing battle. Jason could see that, but he knew that the boy needed to keep his mind occupied for a while longer, so he continued on with his rhythm, moving from trough to cabin and back again, the boy following his lead.

It was well after midnight when they poured the last bucket on the smoldered ruins of the clapboard cabin. They had long since emptied the trough and had been pumping water from the well. Jason stepped back, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. The boy’s mother and father had not moved from their places in the snow and Jason knew that he had to get them up and moved to someplace warm. The temperature had dropped quickly after the sun went down, and both of them were shivering visibly, although neither seemed to notice.

The younger boy had finally gotten up and ever so carefully folded the blanket over his sister’s body, tucking it around her as though to keep her warm. He had then set to work helping Jason and his older brother douse the fire, tears still streaming quietly down his cheeks. He wasn’t strong enough to carry more than half a bucket at a time, but Jason could see the determination on his face and understood his need to help put out the fire.

The looks on the young boys’ faces took Jason back in time. There was no fire in his memories and the corpse was that of his mother, not his sister, but the similarities were there. He wanted to pull the boys into a comforting embrace but knew that comfort from a stranger was not what they needed now. They needed their parents.

He approached the couple, who sat lifelessly staring into nothingness all around them. Hat twisting in his hands, he spoke. “Sir, ma’am, my name is Jason Jordan. I work for the Widow Trent just down the way a spell. I’ll take you and the boys to her place where you will at least be warm. From there you can make the decisions you’ll need to be making in the coming days. I’m...” He struggled for the right words to convey his sympathy to them. “I’m so sorry.” It didn’t express the depths of his feelings, but what else was there to say?

Neither spoke for a moment, but then the woman’s eyes darted to the blanket. “We can’t just leave her here.”

Her words were so low Jason almost missed them, but he reassured her quickly, “No, ma’am. We won’t leave her here. If you’ll just come with me, I’ve sent your boys in to hitch up the wagon.”

The father didn’t say anything but stood to his feet, helping his wife up. Then he shuffled toward the barn, with a final glance over his shoulder at the smoldering heap of charred rubble. The mother stood unmoving, her eyes on her husband’s back, an unfathomable pain etched into her face.

Jason left the yard and headed back to where he had left his captive.

Gone! He glanced hurriedly around but knew there was no way of finding the man in the dark. On closer inspection Jason could see scarring on the bark where he had lashed the man’s hands to the trunk, but there was something else as well. There was a thin vertical mark from a knife being inserted under the ropes. His prisoner had been cut free.

He stood for a moment debating what to do. It was too dark to track the man and whoever had rescued him now. He would have to come back tomorrow and see what he could find. He didn’t like the fact that the man was gone, for he definitely had some questions that he wanted answers to, but there was nothing he could do about it. He would simply have to wait.

Mounting up, he headed for the ranch, hoping he wasn’t destroying any of the tracks he would need to follow on the morrow.

When they reached Nicki’s ranch, the sky was just beginning to lighten.

Jason saw to it that the family was ensconced in the shelter of the bunkhouse. He instructed Conner to put more wood on the fire and put on some coffee. Then, after quickly changing out of his soiled shirt, he headed for the house to give Nicki the sad news of the neighboring family’s tragedy and see about moving them to the soddy, which would be much warmer.

Ron stepped out the door after him. “Jason? What happened?”

Jason shrugged. “I smelled smoke and followed it. They were all just sitting there.” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “In a circle around the little girl. I stayed. Put out the fire just to have something to do. It was already too late when I got there. Looked like it was set on purpose. Who are they?”

“The Jeffries.” Ron shook his head. “Why would someone want to set their place on fire? They just had their homestead. A hundred and sixty acres. That’s it. A hundred and sixty. You sure it looked like arson?”

Jason nodded, trying to stretch the kink out of his neck. “Not only arson. Murder.”

The sky gleamed with the first stages of pale morning light when Nicki awoke. She glanced frantically around for her bucket, realizing even as she did so that she had forgotten to put it by her bed the night before.

Her long nightgown momentarily tangled up her feet and, throwing back the covers, she almost tripped over Diablo as she hurried out the door. Her bare feet stung painfully as she rushed through the snow to the edge of the creek but she paid no heed, the queasiness in her stomach taking momentary precedence. She fell to her knees and held her hair out of her face with one hand as she lost the contents of her stomach.

“Lord,” she groaned the prayer in Spanish, “why can’t I seem to kick this flu? I am going to need all my strength to travel with Sawyer to California and find Mama and Papa.” On the heels of this prayer came the realization that she had no faith that Jason was going to be able to save her ranch…or that he was even coming back. Her heart sank. Much as she wanted to stay here, she knew that was an impossible hope.

Her stomach momentarily settled, she moved up-current a little ways and scooped a handful of the icy water to rinse her mouth and wash her face. A thought seeped into her consciousness. Her head jerked up, and she stared at the far bank.
What if I’m not sick?
She braced her hands on her knees and shook her head.
I didn’t have one day of sickness, carrying Sawyer
.

She sat still in concentrated thought. It couldn’t be. She mentally calculated. Her shoulders slumped. She did the math again. Yes. It could.

I can’t do this, Lord. Not without support
. She suddenly felt helplessly inadequate and underqualified. The pink sunrise glinted off the snowbank across the creek as she knelt, staring at nothing in particular.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff they comfort me.”

The verse came to her as though whispered on the gentle wind that had begun to blow.

Bowing her head, she gave her burden to her loving, Heavenly Father.
Father, You have never yet let me down. I don’t understand why You let some things happen, but I know that You always work things out for the good of those who love You. Help me through this, Lord. I’m scared. I was daunted by the thought of having to raise one child alone, but now two? Thank You for Your promise to be there for me. Help me to keep my eyes on You, Lord.