Hope (18 page)

Inside, Bible folded across her chest, Hope slept, feeling safe in God’s love for the first time in a long time.

Chapter Ten

By the fourth night Dan was well enough to travel. Hope wasn’t convinced that his strength was sufficient for the long walk ahead of them, but the meager rations she’d been able to supply had dwindled to nothing. If they didn’t move on, some lone hermit would one day discover their remains in the cave.

“What should we do about the saddle?”

The look on Dan’s face confirmed her fears: the beautiful, hand-tooled leather saddle was one of his prized possessions—perhaps his only prized possession.

“My brother made it for me. Gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday.” His eyes caressed the worn hide that must have held memories too numerous to count. Days of idyllic youth; months, even years, served in the war. Hope wanted to hold him, cry out at the injustice of it all. He was too weak to carry the saddle, and she didn’t have the strength to oblige.

“I’ll carry it,” she said. She couldn’t bear to see it left behind because of her. If it took everything in her, she would carry it.

“You can’t carry it. Help me get it on my right shoulder. I’ll carry it.”

With considerable effort, they got the heavy saddle on his back. Hope hurt just looking at him. “You can’t carry that all the way to Medford.”

“I’ll carry it as far as I can. It’s the best we can do.”

Was he hoping for a miracle—someone to come along and carry the saddle for him?

Hope wasn’t. She was about to give up on miracles. God was putting every obstacle imaginable in front of them, and for what purpose?

“Do you have any idea where we are?” she asked as they started off. Twilight settled over the verdant hillsides, and a warm breeze ruffled bare tree branches. Daffodils pushed their heads up through the ground, and crocuses bloomed by the roadside.

“The map’s in my saddlebag.”

And the saddlebag was at Luther’s. Dan hadn’t had time to go back and retrieve it in their hasty getaway.

“So what are we going to do? We have no money, no means to buy either a horse or a map. We don’t know where we are or how far we still have to travel.”

“We’re not more than three or four miles from the Bennetts’. I looked at the map shortly before we met up with Luther and Harriet. Medford is to the east, maybe another thirty miles.”

“Thirty miles!” Hope’s heart sank. “That’s a long way to walk.”

“It could be less, Hope. I’m just not sure.”

He bent low as the weight of the saddle sapped his strength. Men had it worse than women, Hope decided. They had to act strong, no matter how they felt. Women, on the other hand, could whine.

“How are you?” she ventured, keeping an eye on his pace.

“Top of the world. How about you?”

“Same.”

They traveled by back roads, hoping to go unnoticed. Hope halfway hoped that someone would come along; Dan could put the saddle in the wagon and he could claim it later. It seemed like hours before she heard the welcome sounds of a stream.

“Water.”

Dan forged the way through the undergrowth, trampling a path to the water. Throwing the saddle aside, he dropped to the ground and flattened himself to the bank, drinking in the cold, clear water.

Hope quickly joined him. She drank until she had to come up for air. “I’ve never, ever tasted anything so good.” She dunked her face beneath the water and emerged, sputtering.

Dan was sitting up, trying to remove his right boot with his right hand.

“Here.” She leaned over and removed it for him. Her eyes located the holes in his socks. The cloth had rubbed away, and blood oozed onto the fabric. “Blisters.”

That’s all he needed—blisters
and
a gunshot wound.

“I wish I had some butter to rub on them.”

He grunted. “If I had butter, it wouldn’t go on my feet.”

She lay down, rolling to her back. Overhead, stars twinkled in a cloudless sky.

Butter—and hot biscuits. Eggs and ham. Hotcakes and rich maple syrup. They hadn’t eaten a decent meal in days. Dan refused to admit it, but he was weak, half-starved. The heavy saddle was taking its toll on his energy. How much longer before he was forced to leave it behind?

“I’ll carry the saddle for a while.”

“You can’t lift the saddle, let alone carry it.” He lay back, easing his shoulder into a comfortable position.

“I’m hungry,” she admitted, more to herself than as a complaint.

“I’ll see if I can scare up some game.”

“No, tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

“My darling Miss Kallahan. I would let you, but I’d like to eat sometime tonight.”

She blushed, recalling the inordinately long waits he’d endured between meals lately. But if he recalled, he’d always eaten; she’d not let him go hungry. Acorns and nuts gathered near the mouth of the cave. She tried running a rabbit down on foot once, but that had consumed all her energy. She wasn’t fast or clever enough to best nature.

Toward morning, they finally met a wagon. Hope sat beside Dan on the side of the road; both were too fatigued to go on. Dan had carried the saddle all night; he couldn’t walk another step.

Hope sprang up when she spotted a young man who looked no more than fifteen wielding the buckboard. Sawing back on the reins, he brought the wagon to a halt. A goat was tied to the back. “Havin’ trouble?” the youth said.

It would take all day to tell him how much trouble they’d had, so Hope came right to the point.

“A cougar spooked our horse, and it ran off. My brother is injured and needs medical care. Can we catch a ride with you to the next town?” When she saw hesitancy in his eyes, she rushed on. “Could you at least haul his saddle in the wagon for us? As soon as my brother’s able, he’ll be back to get it.”

The boy eyed her suspiciously. They must look a fright—clothes torn and dirty, Dan unshaven, her hair wild as a March hare.

“Muddy Flats is five miles down the road. I spent the night with a friend there, and I’m on my way home to do chores. I’m an hour late; Ma would have my hide if I was to take you all the way back into Muddy Flats and leave those heifers bawling to be milked.”

Hope sagged against the wagon. “We really do need your help.” Their feet were in bad shape, but they could take it slower, walk the remaining distance to Muddy Flats; but Dan couldn’t carry the saddle, and she couldn’t bear to see him leave it behind. “If you’ll just take the saddle—”

“Ma wouldn’t hold for that. Says we ain’t to take anything that we don’t earn.”

“I’m not giving you the saddle; I’m only asking you to keep it for us until we return to claim it.”

The boy shook his head. “Cain’t. I don’t know you folks, and that’d be like taking something that wasn’t mine.”

Dan slowly got to his feet and walked toward the wagon. The blisters caused his gait to be slow and uneven. Leaning on the wagon’s side, he took a deep breath. “Would you make a trade? My saddle for whatever you offer.”

“Dan,” Hope murmured.

Dan repeated the proposition. “My saddle for whatever you got.”

The boy eyed the fine-looking saddle, breaking into a youthful grin. “It’s a fine saddle. How ’bout I trade you . . . a goat for it?”

“Yeah—how about that,” Dan grumbled.

“Oh, Dan! You can’t trade your saddle for a goat.” Hope eyed the mangy critter tied to the back of the wagon. It was worse than the pig.

The goat bleated in protest.

Dan turned away. “The goat can walk; the saddle can’t.”

“It’s a deal?” the boy cried.

“It’s a deal, son.”

The boy hopped out of the wagon and made a beeline for his prize. Hope hurried along behind him. “We’ll be back—will you trade back if we bring money instead of the goat?”

“Money?”

“Twenty-five dollars.” It was all the money Hope had to her name, money she’d made sewing and looking after old Mrs. Johnson when she took ill a few years back. The money was in her missing bags, but when she got them back, she’d have the money. And she’d use every bit of it to buy Dan’s saddle back.

“Twenty-five dollars!” The boy clearly couldn’t believe his luck. “I’ll trade back for twenty-five dollars!”

Minutes later, the old wagon rumbled away with Dan’s saddle lying on the front seat beside the boy. Before he left, Hope got his name.

“Take good care of that saddle!” she yelled as the buckboard rattled off.

“Yes, ma’am! You take good care of my goat!”

Her bottom lip curled with disgust. She’d take care of that goat—but she’d be back for Dan’s saddle.

And Clifford Baker had better hand it over.

“How far did he say it was to the next town?”

Walking was easier now that Hope didn’t have to worry about Dan and the saddle, but the sun was full up now. Birds flew overhead on their way to breakfast.

“The boy said five miles.”

Five miles. It might as well be five hundred. Would she ever see Medford? or John Jacobs? Did she even care any longer? She was beginning to think her intended husband was a curse. As horrible as the past few weeks had been, she still wasn’t in any hurry to reach her destination. She was in even less hurry to leave Dan’s company. Once they reached Medford, she would never see him again.

“We’ll come across a farm before much longer. Maybe we’ll find a kind soul who’ll offer us a hot meal.”

So far, strangers had proved ruinous. She wasn’t sure she would accept a meal from a Good Samaritan without serious thought. Still, the idea of a hot meal was delicious to think about. Hotcakes dripping with melted butter, fat sausage patties, cups of cold, spring-cooled milk. She’d taken food for granted in the past, but never again would she be gluttonous without the hurtful knowledge that somewhere, someone was terribly hungry.

Dan pulled the goat behind him, slowing their progress. The animal was stubborn, intent on eating everything she could snatch between steps. They had followed a riverbank for the last hour. The wet hem of Hope’s dress slapped against her ankles, but she was barely aware of the discomfort.

Katie Morris, the woman Dan once loved, popped into her mind. Envy only added to her misery. Had Dan looked at Katie the way he had looked at her in the cave during his conscious moments, with helpless masculine vulnerability? Had he held Katie in his arms, whispered his love, and planned a future with her?

Think of more pleasant things, Hope.
But there wasn’t anything pleasant to think about. She was wet, tired, and hungry, and the goat was getting on her nerves. She couldn’t imagine where Dan found the enthusiasm to push ahead when she knew he must be in fierce pain and probably willing to shoot the goat. During the night they milked the animal and drank the warm liquid for sustenance, but Hope’s stomach demanded solid food.

“Can’t we stop now?”

“Soon—there has to be a family living along the riverbank somewhere.”

They walked on until Dan suddenly stopped. The goat plowed into him. Hope plowed into the goat.

Untangling herself from the animal, she pressed closer to Dan, peering around his shoulder. “What is it?”
Please, God. Let it be food and shelter.

“A cabin.”

“A cabin?” She cried out with relief when she spotted a fair-size dwelling, barn, and outbuilding in a secluded grove. Two mules stood inside a small pen. Her eyes followed Dan’s to a garden patch not yet plowed. There was no movement inside the house, no sign of life.

“What do you think?” she whispered.

“I don’t know—looks like the place is occupied.”

Someone lived here. Food. Warmth. Dry clothing. “Do we take a chance and see if they’re friendly?” She held her breath as he studied the situation. His gaze shifted from the barn back to the cabin where a wisp of smoke curled from the chimney.

“We don’t have a choice. You need clean clothes and hot food. Maybe we can buy both from whoever lives here.”

“How? We have no money.”

“I can give a promissory note that my agency will pay for anything we use.”

She wanted to wring her hands. “What if no one’s there?”

“Then we break down the door and help ourselves. We’ll still pay for it later.”

How could he be so calm when her heart was racing with anticipation?

She scrambled after him as Dan started down the gentle incline, dragging the goat behind him. She was encouraged when there was no visible sign of interest in their approach.

Red-and-white-checked curtains covered the front windows, but there was no sign of life behind them. Dan hauled the reticent goat up the steps, and Hope followed.

The two exchanged a resigned look; then Dan rapped on the door.

A faint sound penetrated the heavy wood.

“Did you hear that?” Hope whispered.

Dan nodded, then knocked again, harder this time. The faint cry came again.

“Hello?” Dan called, nudging the door open a crack. The old portal groaned on squeaky hinges.

Hope looked around Dan’s shoulder, trying to see into the dim interior.

Someone—something, she couldn’t make out who or what—was stretched out in a mammoth bed, beckoning them to enter.

Glancing up at Dan, she swallowed. “It wants us to come in.”