without the thirst for Clay Johnson’s blood? Beau would never know. Most of the time, he didn’t want to know. He let go of Miss Baxter’s hand. He’d had all the innocence he could stand for one day.
He’d seen a rented buggy out front. “Where’s your trunk?”
“At the train station.”
Beau thought of his appointment with Patrick’s attorney. “I have to go to town this afternoon. I’ll take you and the girls and we’ll pick it up.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Beau looked down at his nieces. “Get going. We leave in ten minutes.”
They scurried up the stairs like frightened mice, leaving Beau to wonder what he’d done to scare them. He wished he could be less stern, but he had a melancholy nature. Miss Baxter had turned her head to watch the girls. Even with tears on her cheeks, she seemed like the cheerful sort. Beau hoped so. The girls needed a woman’s tenderness.
Leaving Miss Baxter at the stairs, he strode into Patrick’s bedroom where he changed into a clean shirt, then balled up his laundry and slung his saddlebag over his shoulder. As he came out of the dark room, he saw Miss Baxter sitting on the bottom step with her head bowed.
Beau feared God but didn’t much like Him. Taking Patrick’s life struck him as wrong. Leaving this young woman to cope alone counted as cruel. He stopped a few feet away. “Miss Baxter?”
She looked up with damp eyes. “Yes?”
“I’m truly sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
Beau shifted his weight. Handing her his dirty clothes didn’t seem right, so he headed for the door.
When she called his name, he turned but said nothing.
“Is that your laundry?” she asked.
“Yes, it is.”
“I expect to keep my end of the bargain. Leave your clothes and I’ll wash them tomorrow.”
Beau stepped back to the staircase where she’d pushed to her feet. Judging by the twitch of her nostrils, the smell of the barn reached her before he did. He had three horses in his care, his roan and Patrick’s two workhorses.
“You’ve been mucking out stalls,” she said.
“Someone had to do it.”
“And the milking?”
“Of course.”
What did she think? That he dozed in a hammock all day? Patrick had ten Jersey cows. They might have been “ladies” for Patrick, lining up at the gate at milking time, but they hadn’t taken to Beau. Each one had bawled and squalled while he looped a rope around her neck and led her to the barn for milking. He’d felt ridiculous on a little three-legged stool, and his clumsy hands annoyed the cows until Emma had given him pointers. She’d also informed him the cows had names and liked it when her pa sang hymns. Beau had grunted, then listened to the child crooning words to a song he’d made a point of forgetting.
Blessed assurance, Jesus divine!
Oh what a foretaste of glory is mine…
Beau hadn’t set foot in a church in five years and he didn’t intend to start now. He handed his clothes to Miss Baxter. They needed a good scrubbing. So did he, but a visit to the bathhouse was out of the question with four females in his care and Clay Johnson nearby. With the saddlebag dragging on his shoulder, Beau headed for the barn. Maybe Trevor Scott had found a school. Beau hoped so. He didn’t know how much purity and light he could tolerate.
Dani carried Beau Morgan’s laundry through the kitchen and out to the back porch. Where did Patrick keep the washtub? In the barn? In the shed by the door? She’d have to ask Emma.
Why, Lord? I don’t understand.
Hardly breathing, she dropped the garments in a heap and went back into the kitchen. For a thousand miles she’d dreamed of seeing this house for the first time. She’d imagined cooking at the stove, a new model with a fancy baking chamber. Patrick had described it in his letters. He’d written to her about everything…the view from the window above the sink, the number of shelves in the pantry. He’d been excited to share his life. Almost believing she’d see him, Dani looked out the window and saw the cottonwood he’d described in his letters. Just as he’d said, the branches curved up to the sky like open arms. Beyond it she saw a hill crowned by a white picket fence encasing two white crosses. It marked Patrick’s final resting place and Beth’s, too.
Dani choked back tears. Tonight she’d weep and find comfort in the Psalms, but right now she had children in her care. Wiping her eyes, she prayed for peace. When her thoughts spiraled into a black abyss, she reached for verses she’d memorized as a child in Sunday School.
Blessed is the man whose strength is in Thee; in whose heart are the ways of them. The ways of God…
Who passing through the Valley of Baca… the valley of tears.
Make it a well. A source of blessing.
The rain also filleth the pools. God in heaven adds his grace.
They… those who walk with God.
Go from strength to strength. Amen.
Dani tried to breathe evenly, but the air in the kitchen felt as heavy as sand. Her chest ached with the effort of sucking it in. God had promised strength, yet she’d never felt weaker in her life.
“Dani?”
She opened her eyes and saw Emma in the doorway with her sisters. The girls had braided their hair and put on fresh pinafores, but grief had dulled their eyes to pewter. Dani thought of the gifts in her trunk. She’d brought gingham for new Sunday-best dresses, books for Emma and Ellie, and a doll for Esther. Seeing their tearstained cheeks, she decided to save the gifts for a happier time.
“Are you ready to go?” she asked.
Emma looked over her shoulder, then urged her sisters deeper into the kitchen. A wall hid them from the front window and she leaned closer to Dani. “We don’t like him,” she whispered.
Dani’s skin prickled. If Beau Morgan had been unkind to these girls, she’d chase him away with a frying pan. “Has he mistreated you?”
“No, but he stays up all night.”
On occasion, so did Dani. “What else?”
Ellie’s eyes widened. “He said a bad word.”
Dani wouldn’t condemn a man for cussing. Her father had let loose on occasion and colorfully at that. “It’s wrong, but men do it sometimes.”
Emma’s voice shook. “I don’t care about cussing. It’s the guns that scare me.”
“Guns?”
“He has four of them. Two rifles and two
