slightly reddened, as if he’d scrubbed it hard in cold water. He was freshly shaven. She hadn’t noticed his well-shaped chin yesterday. His damp hair looked black.
“He’s in his work shed. I’ll take you to him.” She led the way to the weather-stained building where Pa spent many happy hours.
“Pa,” she called. “Mr. Williams has come to pay for the oats and the food I took him last night.”
Pa’s head poked around a cupboard. “Can’t you take care of it?”
“Not this time, Pa.”
He considered her a moment, seemed to understand she had her reasons and emerged. “So what did you take him?”
She told him. “I’ll leave you to it.” She backed away and ducked around the corner of the building to listen. Perhaps she’d see his true character in how he treated Pa. To many, her pa appeared a crippled old man. But he had his wits about him and saw far more than most realized.
Pa named a sum and coins rattled as Wyatt paid the amount.
But Wyatt didn’t move away.
“What do you think of this?” Pa asked and Cora knew he wanted Wyatt to look at his latest invention.
“Interesting. What is it?” Wyatt sounded sincere.
“I’m trying to figure out how to hoe four rows at once.”
Cora smiled. Pa was always experimenting and inventing. Some things turned out well, others not so well, but like Pa said, you had to try and fail before you could succeed.
“I’m not sure I’ve got the angle of the hoes just right. Could you hold it so I can check?”
Wyatt’s boots clumped on the wooden floor as he moved to help Pa. “It’s a mite heavy,” Wyatt said.
“Do you think it’s too heavy for the girls? Bear in mind they’re good strong girls.”
Wyatt grunted a time or two. “Seems as if it would be a big load, especially if they’re supposed to pull it through the soil.”
“You could be right. Maybe if I shape the hoes to a point?”
“Might work.”
A thump, rattle and several grunts came from the shed.
Cora edged around the corner so she could see what they were doing.
They’d turned the hoe over on its back and Wyatt squatted next to Pa. “Maybe like this?” He indicated with his finger.
“That might do it.”
“You maybe should get some metal ones. They’d cut through the soil better.”
Pa gave Wyatt an approving smile. “Yup. Figured to do that once I get the working model figured out.” He rubbed his crippled leg. “Sure can’t move about the way I used to.”
Cora saw Pa’s considering look. She didn’t want him to get it in his head that he’d return to work on the barn. He was getting too old and had already had one fall. No, she’d do it by herself before she’d let that happen. She sprang forward.
“Pa—oh, hi, Wyatt. Did you two sort out the payment?”
“Sure did.”
Pa turned back to his hoe. “I’m going to try that.”
Wyatt patted Pa’s back. “Don’t hesitate to ask if you need help with it. Or anything.”
“Maybe you’d like a tour of the place.” Now, why had she offered that? She didn’t have time for a social visit. Not with beans to pick and potatoes to hill and hay to cut and stack. She could be three people, and the twins could be doubled, and the work would never end. Which, she supposed, about described the lot of most farmers. But having offered, she had little choice but to show the stranger around and learn more about him.
One way or another.
Wyatt would enjoy seeing more of this tidy little farm. He didn’t mind the company, either. The young woman’s chatter was a pleasant change from Lonnie’s dour complaints about having to stay in one place. No amount of explaining about the necessity of stopping for Fanny’s sake satisfied him. Wyatt had been grateful to leave the boy cleaning up the campsite after breakfast.
He and Cora fell in, side by side. The lop-eared dog trotted alongside them. He tripped over himself and skidded into the ground.
Wyatt chuckled. “What kind of dog do you call that?”
“He doesn’t mind what we call him, so long as we don’t call him late for supper.”
Wyatt laughed. She sure did have a way of easing his mind.
As they walked beside the garden, Cora explained that they grew enough to supply their own needs and sell to others. But she stopped when they reached an overgrown patch of wild plants.
“We don’t ever touch that,” Cora said. “It’s Ma’s healing plants. She is the only one who can tell which ones are good and which are weeds. To me, they all look like weeds. She lets them grow wild and untamed. I’ve suggested she should tidy them to rows so we can clean up the patch.” Cora sighed. “By her reaction, you’d think I’d told her I planned to plow it under. So it stays that way.”
Wyatt studied the unruly growth, and compared it to the rest of the neat garden. He understood the need for order, allowing the plants to be better tended, but something about the untamed patch pulled at his thoughts. Wild and free. He shifted back to study of the tidy garden. Order and control. He’d had enough of the latter while in prison, but the former didn’t satisfy him, either. Was it possible to have something in the middle?
Cora cleared her throat to get his attention. He must have been staring at the plants long enough to make her wonder why they interested him so much.
“Maybe it could do with just a little taming,” he said, as if that had been his only thought.
“That’s what I said to Ma.”
They proceeded down a pathway between the two gardens. Grub, seeing the direction they headed, loped ahead of them.
“Ma and Pa have planted berry bushes of all sorts—raspberries, gooseberries, currants, chokecherries—and fruit trees. We get lots of berries, but not much fruit. Seems we always get frost too soon and the winters are too severe. Pa’s been grafting fruit trees to wild trees to see if that will work.”
The idea intrigued Wyatt. Was this a way of combining wild and free with tame? Would it work for a tree? How about a man? “Has it?”
“There is a lot of winterkill, but a couple of trees have given us sour little apples. Pa is determined to produce a decent apple. Says he’ll call it a Montana.”
They passed
