Chapter Twenty-Three
Granite, Texas Late Spring 1887
Hot, aggravated and about at the end of his rope, William Barns stood on his grandmother’s porch juggling his year-and-a-half-old nieces, Rose and Ruby. The little girls squalled louder.
“Eat!” Rose twisted sideways, her little voice pleading.
They were hungry, so was he, and as soon as his grandmother opened the door from the other side, she’d help feed them. Of that he had no doubt. He shifted the twins higher on his chest. Today they’d had milk and bread in their diets and little else.
The heat was getting to them and making the girls cranky; him, too, if he was honest about it. Colorado springtime and Texas springtime were very different in the way of weather, and the effects on him and the girls were going from poor to bad fast.
Why was his grandmother taking so long? If he remembered correctly, the house was not that big. He’d been a kid the last time he’d stood on this porch, and even then it had seemed small. William clinched his jaw in an effort not to get impatient with the girls and his grandmother. Surely she’d heard him knocking.
The trip from Denver, Colorado, had been exhausting. Rose and Ruby demanded his undivided attention. He’d had no idea how much was required of his late sister, until she’d been killed and he’d taken over the twins’ care. What a load she had carried and carried well.
His heart ached at the loss of his sister, Mary. If only he’d gone to the bank that day, instead of her. The throbbing in his ankle reminded him why he’d stayed with the napping twins while his sister had gone to town and faced down two bank robbers. If only he hadn’t slipped on the frozen snow and broken his ankle after the last ice storm they’d had, he would have been the one at the bank.
Rose, apparently tired of the juggling, chose that moment to throw up sour milk all over his shirtsleeve. Ruby, spying her sister’s distress, let out a wail that pierced his eardrums.
As the curdled milk scent reached his nostrils, he briefly wondered how his delicate, prim sister had managed to take care of his darling nieces with the ease that she had. They burped putrid liquids, and the diapers, well, he’d almost taken to wearing a clothespin on his nose while changing them.
Exhausted, Rose laid her head upon his shoulder and shuddered her unhappiness. Mirroring her sister’s actions, Ruby did the same. Regardless of their disgusting smells and loud crying, William loved his nieces with all his heart.
“I’m sorry, baby girls. I know you’re hot and tired, and sick of me pouring liquid into you.” He kept his voice soothing and calm. “Just hang on a few more seconds. Grandma’s on the way, and she’ll have something good for us to eat.”
His chest ached with the sorrow weighing down upon him. He felt as if the responsibilities of the girls might be more than he could take. Why did everything have to change?
Memories flooded his tired mind. On the fateful morning he’d lost his sister, his brother-in-law and town sheriff, Josiah, had been out of town but was to return later in the day. William later learned that Josiah had been lured away by fake information that the robbers were in the town next to theirs. He’d hurried off to help the sheriff there, and while he’d been gone the criminals had robbed their bank.
Three rough-looking men had arrived in town shortly after the bank opened. They’d entered the bank, threatening those inside if the teller didn’t turn over the money. When they’d escaped in a blaze of gunfire, they left Mary lifeless and the bank teller wounded.
Witnesses had whispered that it had all happened so suddenly. The bank robbers had taken Mary’s money and left her for dead. She had stumbled out of the bank, clutching the morning’s mail to her wounded chest. It was when she fell in a heap of petticoats that everyone realized she’d been hit by the gunfire. His sister had died on the dirty street, leaving behind an angry, grieving husband and two beautiful, motherless little girls. And him.
A piercing cry sounded within his left ear, pulling William from the painful memory. “Ruby, please don’t scream.” He looked to the dark window on his left. Where was his grandmother? Why hadn’t she answered? He turned and pounded on the door with his elbow.
Aggravation at the delay crept up his spine and into his already pounding head. The longer he stood there, the worse he felt. William refused to give in to the irritation at having to wait for his grandmother; one angry man in the family was enough.
The memories he’d been shoving away flooded in once more. Josiah had allowed his rage and grief over the murder of his wife to run so deep he’d practically forgotten his daughters. William had been left with no choice but to take over the care of the girls. Once his sister had been put to rest, Josiah had gone after the murderers with the promise to come back for the girls, but William wasn’t holding his breath.
Even though Josiah was a good lawman, William worried about his brother-in-law’s state of mind. Josiah blamed himself for his wife’s death. He’d even made the statement he wasn’t sure he was a fit father and that if he couldn’t protect Mary, what made him think he could protect his girls? William had tried to talk to him, offer comfort, but in the end, Josiah had left a bitter and angry man.
After three months of waiting, William couldn’t stand living in the same town that his sister had died in. He’d left word with Josiah’s neighbor that he was moving to Granite, Texas, and that Rose and Ruby would be waiting there for Josiah when he’d finished his business with the bank robbers. He worried Josiah might never come for his daughters—the man had been so resentful—and Josiah had probably taken risks that could end his life, leaving the girls orphans.
Rose trembled, and one look at her white face reminded William that he needed to focus on her and her sister instead of rehashing what had happened or worrying about what might have happened to their father. Until he heard from Josiah, he was responsible for the little girls, and right now they needed real food and a place to rest. He reached for the door handle and found it locked. William sighed. She wasn’t home.
“Excuse me.”
He turned to the soft voice that had managed to be heard over the little girls’ cries. A young woman stood behind him in the yard. Her red hair blazed under the sun, and light freckles crossed her nose as if she’d too often forgotten to wear her bonnet. Green eyes filled with sadness looked up at him. The freckles across her nose and cheeks gave her the appearance of being very young, but the depth of emotion in her eyes made him think she might be older than she looked. Realizing he was staring, William responded. “Yes?”
“My name is Emily Jane Rodgers. I’m Mrs. Barns’s neighbor.” She pointed to the house across the street, then turned to face him once more. “Mrs. Barns no longer lives here.” Her sweet voice seemed to drip with
