Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Dove Creek, Wyoming
February 1860
“What were you thinking?” Rebecca Young demanded of her youngest son, Benjamin. She tossed the water bucket to the side. Her body shook as fearful images built in her mind. “You could have been killed.” The acrid smell of smoke in the early-morning air almost choked her as she fought for control. Benjamin might be adopted, but she loved him as much as she loved her daughter, Joy. The thought of losing him in a fire tore at her heart, leaving her feeling raw.
Black soot covered his young face and tears traced dirty tracks down his cheeks. He coughed, echoing coughs from others around them. The eight-year-old boy wrung his hands and shook his head from side to side. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, Ma.”
Fear and anger warred for control of her emotions. If Jacob hadn’t seen the flames tearing through the barn and gotten Benjamin out, her youngest son would have died in the fire. She couldn’t—she heaved a deep sigh—no, she wouldn’t let her fear take the sting out of her scolding. “But it did happen, Benjamin. How many times have I told you not to take a lantern into the barn?”
The tears increased and dripped off his quivering chin. Big brandy-colored eyes met her gaze. Fear filled them. Was it fear of her, or the fact that he could have died in the fire? “I’m sorry, Ma.” His voiced choked; he threw his arms around her waist and buried his head against her.
Rebecca ran her hands down his thin arms then embraced him tightly, unmindful of the black soot being smeared against the white of her apron.
Her gaze moved from one to the other of the six young men who stood in the yard. Her other adopted sons. Rebecca barely held back the tears, her heart winging a prayer of thanks that none of them were hurt putting out the flames.
Her oldest son, twenty-year-old Jacob, stared morosely at what used to be their barn.
The second oldest son, nineteen-year-old Andrew, kneeled on one knee at the edge of the clearing. He most likely desired privacy when he prayed, but that was a luxury big families couldn’t afford. How she’d love to join him and thank the Lord for His protection. Each of the boys had learned early on from her deceased husband, John, to pray about everything. She couldn’t help but be proud of Andrew for knowing where their help came from. Clayton, who’d just had his nineteenth birthday, dropped his water bucket, pure frustration lining his young face, and stomped back to the house. Rebecca knew he tried hard to hold in the pent-up fear and hopelessness that the burning barn caused and made a mental note to go to him as soon as she could.
Eighteen-year-old Thomas and eighteen-year-old Philip stood side by side, eyes darting back and forth, watching everything as it unfolded. The boys were best friends and had vowed to always stick together even before she and John adopted them.
Twelve-year-old Noah, the newest member of her family, looked ready to bolt. He stood frozen, motionless, waiting for what she would say or do next. He’d only been with her a couple of months and wasn’t sure about anything yet. He reminded her of a hungry dog—ready to fight if needed, but hoping for love and a little food to fill his belly.
The morning sun shone brightly over all of them now. But when the fire had first been detected, it had still been dark. Her boys had rushed to put out the flames, but they’d been no match for the heat radiating from the inferno. A heap of smoking, blackened timber filled the spot where the barn once stood. Thankfully, her five-year-old daughter, Joy, hadn’t come out to assist.
If John had been here, this never would have happened. Once more the loss of her husband struck home. How often in the past eight months had she wished that he was still alive? Too often.
After twelve years of marriage it was hard to believe he was gone. The boy sobbing into her apron drew her thoughts away from the past and her sorrow. She stroked Benjamin’s light brown hair.
An unfamiliar cough sounded and then a man cleared his throat. “I hate to disturb you, ma’am.”
She had all but forgotten the stranger who had raced into the yard and jumped in to help put out the blaze. Rebecca released Benjamin and turned toward the man. “I’m sorry, Mr....” She waited for him to fill in his name.
“Seth Armstrong.”
Rebecca wiped her hands on her apron. “Thank you, Mr. Armstrong, for stopping by to help put out the fire.” Thanks to his help, the fire had been subdued faster than it normally would have taken, but not before they’d lost the barn and everything in it.
“I was happy to help, Mrs. Young,” Seth answered, pulling her from her musings.
How did he know her name?
Before she could ask, Jacob barked out orders to the other boys. “Andrew, you and Philip go gather up the horses that arrived yesterday, put them in the training corral and feed them. Thomas, milk the cow and go get Clayton, tell him I said to find Brownie and Snowball and hitch up the wagon. We’re going to town for lumber.” He watched as the boys scrambled to do as he said.
“What do you want me to do?” Noah asked quietly.
Jacob walked over to the twelve-year-old and bent down to eye level. In a softer voice he asked, “Would you take Beni into the house and give him a good washing?”
Noah nodded. He walked over to Benjamin. “Come on, Beni. Jacob says we have to get you cleaned up.” The two boys left the yard and Noah had planted his hand firmly on Benjamin’s shoulder.
Jacob stood once more and came to stand beside Rebecca. She was very proud of her oldest son. John’s death had hit him the hardest and he’d taken to heart her husband’s last words—to take care of the family.
Her gaze returned to Seth Armstrong. He was a big man with deep green eyes and black hair. His shoulders were wide. And his hair touched his collar. Rebecca wondered if she was in some sort of shock. What did it matter what the stranger looked like? More important, how did he know her? Did her deceased husband owe him money? She prayed not. Even though John had left her secure, she didn’t have room in her budget to pay out extra money.
As if sensing her confusion, Jacob asked, “What can we do for you, Mr. Armstrong?”
His green eyes met Jacob’s. “Well, I suppose you could show me to my room.” He turned his attention back on Rebecca. “I’m the Pony Express station keeper that Mr. Bromley told you would be arriving.” He walked back to his horse and pulled down a carpetbag from the back of his saddle.
If John hadn’t already signed the contract to use their farm as a home station, Rebecca would have been tempted to call the whole thing off. But the boys needed the extra income and she didn’t want them to be forced to leave the farm to find other jobs. If it was in her power she’d keep them together as a family for
