The afternoon sun bounced off every drop of moisture bedecking the grass, the leaves, and the spiderwebs. Even the mud slicks sparkled proudly as if they’d accomplished something remarkable in their soggy brown depths. Josiah turned one last time at the edge before the mountain began its sharp descent. The wiry Silas stopped, too, his worried expression visible even from that distance.
Josiah raised his hand to his mouth. She couldn’t be certain, but it appeared that he’d blown her a kiss before they disappeared over the ridge.
Keep him safe, Lord, she prayed as she raised her hand for a last farewell gesture. Funny how she didn’t even have to consider what a wife would do in this situation. She followed her heart and found that she knew how to behave after all.
But sometimes her heart led her astray. Sometimes her compulsions weren’t for her own good, and she needed to tackle that problem head-on.
Katie Ellen was not a procrastinator. When something needed to be done, she did it. But this was different. She needed to get her heart straight, but she didn’t rightly know how to go about it. She’d been wrong before, although rarely, and had dealt with dread and guilt. So why did she feel the same now? Loving Josiah made her feel guilty, like she’d failed in some way, and she never wanted to admit her failings when she could help it. What she really wanted was to correct the mistake and move on, but fixing her heart would take an invention that couldn’t be hammered out by the blacksmith.
She found herself inside the house. Normally she would immediately put her hand to cleaning the watery, milky, smoky mess, but no matter how the scatterment irked her, she let it be. There were things more important than tidiness. She’d always thought that if she could control life on her hill, then nothing bad could happen, but now she realized that the world wouldn’t fall apart if mud was tracked inside the cabin. Life wouldn’t end just because a bonfire had been lit in the parlor. She walked into her bedroom and smoothed the coverlet. Nothing had hurt her like losing her best friend, and it was her fault that he hadn’t come back until now.
Taking a geode in each hand, she set them gently next to each other. This was her flaw. She’d decided to end the relationship with Josiah when it was clear she couldn’t control the outcome. Rather than give him any say, she ran, afraid of what his answer would be.
And it wasn’t just the big decisions that she’d chosen poorly on. How many dozens of smaller incidents had she mishandled? So he wanted the rocks together. Did it hurt her to comply? So he left a mess in the kitchen. Wasn’t his company worth a few nicks in the pottery?
Leaving the geodes, she walked into the parlor. Here sat an outcome a mite more severe than a nick in the pottery, but it wasn’t Josiah’s fault. He’d help her clear it when he came back. She didn’t have the will to do it alone any longer.
She took down her coat. No more rain fell, but every breeze brought a shower down off the leaves. Throughout this deluge she’d managed to stay dry. No sense in getting mussed up now. Keeping an eye toward the bluff, she hurried through her chores. Eggs collected, cow milked, stock fed.
Should she go back to the house? Truth be told, Silas wasn’t as much scary as outright annoying. Hiding under the bed was the most simplistic suggestion she’d ever heard, and while Josiah could make a compelling argument of anything using those persuasive techniques, she had regained her sanity.
Pa’s hammer rested atop the milk can. Katie Ellen shook her head. No question who had forgotten to return it to its proper place, but she didn’t mind. Warmth spread inside her coat as she recollected the way Josiah had stood behind her holding the boards. She dearly regretted the broken window, but looking back, it’d been fun repairing it. Running her fingers over the hammer, she decided to leave it out just to prove she could.
A shout rang out through the still air—a man’s voice. Katie Ellen jumped, and before the echo had time to ricochet off the side of Dewey’s Bald, she was running to the door. It had definitely come from the bluff. Was it Silas? She skidded in her tracks. Josiah had warned her. He’d told her what to do, and she’d promised. She wouldn’t go crashing through the trees looking for him; she had to hide in case Silas was coming for her.
Grabbing the hammer, she bounded into the feed sling, catching the opposing rope on the way. While she’d never used the double pulley to raise her own weight—who had time for such shenanigans?—she knew it’d work. Dropping the hammer next to her feet, she yanked that old rope down hand over hand, wobbling a bit when the sling left the ground. Her arms ached, reminding her of wrestling with Buttercup and the calf the day before. Had it only been a day? One day with Josiah. Was that all she’d get?
Halfway to the rafters. Buttercup looked up with doubtful eyes and lowed.
“Don’t look at me,” Katie Ellen said. “You’ll lead him right to me.” But no, Silas wouldn’t be coming back alone. Josiah was fine. He had to be.
As the sling reached the pinnacle, Katie Ellen ducked, trying to get as close to the top as she could. Holding the tension on the rope so she didn’t plummet to the barn floor, she threw the end of it over the beam, caught it, and looped it inside itself. The rope creaked as the weight pulled the knot tighter, but it held.
She ripped through the buttons on her coat and tossed it into the bottom of the sling. Nimble, that’s what she needed to be. And armed. She picked up the hammer and tucked it into her waistband, then slowly rose, arms out to her side to keep her balance. The sling rocked. She froze. Afraid to even lift her eyes up, she waited for it to settle before stretching upward and clutching the beam. The square edges dug into her already sore arms. She kicked a foot up into the knotted rope and used that step to throw her leg over the rafter. Wedging her toes into it, she pushed off once again, and this time managed to haul her weight on top of the beam.
Katie Ellen lay flat, head resting on her arms, and she waited for her breathing to slow. She didn’t want to be up there. She wanted to be with Josiah, wherever he was. Gradually her fear turned to resolve. She didn’t know how, but if Silas returned without him, she’d make him pay.
Cool logic calmed her. Looking down, she assessed the situation. No trace was left of her below, but the sling being suspended was a dead giveaway. Scooting backward on the beam, she reached the knot and untied the rope, letting the sling fall to the ground. The beam wasn’t wide enough to hide her skirt, but no one would look for her up there. Her throat squeezed shut. If only she could get to Josiah and see what had happened . . .
Voices came from outside, or was it only one voice? Cautiously, Katie Ellen squirmed the hammer out of her waistband. She held it against her side as she listened.
Singing.
“‘He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword . . .’”
It was Silas. Her eyes burned, but not with tears. With fury. She’d defended the man, gave him the benefit of the doubt. What had he done with Josiah? Her Josiah who was as familiar to her as the sun rising over the mountain every morning. Josiah, whom she expected to stumble across every time she took out from home, and was sorely disappointed when she didn’t.
As soon as she could get away, she’d join a posse and hunt Silas down.
The barn door creaked open. Silas ambled inside like he didn’t have a care in the world. His loosely jointed legs and arms swung like a chain of sausage links. He headed right to Buttercup. Leaning over the stall, he scratched her on the head. Buttercup, the traitor, leaned closer.
“Where’s that little mistress of yours?” he asked.
The silence of the barn rang in Katie Ellen’s ears. Surely he could hear it, too. Instead, with a last pat on the cow’s head, he turned and headed to the door. As he passed directly beneath her, he paused. Something about the sling had caught his attention. Katie Ellen’s skin crawled. She’d left her coat. Silas scanned the barn, deliberately lingering in places where a person could hide. He turned a full circle, searching. No song on his lips now. Having made a complete scan, he stopped. . . . Then slowly, ever so slowly, he tilted his head back and followed the rope to her hiding place.
By the time he laid eyes on her, the hammer was already becoming acquainted with his forehead.