Hannah sat on the hillside and waited anxiously for the return of Caulie, Marsh, and the boys. As the faint sounds of gunfire up the creek drifted across the land, a strange sense of foreboding descended on her.
“When is Pa coming back?” Sally asked as Hannah drew the girl onto one knee.
“Before long, Honeybee,” Hannah said, stroking Sally’s hair. “Wherever have your brothers gotten to?”
“They went to play with the Salazars,” Sally explained.
Just as well, Hannah thought. She wished she could find some distraction herself. She finally lifted Sally to her feet, then stood and walked back to the house. Marsh always wanted dinner early, and he would likely be starving by the time he returned.
“Dear Marsh,” Hannah thought as she stared out the window toward Carpenter Creek. He’d never been the gallant cavalier like Caulfield Blake. Marsh disliked violence, was grieved when a bobcat or a fox needed killing. Now he’d gone off to war.
The boys had gone, too. Of course, Carter was near as old as Caulie’d been the first time Comanches had raided the valley. But in some ways, Caulfield Blake had been born old, at least on the outside. There was a tenderness, a gentleness to him underneath, but it was scarcely ever gotten to by people. Carter was like that, too.
Zach she could read like the skies. His eyes reflected his feelings. Carter was cautious. Zach would leap into a thing with abandon. Maybe that was what worried her.
Marsh will have the good sense to use his head, Hannah told herself. And Caulie will never lead them into danger. No, they’ve got two fathers looking out after them. And the thought might have set her at ease had anyone other than Henry Simpson stood against them.
She had potatoes cut and on the boil and greens bubbling away beside them when she heard horses splash through Carpenter Creek. Instantly she took a shotgun from the gun closet and loaded both barrels. She then stepped outside and awaited the riders.
The moment she saw Carter’s hollow cheeks, Hannah knew there’d been death. A bundle slumped across one of the horses. In the darkness she could barely make out the faces of the riders, and her heart ached.
“Zach?” she cried out. “Caulie?”
“No, not him,” Carter said as he slowly rolled out of his saddle.
Hannah gazed sadly at Roberto Salazar, then stepped closer to the horsemen. Carter blocked the path.
“Ma, he was right beside me,” Carter explained. “The shooting was supposed to be over.”
“Oh, no,” she cried as she spotted Marsh’s checkered shirt.
“Was Matt Simpson, Ma. He hid a pocket Colt. It was all over.”
“Oh, Marsh,” she sobbed, dropping to her knees. “Zach? Caulie?”
“They’re coming,” Carter assured her. “Ma, he didn’t suffer. It happened so quick I don’t think he even knew it.”
“Oh, no,” she cried, weeping openly. “Not Marsh.”