“A certain Persian of dis—”
Mara almost smiled as Katherine wrinkled her brow to study the word. “Sound it out.” She stopped stirring the buffalo stew to listen to her daughter.
“Dis-tinc-tion. A certain Persian of distinction had for years—” Katherine looked up from her McGuffey Reader as boots sounded on the steps outside. The door swung open to reveal Zechariah.
“Hi, button nose.” He stepped inside and stopped to tweak Katherine’s nose before turning to face Mara. “Smells good.”
“Thanks. Ezra back yet?”
“He was unsaddling the gelding when I left the barn. Said to save him some food.”
Mara dished bowls of stew for Katherine to place on the table while Zeche washed up. When she finally had them all seated at the table, Ezra thumped in.
“Sorry to be late, but you might think it worthwhile when you hear my news.” He shot them a cocky grin as he strode to the wash basin.
“What news?” This from Zeche.
Ezra slid into his chair. “I’ll tell you after the blessing.”
A tickle of unease slid through Mara’s midsection. She and Katherine had left him just an hour ago. What could have happened between then and now? Did he see an Indian war party? There were rumors of Cheyenne attacks on several forts in the Territories. Maybe the bands had moved in this direction.
She fought the urge to reach out and pull Katherine close while Zeche spoke the prayer. Instead, she added her own heartfelt appeal. Lord, no matter what happens, please keep us in Your will. And give us wisdom. She’d come so far in her faith over the last four years, since losing Josiah and gaining Katherine in her life. It was still a daily battle to be patient and trust in God’s leading, but He had become her strength.
A nudge to her shoulder brought Mara’s head up. She glanced over to find a corner of Zeche’s mouth twitching, but he kept his eyes focused on Ezra. “So what’s the news?”
How had she missed the end of the prayer? Tension settled into Mara’s shoulders as she, too, focused on her younger brother.
“Well.” Ezra drawled the word. He was eating up every minute of the spotlight. That couldn’t mean the news was bad, right? She tried to loosen her drawn muscles, but her stomach still roiled.
“It seems we have a new neighbor across the Sweetwater,” he continued. “He’s building a house and barn in that big grassy area near the fork of Silver Creek.”
Zeche laid his spoon on the table. “So close? Did you meet him?”
Ezra nodded. “I did. A workman from South Pass City is helping him build.”
Zeche’s brows lowered to form shadows over his eyes. “What sort of man is he? Could you tell?”
Ezra shot Mara a raised-eyebrow look. “Oh, I think he’s a good sort. Just the kind of neighbor we need.” A grin played at his mouth.
Oh, no. Was this another of her brothers’ attempts to marry her off? They’d been scoping out every man within fifteen years of her age for a while now. She was twenty-four years old now—one would think they'd have given up and realized she didn’t want a husband. There was no way she could love another man the way she’d loved Josiah. And there was no way she could endure the torment that came from losing that kind of love. She wouldn’t go through it again.
Besides, it wasn’t like she’d never have a family. She had Katherine. And this sweet little girl had brought a fullness to her life she hadn’t known was missing.
“I’ll have to go over and introduce myself.” Zeche resuming his eating. “Mara, maybe you can pack a crate of food to welcome him.”
“I told him you and I would be over first thing tomorrow to help with the house.” Ezra glanced at Zeche as he spooned a mouthful of stew.
Zeche nodded. “Did the man tell you his name?”
“Yep.” Ezra swallowed a bite before continuing. “Josiah English.”
Mara clutched the table. Josiah? The room went fuzzy. It couldn’t be. She must have misheard. Josiah was their new neighbor? A buzzing radiated in her ears. She blinked. Hard.
A hand touched her arm. “Mama?” Something tugged at her sleeve.
Mara focused on breathing. In. Out. She blinked again, and the room came back into focus.
Another tug, and she looked down. Katherine’s big blue eyes pooled in a worried expression. “Are you all right, mama?”
The hint of fear in that sweet, soft voice started an ache in Mara’s chest. “Yes, honey. Mama’s fine.” She drew Katherine into her arms and relished the hug.
Zeche’s eyes met hers. His gaze was penetrating, but she faced it squarely. No need to worry about her. She would not be hurt by Josiah again.
“Can you toss up another bundle of shakes when you get a chance?” Josiah swiped an arm across his forehead, then eyed his progress on this side of the gable roof. Almost a quarter of the way done. Looked like he was making good headway for a half day’s work—until he compared it to Zechariah’s progress on the other side of the ridge.
The man was well beyond the half-way mark. He rarely looked up, just fit each wood shingle into place, set the first nail, and in two blows had the nail head sunk deeply into the wood. Then he was onto the next one.
Zeche was good. But there was something about the stiffness in his shoulders that spoke of more than just efficiency. Or maybe it was the wary look he occasionally sent Josiah’s way. And after each look, he only took one blow to sink the next nail deep.
“Bundle comin’ up.”
Josiah turned just in time to catch the bale of wood Abner tossed. Slipping the knife from the sheath at his waist, Josiah loosened the ties, picked up a shake, and settled back into position on the roof where he’d left off. Better get to work if he was going to finish before Zechariah.
He’d completed two more rows when Ezra’s face appeared at the top of the ladder. “You still know how to cook, English? Didn’t figure we’d go this hungry workin’ on your house.” A hint of a grin took the edge off his words, but the message still came through.
Josiah glanced up at the sky. The sun was just past the halfway mark, a good distance from when they’d begun working as it crested the eastern hills that morning. Laying down his hammer and nails, he shot Ezra an apologetic look. “Didn’t mean to starve you. I’ll have lunch slapped together in two minutes.”
The food he’d been cooking was a far cry from what he used to make at the Rocky Ridge stop. And couldn’t even be called a meal compared to what he’d served at the hotel in Savannah. But that was another lifetime ago. And since he didn’t have a stove yet, and very few food supplies, he and Abner had been living off dried beef, and anything that could be cooked in a pot over an open campfire.
Should he take time to build a fire now to heat up the stew from last night? He’d planned to serve it with the leftover cornbread. But that would take a good half hour to get the fire started and wait for the food to heat. A half hour he could be working.
At the bottom of the ladder, he turned to Ezra with raised brows. “How does cold beef stew and cornbread sound?”
Ezra nodded. “Better than goin’ hungry.”
Ten minutes later, the four men sat on logs around the cold ashes from last night’s campfire. Josiah only owned two tin plates, so he and Ezra drank the stew from mugs. Not his best attempt at hospitality. It looked like a trip to the trading post in South Pass City would be in his near future.
The sun didn’t burn as hot as it had the last couple days, and a soft breeze played through Josiah’s hair as he ate. They settled into a comfortable silence, content to inhale the food that had been too long in coming.
Surprisingly, it was Zechariah that broke the silence. “Nice stallion you have there.” They were the first words he’d spoken that day that weren’t necessary to getting the job done.
Josiah gazed out at the shiny chestnut. “Thanks. I looked hard to find him. I call him Lo Bello—Spanish for beautiful. You’re welcome to cross some mares with him if you like.”
“Where’d you get him?”
“Just this side of Sacramento. A Spanish rancher there raises Arabians, along with his cattle. Gave me papers on this boy that trace his descendants back to the Godolphin Arabian.” He waited for their admiring responses.
Nothing but blank looks. “The Godolphin was one of the three founding sires of the Thoroughbred breed.”
Zechariah's eyes changed to understanding, and his head tipped in a slight nod. He placed his empty plate on the ground and picked a blade of grass, which he twirled between his thumb and fingers. “Hear Sacramento’s turnin’ out to be a nice place. Downright civilized now. I’m surprised you didn’t set up a ranch right there.”
Josiah eyed the man. Where was he going with that comment? Fishing for Josiah’s intentions? If he wanted to know, he should just come out and ask. He picked up his own stem of grass and rested his arms on his bent knees.
“I’ve done a fair amount of moving around these last few years. Mostly California and the Utah Territory, but lots of places along the Oregon Trail, too. I haven’t found any area I like as much as this stretch along the Sweetwater. It’s pretty here. Good grazing for the animals. Plenty of hunting still to put food on the table.” He shot them an easygoing look. “And I like the neighbors.”
Ezra had been quiet thus far, but spoke up now with none of the distrust in his brother’s voice. “You’ll make a good one, Josiah. And we’ll be back to help out more the rest of the week.” He shot a glance at his brother. “May just be one of us each day so we don’t leave Mara and Katherine home alone for too long. What with all the Indian trouble lately.”
Josiah didn’t know what to question first. Mara? He wanted to ask everything there was to know about her. Katherine? How old was this daughter of Mara’s? She had to be a baby still. He’d only been gone four years, and Mara hadn’t had any other prospects when he left—that he knew of anyway. And where was Mara’s husband? No one had mentioned him yet. Had he died? Was Mara a widow already? He was torn between horror and hope. And he should be ashamed for hoping.
And Indians? What kind of trouble? Was that how Mara’s husband had died? Were Mara and the baby safe right now with no one there to protect them?
He glanced at Zechariah. “Do you need to go home now and check on them?” A large part of him craved the chance to do that himself, but that probably wasn’t his best introduction.
The man shook his head. “She insisted we both come help.” A muscle in his jaw worked.
Josiah summoned a breath and his fortitude. “Mara is…doing well then?” Hopefully they missed the crack in his voice.
“Stayin’ busy.” A grin quirked Ezra’s mouth. “Between tending us menfolk and Katherine, she doesn’t ride as much as she used to. Still handles a few horses, though.”
That didn’t really answer any of the questions racing through his mind. His fingers itched to shake the news out of Ezra. “How old is her daughter?” His voice was stronger this time.
Ezra’s eyes twinkled. “Turned seven last September. And Mara’s already teaching her how to train horses.”
Seven? Josiah forced his mind to focus through the fog. How could that be? He’d only been gone four years. “What?” The word escaped before he could stop it.
Confusion wrinkled Ezra’s forehead, and then his eyes widened and his brows shot up. “You don’t know, do you? Sorry, Josiah. It never occurred to me you wouldn’t have heard.” He chuckled, leaning back against a large round stump behind him. “Katherine is Mara’s adopted daughter.”
Josiah’s mind spun as Ezra unrolled the story of how the mother had died at their home—in Mara’s bed, no less—and asked Mara to become the child’s mother. Relief flooded his chest. She hadn’t married. She hadn’t moved on.
And then shame pushed the relief out. How could he be relieved Mara hadn’t found happiness? What a selfish man he was. I’m so sorry, Lord.
Mara was special. No doubt about it. She deserved the very best of men. Anyone who would take in another woman’s child and raise her as her own. Even adopt her so the child had a family in every sense of the word. His chest burned. He loved this woman more than he could possibly put into words. Would she ever give him the chance to prove that?
The men settled into quiet again, gazing across the pasture at the slow-moving Sweetwater River.
Finally, Abner clapped his hands on his knees and groaned as he rose. “Got to be getting’ back to work. Just another hour or so an’ we’ll be done with the siding."
Ezra stood and stretched. “Guess that’s my cue, too.” The two seemed to have formed a pretty good team as they installed the long wood planks on the sides of the cabin.
Josiah prepared his tired muscles to stand, but Zechariah didn’t move, just sat staring across the empty fire pit at Josiah. He sank back onto his stump. Did the man want to talk? His gaze was a gray storm cloud, penetrating through Josiah’s protective layers.
Josiah met his eyes, opening himself to the scrutiny.
“What exactly are your intentions toward my sister?”
And there it was. The question he’d been waiting for. He shouldn’t have worried whether Zechariah would shoot straight with him. The man was just fair enough not to ask the tough questions in front of an audience.
He kept his shoulders square, but relaxed his face into a friendly expression. “I plan to talk with your sister. Then I would very much like to court her. Prove to her I’m a different man now. A better man, with God’s help. From there…” He raised his shoulders a half inch. “It’s up to God. But I would love to spend the rest of my life with her.”
He held Zechariah’s gaze without a flinch. Let this man see how true his motives were. He was in it for life this time. Whatever it took.
Zechariah’s face never shifted. Never softened. “Maybe you wanna come for supper tonight. Abner’s welcome, too.”
Josiah worked hard not to blink. Was that an invitation? The words were a stark contrast to the hard set of Zechariah’s jaw. He forced his own mouth to curve into a friendly smile, and extended his hand. No matter the man’s motives or intentions, he would take that invitation at face value.
He held out his hand for several moments before Zechariah reached to grip it. The shake was firm, but not fierce. His gaze never wavered from Josiah’s, leaving the distinct impression that the assessment wasn’t over.
“Don’t mess up this time, English.” Zechariah released his hand and turned toward the house, and the roof that awaited them.
Josiah stood for a long moment, adrenaline pumping through him. It may not have been a blessing exactly, but at least it didn’t seem like Zeche would provide direct opposition. Maybe he’d even help with opportunity until Mara decided for herself?
God, please help me not mess this up. Because if God was for him, who could be against him, right?