Danger.
Frissons of energy, like icy fingers, shot up Luke’s spine. Every nerve in his body was on alert. Life on the fringes gave a man a sixth sense about danger, and right now that sense was screaming life and death.
Luke scanned the area. Though in the deepening shadows of twilight it appeared he was alone, the feeling of imminent danger intensified. He nudged his horse through the swaying grasses toward the copse of trees fifty yards ahead, slowing as he reached the perimeter. Without a sound he dismounted, pulled his rifle from his saddle, and crept through the tangle of mesquite to the other side. At the sound of voices, he froze.
“Is he dead?”
“How would I know? Check his pockets. See how much he’s carrying.”
Not ten feet from where Luke stood, two men, their backs to him, crouched over a third man lying motionless on the ground. Luke stepped out from the trees and cocked his rifle. “Move away from him.”
They whirled around to face Luke. The first man, scarecrow-thin and clad in tattered butternuts, pulled a pistol and fired. Luke was faster. He fired, felling the gunman. His stunned companion didn’t appear to suffer from an overabundance of loyalty, and without a backward glance he sprinted to his horse, scrambled into the saddle, and galloped off.
Luke stepped over the body of his would-be assailant to kneel at the side of the unconscious victim. He was a large man, probably in his late forties. His cotton shirt was torn and dirty, but dry. No sign of a gunshot wound. Luke’s gently probing fingers located an egg-sized lump on the back of his head. Not fatal, but sure to bring on a headache like a mule kick.
The man stirred, blinking twice in an effort to focus. “What—?” He stiffened at the sight of Luke.
“I won’t hurt you.”
“Two men,” he gasped. “Ambush.”
Luke laid a calming hand on the agitated man’s chest. “They won’t bother you now.”
Unconvinced, he pushed Luke’s hand away and struggled to a sitting position, his glance falling on the body beside him. His eyes darted back to Luke. “Where’s the other one?”
“Rode off.”
The man relaxed then and lowered himself to the ground. He closed his eyes to digest the information. After a long silence, he reopened them, leveling his gaze on Luke. “You saved my life.”
Luke shrugged.
“Not many folks around here would stick their necks out like that.” He shook his head, wincing as the bump on his head met the hard ground. “These are sad times for Texas. Since the war, we’ve been overrun with thieves. Bad enough the carpetbaggers are stealing us blind, but when our own turn on us…” His voice drifted off.
The man pushed himself back up and squinted at Luke, studying him in the falling shadows. “I don’t know you.” The statement wasn’t unfriendly, merely curious. “New to the area or just passing through?”
Luke didn’t have a good answer so he shrugged again.
His reticence didn’t slow the other man down. “We could use a man like you around here. Somebody good with a gun to stand for law and order. My neighbors and I got us a ranchers’ association. We’d pay top dollar for your services. We’d make it worth your while to settle here.”
Luke wondered if that offer would stand in the light of day. “Not looking to stay.”
The man considered him a moment before speaking. “I understand. If you ever change your mind, you look me up at the Double-L Ranch.” He extended a beefy hand. “I’m Jed Crandall.”
“Jed.” Luke nodded his acknowledgment. “I’m Luke.”
Despair was not an option.
How many times had she told herself those very words? Despair was not an option when war broke out and claimed the lives of her older brothers. Despair was not an option when she lost her parents to grief and her family home to fire. Deborah had stood fast in the face of each crisis, knowing her younger brother depended on her to be strong.
Deborah raised her grime-streaked face to the horizon—to her future—and swallowed hard. Despair might not be an option, but it was surely a temptation.
“Is that it?” an excited voice squeaked from the wagon. “Is that our new home?”
Somehow, home seemed too fine a word for the primitive log structure. Shanty. Shack. Hovel. Deborah thought those would be more accurate descriptions of the desolate site.
Her brother released a long, contented sigh. “It’s the Promised Land. Just like you said.”
Deborah stared into her brother’s freckled face. Was he serious? His front-toothless grin assured her he was. The depthless imagination and optimism of a seven-year-old boy was staggering. She found herself smiling back at him, in spite of serious misgivings.
“Shall we go on then? Shall we inspect our new home?”
Case whooped his response, and Deborah urged the team of oxen into motion. They passed through a broken gate in the ramshackle split-rail fence and entered the yard of packed dirt and tall clumps of bright green weeds. She led the creaking wagon up the dusty rutted road to the house and halted the team in front of the porch.
The house did not improve on closer inspection.
“Can we go in?” Case asked. “Can I see where I’m going to sleep?”
“In a minute, dearest. Let me catch my breath.”
Deborah loosened her heavy black bonnet and pulled it off her head, leaving it to dangle by the ribbons. A cooling gentle spring breeze whispered across her forehead and stirred the tendrils of hair on her neck. She removed a dusty linen handkerchief from her pocket and swiped at the sheen of perspiration at her hairline.
Now that they were finally here, her first order of business would be to peel off a few heavy layers of clothes. That and a bath. And not just a quick sponge bath at the bank of a creek, but a full sink-down-to-your-neck bath, the kind she hadn’t enjoyed since they left Louisiana.
“Have you caught it yet? Your breath, I mean?”
Deborah turned to her impatient brother and chuckled. “I have. Are you ready to go in?” Not that the answer wasn’t written across his impish face.
He scooted to the wagon’s edge where she caught him under the arms and carefully lifted him down. He staggered before finding his balance. Once stabilized, he slowly made his way across the hard-packed dirt to the plank porch. His awkward gait made progress slow, but his wide smile never faltered.
The scarred wooden door of the house was slightly ajar. Though she knew the house was theirs, Deborah felt uneasy about entering. Her brother suffered no such qualms. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, his sister at his heels. “Welcome home,” he called brightly.
They paused just inside the door to allow their eyes to adjust to the shadowy interior. Case found his voice first. “It doesn’t look much like the Promised Land, does it?”
Deborah couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Case was correct. Their dream house wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare.
They were standing in a hall, some seven feet wide, which ran the length of the house, front to back. Square openings in the mud-chinked walls on the left and right led into rooms. But it was not the length of the hall, or the size of the rooms that held Deborah’s attention. It was the filth.
The hallway was littered with dried leaves, broken furniture, tin cans, and heaven only knew what else. Deborah shuddered as something small and furry darted out from behind a pile of refuse and scurried down the hall in the opposite direction.
“Maybe it’s better in there,” Case suggested, pointing to the room on the right.
Slowly and somewhat reluctantly, they picked their way through the trash to the opening and stood there, studying the first room. No improvement. This room, obviously the kitchen, was also a disaster. A large cast-iron stove stood along the far wall. Two tall windows flanked the stove, but the thick film on the panes of glass prevented light from pouring in. Toward the center of the room was a wooden table and two chairs. Two more chairs, each missing a leg and part of the back, were lying in a heap beside the table. Trash was scattered everywhere. More leaves, fragments of pottery and paper, and empty cans covered the floor and tabletop.
They crossed the hall to the room on the left and found more of the same. Leaves and twigs carpeted the floor. Skeletal remains of furniture lay in dusty heaps. Ashes and charred remnants of logs clogged the opening of the large smoke-blackened stone fireplace on the far wall.
Deborah was so stunned by the degree of deterioration, she had forgotten her brother’s presence until she heard him squeal.
“Look, Debs. A loft.” He pointed to the second-story room opening onto the area where they stood. He eyed the rickety ladder longingly. “I’ll bet that’s where the beds are. Do you suppose I can sleep up there?”
The hopeful look in his eyes almost broke her heart. “I’m sorry, Case. You could fall. You’re not strong enough to climb a ladder.”
Tears shimmered in his eyes as he nodded.
His stoic capitulation was harder for Deborah than if he had ranted and raved. She hated the unfairness of it all. She hated to deprive him of the adventure he sought, and yet his welfare was hers to protect. She took his small hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. “What do you say, we make you a nice bed down here?”
He mustered a brave smile. “Okay, Debs.”
They found two more rooms, much smaller than the first, coming off the hall at the back of the house. The room behind the kitchen, with its steeply sloped ceiling, must have been used for storage. Crude shelves lined the walls, and several wooden crates were stacked haphazardly beneath them.
Across from there, beneath the loft, was a narrow room, empty except for a lumpy straw mattress pushed against the wall and a brightly woven blanket folded neatly on top.
Deborah fought back a rush of hot tears. Plans for this house and the future she and her brother would build here had fueled her dreams for months. The dismal reality of the place made her doubt the wisdom of dragging themselves away from comfort and familiarity to an uncertain future in Texas.
Case’s hand trembled slightly within hers, a sure sign he was tiring. “Come, dearest,” she said. “Let’s find a place to sit for a while.” As the room where they currently stood was by far the cleanest in the house, they sat on the straw pallet. For a moment, they were silent.
“It doesn’t look like a very happy place, does it?” Case asked at last.
His dispirited observation plucked at her heartstrings. Case had the rare gift of seeing the brightest side of everything. She could count on one hand the number of times he’d given in to negativity. This time she could only blame herself. She’d spent the entire journey telling him how great their new life in Texas would be. The reality of the house didn’t match the “Promised Land” she’d described.
“I think we should pray.” Even as she made the suggestion, Deborah went to her knees.
“Okay,” came Case’s unenthusiastic reply as he obediently knelt beside her.
“The Bible tells us God gives us a garment of praise for a spirit of heaviness. Let’s praise God for all the good things He’s provided for us since we left Louisiana.”
“You start.” Obviously, Case was not convinced.
“Well, hmmm.” Deborah bowed her head and closed her eyes as she searched for something positive to say. “Heavenly Father, we acknowledge You as the source of every good thing. I thank You for… for the good weather You granted us for the journey.”
She paused, waiting for Case to chime in. Silence.
She cleared her throat. “Yes, well, I’m also very thankful for the adequate provisions we enjoyed.”
Case shifted beside her. “Especially Aunt Mimi’s tea cakes.”
Deborah bit back a smile. “Thank You for the dependable wagon and team.”
“And thank You for Aunt Mimi’s bonbons.”
Deborah took a deep breath to speak her next words, which truly stretched her faith. It would take all of Case’s imagination and optimism. “We thank You for supplying all our needs with this house.”
More silence. Evidently Case’s imagination and optimism didn’t extend quite that far. Maybe a little prompting would help. “Thank You for the strong door.”
“Thank You for the beeyoutiful loft and ladder.”
Deborah ignored the painful compression of her heart. “And the cookstove.”
“And the Indian.”
“And the—” Deborah’s eyes snapped open as she swiveled to stare at her brother. “The what?”
“The Indian,” he repeated calmly. “The big one standing right there.”