Zeke had re-harnessed Mrs Hartman’s horse, Cricket. Once the doc had stitched Jude and declared him wrapped up tight enough to endure a careful cart ride, they got him into the back. They packed him in with his own swag and Mrs Hartman’s gardening sacks full of weeds and set off. Zeke wasn’t leaving Jude to fare alone in his own house tonight; he feared that bastard Goody might return to finish him off.
Gifford rode Milo alongside the cart. Doctor Smith rode with them until the turn-off to the town. He declared he’d go to the police station and report the stabbing then waved goodbye as he headed down the road.
No difference to Zeke that the doc would report to the police. I’ll find the bastard before them, that’s for sure. What exactly Zeke would do with him, he didn’t know. Not until the time came, anyhow. He’d had a couple of hours or so to cool off since watching Jude slip into a deep sleep. The doctor had arrived with a red-faced Gifford, who’d been riding hard. Jude did have a deep cut in him, but nothing major had been nicked, the doc said. He’d be sore, and tired after all the blood loss—as soon as he got to Jude’s he’d first asked Zeke if the blood had been black and was very satisfied to learn it was not—but if the wound was kept clean and the man well-watered, he should be good as gold in no time. Twenty good stitches and a swab of medicinal alcohol would do the job nicely.
A relief for Zeke, but that didn’t mean his rage was any less, just best cold. That way he’d have a clear head when he hunted down ‘Curtis Goody’.
And now, early evening, they were only a half-hour or so out. Dark soon, but enough light to be able to get Jude inside and settled. Would have to be in Zeke’s bed, but that would be fine. Was nothing to find another cot, or something makeshift, and some blankets for himself.
He wondered how Mrs Hartman had managed. He shied away from thinking that Goody might have gone to his house, and there being only a woman and two young children, defenceless. He couldn’t think of that. She might have asked his kids for his rifle. Might have decided to keep it ready. Or would she have taken the two children to her own place?
Not likely. They’d have had to walk. No. It would’ve been a better plan for her to stay put. He hoped that’s what she’d done.
As the sky darkened over the setting sun and the cart crawled over the undulating terrain, he could see lights twinkling in the distance. His place. And if the lanterns were lit, chances were Mrs Hartman was still there.
‘I’ll go ahead, Pa,’ Giff said.
‘No,’ Zeke ordered sharply. ‘Stay with me.’ If something had happened, or if something was wrong, he didn’t want Giff in danger too.
The lad sucked in a breath and edged Milo closer to the cart. ‘Will Uncle Jude be all right, Pa?’ he asked quietly.
‘I’ll be fine, lad,’ Jude wheezed. ‘Just damned uncomfortable right at the minute.’
‘You’re awake?’ Zeke asked. ‘Good. I don’t have to lug you inside. You can walk.’
‘I like my chances of that,’ Jude said, a breath rushing out.
‘I’ll help,’ Giff said. ‘We can do it.’
About thirty yards out from the house by Zeke’s reckoning, he pulled up the cart. Giff stopped. Cricket stomped and shied, eager to get closer to a feed bucket, no doubt. It was hard to see in the dim light, but what Zeke could see were candles burning in all the windows. He could hear his dogs in the distance, barking in a frenzy. Good sign. If there was no noise from them he’d be more worried. And the place lit up? He reckoned they were both good signs.
Alongside, he could hear Giff breathing fast and Milo whinnied. Jude was snoring, a soft even rumble, so maybe he was comfortable after all, having fallen quickly into sleep.
Nothing was moving at the house—only the flicker of candlelight. He clicked his tongue and flicked the reins lightly. Cricket took it slowly, and Giff nudged Milo forward.
Closer, maybe ten yards from the house, he saw a window swing open. A rifle propped on the sill, and he heard its bolt slide. He froze. The snoring stopped.
‘Who’s that?’ Lily Hartman demanded.
Zeke nearly let out a sob when he saw that Mrs Hartman had tucked his little kids into their beds. Gracie and Jonty had nodded off, both huddled in Jonty’s bed, after a bath. He learned that she’d sat inside the main house, with his rifle close by—Gracie had found it for her—until near dark. Then together they’d lit all the lanterns and candles they could find.
‘I made it a game,’ Mrs Hartman said. ‘I’ll replace them for you, and the lantern wicks.’
He shook his head. ‘Not necessary.’
‘I wanted this place lit up like a beacon.’
Poor Jude hadn’t walked from the cart too well, leaning on Zeke and Giff. Inside he’d nodded at Lily and given her a weak smile. Once down the short hallway, into Zeke’s room and onto the bed, he’d dropped off into a deep sleep again.
In the kitchen, Giff almost slurped down the rabbit stew and potatoes Mrs Hartman had prepared, but Zeke couldn’t find his appetite just yet. He kept getting up from his chair at the little table, going back to watch over his younger two, then returning to ruffle the hair of his eldest.
‘Mrs Hartman, I can’t thank—’
‘Stop,’ she said to him. ‘You’ve thanked me enough. They were fine, and we told stories as we made our dinner. They even helped me rinse off some of this mess,’ she said, holding out an expanse of skirt still stained with remnant blood. ‘When I get home, it might have to be burned. All of it.’
Even in the candlelight, Zeke could see his brother’s blood in pools and smears all over her clothes. ‘We’ll replace your clothes. You probably saved his life.’
‘Then what’s a few clothes?’ She glanced at Gifford at the table. He was staring at the cooker, one eye drooping, then the other. ‘Young man, your sister and your brother left the bathwater. In you get.’
Giff didn’t baulk. He just nodded, stood up and began to strip off. Zeke herded him to the bath at the other end of the room, drew over the curtain he’d rigged up when Maisie was still alive. Giff splashed for a bit, complaining about the cooled water, soaped up, scrubbed his head and climbed out. He dried off and, wrapped in the wet towel, silently headed for the house. Zeke followed him to the room the boy shared with his siblings and Giff fell drowsily onto his cot, folding like a rag doll. Zeke pulled away the towel and draped a blanket over him. The boy was already fast asleep.
Emotion welled up. Breathing deeply, he willed his heart to stop its pounding. He rubbed his stinging eyes. He walked out quietly, went to his room and peered inside. Jude was on his good side, snoring again.
Zeke wondered where his other brother might be. Wondered if he was safe. Too bad. Tonight, Nebo would have to look after himself.
Back in the kitchen room, Mrs Hartman gave him a small smile. She’d settled in a chair by the stove. ‘I’d rather not travel home tonight, so if you don’t mind, I’ll stay here, in the kitchen.’
‘Mrs Hartman, use Gracie’s bed. My kids won’t surface until dawn, and they can take you home on the way to school tomorrow.’
She nodded, relieved. ‘That would be very good.’
After she’d gone into the main house, Zeke tamped down the stove and pinched the wicks out. Back inside, he retrieved the rifle, unloaded and reloaded it, and took it to his room.
Earlier, he’d pulled Jude’s swag from the cart and had taken it inside. Unrolling it now, he threw it on the floor near Jude and after toeing off his boots, sank onto it. Tonight, he’d do without a pillow.
As he lay back, his thoughts wandered. The horses had been rubbed down, fed, watered and were sheltered in the stalls. He’d checked the dogs, their barks deafening; they were fine, and gradually settled. Mrs Hartman’s cart was parked nearby.
He’d latched the back and the front doors to his house. Only his window was open and unlatched. If anyone came in the night, that’s the window through which he’d shoot them.
He closed his eyes.