Zeke had heard the shot. His heart banged against his ribs as he left Mrs Hartman in his wake. Sweet Christ, who were they shooting at? His kids? His brother?
Elsa? Then he saw her drop on the verandah. They’ve shot her, the bastards. And where was his bloody rifle? In his room at the house with Jude. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.
Poor Milo was galloping as fast as he could. Zeke was low over his neck, urging the horse with his heels. He turned and yelled to Mrs Hartman, ‘Stay well back.’ Shit, if he hadn’t spent so much time waiting for her at her house while she dithered about …
He was closing in. He saw the troopers wheel about on their mounts and straighten up when they saw him. One of them dropped his rifle, threw his hands in the air. The other one was having trouble controlling his horse.
Milo skidded in alongside them, bumped the horse under the trooper whose arms were still over his head. In a rage, Zeke reached over and hauled him out of the saddle by the shirtfront, then slung him to the ground. Only a lad he was and scared to death by the look of him. He turned Milo about for the other.
‘It weren’t us, it weren’t us,’ the older trooper screeched. ‘We didn’t fire.’ He threw his rifle to the dirt.
‘Liar.’ Zeke stepped onto Milo’s back and lunged at the other man. He ripped him out of the saddle. The man’s foot caught in the stirrup, twisted. He squealed, dangling upside down, as Zeke tumbled past. Scrambling back on his feet, Zeke bunched his hands in the man’s coat. ‘You fucking bastards—’
‘It weren’t us, swear to God,’ the man screamed, his face red. ‘Me foot. Me foot.’
Zeke didn’t let go until he checked the verandah and saw Gracie helping Elsa to her feet, a crutch of some sort tucked under her arm.
‘We’re all right, Pa,’ Gracie yelled.
He wrenched the man’s foot out of the stirrup and threw him off, left him in a writhing heap. He slapped the trooper’s horse hard and it took no time stomping off. ‘Stop your bloody squealing,’ he shouted. ‘What the fuck do you think you were doin’?’ He spun around and descended on the boy.
The young fella scampered out of reach. ‘We were lookin’ for Nebo,’ he said, his eyes large, and snot running over his lip. ‘He done a hold-up. We knew Jude was banged up and we reckoned Nebo’d come ’ere, so we’d catch him ’ere.’
‘You reckoned wrong, you stupid bastard.’ Zeke spun back to the older man and pointed. ‘If I find one splinter has harmed my family,’ he said, teeth bared as he dropped to his haunches. His face was close to the other man’s, his rage thrumming. ‘I’ll hunt you down, and Nebo Jones will be the least of your worries.’ He stood, grabbed the trooper up and shoved him. ‘So, get on your way. Get off my land.’
The trooper stumbled. He waved the younger one over and together they got him steady on his feet. ‘I busted me ankle.’
‘Not likely. Get lost, before I give you something else to whine about.’ Zeke bounded up the verandah steps, anger leaching out of him and fear replacing it. He hauled Gracie into his arms, and she clung to him, her wiry arms around his neck. He rocked her, his heart thudding. He was suddenly wild and lost, light-headed.
‘I’m all right, Pa,’ she said into his shoulder. ‘They did shoot once, after Uncle Jude shot his gun. But that last shot was Giff. He fired the rifle from inside.’
Mrs Hartman was helping Elsa to stand as she struggled up against the wall. Zeke’s rage had been so blinding he hadn’t seen the older woman gallop in behind him. Giff leapt out the door and ran full-bodied into him. Jonty followed, his little face bright red. He fell into the huddle and Zeke rocked all three, his arms tight around them.
Mrs Hartman steadied Elsa then she marched off the verandah. She bore down on the young trooper as he helped the other man limp towards his horse. ‘When I see your mother, Tommy Broadbent, there’ll be hell to pay. Shooting on women and children—what on earth possessed you, bailing up a young family and acting like a hooligan?’
‘Miz Hartman, I swear I—’
‘Don’t you snivel at me.’ She wagged a finger under his nose. ‘Get back to that farm of yours and do some hard work for a change,’ she snapped, her voice cracking. ‘Don’t be running around with the likes of this one.’ She thumbed towards the man he was half carrying.
‘Get me horse, boy,’ the older trooper growled. ‘Outta my way, missus.’
Mrs Hartman glared at him. ‘You irresponsible great dolt, Ernest Kilby. You pathetic galumphing fool. Your senior officer will hear about this.’ She spun on her heels and steamed towards the verandah. ‘And you children, you’re not to repeat those bad words of your father’s.’
Zeke stifled a laugh in Gracie’s hair. He watched the troopers snatch their rifles from the ground, clamber onto their mounts and ride off. He looked over and saw Jude’s face in the window.
‘Jesus, brother,’ Jude said. ‘What the hell have we got in these women here?’
His kids were untouched, unharmed. They were fine. Mrs Hartman was fine—in fact, in fine mettle. Zeke still had a smile, despite his fright. His estimation of Mrs Hartman had risen considerably. As for Giff, he’d frightened himself, so no need to go crook at him—though when the boy had picked up the rifle again, he’d snatched it from the lad’s shaking grip. Zeke would put more time into teaching Giff how to better handle the Martini-Henry rifle and when to use it.
Mrs Hartman was attending to the other two children and Jude. She was soothing Jonty’s wails but Gracie was her calm little self. Jude’s protests were loudest of all, especially when she changed his dressing. His stitches had held together, but there was a small tear that had bled. She wasn’t sounding overly patient when he whinged about it.
Miss Goody had shuffled, white-faced and wincing, along the wall of the hallway until he and Gracie got back to help her into the old parlour room. Despite spots of blood on her face and forearm where glass and splinters had flown at her, she seemed unhurt. When they angled her to sit on the cot, Gracie knelt and brushed debris off her sore foot and picked out a couple of tiny pieces of the shattered window. Nothing another bandage wouldn’t fix after a wash with lye soap. She’d impressed him somewhat, but he had an issue about Gracie and he couldn’t leave it unsaid.
‘Miss Goody,’ Zeke said. He was standing in the doorway of the room into which he’d always stuffed unwanted or unused bits and pieces: things he thought he might use one day and never had; things he thought his kids might enjoy. The cluttered space seemed different to him now, as if an extra presence had changed its purpose. He would clean it out. ‘Thank you for all your help.’ He took a breath. ‘Though, I’d have much preferred my daughter hadn’t been with you when you confronted an armed trooper.’
‘Gracie was very brave out there,’ Elsa said, still pale in the face. She rubbed her foot as she sat on the edge of the cot, then pulled her hem over it and tucked it back out of sight.
‘She shouldn’t have been there at all,’ he said, hearing the censure in his tone.
There was a hesitation, a slight frown. ‘No. She shouldn’t have.’ She glanced away. ‘Thankfully, that idiot trooper wasn’t stupid enough to shoot at a woman and a child.’
‘Even so, he might have.’ He watched her take in a silent, deep breath at his rebuke. Clearly, she’d done what she thought best at the time, but it had been reckless behaviour to allow a child out there in that situation.
‘Quite right. I apologise. I never meant for your daughter to be in harm’s way.’ She gave him a tight smile that did not reach her eyes. She looked away and took another deep breath. ‘In the morning, I’ll be able to ride to my brother’s grave by myself if you direct me, and then I’ll depart your property afterwards. My brother’s resting place, and finding the locket, were the sole reasons for my coming here—and to thank you, of course.’
Giff pushed into the room from behind his father. ‘Miss Goody, I finished the other stick,’ he said, a broad smile breaking his usually solemn features. He brandished the crutch. ‘Uncle Jude said it’s a fine job.’
Now her smile was genuine, and her eyes lit up as Giff thrust the stick at her. She struggled onto her feet to test both crutches. ‘It is indeed a fine job. Thank you, Gifford.’
‘Call me Giff,’ he said expansively.
Elsa Goody didn’t miss a beat. ‘It will do me very well, Giff,’ she said, and took a couple of awkward paces, dodging furniture. ‘I’m grateful to you.’
His son beamed with pleasure, not something Zeke had seen for a long time. The boy nodded at her and ducked around his father out the door.
Elsa manoeuvred her way back to the cot. ‘Perhaps someone would strap these to my horse tomorrow, so I might use them again after I leave. They’ll be very handy.’ She let them drop to the floor, side by side, and resumed her seat. Using both hands, she pushed back her long, thick wavy hair, which looked to be only partly secured. It hung more than halfway down her back in a heavy dense drop. ‘I think I would like to take a nap, now, Mr Jones. I seem to be out of breath.’
Amazing. He had been dismissed. Swiftly she’d put the boot on the other foot. ‘I’ll ask Mrs Hartman to look in on you,’ he said.
She glanced at him. ‘No need,’ she said politely.
‘Nevertheless,’ he answered, and not waiting for a protest, if any, reached over to pull the door shut behind him as he left. Her gaze, bright, intense and bold, stayed with him long into the afternoon and the night.
‘I’ll have to go with her, Jude,’ Zeke said, his voice low. In his hand was a tin cup with a tot of rum in it. He gave his brother a sidelong glance as they sat on the verandah. ‘Back to Nebo’s camp. I can’t let her go by herself. She was just lucky to make it to us the other night without any trouble.’
Jude nodded, eyes wide, mouth pursed. He lifted his own cup. ‘Yeah, no, you can’t let her go by herself.’
The children were abed after their bath, overseen by Mrs Hartman who had also returned Elsa’s cleaned and dried chemise. After saying goodnight, then goodbye to Elsa and wishing her a safe journey, she had just gratefully taken her leave to collapse onto Gracie’s bed once more.
Miss Goody had emerged for dinner but had also retired for the evening. She wanted to be up and gone by dawn, she’d said, so declared she needed an early night. But before she left for her room, and as his kids chattered away to her, telling her of their school, their chores, their animals, she’d looked at Zeke briefly. ‘Do you have any story books, Mr Jones?’
He’d watched Jonty slip off his seat at the table to stand by her chair. The boy stared up at her before slipping his hand in hers.
‘No, I don’t,’ he said.
‘You must get one so you can read to your children before bed.’
She’d turned away, missed seeing his mouth agape, and was giving Jonty her attention. He’d climbed on her knee. Despite Zeke’s lukewarm objection to that, she wrapped her arms around the boy and began to relate a tale of three bears and a little girl. Jonty, who didn’t know what a bear was, kept interrupting and so the tale went on for a while. Her audience had been enraptured. Finishing the story amid demands for more, Elsa was readying to leave the table when Gracie offered to fix her hair for the night. ‘Not tonight,’ she’d told his daughter. ‘But if you’re awake very early I would certainly appreciate some help then.’
Gracie had smiled her delight. Zeke’s heart gladdened at that, but his own delight had been diminished by the fact that Miss Goody would not make eye contact with him. Most likely she was still upset that he’d chipped her about having Gracie on the verandah when those fool troopers were aiming guns at her.
Zeke shook out of his thoughts and swirled the liquid in his cup before addressing Jude. ‘Seems Nebo gave her exact directions. If we follow it in reverse, it should take us back to him and his camp. If he doesn’t want to come here, at least I can warn him to keep out of sight.’ He took a swallow of his rum. ‘But I don’t like the idea of leaving you with only the kids.’ He looked across, straight-faced. ‘And Mrs Hartman.’
‘Very funny. She’s a fine woman, and we can be friends. I shouldn’t meddle with that.’ Jude shot him a glance, then stared at his hands. ‘Besides,’ Jude said. ‘You’ve seen her when she gets mad. A bloke wouldn’t stand a chance.’
‘A bloke might become a happy man again.’
Judah moved in his chair, as if easing a sore spot. The stitches in his side would be nipping at him. ‘Happy,’ Jude said, shaking his head. ‘Happy is just ripped away from ye. I have to wonder how and why I ever got there in the first place. Now they’re all dead.’ He glanced at Zeke. ‘Not sure I want happy to happen again. It marks ye for doom.’ He tapped a fist on the table and looked away.
Zeke saw the shake in Jude’s conviction. ‘Is that so? I reckon you do want happy again, I reckon you know what you’re missing. And there’s no better woman than that Mrs Hartman. She’s set on you in any case, just you’re too thick to see it.’
‘I do see it, but I just got nothin’. Not even all of my own mind with this grief over my girls.’ He rubbed his face. ‘It never leaves ye.’
‘It takes its place, Jude.’
Jude shifted and looked uncomfortable. Maybe after a challenge his thoughts didn’t sit easy. ‘I’m a broken-down fella who runs from his ghosts.’
‘Maybe time to stop running.’
‘Maybe. I’ve thought about it.’ Jude tossed back his rum. ‘And maybe for you, too. You listenin’ to yourself?’ He pointed a finger at Zeke. ‘I know you got grief. But I’ve seen a light in your eye now that I haven’t seen for a while. Reckon that Miss Goody has fired you up.’ Zeke said nothing and Jude went on. ‘If she takes your eye, Zeke, well, a man should grab the good while he can. You know how quick things can turn bad.’ He threw his hands in the air. ‘I can hear myself think. We’re talkin’ the same thing.’
Zeke let his thoughts run again. Elsa Goody. The way her face lit up when she talked to his kids. Or when she’d glanced his way, not realising he’d been looking at her. When that glance softened, before she remembered she was mad at him. Too soon for her. Too soon to be with her.
Jude pounced. ‘Hah—I see it. Not to mention the flamin’ red face she gets when you look at her. Lucky you two weren’t sittin’ together before, the place woulda combusted.’
‘Bollocks,’ Zeke sputtered, and cleared his throat. ‘She wanted to kill me. I ticked her because she had Gracie out there on the verandah when those troopers were carrying on.’
Jude gave a laugh. ‘Little brother, your daughter just marched on out there after Miss Goody directly told her not to.’
Shit. Should have known, Gracie could be pig-headed. Shit. Zeke coughed again. ‘We were talking about you, just now. You have a think about Mrs Hartman some more. You know she tends your girls’ resting places. It means something to her.’
Jude nodded. ‘Figured it was her. Looks a right special place now, all those flowers growin’.’
‘Don’t pass her up.’ Jude cupped his pannikin. ‘Might be right.’
‘I reckon you’ve been thinking about her anyway, haven’t you?’
‘Might have.’ Jude went quiet.
Zeke stared out into the darkened night. His mind wandered. The moon would be a full one, and its glow on the horizon bright. He swatted at insects. Wouldn’t be long before they’d have to head inside or risk being eaten alive. At least all the lamps were out inside—they needn’t attract any moths or other flying midges. Mosquitoes were another issue. The season was changing though: there might be some mercy in that.
Jude let out a long breath. ‘What do you reckon about this Curtis Goody fella?’
‘Whoever he is, he’s gonna murder and maim until he finds something. You know he thinks the dead lad left something of value.’
Jude shook his head. ‘But he didn’t. We found nothin’ at home. Nebo brought you the only things the boy had, didn’t he?’
Zeke hesitated, nodded. ‘But who knows how Nebo thinks, these days.’
‘Yeah, Zeke, but Nebo, he’s not a killer.’
‘He’s a thief.’
‘Bah. He’s just a nuisance. He’s always been lost. He didn’t shoot the boy, you know it and I know it.’
‘Miss Elsa wants to visit the gravesite tomorrow.’
Jude downed the last of his rum. ‘And a good thing you’ll accompany her there, too.’