5

Hannah pointed to the dining room. “If you’re ready, supper is on the table.”

William nodded and followed her to the table. He was surprised to see Pablo and Pepita taking a seat. Juanita and Berto soon joined them.

“Thomas is keeping watch,” Berto declared. “Him and JD. You don’t know JD, but he’s good with the horses.”

William had seen the young man, but hadn’t questioned who he was. On the other hand, he knew Thomas Early quite well. The freed black man had been a tremendous asset to the Barnetts, and William highly esteemed him.

Juanita broke through his thoughts. “I take them and Diego something to eat after we pray.”

It seemed strange to have everyone gathered at the table together. William’s father would never have had the hired help in the house. He was a firm believer in keeping people in their place. Including his sons. He had ruled his family with a firm hand, always demanding the best they had to give.

“Shall we pray, then?” Hannah asked, bowing her head.

William listened as she offered a short but heartfelt grace. She ended by thanking God for the safe return of Andy and for the fact that the Comanche had chosen not to attack. When she concluded, William opened his eyes to find most everyone looking at him.

He felt uneasy and shifted his focus to the platter of meat in front of him. “Juanita, that looks like your spicy pork.”

“Not too spicy,” she said with a smile. “The little ones aren’t used to it.” She nodded toward Marty and Andy.

“I’m sure it’s just as delicious,” he said, taking a healthy portion.

“You mentioned you were wounded in battle, Mr. Barnett,” Hannah said, spooning beans onto Andy’s plate.

“Yes, ma’am.” He had no real desire to speak about the war or his wounds, but supposed it had to be. “I took a bullet in the leg. Actually, it went clean through but took a bit of bone with it.”

“I got shot in the leg once,” Marty declared. “Injuns got me.”

William looked at the pig-tailed girl and narrowed his eyes. “Truly?”

Hannah nudged the girl. “Tell the truth, Marty, and don’t use that word again.”

“Well, I fell on a stick once,” she said, not seeming to mind at all that she’d been caught in a lie. “It hurt real bad.”

William’s expression softened. “I’ll bet it did. Mine hurt real bad, too. Still does.”

“My sister is given to tall tales at times,” Hannah told him. “I do apologize.”

He looked at the child and then at Hannah. “Your sister? I thought she was your daughter.”

Hannah shook her head. “I have raised her since she was born, but no, I have no children nor husband. I live here with my father and siblings. Andy is eight years old and Marty is five.”

“Our mama died,” Andy said matter-of-factly, “but Hannah takes good care of us. She’s just like a ma.”

Marty nodded enthusiastically. “She fixes my hair and makes me clothes.”

William smiled. “And she does a very good job of it. You’re quite pretty.”

Marty beamed under his praise. Hannah, on the other hand, seemed uncomfortable being the object of the discussion. She turned to Juanita and requested the grits instead of continuing the conversation. But William needed to know more.

“So tell me about the issues with the ranch.” He looked at Berto but hoped Hannah might respond. When no one spoke, he continued. “Look, I know this is a strange situation, but I need to know what happened.”

“When you and your father and Mr. Lyle go to war,” Berto began, “some men from town come with Mr. Lockhart. They tell me to take care of the ranch, but that you no longer own it. No one lived here for much of the time since you go. Then Mr. Dandridge and his family come.”

“I see.” William looked to Hannah for further explanation and found that she was now staring at him openly. “And can you expand on that?”

He watched Hannah dab her mouth with a cloth. “My father has been a strong supporter of the Confederacy. I’m not entirely certain how he offered his assistance, but he is a lawyer by trade. He was given this ranch as a reward of sorts. We were told that your family had deserted for the North.”

“And you believed that?”

Hannah looked rather surprised. “Why not? Many of the families around here have fled for one reason or another. There are Union supporters just as there are Confederate ones. Three families in Cedar Springs alone left Texas for Illinois because of their beliefs in the Union. Why should your family be any different?”

“Well, perhaps since we left behind workers to run the ranch in our absence, it should have signaled that we intended to return.”

“But . . . well . . . you chose a side opposite that which the state supported.”

He could see that she was picking her words as carefully as possible. Nevertheless, William felt a sense of indignation rise. “As you said, there were those who supported both sides, all living together in one community. I didn’t want this war, Miss Dandridge. I didn’t even desire to fight in it. I did so because it was my father’s desire.”

“So are you gonna live here now?” Andy asked.

William looked to Hannah for that answer. It was clear the question had left her confused. She put her fork down and glanced around the table.

“I’m not entirely sure what is to be done. I can hardly turn you away in good conscience. If my father were here, it wouldn’t even be a matter for me to consider.”

“When is your father expected home?” William tried to sound as though the answer were unimportant.

“I can’t really say,” Hannah replied, her glance darting to the others. “He went to help my sick grandmother. I expected him home by now, and so I suppose the answer is that he’s due most anytime. However, that said, it doesn’t help us in this situation.”

“Miss Hannah,” Juanita began, “Mr. Will is a good man. His family love God very much. He is no trouble to you.”

William could see that Hannah was weighing Juanita’s words carefully. He pushed down his growing irritation that he even needed a defender. This was his home. He knew every inch of this house—every nook and rut on the property. He had worked by the sweat of his brow to build the place with his father and brother. Yet a young, albeit beautiful, woman was now the deciding factor in whether he stayed or had to leave again.

Hannah drew a deep breath. “I can hardly turn you out tonight, Mr. Barnett. The risk is too great, and I won’t have your death on my conscience.”

“He can sleep in my bed,” Andy offered.

“Andrew, that wouldn’t be appropriate. We share the loft, and Marty and I can hardly stay in the same room with Mr. Barnett.”

Andy seemed to consider this for a moment. “He can stay in Pa’s room with the Comanche.”

“Sí, that might serve you well, Miss Hannah.” Berto looked to William before continuing. “He speaks Comanche and you’ll need someone on guard.”

“You speak Comanche?” Hannah questioned.

“Some. Enough,” William admitted.

“I need time to think.” Hannah frowned and put her linen napkin aside.

William wondered if she’d lost her appetite or if the idea of him under the same roof was so unpleasant she couldn’t stomach her supper. He watched as she excused herself from the table and exited the room. She was all grace and manners, but he could see that she was more than a little upset. Well, he was upset, too.

Hannah went to the kitchen and leaned heavily against the counter. What was happening? Mr. Barnett had returned, and Father was still missing. She wondered if Mr. Lockhart might be of use but fretted over the idea of calling him to the ranch. If he knew Barnett was there, he might insist that Hannah leave. Or he might bring the law and cause problems for Mr. Barnett. Either way, Hannah didn’t like the choices.

“Are you all right, Miss Hannah?” Juanita asked, joining her in the kitchen. She went immediately to the cupboard and retrieved three plates.

“I don’t know what to think of all of this, Juanita. There’s a Comanche in Father’s bed, a stranger sitting at my dining table, and the ever-present threat of attack. Added to all of this, Father is missing and a war is going on. I’d say things cannot possibly get any worse.”

“Miss Hannah, Mr. Will is a good man. You should not be afraid that he is here.” Juanita patted Hannah’s arm, then turned back to the counter.

Hannah put her face in her hands. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

The thought of her future terrified Hannah. Perhaps if the war were over she could return to her grandmother’s house in Vicksburg. Surely with the gold under Father’s bed she would be able to get them back to Mississippi.

She felt Juanita hug her close. The woman had such a kind and gentle nature. She never worried about the differences between them—the fact that she was paid to work on the ranch or that their skin was different colors and they spoke two different languages. Juanita simply saw a need and endeavored to meet it.

“Miss Hannah, God will see you through.”

Hannah lifted her face to meet the older woman’s dark eyes. “I want to believe that, Juanita. I do. I feel so weak though. I feel as if my faith is an ember about to go cold.”

The woman nodded. “Sometimes it is hard. We must trust, even when . . . when very bad times come.”

“This is the worst of times to be sure.” Hannah let out a heavy sigh and straightened. Squaring her shoulders, she looked beyond Juanita. “I suppose Mr. Barnett could stay in the bunkhouse with the other men. The men could take turns caring for the Indian.” She twisted her hands. “I don’t know rightly how to even pray about this.”

“Ask God to show you,” Juanita suggested. “He will.”

Hannah tried to put her mind at ease. “I will ask Him.”

“Did you have trouble with the Comanche when you were a little boy?” Andy asked William.

“I didn’t live here when I was a boy,” William told him. “I moved here when I was sixteen.”

“I’m eight,” Andy declared. “That’s half of sixteen.”

“Sounds like you’re one smart boy.”

Andy beamed. “Hannah’s been teachin’ me since we moved away from town. She’s real smart.”

“I can well imagine.” William didn’t want to focus their conversation on Hannah, however. He pointed to the checkerboard. “So you were teaching your sister to play. Are you any good?”

“Pa says I am.” Andy sat down by the board. “You wanna play?”

William figured it wouldn’t hurt anything and took a seat opposite the boy. The small table was perfect for a game. William wondered if it had been handcrafted for just such a thing in fact. He ran his hand over the smooth edges of the wood.

“My pa brought this table with us when we moved from Mississippi. It’s his favorite.”

“It’s a nice table,” William said, moving his checkers into place.

“He had it when he was married to Hannah’s mama. She’s dead now. Then he got married to my mama.”

“And she died when Marty was born, is that right?”

“Yes, sir. I don’t remember her.” He frowned and pushed back his hair. “Pa has a picture of her, but he took it with him to Vicksburg.”

William felt his chest tighten. “Vicksburg?”

Andy made his move then nodded. “That’s where we used to live when my mama died. I don’t remember living there, but my grandmother still lives there and Pa went to help her. She’s sick.”

“I see.” William tried not to show any emotion. He pushed his checker into place and waited for Andy to move again.

“My mama was real pretty.” Andy continued his play. “Where’s your ma?”

“She died, too. She’s buried here on the ranch. Down by the river.”

“I saw it.” Andy looked up, rather excited. “It’s covered with rocks and has a wooden cross. We put some flowers on it once.”

William nodded, remembering the day he and his brother had dug the grave. His mother had succumbed to the grippe, and when she died William felt a part of him had died, as well. He’d only been eighteen, but he missed her more than he could say.

“So did the Indians attack you?” Andy asked, jumping one of William’s pieces. He smiled and captured the prize. “I’m winning.”

It was William’s turn to move and he managed to jump one of Andy’s checkers. “Not for long.”

“Berto said the Comanche are angry. He said most of the Indians are angry.”

“I suppose that’s right,” William replied. “The way I figure it though, we’d better all learn to get along. If we keep on fighting, we’ll kill each other off and then there won’t be anyone to take care of the land.”

“Mr. Lockhart hates the Indians. He told my pa they weren’t good for anything. He thinks the soldiers should just kill them all.”

“Some folks feel that way, but I don’t. I think we’re all God’s creatures and we need to work through our differences.”

“But you went to war.”

William didn’t really know how to explain his thinking to an eight-year-old. “I went because my father wanted me to go. Nothing more.”

“So you won’t kill Indians?” Andy asked, momentarily forgetting the game.

William grew thoughtful. “If I’m attacked, I will defend myself. But otherwise, I won’t seek to harm anyone. I prefer things being peaceable.”

Andy nodded. “Me too. I don’t like to fight. Hannah says that God isn’t pleased when we hurt each other. I like it when folks get along. Pa said there’s a big war going on back where we used to live. He said hate is what stirred it up. I don’t like war.”

Thoughts of battle flooded William with images of death and destruction. “I don’t, either,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“Mr. William, you come quick. That Indian is waking up!” Juanita called from the archway. “Hurry!”