A Hopeful Heart (32 page)

33

Abel’s breakfast plate teetered on his belly. He’d never eaten in bed before, but Doc Kasper refused to let him sit up to a table. He’d also never wrangled a fork with his left hand, but he couldn’t lift his right hand. So he lounged against a stack of pillows, clutched a fork in his left fist, and tried to feed himself scrambled eggs.

Couldn’t the doc’s wife have brought him something easier to eat, like bread and butter or a biscuit? Half the bite of eggs bounced down his chin and landed on his chest, but he shoved the remainder into his mouth and chewed. Impatience tried to capture him, but he shoved the feeling away. Eating might take twice as long as it ought to using his clumsy left hand, but at least he wouldn’t starve.

He’d been playing the “at least” game ever since he’d awakened in the tall bed in the back room at Doc Kasper’s office. He’d been shot, but at least he wasn’t dead. His arm hurt like blue blazes, but at least no permanent damage had been done. He’d lost a good friend with Vince’s deception, but at least he’d found his way to God again. After two years of running from God, it felt good to be standing in His presence once more. The first opportunity he had, he’d thank Aunt Hattie for her prayers.

Doc Kasper’s wife bustled in and looked pointedly at his plate. “You still eating?” She tsk-tsked at him. “If you’d let me help you, you could have an empty plate and a full belly by now.”

“But if I let you feed me, I’ll never figure out how to take care of myself. None of my ranch hands is gonna be willin’ to shovel food into my mouth.” Immediately, he wished he could snatch the comment back. He still hadn’t told anyone that Vince had shot him. He needed to come to grips with it himself before he could say the words out loud. “Besides, my belly’s already full. You can take the plate away.”

She quirked a brow at him. “You won’t regain your strength if you don’t eat.”

Abel sighed. He jabbed another forkful, but he didn’t try to bring it to his mouth. “When does the doc think I might get to go home?”

Mrs. Kasper poked at the bandage on his shoulder. The prodding hurt, but he held still and let her finish her perusal. “No fresh bleeding this morning. That’s good.” She backed up a step and propped her hands on her hips. “I figure when you’re able to stand on your own and the doc’s sure your wound won’t open up again, he’ll release you.” She stabbed her index finger at him. “Now you eat every bit of those eggs.” Her nose in the air, she strode out of the room.

As soon as she closed the door, Abel set the plate aside. He wasn’t one to disregard an order, but his arm ached from the effort of controlling the fork, and all he really wanted to do was sleep. He recalled the doc telling him sleep was good medicine. “Well then,” he muttered to himself, “I’ll just swallow another dose of rest.”

He nestled into the pillows, but as he was drifting off, a flurry of men’s voices and the clatter of horses’ hooves brought him fully awake. By pushing his left arm against the mattress he managed to roll to a sitting position. The room swam, and he braced himself against the mattress for a few minutes until the dizziness passed. Then he wrestled himself into his trousers, which he found draped across a chair in the corner of the room. He looked around for his shirt, intending to fling it around his shoulders, but he couldn’t find it. At least the bandages hid a good portion of his torso. Bare-chested, he stumbled to the hallway.

Holding the wall with his good hand, he made his way down the hallway and into the small waiting area at the front of the doctor’s office. Mrs. Kasper stood in the doorway that led to the street, looking out. Abel glimpsed men milling excitedly, some on foot, some on horseback. Fear stabbed him. Could it be a lynching party? Sheriff Tate would be powerless against a mob of angry men, and according to the doc, folks in town were plenty irked with Gage Hammond. They’d be even angrier if they knew Vince had put a bullet in his shoulder.

He shuffled up behind the doc’s wife. “What’s the commotion?”

Mrs. Kasper spun around, and her mouth dropped open. “Abel Samms, you get right back in that bed!” She grabbed his left elbow and tugged him toward the bedroom. He had no choice but to do as she said—she had a firm grip for a woman—but he looked over his shoulder. Although the men were gone, dust still billowed in little clouds above the road.

He flopped onto the pillows and let Mrs. Kasper lift his legs onto the mattress. His shoulder throbbed and his head spun, but at least he’d proved he could walk a few feet if he took a mind to. “What was all the excitement about?”

“Apparently there’s a fire.” Mrs. Kasper tossed the sheet over his legs. “But the men will handle it. You are
not
to get up again without help.” She sucked in air, her face pinching into a scowl. “Oh, look! You got yourself bleeding again, Mr. Samms!”

Abel submitted to the woman applying pressure to his wound until the bleeding stopped. She changed the bandage and then tucked the sheet under the mattress snugly, trapping him in place. “Now, you sleep.”

Feeling like a chastised child, he said, “Yes, ma’am.” But he didn’t sleep. Fire was the prairie’s biggest enemy. Whose land was burning? Were cattle in danger? Would it consume someone’s house or barn? Worry ate at him, compounded by his inability to join his neighbors in battling the blaze. He groaned, “I wish I could
do
somethin’!”

You can pray
.

The thought seemed to drop from heaven and bop him on the head.
I can’t beat down the blaze with a gunnysack, but at least I can pray.
Snapping his eyes closed, he prayed for the safety of the men who were battling the blaze, for the livestock that might be in the fire’s path, for success in stopping the fire before it ravaged too much of the land. He finished, “And God, be with the owner of the property. Give ’im strength an’ peace to face this loss.”

Before he could utter an amen, he fell asleep.

“Whoa!” Tressa secured the traces and leaped from the wagon. The sight of yellow flames licking at Abel’s house sent spasms of fear through her belly, but she couldn’t let fear make her helpless. “We need buckets!” she hollered as she ran to the barn to retrieve the milk bucket.

Sallie lingered beside the wagon, seemingly mesmerized by the dancing flames. Tressa shoved the milk bucket into her arms. “Fill it and throw the water on the house! I’m going to find more buckets!” But Sallie didn’t move. Tressa gave her a push toward the well. “Sallie, go!”

Sallie’s wild eyes met Tressa’s. “Where’s Cole? He’s supposed to be here, at the ranch. Where is he, Tressa?”

Tressa froze. If Cole were there, surely he’d be battling that blaze. Unless . . . She refused to give the unpleasant thought root. “He’s probably out trying to round up cattle. He’ll be in when he sees the smoke. Now hurry, Sallie—we’ve got to get water on that house before it’s completely lost!”

Sallie finally stumbled toward the well, and Tressa ran back into the barn in search of buckets. The horses nickered nervously in their stalls, their nostrils flaring and eyes rolling. She longed to comfort them, but there wasn’t time. She found one bucket in the tack room and she ran it to the well. The crackle and roar of the fire filled her ears, covering her pounding heartbeat. When would Cole arrive and help? She and Sallie couldn’t fight this fire alone.
God, send help, please!

She cranked the handle, drawing up water. Sallie dashed over and held out her bucket to be refilled. As Tressa splashed water into Sallie’s bucket, she yelled, “We need more buckets. Do you suppose there are any in the bunkhouse?”

Sallie handed the full bucket to Tressa. “I’ll go see!” She took off running, and Tressa carried the bucket to the house and tossed its contents as high as she could. She recognized the futility of her efforts, but she couldn’t stand aside and do nothing in the face of such a calamity. She dashed back to the well and grabbed the handle.

“Tressa! Tressa!” Sallie’s terrified screeching pulled Tressa from the well. She scrambled to the bunkhouse and tripped through the door. Sallie was kneeling on the floor next to Cole, who lay battered and unmoving. Tears streamed down Sallie’s face. “Oh, Tressa—my Cole, my Cole . . . someone’s killed him, for sure.”

Tressa dropped to her knees and cupped Cole’s cheek with her hand. His breath brushed her skin. “He’s not dead, Sallie. I think he’s just unconscious.” Several purple splotches decorated his face, and her heart wrenched. “Someone beat him badly.”

“But why would anyone hurt Cole? He’s as gentle as a lamb. He’d not even go out of his way to be steppin’ on a bug.” Sallie leaned over Cole, hugging his head and crying into his hair. Suddenly Cole groaned, lifting his hand to push at Sallie.

Sallie sat up, her hands fluttering to touch his cheek, his hair, his shoulder. “Cole . . . Cole . . .”

He opened his eyes and looked around, as if confused by his surroundings. Then, without warning, he leaped to his feet and staggered for the door.

Sallie rose clumsily and chased after him. “Cole, you’re hurt! Please lie down an’ let me tend your wounds!”

“Gotta stop him.” Cole swayed, and Sallie caught his arm. “Can’t let him burn the place.”

Tressa took his other arm and helped Sallie guide him to the table in the middle of the small room. “Who, Cole? Who was here?”

Cole flopped into the nearest chair, his eyes wide. “Vince. He was crazy—drunk as a skunk. I never seen him like that. Stumblin’ around, claimin’ Abel should’ve died. Said he’d shoot every cow an’ burn every buildin’ on the place if it couldn’t be his. Ethan tried to stop him, an’ he knocked him down. So Ethan yelled he wouldn’t stay an’ be a witness to it—an’ then he rode off. I tried to stop Vince, an’ . . .” Cole touched his forehead where a huge purple lump had formed. He looked at Sallie helplessly. “I . . . I tried, honest I did, but he . . . he was like a madman. I couldn’t stop him.”

Suddenly he sniffed the air. He groaned. “Oh no, he’s gone an’ done it. I shoulda stopped him . . . I shoulda stopped him, Sallie.”

Sallie hugged Cole’s head to her chest and murmured to him. Tressa dashed back to the yard, intending to throw more water on the house, but the sight that greeted her eyes brought her frantic race to a heartbreaking halt. The roof of the house was engulfed. Flames glowed behind every window and danced beneath the eaves. The fire roared and cackled like malevolent laughter, and a chill wiggled down Tressa’s spine. Even if a dozen people battled the blaze, they wouldn’t be able to save the house.

She sank down on the little stoop outside the bunkhouse’s doorway and watched the flames eagerly devour the wooden structure. The loss made her chest ache. Such damage Vince had wrought.
God, why? Why did evil have its way here today? I want to believe that You have good plans for Your children, but, dear God, I don’t understand. . . .

She remained so focused on the fire, she hardly noticed the caravan of wagons and riders pouring onto the property. Men swarmed the grounds, creating a bucket brigade and soaking every building, including the outhouse, to prevent the fire from spreading.

No one made an attempt to save the house—as Tressa had feared, it was beyond saving. Sallie and Cole joined her, and she battled tears as she stood to the side and watched the others work. Aunt Hattie and the other pupils arrived with sandwiches and jugs of lemonade, which the smoke-stained, sweaty men eagerly consumed.

Fred Pennington sidled up between Aunt Hattie and Luella. “We’ve pret’ much done all we can. Me an’ Jerome’ll stick around an’ watch that the wind don’t carry any sparks to the pasture.” He looked at Luella, who was fiddling with the cork on a lemonade jug, her gaze averted. “Why don’t you ladies go on back to the Flyin’ W.”

Luella didn’t lift her head, but she said, “I can stay, too . . . keep you company . . .”

Paralee skittered forward. “And me.”

Fred gave one slow nod. “We’ll take you ladies home later then, if it’s all right with Aunt Hattie.”

A lopsided smile creased Aunt Hattie’s face. “I think that’s fine.” She turned to Cole and Sallie. “You comin’ with me, Sallie?”

Sallie tucked herself beneath Cole’s arm. “I’ll be stayin’ here in the bunkhouse with Cole. I won’t be leavin’ him.”

“I expected as much.”

One by one, the townspeople and neighboring ranchers drifted away. Cole and Sallie, their arms twined around each other’s waists, ambled off to the bunkhouse. Fred and Jerome positioned themselves on opposite sides of the smoldering house, and Luella and Paralee stayed close to their respective beaus.

Aunt Hattie put her arm around Tressa’s shoulders and walked her to the wagon. As they drove away from Abel’s ranch, Tressa stared over her shoulder at the blackened, broken timbers that had once formed a house. Glowing embers became yellow eyes peering back at her, and she shivered.

A heavy sigh came from the other side of the wagon seat, and Tressa looked at Aunt Hattie. The older woman’s face sagged, her features drawn and tired, but she offered a sad smile. “Well, missy, it’s just you an’ me.” She chuckled. “Reckon that’s how it’ll be soon, too. Sallie’s already hitched with Cole; another few weeks an’ Mabelle an’ Paralee’ll be havin’ their joint weddin’.” She cocked her head to the side, one eyebrow high. “I wondered for a while whether Luella’d accept Fred—he’s such a quiet one an’ she’s so flighty—but from the looks o’ things today, I figure she’s plannin’ to say yes.”