Year of Jubilee (2 page)

* * *

Jubilee climbed higher. This had always been
her lucky pine. Never once had Colvin located her when she’d
shimmied up this tree. The problem was, the farther she scrambled,
the thinner the trunk. And, although she’d slimmed down quite a
bit, the five-inch trunk tilted dangerously and creaked louder at
each sway.

She closed her eyes and hugged the bark to
her face. The pine smell always soothed her, the sap did not. The
rough bark made a plumb uncomfortable seat. In her weakened
condition, she knew she couldn’t clutch this tree for the rest of
the day and into the night. Already she shook from the effort of
climbing and holding her position in the rocking tree.

Snap.
She caught her breath and her
eyes flew open. The stranger had found her. Twigs continued to
crunch under the horse’s hooves as they neared.

“Hello? Can you hear me? I must talk to
you.”

Jubilee shivered and her muscles trembled.
Sensing him below the tree, she squeezed her eyes shut.

“I need to know who you are.” His voice grew
fainter. “Colvin Stallings is dead, and I own the property
now.”

Jubilee nearly lost her hold on the trunk.
Had she heard right? Colvin was gone? Her breathing sped up. How?
Surely she couldn’t be free of him. Her face puckered in distaste,
disgusted she’d be thrilled at the possibility of a man’s death.
She prayed the Lord understood.

But, if the first part were true, the last
part must be true as well. A sob rose in her throat. She was free
of Colvin, but now had no home. Nowhere to go. Stickiness clung to
her hand and face as she wiped the moisture from her eyes and
contemplated her situation.

She needed to think. Her throat constricted
with tears. Her numb mind grappled for something practical to do.
First, she’d stay hidden until he left the woods. She’d check her
fishing lines. Then make her way back to the house. Maybe, by some
miracle, this invader would’ve disappeared.

With a mind full of worries, she carried out
her plan, begrudging the time she should have spent digging the
garden, and landed a middling catfish at the creek. A blue cat was
more appetizing than the yellow belly she held by the string, but
she wouldn’t complain. She’d carefully cut out the mud vein, fry it
up, and feast. Now, if only her visitor had vanished.

Near dark she crept toward the outhouse and
paused long and hard, searching for signs of the man she’d seen
earlier.
Please let this all be a horrible dream.
Cautiously, she stepped past the garden and approached the house.
Her hunger drove her to be careless. She grabbed a couple of pieces
of wood from the meager pile against the cabin to start a fire and
reached for the door. Suddenly, he loomed before her. She gasped
and dropped her load to flee for the woods.

But his hand, like a steel trap, clamped
down on her arm and she screamed. He had her. Jubilee kicked and
flailed for all she was worth until he released her. She collapsed
in a writhing fit and clawed her way through the tall grass until
she reached the hand pump. Her arms hugged the metal as if it were
a lifeline.

The thin girl’s strength startled Rafe.
She’d tussled in terror, fighting for her life, and he’d let her
go. He could’ve easily held her, but he knew that would terrify her
more. Her feeble attempts were laughable if it hadn’t been so plain
she lacked energy because of starvation.

“Whoa,” he said quietly, as if calming a
spooked horse. “Stay there, I won’t touch you.”

Rafe put up his empty hands as she heaved
with effort. “I need to talk with you.”

She panted and studied him with huge, brown,
eyes.

“My name’s Rafe Tanner. I’m Colvin
Stallings’ cousin.”

This statement didn’t seem to reassure her
as she tucked her body behind the narrow pipe. He ran his gaze over
her. Thick, dark hair shimmered with cinnamon highlights. She wore
it pulled back and braided, doubled up and secured at the nape of
her neck. Flyaway hairs surrounded the thin, frightened face like a
halo.

Her skin was tanned already in mid-April,
and the dress was an absolute rag. Now that he approached her, she
didn’t appear as young as he’d first thought. He stepped back and
let her breathe and realize he meant no harm.

“Listen, I’m gonna take your fish and clean
it. I’ll fry it over at the campfire, and then we can eat and talk.
I’ve got some bacon and a few rolls left over from my lunch in
town. Just don’t run off. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

The horror on her face eased, yet her eyes
followed his every move. He maneuvered himself backward and
gathered the catfish and the wood, leaving as much perimeter around
the girl as possible. He settled beside the campfire. This wouldn’t
take long. Then this whole misunderstanding would be cleared
up.

* * *

She assessed his distance, popped up, and
scampered to the cabin, stumbling with exhaustion. After wrenching
the door open, she slammed it shut. After two attempts, she managed
to throw the heavy chunk of wood into the cast iron rests. She
collapsed onto the floor and sucked air. Curled up in a fetal
position, her body quivered. What was she going to do? Exhaustion
trumped her fear. She blinked.
Stay alert.

Nearly an hour passed as she lay there,
mustering some strength. A soft knock sounded behind her. She
flinched and lunged away.

“Ma’am, the fish is done. I’m gonna set the
plate here on the back steps if you wanna get it. I’ll be over by
the fire.” Jubilee strained to hear his soft voice. “You oughta get
it soon or a critter might drag your fish off.”

She struggled to a sitting position. Dare
she open the door? Her stomach clenched in reply.
Is
this
a trick?
She glanced to the table. With the greens and onions,
she could make do. But the thought of a raccoon getting her fish
repelled her more than she could bear. Yet that
man
.
What
if he…?
She refused to contemplate.

She chewed her lip. Finally, her stomach
won. She knelt, hoping to snatch the plate—if it were really there.
Certainly worth the chance. With the stealth of a Kickapoo, she
removed the bar and the door yawned open.

A platter came into view, and the smell of
food filtered to Jubilee’s nostrils. An onslaught of saliva flooded
her mouth. Throwing caution to the wind, she pushed the door wide
to search for him. Her gaze caught him quick and, like his words,
he sat next to the campfire, his eyes on her.

She swallowed. Why would he give her this
food?
Enough pondering, grab the
fish.
After seizing
the plate and plopping the platter to the floor, she snatched the
leather handle and yanked. Shouldering the wooden bar, she secured
the door. She froze and panted. What was he doing? She pressed her
ear against the wood, trying to calm her breathing.

Nary a sound. She looked at her plate. Some
of the precious fish had scattered across the dirty floor. Scooping
it up, she noticed several strips of bacon and two rolls also
graced the tin platter.

She didn’t take time to ruminate, but
hurried to the table to rinse the dirty pieces of fish in the water
bucket on the table and jammed them into her mouth. Grabbing an
onion to season the fish, she hoped to finish it.
Oh, the
bacon.
When had she last tasted its salty goodness? She ate in
a frenzy for a few moments before slowing her pace. Her stomach
could only take a few bites at a time. Her plate was still plenty
full when she stopped. She was stuffed.

She dunked the dipper in the bucket and took
a long drink of water. Her satisfied stomach caused her to pause
and think
.
Why had this stranger shared his food with her?
She glanced toward the door and shrugged one thin shoulder. Right
now, she’d exhausted herself. She’d mull the thought later.

Jubilee picked up the plate and the bucket
of water and plodded to the straw mattress in the corner. It only
stood two feet from the back door, but Jubilee’s energy was
depleted. She set her load next to the bed and lay down. If she
woke in the night, she’d try to eat more. She’d need her strength
tomorrow. Snuggling under a threadbare quilt, she fell asleep in
moments.

* * *

Rafe drank his coffee and listened to the
coyotes howl in the distance. This farm appeared a lonely place for
a man used to family at every step. His gaze shifted to the doorway
of the cabin. Did this woman live here, day after day, by herself?
How frequently had Colvin come back to actually occupy the house?
Considering the state of the farm and the condition of his wife, if
that’s who she was, not often.

He thought over his position. Where he’d
bunk was the easiest to plan. The barn, the best building in the
area. Who this woman could be, and what to do with her, completely
perplexed him. He threw the leftover coffee on the fire. This
problem wouldn’t be solved tonight. He’d just as well find a
comfortable spot in the barn and hope daylight would answer some of
his questions.

* * *

Jubilee’s gritty eyes cracked open. Weak
morning light washed across the floorboards from the lone window on
the far side of the cabin. Her breath formed clouds in front of her
face. With reluctance, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat
up. Last night’s events cut through the fog of her brain. She
leaned back against the wall and reached for the plate, which still
contained a few bites of fish, bacon and roll.

For the first time in months, she’d awakened
with a feeling of real strength. Shortly after downing the water
from the dipper, she realized another need. The outhouse. She
glanced around, wishing the chamber pot hadn’t been left outside
the back door. Her only option was to leave the sanctuary of the
cabin.

The chill air raised goose bumps across her
arms and she rubbed them, her teeth chattering. That man no doubt
lingered, but he’d been kind enough to clean and cook the fish.
He’d given her some of his food. But he’d grabbed her, just like
Colvin. The fingers of her right hand worked a nervous circle in
the thin fabric of her skirt. What choice did she have? An
incredible need to know if Colvin was really dead rose in her. But,
if this information were true, she had nowhere to go. The farm
would belong to a stranger.

She glanced up to the old, rusted shotgun
over the fireplace. The thing was useless. The weapon had greeted
them when she and Colvin had arrived. It’d never been fired, and
she had no bullets. However, this stranger didn’t know that. She
hoisted herself from the mattress, pulled one of the table’s
benches to the fireplace, and reached for the firearm. The rusted
metal was cold to her touch. Even without ammunition, the gun made
her appear a little more in control.

She unbarred and opened the door without a
sound. With trepidation, she stuck her head out, glanced around,
then crept down the steps one at a time. The frosty air nipped at
her skin, and Jubilee shivered. She tried to hold the gun across
herself, as if she could raise the barrel at any moment and blow
off a varmint’s head. Unfortunately, the heavy thing weighed down
her arms. Nonetheless, she arrived at the outhouse without
incident.

On her return journey, her eyes searched for
movements. Then, she heard it. A whistle. She gasped and glanced
toward the cabin. It was a good ways from safety when he popped
around the corner of the house, carrying a rake and a rifle. He
spotted her and froze. Jubilee swallowed and raised the gun a
bit.

“Mornin’.” He nodded and continued to
saunter to the garden on her left. He began whistling again.

Jubilee’s arms quivered under the weight of
the gun, and a shudder, which had nothing to do with the
temperature, snaked down her spine. He propped the rake and the
rifle against a tall stump while she sucked in small breaths to
calm her pounding heart. He took up the shovel from the very spot
where she’d buried it yesterday and began to dig. She narrowed her
eyes. His strong, thick arms finished the row without much
effort.

“Help yourself to some bacon left in the
pan.” He motioned with the tip of his shovel towards last night’s
fire.

A cast iron skillet sat on another stump
nearby. She licked her dry lips. The leftover fish proved more
breakfast than she’d become used to, but fresh bacon beckoned.
Unfortunately, that salted pork rested fifteen feet from where he
stood. He shrugged and walked toward her. She lifted the shotgun.
He stopped as he came to the end of the row and began digging. The
muzzle drifted down.

“You live here?” he asked as he dug.

She juggled her thoughts. Time to find out.
Enough of this sneaking around. She needed to know
.
“Yes.”

He paused a moment to glance at her. “You
know Colvin Stallings?”

Jubilee watched him dig. “He’s my
husband.”

The digging stopped, and he stood. He was
tall, much taller than Colvin. The shoulders on this man were next
to frightening. She knew Colvin’s power firsthand, and this man’s
larger build put her on edge.

They evaluated one another for a second or
two, and the point of Jubilee’s shotgun inched up. He took a deep
breath, pulled the hat from his head, and raked a hand through his
blond hair.

“Ma’am, I don’t know how to tell you this,
but Colvin Stallings is dead.”

“Did you see his body?” The wavering point
of the barrel went center on his chest.

“Ma’am?” His brow lowered and he pressed his
hat to his thigh.

“Did you see him dead?” she persisted and,
despite the cool temperature, sweat beaded across her brow.

His eyes narrowed before he plopped the hat
back on his head. “Yes, Ma’am, I did. I stood outside the saloon
where he was shot.”

“Did you see him laid in his box?”