Stacy Henrie - Lady Outlaw

“I’m glad you took the job, even if you are a tenderfoot.” Will grinned. “Jennie’s been running things pretty much by herself since Pa passed. I try and help, but we need more than the two of us to make this place good again.”

“Mind my asking what happened to your father?”

“No.” Will put his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor. “Some Indians were rustling our cattle and Pa went after them. He was shot in the stomach with an arrow. He died before the doctor could get here.”

“I’m sorry.” Caleb hated how trite the expression sounded, conveying so little of the sympathy he felt at the family’s loss.

Will lifted his head and offered another shrug. “It’s all right. I just don’t think Pa meant for Jennie to do so much by herself. That’s why I’m glad you’ll be helpin’ us, Mr. Johnson. I mean, Caleb. Good night.”

“Night, Will.”

The boy left the room, shutting the door behind him. Caleb wandered over to the window and pulled back the thin curtains. Shadowed hills merged into mountains in the distance. He let the curtains drop back into place and removed his money pouch from his shirt. He set it on the dresser as he prepared for bed.

Before climbing beneath the covers, Caleb knelt on the hardwood floor. He thanked God for the new job, even with the low wages. Clearly he was needed here. “Help me be an instrument for good with this family,” he prayed. “And grant me patience as I work toward my plans.” He ended his prayer and slipped his pouch under the mattress before he got into bed.

Every dollar he earned put him one step closer to starting his freight business. One step closer to that new life he’d planned for, free from all reminders of his past. Compared to that, a few months being a cowhand was a small price to pay.

Chapter Four

Jennie scooped up a bite of stew, suddenly starved. She savored the taste of the rabbit meat and potatoes and smiled.

“He seems like a real gentleman.” Grandma Jones sat down beside her. “Not to mention a face that could melt a girl’s heart.”

Jennie choked on the piece of potato in her mouth and hurried to wash it down with some water. “Grandma!”

Her grandmother chuckled, bringing her wrinkled hands to rest beneath her chin. “I still know a handsome man when I see one. Reminds me a bit of your grandfather. Quick to smile, a bit forthright. Your father didn’t inherit his personality. He was more serious—a thinker, like you.” She released a soft sigh, and Jennie wondered if she was thinking of all the people she’d lost in sixty-five years of life—her parents and sisters, a husband, two sons and a daughter-in-law. “Did you get the supplies we needed?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject.

Jennie pointed her spoon at her saddlebag by the door. She’d made sure to purchase the nails, leather straps and thread they needed in Beaver before encountering the bandits.

Her grandmother murmured approval. “I’ve got one other question and I don’t want you gettin’ all angry. How are you going to pay Mr. Johnson?”

“I have enough,” Jennie said, trying to keep the defensiveness she felt out of her voice. “I only promised to pay him twenty dollars a month.”

“And we have twenty dollars after buying all our supplies?” Grandma Jones raised her eyebrows.

“I sold some things.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Jennie had sold a number of the family’s belongings last year to buy them a little more time on the ranch.

“Your mother’s things, you mean?”

Jennie pushed her remaining stew around her plate. “Why does it matter? She isn’t coming back for them.”

Her grandmother’s hand closed over hers, and the familiar warmth brought the sting of tears to Jennie’s eyes. “You may not remember those first few years after we moved south to Parowan. Your mama and papa worked so hard to make a living there. Then she lost the baby.” Grandma Jones increased the pressure on her hand until Jennie looked up. “I think her will just gave out after we moved to the ranch. Maybe she didn’t feel like she could start all over. Maybe she was scared. I don’t know. What I do know is she didn’t love you and Will any less when she left.”

Jennie gently removed her hand and set it in her lap. “Does that make it right then?” She hated how her voice wobbled with emotion. “To leave us to fend for ourselves?”

“Perhaps she thought we were more capable of adapting than she ever was.” Grandma Jones stood and came around the side of the table to kiss the top of Jennie’s head. “I think if she were here now, she’d tell you how well you’ve done under the circumstances, Jennie girl. I’m real proud of the way you and Will have turned out. But I’m even more proud of you for asking Mr. Johnson to help. Asking others for help was something your mother never quite learned to do.”

A wave of shame ran through her as Jennie thought of the money hidden in the bunkhouse. She might have swallowed her pride enough to hire Caleb, but she hadn’t bothered to include anyone else in solving the ranch’s financial troubles.

Her grandmother and Will knew the ranch might go under, but Jennie had kept the seriousness of the situation and the bank deadline a secret. What else could she do? Telling them the truth would only worry them. And besides, she had the situation under control. She’d spent too many days working under the hot sun and too many nights dreaming of what the ranch could be to give up now.

“I’ll see to the lamp,” she said.

Grandma Jones patted her shoulder. “Good night, Jennie girl.”

Jennie listened to her grandmother’s footsteps shuffle down the hall. She remained in her chair, thinking back over the events of the day. She wasn’t sure how long she’d sat there before she took the lamp and went upstairs to her bedroom, but the house echoed with silence.

She changed into her nightclothes, but instead of climbing into bed, she knelt beside the large trunk against the windowsill. She lifted the lid, breathing in the smell of cedar. It evoked happy memories of bringing out the thick quilts for winter and wrapping up in them to listen to her mother read.

Reaching inside Jennie lifted out two envelopes. The first had never been opened, addressed to her from her mother, Olivia Wilson Jones. From the second, she removed the telegram that had come two years before her father’s death. She stared at the black, unemotional type, her chest constricting at the recollection. She could still picture the way her father’s face had crumpled into tears when he’d read the few words.

OLIVIA DEAD STOP CONSUMPTION CITED AS CAUSE STOP

No other details from her mother’s sister. No condolences for a grieving husband and children. Nothing.

Jennie felt moisture on her face and realized she’d started to cry. Rubbing away the tears with the back of one hand, she returned both envelopes to the trunk.

Twice she’d survived the heartache and pain of her mother leaving: first from the ranch and then in death. I made it through then, and I can do it again. I won’t give up like she did.

After closing the trunk, Jennie extinguished the lamp and slipped into bed. Grandma Jones’s words from earlier repeated in her mind: I’m even more proud of you for asking Mr. Johnson to help. Asking others for help was something your mother never quite learned to do.

“But I don’t really need to ask others for help,” she whispered into the dark. “Not really. Not when I can handle things myself.”

Most of the time, she refused assistance, especially from those she loved. In that, perhaps she and her mother weren’t so different after all. But her mother hadn’t been able to handle things here. Jennie could. And would. With that resolution in mind, Jennie turned onto her side and tried to sleep.