another little brother.”
Sarah looked at Dodge and Abilene, trying to see any sign that either could be a child of Gatlin’s. They were too dirty to tell much, but neither had his dark eyes.
“Is Sam your father?”
All three children nodded in unison as if they’d practiced their response to such a question.
Sarah added another black mark to her husband’s growing list. Drunkard, gunman, probable wife beater, and now no-good father. How had she managed to marry the lowest of the low in several different categories?
“I should have left the knife in his back,” she mumbled as she scrubbed the dishes. “Maybe before I stepped up and helped him, I should have asked why someone stabbed him. Who knows? Maybe they had good reason. He didn’t bother to tell me, and Denver didn’t seem the least surprised that someone would want to kill him. In fact, she hinted men might be forming a line to do just that.”
Sarah glanced over her shoulder. The children watched her as if she were some kind of curious animal. She wasn’t too sure if K.C. was telling her the truth, or simply saying what she thought Sarah might want to hear.
“Do you know where your mother is?” Sarah asked.
“Nope,” K.C. answered without emotion. “Last time we seen her was in Fort Worth. She was dead in a box.”
“But how did you get here?” Sarah found it hard to believe anyone, even a man like Sam Gatlin, would leave three children out here alone.
K.C. wrinkled her face in thought.
Sarah guessed the child debated telling the truth. “It’s all right, you can trust me. Even if I wanted to, I have no one to tell any secrets to.”
“Tennessee Malone told us not to tell nobody. He said if we want to get to our father, we better not talk to anyone.”
Sarah tried again. “Who is Tennessee Malone?”
“He said he was a friend of our pa’s and he’d take us to a place where we’d meet up with our pa, but all he did was leave us here.”
Sarah tried for another hour, but the child had no more answers, only that the day her mother died, a man they’d never seen before named Malone loaded them in a wagon. Then he dropped them off with a thick wrap of jerky and told them Sam Gatlin would be there in three days.
Only Sam never came and K.C. said she’d watched the moon turn full three times. When the jerky ran out, they’d survived on berries and roots.
“We’ve been hungry for a long time,” K.C. said. “Could we have another peach?”
Sarah knew she should ration the quickly dwindling supplies, but she couldn’t say no.
After feeding them another two cans of peaches and all the bread that was left, she wrapped the children in the huge shawl and put them close to the fire so they would stay warm. She spent the second night in the clearing listening to Sam mumble in his sleep and trying to figure out why he hadn’t come for the children. Had he thought that if he waited long enough they’d be dead and he wouldn’t have to worry about them?
Sarah had no idea if he was their father or why he hadn’t helped them. Maybe he married her so he’d have someone to take care of them. Maybe Malone’s message never reached Sam. Maybe it did, but Sam didn’t care.
She scooted into the corner of the wagon, next to the rifle, and curled into a ball. She didn’t want to touch him tonight, not even to get warm. So far every day she had learned more about her husband. And it was all bad.
As the night aged, she shivered and finally slipped beneath the covers and into the warm place at his side. But tonight there was far too much to think about to sleep.
The next day mirrored the last. Sam seemed to be sleeping sounder and his wound no longer bled, but he never opened his eyes or responded when she talked to him.
Dawn crept through the cottonwoods on the morning of the fourth day with Sarah wide awake. She’d made up her mind that there was only one thing to do. She had to take the children back to town and talk Denver into
Sarah looked at Dodge and Abilene, trying to see any sign that either could be a child of Gatlin’s. They were too dirty to tell much, but neither had his dark eyes.
“Is Sam your father?”
All three children nodded in unison as if they’d practiced their response to such a question.
Sarah added another black mark to her husband’s growing list. Drunkard, gunman, probable wife beater, and now no-good father. How had she managed to marry the lowest of the low in several different categories?
“I should have left the knife in his back,” she mumbled as she scrubbed the dishes. “Maybe before I stepped up and helped him, I should have asked why someone stabbed him. Who knows? Maybe they had good reason. He didn’t bother to tell me, and Denver didn’t seem the least surprised that someone would want to kill him. In fact, she hinted men might be forming a line to do just that.”
Sarah glanced over her shoulder. The children watched her as if she were some kind of curious animal. She wasn’t too sure if K.C. was telling her the truth, or simply saying what she thought Sarah might want to hear.
“Do you know where your mother is?” Sarah asked.
“Nope,” K.C. answered without emotion. “Last time we seen her was in Fort Worth. She was dead in a box.”
“But how did you get here?” Sarah found it hard to believe anyone, even a man like Sam Gatlin, would leave three children out here alone.
K.C. wrinkled her face in thought.
Sarah guessed the child debated telling the truth. “It’s all right, you can trust me. Even if I wanted to, I have no one to tell any secrets to.”
“Tennessee Malone told us not to tell nobody. He said if we want to get to our father, we better not talk to anyone.”
Sarah tried again. “Who is Tennessee Malone?”
“He said he was a friend of our pa’s and he’d take us to a place where we’d meet up with our pa, but all he did was leave us here.”
Sarah tried for another hour, but the child had no more answers, only that the day her mother died, a man they’d never seen before named Malone loaded them in a wagon. Then he dropped them off with a thick wrap of jerky and told them Sam Gatlin would be there in three days.
Only Sam never came and K.C. said she’d watched the moon turn full three times. When the jerky ran out, they’d survived on berries and roots.
“We’ve been hungry for a long time,” K.C. said. “Could we have another peach?”
Sarah knew she should ration the quickly dwindling supplies, but she couldn’t say no.
After feeding them another two cans of peaches and all the bread that was left, she wrapped the children in the huge shawl and put them close to the fire so they would stay warm. She spent the second night in the clearing listening to Sam mumble in his sleep and trying to figure out why he hadn’t come for the children. Had he thought that if he waited long enough they’d be dead and he wouldn’t have to worry about them?
Sarah had no idea if he was their father or why he hadn’t helped them. Maybe he married her so he’d have someone to take care of them. Maybe Malone’s message never reached Sam. Maybe it did, but Sam didn’t care.
She scooted into the corner of the wagon, next to the rifle, and curled into a ball. She didn’t want to touch him tonight, not even to get warm. So far every day she had learned more about her husband. And it was all bad.
As the night aged, she shivered and finally slipped beneath the covers and into the warm place at his side. But tonight there was far too much to think about to sleep.
The next day mirrored the last. Sam seemed to be sleeping sounder and his wound no longer bled, but he never opened his eyes or responded when she talked to him.
Dawn crept through the cottonwoods on the morning of the fourth day with Sarah wide awake. She’d made up her mind that there was only one thing to do. She had to take the children back to town and talk Denver into
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