“I just don’t know what to tell you, Jesse.”
Her Melody would have been sixteen in August; Mellie with her cherub’s curls and bright green eyes. Mellie was the light of all their lives before the Lord saw fit to take her. Both Melody and Orson at once.
Only by her faith in the goodness and workings of the Lord had Hattie made it through her darkest days, her bleakest hours. She slowly convinced herself that her work here was not finished or He’d surely have taken her, too, and spared her the pain.
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.
Was this opportunity His way of giving her back something she’d lost? Was this challenge another test of her faith?
Even if she agreed to take the girl in, Joe would still have to consent. But she doubted he’d ever shelter a former Comanche captive, someone who’d been with the Indians for so long she no longer spoke English, someone who had taken on their savage ways.
Try as she might, Hattie could not stop thinking of the damaged young woman in need of a place to recover from unspeakable hardships. A young woman who needed her —
Only another survivor could understand.
Hattie noticed her hands were shaking as she lifted the China chocolate pot covered in dainty yellow roses. It seemed a century ago that she’d carefully wrapped it in yards of calico along with the rest of her mother’s dishes before moving them across the country.
“More coffee, Jesse?” In his eyes she saw glimpses of the same bleakness that was ever present in Joe’s nowadays. Both men had witnessed too much bloodshed and far more violence than they deserved. But Jesse Dye was a good ten years older than Joe. And Jesse had chosen his lot in life. He’d been a soldier since the first Confederate regiment was formed in Texas.
It wasn’t right that Joe, at twenty-five, was already burdened with guilt over a past he couldn’t change.
Unlike her, Joe had lost his faith in everything good and true and right. He’d completely given up on God the night his father and sister had been murdered by Comanche raiders, the night he found her, his mother, ravaged and left for dead.
Since then, his guilt and the hardships of life on the Texas plains had beaten the joy out of him, made him too soon a man.
Jesse declined her offer of more chocolate and, a moment later, Hattie nearly jumped out of her skin when she suddenly heard Joe’s footsteps behind her.
She turned as her son came walking across the porch, rolling down his shirtsleeves as his long-legged stride brought him to the table. The collar of the brown-and-white-striped shirt she’d made him was damp. So, too, was his dark curly hair. It was his habit to wash up in the barn before coming into the house.
Their brown hound, Worthless, trailed along in Joe’s wake. The dog sniffed at Jesse’s boots and then stretched out on the ground near her feet.
Joe’s glance shot between her and Jesse. His mouth hardened into a taut line. Visitors were a rarity, even former old friends.
“Hey, Jesse,” he said. His expression remained guarded as he turned to Hattie. “What’s going on? Why are you here?”
“Jesse’s an old friend, Joe. He has every right to drop by.”
“We haven’t seen you in what? Eight months? A year maybe?”
Hattie was grateful that Jesse ignored the insult.
“Yesterday we had a skirmish with a renegade band of Comanche. We rescued a handful of white captives. There’s a young woman among them who looks to be in better shape than the rest, but like most of them, she’s still unidentified. I’ve come to ask if you folks will take her in—just until her family’s located.”
Hattie watched her son’s expression darken. Without comment, he reached for the chocolate pot and filled an empty cup before he sat down at the end of the table opposite her.
“You actually expect us to take her in?” Joe’s anger was barely controlled. “Are you out of your mind?”
Jesse ignored Joe’s intent stare. “You’ve certainly got the room. Your ma could use some help around the house, I reckon.”
“Help?” Joe didn’t try to hide his disgust. “You think somebody who’s gone Comanch’ is really gonna be of help to my mother? Are you forgetting what she’s been through on account of the Comanche? You forget what she’s suffered?” Joe paused, stared at Jesse as he added, “We haven’t.”
“Please, Joe,” Hattie whispered. His undisguised bitterness and anger worried her more than the thought of inviting the Comanche captive into her home.
Joe leaned forward, rested his forearm on the table. “How long has she been a captive?”
Jesse shrugged. “No idea.”
“Did she come in of her own accord? Did she ask to be rescued?”
“I wasn’t the one who found her,” the seasoned soldier admitted. “She’s made no attempt to run.”
Joe stared down into his cup. Hattie watched the muscle in his jaw tighten before he slowly looked up again.
“Maybe you’d like us to take her in because you’re thinking of keeping all the outcasts in one place? Is that it?”
“Joe!” Hattie flushed with embarrassment.
Jesse’s expression soured. Pushed too far, he didn’t bother to hide his anger.
“You know I’m not thinking anything of the sort. Your father was one of my pa’s closest friends. I have the greatest respect for your mother.”
Hattie’s thoughts strayed to the young woman in need. A white girl who had lived among the Comanche. A girl who had been ripped from her family, taken captive and had managed to survive. Some other mother’s daughter.
Her heart again began to pound with the old fear that still terrorized her in the middle of a moonless night. She took a deep breath and refused to feed that fear, forced herself to think of the possibilities instead.
Theirs was a small spread, one that barely broke even most years. Except for spring and summer when Joe hired on extra hands, there were just the two of them. There was never time to catch up.
If nothing else, she could surely use another pair of hands. But a Comanche captive?
The Lord giveth…
“With kindness and nurturing, she’ll come around.” Hattie didn’t realize she’d voiced her thoughts aloud, but figured Joe and Jesse weren’t paying her any mind anyway.
She was a born nurturer, with nothing but cattle and crops to tend for the last eight years.
She looked up and found them both staring at her.
“I can teach her,” she decided. “And I could use a hand around the house.” She bit her lip and took a deep breath before she appealed directly to Joe.
“Jesse says no one else will take her in, son.”
“Of course they won’t. What else would you expect?” He was watching her closely, undisguised disbelief in his eyes. “Very few folks ever did anything to help you, Ma. Or have you forgotten how the good people of Glory turned their backs on you, as if daring to survive was your great sin.”
“Joe—”
“Maybe no one else has taken her in because they’re afraid she’ll murder them in their sleep.” As if a thought had just struck him, Joe looked to Jesse again. “Is she dangerous?”
“She hasn’t shown any signs.”
“Can