Content to let her talk and simply enjoy the evening, he turned toward some flowers. “Does your ma use these for anything?”
She squatted by the patch of flowers, touching the blossoms gently. As she lifted her face to him, a smile filled her eyes. “Yes, she does.” Cora straightened. “Every year, when the brown-eyed Susans—or, as she prefers to call them, black-eyed Susans—are at their best, she fills a jug with the blossoms and puts it in the middle of the table.” She looked into the distance, the soft smile still on her lips. “And she repeats a poem about the black-eyed Susan who was a woman. Her sweet William was sailing away and she feared he would forget her. He said she would be present wherever he went. Her eyes would be seen in the diamonds they found, her breath would be sweeter than any spices and her skin prettier than any ivory. Every beautiful object he saw would remind him of his pretty Susan.” She drew in a slow breath. “It’s a lovely poem.” She shrugged. “Now you’ll think me a romantic, and I’m not.”
“What would be wrong if you were?” She’d certainly sent his mind on a lovely romantic journey. Oh, that he could promise some sweet Susan such fidelity. His heart hurt at the knowledge that the best he could offer any Susan was to protect her from sharing the shame of his past. For, although he’d done nothing wrong, he’d learned people only saw the fact that he’d spent time in jail.
She laughed, a merry little sound. “I’m Cora, the practical sister.” She turned her steps back to the riverbank. “I take care of business.”
“Because you have to or because you want to?”
She stopped dead and turned to face him squarely. “Why, both, of course.”
“You mean your sisters or your ma or pa couldn’t look after business if you didn’t?” He didn’t know why it mattered one way or the other to him, but for some reason it did. Perhaps because he felt as if she was creating a prison for herself—one with no walls or bars or guards except of her own making. And jails, real or otherwise, were not pleasant places.
She shrugged. “I suppose they could, but they don’t have to. Come this way. Shh.” She pressed her finger to her lips as she tiptoed toward a swampy area. “I like watching the baby ducklings.” She plopped down as if prepared to stay awhile.
He sank to the ground beside her. He’d been dreading this walk and the talk that was to accompany it. But sitting by the slough and watching birds was fine with him.
The mother duck had flapped the ducklings into hiding in the reeds at their approach, but as they sat quietly, the little family soon emerged and resumed looking for food.
He realized Cora had shifted her attention from the birds to him and studied him intently. Slowly he brought his gaze to hers. The moment had come, and he drew in a deep, steadying breath.
“I want to know why Lonnie is so afraid,” she said, her voice soft, as if she thought he might react the way Lonnie had.
He’d considered how to answer, had even rehearsed what he’d say, but now it didn’t feel right, so he stared at the water before them and tried to shepherd his thoughts into order.
“The reason he acted like that was because you said not all fathers are like your pa. He knows too well the truth of those words.” Wyatt slowly returned his eyes to her, wanting to see her reaction, assess her response.
Her brown eyes softened and he drew in courage at the thought that she was sympathetic.
“My father beat us regularly.” He recalled so many times being kicked or hit with something—whatever his pa could lay his hands on. One time, the old man had come after him with an ax. It had been one of the few times Wyatt had defended himself.
She touched the back of his hand. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry. Poor Lonnie. No wonder he shrinks back when someone gets too close.”
Wyatt nodded. The pressure of her fingers on his skin unwound a tightness behind his heart. “The worst part was not knowing what Lonnie endured the last year of Pa’s life.”
The movement of her fingers stilled. Slowly she withdrew her hand.
He tried to think what he’d said to make her pull away and look at him as if he’d admitted to some terrible behavior.
“Where were you that you didn’t know?”
He resisted an urge to thump his forehead. He’d opened the door a crack and she meant to walk right through.
“I had to be away.”
“You left him?” Her shock echoed through his head. Every day he’d prayed that Lonnie would be safe. In fact, it was in prison that he’d learned to pray and been forced to trust God, simply because there was nothing else he could do.
“I had no choice,” he murmured.
She shook her head and turned to stare ahead. “I would never abandon my sisters.”
“Sometimes you don’t have any alternative.” Misery edged each word, but she didn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps she didn’t care.
“I can’t imagine any reason strong enough except death.” The look she gave him seemed to point out that he was very much alive, so he couldn’t claim that excuse.
His eyebrows went up. She had laid down a challenge—give me a good reason or face my censure.
He could not give her a good reason. That secret remained locked up for Lonnie’s protection as well as his own.
She jumped to her feet. “I’d better get back before Pa comes looking for me.”
He rose more slowly, aching with disappointment, though why it should be so he would have to reason out at a later date. He only knew he wished their time together could have ended differently. He touched the spot on the back of his hand where her fingers had rubbed.
Then he flung his hands apart. Bad enough to be condemned for supposedly abandoning his brother. Think how much worse it would be if she learned he’d been in jail.
No woman would ever touch him in a gentle, accepting way once the truth was discovered. It hadn’t taken many days of freedom to learn this truth. People crossed the street to avoid him. Fathers and mothers dragged their daughters away as if a mere glance at him would ruin them for life. And discovery was always a possibility no matter how far he and Lonnie went. Nor had he forgotten the threat of one Jimmy Stone. Jimmy knew where they lived. He’d made a point of reminding Wyatt of the fact when Wyatt had got out of prison. Wyatt didn’t doubt the man’s intention to get revenge. He wasn’t even that surprised when he heard a man fitting Jimmy’s description had been asking about him. If Jimmy meant to find him, he would, unless they could outrun him. They had to move on as soon as possible to escape their past.
Wyatt had even considered changing their names but drew a line there. He was Wyatt Williams and he’d live and die with that name.
* * *
Cora steamed away. How could Wyatt have left Lonnie, knowing full well the abuse he would suffer? Had he done it to escape his father’s wrath? He claimed he’d had no choice. She snorted. A person always had a choice. Some chose to fulfill their responsibilities. Some chose to abandon them.
All her life she’d lived with not knowing why their papa, as she always referred to the man who had been their father, had walked away from them. She couldn’t even remember their last name. Not that it mattered at all.
What mattered to Cora was that a man had shirked his role as a father. For whatever reason. No doubt he would also say he didn’t have a choice, but she couldn’t believe there was any good reason to abandon three little girls in the middle of the prairie. They would surely have perished if Ma hadn’t been out looking for her medicinal