“That’s it. Tasty, in a different sort of way.”
Katrine smiled. “It is Lars’s favorite.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to go on about it when we get back to Lije’s. That way you can make me two loaves and I’ll be sure to pass one on to Lars.”
It would feel good to be able to send bread along with her next message to Lars. “I’d like that.”
“See?” the sheriff said as he swung down off the wagon. “This ain’t as hard as you think. Just requires a bit of thought and patience, that’s all. Think of it like making up one of your stories.”
This was nothing at all like making up charming stories to entertain. This was life-and-death and dark secrets that could get Lars killed.
Chapter Five
Friday morning, Clint stared at the back of the building that would become the church of Brave Rock and watched the shadows of the people who had just filed out of Lars’s memorial service. He’d known Lars would be mourned, even prepared himself for it, but was not ready for how the sorrow would cut him to the quick. People were downcast, buckling under what seemed a gruesome tragedy, yet still clinging to their faith. It was the first time he felt as if the weight of this plan might be too hard to bear.
“He was good to many, but an especially good friend to you.” Lije’s voice was as close as the hand Clint felt on his shoulder. “I know you would have saved him if there was any way. We all do. I’m so sorry.”
He’d kept the truth from Lije for an essential reason, but still he felt the wedge it placed between them. There always seemed to be a gap between Clint and his brothers, but today it yawned wider still. His life was forever destined to be different from theirs, solitary even if it was full of purpose.
Sitting next to Katrine hadn’t helped. It was both soothing and unnerving to be near her since the fire. The truth they alone knew made him feel close to her—and yet that closeness managed to open up a black hole of lonesomeness at the same time. The sad service had shown him how much Katrine would need to lean on him while this plan played out. Only, Clint wasn’t the sort of man who could offer that kind of support. She would need someone else—some person other than him to turn to for comfort. It’d be easy—but wrong, and dangerous—to pull in Lije. Clint needed someone who could ride out of town often without raising any eyebrows.
Lars was right; he needed Winona’s help. She’d spent a good deal of time with Lars, didn’t interact much with most of the Brave Rock folk, and rode back and forth between town and the reservation many times each week.
Lije seemed to follow his gaze to the Cheyenne woman as she stood with her nephew Dakota. “I’m glad Winona felt welcome to come. You were good to invite her. I want her to see how faith takes away the sting of death for those of us who believe.”
Leave it to Lije to paint Clint’s actions with the brush of faith. He’d extended the invitation because Clint knew Lars was fond of the young woman. Lars also confessed to a soft spot for Dakota, the half-white boy who had been abandoned by his white father. Lars had talked in admiring terms of how Winona had stepped up to take the boy in, how it took courage to do so.
Well, it would take courage to step into this dangerous circle he’d drawn around himself, Lars and Katrine. Clint nodded at his brother. “I was thinking she’d be good company for Katrine. She’s started to attend services regularly, and Katrine will need someone to sit with her with Lars gone.”
“There is no doubt I see her drawn to our faith, and she’s taken to English like lightning—even though I have to say I credit Lars for that much more than myself.” Lije eyed his brother with one eyebrow raised. “Still, I can’t help saying how much I think you are good company for Katrine.”
Clint frowned. “I think not.”
“Why?”
“You know why.” Lije never did understand Clint’s reluctance to take a wife, forever pushing him in the direction of relationships that weren’t to be. Despite his endless compassion, Lije seemed blind to how the subject felt to Clint like God’s cruelest burden. Lije could start a family whenever he wanted, had even been engaged once, but had lately insisted on being single until Alice stole his heart back in Boomer Town. In contrast, Clint wanted nothing more than a big, noisy houseful of young’uns but could never sire children. The childhood disease hadn’t taken Clint’s life—he knew he should be grateful for that when so many in Pennsylvania died that winter—but it had taken almost more than Clint could bear. Lije couldn’t see how a wife but no children could never be enough for Clint, how it was less painful never to marry at all.
“She needs a friend,” Lije replied. “That’s all I’m saying.”
Clint could not be a friend to Katrine. The tiny part of him that had come to think of her in ways that went beyond friendship had taken firm root the night he pulled her from the burning cabin. His mind strayed to the beautiful statuesque blonde too much lately.
“Which is exactly why I brought up the subject of Winona.”
Lije shot him an older brother “you’re not fooling me” look and began stacking hymnals as if they were discussing something ordinary rather than the long-painful subject it was. The church was nearly complete, with some walls up all the way and others still sporting bits of tent tarping to keep out the blazing June sunshine. The fact that Lije had enough hymnals to stack was a minor wonder in itself. “Katrine looks at you the same way you look at her—when you aren’t looking of course, or when you think I don’t see. But I saw it. Alice did, too.”
Clint began stacking hymnals just to give his hands something to do. “So you and Alice are in on this together, are you?” Sometimes Lije could be too much the elder brother, all full of “sage” advice when Clint would prefer he kept to his own on some matters.
Lije offered him one of those “I know better than you” smiles just then. “Actually, Alice brought it up first. Once I was looking for it, it wasn’t that hard to see.” Thumping the last stack down on the church’s back bench—still without a laid floor, the church sported rows of benches where pews would one day sit—Lije planted his hands on his hips. “You mind telling me what’s so awful about the prospect of you and Katrine Brinkerhoff?”
He was going to make him say it, wasn’t he? “Stop.”
Lije’s sigh was long and weary. “Not every woman pines for a family, Clint.”
As if he didn’t know that. As if he hadn’t considered the foolish notion that somewhere out there might be a woman who would welcome a man with his particular set of shortcomings. The war had filled the world with pretty young widows, already-made families in need of fathers, but he wasn’t the sort of man who could take that on.
“This one does. I’ve heard Lars speak of it, and her, too. Besides, a body can’t hardly make it out here without a big family, even you know that.” He let out a sigh ten times wearier than his brother’s. “It ain’t to be, Lije. Leave it alone.”
“God crafts families in many ways.”
He’d heard that line before, too. He’d heard every single platitude on that subject. “I said leave it, Lije.” He walked out of the church, needing to put some wide open space between himself and his brother’s meddling.
Of course, Lije followed him. “Well, then, let’s talk about Katrine. She’s alone now, and missing a heap of provisions besides. You just said how hard it is to make do out here with a few hands, let alone all by herself. So how do we help her? If what you say about how her place burned down is true, how do we keep her safe?”
Hadn’t he done nothing but worry about that very thing for days now? “You do your job, I’ll do mine. Seems you got half of Brave Rock corralled to get her settled with provisions. I’ll get the homestead built back up as fast as I can while I see to her