Family Lessons

Only that strategy had blown up in his face, for today she’d been stronger than he knew. Far stronger, and that truth was mighty hard to swallow. As a matter of fact, the shock of her strength had turned him stupid. If anyone saved the day here it was you? What kind of fool remark was that? He’d lost his control. Only for a moment, but land sakes that was enough, wasn’t it?

The way he’d figured her, Miss Sanders should be as undone as the pretty blonde crying on the rocks over there. And he had seen tears come up behind her eyes—despite doing his best to ignore them. So how was it she was trotting across the clearing with her hands on her hips, all teacher in command? Where’d a woman so quiet and tiny get such a core of steel?

His eyebrow shot up as Miss Sanders began to clap softly as she walked toward the children. She stopped about six yards out, speaking just soft enough to be heard. “Clap once if you can hear me.”

He thought the tactic crazy until one little girl’s eyes widened and looked up. Miss Sanders repeated herself, still clapping. “That’s right, clap once if you can hear me.” Startled out of her crying fit, the little girl clapped. A second girl next to her also looked up, sniffled, and clapped. Mason scratched his head, amazed.

“There you go. Now come over here and clap twice if you can hear me.” By now all three of the little girls were clapping and moving toward Holly. Even a few of the adults looked up from tending to Miss Sterling, their attention drawn by the change in the children.

“Clap three times if you can hear me,” Holly went on, garnering the attention of the two youngest boys. “Now four.” Miss Sanders’s voice steadied with every call, so that now she sounded as if this had been an ordinary school day. “Now five.” The whole clearing was looking at her as the children quietly gathered around her and she kneeled down to their level. Mason realized his mouth was open, and shut it promptly, his own hands on his hips. He’d never seen anything so oddly effective in all his days.

“It’s time to be calm and quiet. We’re safe, and things will be all right from here. Everyone have all their fingers and toes?” The voice was sensible and cheerful, as if it didn’t belong to the same woman who’d just stood over Arlington’s body. The smallest girl—a tot of four or five from the looks of it—actually bent down to inspect her shoes, no doubt wiggling her toes inside.

“Da,” the little girl said, dark braids bobbing. One of the older boys laughed, and a sliver of tension left the small sets of shoulders. Mason shook his head, befuddled.

“We’re going to walk over here,” Miss Sanders instructed, pointing to a spot that would shield the children from both Miss Sterling and the shrouded body of Mr. Arlington. “We’ll sit down by age. Can you do that for me?” She pointed to the second largest boy, placing him in charge of the task. “And you,” she said, pointing to the largest, “will go into the railcar and get everyone’s bags so we can make sure everyone has what they need. My town is just over that hill and you’ll all get to visit tonight. You’ll get some supper, too. But we’ve lots to do to make that happen so I’ll need everyone’s help.”

As Mason stood watching this small woman accomplish this very large feat, the train conductor came up with an equally stunned look on his face.

“Who is that?” he asked Mason as both men stared.

“That,” Mason said, not bothering to hide the respect in his voice, “is Holly Sanders.”

Chapter Three

Holly had walked the four miles from the railroad track to town hundreds of times, but none so tiresome as the trek felt today. As the slanted afternoon sun spread heat across the scrubby spring landscape, home and safety felt far away. She couldn’t tell if she was too shaken to feel the long walk, or too numb to feel anything but her feet inside her tight, pinching boots.

The many small feet making the journey beside her surely lengthened the miles. Some of the children wore their trauma outright, crying and clutching to Miss Sterling and herself. Others, like Liam, were so silent Holly couldn’t help but worry. Bucky and the other townsmen had taken the wounded bandits back to the Evans Grove jail while Mason laid Mr. Arlington’s body over his own horse after seeing the train back on its route. None of that changed the awful truth that no child should have to witness men gunned down.

Certainly not orphans. Why add this to the burden of their lives, Lord? Holly understood the charitable sentiment of the Orphan Salvation Society. Better lives awaited these children out here than the parentless squalor they knew in eastern cities. Still, to be hauled out of the place one knew, plunked onto a train and displayed before prospective families in town after town for placement—how could that be anything but traumatic? Even if many of them found spots in loving homes, her heart ached for the grueling process, the rejection of being “passed over.” Some of them were so heartbreakingly small and the train had made so many stops already.

“I’m glad you’re staying,” Holly offered to Miss Sterling. The woman had said next to nothing as she carried Galina, one of the smaller orphan girls, against her hip while holding the hand of a shy girl named Heidi. Miss Sterling had introduced each of the children on the train, and Holly was struggling against her fatigue to remember all their names. The three other boys—Tom, Patrick and some other German-sounding name she couldn’t recall at the moment—had been boisterous and quiet by turns, unsure how to handle the experience. Who could blame them? Holly herself was anxious one minute, exhausted the next. Heidi, the very quiet girl who had sat next to Miss Sterling on the train, hadn’t said a word since the shooting. Even though she mostly hid in the agent’s skirts, Holly had spied gruesome scars on the girl’s face. How cruel for a girl to have known so much pain so young. “I think the children couldn’t go on, and, Miss Sterling, nor should you.”

“Please call me Rebecca. We’ll have to stay. I’ll need to make...arrangements.” Her voice caught on the word. “I’ve no idea how to proceed under the circumstances. I’ve...” Her voice fell off in a wobbly sigh.

“Call me Holly. Try not to think about that. I’ll help you send some wires when we get into town. We’ll sort it all out in the morning.”

“You were awful brave, ma’am,” Liam offered to Rebecca. “You, too, Miss Sanders.” It was the first time Liam had spoken of his own accord, only piping up to answer questions before this.

His attempt at morale boosting warmed Holly’s heart. “As were you. I’d have been afraid to sneak off to where those robbers hid their horses, but Sheriff Wright says you were a right clever deputy today.”

“Me, a deputy.” The thought brought the first smile to Liam’s face since the incident.

“How long ’til that man gets here?” whined young Lizzie in Holly’s arms, fussing with her shirt collar.

Tom, a thin, sickly-looking lad, coughed and wiped his forehead. “Why didn’t we get to ride the horses? Those robbers should’a been the ones that had to walk!”

“Sheriff Wright will be back with the wagons soon,” Holly replied. “The robbers can’t walk because we hurt them.”

“Bobbins isn’t hurt, but I am,” Lizzie offered, nodding toward the raggedy bunny doll in one hand while holding up her other hand to Holly. “I gots an ow right here.”

Holly dutifully offered a medicinal kiss to the pudgy pink thumb. “Which is exactly why I’m carrying both of you.” She caught Rebecca’s tight, drawn face out of the corner of her eye. All of us hurt today.

Liam stepped up to walk beside Heidi, taking her hand from Rebecca’s. He pointed toward town with his other hand. “One wagon will go back to the train and get our things. And the banker, and the safe, too. The other wagon’s comin’ to fetch us. We won’t have to walk much farther. I been there and back already, remember?”

As if on cue, two wagons pulled into view half a minute later. Ned Minor was driving the wagon from Gavin’s General Store while Mason Wright brought up one with crates lined up as seats along either side.

“If you’re the sheriff, why aren’t you with the robbers?” the boy named Patrick called as Ned’s wagon went on by toward the rail line, and Sheriff Wright pulled up to the weary band of travelers.

“Doc Simpson’s tending to their wounds while Bucky keeps watch. Besides, with wounds in their legs and their arms tied up, they’re not much trouble to anyone at the moment. I’m more worried about your lot than those sorry souls, anyhow.” He climbed down off the driver’s bench and motioned toward the wagon’s payload. “Nothing fancy, but it sure beats walking the rest of the way into town.”

“By a mile,” Tom wheezed, climbing in. He called out to Miss Sterling. “Here, ma’am, this corner seat oughta be for you.”

Holly frowned. “Surely Miss Sterling ought to sit up front.”

“In truth,” sighed Rebecca, “I think back here with all the children would be best.” As Sheriff Wright helped Rebecca into the wagon bed, Holly found she couldn’t argue the request, even knowing the ride was far bumpier in back. Having been through what they all witnessed, wouldn’t she want to surround herself with the hugs of children? As she handed little Lizzie and Bobbins up into the wagon, Holly’s thoughts cast back to so many of her own students. Fright made one crave the familiar.

Cargo in place, the sheriff swung into the driver’s seat and extended a hand to help Holly step up beside him. “My.” Her own sigh was almost as large as Rebecca’s. “What a blessing it is to be able to sit down and ride. I feel as if these boots have grown teeth.”

Sheriff Wright picked up the reins and gave them a snap. As the cart lurched into motion, he glanced down at Holly’s feet. “Fancy footwear there.”

Fancy? By Evans Grove standards, perhaps, but not compared to what she’d seen in Newfield. “I had hoped to make a fine impression on the bank.” She had, until she’d seen how her homespun look measured up to all those frocked ladies and brocade waistcoated bankers. Holly felt the top of her head, unsurprised to find her best hat gone. “I wasn’t planning on braving a gunfight in my Sunday best.” Holly’s “Sunday best” compared poorly to Rebecca’s finely cut traveling clothes. Why, even the children seemed in better clothes than she—though she knew that orphans on such trains were deliberately well-dressed in order to impress prospective families. Holly was neat and tidy, but certainly no sight to catch any eye.

Surely not Mason Wright’s eye, although a surprising smile did cross his serious face. “You did right fine, considering.” The smile quickly evaporated. “Although I’m never one for changing plans at the last minute like that. Too much risk.”

She’d wondered how long it would take his initial concern for her safety to yield to his annoyance that she’d been allowed to go at all. “And just how do you suppose I could refuse Mr. Brooks’s offer to get the funds so quickly? I did wire back word this morning. As I see it, arranging a stop in Evans Grove seemed far safer than going all the way to Greenville and taking the stage back.”

He gave her what Holly had come to call his “book look.” “That’s all fine,” he nearly muttered, “...in theory.” Truly, the only time Mason Wright ever seemed to give her any attention was to exercise his obvious opinion that “book learning” didn’t do one a whole heap of good in the real world. “Only that wire never came and I was saddling up to ride off toward Greenville.” Some days it felt like he viewed her as a dull, dry textbook best ignored. “Five more minutes and I’d have been gone when Liam came into town.” His brows furrowed. “I’d have been miles out of town with no way to help you all if...”

Today of all days she wasn’t going to let him get away with it. “If,” she finished for him, “I hadn’t found a clever way to send Liam off for help.” She stared at him until he lifted his gaze from the reins and returned her stare. “You did say I saved the day, did you not?”

That was a fool thing to say, for a look of regret washed across his features. She should have known he didn’t really mean it. “Perhaps I ought to deputize you.”

It was the first time he’d ever paid enough attention to her to tease her, and she felt that unwelcome girlish fluster return. “Don’t talk such nonsense.” Still, a tiny new spark of confidence refused to be extinguished. She had been brave, even though she felt more fear than she could ever remember. She’d made a difference today, hadn’t she? A real difference. “I prayed as hard as I ever have and, well, I had some very clever help.”

He tipped his hat. “Nice to be appreciated.”

“And what if I was talking about Liam?” She’d teased him right back. She’d never done that, never even had enough of a conversation to have the chance. All these clever words didn’t change the fact that she knew—deep down knew—Sheriff Wright had walked into the line of fire for her life. There were a million serious words to be said about that, but she could find none of them in this moment. Still, she couldn’t leave it at a joke, a levity over something so solemn as a life—lives—saved. Finding that same pool of courage that had shown itself on the train, Holly extended her hand to touch the sheriff’s arm for the briefest of moments. With all the solemnity she could muster, she said, “Thank you.”

They’d never touched before today. Not even to shake hands. Today, when he’d grabbed her at the railroad clearing and hauled her away from Mr. Arlington’s dying body, she’d felt his grasp for the first time. She’d noticed how he steered clear of her at church picnics and town meetings and such. He spoke to her only when necessary or when she sought him out. He’d never paid her much mind.

And she just touched him. Every sensible bone in her body told her to regret it, but she found she couldn’t.

To her delight—or her horror, she truthfully couldn’t say which—Sheriff Wright held her eyes for a long moment before guiding the horse around a turn. “I was doing my job.” He’d closed up the moment so neatly and completely, Holly wasn’t even sure it had happened at all.

But today has happened, her frayed spirit wanted to yell. We can’t go back from it. “Mr. Arlington was just doing his job, and now he’s...gone.” The memory of his blood seeping into the ground produced a shiver. We can’t go back.

“Best not to dwell on that.” He cocked his head toward the back of the wagon. “Not with all those little ones about.” After a short pause, he asked, “I think it was smart not to send them on, but have you got any ideas how we’re going to manage it?”