The Brides of Chance Collection Part 69

Salt Lick Holler was far from perfect, but it was home, and Hattie Thales loved it. She took a deep breath of crisp mountain air tinged with the scent of freshly fallen rain. Spring had come again, bringing along with it the promise of new life.

Spring meant she'd be needing to sh.o.r.e up her stock of medicines. She'd have use for black haw bark, motherwort, cramp bark, and fennel seed before long. Hattie didn't know what meant more work for her-the babes born after a cold winter, or the sc.r.a.pes and sprains collected by men and young'uns jumping around like crickets to be outside again. Come to think of it, she'd best keep an eye out for any golden seal, heal-all, and larkspur.

Widow Hendrick had taught her all the yarbs and medicines she knew, so Hattie would be ready. Her favorite part of healing was walking through the lush country in search of yarbs, roots, and berries to put in bags, vials, teas, and poultices for later use. This winter she'd even received lessons in reading and writing, which she'd taken to like a duck to water. She'd come far in the past two years.

Who would have figured Hattie Thales would ever be so book-learned? Not her pa, who'd wed her off to Horace Thales as soon as she'd become a woman. Horace had been a good man, but he'd boasted more than twice her years and less than half her joy in life. For six years she'd fetched, cooked, mended, cleaned, and carried for him with nary a word of thanks for any of her trouble. Then a widow-maker deadwood branch had fallen on her husband and crushed the life from them both.

He hung on nigh a year, and she nursed his body but couldn't touch his bitter heart. As his health declined, so did the life Hattie had built for herself. She carried out all her household duties, stayed faithful to Horace, and tried to make him comfortable, but nothing she did could make up for the way she'd failed him. He knew he was fixing to leave this world, but he had no one to pa.s.s his name to before he died. Horace never said a word, but that bitter knowledge tainted the very air around them.

It had been over a year since he'd pa.s.sed on, and Hattie could have married again- but no decent man would have her. She didn't hold it against them. Who could blame them for wanting sons? A body couldn't deny nature's way: The woman brought forth children, and the man provided for them all. Once a woman lost a babe the way Hattie had, she'd never be able to carry another. Her miscarriages didn't only mean she'd failed as a woman; they meant that any husband of hers wouldn't have the chance to be a man in the eyes of his kith and kin.

So she'd left her home to a new couple just starting out with every hope in the world and moved in with Widow Hendrick. Miz Willow, as Hattie had come to call the elderly healer, had outlived everyone she'd known so far and was glad for the company. Besides, since Lovejoy Linden had fetched her sister and the Trevor gals out to Reliable and landed herself a Chance husband, somebody needed to tend to the health of the holler. If Miz Willow had her way, she'd be around forever and a day, but the older woman needed more help as her capable hands grew stiff from rheumatism and her back twisted with age.

Hattie spotted some burdock and stooped to dig up some of the root. It helped with joint pain, and she'd used up most of her supply this winter. The cold always brought aches to the older folks. She'd need some devil's claw root for Miz Willow's rheumatism, too.

The sun hid behind a heavy cloud, casting the meadow into shadow. It seemed as though they were in for another shower. Hattie hurried to gather as much of the precious root as she could without killing the plant. She tucked it into her gathering bag and turned back toward home.

As she made it to the door, the heavens opened. She stomped her feet on the threshold to loosen the mud, then stepped inside and shut the door before taking off the worn boots. She hung up her cape and carried her gathering pouch over to where Miz Willow sat in her old rocker.

"I was askeered you wasn't gonna make it in time," she chided. "M' bones say it'll be a gully warsher for sh.o.r.e."

"And I know those bones o' yourn never tell tales." Hattie bent down and gave the old woman a kiss on her leathery cheek. "I'll fix you some devil's claw tea to ease the ache." She busied herself with the old kettle and added more wood to the fire.

"Thankee, child." Only Miz Willow could call a twenty-one-year-old widowturned-healer a child and give no offense. "I'm a-fixin' to write a letter for Lovejoy. Roads oughta be openin' agin soon. Anythin' we'll be a-needin' from them parts?"

Hattie thought for a moment, picturing the jars and vials of the storeroom in her mind's eye. "Not much. I harvested devil's claw and burdock today and have my eye on a patch of motherwort and some fennel. Could use more of the mule's ear root for Otis's rheumatiz. Wouldn't turn down some witch hazel, iff 'n she cain spare it. I have plenty of rusty rye to trade."

She waited while the widow painstakingly scrawled out the list, pen clasped tightly between her pale fingers. There was a time when Hattie would have envied Lovejoy her good fortune in finding a husband despite her barren womb, but Lovejoy's marriage had given Hattie a place and purpose back in the holler. Hattie could only thank the good Lord for the gifts He'd seen fit to give her. She had a home and a respectable living. She'd never want for food or warmth, and she'd touch the life of every child in the holler even though she'd never have one of her own. What more could a body want?

Chapter 2.

Adventure. It loomed on the horizon, as glowing and enticing as the setting sun. It beckoned to him, and Logan nudged Britches to trot so he could present his plan to the family.

The gelding had earned his name by being pure white up to his rump and hindquarters, where the white gave way to a rich chestnut brown. Logan's father had given Bryce the runt to nurse back to health if he could. Bryce's calm voice and gentle care had seen the pony through, though he would never be a large horse. Since Logan was the youngest brother and had the shortest legs, it made sense for him to ride Britches at the time. Now, years later, it was an undeniable fact that Logan had gotten too big for his Britches.

But the horse was loyal and shared his rider's love of open s.p.a.ces, cool streams, and fast runs. Logan could have his pick of any horse on the ranch, but he couldn't bring himself to leave behind a companion that had served him so well-same as he'd stayed on the ranch for the past two years even though it had become increasingly obvious he was a round peg surrounded by square holes.

At least he wouldn't have to worry that Britches would be put out to pasture when he left. Mike MacPherson, the smallest of the MacPherson brothers, had an affinity for the horse and had been dropping hints lately. They'd be a good fit together. It never hurt to keep one's relatives happy, and Mike was his brother's wife's sister's husband, after all.

Yep. Logan's family tree had grown as tangled as Polly's hair when he'd tried to braid it yesterday. It had taken Delilah and Lovejoy the better part of the afternoon to straighten out that mess. The fact that he'd been reduced to messing with a little girl's hair proved he needed a change of pace.

He hadn't brought up the issue at breakfast-he'd needed some time in the saddle to think it over. He was already known as the loose cannon in the family, so he had to be as logical and serious as possible when he brought up the plan. If it sounded like he was just going off half-c.o.c.ked, the family would veto his plan. After all, he was the youngest brother, and they might not take to his suggesting he leave them in California to travel across the country.

Now he knew how he'd broach the subject.

Logan slid out of the saddle and led Britches into the barn. As he removed the horse's tack, rubbed him down, brushed him, and gave him water and hay, Logan reviewed his plan of attack once more. It was crucial to wait until everyone had eaten their fill. Knowing everyone would feel warm and full after a long day's work, he figured the end of supper would be the best time to bring it up.

First, he had to wait until an opportunity presented itself. It might take a couple of days, but this was important enough for him to be patient. He'd ease into it on the sly by asking Lovejoy how things were back at the holler and what it was like this time of year. She was bound to talk about how beautiful it was and say something about one of the folks back there to make them all laugh. With everyone smiling and off guard, he'd casually mention how he'd like to see it for himself. Bryce would back him up. Then everyone would realize he meant it. The whole thing should go off without a hitch.

Hattie woke up early in the morning to the pitter-pat-plink of rain striking the wood and tin roof. She stretched carefully so as not to wake Miz Willow asleep in the bed beside her, then snuggled deeper beneath the warm covers.

Once more she reveled in the way their home boasted no leaks. Growing up, she'd helped Mama put pots and jars beneath the tiny streams of water pouring in from the roof. She remembered wondering if they'd reach far enough to find one another and become one long fall of water. When she'd wed Horace, she'd slept in a true, above-theground bed for the very first time. The Thales's cabin was a far cry from Papa's shack, but tiny drips still found their way through the walls and under the door, muddying the floor.

But the healers' hut was something else altogether. Vern Spencer had been a prideful man. A woodsmith by trade, he determined to have the best home in the whole holler. To that end, the place even had the luxury of two rooms. The offshoot served as the healers' storeroom now, and the other held the fireplace, table, and bed for everyday living. It was one of the soundest buildings standing in the holler. The only thing that weathered the storms of life any better was old Miz Willow herself.

The rain petered out, and Hattie eased out of the bed. She pulled on her overdress and stockings before stoking the fire and putting on a kettle for morning tea. She was just starting to fry the eggs when a knock sounded at the door.

"Mornin', Nessie," Hattie said, ushering the visitor inside. "What cain I do for you?"

"Pa's feelin' poorly agin' and sint me ta fetch some a yore medicine." Nessie kept her head down, refusing to look Hattie in the eye.

Rooster was feeling the effects of his brew again. Drink held that man in its grip tight as could be. Peddlin' moons.h.i.+ne to other fools was only the beginning of the things for which he'd have to answer to the good Lord on Judgment Day. The way she'd dealt with her father made Lovejoy Linden-now Lovejoy Chance-an even more amazing woman.

"Nessie, look at me."

The girl barely peeked up before returning her gaze to the floorboards, but it was enough to prove Hattie's fears.

"He was samplin' his own wares again, was he?" Hattie knelt down and pushed Nessie's hood back off her face to get a better look at the purple bruise coloring the girl's left cheek.

Nessie nodded wordlessly. Rooster Linden had gotten worse in the past year, but it seemed there wasn't a thing anybody could do about it. He'd always been unpredictable after drink, but lately he'd tended more to angry and violent. Hattie got up and went to the storeroom and came back with a poultice of marshmallow and burdock root.

"This should holp with the swellin' and soothe the skin a bit." Hattie paused but had to ask. "Did he hit you anywhere else?" At the shake of Nessie's head, she said, "I'm powerful sorry he took out his wrath on you. You ken 'tisn't yore fault?"

"Yes, thankee." Nessie cleared her throat. "Cain I have Pa's medicine now?"

Hattie rocked back on her heels and prayed. Lord, I want to do Yore will, but I don't know what that is. Mr. Linden's hurtin' himself and others. As a healer, I'm s'posed to holp wherever I cain-but iff 'n I make it so his drinkin's easier, who does that really holp? Not Nessie or even Rooster. But iff 'n I don't, he'll be riled as a bear and drink more. Then Nessie'll suffer his anger agin. How do I protect her?

"Here you go, Nessie." Miz Willow took the decision from Hattie's hands by handing a packet to Nessie. "That'll clean him out right quick, though he won't thank me for it 'til after."

"Thankee, Widow Hendrick." Nessie shrugged her hood back on.

"Wait a minute. Have some of this." The older woman pa.s.sed the girl a mug of tea. "It'll keep yore bones warm on the walk back. And when yore pa feels better, you make sh.o.r.e you ask him to come down and visit with Widow Hendrick." A steely glint lit her usually twinkling eyes. "We have sommat to discuss, him and me."

Logan breathed deeply as he stepped into the main cabin. Smells like pot roast, mashed potatoes, and could that possibly be...

"Muck!" Alisa's voice interrupted his thoughts. He was surprised to see her tapping her tiny foot and glaring up at him. "Go wipe off your boots, Logan. I just cleaned the floor!"

He obligingly loped back out the door, stomped his feet, and came back in. Little things like that didn't seem like much, but he heard those kinds of remarks every day. "Wipe your feet." "Don't put your boots on the chair." "Hold the baby for a minute." "Not like that!" "Why aren't you washed up yet?" "How'd you get these so dirty?" "Where'd you put the...oh, never mind." "Another hole to mend?" The endless refrain was enough to set a man's teeth permanently on edge.

He spotted the apple pies he'd been smelling earlier and reconsidered. Having women around wasn't all bad. It definitely had its compensations! His mouth watering, Logan filched a biscuit from one of the baskets, only to have his knuckles rapped with a wooden spoon.

"Ow!" He dropped it like a red-hot poker.

"You know better than that, Logan Chance." Miriam shook the wooden spoon at him.

There was a time when he would've flashed her a smile, waited until she turned around, then crammed it into his mouth while she wasn't looking. Now it wasn't worth it. The mischief had been all but scrubbed and chided out of him. Things had come to a sorry state indeed.

He took a seat and bowed his head for the prayer, then shoveled forkfuls of meat and potatoes into his mouth while everybody chattered away. Chomping on a b.u.t.tery biscuit so light it could've flown, Logan promised himself he'd ignore the domesticity of it all and enjoy his family before he set out. When plates of apple pie came around, Logan judged the time was right.

"So have you had any letters from Widow Hendrick lately?" He addressed the question to Lovejoy before trying the pie. The taste of cinnamon and apples lingered as sweet as victory while Lovejoy started speaking about the holler.

"As a matter of fact, had one jist this week. Seems the spell of whooping cough is over-they lost two young'uns and one older fella." She shook her head sadly.

This wasn't going the way he'd hoped. He tried to steer the conversation into more pleasant territory. "Could've been much worse. How's everybody else doin'?" He held his breath until she smiled.

"Well, there're at least three babes on the way for this spring, so Hattie's busy harvesting and offered to send me some rusty rye." She paused for a moment before continuing. "Isn't it just like the good Lord to send three new lives after taking the same number? Keeps it all in balance."

"Balance?" Logan jumped on his opportunity. "Seems to me they're a bit short over there since Reliable s.n.a.t.c.hed Obie, Hezzie, Mike, Eunice, Lois, Tempy, and yourself."

"Now if that doesn't just prove it, I don't know what will, Logan. See, G.o.d sent out three men, but the loss of eligible bachelors would've been hard to bear, so He paved the way for their brides, too." She beamed across the table as all the women nodded in agreement, Paul nudging Delilah with his elbow.

"I just meant that Salt Lick Holler's sent a bunch of wonderful people out to Reliable"-Logan leaned back to appear nonchalant-"but Reliable hasn't returned the favor."

"There's some truth to that." Daniel put an arm around his wife's shoulders. "We're keeping 'em, too."

Murmurs of agreement sounded around the table, punctuated by one of the babies banging a spoon against the table. If Logan didn't do something immediately, the conversation would be over and he'd 've lost his chance.

"I bet it's nice this time of year." He shrugged and gobbled the last bite of his pie.

"Sh.o.r.e is." Lovejoy's eyes went a little dreamy. "You cain smell things a-growin' from the earth in spring. It's fresh and green. Birds sang at ya; b.u.t.terflies flit around through the air. The sun's so bright, you walk under the trees to keep cool until a breeze picks up. Baby critters pop their tiny heads up around every corner, and the sounds of life rustle alongside the ring of wood bein' chopped." She gave a wistful sigh. "At night the stars glow like it's their last time, and glowworms dart 'round the trees an' ruffle yore hair iff 'n ya git too close. It'll be that way 'til the middle of summer."

"Oh, Lovejoy, that sounds beautiful." Alisa reached over to pat her on the arm.

"I'd like to see all that," Logan burst in before Lovejoy could start a.s.suring them all how wonderful Chance Ranch was and how she'd rather be here anyway.

"Everybody should." Lovejoy smiled at him. "But it's a better place ta visit than ta call home."

"I've already got a home. Seems like I'm missing a place to visit." Logan sent up a little prayer. "Would that be possible?"

"You mean it, don't you?" Delilah looked at him in surprise.

" 'Course he doesn't. He's got everything he could want right here." Gideon brushed the idea away like a pesky gnat, and Logan felt his freedom slipping away.

Chapter 3.

I don't know about that." Every head turned toward Bryce.

"What are you talking 'bout, Bryce?" Daniel drew Lovejoy closer.

"I'm just saying we all remember moving out here to start Chance Ranch, making a home and a place for ourselves with Ma. Logan was barely eight, though. It makes sense he'd like to stretch his legs and take in a few sights before he settles down." Bryce cast a meaningful look around the table at all the children.

"There is something about being in a new place that makes a person learn to follow G.o.d's will and grow into oneself." Delilah spoke thoughtfully, obviously thinking of the time she'd spent in San Francisco to sell her art. While away from Chance Ranch, she'd found G.o.d.

"You've got a point. Stickin' where things is familiar ain't always what's best." Lovejoy grinned at Daniel, who relaxed a bit.

"I don't see why it wouldn't be an option after calving," t.i.tus offered.

"Me, neither," Paul agreed. "I think it might be a nice change of pace for everyone- we'll get to hear all about what you get into instead of having to witness it and pull you out of it!" Everyone laughed.

"I don't suppose you two could get into too much trouble," Daniel a.s.sented.

"Two?" Logan had missed something, he was sure.

"Yeah." Gideon jerked a thumb toward Bryce. "Like he said, you guys have grown up here. You both need the experience of making your own way in the world for a while."

"Whoa. How'd I get dragged into this?" Bryce held out his hands, palms up, as though trying to shove away a skunk without getting sprayed.

"Oh, come on," t.i.tus chortled. "You two are like Frick 'n' Frack. Always have bin."

Logan kept his trap shut and thought about it. Of all his brothers, Bryce understood him the best and bothered him the least. He'd be fairly quiet, and besides, he usually went along with whatever Logan decided anyway. Plus, it was a six-day trip, and he could use some company on the way. Sounded good to him.

"We'd feel more comfortable with two of you going," Alisa encouraged Bryce.

"I'll send off the letter tomorrow making arrangements," Lovejoy determined. "There's not a moment to lose!"

"Time for an official vote." Gideon called them to order. "All in favor of Bryce and Logan visiting Salt Lick Holler for the summer after the calving season, put up your hands."

Logan watched everyone vote for his adventure and gave Bryce an apologetic smile as he followed suit. It was settled. They'd both go.

"Wait, Hattie!" Hattie turned to see Nate Rucker rus.h.i.+ng up to her.

"Was thar sommat else I should know 'bout the babe, Mr. Rucker?" Hattie's smile fled. Abigail Rucker was due any week now, and Hattie had taken to checking up on the woman almost every day. She seemed fine when Hattie left her just moments ago.

"Nah. Abigail and I are beholden to you for yore care. Yore a fine healer." He put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. "It's jist that thar's a letter for you and Widow Hendrick. I plumb fergot about it on account of the babe."

He handed her a slightly smudged envelope. Hattie recognized the fancy paper and loopy print as being from Lovejoy.

"Thankee for yore quick memory, Mr. Rucker."

"Welcome. I've gotta go, but I'll be seein' ya afore long." He gave a jaunty wave and turned back, leaving Hattie to her thoughts.

It was Nate and his wife's first babe, scarcely a year into their marriage. They'd moved into Hattie's old home when she went to live with Miz Willow. Now the place would have the child she'd never been able to bear. It would be a real home. Such bittersweet thoughts, but at least she'd have a hand in bringing the babe into the world. That was something to make her give thanks.