Six months was still long as far as Flynn was concerned, especially after reading reports about the Battle of Antietam and the horrific casualties, along with the stories about Bloody Lane with over five thousand injured or dead on Sunken Road alone. There was no way on God’s green earth Flynn was letting Brody join the Union Army, even if they’d supposedly won the battle.
“You ain’t going. Not unless they march in here and make you. And so far they haven’t.”
Brody’s dark brows came together in a ferocious scowl. More and more, the boy reminded him of Wyatt. Although Brody was bigger boned and brawnier than their oldest brother, he had the same swarthy dark hair and eyes and handsome features. They both took after their pa with their looks, whereas Flynn and Dylan had ended up with more of Ma’s fair complexion—green-blue eyes and light brown hair.
The older Brody got, he was starting to resemble Wyatt in more ways than just looks. He was ending up as stubborn and strong willed. And lately Flynn was getting along with him about as well as an old goat.
“I ain’t waiting to be drafted.” Brody picked up the rake he’d been using to muck a stall. “I’m no coward, and I’m aiming to go fight because it’s the right thing, not because someone’s telling me to.”
“Who says it’s the right thing?” As Flynn tossed out the challenge, deep inside he knew if not for his lame hip, he’d have enlisted already. Many a day over the past year he’d cursed his hip and Rusty for breaking it.
But he wasn’t cussing anymore. Nope. Instead, he was trying to focus on the good—as hard as that was. Like the fact that after the injury, Rusty hadn’t hit any of them again, including Ma. Like the fact that if he’d been able to go off to war, he would’ve been worrying about the kids the whole time, wondering where they were living and how they were making ends meet.
At the creaking of the barn door, Flynn tensed and grew silent, as did Brody and Dylan, waiting for Rusty to saunter in and tell them all to get back to work, that the corn wouldn’t harvest itself.
They all knew the reason Rusty was letting them stay on the farm was to help with the harvesting. Although he’d told them they had until spring, no doubt he was waiting to kick them out just as soon as the harvesting was done and he didn’t need their free labor. Ma was hardly in the grave two months, and he was already courting Widow Flores, who had a couple of strapping boys.
Flynn figured he had a few more weeks left before he needed to have a job lined up along with a place for them to live. But the thought of leaving the land was intimidating. All he knew was farming.
Just thinking about losing everything to Rusty made his whole world tilt, almost as if he’d gone lame in both legs instead of one. Didn’t matter that the McQuaid ancestors had owned and worked the land for generations. Rusty had the deed. It was legal. And there wasn’t a blamed thing that could change it.
As the barn door squealed open farther, a lithe girl slipped inside, and Flynn released a breath.
“Come on now, Ivy.” From his spot on the stall, Dylan paused in chewing a long piece of hay to scowl at her. “You’re supposed to do the secret knock so we know who’s a-comin’.”
Ivy closed the door, her dark hair unbound and flowing in wild tangles. At eleven, she was old enough to brush and plait her own hair, but ever since Ma’s passing, Ivy hadn’t bothered with the upkeep. And no amount of Flynn’s pestering had motivated the girl.
Even with her messy hair, Ivy was pretty. Trouble was, she’d much rather go hunting and climb trees than sew and cook like Ma had taught her. And in the weeks since Ma’s death, Ivy had taken to imitating him and the boys more, not less. She was in sore need of a womanly touch.
His failure in raising his sister properly was just one of his shortcomings. The biggest failure facing him was with Brody. Flynn couldn’t let him enlist. Brody was as sensitive as a man came and wouldn’t be able to handle all the death and bloodshed. He couldn’t stand seeing a lame horse, much less a man losing his legs, which was what he was gonna see and worse if he went to war.
“Got something for you, Flynn.” Ivy hid the item behind her back as she bounded across the haymow, her bare feet sinking deep into the alfalfa. Her eyes glimmered with her usual mischief.
“What is it?” He knew better than to hold out his hand. The last time, she dumped a spiny lizard in his palm. Time before that had been a spider’s nest with a whole passel of baby spiders crawling all over the place. Once, she’d even given him a rotten duck egg.
She stopped directly in front of him, providing him full view of her unwashed face and the dirt coating her skirt. Thunderation. He had to figure out a way to get her to take baths.
“Hold out your hand,” she insisted.
“Not in a hundred years.”
“Come on, you big ’fraidy cat.” Her smile widened and seemed to bring with it all the sunshine of the early November day.
He reached out and tweaked her nose. He didn’t have time right now for her practical jokes, but he did want her to know he cared about her.
“I promise you’ll like what I have this time.”
“Heard that before.”
“This time I mean it.”
He mussed her hair and then turned back to Brody who, thankfully, was still standing in the same place.
Before he could resume their conversation, Ivy thrust something into his face. “It’s a letter from Wyatt.”
Flynn froze.
As Ivy waved the envelope, he caught sight of his brother’s bold handwriting. Wyatt must have received his letter about Ma’s death and decided to send his condolences.
But as usual, it was too little effort, too late.
Frustration burned inside Flynn, frustration that had been simmering since the day Wyatt had walked away from Rusty and the farm and left Flynn to be the responsible one and deal with all the problems. While Wyatt gallivanted all over God’s green earth, Flynn had been left to protect his ma and help raise the kids. And he was left trying to figure out what to do now that they were practically homeless.
He stared at the letter, then spun and strode toward the door as fast as his limping gait would allow. “I don’t care one whit what Wyatt has to say.”
“He’s got a ranch in Colorado and wants us to move there and live with him.” The words slid out of Ivy’s mouth faster than butter sliding off hot sweet corn.
“A ranch?” Dylan hopped off the stall and spit out the piece of hay, his face lighting with boyish enthusiasm. “Where we get to be cowboys?”
“The last thing we’re doing is moving in with Wyatt.” The very core of Flynn’s being protested the prospect of relying upon Wyatt. “He’s never cared about us before, and there’s no reason for him to start now.”
Ivy’s expression fell. “He said he’s got a wife who has a little sister about my age living with them.”
“It don’t matter—”
“A ranch, Flynn!” Dylan’s voice rose. “Just think about it. We’d get to ride horses and raise cattle and fight Indians.”
“He says there’s plenty of space and lots of work for every one of us,” Ivy added. “And he really wants us to come, especially Brody.”