Joe didn’t reply at first. Had she said too much? Hanna’s gaze roamed to the bookshelves on the side wall. So many books. A whole world of them.
“I see you’re looking at my books. Do you like to read, Hanna?”
“I can read well enough, but growing up, I never had the chance. Alvar was allowed to read as much as he wanted, as long as he got his work done. But our father always said that girls were meant to be wives and mothers, and that reading would only put foolish ideas into our heads.”
“As you can imagine, my wife and daughter would send me packing if I were to say that. I don’t consider myself well educated, but . . .” He trailed off, thinking. “Do you have time to listen to a story?”
“I have all the time you need to tell it.”
“All right. I hope you’ll be entertained—and maybe even inspired.” He leaned back in his chair, gazing past her as if drifting through time.
“Like you, I was a farm kid. I was younger than you are now when I signed up as a wrangler’s helper on Benteen Calder’s cattle drive. My mother was a God-fearing woman. She’d taught me to read her bible, but that, and the church hymnal, were the only books I’d ever opened.
“I’ll skip over the details, but after I got separated from the cattle drive in a stampede, I ended up with some pretty rough characters. I stayed with them because they’d threatened my life if I tried to leave. But when a band of vigilantes showed up, I lit out and ran—no horse, no food, no water, nothing. I would’ve died in the badlands, but I was rescued by the finest old man I’ll ever know. He took me in, taught me how to catch and break wild horses—and he had a whole shelf full of books in his cabin. By the time I left, I’d read them all, some of them two or three times.”
A shadow seemed to drift across Joe’s face. “In the end, I let him down. We parted on bad terms, and I never saw him again. As it turned out, I had more lessons to learn the hard way. But those books stayed with me in my head. Their words and their wisdom have made all the difference for me.”
He sat up in his chair again. “You’re welcome to borrow any of these books. Browse through the shelves, take anything that strikes your fancy. And Hanna . . .” His gaze met and held hers. “Know that I’m your friend.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WITH CHRISTMAS LESS THAN A WEEK AWAY, THE BIG SEASONAL storms had yet to arrive. Between flurries that were more wind than snow, the frozen ground was bare. Some ranchers and settlers had begun to hope that this winter would be a mild one. But Blake, who’d lived through more than twenty Montana winters, knew better. The snows would come, burying fields and roads and stranding hungry livestock in the pastures.
Still, he understood how much Hanna missed her family, especially at Christmastime. As his wife, she’d kept mostly to herself, knitting and reading books from his father’s study. She’d asked little of him in the way of time or attention. But the sadness that crept into her face at unguarded moments hadn’t escaped his notice.
When he’d suggested a two-day visit with her family, Hanna’s face had lit with joy. They would leave in the morning, take the wagon loaded with firewood, spare blankets, food, including a frozen side of beef, and other supplies. Hanna would bring the little gifts she’d made. He would leave her with her family until the morning of the third day—Christmas Eve. Then he would bring her home to share Christmas with his family.
They left at full sunup, the morning clear but so cold that the breath of the huge draft horses froze on their eyelashes and whiskered noses. Hanna sat primly beside Blake, wrapped in her shawl, a warm buffalo robe tucked around her lower body.
Even bundled as she was, Blake was aware of her rounding belly, which had seemed to blossom in recent days. Her baby was growing. Hers and Mason’s. Blake cursed the thought. Why couldn’t he think of the baby as his? Lord knew, he’d tried. But when he looked at her, Mason’s mocking words still echoed in his memory.
They’d taken a shortcut across the frozen grassland and arrived at the Anderson homestead by midmorning. Lars and Alvar were nowhere in sight—probably working or hunting—but Inga and the younger children came running out to meet the wagon. Hanna jumped to the ground and opened her arms. Her mother and the girls ran into them, Inga exclaiming over the size of her growing belly. The young boy, Axel, held back out of manly restraint. But he was clearly glad to see his sister.
Blake began to unload the supplies he’d brought, giving the firewood to Axel to carry into the shed, and hanging the side of beef from a rafter. Inga shook her head in amazement at the bounty.
“Thank you, Blake, but you’ve been too generous this time!” she exclaimed. “I hope you won’t mind if we share these things with our neighbors. They need help, too.”
“How could I mind?” Blake responded. “These things are yours. What you do with them is up to you.”
After the unloading and a brief visit, Blake was ready to leave. On the way home he planned to go through town and pick up more supplies for the house and ranch.
“I’ll be back to pick you up the day after tomorrow in the morning,” he told her. “Meanwhile, enjoy your family.”
Her face shone as she looked up at him. “Thank you, Blake,” she said. “This means the world to me.”
Blake had never seen her look happier. Maybe if he made an effort to please her at home, he would see that look more often.
In town, at the feed and hardware store, he bought several gallons of kerosene, six bags of oats for the horses, several boxes of ammunition in different calibers, and plenty of shotgun shells, to replace the supply he’d left with the Andersons. He’d brought along one list from his mother and another from Garrity, who was holed up in his cabin with his dog, so he would also need to stop by the general store.
Blake crossed the street, entered the store, and gave both lists to Ollie Ellis. He was walking to the back of the store to look at some boots when a voice from behind stopped him in his tracks.
“Hello, Blake. Where’ve you been keeping yourself? I haven’t seen you in a couple of months.”
Ruth Stanton stood next to a display of sewing notions, looking as pretty as ever in a blue hooded cape edged with fur.
“I’ve been . . . busy, Ruth.” Blake groped for a suitable reply. Had word gotten around that he was married? Did she know?
“I’ve been hoping to see you and maybe invite you over for Sunday dinner with me and my father,” she said, smiling. “I cook a mean pot roast.”
So she hadn’t heard. He needed to let her know before the situation got even more awkward than it already was. But how much should he tell her? As little as possible, he decided.
There was no easy way to say it, except to blurt it out. “Ruth, I’m married,” he said. “I was married last month.”
Ruth’s face paled with shock. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she stammered. “You must think me a fool, but I really didn’t know.” With visible effort, she forced a smile. “Congratulations. Who’s the lucky girl?”
“You might say that I’m the lucky one. Her name is—was—Hanna Anderson. Her father’s a wheat farmer, one of the homesteaders.”