The Lone Cowboy of River Bend

Chapter 4

Nate looked down at the floor, expecting an innocent remark echoing some part of the gossip. Instead, silence stretched over the next few seconds. He brought his gaze up and found the boy staring at him, puzzled. Shame heated his neck. He should have known better. No grandson of Alice would repeat rumors.

“You’re not the one that works with horses?” Jason asked, sounding tentative.

“I am. Sorry. I thought you were going to say something else.”

His expression made it plain Nate’s explanation didn’t make sense to Jason but he moved on. “Would you tell me, um, us, about your horses?”

“Sure, later, if your grandma says it’s okay.”

Jason beamed his eagerness then scooted around Nate to hang up his coat. The younger boy, John, darted away from Alice to join Hannah and her daughter at the same time. He and the older woman crossed the room at a more sedate pace. As they approached the others, the little girl drew his gaze. She looked about the same age as John, three if he remembered correctly, with ginger braids falling over her shoulders. When the child noticed him nearing, she sought the cover of her mother’s skirt folds.

“Jemma, I’d like you to meet Mr. Rolfe.” Eyes, green as the fir trees of his home, peered out at him, shyly. “Nate, this is my daughter.”

Once more, he crouched down to a child’s eye level. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, little miss.”

“Hi,” She greeted him with a timid whisper.

Nate smiled, then trying not to overwhelm her, straightened back up. He reclaimed his seat and cup of coffee. Jason started peppering him with questions about horses and, over time, as he patiently answered them, his brother grew comfortable with him as well. To his surprise, he found himself enjoying their quiet but non-stop chatter while washing up then settling around the table.

The following hours, though pleasant, seemed to go on forever. They ate, tended chores, and had polite exchanges. Both women tried to be cheerful but, at times, Nate could tell their smiles were forced. Tension haunted them. The presence of a man unseen but felt, Jed. He never emerged.

During the day, no one ventured into Jed’s room, knocked on his door or suggested including him. No one, not even his boys, spoke about the man. And, for all their chatter, the kids were subdued inside the house, far more than good indoor behavior warranted. Outside, however, the boys were boisterous. The stark contrast disturbed him. By evening, Nate was growing restless, eager to talk it all over with Alice.

Luckily, the children offered distraction. While not one of them complained about having warmed-over stew again, they each had a demand. John wanted more butter on his cornbread. Jemma asked for more carrots. At the same time, Jason started pleading for Nate to tell the promised story. The kids weren’t trying to be noisy but each had raised their voice, trying to surpass the others.

The high-spirited chatter put Nate at ease, reminding him of his childhood. It sounded so familiar, in fact, he almost grinned. Even now, when his family gathered for a meal, the result was much the same.

Hannah took her daughter’s bowl, carrying it to the stove to appease Jemma’s request. Alice spread another thin layer of yellow on John’s bread and, with Jason tugging on his sleeve, asking please yet again, Nate tried to think of an entertaining story. In the midst of all the activity, he somehow heard the low creak of a floorboard.

“Jed,” Alice announced softly before he could look in the direction of the sound.

Silence fell, swift and sudden. The older woman’s pale face filled Nate with concern. He glanced over at Hannah, wanting to see her reaction. She stood still, a statue by the stove, her expression a blank mask. His gaze next traveled to the children, each one silent, heads bowed with eyes cast down, then finally to the doorway behind him. The man standing there was an unsettling sight.

Jed and Nate were of equal height but he appeared shorter, standing stooped over like an old man. Clothing hung off limbs like the sticks of a scarecrow. Blond hair appeared a deep shade of brown, falling about his face in dirty, greasy locks. His face had the pale, grayish tinge of a person too ill to go outside for long. He barely recognized the man.

“Too.” Jed’s voice came out harsh and gravely as though it had been long unused. He waved one badly shaking hand at them. “Loud.”

“Sorry, Pa.” All his earlier eagerness gone, Jason’s tone was low and flat.

Jed nodded in response then went back into his room without another word. He didn’t bother to shut the door. Nate watched him shuffle across the bedroom to sit facing the window again, looking out into the dark, rocking. John made a wordless sound of distress. In silence, Alice got up and went over, shutting her son’s door with a soft click that sounded almost explosive in the dead-quiet room.

As Alice walked back, Jason pushed away his half-eaten bowl of stew and stood. “I have chores.”

John slid from his chair, joining his brother by the front door. Barely making a sound, the boys shrugged into their coats and mittens, then went outside. Nate stared after them, worried by their transparent excuse to escape the house. Their chores were already finished, done before supper.

His gaze shifted to Alice. She’d returned to her chair and sat staring in the direction of Jed’s room, the sheen of tears in her eyes. Troubled, he looked away, seeking Hannah. The woman had also moved back to the table. He heard a flow of comforting words murmured to her daughter as she snuggled Jemma in her lap.

His appetite lost, Nate stood up and headed for his coat, feeling the need to check on the boys. Hannah joined him as he fastened his last button. She handed him a lantern.

“You’ll find them in the barn with Meadowlark.”

Though it was common for even young children to have chores involving animals, seeing how upset the boys had been, Nate was concerned. “If she feels protective of her foal, she may snap.”

“They know better than to get into the stall with her.”

“At a time like this, you trust they’ll remember?”

“No, one of us follows them out.” She didn’t sound offended, just tired and matter of fact. “Tonight, it seems, you are.”

“Oh.” Nonplussed, he accepted the lit lantern, started to open the door, then halted. “Why go to the horse?”

“Meadowlark was their mama’s favorite.” A small, somber voice drifted up from where Jemma stood among the folds of her mother’s skirt again.

Nate looked down at the red-headed child. Several strands had escaped her braids, giving her a messy halo of hair. As she peeked up at him, her sad, serious green eyes appeared familiar somehow.

“They miss her.”

Three simple words relayed an understanding far wiser than her years. With a solemn expression, Jemma studied him. Nate got the impression she was measuring his worth, waiting for a response. He found himself not wanting to disappoint her.

“I understand.”

“Good.” The child turned around and scurried over to Alice, crawling up into the older woman’s lap.

Without another word, Nate headed out into the night. Worry quickened his steps on the unfamiliar dark path but he reached the barn safely. Once there he blew out the lantern and eased open a door, slipping inside.

One swift glance down the length of the barn revealed the boys standing in front of Meadowlark’s stall. Nate moved closer quietly, trying not to let them know he was there. He stepped up onto a hay bale for a better vantage point next. The foal lay in a nest of straw in a corner of the stall while the mare stood against the door. Only the murmur of voices and the soft nickers received in response were clear but he didn’t need to know what they were saying. All that mattered was they were safe.

Finding comfort in the company of horses was something Nate identified with strongly. Loath to disturb them, he remained in the shadows, allowing the boys a measure of privacy. They stayed for some time but when they finally shuffled by him, their tears had dried.

Nate trailed them home. Once they’d slipped safely inside, he relit the lantern and returned to the barn. There he spent a few moments with Jack, giving him affection, then did one final check on all the animals before returning to the house. Alice answered his soft knock, opening the door for him. The room was still almost eerily quiet and not one child, or Hannah, was in sight.

Assuming the young woman was settling the children down for the night, Nate followed Alice to some chairs, taken from by the table, near the fire. He waited until she sat before taking a seat himself.

For a moment, Nate studied the woman, who was like a second mother to him, while he figured out the best way to start what promised to be a hard conversation. Her hands clasped together in her lap surprised him. She always had a project. Even at the end of a difficult day, he’d seen her sewing or knitting. Once he’d asked her why she didn’t rest and she’d said it was her way of relaxing. At fifteen he’d found her answer odd, now an adult, he understood.

“Tell me.” His words were simple, delivered in a kind tone.

Her sigh, almost soundless, washed over him with a wave of emotion. “I can’t get through to him. He won’t listen to me.”

Nate kept his jaw from dropping with effort but couldn’t help shaking his head. Although he’d witnessed the sorry state of the man himself, her statement was hard to accept. Jed had always been especially close to his mother. He treated her with the utmost respect. Even after he moved away, a grown man, he’d returned to the Bar 7 as often to visit as to get advice because he genuinely valued Alice’s opinion.

“Hard to believe?”

“Yes.”

“For me too.”

“What changed?”

“What hasn’t?” Heart-deep sorrow filled her eyes, then she shifted her gaze from his to look at the fire.

“I noticed he’d been drinking at Bessie’s funeral. I thought… I figured he was grieving…”

“He was and is.”

“Grieving or drinking?”

“Yes.”

Nate reached out, covered her hands with his and gave a gentle, comforting squeeze. The creak of a door opening drifted to him. He looked over to see Hannah stepping into the room. Her expression took on a worried cast when the young woman noticed them. She started to turn around.

“Please stay.” Alice’s request made Hannah change course, cross the space to the older woman’s side and she knelt beside her.

Concern filled Hannah’s tone. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You’re not.”

“Are you sure you want me here?”

“It’d be a blessing if you’d help explain what’s happened to my son.”

“All right.”

Nate stood and waved Hannah toward his chair, stepping away when she attempted to decline his offer. He walked off, quickly grabbing another chair and carried it back over. In less than a minute, they sat flanking Alice, each being supportive.

“Jed isn’t… coping well with losing his wife.”

“She’s been gone less than a year. Isn’t that expected?”

Alice smiled sadly. “Grief doesn’t have a time limit. My Harry has been gone twenty years and I miss him every day. It’s fine for him to mourn still. But…”

“His drinking is out of control?” Nate guessed.

“There’s that but…”

The older woman fell silent. After a time it became clear she wasn’t going to continue immediately. Nate looked to Hannah, hoping for assistance. She drew in a deep breath then picked up where Alice had left off.

“It’s beyond normal grieving. Losing Bessie the way he did devastated him.”

“The way he did?”

“You don’t know?”

“Alice was upset and we didn’t want to pry.”

“Evie had confided she was in the family way and Ben was nervous already. I thought it best to not share details,” the housekeeper offered in a whisper.

“It probably was,” Nate assured her. “And I don’t need to know now if it’s going to bother either of you.”

Hannah shifted in her seat, painful memories filling her with restless energy. “It’s still hard to talk about but… I think knowing what happened to Bessie makes it… easier to understand how he is now.”

“You’re sure?”

Over the last several months, a deep friendship had grown between her and Alice. The older woman had no relatives besides those in this house. There was no one who’d help her except, perhaps, the Rolfes, who Alice claimed considered her family. It was important Nate understood the situation. Once he did, Hannah would see if her friend’s faith in those people was justified.

Or not.

“I am.” After another deep, fortifying breath, Hannah began. “Bessie was expecting. She had trouble carrying a baby after John but that day she had made it past the months when she had problems before. She hadn’t been sick in weeks. I thought…”

Alice reached over, taking her hand. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I thought she’d be fine.” Tears welled up and Hannah let them fall. “So Jemma and I went to see my mother. She had been feeling ill for some time. The doctor didn’t know what was wrong with her and I was worried.” She paused, steeling herself for the hardest part. “I should’ve been worried about Bessie too.”

“Hannah,” the older woman chided her softly.

With a shake of her head, Hannah went on. “Jason said after their noon meal Bessie felt tired. Jed took the boys out in the field with him so she could rest. They found her collapsed in the grass on their way home hours later. While Jed carried her home, Jason ran to the nearest neighbor, the Hendersons, for help. She’d miscarried and kept bleeding. Dr. Benton told me that when he arrived, Jed was cradling her, rocking in the chair he’s likely sitting in now. She’d already passed on.”

“I’m sorry.”

Hannah wiped her cheeks with her free hand. “Thank you.”

“You think Jed feels responsible for not saving her?”

“Yes, without a doubt, and the guilt is destroying him.”

“Alice.” Nate sounded shocked by the sound of her despair.

“I keep hoping with time he’ll recover.” The older woman slowly shook her head. “But, the truth is, he’s getting worse.”

“He doesn’t look well.”

A moment passed before Alice responded to Nate’s gently delivered statement. “He rarely comes out of his room, doesn’t bathe, change his clothes, or eat. Mostly, he guzzles whiskey.”

“Perhaps a doctor?”

“He threw Dr. Benson out of the house.” Hannah grimaced, remembering. “The doctor refuses to come out again unless it’s at Jed’s request.”

“So everyone just leaves him alone now?”

Her spine stiffened. The redhead’s temper threatened. “What are you trying to say?”

“Easy.” His tone lowered, pitched to be soothing. “I’m only trying to understand.”

A silence fraught with tension ruled for a few seconds then Alice interjected, “I reach out to my son every day.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you don’t.”

“She wanted to come here and help him from the start but he refused.” Hannah wanted Nate to know Alice had tried. Memories from the weeks after Bessie’s death ran through her mind. She’d had great sympathy for Jed at first. But, as time went on, she’d grown both worried about, and frustrated with, his behavior. “When I wrote to her about his difficulties, asking her to disregard his wishes and come anyway, she did, straight away.”

“Alice is an amazing lady and mother.”

His sincerity sounded genuine and Hannah’s indignation on behalf of her friend eased. “Before, Jed spoke of his mother often and with great fondness. I’d hoped her presence would bring him out of it.”

“But it didn’t.”

“No.” Alice’s single word hung in the air a long moment.

Fresh frustration welled up. Hannah wanted to give Jed a swift kick in the rear for the hurt he was causing. “You’ve been a Godsend for me and the children.”